Randy sighed and stretched as he entered the shower. These days, he was Template more than Randy. If he hadn't retired the Revolutionary he might even be spending more time as her than himself.

Myself, he thought, as he washed. Why is that pronoun so complicated for me?

War is over and for the survivors that means it's time to cleanup and recover. Unfortunately recovery doesn't always mean rest as Energia and her team find out when they are tasked with investigating a newly discovered secret mountain hideout. Jelly turns to jam and they end up in the THICK of battle with...

Cover Illustration by Melanie Ezell - Typography by Joyce Melton

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Masks XVI

by

Rodford Edmiston

The Outside Man

Part One

"Are you sure about this?" asked Brade, as she scrolled through the translated report on her computer.

"The German Chancellor called me personally," said the President. Her voice was a bit scratchy over the speaker phone, due to the utilities in the region still being somewhat kludged. "Said both the fact that they knew nothing about it beforehand and that the initial investigation ran into serious problems - three people died and five others were injured - tells him it needs to be checked out with super help immediately. They also want people with recent experience exploring hidden old bases. Considering what's been found in secret bases lately, I agree."

"I'll set it up, then," said Brade, with a sigh.

"I know, we're all tired," said the President, in a sympathetic tone. "I think the worst part of this recovery is the people who feel honor bound to take advantage of all the problems, rather than to help with them. Hell, this afternoon I have to meet with a member of Congress who thinks that an alien invasion and a war which cost tens of thousands of lives and caused billions in damage is no reason for him to stop advancing his personal agenda. Which is to fight against everything I do."

After ending the call Brade scowled at the report on her screen. The situation seemed minor on the surface, but something told her she needed to take it seriously. She checked her assignment sheet, and found that the team most experienced with exploring bases had all three members available. So was Ike Kenniman, for that matter, which was a definite bonus. However, two of the team members had been in the thick of the War and were on mandatory leave. Well, that leave was to rest them after what they'd been through, with the War and the early part of the recovery. Hopefully, giving them a different sort of task would actually help take their minds off their experiences. Brade smiled, as she remembered Winston Churchill's motto "A change is as good as a rest." She didn't think that always held true, but it definitely did in some cases.

Of course, even if the personnel she wanted agreed to take the assignment they'd need to work with someone local. More likely, several someones. Some of those would almost certainly need to be law enforcement, probably federal. Brade set to work.

* * *

The man entered the Oval Office in an unhurried but very much not relaxed manner. He moved directly to the single seat in front of the President's desk. He was sweating from walking through the July heat, and should have been grateful to be in one of the few buildings in the capital city with both emergency power and intact air conditioning. Instead, he looked as if every moment, every step, was a personal insult. Small wonder, since he'd been ordered here by the President from the secure bunker where he and many other members of Congress were currently living. It was safe, there. He was settled in, following a routine. Go back outside?! That was dangerous and disruptive!

This was a private meeting; there were no aides here for either him or Sievers. However, a pair of men from the Secret Service stood unobtrusively not far from the visitor. That they were unusually large men was no accident. Sudgrave responded to the President's greeting and extended hand by ignoring both and sitting abruptly. The President had hoped they could at least be civil, but this frosty action disabused her of that expectation.

Mark Sudgrave was a member of the opposition. An ambitious, driven man, he frequently strove - in vain, so far - for the position of his party's leadership in the House. His lack of success was largely due to holding views most of his own party members considered extreme. He had been a thorn in President Sievers' side from well before she won her first-term as President. He had even been overheard - about halfway through that first campaign - suggesting a Constitutional amendment restricting the office of President to men only. He later claimed he was making a joke, but no-one was laughing, then or now. One of his recent actions had actually driven some of his remaining supporters away from him, and small wonder. At a time when everyone should be helping with the aftermath of the War, he was persisting in his personal vendetta against the President. She decided to skip the pleasantries and be direct.

"I want to know why you started impeachment proceedings against me," said Sievers, managing a civil tone.

"You never made a declaration of war!" shouted Sudgrave, throwing his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. Perhaps he expected to shock her. Since he had behaved this way in practically every meeting they'd had, he failed.

"In the first place, they attacked us," said the President, trying to be reasonable. "If I'd gone through the process of a formal declaration of war, we'd have been defeated and occupied before it was completed. The whole war was over well within the permitted sixty days, anyway."

"You've always got an excuse, don't you?" said Sudgrave, acidly. "Well, you're not getting away with it this time!"

"Okay, enough with trying to be polite," said Sievers, angrily. "Mark, in case you hadn't noticed, the war's over and we won. Right now we need to focus on rebuilding and repairing, but you're doing things which will only cause delay. Let it drop."

"Or what? You'll arrest me? Like you did your own Vice-President?"

"Harold is not under arrest."

"Then where is he?" said Sudgrave, stabbing his right index finger down onto her desktop in another practiced, dramatic gesture.

"He and I are not on speaking terms right now. He resigned of his own free will and I am working on a replacement. I suggest you let that matter drop, as well, and let's get back to your own potentially treasonous act."

"The last resort of scoundrels is patriotism!"

"Even if you got that quote right, it would apply to you, not me."

"Me?! How could I possibly be a scoundrel?! Or treasonous?!"

"That's a strange question - and an even stranger attitude - from a man who caused major delays in the acquisition of the Brown Racer fighters and their Harpy missiles," said Sievers, acidly. "One of the few weapons combinations effective against the Shilmek ships. All because of that juicy deal you got for supporting a less capable plane which would have cost much more."

"Now, just a moment..."

"No, you 'just a moment!'" she snapped, suddenly leaning forward and jabbing a finger at him, making him reflexively pull back from one of his own favorite gestures. "You repeatedly and consistently not only voted against every measure I took to defend this planet and this nation, you worked both openly and behind the scenes to sabotage my efforts! You're lucky I have been too busy to have you charged with treason!"

"You... you can't talk to me like that!"

"Wake up, Sudgrave! You were wrong! Wrong about me, about the invasion and about your choice of friends and what actions to back. I will not roll over and let you try and pretend all your mistakes were my fault, much less now than I would have before the War! So either shut up, sit down and do what's best for this country or I'll have the Justice Department accelerate their investigation of your activities in the SuperCharger fighter scandal!"

"That's blackmail!"

"No, that's politics. Something I usually try to avoid. However, if you don't see reason, I will demonstrate - as I have before - that I can play dirty with the worst of them. As much as that would hinder our recovery work, it would stop you from doing something much worse."

She sat back and crossed her arms.

"Now see here...!"

"I believe the President is through," said the Secret Service man who had moved up to his right side.

Sudgrave suddenly realized that he was not going to be allowed to have his say. This was such an unfamiliar experience for him that he was momentarily at a loss. The two Secret Service agents in the room weren't. The took him ungently by the upper arms and shoulders, bodily lifted him from the chair and marched him from the Oval Office.

"God," said the President, after Sudgrave was gone. Alone, now, she put her head in her hands. Do I have to declare martial law just to get the political idiots to back off long enough to handle a national - actually, planet-wide - emergency?!

She'd already declared a state of emergency for the whole country and its possessions. Every US citizen had been affected - over half directly - by the invasion. The least harmed were helping themselves and their own first, and Sievers couldn't fault them for that. She just hoped this little talk would motivate Sudgrave to actually do his job. That would be much better than her using time and resources prosecuting an admittedly good deal maker.

"All right," said the President, straightening and steeling herself. "Let's get back to work."

At least she could currently focus almost entirely on domestic problems. Most of the world was still in shock, with both leaders and citizens focused on fixing the local problems the War had caused. This meant there were currently few international disagreements, and most of those were over resources needed for recovery from the War. Only a few radical voices were starting to blame the attack on their usual enemies. There was even a vague hope among diplomats that the recent, horrible events would bring greater unity to the world. President Sievers held little hope for this. However, one of her priorities - though well down on the list - was to do what she could for both allies and enemies.

* * *

Energia didn't really feel like meeting with her teammates just now. In fact, she didn't feel like doing much of anything. She was on mandatory leave, and had been enjoying the peace and quiet that brought. However, the message had sounded urgent, so here she was. She landed on the roof of the "bakery" and entered the head of the stairs. She then shucked out of her space suit and carefully put it away. One of the benefits of the remodeling was a closet on the top landing there which would recharge her suit. The latest model - which she had received only a few weeks before the War - had stealth features. All the previous ones had been silvery on the outside, like something out of a Sixties TV show. This one had a matt black finish.

As Energia flew down the staircase in Blue Impact's headquarters she heard voices. One of them male.

She went on her guard, just a bit. Then relaxed when she saw that the man was Ike Kenniman; Dr. Device, himself. The others present were her teammates.

"Ah, there she is," said Blue Impact, as Energia lofted over the railing and headed for Gadgetive to give her an affectionate hug. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," said Energia, her tone less enthusiastic than she intended as she gave the two older supers a slightly less warm greeting. "So, what's up?"

"Here we go again," said Gadgetive, grinning.

Energia gave her a puzzled glance.

"You up for a mission this Thursday?" said Ike. He shrugged and grinned. "Sorry about the short notice but we only just learned about it."

"Not another underground base," said Energia, sourly.

"Got it in one!" said Gadgetive, with a smirk.

"Did you really think you'd need all three of you to talk me into it?" said Energia, playfully.

Despite her tiredness, she was actually feeling a bit excited. A dungeon crawl was far better than killing thousands while fighting to defend the Earth. Despite the occasional badgerbear or ambush.

"Brade called Blue Impact and me to see if we thought you two would be okay with a mission when you're supposed to be resting," said Ike. "I found Gadgetive and she said we should make an outing of it; that I should come here and talk to Blue Impact in person, then call you and invite you here for the same purpose."

"So, what's the situation?"

"During the War, the Shilmek bombarded a small section of the Harz Mountains which had no known military presence or infrastructure value," said Ike. "A weak, encoded signal began broadcasting from there. Turns out it was in an old Nazi Army code, one of those they developed after learning Enigma had been beaten. Decoded, it said 'Containment failing,' plus some garbled stuff, over and over. It came to a sputtering stop after three days. Locals told investigators the Nazis had a secret, underground research installation there during - and by some accounts, for several years after - the Second World War. Which, for some reason, they never mentioned to anyone outside the area before.

"Preliminary investigators checking the area encountered problems, some of them fatal. Germany asked President Sievers for help investigating, given recent experience among US supers with this sort of thing. She wants you three and me to give that help."

"Okay," said Energia, thinking it through. "I assume the message was some sort of automated thing..."

"Yeah. Towards the end of the War both sides made major advances in automation. The US developed the Music Box control system - AKA Joe the Cam - for their Argus reconnaissance satellite, as just one example. Because they were running so short on trained people, the Nazis used those technologies much more extensively than the Allies did.

"Anyway, the location is in Bode Gorge, which has a bedrock of Ramberg granite. Great for putting a secure base into, though not so great for easy digging. After the war the area was under Russian control until the Soviet Union collapsed in 1950. Local communists took over until the mid-Sixties. By the time Germany reunited the base was long forgotten."

"We'll work with some national police and a regional super, a woman named Dampf," said Blue Impact. "As her name implies, she has water control powers."

"Okay, I'm in," said Energia. "I'm just a little puzzled about why there's so much concern over this that they're sending us there, instead of having us help with law enforcement or reconstruction work in the US."

"We're all officially on break from that," said Blue Impact. "In fact, we're prohibited from working any more on the reconstruction until next year. All part of the regulations affecting those who were in the thick of the battle; we're on rotation. However, the Germans are putting just about every super they have into recovery projects, straight through until those are done. Meanwhile, folks all over the world are making a point of checking anything the Shilmek paid particular attention to. They seem to have detected things long forgotten, some of which are turning out to be significant, though usually not urgent. This is expected to be a low stress job. We just use our experience to help the locals get in and do a preliminary inspection."

"You know that's not how it's going to turn out," said Energia, again sourly.

"Do you want to help or not?" said Gadgetive, pointedly.

"Well, sure. I'm just saying we need to be ready when things go south."

"Just you be ready by seven tomorrow morning," said Blue Impact, pointedly. "There's several time zones difference between here and there and we'd like to get that valley early enough locally to have time to get a lot of work done that day."

* * *

The memorial service for Buzz - in his home town, at his family's group of plots - was quiet and respectful. That is, pretty much the opposite of what Buzz himself had been. Some confessed later that they were tempted to pull some prank or other, but just didn't have the nerve or the energy.

His family turned out to be good people, though they all seemed mystified as to what Buzz had actually done with his life. Not because they didn't know; they just had trouble understanding what they knew. Which was typical of the impish Buzz.

Back at the Assembly base there was a somewhat less restrained service, which evolved into part wake and part comic eulogy. During this people told stories about the deceased member, and there actually were a couple of pranks pulled. Paula begged off early, but Susan elected to stay a while longer. Back in their quarters, Paula showered and changed into sleepwear, but decided against going to bed just yet. She was still having trouble getting to sleep, on occasion having to use her powers to encourage that. Instead, she browsed the Internet for a while, then did a bit of housecleaning.

That was when she found the bottle of ibuprofen. The one which had given her such trouble several months back. She had put it on the dresser after finally getting the one tablet out, and it was quickly pushed behind something and forgotten.

Paula opened the bottle and deftly dumped a single pill into her left palm. She put that back, then dumped two. Then three. She switched hands and performed the same test, going from left to right, just as successfully. She then put all the pills back, since she didn't actually need them. Her health was perfect, these days.

Too easy, she thought, with a sour expression, as she put the bottle in the medicine cabinet.

So many things were easy, now. However, some of the things she most wanted were hard. A few were very hard. One was impossible.

Paula sighed. She should be happy. She was empowered, perfectly healthy, had a wide range of abilities which she was still learning about, and had the potential to live a very, very long time. She could become Champion, again. She didn't want to.

Why is it different, now? Why am I so dissatisfied?

Paula wondered if her first transformation by Atana had included some sort of psychological alteration, to make her adaptation easier. Or maybe it had all just been so fresh, then... so novel...

She shook her head, and went back to her computer.

* * *

The borrowed VTOL craft circled the large, still steaming crater slowly, staying in the air on direct thrust.

"The mountain... just isn't there anymore!" said Solange, her voice almost a wail.

She hadn't been living there nearly as long as some of the others who were now displaced by the destruction of the Intrepids base. In some ways, though, it was more her home - her refuge - than it had been any of theirs.

"We'll fix it," said the Black Mask, confidently. "Even if we have to build a new mountain to put it in."

"Later, though," said Bowman. "We're fine for now in the old Guild Hall, thanks to the generosity of the Assembly."

"I can't believe how much effort the Shilmek expended on this place," said Jet Jaguar, obviously both astounded and intimidated. "They went deep into the basement rock under the mountain... much deeper than any of our facilities!"

"Our team has repeatedly given the Shilmek trouble," said Bowman, as he turned the craft northeast. He smiled in a satisfied manner. "Just as we did this time."

"This is also one of the places which might have been hosting Queen Tolnar," the Black Mask pointed out.

"I'm worried about funding," said Colossa. "There's so much rebuilding to be done..."

"There's no hurry. We have a good place to operate out of. We've already updated the computer system and installed Bunter."

"Two teams operating out of back-to-back bases just isn't natural," said Rapscallion, in mock outrage. "Should be face-to-face."

He smirked.

"Or doggy style."

Most ignored him. The rest just groaned and looked away.

Part Two

"God damn, I'm a horny bitch!" said Michelle, laughing as she watched Vic pose in the sexy bustier the stylist had bought for the super. "Whooo! You make me wet just standing there, girl!"

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this," said Vic, embarrassed but also incredibly aroused.

"Are you kidding? Your nipples got so hard when we were putting that on you I'm surprised they didn't puncture the fabric!"

Michelle was now a full-fledged stylist, and earning good money. Good enough to move to a better apartment. Vic insisted on paying part of the rent, since she spent most of her weekends and some weeknights here. Being one of the first recruits for the Bureau of Special Resources meant she had a lot of say in her area of assignment.

"So," purred Vic, "do I look good enough to eat?"

Her lover laughed so hard she almost fell off the bed, which made Vic laugh.

"Oh, you naughty, naughty girl! Come here. You need to be punished."

Smiling, heart pounding, Vic sauntered sexily over to Michelle.

"I'm afraid you'll have to help me get this off," she said, in a mock-timid tone. "I'm not that familiar with women's garments."

"Oh, you're going to get off, all right," said Michelle, pulling Vic down on top of her, then rolling them over.

They kissed, long and slow, Vic kneading Michelle's ass while she, frustratingly, did nothing with her hands.

"I hate it when you tease," said Vic, quietly, when they finally took a break.

"It's called foreplay, hun," said Michelle, smiling as she pushed Vic's hair out of her face. "You usually get off pretty quick, but I tend to need more time. So, c'mon, work with me."

"Sure," said Vic, smiling. "Now, can you get me out of this thing?"

"Not yet," said Michelle, back to teasing.

As it turned out, Vic didn't get out of that bustier for nearly two more hours... and then only because Michelle wanted to save water in the shower.

* * *

"Sometimes it doesn't seem fair," said Vic, quietly, much later. "I feel... guilty."

"That so many died or were seriously injured or lost someone they love, and you're here with me?"

Vic nodded, and Michelle hugged her closer.

"I still have trouble believing Cosmic Ray is dead," said Vic, even more quietly. "Poor Doro."

"One of my best customers was a Major in the Army," said Michelle, trying to be calm and not succeeding. Tears formed as she continued. "She was one of those who volunteered to stay at her base and make it look fully occupied. None of them lived."

They hugged, and were silent the rest of the night.

* * *

When Template entered the meeting room in the old Pine base she was surprised to see their Lunie liaison already present. For a moment she thought he was in the wrong place, or that maybe she was. As busy as they all were these days, she wouldn't be surprised if they were both in the wrong room. Then she remembered the Lunies were offering their automated building technology to help with the aftermath of the War. Since this meeting was on what advanced technologies could be applied and how to rebuilding both super facilities and civilian infrastructure, of course he should be there.

"You can't be this eager to talk about advanced construction techniques," said Template, in a tired joke.

"I wanted to catch you early to let you know about something which is probably important but not urgent enough for its own meeting."

"Which is?" said Template.

"Have you heard about the Moon Scouts?" said Jimmy Kent.

"What about the Moon Scouts?" said Template, not really in the mood for an indirect approach.

The Pine Island Academy hadn't been completely untouched by the war, but damage here had been almost trivial. This meant it was being used both to house displaced supers - including some entire teams and the surviving members of other teams - and to help plan the recovery elsewhere. Aside from the Pine base, the Pioneers had moved into their reserve facility on the island while their mainland base was being repaired. They were also hosting a number of supers there.

Most of the job of organizing, overseeing (and occasionally refereeing) these matters fell to Template. Just now, she and Jimmy were in an otherwise empty conference room which Pine had used for presenting his commercial products to prospective buyers. As with so much of that inventor mastermind's work, it was grandiose. The room was much larger than it needed to be, especially vertically, and had a massive oak table. The main display screen - original but refurbished by the school's teachers and students - was likewise more suited to a small theater than a meeting room. The layout was obviously designed to be intimidating.

"Something about all the activity in space during the attack caused that old computer to switch to a different mode," said Jimmy. He shrugged. "Maybe the events triggered a memory or started a subroutine. Whatever it was, the computer suddenly directed all the Scouts - most of whom were busy fighting the Shilmek - towards a single location. Some didn't manage to make it there until after the surrender, but once they were all in one place they were instructed to excavate... something from the solid bedrock. They then used their powers to send it to the Moon."

"Buh?!" said Template, who had only been half listening before, the rest of her mind on the upcoming meeting.

This, though, got her attention. The energy required to move something that far out of the Earth's gravity well... She'd thought the ancient ship housing the computer was badly damaged. If it could still muster that much energy it could present a significant danger.

"Yeah. Some sort of advanced teleportation. This exhausted their powers and left them stranded in civilian form in the middle of the Canadian Shield."

"That's..." Template had been in that region for weeks during her work at that diamond mine. She had a good idea of just how bad that situation might be for someone unpowered, unprepared and unequipped, even during the Summer.

"Fortunately for them, we detected the disturbance caused by the teleportation. Also, their excavation caused seismic disturbances which were already being investigated by the Canadian government. They were worried it was either more Shilmek activity or someone taking advantage of the post-War confusion to do something bad."

"So they were rescued."

"Yeah. They're rather depressed and confused. They were depowered and cut off from contact with their... I guess you could say sponsor, completely without warning or explanation. It simply left them stranded and pretty much helpless."

"So what does the computer have to say about all this?" said Template, starting to feel worried.

"So far, it hasn't communicated with us, even though we've called it repeatedly. However, we are detecting considerable activity. We think it's completing the repairs to get underway. Hopefully, it'll leave the Moon and go back wherever it came from."

"Great," said Template, with a gusty sigh. "One more thing to worry about."

* * *

The large apergy travel pod settled silently and gracefully onto the grassy meadow. Six uniformed German police officers - members of the Bundespolizei - plus a man in a suit and a woman in a costume waited by their own two vehicles for the three women and one man to exit the pod. Beyond the Germans was a pile of fresh rubble, and beyond that a pair of large, old-looking metal doors, set into a face of cut rock, under an overhang of same.

"Wow," said Energia, looking around and seeming impressed. "Reminds me of my family's trip to the Red River Gorge, only moreso. Gorgeous!"

"It's trees and rocks," said Gadgetive, with a shrug.

The man in the suit led the procession to greet the quartet.

"Karl Schmidt, of the Bundeskriminalamt," he said, shaking hands all around. He gestured towards the woman. "This is Dampf, one of our premier costumed law enforcement officers."

"I am very pleased to meet you," said Dampf, smiling as she also shook hands.

Her English wasn't as smooth at Schmidt's, but still quite understandable. She wore a full-body costume in shades of blue and green. However, there was no mask, only a snug-fitting hood which left her entire face bare. It looked much like some cold water swimming suits.

Schmidt next introduced the uniformed officers. They nodded, but said nothing and did not offer to shake hands.

"Until we determine what is inside this mountain, only we six will enter," said Schmidt, sternly, indicating the supers and himself. "These men will maintain a cordon around whatever entrance we use."

"We saw what looked like several fresh craters and a large sinkhole along a line below that ridge," said Blue Impact, pointing. "That last and the very impressive steel doors over there seem to be the only ways in."

"Those are all we have found, as well," said Schmidt, nodding. "The first team lowered themselves into the sinkhole on climbing ropes. Their investigation was barely started when they triggered a rock slide, with disastrous results for them. As for the doors..."

Blue Impact nodded, immediately understanding that opening those doors without heavy equipment or high explosives would likely require powers.

"Was the sinkhole caused by the Shilmek attack?" said Ike.

"Yes. They blasted the ridge in several places, but when they struck there it punched through into some sort of cavity, likely artificial. For some reason that seemed to satisfy them, and they ceased fire.

"We weren't certain why they bombarded this mountain," said Schmidt, "but that combined with the signal we soon detected coming from here made us very concerned, so as soon as we could we sent a patrol here to examine it.

"The attack also uncovered that large portal behind me. From what we have learned, it was apparently covered deliberately late in the Second World War, or immediately after. The locals tell us there was some sort of extensive installation here, begun by the Nazis in Nineteen Forty-three. Something completely absent from our records."

"Secret Nazi base of unknown purpose with at least some equipment still functioning," said Ike, nodding. "Yeah. I can understand the concern. Let's get busy."

* * *

Energia flew over and around the hole, taking her time. This was great flying weather and terrain, the most fun she'd had in the air since before the War. The hole was more than deep enough for her to drop completely out of sight, and roughly as wide as a basketball court. She hovered above the chaotic rubble in the bottom for a while, noting with a shudder a few splotches of blood left by the previous explorers. She didn't land or even touch anything, just looked with normal and super senses and used the camera Gadgetive had given her. The video was sent in real time to the flyer, where the others watched. After completing a thorough examination of the hole, she flew straight up, to well above the treetops. From there she took video of the rest of the damaged areas. Then, a bit reluctantly, she concluded her survey and returned to where the others waited.

"They punched through the rock and a thick layer of concrete with a lot of rebar," she said. "It's all a tumble of rubble. I didn't see any way in. You'd probably need heavy construction equipment working for months to make one. If there's anything left besides the rubble."

"There is," said Dr. Device, with a confident nod. "I took magnetometer and gravimeter readings as we flew over. Besides whatever is immediately beyond those massive doors, there's a huge complex of chambers and tunnels under this mountain. Some of the chambers are surprisingly large."

Energia handed the camera back, then Gadgetive restarted the show. The flying super watched with the others as the young inventor paused, zoomed, enhanced and so forth. After a second play-through with a bit more tinkering, she was satisfied. Gadgetive put away the large, mobile screen she'd used to show the video and copied it to three memory sticks. One went to the uniformed police. One to the plainclothes policeman. One to Dampf.

"What do you suppose could be in there?" said Energia, puzzled. "What would they want to have out here, away from industry, railroads, highways, centers of population..."

"Typically, these installations were used for multiple purposes," said Ike, with a shrug. "Oh, they'd build something for one or two connected purposes, but they would subsequently accumulate more uses as the War went more and more against them."

"Why here?" said Blue Impact.

"All that rock overhead gives good protection against both detection and attack," said Ike. "Also, in places like this you can start in the side of the valley and dig in relatively easily on the horizontal, instead of having to dig down from level ground."

"During that time of the war," said Schmidt, "the Nazis were starting to work on major, sustained efforts for creating super weapons. They were still largely holding their own with their existing technologies, but both sides had been working on improving things since even before the War began, and both sides knew the other would continue. Given the heavy bombing campaign waged by the Allies, it made sense to place some installations in isolated areas, deep underground."

"All right," said, Ike, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "Next order of business, then, is a detailed examination of those doors. Dampf, if I remember correctly you can not only control water, but detect it and move through it?"

"Those are correct, yes," said the German super, nodding. "I become one with the water. I have moved through underground rivers before, to help miners and spelunkers in trouble."

"Excellent. These old bases often have flooded sections, so those abilities will be useful in multiple ways."

The supers and police walked the short hike to the exposed doors. The members of the Bundespolizei stopped at the base of the pile of debris which had fallen away from the artificial cliff face in which the massive doors were installed, while the six investigators clambered up that to the doors.

"First, let's look for gaps..." said Ike, rubbing his chin as he examined the portal.

"We have already done that," said Schmidt, perhaps a bit stiffly. "You can see where we even cleared the rubble away from the base."

"How high on the doors did you check?"

"To about halfway up."

Between Dr. Device and Gadgetive using drones and Energia flying on her own while carrying instruments the others provided, they soon completed the examination.

"Impressive," said Ike. "A fit like that of a quality safe door. We can't sneak a fiberoptic scope in, or anything else. Annoyingly, the doors are thick enough we can't get good scans through them, either."

He looked at Dampf.

"I have no sense of any water beyond, aside from expected humidity."

"So, we need to do this the hard way," said Energia, with a sigh.

* * *

One thing to their advantage, the original builders had - much as had the builders of cathedrals - recognized the inconvenience of opening those huge doors for the passage of mere humans. There was a person-sized door installed in the right large one. However, it was as thick and well-fitted as the larger doors. A few test thumps by Blue Impact revealed it was as securely fastened, as well.

"Not encouraging," said Gadgetive, running her hand over the outside of the smaller door. "I bet this thing was designed to only be opened from the inside."

"So who closed the door before they dropped part of the mountain on it, back in the Forties?" said Blue Impact. She didn't say anything, but worried they might find piles of long-dead bodies; murdered slave workers and their suicided masters. None of them needed that; especially not after what some of them had been through in the Shilmek War.

"Probably they had a smaller exit somewhere else," said Ike. "That's pretty standard. Some sort of escape shaft to the surface. Good luck finding it, though. Even if you do, they probably filled it in after the last man came out. That's also standard practice."

"So you want me to try and cut around the edges?" said Energia, starting to get impatient.

"Before we cause any damage, I wish to document as much of the operation as possible," said Schmidt.

He had one of the uniformed officers fetch a bag from his car. Inside was a slightly aged but good quality video recorder, with a tripod and lamp. He set this up and panned around as he gave a brief explanation in German. Meanwhile, the technical pair discussed the optimum approach for penetrating the door, complete with equations.

"I'm starting to feel like the odd one out here," said Blue Impact. "This door is far beyond my strength."

"You will likely find more purpose here than I," said Dampf, wryly. "My main use is to represent our government. As is herr Schmidt's."

"I'm not going to complain until we get inside," said Energia, with a contented sigh. "Just being out here, seeing these mountains and forests, breathing this wonderful air, is making me feel better than I have in a long while."

In the end the gadgeteers decided to kludge together a tunable cutting laser and use the power supply of the flyer. Out here, away from utilities, Energia had no quick way to recharge, so they were holding her in reserve for the moment.

"Same thing, every time," said Energia, in a mock-critical tone as she leaned against the flyer and watched the pair work. "Those two get involved in something technical and we two do nothing or are just used for fetch and carry or guard duty."

"Until the screaming starts and we have a big battle," said Blue Impact, from where she sat on a boulder nearby.

"Oh, yeah. Then they appreciate us."

"You two keep that up," said Gadgetive, in a stage mutter, as she and Ike worked, "and you can program the DVR next time."

"No choice," said Blue Impact, dryly. "You tossed the manual."

"I love the way you three interact," said Dampf, smiling. "It is obvious you are very good friends for a long time."

"What about me?" said Dr. Device. "I interact."

"Sorry, Ike, but you are literally the odd man out, here," said Blue Impact, grinning. "Only an auxiliary member."

The laser completed, Ike and Gadgetive loaded it into the flyer and brought that to the narrow cleared space in front of the doors. Once the device was out, Blue Impact flew the vehicle back to its previous location, to clear the area in front of the doors. She then ran a high-temperature superconductor cable from the flitter to the laser.

"Looks good," said Ike, after a brief inspection. "Now, you folks better get to cover. There'll be a lot of scatter from this and only Gadgetive and I have protection."

"Speak for yourself," said Energia, with a tight, smug grin.

"Oh. Right."

They tuned the laser first to the frequency at which the outer layer of corrosion was most absorbent. After tracing once slowly around the edge of the small door with that - basically to clean the surface - they switched to the frequency the bare metal best absorbed.

The work was slow, due to the laser being used at a low power setting. This was because they wanted to reduce the chance of damaging things on the other side. However, in a bit under an hour they had the door cut free. Energia and Blue Impact worked the thick slab of armor steel loose and pushed it in, then to one side. Beyond lay darkness.

"No power," said Ike, reaching through the opening with a probe.

"I'm sensing something in the distance," said Energia, frowning in concentration. "Faint, though."

"Yeah, there's something generating both AC and RF in there," said Gadgetive, using her own probe. "It's a good ways in, but definite."

"Just how extensive is this place?" said Blue Impact.

"It could go on for several kilometers," said Dampf.

"It does," said Ike, nodding.

They gathered their lights and other equipment, and entered.

* * *

Yes, Energia is genre aware. :-)

Masks Sixteen: Part Three

by

Rodford Edmiston

"Could you do some narration, please?" said Schmidt, still recording as he walked at the rear with the camera, which now had the large, top-mounted lamp turned on. "I am not a veteran videographer, and wish to concentrate on this process."

"Typical mid-War Nazi construction," said Ike, looking around as they proceeded - slowly - into the base. He pointed out the features as he described them. "The cave walls are somewhat smoothed but not really finished, the installation of the pipes and beams is a bit rough and everything is oversized to make up for the lack of quality and the possibility of bombing... Late in the War, of course, things were of much lower quality and much more brute force to compensate, while early in the War a tunnel like this would resemble a subway station."

"You all right?" said Energia, moving close to Gadgetive and speaking in a low voice, as Ike continued.

"Mostly," she replied, with a shiver. "I lost family to these maniacs, I knew that, but this is the first time it's... personal."

Energia didn't have anything to say in response to that, so she just nodded.

There were light fixtures, but the explorers didn't even bother looking for switches with no power detected here. The air was damp but only a bit stale. In a moment of quiet, they could hear water dripping in the distance.

"Spooky..." said Energia, with a slight shiver.

"Yeah," said Gadgetive. "The other places were smaller, not as echoey."

"I dunno," said Energia, quietly. "That tunnel in the old Pine base was pretty echoey. Maybe it's because I know who built this, but it seems... more sinister."

They saw a few items scattered along the corridor; scraps of wood, cloth and paper; rusted tools and parts; things less identifiable. None were deemed worth more than a brief examination. Fortunately, there were no bodies. Some of the items on the floor - and the floor itself - were covered in a thin layer of fine grit mixed with dust, while others lay on top of that layer.

"I'm assuming most of the debris on the floor was stirred up by the bombardment," said Ike. "Indoors dust is largely shed human skin cells, and there aren't supposed to have been any humans in here for decades."

"Eeewww..." said Energia.

Eventually, they could see a branching ahead, a smaller tunnel going off to the right at a forty-five degree angle. Just past the split they could see what looked like factory equipment in the main corridor.

"Looks like the small one goes uphill from here," said Energia, pointing right. "Command center more likely that way?"

"Your guess is as good and any," said Blue Impact, with a shrug.

"We do not separate," said Schmidt.

"I definitely have no problem with that," said Gadgetive, fervently.

There was a closed and locked security gate just inside the entrance to the smaller hallway. This was only a minor impediment to the explorers.

"Well, it has to be protecting something," said Blue Impact, as she tore the rusty lock open.

"I'm sensing power ahead," said Energia, frowning in concentration. "It's weak, though."

"Lights off for a moment," said Ike, leading by example.

After a few seconds, they could see dim light coming down the tunnel. They put their own lights back on and, encouraged, hurried ahead.

"Okay, watch for security devices," said Blue Impact, making sure she was in front.

"She is invulnerable?" said Dampf.

"Nobody's invulnerable," said Gadgetive, absently, watching her palmtop's display of sensor readings. "She's pretty tough, though."

Moments later they were in a small chamber, obviously some sort of combined office and control center. There were more fluorescent fixtures overhead, but those were also dark. The light came from indicator lamps on some of the equipment, shining through a thin layer of dust.

"You are not going to tell me that those have been burning this whole time," said Gadgetive, fists on hips, staring defiantly at the bulbs.

"At low, steady voltage an incandescent bulb can last for more than a century," said Ike, confidently. "Though I think these came on just recently, in response to whatever the Shilmek attack did to this place."

"Wiring's hot, but weak," said Energia, looking around with more than her eyes.

"Let's not turn anything on, then," said Blue Impact. She quickly examined the room. "I don't see a radio."

"This was a manager's office," said Ike, looking carefully but not touching. "We can find the radio room later."

There were other corridors leading in three directions from the room. However, what most attracted their attention was a manila envelope on the desk with the active equipment, which had ACHTUNG! hand written in large, block letters on it still showing clearly through the dust. Ike reached for it, but Schmidt stopped him.

"This is my job," he said, firmly. He handed his camera to Dampf. Then, carefully, he lifted the envelope from where it had been left on the desk in front of one of the control panels. Despite that care, he stirred a considerable amount of gritty dust.

"Paper's so brittle I'm not sure... Ah, there we go."

Perhaps because it was a better quality paper, the document inside was in much better condition than the envelope. There were several pages of typed material and diagrams, bound together with a paperclip. Schmidt peered at the top sheet.

"'Beware the Narrow One! The power to his containment must not be interrupted for even the slightest moment!' Then there's a map and much technical writing."

"What do they mean by 'Narrow One'?" said Ike, confused.

"In German, it is der Schmale."

"That guy who could create a dimensional fold, effectively making himself thinner?" said Blue Impact, frowning. "I remember him from one of the classes we teach on Pine Island. He fought for the Nazis during the War. At first he was just used for espionage and assassination, but he kept expanding his abilities. By the last time anyone heard of him, he was fantastically powerful. Then he just disappeared."

"Last time anyone saw him was in the Fall of 1945," said Gadgetive, nodding as she also remembered her Masks history classes. "Allied Command actually looked for him. Since he was so effective they worried what the Nazis were saving him for. Figured it was something big. He never showed, though."

"Well, one thing we now know," said Schmidt, as he finished skimming the pages. "His real name was Albrecht Jentzsch."

* * *

"Wow," said Energia. "So, uh, where..."

"This..." said Schmidt, who appeared to be developing an ulcer. He looked vaguely - almost desperately - around for a moment, as if trying to find a solution somewhere in that room, then sighed. "I must contact my superiors. I will go outside and use my satellite phone. Please continue your exploration, but do not alter anything."

"Understood," said Blue Impact. "However, if you let the gadgeteers scan those pages, they can start mapping this place and determining what it was for."

"Ah. Of course."

That took only a few minutes. Then Schmidt nodded to them - specifically, Dampf - carefully gathered the papers and left.

"So much for not splitting up," said Energia, her voice slightly sing-song.

"Oh, come on," said Ike, as he perused the scans on his palmtop. "It's a short, straight run to the main tunnel, and a slightly longer but just as direct path to the door. We've already been through there; there's nothing to worry about."

"You just had to say that," muttered Energia.

"Do you read German?" said Dampf, to Dr. Device.

"Oh, yeah. Did some graduate work at Heidelberg."

"Me, too," said Gadgetive, sounding distracted as she also studied the document. "The German, I mean. Never been to school outside the US, except for that one conference in Canada."

"For some reason, gadgeteers and masterminds are good with languages," said Blue Impact, grinning.

"So now I am not needed even for translation," said Dampf, with a sigh, though she kept the camera going.

"Wait," said Energia. "I thought you were second in command. With Schmidt gone, you're in charge."

"Oh! You are right. Well... Carry on, then!"

She smiled as she said it, grateful they were at least trying to include her.

"Gadgetive..." said Ike, remembering something, "you recall those plans you sent me of Gortner's dimensional fold machine?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding.

"The what?" said Dampf.

"Mastermind inventor," said Energia. "Had thieves steal a bunch of high tech equipment to build a device which he planned to use to raid alternate dimensions."

"So what does that have to do with... Here?" said Blue Impact.

"They trapped der Schmale in a dimensional pocket," said Ike. "At least, that's my preliminary guess."

"What a way to go," said Energia, with a shudder. "Wonder if he suffocated or dehydrated first..."

"Wait," said Blue Impact. "If they trapped him decades ago, why the warning about releasing him? Surely he was dead by the time they abandoned this facility..."

"They trapped him in November of 1945," said Ike, checking the notes. "They closed the facility in January of 1947, two months after the surrender. If this is right, they spent most of the time between making sure the containment would last as long as possible."

"They were that worried..." said Blue Impact, shocked.

"Which means we should be, too," said Energia.

* * *

While Gadgetive and Ike worked on the diagrams, the others used the video camera to carefully document what they could in the room. They were careful not to touch things any more than they had to.

"Okay, correlating the diagrams from that envelope with the scans we made outside, it looks like that last hit by the Shilmek took out the main power distribution room," said Ike, finally, frowning as he rubbed his chin.

"What's the power source?"

"Underground river."

"That is what I have been feeling!" said Dampf. She gave them a smug grin. "Perhaps I will be useful on this expedition after all."

"They installed a small dam, flooding the lower part of a natural chamber," said Ike, scrolling his palmtop to show them the specific diagram. "They have some sort of generator at the dam. Don't know what would run unattended for so long, but all of that should have been untouched by the attack."

"Which destroyed the main power distribution room," said Blue Impact, pointedly. "Is there an auxiliary?"

"Three, actually. Added as rush projects when they decided to abandon the base. They should be handling the load for the containment device with no problem between them. Even if only two were working."

"Okay, look at these readings," said Gadgetive, pointing to the control panels. "The one for the main power distribution room is completely dead. No surprise. These three over here must be for the auxiliary units. They're all showing trouble."

"They each show a different problem," said Ike, frowning.

"Yeah," Gadgetive, nodding. "One is dead, one is handling too little power, and the third is overloading."

"Damn..." said Ike, rubbing his chin some more. "Okay, we need to get to those rooms..."

"That is a decision only Schmidt can make," said Dampf, firmly.

"Speaking of which, where is he?" said Blue Impact. "He's been gone a long time for just a call."

"Knowing our superiors, this is not a surprising interval," said Dampf, her tone wry. "However, perhaps we should go and tell him what we have discovered."

"All of us?" said Gadgetive, apparently reluctant to leave the room. Despite all the eagles and swastikas on documents and decorations. As long as there was antique tech to examine, she was happy.

"He told us to continue our exploration," said Blue Impact, after a moment of thought. "We leave a note telling where we've gone, then get eyes on the situation with the power supply."

She looked at Dampf. Who dithered for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. He specifically said to explore. So, which tunnel?"

"The one on the right, again," said Ike. "It leads further into the mountain, as well as deeper. Straight to the dam and generator, if I'm reading these diagrams right. If all three auxiliary power supply rooms are reporting a problem it's probably at the source."

* * *

"Naturally, it can't be that easy," said Energia in a stage mutter as they looked at the pile of fallen debris.

"It doesn't quite go all the way to the top," said Ike, standing on tip-toe and peering. "We should at least be able to clear crawl space. The rock fracture overhead is conchoidal, so it has formed a dome and is probably stable."

"I suggest you folks stand back, then," said Blue Impact, miming pushing up her sleeves.

Indeed, in just a few minutes she had made enough of a path to scramble through. On the other side of the fall they spent a moment to catch their collective breaths and examine the tunnel.

"Yeah, we're almost there," said Ike, nodding. "I can hear water running."

"I can feel a current, as well," said Dampf.

"I smell smoke," said Blue Impact, who had the most sensitive nose. "Like something electrical burned out."

They soon stepped into a large, natural cavern, mostly flooded. They shone their lights around, Energia actually lifting off and making her whole body glow to illuminate the chamber.

"Ok, I can see a problem - probably the problem - right away," said Ike. He pointed. "There are four transformers over there: One big and three medium. Presumably, the big one goes to the main power room. However, one of the three others is obviously damaged, probably from an internal fire."

They hurried along the obvious trail to the concrete pad poured for the equipment, heading straight for the damaged secondary transformer. Energia shut off her glow, and dropped down to fly alongside the others.

"It's dead," said Energia. She flew along the cable for a bit, towards a panel on posts near the dam. "Yeah. There's a set of switch boxes over here, and one relay is tripped."

"Schmidt said not to alter anything," said Ike, pulling out a socket set. "However, this is already out of service."

"Continue, then," said Dampf, swinging the camera from Energia to him. "This still is under the category of exploring. In this specific case, learning why this failed."

With a side panel off, Ike made a quick visual exam, then pulled out a multimeter and clipped leads to wires.

"It'd take days to rewind this," he said, sighing. "Let's try the big one."

It proved to be in much better shape.

"Okay, if I'm right all we have to do is switch output cables."

"Okay," said Dampf, thinking it through. "Make those alterations, but do not actually switch on yet."

"Understood."

With Energia and Blue Impact doing most of the lifting and toting, they soon had the change made.

"You both are filthy," said Energia, almost laughing at the two gadgeteers. "Blue Impact isn't as dirty as you, and she was carrying things in her arms!"

"Old transformers can get pretty nasty," said Gadgetive, with an aggravated sigh.

"I'd go and wash downstream of the dam," said Ike, wistfully, "but this stuff would pollute who knows what?"

"There is a major above-ground river not far downhill from here," said Dampf, sternly. "This water heads in that direction."

"We'll just do what we can with wipes, then," said Ike, with a sigh of his own.

"Why get cleaned up now, when you may just have to get dirty again fixing something else?" said Blue Impact.

"Because ever since little-miss-I-don't-have-to-touch-things-to-move-them made her comment, I've felt grimy," said Gadgetive. "Besides, there's plenty of cleaning gear in the flyer."

After cleaning as best they could - and bagging all their trash, at Dampf's insistence - Ike decided to try and decipher the workings of the power source.

"I'll be damned," said Ike, as he examined the structure. "Uh, pun not intended. This is all but certainly pozzolanic concrete."

"Which is?" said Blue Impact.

"Roman concrete," said Gadgetive, nodding. "Very good at resisting the effects of water; will even set up while submerged. Yeah, that would explain it holding up so well. The Pantheon is still going strong after two millennia, after all."

"Still no idea how the generator works," said Dr. Device, with a shrug. "Everything here is either stainless steel, heavily galvanized non-stainless, aluminum, a polymer or completely encased in something impervious."

"Well, you should - eventually - be granted permission to dissect the thing," said Blue Impact. "After we've determined just how much of a threat remains."

"What happens when the containment device runs on low power?" said Energia.

"The most likely scenario is that the dimensional pocket would slowly shrink until the remaining amount of power could hold it at the new size. Shrink it enough, though, and it squirts him back into this world. No idea how long that could take."

"Could it have already happened?"

"Sure. However, something is still drawing a lot of power. Enough that the pocket likely stabilized at a smaller size."

"I hear someone in the tunnel," said Blue Impact, turning.

Moments later, they could see a light approaching. Soon, Schmidt was back among them.

"They said under no circumstances are we to alter any functioning equipment." He looked at the work done on the transformers, and his eyes went wide.

"Those were and still are non-functional," said Dampf, quickly. "We examined the equipment and made an improvised repair, but have not switched on the current."

"Good."

He sighed, looking tired.

"They want him released. There were documents - and finding them to confirm is what took so long - that he was imprisoned because he turned against Hitler and the Nazis. That he was threatening to end the War himself if Germany did not surrender. By doing to the high command what he had previously done for them."

"Then our next task is to find the containment room," said Ike.

"Lead on, Macduff!" said Blue Impact, with a broad sweep of her arm.

Part Four

Except presumably for Dampf, the only way in or out of the chamber - at least while it was flooded - was back the way they came. They trooped along the sloped corridor up to the "management" room and took the central tunnel. According to the diagrams, this was level for a distance, then after passing the radio room and several laboratories, it descended steeply to the containment chamber. This was nearly as deep as the generator room under the mountain.

However, as they walked along Blue Impact - again in the lead - stopped, held up a hand to the others and listened, frowning in concentration after they stopped.

"What is it?" said Ike, quietly.

"I swear, I hear voices. Mixed languages, but mostly German."

"Could someone have beaten us inside?" said Energia, to Schmidt.

"It's... possible. Though very unlikely. The entire area has been under guard since shortly after the signal was detected."

"If someone is there, they're having a party," said Blue Impact. "I hear music, too."

"Could be someone just left the radio on," said Ike, innocently. Which elicited a rolling of the eyes by Gadgetive.

They proceeded more cautiously. Soon, they could see light ahead, and all of them heard the voices and other sounds.

Blue Impact motioned for the others to wait while she moved ahead to peek around the door frame. She stared for a moment, then came back to them. She appeared puzzled.

"There's a guy in black pants, white shirt and red suspenders, wearing old-fashioned wire-frame glasses, with antique headphones on, sitting in front of banks of radios."

"Could that be der Schmale?" said Gadgetive, startled. She looked at Schmidt, who shrugged, obviously well out of his depth with this unexpected turn of events.

"We could go ask him..." said Ike, glancing down the corridor.

Blue Impact nodded, turned around and walked back to the doorway, the others trailing. Schmidt was well behind the group as a whole, while Dampf stayed in the middle. The two Germans seemed unaccountably nervous. It was only now that Blue Impact realized the camera was no longer in use. Maybe it had run out of memory or power? She shook her head, and reminded herself to keep her mind on the business at hand.

Blue Impact got to the large, open doorway - everyone but Schmidt close behind - and knocked, loudly, on the steel frame. The man with the earphones jumped, and spun around as he yanked them off his head. They could see now that he also wore a black bow tie. He stared blankly for a moment.

"" said Ike.

"Ja," said the man, looking uneasy.

"Okay, even I understood that," said Energia. "Now, if we can just get him to turn down those radios so we can talk..."

"My apologies," he said, in heavily accented English.

He began turning off radios, not even rising but scooting around the room on the wheels of his chair. With the noise gone, he stood and gave a slight bow.

"I am at your service."

Schmidt now chose to step forward, though not too far forward. He introduced himself and the others, in German. The stranger nodded.

"I apologize if I seem... nervous," said the slim, smiling man, who looked more uncomfortable than nervous. "I was hoping to put off actually meeting with anyone for a while, yet."

He gestured at the banks of antique radios.

"I am still trying to catch up with the future."

"You know you were imprisoned for more than sixty-five years?" said Schmidt, switching back to English.

"Yes. That was quite a shock. I had no idea those fanatics would be so... vindictive."

"So why did they imprison you?" said Energia, earning a brief glare from Schmidt.

"I... had an attack of conscience. Killing the enemies of our nation in war was one thing. When I learned that they were simply slaughtering millions of non-combatants..."

He sighed and shook his head.

"I was naive. I thought I could persuade or perhaps intimidate Hitler and his cronies."

He gave a sour laugh. Then he saw their expressions.

"Yes. Stupid."

Actually, hearing someone talk about persuading or intimidating Hitler and his inner circle had reminded the others in the room of the history behind this place... and this man. There was a moment of silence after that. Finally, Schmidt sighed, and turned to Ike Kenniman.

"Would you please take your team on to the confinement room?" said Schmidt, quietly, to Blue Impact. "Make certain all is secure there."

"Of course," said Ike. He glanced over at Dampf and Jentzsch. The two were hesitantly trying to start a conversation, but were encountering difficulty. Perhaps Schmidt thought that having just the three Germans there would help ease the feeling of awkwardness. He spoke quietly. "You certain you don't want any of us to stay here with you?"

"Yes," said Schmidt, likewise. "Thinking upon it, the only criminal or war crime accusations against him involved the assassinations of enemy officers. While the reports were that he was ruthless and later in the War needlessly violent, I am now wondering how much of that was simply wartime exaggeration and propaganda."

* * *

"So much for war propaganda," said Gadgetive, smirking. They passed darkened laboratories on both sides, but they could now make out light ahead. "He seems like a nice guy."

"Maybe," said Dr. Device, looking thoughtful. "That's not what's bothering me. Did you notice how Dampf keeps referring to Schmidt as herr rather than using his law enforcement title?"

"I've done that, back in the US, using sir," said Energia, shrugging. "Usually because I couldn't remember whether someone was a Detective, Lieutenant or what."

"Given her long history of working with law enforcement - in Germany, all costumed supers are either approved by the law or wanted by it - you'd expect her to know and use the proper title."

"Did you notice that the video camera has been off since shortly after we left the power room?" said Blue Impact.

"No, I hadn't," said Ike, startled.

They reached the downward portion of the corridor; a steep section more like a ramp than a hallway. The light was now more noticeable. They barely needed their own lamps.

At the bottom of the slope they found a short, level hall. At the end of that was the containment chamber.

"Wow," said Gadgetive, as they walked through the propped-open double doors into the room, "that's huge!"

In the center of the chamber was a massive device which looked less like Gortner's dimensional fold machine than an early particle accelerator. Massive cables ran between it and dusty consoles all around the room. The fluorescent lights were on, giving the room a more thorough but much more stark illumination than their hand lamps would have.

"Old-time tech," said Ike, smiling and nodding as he walked around it. He carefully put a hand on the device. "It's mostly shut down, too, and has been for a while. What is on is barely warm, barely running. So what's using all the power?"

"All that radio equipment..." said Energia.

"Yeah," said Gadgetive, nodding. "A bunch of old, AM and shortwave tube radios - especially heavy-duty military base equipment - would eat a lot of current. Though some of the consoles in here are still on, too..."

"That's not what I meant. I didn't see any antennae or sense any RF outside. Even receivers, especially those old tube ones, emit some RF. I could definitely feel it once we got close to the radio room."

"You're right," said Gadgetive, frowning.

"He could have put up a simple longwave dipole," said Ike. "He might not have had the radios on when we arrived. The radio room wasn't all that warm."

"This whole thing stinks," said Blue Impact, scowling. She had the most experience among the quartet with crime fighting, including detective work. "What's up with Schmidt and Dampf? Their bosses ask for our help, in case there's something weird here, and the weirder it's turned out to be the more they seem to want us to leave."

Ike looked curiously over at Energia, who was walking slowly around the machine, staring at it intently.

"What?"

"You're right that there's only a low current flow," she said, slowly, "but... there's still some sort of distinct spatial strain present. Like a... dimple... in space..."

* * *

"This equipment is in surprisingly good shape," said Ike. He looked up and around the ceiling, using his hand lamp on the shadowed areas. "Over-designed components. Redundant backups. Don't know what that paint is, but it sealed the room very well. So, no water damage. There's almost no oxidation, either."

"There's something else," said Energia. "This room is a dead zone. A Faraday cage. The only EMF I'm getting from outside is coming through the open door."

"Ike, there's barely even any dust on this stuff," said Gadgetive. "I also don't see any vents."

"I wonder if the room was hermetically sealed and filled with an inert gas," said Ike, in a distracted manner. "Even the ends of the conduits they drove through the rock look sealed."

"So it's very well preserved," said Blue Impact, nodding. "That explains why it kept working for so long."

"It's more than that," said Dr. Device, apparently Officially Impressed. "I would like to give it a detailed examination first, and maybe a cleaning, but my guess is you could run this back up to full power without a problem. Let's just hope we don't have to..."

"That's good to hear," said Dampf, surprising them as she walked into the chamber. She looked... tired. "I am afraid this situation has not gone as expected. We thought perhaps to find dangerous equipment left from secret War research projects. Instead, we have a German citizen who is a refugee from another time. Thank you for your help; you have, indeed, greatly speeded our investigation. However, we must now ask you to leave. There are... political complications. I'm certain you understand."

"Yeah," said Gadgetive, in an angry mutter, "we understand."

Neither Schmidt nor Jentzsch were in the still quiet radio room when they walked by, Dampf behind them as if to usher them on. However, Energia noticed that someone had pulled the lead wires from the back of one of the sets and left them hanging loose off the edge of the table it was on.

I bet they were using whatever antenna that's connected to to talk outside on Schmidt's radio, thought Energia. Though that still doesn't explain where the antenna is.

Dampf guided them all the way out into the main tunnel, where Schmale and Schmidt could be heard but not seen, much further along that huge chamber, deep in the machinery.

"What's all this for, anyway?" said Gadgetive, gesturing at the part of the large hall they hadn't explored. "That's a lot more than you'd need to produce the confinement projector."

"It turns out this facility was meant to produce..." Dampf hesitated, frowning. "Die elecktrisch Glocken? Electric bells?"

"Oh, those," said Ike, his tone dismissive. "They'd never have worked independently."

"Ah," said Dampf, trying to look enlightened but not completely succeeding. "Well, I know they brought herr Jentzsch here on a pretense, claiming that by studying him they could not only understand how to make the bells work, but improve his own powers. He is now giving herr Schmidt a tour, and I am supposed to join them. Again, thank you for your help. I believe you know the way out."

She looked very uncomfortable as she turned away, waving awkwardly over her shoulder.

"All right," said Blue Impact, with a sigh. She started walking - though slowly - towards to the entrance. "Might as well head back."

"Couldn't we sneak around some?" said Gadgetive. "I've only seen that one bell in that museum, and they won't even open it to let you look inside."

"What are these bells?" said Energia.

"Devices which were supposed to use a vacuum engine to generate energy, which would then react with the Earth's magnetic and electrical fields to fly." Ike shook his head. "Idiots."

"Well, some of us have to go to a ceremony in DC in a few days," said Blue Impact, smiling at Energia. "I'm just glad we got through here before that mess."

"Not looking forward to that," said the younger super.

"I know," said Blue Impact. "However, if we want to further acceptance of supers among various factions, this is part of that."

"Then, back to college," said Energia, with a tired sigh. She stopped as they approached the massive doors, raising her hands. "Hold on. Can we not just walk outside blindly?"

Ike started to chastise her for being paranoid, then remembered how often she'd been right. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small container.

"Okay, was saving these in case there were areas we couldn't get into."

He opened the phial and poured the contents - which looked like fine, grey sand - onto the already gritty floor. He then used his palmtop to enter some commands. The "sand" stirred, and evaporated.

"Micromechanical drones," said Ike, proudly, watching his palmtop. "Okay, the Bundespolizei are out there, keeping watch. Nothing suspicious. Not even straight up, above the entrance."

He entered more commands, and the swarm of tiny mechanical gnats returned, pouring into the phial, which he had laid on the floor for that purpose. Ike put his palmtop away and capped the container.

"Satisfied?"

"For now," said Energia, in a mock-ominous tone.

They walked outside, paused for a moment, blinking in the afternoon sunlight, then moved past the police officers to their travel pod. The six men watched in stone-faced silence and the supers flew away.

* * *

Energia was very uncomfortable as she mingled with the other invitees to this special awards ceremony. The weather was typically stifling for August in Washington. Not helping dealing with the heat was the fact that she wore her formal costume, which was not only a bit snug these days, it was far from her coolest. Of course, with the power still off in much of the city it would have been worse most places indoors; at least out here they had a mild, steady breeze. Congress was still meeting in several different emergency bunkers, teleconferencing to get things done. Few government officials besides the President and her staff were actually in Washington these days.

Energia milled around the reception area - outdoors but with multiple portable awnings to sit or stand under - a plastic tumbler of ginger ale in her hand. The snacks were adequate, but far below the usual standard for a major Washington event. Something which was quite understandable. Even if they could have gathered the resources for a typical fete, they would not have done so as to avoid bad publicity. There were parts of the country which were still not getting fresh food, several weeks after victory.

Those who - like her - were recipients of the awards to be given out later were dressed in their finest. Some were obviously still injured, but Energia had shed the last of her own bandages not long after the surrender. Though most here were strangers to her, she knew many of the people she saw. There were mask friends and acquaintances as well as people in the military and law enforcement she had worked with, so she wasn't alone. She just wished her parents and Uncle Randy could attend.

She knew this ceremony was important for morale, to help reinforce that they'd won and officially recognize those who had performed above and beyond the call of duty. She still didn't want to be here. From what she'd overheard, most of those here didn't. Civilian, military or super, they would prefer to be continuing the work.

Soon, word was passed to assemble for the ceremony. With a reluctant sigh, Energia dumped her drink and headed for the portable toilets. Only to find others had that idea before her. Eventually, though, she was headed for the Capitol building.

Standing there, on the steps of the mostly undamaged structure, under an awning to keep the worst of the Sun off, with dozens of professional TV cameras and thousands of smart phones pointed at her, made this one of the few times since taking up the mask when she'd felt exposed. Embarrassed to be wearing a costume in public.

Oh, well; my part should be brief, since there's so many being recognized, she thought. She gave a tired smile.

Despite officially being on leave, since coming back from Germany she'd been busy almost continuously, mainly helping first responders with accidents, aiding relief efforts and fighting crime. Not under the authority of Special Resources - she doubted they even knew about her activities - or as part of a regular team, but responding to radio calls. Energia just wished so many people didn't think that having a war was justification to abandon all traces of morality. Many of those she'd helped arrest actually believed the nation was in a state of anarchy, every person for himself. If the brigands couldn't be reigned in soon, that might become true... They were actually sabotaging some of the repair work.

Civilians received their awards first, to the cheers of the surprisingly large crowd. Then regular law enforcement officers of various types. The largest single group consisted of members of the US military. A distressing number of those medals were posthumous. Then came the supers. Many Energia thought deserving of recognition weren't here, and she wasn't certain what many of those who were here had done to get medals.

Within each category the awards were given in alphabetical order by name. With the supers, that meant - with only a few exceptions - their mask name. There was no confusion about who went when. They had even been informed ahead of time what award they would receive.

"Energia," said the announcer.

She took a deep breath, straightened her posture even more, and walked forward to the President.

Energia actually zoned out a bit as President Sievers recited the reasons for her award, which was the Presidential Medal of Freedom With Distinction. Interestingly, the recitation was phrased to avoid mentioning how many she had killed; only that she had defended the entire northeast, largely by destroying much of a Shilmek landing force. There was no mention of anything she had done for the President, personally. That was understandable; the whole mess with the Vice-President was still being kept quiet. However, as she moved in to put the medal on the young super, President Sievers whispered "Thank you." in Energia's ear. Which made her smile as they shook hands.

The smile was replaced by an expression of confusion as someone began screaming in the crowd.

"She's a murderer! She killed my husband and his friends! She's fucking one of theeeemmmm...!!"

Masks Sixteen: Part Five

by

Rodford Edmiston

"Why would someone say that?! I mean, yeah, Maldren and I are lovers, but so what?! We both fought to defend Earth!"

She was sitting in the office of President Sievers' assist Gompers, a few blocks from both the White House and the Capital. He had personally invited Energia to stop by later in the day as she was making ready to leave the awards ceremony.

Gompers paged through the folder on his desk until he found some loose cards. He selected one and handed it over the desk to the upset super.

It had a photo of the fake Energia from a few years before. The data, however, was for her. Well, some of it.

"'Alien Collaborator'?!"

"Those are spotter cards, which someone published as a way for the uninitiated to identify costumed people. It also rates them on several characteristics, including 'Friend or Foe?' You and Maldren are both classified as 'Foe.' She had these on her, by the way. We already knew about them, from previous investigation."

President Sievers had been even more upset than Energia over the interruption, though she hadn't shown it at the time. Later, she made sure to have one of her people explain to Energia what they learned about the situation. After taking her into custody, the Secret Service had quickly identified the woman and just as quickly figured out who her late husband was. Gompers had taken Energia aside that evening, as things were winding down, to explain what they had learned. Fortunately, the man's office was also one of the few currently air conditioned.

"Why would someone do that?" said Energia, too confused to even be angry. "All the things..."

"We know which company printed these - they normally do sports and challenge game cards - but when we tried to find whoever ordered the work done we reached a dead end at a Post Office Box. Payment was through a money order, bought with cash, so that was also a dead end. About the only thing we do know is that there were fifteen thousand sets printed."

"But... Why does she think I killed her husband?!"

For some reason, asking this brought tears to her eyes. She had killed so many... As far as she knew, though, all were Shilmek or human thugs.

"He was one of the men who attacked you in that warehouse complex," said Gompers.

"Oh, them," said Energia, her sadness vanishing in a cloud of confusion. "I thought they were working for the Shilmek. I mean, some had wooden weapons, which would go through my plasma wall. It seemed like they were targeting me, specifically."

"Two of the seven survived. They both claim they were defending their place of employment against the invaders. They named you as one of them. Saying you were obviously attacking the facility."

"But..." She shook her head. "I was moving along slowly, keeping out of sight and quiet, and definitely not doing any damage. How could they think I was working with the Shilmek?! There was a Shilmek ship right up against the fence of the place, damaged and easy prey, and they were ignoring it!"

"Bigotry rarely makes sense. All seven have a record of anti-super sentiments. Likely, they were just using the War and you being where they could get at you as a reason to remove someone they see as an enemy, regardless of what you actually are."

"I... wondered if that might be it, at the time. I rejected that, because it makes no sense! I was fighting for the Earth! Even an idiot should have been able to see that!"

"Which might have only increased their resentment. They would likely rather have died than have a super help them."

* * *

The call came on her special cell phone a few days later. Jenny was moping around at home and not really feeling like being Energia just then, but the woman on the other end of the call said it was important, urgent, and that Blue Impact, Gadgetive and Ike Kenniman would all be there. Jenny found herself agreeing to attend, as much from a lack of will to decline as anything. Then, of course, having agreed to that, she had to keep her word.

As Energia approached the border of the Bureau's Maryland campus she got out her issue communicator and called ahead, identifying herself. She was granted clearance to go straight to the headquarters building. As she landed out front she noticed that the foyer had been extended, the new space containing a security checkpoint. With a tired sigh, she entered, showed her ID and let herself be scanned. Finally cleared, she entered the actual lobby and found a smiling young man waiting to escort her to the meeting. This was in the office of the Chief, herself.

Her teammates were already waiting, as was Brade.

"Good morning," said the huge super, nodding to Energia, as she greeted the other two women. "Dr. Device is on his way, so I'll wait for him to arrive before starting the briefing."

This was the first time Energia had actually been in this office. She was a bit surprised that while Brade's chair was fitted to her, the desk was normal size. Energia half expected her to have huge desk, if only for the intimidation factor.

Ike arrived shortly after this, breathing a bit hard and looking harried.

"Sorry. My flitter got challenged by a police helicopter and it took me a while to get free."

"I'll get right to this," said Brade, as the slightly rumpled Dr. Device took his seat. "I got a call this morning from the head of the German Criminal Police Office that the officers of the Bundespolizei you met on site in Germany were impostors. The authorities still haven't found the real ones, but the fakes and the apparently genuine Bundeskriminalamt officer and Dampf have disappeared."

Brade watched the stunned reactions of the four supers seated in front of her.

"For now, the Germans insist on handling things," said Brade. "I have the distinct impression they delayed telling us what they learned because they didn't want to admit there was a problem. I'll keep you up to date. Well, as soon as they tell me anything."

"That's all you called us here for?" said Energia, trying to keep her tone neutral and not quite succeeding.

"I was asked - told, actually - very specifically to keep this quiet. As we learned during the Shilmek War, our current coms aren't as secure as we thought, so I pretty much had to tell you in person."

"Since she's the boss," said Blue Impact, giving Energia a stern look, "we come to her."

"Well, yeah," said Brade, a touch embarrassed. "Anyway, thank you for coming. However, there is one more thing. Stop by the tech office, turn your current coms in and pick up new ones. You're in the first group to get these new, much more secure coms."

* * *

Julie Toulon was prepared to knock on her daughter's bedroom door, but found it only half closed. She tentatively pushed it open, to find Jenny lying on her bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling. A catalog from her college lay - apparently unopened - on her desk. That now too-small desk which had served her since middle school.

This part of the US had hardly experienced any disruptions during the War, only occasionally even losing power. Julie knew many areas were still trying to get basic utilities back, and silently gave thanks they'd had an easy time. She also noted - not for the first time - that she really needed to get a larger bed for this room.

"Honey?" said Jenny's Mother. "Aren't you going to select your courses?"

"I think I'm going to skip this semester," said Jenny, trying to sound casual but just sounding tired.

"They managed to get the college back in operation in time for the Fall semester. The Post Office got the catalog here. The least you can do is attend!"

"I just need some time off. The folks at Special Resources said it was okay. Why do you have a problem with it?"

"You need to get back into your old routine," said her Mother, firmly. "Or some sort of normal routine. If you just mope around here, you'll keep dwelling on the bad things that happened."

Julie had watched, live, as her daughter got her medal. She'd known there was some sort of disturbance, but even several days later the details were scarce. She knew that whatever it was, the event had upset her only child. Jenny wouldn't talk about that, though. Any more than she would talk about what she'd done in the War.

"I really don't feel like talking about this right now."

"You really need to talk about this right now. You aren't going to change anything that happened, no matter what you do. You have to deal with it and move on with your life."

Jenny scowled, and looked away.

"All right," said Julie, straightening and crossing her arms. "If you don't, I will."

"Will what?" said Jenny, suddenly suspicious.

"Select courses and sign you up for them."

"You wouldn't..."

"Don't test me, young lady."

"All right, all right," said Jenny, yielding ungracefully to the inevitable and rising tiredly from her bed. "If it'll make you happy..."

* * *

Julie called Randy later about the exchange.

"I wonder if she has post-traumatic stress syndrome," said Julie, sounding worried. "She did have a head injury, besides all that fighting."

"She was checked by doctors after things settled down," said Randy, frowning. "They said she had a mild concussion, nothing to worry about. They did recommend therapy, given all she'd been through. I know she's seeing - whatisname - the psychologist at the Bureau. He said she's handling her traumas very well."

"Maybe they missed something."

"Well, suggest she have a checkup."

"I think it would come better from you," said Julie, with a sigh. "She's... well, I don't want to pressure her about too many things in a short time."

"I understand. We're supposed to meet with the Intrepids in a couple of days, to plan out the rebuilding of their base. I'll suggest she see Dr. Whiskers while we're there."

"Why don't you just go ahead and make the appointment?" said Julie. "Let her know about it on the way there."

"I hate to be that sneaky about this..."

"I think you need to be. She's that stubborn."

Wonder where she gets that, thought Randy, rolling his eyes.

* * *

The medical facilities at the current headquarters of the Intrepids had an air of age, despite all the equipment being in perfect condition. Randy couldn't help but think of several movies - most of them made before he was born - which largely took place in similar settings. Energia had seen most of the same movies (when Randy had to babysit her, he had sometimes shown the mildest of these) but that didn't seem to be why she was participating with obvious petulance. Energia had always liked Dr. Whiskers, but today was barely being civil to her.

The feline physician ran several tests, including simple X-ray photos. Something Energia had be reminded to allow, since she normally absorbed high-energy photons.

"Her concussion was very mild," said Dr. Whiskers. "She appears completely recovered. Neither can I find any other problems. I see no reason for any further medical treatment."

"See?" said Energia, sourly, arms defiantly folded across her chest.

She was not happy about the trick her Uncle had pulled. Of course, these days there was very little she was happy with. Which gave Randy an idea.

"So it's all attitude," said Randy, nodding matter-of-factly.

"What? No!"

He gently took her by the arm and guided her out of the infirmary. He walked them along the slightly musty hall, not really heading anywhere, just moving. There were crates, boxes and pieces of equipment evacuated from the Intrepids' now destroyed base stacked everywhere. Though the facility was quite large, all this additional material made it seem crowded.

"Talk to me. If you know what's wrong, tell me. You're worrying people."

"You're missing the obvious," she said, coldly. "All of you. Yeah, there's all that stuff from the War and the woman at the ceremony, but I'm dealing. Thanks in part to that therapist, and you and Mom and Dad and everyone else being so supportive. Even Rapscallion, in his own way. None of that makes up for Maldren not being here!"

"Oh..." said Randy, mentally kicking himself.

The Prince had returned to the main world of the Shilmek empire to help his Mother rebuild. There was no way to know when - if ever - he would be back. Energia going to join him was off the table for multiple reasons.

"All right," said Randy, nodding. "I think I understand, now. Honey, there's nothing I can do to help with that, but I can help with other problems you have. You know that. I'm here for you."

"I know that, Uncle Randy," said Energia, tenderly, as she hugged him. "I know that. Thanks."

"I've got something in the works which should make you feel better. I'll deliver it when we get together at your place before you go back to college."

He eyed her.

"You are going back, right?"

"Had to," said Energia, sourly but with a trace of anger. "Mother threatened to enroll me in a bunch of courses I didn't want, and while I might get away with skipping a semester, if I flunk several courses I lose my deal with the government."

"That's my sister," said Randy, nodding and beaming with pride. "Masterminds shake their heads in stunned admiration at her ruthless brilliance."

* * *

"Okay," said Jenny, a few days later, when Randy arrived at her family's home carrying a large cloth bag, "what's the surprise?"

"She's hardly talked about anything else since she got back from that meeting," said her Father, grinning.

Jenny glared briefly at him. They were in the entertainment room in the basement, away from prying eyes. Just a private family moment, before Jenny flew off to college the next day.

"I've been working on this since learning you'd get that medal," Randy said, presenting a gift-wrapped box from the bag. "Courtesy of my friends Angelina and Cindy. They put a rush on my order, even though they're currently swamped."

"A new costume?" she said, taking the box.

"You said your formal one was getting too tight."

Inside was, indeed, a new costume. The most notable difference between this and her old ones was a diagonal strip across the chest from right shoulder to left hip, where there was a design reproducing the badge on the ribbon which was part of her award.

"You can wear the pin which came with the medal on your left collar," said Randy, beaming. "Save the actual medal for special occasions."

Jenny held the costume up in front of her, tears brimming. She felt a flood of emotions, not all of them good. However, the strongest was affection for her Uncle. She abruptly spun around and hugged him, costume dangling from her left hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I just hope it fits," said Randy, feeling a bit awkward. "You'll have to transfer all your gear over, of course, and..."

"Oh, shut up," said Jenny, smirking, as she rocked the two of them back and forth. "I do know the drill by now."

"They still giving you discounts for connecting them with the super costume business?" said Julie, after uncle and niece parted, and the latter hurried off to change.

"Yeah," said Randy, nodding. "They also just plain like Jenny."

"Well, she'll be a while," said Max, grinning as he dropped onto the couch. "In addition to everything else, she'll be posing and staring in the mirror for at least ten minutes."

The others followed suit, Julie beside her husband, Randy taking a seat in the lounger across the coffee table from them.

"How is that super PAC of yours coming along, now?" said Julie. "Is it really even needed these days, after supers did so much to defend the Earth in the War?"

"More than ever," said Randy, sadly. He sighed and shook his head. "That success threatens some people, so they've redoubled their efforts."

"Idiots," said Julie, expression darkening.

"What's that called, again?" said Max, quickly, perhaps to cut off a rant from his wife. He frowned. "Your PAC. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard it called anything but some variation of 'that super PAC.'"

"That, unfortunately, is not uncommon," said Randy, sourly. "It is officially the Equality for the Enhanced PAC, usually abbreviated EFE. It's not big enough financially to be a super PAC in the political sense - we're actually one of the smaller ones, overall - but people still call us 'the' super PAC and seem to think we're therefore the biggest."

They chatted for a few minutes, until they saw Energia literally floating down the stairs in her new costume.

She hovered over the coffee table, turning slowly, beaming, showing off the outfit. Appropriate complimentary noises were made.

"I take it this lifted your mood," said Randy, grinning, as his niece landed on the couch beside her Mother.

"Admirably!" said Energia, laughing.

"Well, I hate to run, but I promised Karen I'd be back before supper. It's her turn to cook, which means it's my turn to play Momma."

Energia's laugh baffled her parents, since they didn't know that Randy was also Template, and was the one who had actually given birth to Roy. Most likely, her Uncle would soon be her Aunt.

They said their goodbyes, and Randy donned his flight gear.

"Okay if I fly with you part of the way?" said Energia. "That'll give me a chance to break in the new costume."

"Sure," said Randy, with a fond smile.

Together, the two supers flew into the afternoon sky.

Part Six

The current Secretary-General of the United Nations was Arlo Stivers. A citizen of the Netherlands, he was no stranger to recovery from large-scale disasters, nor to using technology to help recover from them... or to induce them defensively. The only area in his country occupied by the Shilmek had been deliberately flooded, substantially hampering their efforts.

"China is the most frustrating," he told Ambassador Fenton. "They were especially hard hit, and keep requesting aid, but reject everything we offer them."

"I understand they were especially firm about rejecting any help which included supers," said Fenton, sourly.

Roger Fenton had been appointed the US Ambassador to the UN only a few weeks before the Shilmek attack. He had tried to convince the Chinese of the seriousness of the threat, but his warnings had been rejected. Politely, at first, but eventually with such rancor he'd given up trying. Now they were claiming they were not warned, and blaming Fenton, personally, for not making the warnings convincing. Both often in the same sentence. They had repeatedly "requested" his replacement, but the President had far more pressing matters to attend to.

"Very much so," said Stivers, nodding. "It seems they want money and material, but no supervisory help. Manpower, of course, they have plenty of."

"Funding is going to be the biggest problem," said Fenton, with a grimace. "From what I understand, they do have plenty of materials. It's skilled supervisors for this sort of work which they lack. A number of people they used to have in such positions were purged over the past few years for either committing corruption or reporting corruption."

"They are trying so hard to be a modern commercial nation, without giving up their hidebound, inflexible system of government."

"We and our allies have first choice on everything," said Fenton, firmly. "If China doesn't like that, well, we aren't required to please them. Especially after the way they allowed the Shilmek to land in various border areas, expecting them to attack outwards."

"I'm glad you're supporting the UN's official position," said Stivers.

"There's really not much choice. There aren't enough resources to go around, not right now." Fenton sat back in the very comfortable chair, looking across the large desk at the older man. The room was cool and pleasant. The Shilmek had largely spared New York as a whole and the UN facilities specifically, apparently expecting to use them after victory. The fact that utilities for most of the city were left intact was helping greatly with organizing the reconstruction. "However, while that was the official reason for asking to speak privately with you, there's something else I want to bring up."

"I'm not surprised," said Stivers. "This matter with China could have been handled much less formally."

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers.

"Just what is this other matter?"

"President Sievers wants the UN to declare Pine Island an independent state," said Fenton.

"This has been discussed before, but there was no firm commitment from the US on the issue."

"There is, now. There are several reasons for the change in policy. The main one is that we'd like the UN to select the island as the location for that hospital specializing in supers various members have been promoting. Being an independent nation will help with the operation of that."

Stivers nodded slowly, thinking the idea through.

"I'm surprised no-one has suggested that before. It makes good sense. And not only because there is already a medical facility for supers there."

"This would also be a favor for the people at the school, there. Since it was opened, any time there's an event where a large number of supers are injured, many of them wind up there. Their infirmary is currently swamped."

"So it would be a benefit all around," said Stivers, quickly warming to the idea. "Well, you can count on my help with this."

"Your support is definitely welcome," said Fenton, smiling. "Now we just have to convince a majority of other UN members. Some of whom were hoping to get that facility for their own country."

* * *

On Shilmet, the main Shilmek world, the physical damage from the rebellion and loss of the war was minimal. The social and administrative damages were far more serious. Queen Tolnar had to admire the skill and efficiency of the plotters, however much she hated what they had done with those talents. They waited for a period when the Grand Council was in session, but a large number of the members were away on other pursuits. One of those absentee being Tolnar, herself. Poison gas bombs had taken out most of those in attendance; then followers of the usurpers - pretending to be a mob of angry citizens - had killed the rest, while claiming to have caused all the deaths. The news which later went out to the public was that the corrupt monarchy had been overthrown by a grass roots army of freedom-loving people rising up in revolt. However, at first the events in the Grand Council Assembly building had been kept quiet.

The usurpers - who had support from discontented or discredited nobles - knew enough about the procedures of the assembly to maintain a pretense that there were minor problems with communications but nothing seriously wrong. Another twenty-eight nobles and their staffs were ambushed on return to the capital before warnings were spread of the coup.

Multiple purges - official using both real and invented charges to justify formal execution, and unofficial through simple assassination - by the usurpers had further reduced the ranks of the nobles. Tolnar had brought the several dozen who fled the Empire with her to Earth, and more later joined her there. She and they were now back home, and more were coming in who had evacuated to other safe locations. She had teams of people locating heirs of titles and estates. She was also ennobling many military and executive personnel who had stayed with her or otherwise supported her rule against the usurpers.

All of that together would provide less than half the upper level managers needed to run the Empire, once the recovery was well under way. Even most of those would be inexperienced with such duties. For now, Tolnar was even keeping some of those the usurpers had put in place of the nobles killed or driven off, those replacements who had proven themselves both competent and fair to those in their charge.

Complicating all this, some of the groups who had rebelled against the usurpers while they were involved on Earth were not eager to yield authority to Tolnar.

Currently, she was in a meeting with her staunchest supporters, her son among them. She needed that support. She was about to propose a change to Shilmek society as dramatic as what the usurpers claimed they were providing. Ironically, an earlier, tentative exploration of the same measures were part of what sparked the rebellion.

"Have you read the Terran historical material I provided?"

They nodded, some murmuring assent. Most were keeping their expressions carefully neutral, but a few were already showing disapproval.

"Once we reach a point where martial law needs to be rescinded - and I am well aware that is likely more than a year away, yet - we need to have something ready to replace both the military command now extant and the Grand Council of Nobles. I believe the only alternatives with a chance of working are either a dictatorship, or a constitutional monarchy."

Now even more attendees appeared uncomfortable. However, none challenged her statement.

"I realize both of these solutions are anathema to what our Empire has stood for over these past many thousand years. Unfortunately, I see no way to reestablish the Grand Council in time to do the job which will need to be done. Worse, once we move in either of these directions, there is no turning back. Not easily nor quickly, at least."

There were reluctant nods.

"My own preference is for a constitutional monarchy. On Earth and a few other worlds where this has been tried, some variations were successful enough to last for centuries."

"You want us to work out the details," said Sheppue, who had the advantage of many long talks with his Queen during the stay on Earth and the trip back.

Tolnar was disappointed that Maldren was not the one to guess this. He was still distracted over missing his consort. That was a matter they would have to resolve, and soon, but in private.

"You will all be an important part of whatever form of government we create," said Tolnar, looking around and making eye contact with each of them. "I trust you. To give good advice, to support me in this effort, to hold important positions in the new government... and to let me know when there is something wrong."

Many still looked doubtful, and a few defiant. However, in the end they all agreed to work with her towards the goal.

Tolnar ordered drinks to be served from her private stock. About half of her potables had been looted by the usurpers, though fortunately they had missed some. Once the attendees all had full tumblers, she raised hers.

"To the new Shilmek. Long may we raise our collective head in pride."

* * *

Move-in was underway.

The Ramsey Technical College had not been directly affected by the War, but utilities had been off for varying lengths of time during it. The electricity had been absent the most.

Due to this, some things had to be replaced, and some repaired. The greatest losses were items which had required refrigeration. Besides much spoiled food, many experiments were destroyed. Some of the equipment, itself, had been damaged by the repeated improper shutdowns. The work to repair the infrastructure was now almost complete. The work by the students returning for the new semester to recover their lives was in progress.

There were already plans to use advanced technologies - some developed by the super inventors attending or teaching at the school - to make it as independent of public utilities in the near future as reasonably possible.

Vic beat Alex to the dorm this semester, thanks to being stationed in the area by the Bureau. When the young genius finally called the room to ask for help with her luggage, Vic went down to oblige. What she saw left her a bit startled. She made a point of walking around Alex, as she stood outside the dorm, with her luggage.

"Well, looks like someone has finally started to bud out," she said, smiling.

The difference between the twig figure girl of before and the slightly more curvy, slightly taller one of now was subtle, but definite.

"Thank you for noticing," said Alex, with a tired smile. "Though, if you'll recall, I actually started last semester. I'm just glad the development has continued."

Her attitude was so subdued - at least in comparison to her normal, manic self - that Vic was actually worried.

"You okay?"

"Mostly. I lost a couple of military cousins in the War. Not close relations, but still..."

"Ow," said Vic, moving to give her a hug. It lasted longer than she originally planned, because Alex seemed reluctant to let go. Finally, though, they broke, leaving Vic feeling a bit awkward. She quickly reached for the two biggest suitcases. "Here, let me help you with your luggage."

"Thanks."

* * *

The entire school was subdued the first few days of the new semester. Vic just hoped that mood didn't last long. She was eager to be away from the reconstruction and law enforcement work and back in school. She wanted to get busy, not mope.

Their first meal at the cafeteria after classes actually started saw the usual suspects gathered together for lunch at one of the larger tables, with a few extras present. Energia was there - and in a new costume - but very uncommunicative. Remembering what she had done and what had been done to her, Vic wasn't surprised. She certainly wasn't about to press Energia on the topic, and the others followed her lead. The burden of talk about frontline events of the War therefore fell on Vic. She wasn't particularly eager to be the center of attention, but handled it gracefully. Finally, after Vic gave the sanitized version of her War adventures, the conversation turned... Though people still seemed determined to focus on her.

"How'd you grow your hair back so fast?" said Betty Gonzales, gesturing at Vic's long locks.

"It's an extension," said Vic, rolling her eyes. "I've worn them before, remember. Michelle bought them for me and taught me how to wear them."

"Oh, right; she likes long hair. Guess I just thought, well, regeneration..."

"I've noticed that when someone knows you're a super, they think everything about you is super," said Harriet, grinning. "I've had people ask me to open jars for them, and I'm not super strong. They act surprised - sometimes even offended - when I tell them that I'm a limited shapeshifter, not a strongwoman."

"Anyway, I hope this semester is a quiet one," said Melanie.

Vic was getting mixed signals from her. She suspected the lobster girl was a bit embarrassed she hadn't joined the fighting, but also very relieved that she hadn't had to fight. Vic could definitely understand both attitudes.

* * *

A multi-species, multi-cultural coalition of starfaring civilizations met on a neutral world to study recent events and make plans accordingly. Some saw opportunity in the current situation.

"This is an incredible circumstance, and a chance to gather new worlds into our consortium! We can seize all or part of the Shilmek Empire while they're weak!"

"Are you insane?" said another, mildly. "Queen Tolnar is back in command of the Empire, and she is allied with Earth, the world which defeated those who supplanted her. Together they are more than a match for any other combination of two interstellar powers we are aware of."

"There are far more than two interstellar powers represented here," said a third.

The discussion continued for hours, until the evening break. Then resumed the next day. However, eventually, the consensus was that the best course was to offer aid. For a price, of course.

Not all were satisfied, but most would follow the consensus. Those which objected the most strongly were too weak - even together - to do much about that. Or to the Empire or Earth. Though there were concerns some might try.

* * *

"You look... thoughtful," said Sharma, at the thrice-weekly therapy session with Paula.

"I had an insight," said Paula, nodding, as she settled into her chair. "I realized that I'm not mad at my situation. I'm mad at myself."

"For what?" said Sharma, puzzled.

"For not grabbing back my masculinity when I had the chance. We were in such a hurry to get Penardwen home that I completely forgot about my own problem. Well, we all did, but it was my responsibility. I'm mad at myself for the screwup."

"You talked about this before."

"Yeah. Talking about it and understanding it are two different things. I think I understand - and accept - now. Which is helping me deal."

"That is a significant insight." Sharma paused for a moment before broaching a related matter. "Are you at all resentful towards Susan?"

"No," said Paula, shaking her head as she sat back in her chair. "No, I actually thought this over. Not her, not Pen, not her pantheon. Just me. It was my responsibility - my chance - and it just completely slipped my mind. Until it was too late."

They talked for over an hour, during which Sharma clarified things for both herself and Paula.

"You do seem much more... well, not more content, but less discontented. More centered."

"That's a pretty good summation," said Paula, nodding. She sighed, then gave the mystic a tired smile. "I'm focusing on the positives of my situation. I'll get through this."

"Good. Because we need you. Not just the team, but the country and the whole world. You were a major force for peace as Champion. Whether or not you resume that mantle, you can still do much good."

Paula nodded again, more slowly this time.

* * *

Energia was walking across the campus, just out of her last class for that Wednesday, when she saw her team's large apergy flyer landing in the parking lot beside her dormitory. She lifted into the air and hurried over, worried there was some emergency.

As she descended towards the egg-shaped vehicle, she was surprised to see exiting it not only Blue Impact and Gadgetive, but Ike Kenniman.

Energia landed and greeted the new arrivals all around.

"We need to talk," said Blue Impact. "Ike and I have some news, and we need to let you and Gadgetive know what's going on."

"Yeah, they won't tell me anything until we're all together," said Gadgetive, almost whining. "All they said was that it's an update on the situation in Germany."

"Well, I'm glad to see you, but we're attracting attention just standing here," said Energia, leaning closer and speaking quietly. "Why don't we go somewhere more private?"

"I bet you know just the place," said Gadgetive, with a smirk.

Masks Sixteen: Part Seven

by

Rodford Edmiston

"This is more private?!" said Gadgetive, as they seated themselves around the weathered picnic table. "There's dozens of folks watching us!"

"You'll notice, though, that they're keeping their distance," said Energia. "That's an unspoken rule; if folks come out here that means they want privacy, and that means they get it. That includes folks keeping their distance, too. It's sort of a school tradition. So, what's going on?"

"You checked for bugs, right?" said Ike.

Not only had Energia and Gadgetive both done so in their own ways as a matter of conditioned reflex, but Ike had made his own check.

"We already knew the police were fake while Schmidt and Dampf were what they claimed," said Blue Impact. "Turns out those two and Schmale were lying through their collective teeth. That mild-mannered, reasonable act of his was just that."

"The fake police were actually members of a Nazi colony in Argentina," said Ike. "They're mostly descendants of party members and sympathizers who escaped there during the last days of the War or over the next decade or so. That may be why none of them spoke in front of us. They might have been worried their accent would give them away."

"The Argentinians took Schmale back to their enclave," Blue Impact continued. "Where he basically staged a coup and took over."

"So we've unleashed a new menace on the world," said Energia, with a sigh.

"It gets worse. The real Bundespolizei were found dead in a ravine not far from the base."

"God..." said Energia, feeling sick.

"Dampf turned herself in when she learned this," said Ike. "She said they promised her no-one would be hurt if she helped them. Exactly why she was part of this I don't know."

"What about Schmidt?" said Gadgetive.

"He is as missing as the fake Bundespolizei," said Blue Impact. "He may be in Argentina, or hiding somewhere else."

"So far, Schmale has been busy consolidating his hold on the Argentinian Nazis. The government of that country is causing a lot of problems for him, partly due to international pressure, and partly due to worry over what those maniacs will do."

"You said Schmale was lying," said Energia. "About what, specifically?"

"He and Schmidt both, with Dampf quietly going along," said Ike. "Turns out Schmale did, indeed, commit atrocities, including killing German civil and military authorities who tried to control him."

"Yow..." said Gadgetive, looking startled. She shook her head. She grimaced. "I'm the one who said he was a nice guy..."

"Okay, what's our role in this?" said Energia.

"They want us to go back to that base and investigate it. Thoroughly, this time, since the only information they have is our preliminary report. Most pertinently, we may have to use the containment device on Schmale. If he can be captured or lured back there. This may take a while, so bring an overnight bag."

"What are his powers, anyway?" said Gadgetive, frowning in thought.

"Ill defined," said Blue Impact, sourly. "Remember, they didn't have the sort of powers testing procedures we have today. Also, he was active during a major war."

"I suspect he's like Zeep in some ways," said Ike. "That might help us. Zeep has said that right after his conversion, it was all he could do to keep himself together. So, we might be able to build something like the weapon the Shilmek used on Zeep. Hopefully, der Schmale will be easier to disrupt."

Energia felt every hair on her body trying to stand on end.

"Another Zeep... only this one crazy. Dangerously crazy."

* * *

Once they were back over the Harz Mountains base the quartet made a high pass, scanning thoroughly.

"Yeah, there's folks waiting down there in ambush," said Gadgetive. She looked up from her display. "Heavily armed, too. No wonder the Germans told us we'd be on our own."

"You're insulting an awful lot of people," said Energia, raising an eyebrow.

"Is there a leak?" said Blue Impact. "Or did the Nazis just do this as a precaution?"

"Is there any sign we've been spotted?" said Energia.

"No," said Ike, who was looking at his own display. "Given that this pod is silent and has stealth characteristics, that's not surprising."

"Okay," said Blue Impact, nodding. "We land in a concealed location and move in as quietly as we can. Then ambush the ambushers."

* * *

None of the four were experts at woodscraft. However, they had all learned the basics of moving quietly and keeping to cover. Energia, especially, was quiet, floating along upright, just off the ground. They were spread out in a rough arc as they approached the concealed men from behind. They were almost ready to attack, when someone up in a tree whom they hadn't seen spotted them and cried out in alarm.

"GET 'EM!" yelled Gadgetive, charging.

Energia put up her plasma wall and sent out an inductive pulse in a broad band, making sure it swept ahead of her impulsive teammate. This produced high-voltage electrical currents in every substantial metal object in the field of effect, which caught all their opponents. The man in the tree screamed as his assault rifle gave him a nasty shock. Many of those on the ground had a similar experience.

Energia had her plasma wall, Ike and Gadgetive their soft body armor and Blue Impact was just plain tough. Given the surprise of their attack, Energia's disarming effect and Blue Impact's speed, only a few shots were fired, and none hit. They had the entire group subdued in well under a minute.

"That was easy," said Gadgetive, smirking as she dusted her hands. "So much for the Nazi superman."

"Now you've jinxed it," said Energia, hotly.

Indeed, as they moved out of the woods and into the open area on the hillside below the huge pair of doors they came under heavy fire.

"They must have been inside the base," said Energia, as she flew upwards.

"Careful!" shouted Ike. "They might have a neutralizer!"

Energia saw two men struggling to get a device on a tripod through the small doorway. She abandoned finesse and shot a lightning bolt at it.

"They did."

Again, subduing the attackers was a work of moments.

"Okay," said Energia. "That's that. Now, lets get to that device."

"There might be more inside," said Ike.

"That's an older model neutralizer," said Blue Impact, as she cleared the top of the debris pile in a leap towards the door. She landed with a deft roll and came upright just to one side of the small door. She made a quick peek around. "Probably all they had. I wonder, though, why they had it? Did they know we were coming? Or is this for der Schmale?"

"Gadgetive and I will zip tie these," said Ike. "You two check inside."

Energia nodded, and followed Blue Impact through the door. Inside, she went high and glowed, so she and her teammate could see. What they saw was that the Nazis had apparently set up camp in here. A camp which was currently empty.

With a tired sigh, Energia hovered while Blue Impact quickly checked the gear. Her team seemed to have captured all those trying to ambush them. Which left the question of why the ambush had been staged. All this fighting... She was starting to think she should just retire from active heroing.

"There's lights on in the construction area," Blue Impact noted.

Energia was about to reply when the universe went crazy.

She experienced a horrible sense of disorientation and dislocation, as sight and sound and space itself became distorted. Energia realized she was falling, and tried to use her bump of gravity to feel where down was. It wasn't there! For the first time in her life, she didn't simply know which way was up.

She screamed, her plasma wall flickering out as her mind went white with panic. She felt an impact, but that wasn't from landing; there were arms around her. Besides, hitting from the full height at which she had been flying would have been much more lethal.

Then came a harder jolt, despite Blue Impact supporting her as best she could when they landed. The super strong woman laid the younger super gently onto the dirty floor.

"What's wrong?" she shouted at Energia, who was curled into a ball, shuddering.

"That would be me," said a pleasant voice.

Blue Impact turned and through the small door saw der Schmale outside. He was standing on top of the debris pile. He looked back over his shoulder at someone.

"These incompetents are those you claim now defend the honor of the National Socialists?"

Blue Impact heard what she thought was Schmidt's voice, but couldn't make out the words.

"Ah, well." Der Schmale began walking casually down towards Blue Impact and Energia. Only, he reached them in much less than a second, startling Blue Impact. He peered at the younger of the two. "What is wrong with her?"

"I don't know," said Blue Impact, angrily. "You're the one doing it. Stop it!"

"I already have. I merely bent space to bring her to the ground. I was caught unawares by her reaction."

He peered at the green-clad super in bland curiosity.

"Interesting. She was bending space to fly, but that has stopped. Revive her. I wish to examine that power in operation."

Blue Impact looked back toward the doors. She couldn't see Ike or Gadgetive, but now saw a scowling Schmidt and a very uneasy Dampf standing on the top of the debris.

Deciding that two were better than one against three, Blue Impact tried rousing the younger woman. Slowly, Energia began to respond.

"What did you do?" she moaned, when Blue Impact had her alert enough to understand what was said to her. "This is worse than being under a neutralizer. At least I was standing then, and could still feel down. I fell!"

"Herr Einstein was right." He shook his head and smirked. "Ah, those Jews, so good with figures... Gravity is a distortion of space caused by the presence of mass. Inconveniently for you, I distort space, as well!"

"Why?!" said Blue Impact, furious, as she stood, fists clenched. "What are you doing here?"

"To capture you, of course," said der Schmale, completely unimpressed. He gave a rueful laugh. "Those first days out of my confinement... what a... Steep learning curve? Once I realized the date, I was not surprised as I scanned the airwaves to find no sign of my former masters. After all, they did not have me there, to prop them up!"

He laughed again.

"However, I was very surprised when - hearing you knock while I listen to those radios - I turned and saw not only strangers, but among them ein Schwarzes und ein Jude. With a woman in charge of the group! At first I thought that meant those two were her servants, with her being in control an example of how thoroughly the lesser races were ruled today. However, both spoke with you as equals! It seems this age is too weak to control the inferiors."

"You are a Nazi," said Blue Impact. "Still. So much for your rebellion."

The pleasant expression suddenly vanished, replaced by wrath. Behind which was something sinister, something mad.

"Of course I rebelled! Hitler was strong and competent at first, but he became a drug addict and therefore unworthy. His increasing, superstitious reliance on those fortunes he had cast for him early in the war did not impress me, either. He needed to be replaced by someone strong... By a true superman!"

He lifted his gaze and smiled towards into the distance, an expression which sent a chill down Blue Impact's spine.

"I rebelled! To replace the cult of Hitler with the cult of Schmale!"

"You want to form the Cult of Narrow?!" said Energia, stalling for time to recover.

"You have no place to make fun of my chosen name!" he shouted, defiantly. "I am wider than all of you! I stand where you cannot even see, much less reach! The name has implications..."

There was a popping sound. They looked back, and saw Schmidt holding one of the assault rifles the ambushers had carried. He was pointing it at Schmale, and looked surprised. Schmale smiled, and was suddenly standing back outside, in front of Schmidt, arms spread as if about to deliver a benediction. Schmidt looked startled for a moment, then emptied the magazine into Schmale's chest. To no apparent effect.

"You must be disciplined. It shall be mild, since you have not yet realized my greatness, and do not yet understand what I am and what I offer."

Schmidt's left hand fell off. He stared at the spurting blood without comprehension. As Schmale turned back to Blue Impact and Energia, the previously immobile Dampf rushed to Schmidt and clamped her hand around the man's wrist, slowing the loss of blood. She shouted something at Schmale in German. He turned, glanced at her, glanced at the wound, shrugged. There was a puff of smoke from the stump, and Schmidt screamed, jerked free of Dampf and collapsed. She stared for a moment, then dove for him.

"As you can see, I am merglkgipft..."

He shimmered, flickered, then distorted, much like a video image suddenly beset with interference. Except for the wiggling from the distortion, he wasn't moving.

"Hurry," said Energia.

Blue Impact looked down and saw Energia on her knees, hands extended, obviously straining.

"Hurry! That's not him! It's a projection! He's still in that pocket. I felt it, once he started using his powers. I can block him for a while."

Blue Impact made it back to the cleared area in front of the doors in two quick leaps. Dampf was still busy with Schmidt. Gadgetive and Dr. Device were on the ground, not moving but not obviously harmed.

Blue Impact put one gadgeteer over each shoulder, turned and moved carefully through the small doorway, then ran. She reached the containment chamber in less than a minute. Since she was still alive and free, she assumed Energia was still holding Schmale off. She quickly put the two gadgeteers on the floor, and began slapping Ike ungently back and forth across the face.

"Come on," she said, desperately. He moaned and moved a bit.

Blue Impact pulled an ammonia capsule from her utility pouch, crushed it and held it under his nose. Ike jerked, eyes flying open. As he rolled onto his side, coughing, Blue Impact used the capsule on Gadgetive. She was less responsive, but did mutter, stir, and make vague motions, as if pushing the odor away from her nose. Blue Impact turned back to Ike.

"What..." he said, shaking his head.

"Emergency," she said. "Energia is holding Schmale, somehow. She says what we've been interacting with is a projection, and that he's still in that dimensional pocket. She also said we need to hurry."

"Right," said Ike, trying to stand and failing. Blue Impact pulled him up, and aided him in the direction he indicated, towards the massive device. He shook his head again. "Okay. If he's still in there, he must want to stay in there. That's why the machine is still running at a low level."

"You're not saying we should let him out?!"

"As a last resort. He might simply disperse."

He shook his head once more, then stared at the panel for a moment of intense focus. He reached for the controls.

"Okay, increasing power. If only we'd had time to switch the transformers over. We need more power to fully contain him!"

"Do what you can with what you have. I'll check on Energia."

Ike nodded, and began twisting knobs.

Blue Impact ran out of the room, as the huge machine began to make an odd, thrumming sound.

* * *

Back in the main hall, she found Energia walking slowly towards the smaller tunnel.

"We..."

"Not enough," said Energia, voice hoarse. "It's easier, now, but he's still fighting me. We need more power."

"Hold on," said Blue Impact, moving to lift Energia into her arms.

"Wait!" said Energia, too late, as Blue Impact took of again at full speed.

Back in the chamber alarms were ringing. Ike was alternating between working the controls and talking to Gadgetive. The younger gadgeteer was sitting up against the base of one of the consoles. Blue Impact put Energia on her feet, and was startled when she had to catch the younger super.

"What's wrong?"

"You..."

"She quit doing whatever she was doing," said Ike, frantically working the controls. "We need full power NOW!"

"If you can get me to the power room," said Gadgetive, weakly, "I can do it."

"Go!" yelled Ike.

Blue Impact grabbed Gadgetive and headed out again. She was starting to feel like a taxi... not to mention unaccustomedly tired. It took a lot of energy to move her greater than normal mass that quickly. The passengers only added a bit of extra burden, but she still paid for it. With all three of her teammates acting very sub-par there wasn't much choice. She ran into the power room and put Gadgetive down near the switch panel.

"Damn," said the gadgeteer, shaking her head. "No wonder Energia is out of it. That's some ride."

"What do I do?" said the panting Blue Impact.

"Just shove that breaker back in. Yeah. Now, pull that lever to the left there, by itself, all the way up."

There was a jolt of sound and a scent of ozone, followed by a rising hum, which quickly stabilized. Below the dam water began flowing more vigorously.

"Okay. That should do it. Get back and see if they need anything else. I'll watch here."

"Gotcha'!"

All was not well in the confinement chamber when a breathless Blue Impact returned. Schmale was back - or had manifested a new projection - and Ike was frozen in place at the controls, obviously struggling to do something. Energia was sitting up on the floor, just as obviously trying to shove der Schmale back into his bottle. Schmale was not obviously doing anything, but given the situation Blue Impact assumed he was definitely straining. Else they'd all be dead by now.

"I heard about your exploits, defending your nation!" said Schmale, in a taunting voice, to Energia. He may not have noticed Blue Impact, yet. "Most of an entire fleet fell to you. Where is that might now? Has the suffering of your enemies so unnerved you that you no longer have the will to fight?"

Blue Impact froze, not sure what to do.

"I am far thicker than you," said Schmale, triumphantly. "Deeper. More substantial. Morally as well as physically! I stand outside your mundane level of awareness. My essence extends into multiple higher dimensions."

"Get... Ike... Loose..." Energia gasped.

What Blue Impact did not know was that Energia's bump of gravity was still not working. This was doing more than just not letting her fly. She was having to do without an innate sense, something she had been born with, an extra sense present in her brain since before birth. She was trying to fight not only without her mobility, but severely disorientated. As well as demoralized. So much of what Schmale said in his taunts was true... Energia's biggest deficit in this situation was confidence.

Schmale sensed weakness and indecision in the two women. Keeping a small part of his awareness focused on holding the black man unmoving, he sped time for himself. He floated casually to Energia and examined her left collar.

"Ah. I wondered what that was. Some trivial award from your government, I see."

Even as Energia stove fruitlessly to dodge away from what to her seemed like blindingly fast movements, he grabbed the lapel badge and attempted to yank it free. He was thwarted when the fabric proved tougher than he expected. This allowed Energia the opportunity to stop her futile attempts to physically catch up to his accelerated motion, and instead simply electrify her whole body. This high-voltage pulse was enough to partially disrupt the projection.

Blue Impact took advantage of this and lunged forward, putting herself between Ike and Schmale.

Der Schmale gestured at Blue Impact, intending to sweep her away. She barely moved. For just a moment, the smug expression wavered, along with his concentration. Energia slammed him with a general force bolt. Ike, suddenly free, reached the controls and began frantically working.

"Keep him busy!" Energia screamed, as she fought to bend the structure of space against Schmale.

Blue Impact darted forward and right, lunging at an instrument of some sort left on one of the control counters decades earlier. It was a heavy piece of Forties tube technology. She grabbed it and swung it underhanded at Schmale. The heavy box - filled with iron and copper - swept through the projection before smashing against the wall, safely above all of the equipment. This distraction gave Energia a chance to get a better "grip" on the projection. Her store was low, but steady, thanks to the flood of power now entering the room. All she needed was the determination to do the job. Determination she now found.

"You want to know what made fighting those Shilmek so difficult?" yelled Energia, glaring at the Nazi as she pushed the projection upstream, towards the confinement device. "So tragic? Those were just ordinary soldiers. Men and women trying to do their jobs under impossible circumstances, given no choice in the matter."

Her expression hardened.

"You, on the other hand, want to be here."

Schmale screamed in outrage as the projection appeared to be sucked into the machine, the sound dwindling to a shriek of rage before abruptly cutting off.

"Got it!" shouted Ike.

Part Eight

"Looks like your weight problem," said Ike, a bit out of breath and leaning on the console, "saved the day again."

"Oh, shut up," panted Blue Impact.

"Oh, God..." said Energia, her voice a hoarse groan. She sat up, carefully. "It's slowly coming back. My bump of gravity."

She shook her head, then grimaced in regret of making that motion.

"Falling was never one of my fears," she said, wryly. "It might just be one now."

* * *

Ike spent half an hour confirming that the machine holding Schmale was stable. Then they started cleanup. First by checking on the power room and Gadgetive.

"Okay," said Gadgetive, once she'd been briefed, "Why did Schmidt turn against Schmale?"

"We can ask him," said Blue Impact. "Dampf was putting a stopper patch on him when we came inside. He should make it."

"What's up with her, anyway?" said Gadgetive, beyond annoyed. "Was she helping Schmale or just too terrified of him to do anything?"

"Again, let's ask her," said Blue Impact.

"Oh," said Energia, suddenly thinking of something. She turned to Blue Impact. "We really need to contact Brade."

"We'll need to go outside for that," said Gadgetive. "We can relay our personal com signals through the more powerful unit in the flyer."

They checked in the containment chamber once more, then headed for the exit. They found Dampf sitting in the cleared area around the massive doors. Schmidt was lying with his head in her lap.

"Is he alive?" said Blue Impact, when the German super looked up at them.

"Yes, but weak. He needs expert treatment."

"Did you call for it?" asked Gadgetive, pointedly.

"No. All our personal coms are short range, and I didn't want to leave him to use one of the larger ones in a car."

"Right," said Blue Impact, moving away a bit to call Brade.

"I'll cool his hand so they can save it," said Energia, with a grimace.

"Don't freeze it," said Ike. "Just make it very cold."

"We caught Schmale, in case you are curious," said Gadgetive, tone acidic.

"I understood that, when he did not return and you did."

"There will be repercussions," said Dr. Device, sternly. "We don't understand everything which happened here, but there will be an investigation and the truth will be uncovered."

"I only know some of it," said Dampf. She bit her lip and looked down at Schmidt. "I didn't want to know more."

"Who are these people?" said Gadgetive, gesturing at the still zip-tied and unconscious ambushers. They had been zapped by the same whatever it was which had felled her and Ike, and so far no-one had bothered reviving them. "Who was Schmidt?"

"The others I don't know, beyond the fact that they are from a group of Nazis from somewhere in South America. Karl is my grandson."

"Your what the what?" said Gadgetive, startled.

"Why so surprised? Many supers look younger than they are," said Energia, with a shrug.

"I did not realize Karl had fallen in with this group," said Dampf, tears welling. "I agreed to participate in this exercise, then when I got here and saw Karl at first thought that was just coincidence. However, I quickly realized the others were not native Germans."

She looked at the trio of US supers.

"Karl told me they were blackmailing him into cooperating, and I joined in, thinking I would protect him. However, once we found Schmale and Karl began talking to him, I realized he was a willing participant."

"Why? Why do all this?" said Gadgetive, angrily.

Dampf looked into the distance.

"I did not want to know. That did not protect me, nor make me innocent. I was caught in something I could not escape, and too much of a coward to stand up and help you... or even warn you. Even after I escaped prison to come here and try to make things right. I am very glad you succeeded."

"Your grandson," said Ike, doing the math. "You're native-born German. You were active during the War. On the losing side."

Dampf grimaced, then stared up desperately at him.

"I was known as Fluss-Mädchen... River Maiden. I even worked with Albrecht a couple of times. He was... unstable even then, though far worse now. As the War went against us I deserted. Went back to my family and did what I could to keep them safe. Things were so confused the authorities never came after me."

"So, I wasn't imagining there was some recognition between you two," said Ike, nodding.

"He knew my voice, despite my change of costume."

"I have no idea what's going to happen to you two," said Gadgetive, her voice low and full of anger. "I just hope it's serious."

* * *

A short time later, the four from the US stood watching the helicopter ambulance leave. The medics thought there was actually a good chance of reattaching Schmidt's hand. Once the disturbance from the liftoff faded Hans Dornig - the Criminal Police Officer from the Division of State Security of the Bundeskriminalamt who had arrived to clean up the mess - walked over to them.

"Thank you," said Dornig, his English so heavily accented as to be barely understandable. He now appeared a bit embarrassed. "My superiors ask, please, that you not let this be public. We will ask through official channels of your Director and President, but also ask in person of you."

"We'll keep quiet," said Blue Impact.

* * *

"Well, that was a hectic few hours," said Energia, as she exited the flyer outside her Ramsey dorm. Despite all which had occurred since leaving, this was still the same day. Though the time was now late evening at the college.

Blue Impact surprised the younger super by giving her a firm hug.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Well, better than I was, and I'll probably keep improving."

"Good," said Blue Impact.

"Here you go," said Ike, handing Energia her unneeded overnight bag from the trunk.

"Thanks."

She stood back and waved as they lifted off. Then turned to find Alex, Vic and several others she knew watching.

"What happened?"

Energia opened her mouth, then winced.

"Sorry," she said, with a shrug. "We've been asked to keep mum until there's an official release."

There were the expected reactions, but those faded quickly.

"I guess we can wait," said Alex, displaying an unexpectedly mature attitude. Then she grinned and began bouncing up and down. "Just wait until you hear what happened here today!"

"Don't tell me you folks had an adventure of your own?" said Energia, unable to keep from smiling at the eccentric young genius.

"Not so much an adventure as an unsold sitcom pilot," said Vic, with a sour expression.

"Do tell..."

"Yeah," gushed Alex. "First, a horse got loose on campus. Only it wasn't a horse! One of the new students is an animal shapeshifter!"

"Those are rare," said Energia.

"Yeah, and she was stuck!"

"How does a shapeshifter get stuck?!"

"From what I understand, it's not easy," said Vic, rolling her eyes.

The story was related - mostly by Alex, but with multiple interjections and inquiries from others as well as considerable laughter - while the group entered the building.

END

Actions have consequences...

As the recovery from the failed Shilmek invasion continues, life seems to be returning to normal for Template and the rest of our supers - politicians are feathering their nests, new threats are crawling out of the woodwork, while old foes try to gain the upper hand - yep perfectly normal.

----
Cover art by Melanie Ezell
Typography by Joyce Melton

Masks XVII: Part One

by

Rodford Edmiston

Fallout

This story is partly a catch-up with folks and events in the Masks universe following the War and partly the culmination of a subplot which has been brewing for several years in both real and story time. There will definitely be more on this in later stories.

Part One

I could have parked closer, but I wanted to get a good look at the place before going inside for my appointment. Foot traffic flowed both ways around me as I headed towards the blocky building, mostly busy people in a hurry barely noticing me. This area saw enough tourists that someone walking slowly and looking around was not unusual.

The old Lafayette Theater had barely changed since I first saw it as a kid in the Thirties. Oh, the marquee had been updated several times since then, and was currently a computer-driven - and rather garish - LED display. The windows on the upper floor were modern double-pane replacements. The ticket booth was also new, and set further back from the sidewalk. I remembered how hot that got in the San Francisco Summers and figured it was at least more comfortable, now.

I could no longer see the ancient air conditioning equipment or the greenhouse on the roof. Even the plank fence which had long shielded the top of the building from view was gone. The brownstone was also a lot cleaner, now, the exterior practically glistening. Overall, though, it was the same since being converted from a mid-Nineteenth Century hardware store into a theater about a century earlier.

I took a deep breath, and smiled. Among the scents was food from a really good Chinese restaurant just a block and a bit away, towards Chinatown. I was glad they were still in business, and still making good food. I made a mental note to have lunch there. If I felt like eating after this.

I noticed some damage to a tall building in the distance and turned contemplative as I continued walking. Folks were still trying to untangle what happened during the War. Despite modern communications much went undocumented. Much which was documented was so thoroughly documented that people were still sifting through the multiple videos and photos and blog reports. That some of the things posted supposedly showing events of the War were obviously faked - including scenes from movies - wasn't helping, especially since many folks couldn't - or wouldn't - realize they weren't real. Also not helping was the flood of people taking things others had posted and passing them off as their own work.

So many questions still unanswered... Was the literal repulsion of the invaders from Australia really the work of long-vanished heroine Gravitas, or some secret weapon of the Aussies? Who were the multiple Radio Stars who fought in different parts of the Southeast? I shook my head and sighed. If I was resorting to thinking about super heroes I was deliberately avoiding the present situation. My purpose for being here today was connected to something which I did before the War...

The alley I turned down wasn't quite as clean as the street out front, but it was by no means filthy. I dodged around a couple of dumpsters and a pile of shipping pallets, then turned the corner and headed for the rear of the brownstone.

The most obvious means of entry was a pair of garage doors - modern, overhead, industrial loading dock types, rather than the old, wide swinging wooden ones - but my target was the human-sized entrance at the far end of the wall. It opened at my touch. No surprise; I was expected.

Inside I walked to the door at the bottom of the enclosed stairs, opened it and started up. I had to grin at the memories this exercise brought. The place had been rigged to deter unwanted visitors. More than one person - on reaching the top of the stairs - had opened the door and stepped back out into the ground-level garage. In large part thanks to a couple of professional magicians the owner had met while working in sideshows and in part due to some engineering students who had helped make their trick work.

When I opened the door at the top I entered a small cloak room. The door at the far end of that opened into a large loft. I stepped out, noting in the process several of the owner's cats lounging around. The thick, old wooden beams under the modern flooring still squeaked slightly from my weight in a familiar way as I walked into the open area, admiring again the artwork on the walls, the beautiful furniture and the hand-woven rugs. Framed paintings, photos and posters and other items were placed around the area in a tasteful display. Though there were people who would have considered some of the art objects to be in very poor taste. Over there was a gold-plated, skillfully engraved presentation Thompson submachinegun on a plaque. Not far from it was was a similarly decorated - though not plated - presentation Colt Monitor II, the lightweight version with the pistol grips and bipod, rare forty round magazine in place. The history of this place! I could actually see faint paths worn in the tough wood flooring from long use. Much of it by the current owner.

"Welcome," said a high, clear and definitely feminine voice.

"Jeez, Fen," I said, mock-teasing, as I looked for the source of that voice. "you shouldn't leave your doors unlocked. Anybody could walk in."

She entered the large den from the kitchen, all 147 (when she stood flat footed, as she was now) centimeters of her. She didn't look pleased. Even folks who judge her by her size would have definitely not wanted to mess with her when she had that expression on her fuzzy face. She currently bore an uncanny resemblance to an irritated timber wolf.

As always I was struck by her appearance. For several decades in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries she worked as a sideshow freak, earning a good living thanks to it. The best short description I have for her is "midget werewolf." The long description could fill pages. Volumes, if you included the biological differences between her and a human. Bluegrass Elves are one of the other intelligent species on our planet... well, the few other naturally evolved ones. They're New World primates, only distantly related to the Great Apes. I'm always astounded when confronted by people who don't know this. It's been common knowledge - at least for some groups of people - since the late Thirties. Ever since Fen's trial for punching out Senator Kriegharne for calling her a chimpanzee.

"Let's sit," she said, dropping onto a low couch and gesturing for me to take the higher one. The one for humans.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, staring at each other across the antique cherry coffee table. Which still had a noticeable dent from where Kriegharne's head hit. Well, I was uncomfortable, facing that predator's gaze. Actually, she probably was feeling uneasy, too. Fen is a pretty upbeat character, most of the time, and doesn't like calling someone on the carpet. Make no mistake, though; that's exactly what was happening.

I decided to take the initiative, rather than subject myself to that look any longer.

"Before we start," I said, "be advised that I can't take direct action against Gaunt."

I told her of my deal with the bad doctor, and why I'd made it. She frowned for a moment, then nodded.

"You did what you had to do. I can't fault you for protecting your friends. We'll handle any actual activities against him which might be necessary. However, I still need to know what you know, and what plans you have to deal with the situation if Gaunt goes against the agreement."

Who "we" might be I wasn't sure. Knowing her, some of the most powerful mages on the planet. Only a few of whom would count as human.

I gave her as much detail about Gaunt and his recent activities as I could, as well as a word-for-word recitation of our agreement. There was another long silence. Then she shifted herself and resumed.

"Well," said Dr. Freysdottir, somehow managing to look down on me despite being much shorter. "This is a nice mess. Dr. Gaunt is making rapid progress turning his recently acquired properties into a physical and mystical fortress. What he'll do when that's finished is as yet unknown. Law enforcement can't do anything because the records show the property was legally transferred to a holding company with no connections to anything illegal. They have no evidence Dr. Gaunt is the new owner. With the family and the company left in chaos by the death of Louis Carstairs this was actually easy for Gaunt to arrange, once he had those documents you provided."

"I did consult with you ahead of time," I said, unable to avoid sounding a bit petulant; like a little kid. Which was understating our relative ages. One reason I don't stress too much over potentially outliving most people is folks like Fen. I'm still an infant compared to her, and she's far from the oldest member of her species. "I also talked to several human mystics, including Dr. Piano. You all said this would keep Gaunt busy for a while and to go ahead."

"We also advised caution."

"You still said it would be a good idea."

She scowled a bit, then sighed and relented.

"To be honest, I didn't think you'd be successful. Always before the fates themselves seemed to conspire to frustrate the mad Doctor when it came to that piece of land."

I shifted into an elf form I had created decades before, after meeting more of her people. I thought she'd be surprised that my clothes changed too, but she didn't bat an eye.

"That's better," I said, smiling. "Now we're on equal footing. And of equal height."

"At least you didn't turn into me, this time," she muttered.

"Hey, I only did that once, when I was a kid. Now, I am concerned about Dr. Gaunt, regardless of what you think about my precautions or lack thereof. So, let's conspire."

We spoke for nearly two hours. I won't say that taking the form of a Bluegrass Elf makes me smarter, but with a different brain structure I definitely think differently.

"One other thing," said Fen, as I - back in my base form - prepared to leave. "I'm relieved you haven't revived that super brothel of yours."

"Too many bad memories," I said, with a grimace. "In retrospect, while it made a lot of money for the participants it brought too much of the wrong kind of attention to a certain subset of supers."

"There are other ways of helping people."

"Yeah," I replied, nodding, "but no one way gets everyone."

She gave me a thoughtful nod.

* * *

The two attorneys strode confidently into the small, windowless room and sat opposite their client. He was a lean, athletic man of average height, mostly Caucasian but with a hint of Mediterranean somewhere in his lineage. The younger of the two attorneys was thin and wiry, and wore glasses mounted well out on his nose. The other man was plumper and looked tireder. Brief introductions were made.

"I am very glad to see you," said Gilbert Harkner, aka Smoke. He leaned forward across the table and looked around warily before resuming in a quieter but more earnest tone. "These people are crazy!"

"Well, you can say things like that in private," said Seymour Lewis, the senior of the pair, "but be careful about such inflammatory statements where others can hear you. Now, the Bureau of Special Resources has agreed to have us represent you because you did graduate the basic training program with good grades and have expressed an interest in joining when the hiring freeze is lifted."

"That's great," said Gil, relieved. "I couldn't afford an attorney on my own and the guy the city appointed wanted me to plead guilty!"

"Okay," said Mark Louis, opening a folder, adjusting his glasses even further down his nose and making a show of reading material he already knew. "According to this, you interfered with a police hostage rescue and got several people killed, and more injured."

"No, they did!" he hissed, angrily. "I mean, I didn't interfere with them, and I'm not the one who injured the hostages. I was there, but all I did was look around!"

"All right," said Lewis. "Why don't you start at the beginning and take us through events as you experienced them."

"I was downtown, doing some business at my bank," he explained, tone and posture becoming more relaxed as he proceeded. "I was walking to the bus stop when I heard sirens. I changed direction to see what was happening. Just... simple curiosity,."

Gil explained that he had plenty of time, being unemployed.

"I was expecting to go to work for the Bureau of Special Resources, but given the budget cuts I barely completed their boot camp."

"Why did you enter the program?" said Louis.

"Up until my powers triggered in high school I had vague ideas about being a detective," said Gil. "I've always enjoyed solving puzzles, figuring out what happened and how things work."

He gave a tired laugh.

"No surprise I went into the engineering program at college. Then the government started those training programs to get ready for the Shilmek... I figured if nothing else they could teach me how to better use my powers, and I might be able to help defend the country. Since I already had an engineering degree I got in pretty easy."

"Then the War was over in just days, and within weeks the training programs were drastically cut back to use the funds for the reconstruction," said Lewis, nodding.

"Yeah. Even though they lost a lot of people in the War the Bureau had to put on a hiring freeze. So I figured I'd find a job to hold me until they were hiring again. Maybe even start on a Masters degree."

"Let's get back to the day of the situation," said Louis.

Exactly what the perpetrators of the robbery had intended was still unclear. They definitely wanted money. They might have intended some political statement, perhaps even a terrorist act. What was known was that they intended a quick in-and-out operation, but their ride didn't get back around the block to pick them up. Instead, the half-dozen heavily armed, armored and masked criminals retreated into the bank when the first police cars arrived and took hostages.

"I saw the cops just standing around doing nothing," said Gill, more than a bit angry. "Well, they were joking. Some of them about the hostages. Like it was their fault for being caught."

"So you decided to take matters into your own hands," said Louis.

"No! I decided to look the situation over. My powers make me good at stealth. If nothing else I could get recon for the cops. One of the other things I heard them talking about was how they didn't know the layout of the building or where most of the people involved were."

"Which you did without consulting with the police."

"I tried to! I activated my powers - which is all the costume I need - and went to the senior officer present and offered my services. He blew me off! I almost left, but as I walked away the mother of one of the hostages grabbed me and begged me to help. So I snuck off and found a back way in."

"What happened once you got inside?" said Lewis.

"I carefully moved through the building, making note of where everyone was and what they were doing," said Gill. He scowled. "Just like I was trained! I was carefully backing out of the upstairs room where most of the hostages were, just about finished with my scouting, when there was a big explosion."

"The SWAT team rappelled down from the roof and set explosives to blow the windows," said Louis, nodding.

"I figured that much out when they swung into the room," said Gill, sourly. "I was pretty shaken, though not as much as the hostages and robbers, due to me being almost out the door."

"Of the twenty-three hostages in the room, at that moment six died and six more were injured."

"Yeah. Those windows were safety glass, but the SWAT team used so much explosive that the blast alone hurt a lot of people. Bits of metal went flying through the air from the destroyed frame. Even some bits of the granite façade peppered the room."

"Our understanding is that the SWAT team thought the glass was armored," said Lewis.

"None of the robbers was seriously injured and they quickly rallied and retreated to a secure position, from which they opened fire," said Louis, looking further down his documents. "More hostages died, and two SWAT officers."

"They're blaming me for the injuries and deaths! They're even blaming me for the people hurt or killed when other SWAT teams came in at other locations!"

"It's a state law, here," said Lewis. "If a super is involved in a crime where someone is hurt or killed - even if they are not found guilty of violating the law themselves with their actions - they get charged. Also, to clarify, it's the city government which is blaming you; not the police."

"I wasn't committing a crime!"

"Technically, you were," said Louis. "Several, in fact, including trespassing. Still, those are technicalities and we may be able to persuade the bank's owners to drop their charges against you. That still leaves the law blaming supers for anything which goes wrong at a crime where they're using their powers. This law has been successfully challenged before. Usually with a plea bargain, accompanied by a threat to take the case to the state supreme court if they won't deal. The city's District Attorney knows that charging someone with a crime when they are trying to help is indefensible, whether the person has powers of not."

"I should have just left, after that blast," said Gill, voice choking. "No-one saw me. I could have snuck back out with nobody knowing I was there. Then they would only have themselves to blame. Instead I tried to help, and almost got shot and did get arrested."

"Oh, without you I'm sure the city would have found some way to blame the robbers or the hostages," said Lewis, tiredly. "Rather than taking the blame for their own mistakes. They keep trying this, even though it rarely works and hurts many innocent people in the process."

"I'm not going to plea bargain," said Gill, firmly, as he straightened in his seat. "Damnit! I was in the training program, did well, and then they cut the budget! If they didn't want supers helping, why did they even have the program?!"

"That's outside the scope of this case. However, we can use your volunteering for the program to show that you aren't just some hot shot trying to show off. That you are civic minded and did know what you were doing."

"So do I have a chance?"

"A very good one. We have statements from the LEO in charge that they were pressured by the city government to go in too soon. Also, the bank personnel the SWAT team spoke with about the windows gave them bad information."

"It's also the Mayor's Office which is pressuring the District Attorney to prosecute you," said Louis. "The current administration is de facto anti-super while the police department as a whole is super-neutral. So, we have a house divided against itself."

Part Two

President Livia Sievers didn't like going to a congressman's office instead of having him come to the White House. However, just now the latter site was undergoing a combination of needed repairs and urgent upgrades. Wyler's secretary escorted Sieves into the office, where he politely greeted her and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Sievers wanted this to be just the two of them; the secretary left, going back into the outer office where the Secret Service escort waited. Once the door closed she got directly to the point.

"Why are you sponsoring a bill which will remove the rest of the federal aid to train supers?"

"We simply don't need them," said Senator Wyler, with a wave of the gold-decorated fountain pen in his right hand. He was actually just a couple of years Sievers' senior but had an affectation for the old fashioned. Something which was often revealed in his technical ignorance regarding modern matters.

"With all the disasters before the attack and the few we've had since," said Sievers, emphatically, "with all the help we need rebuilding, how can you say that?"

"I mean we don't need anything which might encourage supers to think they can help with law enforcement. Yes, the supers are useful, in certain circumstances. If we can just keep them from interfering with the proper enforcement of law I have no problem with them helping. They are untrained, after all, and we're both all to familiar with what happens when someone practices law enforcement without training or has the wrong kind of training."

"What about the Bureau of Special Resources? You specifically target that and it is a law enforcement agency dedicated to training supers for that job. You should be in full support of it, given what you just said."

"Eh?" said Wyler, looking briefly confused. "I think you misunderstand the function of that group. They're a civil rights agency. Since civil rights are for everyone we don't need an agency just for supers."

"I helped create that organization," said Sievers, giving him a stern look. "I can assure you they're primarily intended - from the start and still - for law enforcement work. Brade's nickname is even 'the Super Top Cop.'"

"Which just goes to show how those cop wannabes view reality," said Wyler, waving reality aside himself. "Give them any sort of authority and they think they're judge, jury and executioner."

Sievers realized that the man honestly couldn't conceive of supers validly working in law enforcement. Neither could he perceive that many already were, successfully. Some for decades.

"You're the one who railed against untrained supers causing harm while intending good. You even proposed making exemptions to the Good Samaritan laws so that supers who make an honest mistake can't 'get away with it.' I don't understand why you are against federally standardized and funded training. The rewards will repay the cost many times over. Multiple studies and real-world examples show this."

"You're missing the point!" said Wyler, angrily. "You know that I have been campaigning against the recent civil rights violations and excesses committed by law enforcement in this country. Just imagine the chaos if supers are sworn in! Their powers would make thing a hundred times worse!"

"What makes you think supers would be worse at respecting civil rights than normal humans?" said the President, so confused she didn't point out that over a hundred supers were already license-carrying federal law enforcement agents.

"I don't understand how you can't see this. If normal humans, given a bit of authority, along with guns and tasers and pepper spray, can yield to temptation and abuse and even kill citizens, what do you think the supers will do?!"

"The percentage of officers who abuse their power..."

"Even one is too many! That percentage will skyrocket if you give supers the protection of a badge. Their powers make such excesses too easy, and violations too easy to conceal."

The President sat there for a long moment, staring at the man. She knew he had a history involving unpleasant experiences with abusive police and even federal agents, only part of it due to being black. She had no idea until now that he was this obsessed with preventing such abuses. So obsessed that he would cripple normal law enforcement even if that impacted the majority who did follow the rules and act properly. He was paranoid about authority and its abuse. Now he was planning to use his authority to hurt others, completely unironically.

"I will veto your bill," said Sievers, finally. "We need supers now, more than ever. We especially need trained supers. We need as many as we can get who are trained specifically in law enforcement."

"Then I'll just delay it until you're out of office," said Wyler, smugly. "You haven't got long, you know. Another couple of years and a bit. I'll still be here and I'm certain the next President will be more reasonable. Good day."

* * *

"Momma! Momma! Momma!"

Little Roy came running into Randy's apartment office, overflowing with excitement, bare feet pounding the short-pile carpet, something clasped in his hands. His father looked up from the computer, and swiveled his chair around to face the boy.

"Hey, squirt," said Randy, grinning as he caught the youngster. "Which Momma do you want?"

"Momma Template!" said Roy, insistently.

"Sorry, Randy," said Karen, looking harried as she entered. "He got away from me."

"Well, if I didn't want to be interrupted I'd've closed the door."

Randy lifted his son into his lap.

"Okay, what is so important, and why do you want to show it to Template and not me?"

The boy had mastered the art of separating his parents' public and private identities surprisingly early, though he did tend to treat the masked identities as different - if connected - people from his parents' civilian IDs. He never called Randy Template or Karen Colossa when they were in civvies. He called Randy Daddy and Template Momma. He called both Karen and Colossa Momma. However, he normally wouldn't even refer to Template or Colossa as "Momma" unless they were present in costume. This was an unusual gaffe.

"This," said the boy, suddenly shy.

He teasingly showed Randy what was in his hands: A Template action figure.

"Oh!" said Randy, startled. "I forgot about those!"

"Yeah, with the War and everything..." said Karen. "I saw that when we were out shopping this afternoon and got it for him."

Randy took the figure in his right hand and slowly examined it, smiling. It was part of a series of figures of costumed people from the school, the rights to make them sold to generate funds. The money was secondary, though; the main reason was to publicize the school and humanize those working there.

"Here you go, sport," said Randy, handing the toy back.

"I want to show Momma Template!"

"Okay, okay," said Randy, laughing. "You need to go over there, though. Unless you want to be a girl."

"Don't want to be a girl," said Roy, firmly.

He jumped off Randy's lap and hurried over to Karen, getting behind her and peeking around her legs.

Randy stood and moved away a bit, smiling. He held his arms out.
"Shazam!"

Randy changed to Template and crouched down, arms held out. Roy ran to her.

"Momma!" said Roy, joyfully, as he held out the figure.

"Oooh, it's me!"

Karen grinned as she watched the pair interact. She also felt a twinge of envy. Roy called her "Momma" but he didn't act with her the way he did with his birth mother. Not even the way he did when she was his father. So far none of their new neighbors had noticed anything unusual, though.

While the school had daycare they didn't have preschool or grade school... yet. Karen and Randy had taken this apartment stateside in order for Roy to start school the next year. They chose this specific city because of the nearby location of a newly created - and carefully hidden - elevator to the Subterran tunnels. This was one of many constructed during the post-war rebuilding, which were often incorporated into hidden corners of structures old and new. These made commuting to and from the island - and many other places - quick, convenient and secure, as well as discreet.

There were plans for a grade school on the island, but it would not open for another couple of years, if then. When it did open Roy would attend as the child of Karen and Randy - both of whom had a long history of supporting and working for the school - rather than of Colossa and Template. Since few humans demonstrated powers before their early teens Roy and his classmates would all be expected to behave as normal children. What Randy and Karen would do later, if he did develop powers, they weren't sure about yet. For the next two years, though, the youngster would be in a good - if mundane - grade school in this super-friendly city, which was not far from the new Intrepids Mountain. Since both parents were officially working for the team in the rebuilding of the destroyed base, that just made sense.

"How goes the job?" said Karen, as she took Roy. She smirked. "Any of them."

"Busy, but no major problems," said Template. She surprised herself by yawning. "Ugh. Like I said: Busy. Oh! I have an appointment with the engineering team on the island at three, their time."

"I got it," said Karen. She grinned down at the squirming Roy. "Or him, rather."

* * *

"Is that the new Champion costume?" said Susan, as Paula entered their shared quarters carrying a bundle.

"Yep," she said, grinning as she ripped the package open. "It was waiting for me when I came on shift. Had to exercise all my will power not to take off early. It's that new blend of WonderCloth, too. They managed to get some despite the disruptions from the War."

Paula held the body stocking portion up for inspection, then glanced back at what remained in the wrap.

"I'm gonna go put the whole thing on."

With an armload of costume components, she started for the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" said Susan, with a smirk. "We're all girls, here."

"You sure you didn't turn bi when you got empowered?" said Paula, teasing.

"Look, we're two women living together. Go change in private if you're shy. I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me one way or the other."

Paula changed course and put the costume on the couch, then began taking off her security supervisor uniform. If her partner had any interest beyond casual curiosity, she hid it well.

"Did you decide about whether to stay on second security shift?" said Paula, as she finished stripping.

"Yeah. That suits me and lets us have days together."

Paula frowned at the one-piece, unitard-like undergarment which was the foundation of the outfit. The instructions were clear that this was supposed to be the only thing worn under the rest of the costume, but there was nothing on how to don it.

"With Thunderer and Jade Eagle already well-fitted into the team adding a new member shouldn't cause much trouble. Especially one who has worked in the field with the team before. How do...?"

"Turn it around. Yeah, solid part in front. I'm glad you're getting back into the saddle. It suits you a lot better than staying here and fretting when team members are in the field. Are you still going to work third shift supervisor?"

"Until we get Roger up to speed," said Paula, as she pulled the garment open and peered inside. She stepped in and pulled the lower part of the garment snug.

"What was the grimace for? Too tight in the crotch?"

"Uhm, no. Still not used to having so little in the crotch."

"You weren't that well-endowed," said Susan, laughing.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, dear. Atana's 'retirement benefits' didn't include enhancing your manhood. No reason to, actually. You were perfectly adequate. Especially since your experiences without it gave you insights in how to better apply it."

"At the time I was just glad to get it back," said Paula, distractedly, as she finished slipping on the body stocking. "Though my package actually was a bit larger than before, and I mean proportionally larger."

Susan manfully refrained from making a snide remark.

Soon the pull-over tunic, the utility belt, the athletic shoes and the cowl were in place and properly secured.

"Now I realize I should have used the bedroom," said Paula, looking down at her costumed self and running her hands along the new costume. "I need the full-length mirror in there."

Paula turned in that direction, Susan rising from where she had watched the process to follow close behind. Soon the new Champion - who had been the original Champion - was examining her reflection. She was definitely pleased. In fact, Paula was obviously admiring herself in the mirror.

"Not bad," she said, smiling and posing.

"You are such a girl," said Susan, with a smirk.

"Oh, shush."

"I haven't heard you say anything about your breasts this whole time. A guy would have been 'boob' this and 'tit' that and 'cleavage' the other, non-stop."

"Har, har..."

The new Champion costume followed the pattern of the previous ones, with some new touches. Paula had decided on minimal padding for this one, most of what there was being used to hide the built-in armor. That plus strategic airbrushing helped disguise her figure. The designers had actually managed to make her look slimmer than she normally did. One of the ways Paula had developed her powers was to strength train, which made her look quite distinctively muscular in her civilian ID, so that illusion would definitely be handy.

"I'm surprised you went for a full cowl with chin piece, instead of just a mask," said Susan.

"As one of the shift chiefs of Assembly security my face is available to the press and law enforcement. I need the extra cover."

Susan smirked and struck an exaggerated version of one of Paula's poses, then altered herself to look like Paula.

"If you'd just practice shapeshifting more..."

"I practice," Paula - or Champion - replied, a bit defensively.

"Not enough to hold another shape for any length of time," said Susan her tone chiding as she shifted back to normal. "Or in spite of distractions."

"They said we'd develop different power sets, depending on our individual physiologies and personalities. You're not nearly as strong, fast or tough as I am."

"Well, if you don't learn how to hold another form when severely distracted, I'm going to have to be the man in our relationship."

Champion froze, then turned her head towards Susan.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't task me. I'm willing to give you pointers, but I'd rather have a heterosexual relationship. Even if I have to go convex to get it."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," said Champion, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Seeing how uncomfortable she had made her partner, Susan stepped closer and hugged her from behind.

"You know I'm kidding," she said, giving her a kiss which was a bit more than sisterly. "I'd like to try sex as a man just to see what that's like, but I'd never insist on you being my victim."

"I know that," said Champion, quietly. She turned, now nose-to-nose with Susan. "I love you."

"How come you never said that as a guy?" said Susan, teasing. This time the kiss was on the lips, and definitely not platonic. "I love you, too."

Paula had intended to wear the costume some to break it in. She wound up quickly taking it off... for quite a while.

Masks Seventeen: Part Three

by

Rodford Edmiston

They waited anxiously as the timer Randy had started counted down. They were one of the few couples on the planet where the husband knew exactly what the wife was going through. That often led to a great deal of sharing and empathy as well as jokes which were sometimes quite ribald. Just now they were both all but holding their breaths, and very deliberately looking anywhere in the small bathroom except at the little stick Karen held.

The timer sounded, and Randy quickly shut it off before turning back to Karen, who was peering at the stick.

"Well?" said Randy, eagerly.

"Positive!" said Karen, triumphantly. She held up the small tester, obviously ecstatic despite her determination to deal with either result in a calm manner.

"Well, it is your turn," said Randy, with a smirk.

"Oh, wow," said Karen, suddenly dropping onto the toilet, staring at the result. "I know we both wanted another kid, but seeing this..."

"Just remember," said Randy, leaning down to hug her one-armed, "I'm here to give you pointers."

"Oh, you," said Karen, suddenly overcome with giggles.

They walked into the small living room, Karen still stunned.

"You gonna hold that thing all day?" said Randy, nodding at the tester.

"You put yours in Roy's scrapbook! Well, after several enormous mood swings and a couple of panic attacks."

"I think I had all that coming," said Randy, mock-
defensively. He kissed her. "Anyway, I've got to head to the island in about fifty minutes. Yet another meeting with the engineers. Should be home well before supper."

"I think I'll make something special tonight," said Karen, playfully.

"I'm looking forward to that," said Randy, grinning.

* * *

Deep under the Harz Mountains Ike (Doctor Device) Kenniman was already meeting with some engineers. Fortunately, he spoke fluent German.

"Once we got the new hydroelectric generator in here to take the load we shut off the old power plant," said the man in charge of repairs and maintenance to the old Nazi base. He had to speak up a bit to be heard over the sound of flowing water, and his voice echoed slightly in the power chamber. "We then tore the old one down and gave it a full inspection. The equipment is incredibly well designed and built; we figure it had another twenty or maybe thirty years of operational life. They actually used some of the water as a once-through coolant and lubricant!"

"If the Shilmek hadn't bombarded the place and caused some damage the generator would likely have been the first part to fail," said Ike, nodding. "There's some fantastic engineering, here. We're actually learning things about what works for long-term installations."

"Any update on when the permanent generators will be installed?" said the tech.

"My factory is custom-building two Kenniman Kinematics Catalytic Fusion units for here as we speak," said Ike. "Both equipped with strippers to take hydrogen out of the water. Either could more than take the load for the entire base. Once they're installed and running, we'll put a pair of the largest PowerSell units in the containment room, in case something interrupts main power. With the new wiring and control panels we're installing, the dimensional distorter should keep running indefinitely."

The other man grimaced, and may even have shuddered.

"Der Schmale... One of my great-grandfathers was murdered by that maniac. What more can we do with something like him beyond containing him for now?"

"We've got long-term planners working on that," said Ike.

* * *

"It official!" said Energia, joyously, as she flew into the common room of Blue Impact's lair. "We're incorporated as Tricorne!"

As usual for the Winter school break, the trio of female supers were together in the team's ex-bakery headquarters. This year, though, there was an extra incentive for the gathering: Their senior member had finally conceded to properly organizing their group. Only a few days remained before the Spring semester began, and for a while they had thought the process wouldn't complete until after they dispersed to their various schools.

"Great!" said Gadgetive, as she used body english with the custom game controller to maneuver her character on the large screen. "Where's the boss?"

"I flew on ahead with the news. She's coming in a bit."

"Great," Gadgetive repeated, getting back to her game.

"What are you playing?" said Energia, who thought the images looked familiar.

"Elder Scrolls: Equestria," said Gadgetive, absently.

"Oh! I didn't know they'd made a game out of the show!"

"What show?"

"Argh. There's an animated series and comic book."

"That was quick. The game's only been out a few weeks."

"The show came first, then the comic, then the game," said Blue Impact, as she entered. She stopped and dramatically held up a large, padded envelope. "So, anybody want to see our official papers of incorporation?"

"That's them?!" said Gadgetive, startled into forgetting her game. There was a horrible equine scream from the TV.

Ignoring the virtual mayhem the two younger members hurried over to their teacher. Who made a show of opening the envelope and pulling out the certificate.

"Wow," said Energia, after a few moments of silence. "There it is. All formal and everything. Even our logo."

This was artwork featuring a stylized tricorne hat with one of the members standing on each corner. Blue Impact was at the center rear, Energia on the left and...

"Heh. They actually made me as tall as you," said Gadgetive, elbowing Energia in the ribs.

"We'll have patches with this logo to put on our costumes in a couple of days," said Blue Impact, sounding pleased. "I also know where we can get this properly framed."

"Just remember," said Gadgetive, ominously, "what the government gives it can take away."

"Once it's framed we can put it on the wall over... There?" said Blue Impact, pointing.

"No, above the com center," said Gadgetive.

"Yeah," said Energia, nodding in agreement.

"Okay. Over the com center it is."

* * *

Yet another day of administrative work at the Pine Island Academy. Yet another evening meeting with the engineers. This time to finally deal with something which they and the security staff had been complaining about since Sung had nuked the school.

"We need another upgrade to the power generation infrastructure?" said Template, not actually surprised.

"Yeah," said Junker, nodding. "Pine's zero point power plant was over-designed enough to serve us the first couple of years, but when we added those second-generation shield projectors..."

"Good thing we did, too," said Template. "The first system we had would have collapsed under Sung's nuke."

"...we had to add two Lunie fusion plants to drive 'em," Junker continued, ignoring the interruption. "They had enough reserve capacity that when we kludged together that third shield unit from spare parts they and Pine's plant together could also power it, just barely. The two newest shield generators are the biggest yet; we need another full fusion generator for each, plus upgrades to the distribution system. Even the planned geothermal generator wouldn't be enough by itself. We've already contacted Dr. Device for some custom generators; multi-cycle fusion units which are more powerful for the size and also more efficient than the Lunie generators. They'll be the most powerful electrical generators on the island. Gonna cost us a fortune, but we can't do without."

"Why haven't we duplicated Pine's zero point device?"

"Too idiosyncratic," said Junker, with a sour expression. "The folks investigating the base after it was taken couldn't even figure out how to shut it down. Pine made the stuff he planned to market easy to reproduce. He wasn't planning to share his zero point gadgets. It took us until two years ago just to figure out how to safely turn it off. Then another two months to figure out how to turn it back on! We think we have good procedures for both, now."

"Argh..." said Template, rubbing her head. "We do need to consolidate. I know a certain level of redundancy is important, but we've got too many shield generators and too many power sources."

"Yeah. Well, once we get the two newest installed we plan to use them as the main protection. They're designed from scratch to synch with each other. We'll keep the three second generation projectors as backups, powered by the grid with priority connections. Each of the two newest units will be independently powered by the new fusion reactors, with grid connections for power sharing both ways."

"I guess we can use the other units for spare parts," said Template, nodding.

"Only the second generation projectors have any parts compatible with another unit," said Junker. "However, we can sell the first force field unit we installed to a super team. Then we keep the three second generation units on standby as a backup to the new projectors. As for the power plants, we'll have main power from several renewable sources and several fusion generators, while keeping Pine's zero point unit off but ready to turn back on if it's needed."

"Selling that first force field projector will help offset the costs a bit," said Template, nodding. "Okay. We have a plan. It's an expensive plan, but it's a good one. I'll brief Eve, but don't see her making any changes."

"Good. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, after all that's happened, but I have a feeling..."

"Yeah," said Template, nodding. She lowered her voice unconsciously. "Me, too."

Junker sighed and rubbed his face, looking tired.

"Frankly, I'll be glad to stop using Pine's zero point generator. There's always been an unexplained drain somewhere, which seems to fluctuate for no reason we can determine. The thing spooks me."

* * *

"Speaking of Sung," said Eve, after Template finished briefing her, "they've finally released the inventory of the treasures he had hidden away. At least, what was in the repositories he actually used in this latest plot. He may still have others we don't know about."

"Go on."

"The majority of value was in gold - bars and coins from multiple sources, some centuries old and including much from shipwrecks - but most of the rest was in artwork. A great deal of that was known to have been looted by the Nazis, the Soviets and the Chinese during and following World War Two. There's several pieces thought to be lost, and even a couple thought to have been found!"

"Not all that surprising; any of that. I hope they're going to return the traceable items to the next of kin of the last known legal owners."

"Everyone but the Chinese have already said they will do that," said Eve, looking annoyed. "They are claiming that not only does everything in the two deposits found on their territory belong to them - regardless of who it was stolen from - but much of what was found in vaults in other nations does, as well."

"Typical," said Template, dryly.

"One of the more interesting vaults - which he barely touched, fortunately - was full of items looted from Moscow in three different wars. About half these went missing during the Great Patriotic War era. A significant portion of it dated from the Napoleonic invasion of Russia!"

"Whoah. Wonder where he found that."

"Sung isn't talking. However, at least the Amber Room can now be properly restored." She smiled at a fond memory. "So beautiful...

"However, the reason I mentioned that is that there are standing rewards for some of the items. All those who partook in their recovery will have a share, the portion depending on the person's exact role."

"Huh. It's so rare for costumed heroes to collect a reward I hadn't even thought about that. I guess some folks are going to be rich. Or at least wealthier than they were."

"Connected with that," said Eve, her expression carefully neutral, "the death of Energex has been confirmed. Which means you are due for a reward."

"I don't want it. I won't take money for killing someone."

"Then graciously accept it and donate it to the school," said Eve, smoothly. "We were never able to collect the court-ordered compensation for the damage he caused in his previous attack on the school."

"That sounds acceptable." Template gave a sour grin. "I imagine he would be really annoyed by that.

"So, do you have any questions or comments on the shield generators and power plants?"

"No," said Eve. "I agree that we need all that. I just hope we can get a decent price for that original shield generator. Most of our benefactors were heavily impacted by the War and our finances will be strained with all the repairs and improvements we have planned."

"After what the Five Great Powers did I'm just glad the new shield generators have an improved psi-resistance rating."

She grinned at Eve.

"Despite the inconvenience to you."

Part Four

"I'm in position. No-one else here," said Sharma, over the team's earpieces. "I've persuaded the device to cease counting. Starting the disarming process."

"We'll start the diversion, then," said Champion, grinning for some reason.

Jade Eagle watched Champion out of the corner of her eye. The woman seriously puzzled her. This new Champion hadn't been on the team even as long as Jade Eagle had, but the senior members not only accepted her as team leader, they acted as if she had held that position for years. Yet she was definitely not either of the previous two Champions.

Jade Eagle knew that this woman had previously been a male security supervisor. Exactly how he and become she and empowered was still unknown to her. She supposed that "Paula" had been with the team from its foundation and was a professional who had proven herself to the veteran team members. Which would explain the confidence the others placed in her.

While the details of the new Champion's background remained unclear, Jade Eagle found that accepting this person as leader was easy. She was competent, assured and very much in control of herself and the situation, without being overbearing. The trust the senior members showed her definitely helped with the acceptance. Jade Eagle still found the situation... curious.

"All right," said Champion, rising from where she and Jade Eagle waited prone on a rooftop. "Let's get this started."

The bad guys were still loading their loot into the delivery truck as the team members approached from two horizontal directions and one vertical. They were counting on the bugs and human lookouts they had posted before entering the depository to warn them of any intrusion. Their plan was both bold and simple: Wait for a holiday when the area would be empty of anyone except the security staff, take that out with gas bombs placed ahead of time, loot the place at their leisure, then rupture a gas main by remote-triggered explosion to delay the detection of their crime. By the time emergency crews cleared an access to the vault and the owners opened it to discover the robbery, the thieves would be out of the country.

They hadn't counted on someone who worked in the business center across the street having to work on a special project during the holiday. Or that she - taking a break - would just happen to look out the break room window at just the right moment to notice something suspicious. Or that, having her suspicions raised, she would use her professional-grade DSLR with an excellent long lens to confirm them. Or that she would be enough of a super fan to recognize that some of the thieves were known criminal supers. Or that, realizing the police would be short-handed due to the holiday, she would call the Assembly directly.

Thanks to Sharma, their training and equipment and some long-distance help from Dr. Gorgeous they had neutralized all the bugs. Thanks to Champion and Jade Eagle they had captured all the lookouts with no warning given. Now, with their mystic in place where she could do the most good, the rest of the team attacked.

There were eight well-trained norms, plus a pair of veteran supers on the team of criminals. They were just starting to realize that their live lookouts had missed a scheduled reporting in when the Assembly charged. Each member headed for specific targets as assigned by Dr. Gorgeous.

Champion's first target was the driver. She dove through the open passenger window of the delivery truck and caught him with a hard left cross while still above the seat. He was a normal in protective gear, and took a couple more punches to subdue, but that first one stunned him enough to make the rest easy. She used a pair of sturdy zip ties to secure him to the seat belt anchors, and took the keys out of the ignition.

Outside, Jade Eagle had already rendered nearly half the norms incapable of action; the other robbers were distracted by her, Thunderer and Maciste, not even noticing what was happening inside the truck.

Champion slipped back out the passenger window, then vaulted over the truck, catching the gunmen on the other side by surprise. In a whirl of activity she quickly disarmed each of those still active, in the process dumping them on the ground. Before they could recover she and Jade Eagle - who besides being able to fly was low level superhuman in speed and resilience - zip tied them. When finished Champion took a moment to note with satisfaction that none of the prisoners were seriously hurt. Then she moved to help Maciste with Bombast while Jade Eagle watched the prisoners. The team's strongman already had the bad guys' brick on the ropes; with Champion helping they quickly finished him.

Leaving Maciste to apply the restraints, Champion checked on Thunderer. She had Gurner stunned and in cuffs.

"You got anything to cover his face?" said Champion.

"Yeah. Gonna use an elastic bandage from my medical kit."

"That should do it. Just be sure he can breathe." She stepped back a bit to let Thunderer work and used her com. "Champion to Sharma. Status, please."

"Done," said the team mystic. "Bomb inert. No hostiles here, of course."

There was a bit of understandable amusement in that last bit. Naturally, none of the bad guys would stick around where they had set a bomb. Champion was just glad Sharma had a way with machines. Unlike her predecessor, Dr. Piano, who couldn't program a DVR even with the manual.

"Okay. You stay with that until the city bomb squad can get there."

"Roger."

Champion hopped back on top of the loot-filled delivery truck and surveyed the situation. She smiled in satisfaction. Even without every member present - and once a team's membership got beyond five it was not unusual that one or more wouldn't be able to make an operation - they were a good team. A very good team.

They stayed for the cleanup and to give statements to the police.

* * *

The meeting was a tense one. The defense of the capital was taken seriously even in peaceful times. This soon after many buildings and much of the infrastructure had been damaged in an enemy attack the defenders were borderline fanatical. Unfortunately, some of them may have crossed that border.

"Protocol calls for warning before shooting!" said Howers.

"We sent multiple warnings on all the standard aircraft frequencies," said the FAA representative, blandly.

"To a flying man."

"Well, how are we supposed to contact someone like that?" snapped the FAA rep. "If he doesn't carry a radio, that's his responsibility!"

Howers turned to the Air Force representative.

"Protocol calls for sending warnings. Procedure calls for using multiple methods. In the past helicopters have flown to intercept low and slow targets, such as supers. Helicopters with external speakers. Why wasn't this done here?"

"The whole area was covered in dense fog, with heavy clouds above that and intermittent rain," said the Colonel, with an easy shrug. "It was unsafe to have anything flying. That's how we knew this had to be the act of someone desperate."

"What if it had been a light plane with a family on board, lost in the fog and desperately trying to find a safe place to land?" said Howers, unable to keep the anger completely out of his words.

"We can tell the difference," said the Colonel, icily.

"Right. What if it had been a kid alone in a light plane, on his or her first cross country flight, lost in the fog?"

"Children are used the world over for suicide bombings."

Howers had to actually stop, close his eyes and take several deep breaths before he trusted himself to speak.

"What I'm hearing here aren't reasons," he said, with forced calm, "or even justifications. What I'm hearing is excuses for NOT DOING YOUR FUCKING JOBS!"

They had the nerve to look surprised. Howers swept his gaze around the room.

"You're all on suspension while this is investigated. So help me God, if this turns out to be what it now appears to be, I'll make sure you get tried for first degree murder. Though you'll probably be able to plea bargain it down to manslaughter."

He rose and stormed out, his speed fueled by anger and leaving the people he had interviewed stunned.

* * *

Ike Kenniman was known for his high energy level, but even he was looking tired as he met with the members of the Intrepids.

The meeting was to confirm details negotiated by video link and e-mail, and settle a few more. When the business was completed, they all just sat for a bit, there in the echoing gymnasium of the old Guild Hall, on the other side of the mountain from the Assembly base.

"One more item," said the Black Mask. "Something we mentioned in our original request but which seems to have fallen by the wayside. We need a new super monitoring system terminal."

"I've decided not to replace the satellites," said Ike, abruptly. "Probably should never have built them. I know that system came in handy for plenty of legitimate uses, but there's ground-based units - some with over-the-horizon capability - to do the job, now. It's a lot easier to control who has those than to keep folks from decoding the satellite signal. You can get those detectors from several sources, which eases my burden a bit. I'm not going to make them."

"I can't say I blame you," said Bowman. "We - well, I - had hoped you would include planet-wide damping fields for neutralizers in the new satellites, though."

"I could have snuck them in," said Ike, "but there's some serious talk about making the counter devices more easily available. If the supporters of the bill in Congress have their way, any incorporated team in good standing will be able to keep those on hand legally."

"Now that's good news," said Jet Jaguar, enthusiastically.

"What's your opinion of the state of the country's recovery?" said the Black Mask, realizing business was over for the day.

"Surprisingly good," said Ike, nodding. "The biggest shortfall is in new electrical substation transformers. For reasons I've never understood, transformers for large substations are only available from manufacturers outside the US, and even in normal times they take over a year to get. Fortunately, between preparations to handle the effects of a Coronal Mass Ejection hitting the Earth's magnetosphere, anti-terrorism measures and getting ready for the War we had a bunch of replacements on hand already. Folks have also been able to repair some of the damaged ones, and route around damaged areas in the distribution network by salvaging equipment from otherwise dead substations and moving it to areas where the system is ready for them."

They spoke for nearly another half hour, Ike appearing glad for the break from business. However, he finally had to beg their leave.

"I need to finish some estimates for the Pine Island Academy," he told the Intrepids.

"Thank you for making time for us," said the Black Mask, as the two men stood and shook hands.

"Trust me. You folks are high on my list of priorities."

* * *

Paula was still getting occasional therapy sessions with either Sharma or Dr. Gorgeous. These were much less stressful lately, and usually shorter. Today, after Paula griped a bit about Susan's sense of humor she and Dr. Gorgeous mostly just chatted.

"You seem far better in your general mood since actively resuming your work as Champion," said Lucille.

"Yeah. Getting back in the saddle has really helped. I guess I missed it far more than I thought."

"So are you quitting your job in security?" said the team genius.

"Yeah," said Paula, a bit sadly. "I need to be on call. Roger can handle the job just fine, now."

That Paula was the new Champion was no secret to team or staff. Many in both groups even knew she had been the first Champion. They might not be clear on all the details, but held their curiosity in check out of respect for her privacy.

"My new job title is Security Consultant Specialist," said Paula, rolling her eyes. "Which provides excuses for all the times I'll be away as Champion while keeping me on the payroll."

"Well, unless we get requests for your services from other teams rebuilding after the War, that should leave you free for team operations," said Dr. Gorgeous, with a laugh.

"Speaking of which," said Paula, standing, "I've got a training session in a bit with the other team members. Mostly just routine practice, but we're also going over some weaknesses spotted in today's operation."

"See you next week, then."

Masks Seventeen: Part Five

by

Rodford Edmiston

"Yeah!" shouted Hickham, raising his arms and shaking his fists as the results from the election returns continued to come in. Responding cheers rang through the Structural Party hall. Objectively, Great Britain hadn't done badly in the Shilmek War, but the events had unnerved enough people to result in a vote of no confidence in the previous government and a call for elections. "Another win for our side!"

The party leader was a big man, much - but not all - of his size coming from a large amount of fat.

He was old enough to remember when these meeting halls would be filled with smoke. Not to mention all male. Hickham couldn't help but associate the growing female contingent with the tobacco ban. At least there was still plenty of alcohol, of many types. Speaking of which, he ordered another pint. He normally rationed himself - not only for health reasons but because he would not risk looking impaired in front of his followers - but tonight he was enjoying downing several of his favorite.

He was also luxuriating in the camaraderie, the companionship and the mutual respect. Most of all, though, he was enjoying the feeling of success. His Structural Party was not the largest or wealthiest, but with the other parties dithering and looking bad due to being caught off-guard by the War his was winning a huge number of positions in the new government. They might even have the new Prime Minister!

Bernard Hickham felt good. He'd split from his old party and taken a good portion of the members with him, adding people from all walks over the past five years. Now, his party - His creation! - was about to take over.

Good thing, too, he thought. This country was almost too far gone to save.

Well, with his people in charge that meant he was in charge, regardless of who was actually Prime Minister. Time to take over. Do things right. Make Great Britain something to be respected again!

Hickham smiled, and nodded to Colbert, his chief enforcer. The boys were ready. Whether their enemies were or not.

* * *

The Fall semester was due to start soon, and students new and veteran were rushing to complete the necessary paperwork. The Administration building at the Pine Island Academy was very busy just now.

One young woman was obviously in a greater hurry than most, heading inside. The young man was not, and on his way out. He made the mistake of graciously holding the door to the Administration building open for her.

"I don't need your help!" she snapped, stopping just inside to turn and glare at him. Traffic began to stall around them, then adjusted and shifted to other doors.

Gary thought of himself as confident and competent. Some of the others at the Pine Island Academy thought of him as smug. Well, as the current holder of the title - and abilities - of The Dragon's Hand he had good cause to be. Great-Grandson of the original, at age eighteen he was already a force to be reckoned with. Not that he was a bully or a bad person. He just was a bit too full of himself, sometimes.

"You're welcome," said Gary, his usual confident smile momentarily turning into a smirk.

He recognized her, now. Talisman, she called herself. Talk about someone with a superiority complex. She thought that being able to cast a light spell made her better than folks who could shoot lasers from their eyes.

Talisman was angry and letting the world know it, but Gary just smiled, continuing to hold the door open. People slowed and stopped to watch the encounter, though they kept their distance. All of this only made her angrier.

"Meddle not in the affairs of witches!" she snapped, stepping closer to him, the better to glare up at the boy, letting the door close behind her. "For we are subtle and quick to anger!"

Gary stared at her for a moment, then smiled again, shaking his head. She had either never heard the original, Tolkien version or simply discarded it from her memory as irrelevant for her. She also seemed unaware of the most common modern version of the quote. Releasing the door - which forced her to quickly move out of its way - he stepped back a bit and took a fighting stance. His aura manifested, in the form of a dragon.

"Be careful, little witch," said the great beast, in a voice which made tiles in the drop ceiling flutter. "I'm the one with the ketchup."

He held the pose for a moment, then relaxed, his aura fading. He wasn't sure, but he thought Talisman had wet herself.

* * *

Each semester her dorm room at Ramsey Technical College seemed to get smaller. Even when Vic was in the same room as the previous semester. Of course, the main reason behind this phenomenon was the natural tendency to collect more belongings with time.

Vic knew that some students abandoned much of their property when they left at the end of a semester, even when they were coming back. She didn't understand that. If it was worn out, you should recycle it or throw it away. If it was still good take it with you. Don't just leave a mess for someone else to deal with. If there was something you no longer needed at school, leave it at home.

Even with abandoning items, most students tended to have more each semester. Aside from meaning that the rooms were more crowded, this meant that moving in and out was more time consuming and required much more work. Especially given the choice of waiting long periods for an elevator or using the stairs. Of course, for someone who was a borderline superhuman in terms of strength and stamina the latter choice wasn't all that great a burden. Even when Alex had her roommate carry most of her stuff as well as Vic's own.

As Vic brought yet another stack of boxes into their dorm room she almost ran into a new gal on her way out. The young woman had something in her hand.

"Hey," said Vic, startled. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I needed some ibuprofen for a headache."

Cooley, that was her name, Vic now remembered. This was her first semester, but she was a Sophomore, a transfer from another college. Vic recovered from her surprise at the unexpected encounter, quickly put the stack of boxes down and snatched the bottle from the other gal's hand. A quick look around showed that Cooley had actually rummaged through the right appropriately labelled box to find the wrong bottle.

"What's going on?" said Alex, coming in behind Vic, with a single, small box. "Who's that? Why's she in our room?"

"This isn't ibuprofen!" Vic stated, flatly, for the moment ignoring her roomie as she held the bottle out, label towards the young woman. "It's Megaprofen, a super-strength prescription-only pain reliever for people with super metabolisms."

"So much the better," said Cooley, reaching for the bottle. "I've been fighting this all morning. All this rush and bother..."

Vic pulled her hand back.

"Hey, aren't you gonna share?"

"Listen, you can't take my medicines!"

"Oh, don't be so selfish."

"I'm a regenerator! What I take could kill someone who isn't physically superhuman!"

"Stop being such an elitist!" Cooley snapped. "I'm in pain, here!"

Incredibly, she tried again to take the bottle back from Vic. Who had no problem keeping it from her.

"I'm telling the manager!"

"Manager," said Vic, blankly. "We have a manager?"

"I think she means the house mother," said Alex, smiling in amusement at the situation. "Hey, sweet cheeks. You be sure to tell the 'manager' you steal medicines from other people's rooms. Including some meant for supers only."

"I have never stolen anything in my entire life!" the young woman shrieked.

She made one more futile grab for the bottle. Then she glared at Vic for a moment, before flipping her off with both hands and storming out.

"I think I better hunt down the house mother and make a formal complaint," said Vic, with a grimace. "If for no other reason, to keep her from poisoning herself."

* * *

Energia was having her own problems with the Fall semester housing.

"Why can't I have a roommate?" she said. "I'd really like to have one."

"Sorry," said her advisor, with a shrug. "Since the government took over they made it a policy, to protect supers with secret IDs."

Energia gave vent to an aggravated sound, somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Sometimes this private life stuff could be a pain.

"Okay," she said, trying to yield gracefully to the inevitable. "Singleton again, then."

"If you enter the graduate program, which you've said you are interested in, you can get an apartment off campus," said her advisor. "Then you can room with whomever you want."

"That's still two years away," said Energia. She shook her head. "Oh, well. Guess I can wait until then."

"I'm glad you're being cooperative about this," said the woman. "I've had screaming fights - them screaming, me trying to be reasonable - with students over roommates, both having them and not having them."

"Well, if there's no option, I better go move my stuff in."

"Hopefully, this will be the worst disappointment you have this semester."

"Don't count on it," said Energia, sourly.

* * *

Brade's office at the headquarters of the Bureau of Special Resources was a bit crowded at the moment. Half the Bureau's legal staff was in there, as well as her primary deputy, Doro. Brade was worried about the younger woman. Despite a year and nearly a half passing since her husband was killed in the War, there was still a deep sadness in her. She did a lot of work, probably to distract her from her grief, so the situation was not all bad from the Bureau's standpoint. Brade still wished there were more she could do than make sure the young woman attended her counseling sessions. She sighed and began the meeting. The first order of business was a potential hire who was in legal trouble only partly through his own fault.

"What's the situation with Gilbert Harkner, codename Smoke?" said Brade.

"He's still refusing to plea bargain, and I can't blame him," said Louis. "The city won't go lower than felony on any of the charges, which would really hamper his goal of working for the Bureau. Since the bank agreed not to press trespassing charges - in part because they're very irritated at the way the police handled the situation - and we got the more absurd charges the city originally brought against Gil dismissed, that leaves just those based on the Bad Samaritan law."

"That's the one requiring charges against any super involved in a criminal act whether they actually did anything wrong?" said Brade.

"Yes," said Lewis, nodding. "Right now, Gil is out on bond and has a part time job. Normally, we'd work towards having his trial as soon as possible, but the state supreme court is about to make a decision regarding the Bad Samaritan law. If they throw it out, we'll move for dismissal of all remaining charges."

"Excellent! Any idea when they'll make their decision or which way it will go?"

"Only an approximate one for the when," said Lewis. "Odds are they'll throw it out, but that's not certain. If they don't the plaintiff in that case has made clear their intention to go to the US Supreme Court. That, though, could take years."

Brade nodded, thinking for a moment.

"Okay. Wait for the state court to decide. If they leave the law standing, go ahead to trial. Next up is the recent farce with Escapade in Louisiana..."

* * *

Talisman sobbed into her pillow. After storming back to her dorm room and screaming at her roommate to get out she had spent several minutes smashing things and yelling profanity. Soon exhausted, she had collapsed onto her bed.

Slowly, her anger turned to determination. She would show them all. She knew things they didn't dream she knew, things they thought they had hidden from all sight. She, the clever one, had found those things, and learned from them. Soon she would be unstoppable, and they would all suffer.

Part Six

"Colbert, my man!" said Hickham, cheerfully greeting his henchman. "How does our garden grow?"

"Very well, indeed, Bernie," said the slim, smiling man. "We had three successful super baiting expeditions over the weekend. Taught some of those freaks to fear the British man."

"Outstanding!" said Hickham, giving him a hearty slap on the back.

"Some of the lads are saying they want to move up to some serious 'heroes.' That they've learned enough from these trial runs to take on folks more powerful. Frankly, I agree with them. I also think we need to slip their leash soon or they're likely to cause trouble."

"Hmmmm..." said Hickham, rubbing his bulbous, smooth-shaven chin. "I guess we could let them have a little reward for patience, hard work and good service. You have any ideas?"

"Yeah. There's a new team which claims central London. They moved in right after the Shilmek were kicked out... by regular human military, I'd like to add. They've got some moderately powerful members, but they're all new at the job. We should be able to take 'em. My question is, do it on the quiet or make it a public humiliation?"

"Public. Daytime job it is. Oh, and this time, don't be afraid to do more than hurt them."

"Understood," said Colbert, with a nasty smile.

"Go and take the piss out of those costumed showoffs!"

* * *

"Oog..." said Vic, flopping down onto her bed.

"Rough mission?" said Alex, as much from curiosity as sympathy.

"Supposed to be part of my for-credit training," Vic groaned. "Wound up having to rescue the folks who were training me from a group of genetically engineered attack dogs."

"Ow..."

"Why doesn't Energia have these problems?"

"You haven't heard her stories about people like that inventor who thought shielding his machine so it wouldn't start fires in nearby buildings was an unnecessary expense. Hey, are you listening?"

Vic was instead frowning, and sitting up on her bed in spite of her previous display of fatigue.

"Say, do you hear sirens?"

"I do now."

"They're getting closer, too," said Vic, worried. "Wonder if they're coming here..."

Vic stood and went out into the hall, Alex close behind. They saw several people standing outside one of the other rooms.

"Hey! What's wrong?" said Vic.

"Someone ODed," came a reply.

"Well, get out of the way!" said Vic, hurrying down the hall and physically moving people. "Make room for the paramedics!"

She had a bit of difficulty actually getting people to understand the necessity of clearing a path from the elevators to the appropriate dorm room. Vic had just learned that the victim was Cooley when the doors of one of the elevators opened and the paramedics hurried out. Volunteers in the central area pointed them in the proper direction.

Vic quickly stepped back, and made sure all the onlookers gave the uniformed man and woman plenty of room to get their equipment in. Then she and a couple of others stood guard to keep the gawkers back, out of the way. During this period they had to actually prevent a student from taking that one elevator, which the paramedics had pulled the STOP button for to have it ready when they left.

After what seemed a worryingly long time the paramedics wheeled the stretcher - bearing Cooley plumbed to multiple IV bags - into the hall and towards the elevators. There were several hesitant, even half-hearted inquiries as to Cooley's health, which earned distracted and vague replies from the paramedics. Then they were gone.

Soon the siren sounded again, and the ambulance roared away.

"What did she take, anyway?" said Vic, to the hallway in general.

"I gave the bottle to the paramedics," said Janice, Cooley's roommate. She looked very worried. "It was some sort of prescription medication for menstrual cramps. I think Melanie gave it to her."

"I did not!" said Melanie, startled. "This is the first I've heard of it! If it's mine, that stuff is for supers only, and could kill a norm!"

"I didn't know you needed extra-strong medicine," said Vic, moving over to the shocked sometimes lobster gal.

"Yeah. I may look like a rock lobster when I power up but I have the metabolism of a rock crusher all the time," she said, a bit smugly. Her smile suddenly faded. "I didn't know she had stolen my pills."

"Yeah, and this after being put on notice by the house mother," said Alex, unable to keep from sounding vindictive.

"You mean she's done this before?!"

Vic - with considerable completely unnecessary help from Alex - related how she had caught Cooley in their room, bottle of Megaprofen in her hand.

"Oh," said Melanie, looking relieved. "I wish I had known about that, I would have been more careful about keeping my medications secure. That's not the only super prescription I have. I always make sure to lock my door when I leave, though, and so does Candy!"

"She came into your room while no-one was there," said Vic, pointedly, "got into your stuff and stole something. Something she had been warned could kill her. Even if one of you forgot to lock the door, this is all on her."

"Evolution in action," said Alex, airily.

Later that afternoon there were questions from both the house mother and the head of security. The most common reaction after hearing what had happened was to walk away with a shaking of the head.

* * *

"These new kids are such... Amateurs!" said Template, waving her arms in agitation. "It's not just that they try to skirt the rules, they aren't even aware of how to do it! Or why! They're told they're supposed to be circumspect about their powers and the school, but they take selfies of themselves and the facilities! Then try to post them online, often going to great lengths to get around our security measures! They also try to post restricted information about the school, staff, other students..."

This was an in-service day, where the staff worked taking care of administrative duties while the students were off. In the minds of most of those in the meeting, very off. Many here were wondering just how much trouble the kids were getting into without the teachers watching their every move. UN-run island security was on notice and had extra staff on hand, in case school security called for help.

"They have the nerve to be surprised when they learn that all Internet access in and out is strictly monitored," said Junker, scowling. "They yell and scream about their rights and censorship, even though they are minors and were informed repeatedly before ever coming here about the restrictions. I've actually had death threats! From kids who can't even conceal who sent them!"

"Isn't there enough to do on a volcanic island near the Bermudas with an old supervillain base and hundreds of supers?!" said Binary, who was currently female. "Especially when they're supposed to be focusing on their studies!"

"Adults have been complaining about the follies of the young since well before the gods were born," said Eve, calmly. "As well, the young have ranted about the 'unnecessary' and 'arbitrary' rules of adults, before eventually applying them completely unironically to their own young."

"Philosophy is all well and good," said Burgundy, obviously irritated, "but how do we cut back on this behavior without turning the island into a prison camp?"

Fortunately, these were experienced and well-trained teachers. The discussion soon turned specific, both as to which were the troublemaking students and what measures could be used to keep them safe. Often against their wills. The majority of offenders were one-time only. The few who kept violating the rules would be given extra attention, under notice that they were on probation and that further attempts would result in expulsion. Unfortunately, the problem extended well beyond Internet violations.

"I'm having a growing problem with vandalism," said Marcus Altione, Head of Facilities. "Not just carelessly damaging something, but often deliberately! Some of the same students who cause the damage then have the nerve to complain about not being able to use what they've damaged! Not as any sort of pretense or joke, either. They honestly think no matter what they do, nothing else they want to do should be affected! As if this were a video game of some sort, and everything should keep resetting!"

"I have several candidates for expulsion," said Burgundy. "I've even warned some of them. They all either just smirk or nod absently and wander off. They don't take me seriously!"

"That's the biggest problem, isn't it?" said Ettienne, quietly. "They don't realize the seriousness. The danger. Or, rather, they discount it while overvaluing any reward which might result from their actions. Even if it's just an adrenaline rush. Far moreso than you would usually expect from such a population. Even moreso than during my own time here as a student."

"You seem very thoughtful today," said Eve, eyeing the young healing and magic instructor.

"There have been more incursions of extraplanar creatures," said Ettienne, scowling. "So far our traps have caught all of them fairly quickly. However, the last two were powerful enough that we barely arrived at the trap in time to reinforce the containment before they broke free."

This caused an uneasy - even alarmed - stir among the rest of the staff members present.

"Is this a natural - or supernatural, I guess - phenomenon or some sort of attack?" said Junker.

"We... aren't certain. It could be an attacker taking advantage of some weakness in the mutable plenum."

"Wait..." said Junker, startled. "Are you talking about space strain deformation?"

"Uh..." said Ettienne.

"Yes," said Eve. She eyed their chief engineer and gadgeteer. "Is this significant?"

"That damned zero point generator!" Junker snapped, suddenly angry... and worried. "It works by... well, the simplest way to state it is that it stretches space, then captures what comes in to fill the hole."

There was a stunned silence as this sank in.

"You told me before that you had turned that off," said Template, looking at Junker.

"No, I said we had figure out how to turn it off, then back on; maybe," said Junker, a bit defensively. "We have a procedure which should work, but we don't have a way to test it except by trying it. We thought we'd have that done by now, but other things keep taking priority."

"I think we should try it soon," said Eve.

"We have over a week before the geothermal plant is ready," said Junker. "A couple of months before the first of Dr. Device's fusion plants is due to be delivered."

"I'll help you get the geothermal unit on line soonest," said Template. "That'll have to wait until I get back from a meeting I have right after this, though."

* * *

"All right," said Eve, after the others left. "What's the problem."

She gave Template an evaluating look.

"I'd almost think you're pregnant, again."

"I'm not," said Template, unable to keep a bit of both pride and concern out of her voice. "Karen is."

"Congratulations," said Eve, a warm smile lighting her normally stoic face. "Do you need some time off?"

"Not yet, though Karen is already taking it easy."

"Well, then," said Eve, nodding, the mask back in place. "I'll keep this in mind."

"Don't go easy on me just because I'm going to be a father," said Template, well aware of the irony of saying that while female. She gave a short laugh. "Well, biologically, I already am, since I'm Roy's father, being the sperm donor."

"Technicalities aside, I would do this for any employee in a family way. Again, congratulations."

Masks Seventeen: Part Seven

by

Rodford Edmiston

Template was on her way out of the administration building when the school's primary sex-ed teacher matched course with her.

"Hey," said Binary, who was in transition from female to male. Hir voice cracked. "*AHEM* Excuse me. Will you be back before tomorrow? I'm supposed to give a presentation at the Venus Plus X symposium in San Francisco ten AM, their time."

"I should be back well before nightfall today," said Template, confidently. "They just want to tell me something which - for whatever reason - they didn't feel comfortable telling me over coms. Even with the new security measures."

"Thanks," said Binary, with a relieved smile.

Template was mildly amused to note that hir manner was still more feminine than masculine despite currently being what most women would consider a hunk. Sometimes it took a while for hir mind to catch up to hir body, or vice-versa.

"I'm giving a talk on serial hermaphroditism and it's pretty important to me."

"I definitely understand," said Template, straight-faced. Binary was not one of the few other school employees who knew Template was similarly bi-gendered.

Template called traffic control and got clearance as she walked to the takeoff pad. She sighed a bit at the thought that there were now not only "lanes" for flyers - marked by a combination of high-visibility paint on pavement and buildings and narrow-angle visibility holograms - but multiple designated landing and launching pads in some areas. Those pads in busier locations were actually one-way, restricted to just arrivals or departures.

Soon she was flying high and fast, on her way to the Appalachian base of the Bureau of Extraordinary Measures. She had been glad to hear that their new operational center had escaped attention during the Shilmek attack. However, she hadn't been there before and wasn't certain exactly where it was. It definitely wasn't in any civilian GPS directory. She was supposed to meet the contact in an isolated area; presumably he or she would take Template to the actual facility. She absently admired the late Summer foliage as she flew over the forest canopy. Soon, the leaves would begin changing...

As she descended though the leaves and branches there she saw a familiar man waiting for her.

"Director Reese, himself," said Template, as she settled silently into the leaf mold on the forest floor. "Well, if the Bureau of Extraordinary Measures has something to tell me which is so important and so urgent for you to handle it personally, we better get moving."

"Actually I can just tell you, right here," said Director Reese. "We don't have access to your secure communications network and we don't trust government or public channels for this. Your flight speed means you can scoot over here, get our briefing, and get back quickly. What I have to say doesn't require a huge data dump or anything; just a spoken transfer of information."

Template figured he also might not want to reveal exactly where the new center was. Given the group's need for secrecy she had no problem with that.

"What is this about, then?"

"Several groups are taking advantage of the Shilmek War," said Reese, earnestly. "Most of them to further their existing plots and schemes, some motivated specifically by the situation. Much of what they're doing isn't even illegal. One of those situations with the greatest potential for disaster is the current government in Great Britain."

"I knew the Structural Party was pretty fascist," said Template, nodding thoughtfully. "I didn't know they were causing that much trouble."

"More National Socialist in style than fascist. They have trained enforcers, thugs who have kept out of the public eye so far and are used to intimidate and punish. They're getting bolder, too. They're also targeting supers."

"Well, there's not much we in the States can do about that. I'm sure the Walrus and the other influential supers in Britain are aware of what's going on."

"Yes, but they're strictly constrained by laws old and new, and becoming moreso every day," said Reese, emphatically. "The Structural Party does not like supers. You're too independent, you see. Or at least that's justification given in the party line. Most of their reason is a conviction that real Britons don't need supers. While trumpeting a history full of them, all the way back to at least the Roman occupation."

"Claiming they don't now need and never have needed supers is something many politicians and members of the very wealthy and influential elite do in pretty much every nation," said Template, dryly.

"Many of these measures to regulate supers are being attempted or actually undertaken largely because they were so useful against the Shilmek. That worried people. One effort at the UN is trying to repeal the international treaty prohibiting the use of supers in combat. That is causing much of the backlash.

"I just hope the British... Well, the leader of the Structural Party is the sort who thinks long term. Once in power he won't be in a rush to make the nation over in his own image. He'll consolidate, pace himself, take his time. Partly with the awareness that by going slowly he'll make what he does more acceptable to the voters. However, people are already complaining about him, and some there are already calling for another election. He doesn't have enough control yet to prevent this, and won't for a long while, so they have a good chance of succeeding. However, someone less patient in control of the Structural Party could respond to such pressures with a crackdown and spark a civil war... or worse."

"Great," said Template, expression sour. "So we have a bad guy who needs to stay in power for a while to keep things from going straight to Hell."

"Pretty much."

They spoke for another half hour, Reese briefing Template on multiple situations around the world, most of them not even involving supers. Some of his warnings were simply vague notices of strange happenings. A few of those sounded oddly familiar.

"There's something going on with us, too," said Template, frowning at one bit of news. "We're having a problem with incursions of extra-planar creatures on the island, probably due to something Pine's old zero point generator is doing."

"Strange," said Reese, now frowning in turn. "I don't see how this fits with anything we're seeing, but..."

"The creatures fit the classical descriptions of - and probably are - minor demons."

Reese's mouth hung open, his eyes widening as he digested this.

"Shit," he said, finally, the first time Template had ever heard the very proper man swear. "That fits. Oh, God, that fits."

* * *

Melanie entered the police station with the calm assurance of the innocent. Not to mention the confidence of someone who could lift a bucket truck. This quickly changed, when the two detectives who were ostensibly supposed to take her statement on the theft of her medication instead began accusing her of giving them to Cooley.

"I didn't give her my medications," said Melanie, angrily, after trying for several minutes to be polite. "She stole them! Just ask the others in my dorm! She's been stealing or trying to steal stuff from everybody!"

"Then why are you the only one saying this?"

"Did you even ask?" said Melanie, tone icy. "Ask the House Mother. I know several people complained to her about Coolie's 'borrowing.'"

"We're asking you!" snapped the mousey one.

"And I'm telling you!"

They went back and forth about this for several minutes, until Melanie simply stopped talking.

"Young lady, are you refusing to cooperate?"

"I'm cooperating. You aren't. I've said all I have to say on the matter. I'm going."

She stood and started for the door.

"Hey!" yelled the mousey one, getting in her way. "We're not finished!"

"Am I under arrest?"

"We're not finished!"

Melanie looked at the older detective. Who sighed.

"No."

"Then I'm leaving."

She stared at the mousey detective until he reluctantly moved out of her way.

* * *

"Yeah, that's strange," said Vic, later, after Melanie related what happened. Something occurred to her. "Did they make any trouble about you being a super?"

"Uh, no," said Melanie, surprised as she realized this. "I don't think it ever came up. I mean, I was in normal mode, so it wasn't obvious. Now that I think about it, neither they nor I mentioned that the medication was for supers only."

"I bet they don't know," said Alex, snickering. "The prescription bottle doesn't say anything about the stuff being for supers only, just that it's strong. I don't think it ever came up when the cops were asking around here."

"It's possible this wasn't about you being a super," said Vic, with a shrug. She had plenty of experience with police harassing her over being a super, and what Melanie had related didn't follow that pattern. "Frankly, some cops - fortunately not all that many - are actually trained to pressure people they don't even suspect of doing anything wrong, in the hopes of making them nervous enough to confess to something. Even if it's something they didn't do."

"That's crazy!" said Melanie.

"Yeah, and illegal. Lots of convictions have been overturned and city, state and even federal governments made to look bad - and pay huge sums in lawsuits - because of this. Yet some LEOs keep doing it, no matter how many lawsuits, changes of administration or reorganizations happen. Some simply don't know any other way to interrogate someone, even to get a statement from a victim. It's not by any measure the rule, but it's unfortunately also not rare."

"That may explain part of what she went through," said Alex, thoughtfully, "but there's something else going on, there, too."

"I was thinking I might need to talk to an attorney," said Melanie, decision made. "Now I'm definitely going to."

"I can give you a list, from the Bureau," said Vic.

* * *

When a report of some sort of small animal causing trouble in the boys' dorm came in, on a hunch Lori Savage sent both a vermin hunting team and one of the school's few supernatural instructors. This proved to be a smart move. Neither the hunt nor the kill took long, but the participants had a distinct feeling that there was more and worse to come.

"What the Hell was that?!" said Stubens - the student in whose room the hunt ended - in a shrill voice, when the short skirmish was over.

"Some sort of minor demon, imp or hobb," said Ettienne, nudging the small, smoking corpse with a toe as he warily eyed it.

"Demon?!" said Stubens, voice going even higher.

"A minor one," said Ettienne, distractedly. They hadn't been able to get a good look at it while it was alive, and now it resembled a roasted rabbit more than anything demonic. "Subject to ordinary physical forces, fortunately."

"What would have happened if it weren't?" said Alice Truesdale, the house mother for the boys' dorm. She was obviously - and understandably - worried.

"That's why we brought Ettienne," said the head of the vermin squad, turning a thumb towards the white-haired healer. "Good thing, too. This thing evaded or escaped all the traps, and would probably have gotten away clean without him."

Later, the capture team had a quick meeting with Eve, Lori and Template to relate what they had found. After which the three women sat in Eve's office in silence for several long minutes.

"Okay, that's it," said Template, finally. "We're shutting down the zero-point generator. We can do without a few things until the geothermal plant comes on line in - uh... - about three days."

"What is taking so long with that thing?" said Lori, petulantly.

"Mainly waiting on the stainless steel pipes," said Template, with an aggravated sigh. "The water involved is highly mineralized and very acidic."

"You should have used regular pipe and replaced that when you got the stainless," said Lori, sourly.

"We evaluated that, and the cost of installing the pipe twice was just too high!"

"Stop," said Eve, not using her mental powers on the two but applying sheer force of personality developed over a millennium and a half to cut the argument off at the knees. "I agreed with the techs, so the ultimate responsibility is mine."

She looked back and forth between them.

"There is more than fatigue and frustration at work, here. I believe there is some sort of influence being produced by these creatures, or perhaps radiating from whatever crack in reality they are using to enter our world. This might even be contributing to our problems with some of the students."

"Have the magicians found where that entrance is, yet?" said Lori.

"Mages, please," said Eve, firmly. "'Magicians' are entertainers. The answer is yes; it's somewhere in the old Pine base. Probably in some nook or ventilation duct near the generator."

"That may be why these things have been small," said Template, suddenly thoughtful. She winced. "I'll have to warn the techs working in that area to not open or enter anything like that before we get that generator shut down."

"Go do that as soon as you leave here," said Eve, nodding. "Lori, you instruct your people about the power cut. I'll tell everyone else."

Part Eight

"We successfully shut down the zero-point reactor!" said Template, exasperated, at an emergency meeting two days later. "Why are the incursions increasing?!"

"Not just the incursions," said Dr. Othar Halvargardsen, who taught Earth Sciences and geology. "Seismic activity is increasing. The most worrying part of this is the harmonic tremors, which normally presage an eruption."

"That thing was running for nearly half a century," said Junker, tiredly. "Maybe... space needs time to heal."

"Now I'm wondering if the machinery keeping Der Schmale imprisoned may be contributing to the problem," said Template, ignoring his feeble attempt at a pun.

"Eh?" said Junker, surprised out of whatever fugue he had been in. "No. The whole point of that was to keep him contained. They dug a hole, threw him in and closed behind him. Then held it closed. The effect on the structure of space is very different."

"There is also the factor of other areas of the world experiencing incursions," said Eve, seriously. "This is not our problem alone."

"Whatever is causing this, demons - even small ones - are outside my job description," said Lori Savage, head of security. She shuddered. "We're doing what we can, but my people just aren't trained or equipped to even find these things and we don't have enough magi... mages to deal with them."

"We're calling in all the mystics we can," said Andrea Valentina, Head of Administration. "The problem is that we're not the only place having this problem."

"His Highness, the Prince of Speed is speaking with some of his relatives," said Eve. "As I am with some of mine. Between us we should be able to acquire some appropriately talented help."

* * *

Bernard Hickham was in many ways a simple and modest man, of simple and modest tastes. His London apartment had the minimum room needed for intimate meetings and the minimum amount of communications equipment for him to run his political empire. To run the British Empire he used equipment at the party headquarters. Just now, he had the news on the telly while he read racing forms. Until something caught his attention...

"This afternoon terrorists set off a bomb at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park killing two and injuring dozens," said the presenter.

"What?! Terrorists?!" said Hickham, taking notice and sitting up to see better. He needed a moment to connect the words to one of his schemes, but when he did... "They were True Britons! Patriots to the core!"

"What was that, dear?" called his wife, from the kitchen. He ignored her.

"Their target was actually the super heroes who responded to the emergency."

"At least that stupid bitch got that part right!"

"What?!" came the outraged cry.

"Not you, dearest."

"As the heroes set to work helping the victims of the bombing, fifty disguised men attacked the heroes, who had to fight for their lives."

"You mean they resisted arrest!"

"Two supers and three more innocent bystanders died in the resulting battle, in spite of desperate efforts by the heroes to guide the fight to a safer location. Over twenty of the terrorists..."

"Structural Party volunteers! Heroes of the nation!"

Margaret came into the den, wiping her hands on a dish towel, scowling, to see what was going on.

"...and eighteen more were captured, with the rest fleeing. Here is an excerpt from the after-action press conference, where the super team's speaker, Golden Lion, related what happened. The full press conference will be aired later."

"Where's our side, then? Why are you only talking to them?!"

The video and audio switched to Lion.

"The leader of the terrorists made it clear that we had to fight it out right there. When we tried draw them to an unoccupied area of the Park the leader ordered his men to attack the civilians who hadn't managed to escape."

"Liar! Liar! Liar!"

Hickham jumped to his feet, shouting. Then, suddenly, he gasped and swayed. He quickly sat back down, shaking his head until the dizziness passed and his breath was caught.

"Damn," he muttered, weakly.

"Dear?" said Margaret, hurrying to him, suddenly concerned.

"I'm all right," he said, forcing a smile and patting her hand. "Just got to remember I'm not a young man any more. Need to mind my temper."

"I'll get you something," she said, hurrying away.

* * *

I was not in a good mood. I don't like fighting. I especially don't like fighting demons.

"Is that the last of them?" I asked, quietly.

"For now," said Dr. Freysdottir, also quietly.

She sighed and straightened, looking around. Bizarrely, the battle had been almost silent, with most of the noise my hard breathing. Given that it was literally the middle of the night there wasn't much noise from the mundane facilities around us, either. With me using the knife Fen had given me and her one of her own, we had made quick work of each of the minor imps. The problem was there had been a lot of them.

I straightened, too, and looked at the strange, blocky building in the distance. Even during the day it seemed ominous. At night I had no trouble believing there was something both supernatural and sinister happening in there.

"So, what is he trying to do?"

"Summon a powerful demon to serve him and grant him power," said Fen, with a shrug. "Same old same old."

"We're done," said the pale fellow who was one of several supernatural types and mystics we had protected while they worked. The Bookkeeper gave us a very toothy smile. "If he completes his work, this will disrupt the dimensional rift, likely destroying that which he summons. As well as everything close around, most probably."

I nodded tiredly, and Fen congratulated the misfit team. Technically, I hadn't violated my agreement with Gaunt. I was just standing around, watching them work, when the creatures attacked me and I defended myself. My honor was satisfied. Though I doubted Gaunt would agree with my evaluation of the situation.

"Were they trying to stop us, or simply attracted by our working?" asked an apparently young woman who had stopped aging some time around when Roosevelt first became Commander in Chief. Theodore Roosevelt, that is.

"The latter, I believe," said a short, pudgy man. He smiled and dusted his hands. "Yes, we were successful and learned some important things about what Gaunt plans. However, I believe we should absent ourselves before he notices the activity and loss of his watchdogs and decides to act against us himself."

"An excellent idea," said Fen.

We hurried over the ridge and down the other side, towards our assortment of vehicles.

* * *

"Template, you were confused as to why the incursions were not only continuing but growing worse," said Dr. Piano, as he and a couple of additional mystics met with her, Eve, Lori Savage and a few others in the old Pine base's security center. "We believe there is some sort of collaborator on the island. Someone - probably only one person but possibly more - who is aiding whatever Great Beast it is which is trying to force its way onto this plane."

"Damn..." said Template, stunned.

Others reacted similarly, Eve in what sounded like Greek.

"All right," said Lori, recovering quickly. "Finding someone doing something wrong is in my field of expertise. Just give me an idea of what they might be doing."

Dr. Piano - with an occasional interjection from the other mystics - described the sorts of preparations and actions which might be involved.

"I'll spread the word," said Lori, nodding. "My God... I thought most of this stuff was only in old horror movies. A pentagram!"

"Pentacle, sorcerer's circle, etc." said Dr. Piano. "I will note that as the series of castings progress both those and the results will become more noticeable."

"Just how noticeable can these incursions get?" said Junker, worried.

"The island would be scoured clean of all life by a combination of a volcanic eruption and a flood of demons."

* * *

Most of the Usual Suspects had just settled down to eating lunch the next day when Candy came hurrying up.

"Found out what was going on with the cops trying to blame everybody but Cooley for her crimes," said Candy without preamble, as she set her tray down simultaneously with setting herself down. "She's the daughter of a politically active local businessman. Oh, and this is the third college she's been kicked out of for this kind of behavior. The school administration isn't too happy about this."

"I'm not happy about this!" said Melanie. She suddenly looked shocked. "Oh, God... I just realized. She's the daughter of Marvin Cooley."

"So?" said Vic.

"My dad's on the city zoning board, and he's had several run-ins with Marv. Great. I better call and let him know about this, before Marv accuses him of having me try to poison her."

"I think I followed that," said Alex, as Melanie rose from the lunch table and hurried away to make a private call.

* * *

Vic popped her head in Melanie's door that evening.

"Any progress with the police, now that you know about Cooley's dad?"

"A little," the other gal responded. "Y'know, after making vaguely threatening noises that hiring an attorney is an admission of guilt they became a lot more civil. Though they still seemed to be trying to blame me for Cooley getting those pills. The change meant 'letting' me agree that it was negligence instead of malice. They went back into threat mode when I refused that option, too. After I talked to that lawyer the Bureau recommended he did some checking and confirmed that this harassment is due to pressure from Cooley's father. They're really trying to get me to accept blame, even offering to drop all charges if I just admit I gave the pills to her."

"Ignoring that to get them she somehow opened a locked door and searched your room while you and your roommate were in class," said Vic. She cocked her head a bit to one side. "Still no signs this was due to you being a super?"

"Not that my lawyer can see," said Melanie, with a careless shrug. "We're not mentioning that, yet. We're also holding off accusing them of colluding with Cooley's father. If this does go to court we can claim the accusations are an excuse to attack the daughter of someone who has stood up to him."

She sighed, stretched a bit and shook her head.

"Y'know, maybe I've led a sheltered life, but until this I've never even thought that people might hold me being a super against me."

"Not really sheltered," said Vic, leaning against the door jam and folding her arms as she took on a thoughtful expression. "Most supers don't have a problem until something points out that they're super to the sort of people who cause trouble."

"Well, thank you for that list of attorneys from the Bureau," said Melanie, smiling. "Mr. Juliette is only a junior member of Lewis and Louis but he knows what he's doing. Not to mention being a gentleman and very handsome."

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that last," said Vic, airily. "Glad he's working out, good luck, and let me know if I can do anything else."

"Of course I will," said Melanie, for some reason amused.

* * *

Bowman hurried along the corridor, making his way through temporary shoring and work light stands to the dig site. This was deep in the basement rock, under the crater which was all that was left of the old Intrepids base. He could already feel the heat and smell the sulfur. In moments, he was in the large chamber which was intended to hold the lowest part of the new base.

"What's going on?" he asked the shift supervisor.

"This doesn't make sense! I mean, sure, we're deep, here, so some heat is expected, but this...!"

One quick look, smell and listen was all Bowman needed. The archer and inventor was neither mystic nor mage, but he'd seen enough supernatural stuff in his life as a costumed hero to recognize it.

"Everyone out," he shouted. "Now!"

He took a moment to shoot an arrow with a spy head into the far wall, then chased after the last of the fleeing workers. He made them barricade the opening as well as they could with the materials at hand, then evacuated the level.

* * *

"How is the investigation into the flying super who was shot down while on approach to the capital going?" said President Sievers, at a late afternoon briefing.

"It took a lot of work - including threats of expanding the prosecutions - but I finally got the bureaucrats to get off their asses and do their jobs," said Howers, with satisfaction. "The main benefit so far being the FAA and the Washington air defense folks getting together to agree on flight corridors for various functions. We're actually following the example of the Pine Island Academy. We'll publicize this, emphasizing the proper corridors for supers. Those corridors will be marked with visual cues, mostly rooftop lights. The proper type of flight inside the proper corridor will be closely monitored, but as long as the plane, drone, super or whatever stays where it belongs there will not be an automatic shoot-down."

"I hadn't realized there was an order for automatic shoot-downs before this," said Sievers, sourly. "Damn Thurlin and his paranoia! And damn the various bureaucrats who didn't think to inform me of it or question its necessity!"

"Do you want me to tell them to drop the automatic shoot-down completely?"

"Yes. Definitely. Something like that should always require a conscious decision by a responsible person."

"Good luck getting one of those to stay in the system here," said one of the aides, wryly.

Masks Seventeen: Part Nine

by

Rodford Edmiston

Normally, the Secretary of the Interior wouldn't even attend such a meeting, much less be in charge of it. The man from Homeland Security wondered vaguely about this, but was so smugly self-assured that he figured it was about time he got recognition for his hard work. Special Agent Mark Sorensen settled himself confidently - if a bit early - into a chair at the small conference table and waited.
Only minutes later Secretary Adam Thomlinson entered the meeting room, a pair of Secret Service personnel accompanying him. He nodded to Sorensen and sat at the head of the table, the two men standing behind him to either side.

"Good morning, Special Agent Sorensen," said the Secretary. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine, sir," said Sorensen, smiling and nodding.

"Excellent. I understand you organized and led a mission to search for and capture a reported dangerous superhuman at the Kemper Prep School two days ago."

"Yes, sir," said Sorensen. So, this was about that incident. Well, he might not have captured the rogue but he definitely scared the freak away! There had been no more reports of super activity at the school since his operation.

"So, to review, your agency received a report of a superhuman causing problems at the school, and you were assigned to investigate."

"Yes, sir," said Sorensen, proudly. "I gathered my team and responded promptly. There were difficulties with the facility staff - some were completely ignorant of the dangerous situation in their own school and I think some were actively shielding the super - but we solved the problem."

That might have been an exaggeration, but Sorensen wasn't one to let any opportunity to blow his own horn pass without doing some tooting.

"The police report says they responded to a complaint from the principal that there were unknown armed men in the school, threatening teachers and students."

"Which is why I said some of the staff were actively aiding the rogue super," said Sorensen, a bit of anger showing through. "We clearly identified ourselves to everyone we encountered so they did, indeed, know who we were. The principal still called the police on us. The time wasted dealing with them allowed the rogue to escape."

"The police report states that they ordered you to leave and you refused to comply until they threatened you with arrest."

"Well, they would, wouldn't they," said Sorensen, airily.

"Are you aware that my grandson attends that school?" said the Secretary of the Interior.

"No, sir, I was not," said Sorensen, smugly. "I'm glad to know I was able to protect a member of your family from that rogue super, though."

"The boy your people tried to kidnap is my grandson, you moron! He had an argument with another student, who swatted him in revenge!"

"Wh... what?!" said Sorensen, thought processes derailed by this sudden accusation. "No, the report was..."

"Didn't you think it odd that Homeland Security was called for a student causing a problem, rather than the school handling it themselves or calling the police?"

"A super was involved! Of course they called us! We're the ones best trained and equipped to deal with supers!"

"You had no warrant. You had no authorization from school authorities. All you had was a teenage boy calling an anonymous tip line with a vague complaint. Homeland Security is also by no measure the most qualified federal agency to handle rogue supers!"

"We were doing our job!" shouted Sorensen, furious, still not sure what was going on. "I was defending this country and those innocent children from attack by a rogue super!"

"You're under arrest!" snapped Secretary Thomlinson. "For bringing firearms onto school property without legal authorization, for terroristic threatening, for refusal to comply with police officers..."

"You can't arrest me! I work for..."

"He's not the one arresting you," said a new voice. A deep, female voice.

Sorensen looked around and saw several people in costume entering the room from a side door.

"What is this?!" said Sorensen, jumping to his feet, suddenly and obviously terrified.

"You committed a crime against a super," said Brade. "For that you get arrested by the super cops. The ones who should have been called to deal with a super causing problems. There are other LEO agencies with charges against you, as well, but they'll have to get in line."

"I don't recognize your authority!" shouted Sorensen, frantically fumbling around inside his jacket. "As a badge-carrying agent for Homeland Security, responding to a reported super terrorist attack, I am immune from arrest and prosecution!"

"That's not what the law says," said Secretary Thomlinson. "Or are you going to claim you can rewrite that to your whim?"

Sorensen looked around at the Secret Service agents who had escorted him here. Whom he considered brothers in arms in the fight for all that was right and proper.

"Are you going to let them railroad me like this?!"

"Far as I'm concerned," said one of the dark-suited men, "someone who attacks a school should be locked up for life."

"I have a teenage cousin who's a super," said another, his glare visible through is sunglasses.

"Traitors!" screamed Sorensen.

He abruptly yanked his hand from his jacket. Everyone tensed, expecting him to draw a gun. Instead, there was a sickly, greenish flash from the device he produced. Sorensen triumphantly jumped to his feet.

"Now let's see you do anything, you freaks!"

Three different super-fast individuals grabbed him before he could move, one of them Brade herself, towering over him as she removed the neutralizer from his hand.

"What?!" Sorensen shrieked.

"Counter devices," said Brade, calmly. "They're standard issue these days to LEO supers, since so many criminals have illegal access to neutralizers. Which includes you, since you weren't authorized to have that."

"As if we would have let you escape, even if that had worked," said the first Secret Service Agent, angrily.

Sorensen was dragged away, ranting and screaming threats. Brade remained, at the invitation of the Secretary sitting in the recently vacated chair.

"Now we just need to get the rest of those involved before news of his arrest leaks," said Thomlinson. He looked older and tireder, now that his anger was fading.

"The FBI, the US Marshall's Service and the Bureau of Special Resources are all working on that," said Brade, confidently. "All of them keeping things hush-hush, need to know. Even most of those performing the operations will not know their target or the reason until just before the arrests."

"Good," said the Secretary, a bit of the anger back. He gave Brade a long, evaluating gaze. "I've never been known as someone particularly pro-super, but I have a well-deserved reputation as being anti-bigot. I like to think I would have called you in even it wasn't my grandson who was targeted by those bastards."

"I think school security and certain members of the teaching staff - as well as some of the students, from what I know of the incident - all deserve praise," said Brade. "They didn't just blindly do what the men with the badges breaking into their school yelled, but got their charges to safety and called school security. They kept that squad bottled up until the police arrived, despite threats and brandished automatic weapons."

"They didn't verify with the staff," said Thomlinson, shaking his head and looking astounded. "They just barged in like terrorists themselves - even breaking open a secure door - and started yelling orders and threats. So far, no-one can even verify the call which brought them there - much less identify the source - beyond it coming from a pay phone in the main building's lobby. Though when I contacted my grandson to make sure he was unharmed he had a good guess as to who and what caused the situation."

"Well, it ended with nothing worse for the innocent and those who defended them than some anxious moments," said Brade, nodding.

"Let's hope that continues to be the result for such actions," said the Secretary, fervently. "I will say that such events are far more rare now than during the Thurlin administration."

"Much rarer. From what we're seeing, that improvement is a continuing trend."

"Thank God," said the Secretary.

* * *

The meeting was quite subdued, which was the rule at this institution. The manager of the senior center was accustomed to dealing with haggard, desperate and emotionally overwrought men and women. Such a state was to be expected. Few were eager to admit their parent to this facility. Yet the majority knew it was necessary.

"I hate to do this but I just can't handle her any more," said Mr. Diddlebach. "She's just living more and more in the past, forgetting that she's not a youngster now. During the invasion it was all I could do to keep her from running out to help! Mother is just so much stronger than me..."

"I beg your pardon?" said the administrator, jolted back to full attention by that last bit.

"You do know she's a super?" said Howard, with a sinking feeling. "During the Forties and early Fifties she put on a costume and called herself Loop Lass, since she could fly. Silly name, but those were different times."

He stared at the administrator, daring him to reject his mother at this stage, after all he'd done to get her in here.

"Mr. Diddlebach... we don't have the facilities..."

"The person I spoke to on the phone stated without reservation that you could handle supers. You, yourself, assured me you had the personnel, equipment and training to handle any senior, not fifteen minutes ago."

"Not supers!" said the administrator, looking and sounding desperate. "I honestly have to say that it never occurred to me that supers could ever become seniors!"

"She published her memoirs in the late Fifties," said Howard, irritated. "There was a movie about her in the Sixties! How did you not know..."

"That's all ancient history!"

Howard was momentarily stunned at the realization that the head of a senior care facility knew nothing about the time during which many of his tenants had been young and active. He shook his head and got back to business.

"If you don't carry through on our contract I'll sue,"
said Howard, tone low and deadly. "Even if you don't have super-specific training and equipment, what you have is far better than what I have. You can get what's needed a lot easier than I can, as well. I want her properly taken care of!"

* * *

The alarms were loud, raucous and superfluous. The explosions, shrieks of volcanic gas streaming from fissures in the sides of the volcano and the even more chilling shrieks of demonic creatures swarming out of the ground at various locations around the flank of the non-volcanic mountain housing the Pine base were far more than enough to let everyone on the island - and for a considerable distance out to sea - know something was very wrong.

There were nearly two dozen special guests staying on the island this night. As well, many staff who usually commuted to the island were here, in various guest cottages. One of those was Template. Who, upon hearing those horrendous sounds, had quickly dressed and joined a group of others outside the school's administration building. From there they could not only hear the problem, but see it.

"Exactly at local Midnight, of course!" she screamed, partly out of anger and partly to be heard.

"Why aren't the demons coming out of the volcano?!" yelled Lori Savage. "Why make other holes?"

"They're not fire demons," shouted Dr. Piano. "For which we can be thankful."

"I don't care what kind of demons they are," said Template. "I just want to know how to stop them!"

"All those I am seeing are subject to mundane forces. They may be tougher than normal humans but they can still be killed by old-fashioned brute force!"

"That's all I need to hear!" said Eagle.

Template started to join him and the others rushing to the attack, but Dr. Piano caught her arm.

"These are merely the phalanx, the forerunners. Their master will be along shortly."

"Great," said Template, quietly enough for her words to be lost in the clamor. Her posture and expression made her mood clear, however.

Part Ten

The eastern horizon was just beginning to show light when the master of the demon army finally arrived. Whether it was surprised to find nearly all its troops destroyed the defenders couldn't tell. They were too desperately busy trying to finish the last of the invaders pouring down the slope, so they could reach and stop the other demons which were working to bring their master over.

All through the night a corps of lesser demons had labored to widen the largest of the cracks in the ground, which was at the base of Pine mountain, below the landing field. Those defending the island - and possibly the entire world - included mystics, teachers, security staff, the entire UN military contingent on the island, multiple powerful elves summoned by the Prince of Speed and dozens of volunteer supers from around the globe. They had fought valiantly, and to the largest part successfully, to reach that one fissure and stop the work. In vain.

As if being birthed by the Earth itself, the demon squeezed through the crevice its few remaining servants had managed to sufficiently widen barely before the defenders could reach them. At the sight of this new threat the defenders reflexively pulled back and took stock.

"Well, there go the workers," said Template, tiredly, as the new arrival simply trod upon the lesser creatures serving it, which had prostrated themselves before it.

The thing - like its predecessors - was humanoid, and in fact looked more human than most of them. The pointed ears, horns and fangs were actually minor differences when compared to the blood-red skin and spade-tipped tail. Many almost laughed at the thing's stereotypical appearance. Almost. It seemed to be either naked but not anatomically correct, or wearing something which was not discernible.

Students had been ordered to hopefully safe locations, and nearly all the non-legacy young men and women had eagerly obeyed. Though some had needed to actually see one of the demons to be properly motivated.

However, nearly all those students with family in the business were insisting on helping. They kept evading attempts to keep them away from danger and turning up, often in the most dangerous locations, many of them in costume. The non-combatant staff for the most part managed to direct their efforts to protecting the other students and aiding the injured. Still, a few persistently engaged in direct combat. Some were surprisingly effective. A few were already out of the fight.

The great demon scowled as it looked around, surveying the situation. Hundreds of demon bodies, volcanic chaos nearby, scores of humans and some elves. It made a rumbling sound which might have been a mostly subsonic "Harrumph!" and began walking down the mountain, each stride carrying it nearly a block. It seemed at most annoyed by the attacks of the defenders swarming around it.

"I hit that thing right in the face with a concentrated dose of conotoxins and it hardly blinked!" said the Alchemist, sounding panicked.

At least the noise level was a bit lower, now.

"That is a creature of dark magic," shouted Ettienne. "It does not follow the rules of normal biology. Try salt!"

Perhaps it was the very variety of attempts against it, but the master demon began to slow. It was now obviously annoyed. It turned its attention to the gnats harassing it and they began fighting for their lives.

Eve Hind found an exhausted Dr. Piano and pulled him into a sheltered spot so she could be heard, rather than try to attract his attention through his mental defenses.

"What does it want?" said the mentalist.

"Right now, to look around," said the mystic, frowning as he tried to gather his thoughts. "To survey the area, find targets, locate a place to make into a stronghold."

"Then why is it heading away from the Pine base and towards the school?!"

Piano's eyes widened with sudden revelation.

"I... It's attracted to the innocence and naïve sexual energies of the students."

"Can we divert it to a less populated area?"

"Yes! Let me confer with my colleagues."

In short order the mystics and mages had the giant marching up a deep gully towards the volcano, following a false trail. This allowed the island's defenders to better concentrate and coordinate both their attacks and their attempts at containment. The demon seemed only annoyed by the former and was just beginning to notice the latter. However, with each effect used, with each spell cast, the defenders were learning what would work.

Template flew high above the scene, feeling lost. She saw a lone figure - the leader of the elf contingent - standing on a rocky knoll. He was contemplating the side of the volcano and did not look pleased. She flew down beside him.

"Any suggestions on what I can do to stop this thing?" said Template.

"Unless you could somehow bathe the creature in molten lava, nothing," said the elf, his tone dismissive.

"Of course I can do that!" said Template, hotly. "If you're sure that will help, I can punch a hole in the side of the mountain just uphill of the thing. That valley would keep the lava away from people and buildings, so that would solve two problems at once by keeping it from erupting out at random from battle damage!"

"Oh..." said the elf, startled. "Uhm, yes. I forgot the physical... brutality you superhumans are capable of. Proceed."

Template scowled, but leapt into the air without saying anything. Once on her way she called security.

"You're going to do what?!" said Lori Savage, once quickly briefed.

"I want you to check with the geologists to make sure this won't cause more trouble than it'll solve."

Lori was in the security center of the Pine Base, directing things. She didn't like being so isolated from the situation, but the resources here - especially the communication capacity - more than made up for that. She personally contacted Dr. Halvargardsen and made her request.

While that was going on, Template made a quick stop at her cabin to retrieve her portable cannon. This was an improved model replacing the one Energex had destroyed. She was already charging it as she flew out the door.

"The geologists are checking their maps and images from the drones," said Lori. "They say not to make the hole more than two meters across. Otherwise the whole slope could come down. Oh, and they'll have exactly where to shoot in a few minutes."

"It better not be more than a few," said Template, as she hovered high above the battle site, cape flapping in the breeze off the nearby ocean. "That thing just turned around and is heading back down. It's moving faster, now, and it isn't stopping. It's like Gaunt heading for Las Vegas but with added Satan."

With real-time guidance from the geologists, Template flew into position. Meanwhile, Lori made sure that all those actively fighting the thing knew they would have to be ready to move to either side of the valley quickly, and had a way to do so.

"Remember," said Othar, his voice sounding strangely detached in Template's ear, "you need a steady beam, not a blast. You'll have to judge the output based on the actual results, so start easy!"

"Got it," said Template, taking careful aim and using the weapon's active smart guidance to lock on target. "Firing now."

In the gully downstream from the target the demon was puzzled by the gnats suddenly pulling back. It thought at first they were fleeing, but then it heard a noise behind it. Turning, it saw a flying figure attacking the side of the mountain. The demon was now even more puzzled. These creatures were behaving so strangely... Then it felt a low rumble through its feet, and realized the danger.

The demon turned to its left and hurried up the side of the rocky gash... only to run into both a barrier and active attacks. For some reason the gnats' efforts were now more effective than before. It turned to the right, but there encountered the same problem. It turned to head down the gully, and encountered yet another barrier. The rumbling grew stronger, and there was a burst of heat and sound behind it. The demon made the mistake of looking back.

Bright yellow molten rock fountained out a hole partway up from the valley floor and flew in an arc to splash against the far wall. Most of it then flowed down the wall onto the floor of the valley and towards the demon.

The demon screamed a sound which might have come from a tortured steam engine. It seemed more surprised and angry than anything else.

It frantically tried working some magic against the barrier to its left, but the mystics, mages and elves were watching for that. Though exhausted from the long battle, they weren't about to stop now, with victory literally in sight.

The giant stopped whatever it was attempting and instead cast a barrier between itself and the rapidly approaching lava. Template, finished with her drilling, turned her weapon towards it and waited, charging. Just before the molten rock reached the barrier she fired, collapsing it.

The thing looked at her, sending a chill through her soul. Right before the lava swept over it.

* * *

Hours later and the exhausted defenders were still busy trying to clean up the messes left by the attack and the defense. Some were darkly joking they didn't know which had caused the most damage. One casualty was the geothermal plant, which had been heavily impacted by the lava flow. At least the volcano was quieting, now. The geologists had been concerned that the relief of pressure might cause an explosive release of gasses or even a caldera collapse. Fortunately, this lava was very thin, so that the gasses mostly just fizzed off, and powers and gadgets cooled the location of the hole once the demon was destroyed, stopping the flow. There were some landslides and a few lava bombs - which mostly hit where they did little damage - but the volcano had been far more ally than enemy.

"What do you mean this isn't the end of it?!" said Eve, not long after local Noon, as she met with the mystics, mages and elves.

"This was a powerful demon lieutenant," said Dr. Piano. "We believe he was only here to prepare the way for a true demon lord. Which will keep sending lieutenants until one either succeeds or the lord gets impatient and tries something else."

"We really need to find whoever is helping these things," said Lori, with feeling.

* * *

Pine Island wasn't the only place suffering from such problems. One of the afflicted locations was all too familiar to some members of the Assembly.

"I can't believe we're back at the same cave!" said Champion, a bit of an edge in her voice, as they exited their hopper onto the dark landscape.

"It is a place of mystical potency," said Sharma. "As well as a dimensional nexus. That is why the cultists chose it."

"So which way in? The tunnel in the side?"

"That would give the most direct access to the nexus proper."

Once again, Jade Eagle noted that the current Champion - the third distinct one - seemed to know things from early in the team's history, and spoke as if she had participated in some of them. Of course, if Paula really had been with the team as a security man back then, that could explain the mystery. Jade Eagle was growing increasingly certain it didn't.

They strode up the steep slope into the old tunnel, then more carefully along it.

"I don't like what I'm hearing in there," said Champion, quietly.

"I don't like what I'm mystically sensing," said Sharma, unconsciously rubbing her hands up and down her triceps. "Hold a moment; it's time to cast some protection spells."

That done, they resumed cautiously proceeding. Soon the others could hear what Champion had heard, and see light ahead. Not long after they could see small, shadowy figures, dancing and singing around the altar in the dimly-lit large chamber at the end of the tunnel. Very definitely non-human figures.

"I thought you folks purified that!" hissed Champion.

"We did. We couldn't permanently seal the rift, though. They are in the process of re-defiling it!"

"Then let's stop them," said Maciste, starting forward, fists balled.

The creatures turned out to be a bit more than human in speed, strength and resilience and there were a lot of them. Champion managed to deal with nearly half of them, while Maciste and Thunderer took care of most of the rest. Meanwhile, Jade Eagle guarded Sharma while she did... something at the altar. After several frantic minutes the last of the creatures was down, and the team's shaman was finished with her work.

"There. It is again blocked. Though, again, it is still there and could be forced back open."

"What if it were buried in rock?" said Champion, still breathing hard and holding a bandage over a nasty gash on her left forearm.

"Uhm, that might... well, enough rock would..."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" said Maciste, grinning.

His costume had a few tears - which was impressive enough considering how tough the material was - but he was uninjured. The others had escaped with minor injuries at most.

"Actually, let's get some demolition experts in here," said Champion, looking doubtfully around the chamber. "We could bring the whole hillside crashing down into the valley if we weren't careful. Maybe it would be better to just fill this with concrete."

"That would definitely do it," said Sharma, looking both impressed and wary.

* * *

Meanwhile, another team was having a similar adventure.

"Whew!" said Bowman, wiping his brow as he dropped onto a pile of structural steel members. "Okay, if that's the last of them we need to figure out how to keep any more from getting in here."

"Before we dispose of the bodies?" said Jet Jaguar, with a grimace of distaste.

"I know some people who will be glad to take those off our hands," said the Black Mask. He didn't elaborate and the others didn't ask.

"How do you seal a crack in space?" said Solange, as she frantically rubbed herself with hand cleaner from a dispenser on the side of the portajohn there in the construction area. Having the scantiest costume she had received the most exposure to the ichor the creatures seemed to be filled with. Industrial paper towels were next on her agenda.

"Grout?" said Bowman, scowling in thought. "No; concrete. We were planning to put a nice, thick, reinforced concrete floor in here, anyway. We'll just make it thicker and more reinforced."

"I remember that episode of Kolchak," said the Black Mask.

Masks Seventeen: Part Eleven

by

Rodford Edmiston

Around the world at multiple locations unnatural creatures were forcing their way onto the earthly plane. In most places these incursions created enough of a disturbance - especially given that most were preceded by minor disturbances over a period of weeks to months or in some cases years - that people were forewarned. Other invasion sites escaped notice, at least for the moment. Those would require far more work to excise, later. However, if the worldwide incursion was a failure overall the successful areas would not spread rapidly.

One of the worst of the sites was outside San Francisco, in an business complex previously owned by a group of connected families. Recently it had come under new ownership following the mysterious disappearance of the CEO. The new owner was also mysterious, both in identity and actions. Many employees were unsettled by some of the new owner's actions, but they had learned through bitter experience from managers previous and current at the facility to keep their heads down and not say anything.

A few of those working late in the headquarters building this evening were now regretting this. Everyone else who was there when the trouble began was already dead or worse, and the continued existence of the survivors appeared far from guaranteed.

Workers on the late shift in nearby facilities were startled by strange lights and weird sounds coming from the main office, the oldest building standing on the property, the weird looking one over in the corner near the state highway. Any work there was normally performed strictly during standard office hours - barring some emergency - so what was going on? An electrical fire, maybe? It must be a big one...

Calls to the security center in the old, blocky building went unanswered. Those who approached the building to seek answers in person did not return. The missing soon included police and firefighters, which brought more of both. Who decided to hang back, because by the time this second wave arrived it was obvious to all that what was happening here was not some normal disaster. Finally, someone thought to call in the Bay Area Guardians. Those worthies were actually already on the way, warned by mystic alarms set there previously.

The team hopper settled into the Little League ball park across the road from the old building. Out poured a significant portion of the team, and one other. That group met a small figure who was already there, having been one of the first notified by the magical alarms previously established.

"I thought you folks sabotaged Gaunt's work!" yelled Tiger, his volume not so much due to the noise from the building as the noisome influences it was exuding.

He was technically a member of the support staff for the Bay Area Guardians rather than a team member, but as he was a creature of magic with some expertise in things magical they decided he should come along. They were now feeling glad they had done this. He, meanwhile, was now feeling regretful he had agreed.

"We did!" shouted Dr. Freysdottir, who was also not part of the Bay Area Guardians, but was a member of the group who set the alarm spells, wards and "sabotage" effects. "What we're seeing is probably the result of him desperately trying to bull his way through our countermeasures."

"Can he succeed?" said Mesa, looking worried. He was far more at home punching giant robots than battling demons.

"I... don't know," said the furry little elf woman, also looking worried. "Gaunt is an unknown variable."

They quickly reached the consensus to simply keep everyone back for the time being. Something the civilian authorities had no argument with when advised. Those surrounding the structure braced themselves to contain whatever might come out of it.

The eerie display grew stronger, the foxfire glow brighter and the haunting sounds louder. Abruptly, there was a massive crash as all the windows shattered inwards.

"Oh, good," said Fen, looking relieved. "It inverted."

The glow appeared to pull inwards as well, concentrating somewhere deep inside the building, where they had no direct line of sight. The sounds changed from moans and chilling laughter to screams and shrieks. There were multiple secondary effects in the surrounding area - mostly transformers overloading and exploding in impressive displays - but Fen and the other mages and mystics explained that those were not a problem. Well, except to those dealing with the resultant damage. The firefighters, at least, appeared relieved to only have to contain and put out the multiple small and medium fires the electrical problem caused.

There was another crash, louder and deeper. The sides of the building dented inwards, held for a moment... Then, with a groan those watching could feel through the ground, the walls slowly bent further. The roof collapsed, bringing down floor upon floor of the strange architecture. Within seconds the building was a mass of rubble, which was rapidly shrinking. Soon there was only a large ball of mangled concrete, steel and stone suspended in the air. The glow - masked for a while after the collapse - began to show again as the rubble ball grew smaller. A few flares of pastel light flew out from this, but rebounded from an unseen barrier and were recaptured. Eventually, only a brilliant, actinic point was left. Abruptly, it vanished.

"Well, that's that!" said Fen, dusting her hands together, looking pleased.

"What happened?" said Steel Lace, sounding shaken.

"The hole turned inside out after it hit our wards and rebounded," said Fen. "The entire process should have been both much quicker and less destructive - only the immediate area around the center being lost - but apparently Gaunt managed to put up quite a fight."

"He lost, though?" said Tiger, his gaze focused on where the last manifestation had been. "I can't feel anything there, now, except a bit of residual ectothere pooling."

"Oh, yes," said Fen, with a satisfied smile. "As for Gaunt, himself, I don't know whether we've seen the last of him, but I very much doubt he got out of that."

* * *

One of Bernard Hickham's proudest accomplishments since his party had gained control of Britain was the Instant Threat Alert System. This involved procedures for quickly spreading word of potentially serious problems and evaluating the threat, then notifying the most appropriate authorities.

For the sake of appearances some threats - primarily super villain problems - were assigned to the closest of Britain's officially organized super hero teams. However, each alert of Threat Level Yellow or above was also relayed to several national government offices... and to Hickham, personally. Who was already watching for trouble after hearing about the supernatural activities in many parts of the world. He was half expecting the autocall notifications which came that morning. Why Britain was seeing the activity later than other areas he didn't know; perhaps due to defenses instituted following the many previous episodes.

There were currently several outbreaks in Britain, but the closest to London was also the worst. Avebury Henge was far larger than the more famous Stonehenge, and some thought it - or some parts of it - might be older. Perhaps much older. Perhaps even dating to before the most recent ice age. It also seemed to have a different design. Where Stonehenge appeared to be a place of worship and celebration, the Henge at Avebury - or, at least, the oldest part of it - seemed designed more to contain something. Well, that was what many mystics said. If that were true, it might explain the efforts made to restore and enlarge the henge over the past many centuries.

Hickham and his enforcers were no strangers to the supernatural. Britain historically had one of the highest levels of supernatural activity on the planet, and many of its inhabitants had experience dealing with various types of paranormal troublemakers. There was also a large cultural store of information for how to go about that.

"Grab the iron clubs, boys," said Colbert, urging his troops along, "and the bags of salt. All of 'em! We've got a tough job ahead of us."

"I'm coming along," said Hickham, surprising his friend.

"You sure, boss? This could be a bad go ahead of us."

"Yeah. I have some experience with the fair folk and a few others. Besides, this seems to be an overt attack on Britain by the forces of Hell. Helping repel this will do my image good after the hints and rumors lately."

Hickham had an ulterior motive in going. He'd had bad news from the doctor two days before. He might be able to live another ten or fifteen years if he had immediate medical intervention and then took it easy and ate "right." Which meant giving up pretty much everything he loved, both dietary and political. No, that wasn't his style. He'd keep on keeping on the way he always had for as long as he could. Then he'd see...

Hickham prided himself on being able to move quickly, physically as well as figuratively. With help from those he had put in power, he had his men loaded onto a train and on the way in less than an hour after deciding on a course of action, and piling out of a commandeered tour bus at the Henge less than five hours after the first reports came in; far sooner than the appropriate British government offices assigned to such problems. They were still slower than the supers. Half a dozen were already present, and Hickham could see at least one of their special aircraft on approach. They were all familiar, but he could only name three. One of those three, however...

The Walrus. Who had saved Hickham's father during the Dunkirk evacuation.

Those first arrivals were already fully engaged, but most of them were going after a huge, demonic figure, something straight out of some old fairy tale book. While most of the smaller ones were occupied with harassing the supers from outside the main battle, others looked like they were preparing to spread out, into the countryside. Just like supers to focus on the big problem and ignore the things which could harm the common man.

"Lay a circle of salt around all of 'em!" shouted Hickham, gesturing. "Make it solid; no gaps. We don't want any of those things getting loose into people's homes."

"Sir, do we... try to act against the big one?" said one of Colbert's lieutenants.

"No," said Hickham, sternly, "let the costumes take the piss out of the big one. We'll handle the little ones. Then we'll see."

Hickham left his men to the work assigned, while he found a good viewpoint just outside the ring of salt. He knew that wasn't an absolute barrier, but it would deter the lesser demons and slow the more powerful ones.

After many minutes of frantic conflict Colbert came to his boss to report. Afterwards he simply stood watch with him for a while. He was about to rejoin the battle himself when he noticed a well-dressed, very dignified man of late middle age approaching. The enforcer figured this was probably the property owner, but on a second look something didn't seem quite right about the man. Colbert decided to stay with Hickham for a bit, until the man's intentions were clear.

The stranger approached by a direct route, smiling, his attention on the two men. He seemed oblivious to the battle going on nearby.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he called out, in a proper, upper-class English accent. "What a fine day..."

Colbert's hackles rose. A glance at his boss showed that he was also alarmed.

"What do you want, here?" said Hickham, his tone harsh.

"I have a deal to offer you."

"How did you..."

"Please," said the man, waving away Hickham's question with a casual gesture. "I was here long before this little altercation began."

"He's..." said Colbert, terrified and not afraid to show it.

"Yeah," said Hickman, in a growl. "You. Speak your piece. Then begone."

"You don't think you'll be tempted?" said the man, amused.

"Not by anything you have to offer."

"What about a long, healthy life?" said the demon. "Time to finish your work?"

"D'you think I'm some shallow bint?!" said Hickham, outraged. "You'd turn everything I did 'round to do the opposite of what I want!"

The stranger actually seemed surprised.

"My, I didn't think you had such scruples. Or such wisdom." He squinted at Hickham, and looked a bit surprised. "There's more than that at work, though, isn't there?"

"My soul already belongs to Britain!" snapped Hickham. "Now go. You won't find anyone here foolish enough to yield to your wiles."

"Well, your loss, not mine," said the man, with a sinister smile, "there are many other people in Britain."

* * *

The Battle of the Henge was neither quick nor easy, but the defenders won with no fatalities on their side. Many were injured, but they would recover. Their unexpected allies briefly celebrated with them. Then both parties tiredly headed back to their vehicles. However, a shout from nearby made them hurry as well as their tired legs could carry them to where a large figure lay all too still. Beside Hickham was Colbert, kneeling on the damp grass, weeping and babbling incoherently.

Part Twelve

"Are you sure you don't need me there?" said Energia, when she was finally able to get through to the island.

"Yes," said Template, firmly. "We have plenty of volunteers here with more coming in. Repairs are being made and defenses reinforced. What we need now are time and money."

"Well, I can't help with those," said Energia, wistfully. "Just be sure you call me if you do need help. Or even if you don't. I'm worried about you."

"The immediate danger is over," said Template, in a reassuring tone. "We're doing all we can to prevent more danger from happening. Ugh. I'm so tired I can't talk straight."

"Go get some sleep," said Energia, firmly. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye!"

Energia closed her phone and leaned back on the couch with a sigh of relief.

"So what's going on?" said Alex, eagerly.

Energia's friends at Ramsey Technical College knew something was wrong when she got an alert over her phone late the previous evening. She had spent a mostly sleepless night in the central room of the dorm, calling some people and trying to call several others. They eventually learned that the numbers she couldn't reach were all on Pine Island. Eventually she got through to one of the numbers, and soon after the one she seemed most desperate to reach. Who these people were her friends didn't know, but it was obvious that Energia was worried about most of them and very worried about that particular one.

"Uhm, I can't give you any details," said Energia, as she looked at those surrounding the couch. "There was an attack, it's over, there's a lot of damage. Tem... My contact there said relief teams are coming in, now, and those who fought all night are being told to get a few hours sleep."

"I'm glad you were finally able to get through," said Vic.

She wondered if that one, special contact were the flying super's mother.

"I don't know how much attention you've been paying to the news, these past few hours," said Angela, golden wings held close around her as if to provide protection, "but there's been weird activity in multiple areas around the world. Some people are saying the attackers are demons."

"Demons," said Melanie, with a shudder. "What is going on with this world? Pogroms, alien attacks, now demons..."

"Well, the island folks seem to be doing okay. I just hope everyone dealing with these... things is."

"Okay," said Vic. "You need food, then sleep. I'll spread the word to your teachers you'll be missing some classes due to a crisis."

"I'm okay. I shouldn't..."

"You shouldn't risk your health by skipping meals and sleep," said Angela, firmly. "Come on; they should still be serving breakfast at the cafeteria."

* * *

Class was - of course - canceled at the Pine Island Academy for the day. As it would be for a few days to come. While casualties among the defenders were surprisingly low there had been considerable damage to the infrastructure. Of course, for a school any casualties from combat were too many.

The staff meeting later that day - after the defenders had a few hours to recuperate - was decidedly subdued.

"Nine dead," said Eve, tiredly. "Five UN members, three volunteer supers who came at our call and one of the elves. Several times that many injured to varying degrees, though most should make full recoveries. At least physically. We're already seeing several individuals exhibiting signs of mental instability symptomatic of exposure to demons."

"Is it odd that I don't find it odd that there actually are known symptoms of demon exposure?" said Template.

She was not feeling too well herself. However, Ettienne and Dr. Piano had both assured her this was the entirely temporary result of what they called "The Demon's Gaze." She had actually heard the capitalization and quotes in the phrase. Template wondered how mystics did that...

"I'm already getting calls from parents and guardians to remove their students," said Eve. "Since these are almost all in regard to students who are not really interested in pursuing careers as masks I am not currently seeing a downside. On the actual upside, the malevolent influence of the demons on our attitudes has faded."

"Experienced supers just seem to expect this sort of thing," said Junker, philosophically.

The island's mundane defenses were at full capacity, barring those personnel temporarily - or in a few cases permanently -unavailable. Replacements for the UN troops lost and injured were already on the way, as well as for their damaged equipment and the consumable resources they had expended. The elves had left as soon as the giant was confirmed to be extinguished. Template had the definite impression they were not coming back, even if the Prince of Speed so ordered. She couldn't really blame them.

"What's the status of the hydrothermal plant?" said Eve.

"Totaled," said Junker. He sighed, too tired to be angry. "All that work to get it ready early, and just before it comes on line it gets flooded by lava."

"I wish I had known that would happen," said Template, almost in tears. "I had no idea the lowering of the lava level in the caldera would cause fissures to open elsewhere and lava would come out of them. I might've... done something."

"The geologists didn't realize that, either," said Junker, patting her on the hand. "I'm not blaming you. Hell, I'm not blaming anyone. Even if I had known that would happen, I'd have said 'go ahead.' Though I would have tried to sandbag the plant, or something..."

"I think we should all be grateful things weren't any worse," said Burgundy, firmly. "Considering what Dr. Piano said could
happen... Well, despite the deaths and property damage we got off lightly."

"Try telling that to the next of kin," said Lori Savage.

"The biggest problem now is preventing the next incursion," said Eve. "Both the remaining supernaturals and Academy and UN security are working on finding whoever the collaborator is. After that, the next problem is funding for repairs."

"With most of the world still recovering from the Shilmek attack, that could be a problem," said Andrea.

There was a long silence, interrupted by Lori's com.

"'Scuse me..."

As she listened to the call, her tired expression turned to confusion, then anger, then pure rage.

"Find them! Get the remaining magic folks on it, too!"

"What?" said Eve, as Lori signed off.

"Two girls have gone missing in the past hour," said Lori, as she stood. "Talisman and Denise Bolivar. Witnesses say Talisman... did something to Denise - who is one of our 'like a human but better' types - and they went somewhere together. The other girls were afraid to stop Talisman, and by the time they managed to get a staff member no-one could find the girls."

"Talisman?!" said Eve, startled. "She doesn't have that kind of power."

"Her instructors say she has recently made a breakthrough and her magic is working much better," said Andrea. She started. "Could that mean... She's the collaborator, and is getting a boost of some sort..."

"Do you need any help?" said Template, half rising herself as Lori hurried for the door.

"I'll give you a call!"

"Best to leave this to security and the mages," said Eve.

"Meanwhile," said Junker, "I could use your help."

"All right," said Template, tiredly. "Let's get to it."

* * *

"Are they serious?" said one of the Academy security guards, quietly, as he and his partner made their way through the woods at the base of the southeast slope of the volcano. The part not currently suffering from cooling lava and steaming fumaroles. "We're looking for a witch and her sacrifice?"

"Maybe," said the other. "We don't know. If we find them we may find out. So keep your eyes and ears open."

There were trails and clearings throughout these woods, made by animals with four legs and two. As well as the occasional escaped experiment with some other number. Students and even the younger teachers sometimes came here for picnics and "picnics" as well as to just spend some time wandering through a particularly beautiful area of the island.

"We're not too far from that old underground base," said the second man. "Project Standby. Should we check there?"

"You kiddin'?! The UN has that buttoned down tight and constantly monitored."

"Does their monitoring equipment work against magic?"

"Oh. Well, we can call ahead and tell them we're checking around it."

They did that. They soon found fresh tracks leading to the "back entrance" which Template had forced.

"Okay, that's weird. Two sets of small footprints go right up to that hatch and... that's it."

"This could just be a prank," said the first guard, frowning. "Kids setting this up just to freak people out."

"Don't bet on it."

They called it in. While the first guard was talking on his radio - trying to get the UN crew to take him seriously - the second tentatively rapped his knuckles on the hatch. Or rather, tried to. His hand simply passed through it.

"Shit! It's some sort of illusion, or... I don't know. Tell them to get a whole squad here right now!"

The UN team sent two squads, one to the front entrance and one to the back. So did island security. Technically, there was supposed to be approval from UN Security Headquarters in New York before they worked with the islanders, and from the full Security Committee before anyone went into the old base. Major Colville - in charge of UN security on the island - told everyone that given the circumstances they shouldn't worry about the formalities.

"That's straight from Lady Carver."

Accompanying the island security teams were one mage each, with Dr. Piano himself going to the back door. A man in his early thirties who went by Collidor was with the front door teams.

"Hmmm, yes," Dr. Piano mused, thoughtfully, as he did arcane things the very mundane island and UN personnel tried to ignore.

He muttered to himself for about two minutes, using terms such as "transubstantiation" and "phase change transition." Finally he straightened, nodding.

"Someone cast some powerful and rather nasty spells on this within the past forty minutes."

"Is it safe to go in?"

"Yes. Now. Whoever did this was very careful to conceal their work mystically, but as the guard, there, found out they neglected all mundane protections."

Entry was made at both front and back simultaneously. The squads met in the command area, conferred briefly, then broke into balanced teams to quickly scout the base. Minutes later one of those teams reported being unable to enter the old Myrmidon hangar.

When Major Colville and his team got there with the two mages the team at the hangar doors were listening carefully, ears pressed against the cold armor.

"Sounds like a dirge," whispered one of them. "There's voices and music."

"The most secure room here, naturally," said Major Colville. "Right. Get those doors open!"

This required both spellcraft and brute force. However, none of those seeking entry were inclined to be delicate about their work, and they were soon heaving the doors open. Inside the room was lit by multiple candles. In the center of the room Denise Bolivar lay naked and covered in blood-red runes in a likewise colored pentagram. Nearby, Talisman sat on the floor, reading frantically from a scroll.

"Get the lights on!" shouted Dr. Piano, before he and the other mage began quickly casting spells.

There were shouted incantations and gestures from the three mages, and flares of arcane light back and forth. Soon, though, experience and numbers prevailed over the empowered but young Talisman, and she collapsed.

"Don't approach them!" said Dr. Piano, striding boldly forward.

He and Collidor halted a short distance away from Talisman. With the lights on the others could see that she was also surrounded by a diagram, of chalk or perhaps white paint. The voices and music turned out to be coming from a boom box. The two men worked at some arcane task for a few moments, then Dr. Piano deliberately broke the protective circle around Talisman by scuffing part of it with his shoe.

"Get her out of here!" said Dr. Piano, as he shut the noise off.

While some of the security personnel carried the unconscious girl away, the mages began work on the pentagram. This took far longer than the protective circle, but after several obviously stressful minutes Dr. Piano again scuffed the chalk.

"She's alive!" he called out, as more security personnel hurried over.

Dr. Piano covered the young teen with his coat, and the medic from the UN team began working on her.

"I need to get her to proper facilities soonest!" he declared after a brief examination.

"Go," said Major Colville. "Take a couple of men to help you get her to my transport and use that. The rest of you, guard the entrance to this room."

Masks Seventeen: Part Thirteen

by

Rodford Edmiston

Five people from Academy Security, a doctor and two nurses and Dr. Piano were waiting when Talisman regained consciousness. Whatever Piano had done to her took hours to wear off, though Talisman had stirred repeatedly in the last twenty minutes. Finally she muttered something sleepily, yawned and tried to raise her hand to cover her mouth. Only to open her eyes in confusion when she realized her arm was being held down. She stared at the restraints, the bed rails, the people around her, looking increasingly alarmed.

"What..."

Lori Savage stepped into her field of view.

"Can you understand me?"

"Yes..."

"Renee Sowder, aka Talisman, you are under arrest for consorting with demons, soul binding, assault, aiding and abetting murder and attempted murder and collusion with a hostile agency in the recent attack on this island. You are also charged with the kidnapping and attempted murder of Denise Bolivar."

"Let me go!"

She jerked at the restraints, but this was a hospital prepared for superhuman patients.

Lori named a few other charges, and then the legal protections Talisman was entitled to under the Island's laws and the Academy's charter.

"Do you have anything you wish to say in regard to these matters?"

"I am the chosen of Dabbaddan! You will not hold me!"

She began struggling so hard that the doctor quickly prepared and injected a sedative into her IV line. During the tense minutes this needed to work Talisman cursed those around her, called upon her dark lord for help, tried to cast spells and threatened everyone in the room and some who weren't. She finally passed out, still murmuring dire warnings.

* * *

"Just what was she trying to do?" said Andrea, at the briefing on the Talisman situation right after lunch.

"Oh, sorry; thought everyone knew that," said Dr. Piano. "She was planning to use the life energy of an empowered innocent to summon her dark lord."

"Gah!" said Lori, shuddering. "That is the thing you said that giant demon was a lieutenant for? I am definitely upping the bonus to those two guards for thinking to check that old bunker."

"How is Renee?" said Andrea.

"Being kept under moderate sedation," said Dr. Piano. He was remaining on the island for a while as a consultant, to help deal with the aftermath of recent events. "I consulted with the school psychologist and she agrees with me that Talisman is currently delusional. She needs to be conscious for psychotherapy to work. However, she is still quite a potent spell caster, which means we must be very careful about letting her be too clear headed at the moment. Ettienne believes he can help the situation with some specialty healing spells, but whether that will actually work is outside my field of expertise."

"What about Denise Bolivar?"

"In roughly the same condition, though for different reasons," said Dr. Piano. "Ettienne believes that her innocence and the fact that she was unconscious and unaware for most of what happened spared her the emotional and spiritual brunt of Talisman's ritual. She's being kept in a condition of induced sleep until we can perform a thorough thaumaturgical examination."

"Who or what is this Dabbaddan?" said Eve, not quite keeping the anger out of her voice.

"I have never heard that name before," said Dr. Piano. "I'll ask around, but my suspicion is that whatever the master is called, it gave her a false name. Or perhaps that she never spoke with the master directly at all, but was deceived even in that."

"Oh, lovely," said Eve, sourly. "A gullible young woman, motivated by feelings of inadequacy, makes a deal with a devil and costs several lives and millions of dollars in damage."

"It should not have happened!" said Andrea, exasperated. "She was kidded some by other students but she wasn't being bullied, she showed no sign that she was more than somewhat dissatisfied with her life here, she revealed no clues as to what she planned..."

"The only unusual thing was her increase in power," said Eve, nodding. "Since she was trying hard to prove herself her teachers thought the change was due to greater effort alone."

"To help prevent the success of such subterfuge in the future, there are things which can be done to monitor for supernatural activity which have not been done," said Dr. Piano. "That leaves the reason for why they were not done before. Which reason is - to echo Miss Kenniman - that they should not have been necessary."

"I beg your pardon?" said Andrea.

"Until that minor incubus began causing trouble many months ago, there were no indications that this was a troubled place. Even allowing for the at-the-time-unsuspected problem caused by the zero-point generator such an imp should not have been able to enter our world here. This island simply isn't old enough to allow such things. For a while I - and the other mages investigating that situation - thought the creature must have been summoned elsewhere and brought here physically. Now I'm not so certain."

"One of the reasons we chose this place for the school is the lack of ectotheric potentiation," said Eve. She smiled at Piano's expression. "I may not be a mage, Doctor, but I have been around them and other magical creatures long enough to have a basic understanding of such things."

"Of course."

"Well I appreciated the information," said Andrea. "I didn't know about any of this."

"What are you talking about?" said Lori, looking dazed. "Ectotheric potentiation? What..."

"Human activity generates patterns in the ectothere; the basic stuff of magic," said Dr. Piano. "Certain types of activity more than others. Even praying or meditating repeatedly in the same spot can potentiate that area. That is one reason that places such as several locations in the British Isles - in fact, the entire nation to a lesser extent - and the old cities of Egypt are more prone to supernatural events."

"So, since this island was sea floor until the Sixties, it hasn't been around long enough for such activities to have a significant effect," said Andrea, nodding with understanding. "In that case, why did this happen?"

"Why were demons attracted to this newborn place? I have no idea. Even the nearest Subterran tunnel was well below and far to one side of this location. The effects created by the zero point generator alone should not have been sufficient."

"We need to find out," said Lori, speaking for the first time in many minutes.

* * *

"One bit of good news," said Junker, a little later in a short update meeting on infrastructure repair with Eve and the support staff. "On a hunch I spoke to some of the old henchfolk still living on the island. Asked them if they knew of any backup generators Pine might have used and we haven't found, yet. Three of them mentioned that he originally powered the base with a geothermal power plant, the works of which should still be in a chamber deep under the base."

"Oh, good news, indeed!" said Eve. She winced. "Well, if it wasn't wrecked by all the demonic activity."

"If it is still there, and if the equipment is still useable or repairable, we might - Might! - be able to put it back in operation," said Junker, pointedly. "Accounts vary as to whether Pine carefully mothballed it - Old George thinks it was, another of those we spoke to thinks it wasn't, the third had no idea - or just welded the door shut."

"Great," said Template, sounding tired. "Another tunnel exploration mission."

* * *

The world at large had little idea of the turmoil faced by certain small parts of it, and how nearly the recent events had come to endangering all of it. Dismissing the vague and often hysterical reports of demon attacks, two men met and talked quietly.

"Well, they took her," said Lawrence Diddlebach. "Now what? This helps my Mother but for how long? My insurance is already making noises about disallowing the expense. Why does this have to be so hard?!"

That last was a wail of despair.

Seymour Lewis had taken a personal interest in the man's case because his own - though non-super - father had similar problems. He wasn't quite as distressed over that situation as Mr. Diddlebach was over his, but realized that might change as his father got older.

"Most costumed supers don't get old," said Lewis, gently. He had done some research into the situation because of this case, and been mildly surprised at what he found. "They tend to either die with their boots on, usually by late middle age, or to be sufficiently resistant to the effects of aging not to have this problem. Those exceptions either have regeneration and stay young until something kills them or tend to age gracefully. They also usually have family in the business - or at least with powers, too - who can take care of them. Even the exceptions to that generally remain compos until the very end, or close enough that they can't cause much trouble. Having someone stay physically capable of causing superhuman problems while suffering from some form of dementia is... Well, this may be unique."

"I love my Mother," said Mr. Diddlebach, tears streaming down his face. "God help me, I can't help wishing she won't live much longer. Not just because it would help me, but because it would end her confusion."

* * *

Even though the cleanup of the various defeated incursions was still underway - and the undefeated ones were being located and dealt with or at least contained - planners were already considering their options for preventing any more such events. In most of the regions affected and many which weren't people were talking - often reluctantly - to experts on the supernatural. The answers were usually along the same lines.

"We did some research into Pine's early days," said Tiger, on the island for a definitely non-casual visit, late the day after the attempt by Talisman to summon her master. "It appears that for a while Pine collected magical artifacts of various types to examine. Apparently, he hoped to uncover that they actually worked on some yet-undiscovered scientific principle. Whatever he learned studying those - and he may have found clues which led to his zero-point breakthrough, though that seems unlikely - when he was finished he incinerated the lot. I suspect out of frustration, though those of his lackeys interviewed couldn't say. He wasn't the type to explain his actions."

Several of the others present looked worried about that. Eve looked angry. Dr. Piano was obviously distressed.

"That was an extraordinarily bad idea," said Eve, scowling.

"Insanity!" said Dr. Piano. "Destroying any sort of magical item improperly releases... well, bad stuff. Destroying multiple items, most likely made in different eras by different means for different purposes involving different supernatural creatures..."

"Just how do you permanently seal a rift in space which leads to a demon realm?" said Template, quickly and worriedly in the silence which followed that. "I heard several people suggest concrete or grout as purely physical plugs, but some of the mystics said something about ur-ectothere. What is that?"

"It's... it's like hyperspatial spackle," said Tiger, frowning hard in concentration and making vague gestures with his hands as he tried to describe something English was not meant to deal with. "That'll work for the smaller rifts. However, the biggest here - the one the lieutenant came through - will need something more like hyperspatial grout. Maybe even hyperspatial reinforced concrete."

Tiger had flown in from California with some of the Bay Area Guardians. All of those on the suborbital hopper had a good reason to come here once the immediate problems there had been deal with. In Tiger's case, his presence had been specifically requested by Eve. Perhaps because he was usually able to translate the arcane speech of the mages and mystics into something more understandable by folks who were neither.

"How do you know so much about this?!" said Dr. Piano. "I know you're a creature of magic, but..."

"My world had a similar problem, after the Gifting," said Tiger, looking sad at the memories. "We patched and repaired and mended, but eventually about half the Gifted had to leave."

"That's why you're here," said Template, in revelation. "I mean, on our world."

"Indirectly. I keep getting caught in dimensional rifts, and was dragged kicking and screaming into your world back in your Thirties. I made several more visits voluntarily, some with Tal. When it became obvious some of us Gifted had to leave our world to ease the problem, she and I and a few others decided to move here."

"Why, though, is our world being affected in this way?" said Template, distractedly tapping her pen on the conference table they sat around.

"Partially it's due to the way the congruences of dimensional planes shift over time," said Piano. "Partly to an increase in the numbers of both creatures of magic and people who have learned to use magic. Both due to the increasing human population."

"Wait... So, this is going to get worse?!"

"Yeah," said Tiger, with a casual shrug. "More magic, more magical creatures, more incursions. Fun times."

"There are things we can do," said Dr. Piano, with a scathing look at Tiger. "They won't stop any of this, but they will slow the rate of incursions and reduce the magnitude."

"What sort of time scale are we talking about, here?" said Template. "Years, decades..."

"Most incursions are on the scale of centuries," said Dr. Piano. "That is, a century or two to reach maximum, perhaps half a century or so at maximum, then a century or two of decline. With a long period of mundanity then following before the next cycle. Some cycles have taken longer - one of those being responsible for most of the ancient myths of Greece and Rome, and another long one before that those of Egypt. Some have been shorter. Those can actually be the most disruptive, because the onset is so quick."

"We have a lot of work to do," said Template, looking overwhelmed.

"Yes," said Dr. Piano, with an emphatic nod. "We do. We all do."

* * *

Thus ends the final segment of the last completed Masks story.

I made a start on Masks XVIII and occasionally work on it, but am currently focused on other projects. I hope to finish it eventually.

Anyway, I hope folks enjoyed what's been written so far.

A hero's cape flaps in the breeze, half a continent away a villain hatches a fiercely stupid plan...

When the villains start tripping over their own feet, the heroes should be able to lean back and enjoy some slack time.
But it doesn't quite work that way...

---

More of Stickmaker's Masks at: Read on Kindle

This is finally finished. It came out a little shorter than originally planned at 51,800 words, but it's completed. I thought about making it longer but it ends at a good point and I didn't want to add padding. Hope you folks like it.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

Only a few people were present in the central area of the dorm floor as the two supers entered, the one in the rear walking and the one in the lead flying. Those already present were used to both of the people and the fact that Energia always wore her signature costume... as well as that she could fly, and sometimes did so indoors. However, this time her outfit of green and blue was a fancier, more elaborate version of her usual garb, and included her medal and ribbon, and her hair was down instead of in the accustomed ponytail. Meanwhile, Vic - trailing casually behind her friend - had the whole cap and gown ensemble. One thing both women had in common was that they were obviously very fit, though it was more obvious with Energia, due to her snug costume.

"I am so glad that's over," groaned Energia, as she swung her legs up and landed - already in a seated posture - on the nearest couch, her green, roll-top boots settling on the coffee table. "I'm still pissed they wouldn't let me wear a cap and gown!"

"Well, you're a war hero!" said Vic, who couldn't fly but was actually more graceful as she moved into fatigued repose beside the other new graduate. She looked over at Energia's fancy outfit, which the other super had repeatedly complained about the discomfort of wearing, and not just today. "Your regular costume is like a uniform. That version is like a dress uniform."

Energia gave a tired laugh.

"I have to admit, there were several people graduating in uniform," she said.

"Well, I am very glad I could wear regular clothes under mine."

"Wimps," said Alex, grinning viciously as she entered the common area. Vic wondered how long she'd been listening before making her dramatic entrance. "Oh, and pants, t-shirt and running shoes aren't regulation garb for most girls, Vic, though I guess folks didn't notice what you were wearing underneath, with the robe and all."

"Don't tell me," said Vic, dryly, "you're completely naked under there."

Alex flipped her tasseled cap across the room like a Frisbee - aiming for the big coffee table but being too enthusiastic and sending it skimming onto the floor beyond - and quickly slipped out of her own gown. To reveal a complete Hello Kitty outfit. Something she had put together specifically for graduation.

"Tah-dah!"

"No; it's something worse," said Energia, grinning. She sighed and relaxed from turning to look at the younger woman, letting her body resume its previous posture. "Also, that still doesn't address the fact that I wanted to graduate in graduation robes; not my costume."

Though she was still complaining, Energia's mood was obviously now lifted.

"You're not just a war hero; you saved the President!" said Vic, firmly; to Energia, not to Alex. She flipped her own cap to land exactly on top of Alex's, even though she had no line of sight to the target from where she sat. "The costume counts as a uniform. I guess the medal and ribbon go better with your costume - especially the fancy one - than with a gown, too. So, they wanted you to wear your good costume."

"You're a war hero, too!" said Alex, in a defensive - and perhaps possessive - tone, to Vic.

"Yeah, but I wasn't in uniform!"

"Yeah, but you also deserve recognition for what you did!"

"Right now I just want to rest for a bit and let it sink in," said Energia, with a satisfied smile, paying little attention to the banter. "I'm a college graduate!"

Vic's family and Michelle had attended the ceremony openly, which was potentially trouble; there were still people with grudges against her for many reasons, and even against the rest of her family for a few. Fortunately that had been avoided. Energia's family had attended, though she had been very careful not to look at them and they had been careful not to show they were connected to her. There would be celebratory dinners later, for graduates and their families and close ones. Energia and her parents, uncle, aunt and cousins already had reservations at a nice restaurant in her parents' home city, with the force-energy manipulator planning to attend in civvies as Jenny. Vick and her group were going to a different fancy restaurant, a bit further away than most of the celebrants, where people hopefully wouldn't recognize the super. After that, Vic planned to take Michelle to something more student-oriented. Then somewhere much more private...

Energia still thought it a bit odd that she was graduating with some folks who had started the year before she came to Ramsey. It just happened that some of them had needed an extra year. For Vic and Alex this was due to taking remedial classes, since both of them missed a lot of high school. Of course, the Shilmek War had also been a factor, along with the post-war cleanup affecting Vic's schedule.

"Remember," said Alex, with a demonic grin, as she leaned over the back of the couch between the two supers and swiveled her head to look at them alternately, "you've both still got that press conference, along with several of the other members of the super program..."

"Oh, God..." wailed Vic, head thrown back.

"Hey, you, my friends, are part of the college's second batch of openly super graduates, which is the first batch with war heroes in it. Including Energia. Of course, she's a bigger name in the super community than the rest of you together, so they'll likely focus on her."

"Joy," said Energia, with a tired sigh.

"The government, the college and the press are gonna make a fuss over all of you. Energia, especially, though."

"I'd almost rather deal with the fuss caused by the protestors," said Vic, sourly.

"Well, the cops are making sure you don't have to. Anyway, you've got a couple of hours. Be sure you rest, eat and thoroughly hydrate!"

"She is entirely too cheerful," said Energia, in a dangerous tone.

Cackling madly, the hyperactive genius vaulted over the back of the couch, bounced off the seat and onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, then Groucho-walked to her cap and Vic's. She tossed her roomie's cap to her, then bounded away, down the hall to her room.

"Try rooming with that," said Vic, rolling her eyes as she absently spun the cap on a fingertip.

There was a short period of silence between the two supers. The others in the room took little note, being caught up in their own celebrations or just glad this semester was over. There were people coming and going, some offering congratulations to Vic and Energia. More of the recent graduates began to filter in, most already out of their caps and gowns. Elsewhere in the building the celebrations - or at least the relieved relaxations - had already started. Vic thought she could catch an occasional whiff of pot, and there was definitely a tang of alcohol in the air. As a federal agent she was supposed to enforce the laws of the land, several of which Vic could easily tell were being blatantly broken, thanks to her heightened senses; as a very recent college graduate she didn't see the need.

"So, you going into the graduate program?" said Energia, eventually.

"Thought I'd already told you. Yeah. Bureau's paying for it, just like they are for you."

"That's good. We were both lucky, considering the budget cuts."

"We've both also demonstrated that we can be very useful."

Vic leaned her head back and closed her eyes, sighing tiredly. Energia felt an urge to giggle.

"I thought you were physically superhuman. Not to mention a regenerator."

"I'm not actually physically superhuman; just right at the upper boundary of human capabilities," said Vic, melodramatically. "Also, this is a fatigue of the soul."

"Well, this soul is going to go shower, change into something less formal and get some food before that press conference."

"I think I'll join you," said Vic. She suddenly blushed. "Uh, I mean, I need to shower, change and eat. Not that I..."

She stumbled to a stop at the realization that Energia was already flying towards the exit. Vic sighed, hoping the costumed super had either been too distracted to notice her faux pas or knew her well enough to simply discount it.

"Just remember to thank a veteran for his service this weekend!" someone shouted cheerfully, as Vic rose to head for her room. Said person might have been at least a little drunk.

"That's Veteran's Day," said Vic, angrily, to the startled young man. "The holiday coming up is Memorial Day, in two weeks! Don't forget the women who gave all for their country, either!"

She stormed off while the fellow was still trying to shift mental gears.

* * *

There was a significant karaoke celebration that night in the bar closest to the college. The majority of students in attendance were too happy, too drunk or too combined to worry about anything. The main problem in the world as far as most of them were concerned was keeping Apparat kick from modifying the rig. Other than that, a good time was had by nearly all. Of course, there are always a few who are not satisfied with their accomplishments...

Harvey Bailey had managed to stay in school and even to graduate, though with a delay. At first he had been as happy as any of the others graduating today. However, as the alcohol level in his blood increased, his mood decreased. He currently wanted to talk politics. Even though everyone else at the table where he sat kept ignoring him. Or tried to.

There was an election coming up. While President Sievers was still riding the crest of a huge wave of popularity for winning the war - despite critics who said there should never have been one, and, besides, their person of choice could have done a lot better - she was reaching the end of her second term. So, both major parties and several minor were organizing campaigns.

On one side, presidential candidate Harold Gibbons was strongly supported by influential Senator Andrew Wyler and a favorite in the polls. Gibbons was charming and charismatic, handsome, tall and athletic, his hair still solid black at age fifty. His campaign didn't mention supers often, but his most famous proclamation about them was that they shouldn't expect to be given any sort of privileges for helping defend the Earth against the Shilmek. That they were only eligible for the same reward as all the others who participated: The nation's thanks. Half those hearing this cheered him on; the other half asked what privileges he was talking about.

On the other side was Milton Garber. He primarily proposed continuing the policies of President Sievers. Which led to accusations that he either had no agenda of his own, or that he was keeping it secret. Though he had done a decent job as first mayor of his home town and later governor of his state, he was seen as bland and lacking charisma. He was nearly twenty years older as well as shorter and obviously less fit than his opponent. Yet to the well-informed he made the most sense.

"You still going on about the election?" said one of the tablemates, whose name Harvey didn't recall. He appeared to be well on his way to blackout.

"Yeah. Everybody should be."

"Gibbons reminds me of a character played by James Garner," said another - and only slightly drunk - guy. "Problem is, Garber reminds me of a character played by Jack Lemon. Neither strikes me as particularly suitable to the job, but would you rather have a straight-laced moralist who is otherwise bland, or a casual sinner who is charming?"

"Just remember," said the first tablemate, sagely, "no matter who you vote for, you always end up with a politician."

Harvey was very definitely in favor of Gibbons. Unfortunately, almost no-one else at the bar that night was. He went back to his off-campus apartment early, and surly.

* * *

The emergency meeting at the headquarters of the Bureau of Special Resources finally came to an end. As the others drifted out of the conference room Brade sighed and pushed her massive, custom chair back from the table, but made no attempt to rise.

She really liked this room. It was an addition made right after the war, specifically to take advantage of both Lunie and gadgeteer contributions and salvaged Shilmek equipment. It was big, more than roomy enough for this small meeting, and had advanced audiovisual facilities. That included holographic conference call equipment which could handle over a hundred channels. Still, that had been one of the few improvements made to Bureau facilities before the first of the budget cuts had hit. Much of the rest of this building was actually looking a bit worn.

"Oh, come on," said Dr. Piano, smiling at her as he stood beside his chair. "It's not that bad."

"Gremlins in the halls of Congress is pretty bad," said Brade. She gave a humorless laugh. "Real gremlins, I mean."

"We are keeping up with the incursions."

"Yes. Barely. You and others have said they'll get worse, though."

Piano hesitated, then came to a decision.

"I have something to tell you, off the record."

"Okay," said Brade, puzzled. "Shoot."

"Even off the record I can't give you many details, but... many in the magical community know what to do to reduce these invasions from other planes. A few are actively working on doing it."

"So what's the prognosis?"

"Good, actually. Though not swift."

"Why is that so secret?" said Brade, angrily. "Why not just tell the rest of the world you're working to make things better?"

"The magical community is a smaller minority than even the masks community. We're also more heavily persecuted. I think the secrecy is both practically necessary and a matter of habit."

"I guess that's fair," said Brade, relaxing and leaning back in her oversized chair. She looked up at the wizard. "I can also see people blaming you for causing the problem if you announce you're working to solve it. Just... keep me as up to date as you can, okay?"

"I promise," he told her, smiling.

* * *

A few days later and a couple of states away, three good friends were rooming together in a very different structure from a college dorm, though in many ways their situation was similar. In other ways they were more like firefighters waiting in their station, for a call they actually hoped would never come. Tricorne was back together for another Summer.

"What's got you so upset?" said Energia, to Gadgetive, the second morning of this period with her favorite hero team, as the mad inventor left the kitchen and entered the large, main room. This was their first get-together since Energia had graduated, and only the second since the war.

Energia had spent a week with family and friends to catch up and unwind before coming here, which had left her in a very good mood. However, Gadgetive - as usual the last downstairs and only just finished with breakfast and still not fully dressed - was obviously not.

There was more going on behind Energia's good mood than working with her friends again. She was glad to be having another session of heroing out of the old bakery. After all the changes of the past weeks - and months and years - she needed that stability. Of course, even their headquarters had undergone some changes recently. Blue Impact - in her civilian ID - had actually made a show of having contractors clean and repaint the exterior and move new - if unidentifiable in the crates - equipment in, over the past few months. This was actually the cover for another round of upgrades to the lair, all the work being done by folks from the school. At least the neighbors had stopped griping about when something would be done with the old eyesore (though it was already one of the least decrepit buildings in the neighborhood) to complaining about how it now made their businesses look bad (though most of them were already in worse shape than the bakery had been in before the renovations).

"Oh, there was a retrospective of the Shilmek War on TV the other day," said Gadgetive, as she moved to the main couch and sat beside Energia, "and the stupid interviewer kept saying B.I.G. A.L. was invented by Ike. While interviewing him, with him telling her, over and over, he just helped make the units suitable for mass production! He even mentioned me by name twice, and she kept gushing about how brilliant he was to have invented something the Shilmek couldn't jam and didn't even notice."

At least she was wearing pajamas this time. Her partners didn't feel the need to make her go put more clothes on.

"Hah! Poor, widdle Gadgetive!"

Energia laughed, briefly hugged the barely mollified Gadgetive, then sat back. In the quiet which followed, the energy/force manipulator gave their lair a thorough - and approving - scan. She had to admit the place did look better than it had the Summer before. There was panelling on all the walls inside the building, now, instead of paint over brick for the larger rooms. Of course, between the panelling and the walls was structural reinforcement, insulation and armor. Supers had learned a lot about what might be needed to disguise and defend a lair in the past few years. Tricorne was benefiting from that, in multiple ways. One of them being government support in the form of funding and equipment. Supers who had proven themselves successful against the Shilmek were getting money and first pick of scavenged alien equipment. All three members of Tricorne had been major players, with Energia arguably being the most important in terms of bringing harm to the enemy. Tricorne had actually turned down some of the offered items and services. Then had been deluged with "If you don't want it, we do!" requests from other teams. That, of course, had to be hashed out between them and those who were supplying the aid.

It was still just the three them, here, most of the time, plus the cat and the rare visitor. Right now, that suited Energia. She hoped they would have a nice, quiet Summer for a change.

Speak of the devil, the former tom who served as their informal mascot jumped onto the couch, walked over Gadgetive's lap and settled onto Energia's, purring. She smiled and rubbed his head, as Gadgetive glared.

"I built the automatic feeder and waterer for him, and several entertainment devices. Yet you're the one he goes to. Even more than Blue Impact, and she takes him with her to the school when this place is empty."

"You just have to know where to scratch," said Energia, smugly.

"What's this I hear about you signing up for guest teaching spots at Pine this Fall?" said Blue Impact, entering from the garage. With her ears, the others knew she had heard the entire, previous exchange.

"Yeah," said Energia. "It's actually part of my advanced studies at Ramsey. Learn by teaching. I get both college credit and money."

"Now that sounds like a good deal," said Blue Impact, grinning. "If I remember correctly, you also get access to the teacher's lounge."

Energia snickered.

"Anyhow," said Blue Impact, deliberately throwing herself onto the reinforced couch, which barely even scooted, "here's to a quiet Summer."

"Now I have to align the couch again," muttered Gadgetive, determined to have something to complain about.

"At least it's not due to gremlins," said Energia, snickering.

"Yeah, but that couldn't have happened to a nicer group," said Gadgetive, joining in on the snickering.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Two

The two men had known each other for a couple of years, but this was a first date, so naturally, they were nervous. Even though both were in their early thirties, and were both professionals in related fields, and both single for too long.

They were at a small table in a back corner. Something nice and private. Even though the management was known to be gay-friendly, the two men found this far more suitable for now. Harry tried to make small talk as they passed the time until the waiter arrived.

"I'm finding this a bit... unsettling," said Harry, with an embarrassed smile. "Though I don't make any secret of being bi, I haven't had a boyfriend since I was seventeen. Back when I was still female."

"What..." said Gordon. He gave Harry an odd look. "Is that some sort of joke?"

"Sorry. I thought you knew. My case was a bit famous, locally, a few years ago. I was female until I was..."

He stopped, looked away, swallowing nervously.

"Sorry," said Harry, quietly. He felt phantom pains in anatomy he no longer had. "It still hurts, even after all this time. I was... gang raped. Beaten. Between the doctors using an experimental technique to save me and my latent power activating, I wound up completely male. Right down to the chromosomes."

"You have powers?!"

"One power. Once. Years ago."

"I don't think this is going to work," said Gordon.

He rose and hurried out of the restaurant.

Harry sat there, stunned, for several minutes. Finally, he told the obviously embarrassed and sympathetic waiter they wouldn't be eating there, after all, and rose and left.

As Harry exited there was a distant rumble of thunder, from a clear sky. Harry didn't notice. Few did. Later that night, though, the freak storm would get a lot of notice.

* * *

President Sievers and Queen Tolnar were meeting in the Oval Office for what was likely the last time. There were four guards present for each ruler; Secret Service for the President and Monarch's Honor Guard for the Queen. Both sets very determinedly did not listen to the discussion. Finally, after a long discussion on a particular matter, the two leaders reached an agreement and both sat back a bit.

Tolnar glanced out the window as the President made notes on the agreement they had just reached, and couldn't help but be impressed with the progress made in repairing the damage from the war. She just wished her own Empire had made as much improvement in that time. Of course, social change was much slower and more difficult than physical change.

"I'm very glad we finally worked that out," said the President, with a tired smile, putting her pen down. "I have come to like you, personally, and your people as a whole, but these prisoners were a major problem. With you taking them back to the Empire for repatriation that relieves us of a great burden. I'm certain that even with the possibility that some will be prosecuted for their part in the coup against your rule, they would rather be back in their home culture."

"I think you underplay your own nation's hospitality and fairness," said Tolnar. "They were housed and fed and treated well. Which is more than those who used them so poorly did."

"There is still the matter of those who have requested asylum..."

"They are citizens of the Shilmek Empire and must be returned," said Tolnar, volume still at a conversational level but tone much firmer.

"These are people who have specifically requested sanctuary in the United States," said Sievers, tone effectively identical. "With the help of your security forces we identified the war criminals - those who sympathized with and willingly aided the rebellion and invasion, including those who held me and those with me in that dome - and turned them over to you. Those remaining have no such charges against them, even by your own government. These are people who have honestly requested asylum here, who want to live in our society."

"They are deserters."

"From a defeated military, which they were forced to fight for against their will," said Sievers. "Few have said anything against you personally, and the main complaint of those who have
is that you weren't able to maintain control for those several months."

That was not strictly true, but the President was trying to negotiate; not speak with complete honesty. She was well aware that Tolnar was in the same mode.

"They are still citizens of the Empire who are attempting to leave without permission."

The President leaned back in her chair and thought for several moments. She had discussed multiple approaches with her advisors, and they had consulted with several sources before advising her. Including the refugees, themselves.

"What if we call them immigrants?" said Sievers, leaning forward, resting her forearms on the desk. "That would be more palatable to some on both sides."

"Not to me," said Tolnar, firmly.

The President frowned. She didn't want to give these men and women up. Aside from the pragmatic benefits of having the resources of several Shilmek of several professions available, that would set a bad precedent. Tolnar was well aware of both factors. Still, there were things of far greater value - to the world, as well as the US - which she would not sacrifice to keep them. Something Her Highness was also aware of.

"There is a concern - far more mine than theirs - that they would be mistreated if they returned to the Empire."

"Are they being treated fairly, here?" said Tolnar, pointedly.

She did have a point. Public opinion was still very strongly against the attackers, even those who were not actually involved in battles. Of course, some people were against all Shilmek, and not just the invaders. Sievers realized she was temporizing, and sighed.

"We gave our word they would be allowed to live here," she said, firmly. "Would you have us go back on our word?"

Tolnar scowled, and the President realized she had made a strong point with the honorable Queen. Still, she couldn't allow anyone who had participated in the rebellion - even if unwillingly - to be rewarded in this way. In that she had much in common with many of Sievers' critics.

"We are - and I freely admit this is a lesson learned from the aftermath of your own Civil War - officially engaging in a policy of reconciliation," said Her Highness. "I am fully aware that we cannot guarantee fair treatment from everyone towards those we would return, or even towards those already returned. That _is_ our official policy and I stand by it."

"Perhaps we should come back to this at another time," said the President.

"No. I think we need to solve this here and now."

Sievers nodded.

Eventually, after more than an hour - not including a short break when tempers seemed to be too close to flaring - they reached an agreement. Tolnar would personally speak with those requesting refuge in the US. Pointing out the problems they would have trying to integrate into the very different society here, and promising fair treatment back in the Empire. Hopefully, all would agree to give up their asylum request and return. If any didn't, each would be dealt with on an individual basis.

"Well, it's not ideal, or what either of us wanted," said the President, tiredly, once agreement was reached. "However, that probably means it's as fair as we can manage right now."

"Words of wisdom," said Tolnar, with a weary laugh. She stood, regal and formal. "One more thing. I, personally, and my people as a whole, owe your people a great debt. Several, in fact. Possibly the greatest is your help and advice in restructuring our government. There is much to still be worked out - likely generations of details - but we have a stable rule in which all have a voice. Thank you."

There was little to be said in response to that which wouldn't sound trite. The President instead stood as well and extended her hand. The two shook, very firmly and formally. Then the Queen left.

There was still much to settle during this trip to Earth, but nearly all of that was with others. Most of it through the United Nations. Her work in the United States was completed for the time being.

As she boarded the short-range transport - given special permission to fly to and from the White House lawn - Tolnar smiled a bit, remembering the problems she'd had her first couple of visits to Earth, keeping those two very different organizations straight. Then she and her escort flew back to the spaceport.

Even as she entered her own starship, Her Highness kept to herself one of the more stressful meetings she planned. One the other participant didn't even know about yet.

"Reconciliation..." she said, quietly, to herself. "No matter how personally difficult."

* * *

Several people were already in the room when the head of the Pine Island Academy arrived.

"Why did you call this meeting?" said Eve, a bit sourly, as she seated herself. "School starts back in three weeks and we still have a lot of work to do!"

"We found something interesting - and potentially problematic - during our restoration of Pine's old geothermal station," said the school's chief engineer.

"Just dandy," said Eve, with a tired sigh. "Wait. I thought that was long finished..."

"Is the power station still working?" said Template, suddenly worried.

"Yes. This doesn't involve it directly. The power plant is fine."

"Then what is the problem?" said Eve.

Was it Junker's imagination, or was Eve unusually testy today?

"Pine was studying the Puerto Rico Trench," said Junker, approaching the matter indirectly. Which only aggravated his boss's mood. "Or, rather, he had several of his people develop ways to monitor activity there. He never told them why. We now think he was checking whether his raising of this island had affected the plate tectonic movement."

"The which, now?" said Eve.

"The Trench is where the North American plate is sliding past and subducting under the Caribbean plate," said Template. "Though this is the first I've heard of it in connection to our school."

"The hotspot Pine created is slowly - very slowly - moving in that direction; south-southwest," said school geologist Dr. Othar Halvargardsen. "Although this island we are on is continuing to move in the same direction as the North American plate as a whole, which is generally southwest. Normally, at least many centuries should pass before there would be any significant movement - or change of movement - of either."

"However...?" said Eve.

"Dr. Halvargardsen had the island's engineers and some of the engineering students put a bunch of the base's old geological monitoring instruments back into operation," said Junker. "In addition to things like standard seismometers, magnetometers and tiltmeters he - Pine - had some non-standard stuff. Including things specifically meant to keep track of what's going on in the trench."

"We were surprised to find that some of the instruments placed there are still working," said Dr. Halvargardsen. "He had multiple, many-kilometer-long cables laid, across the seafloor towards the Puerto Rico Trench, with sensors along their lengths. Most of the sensors had failed in the past decades. However, what we saw on the surviving instruments encouraged us to institute a major repair program. Between aquatic teachers and students in the shallow areas and drones for the deeper work we now have most of the stations back in operation."

"We believe some of the sensors actually in the trench were buried by slides and maybe even subduction over the past forty-six years," said Junker.

"What are the remaining stations telling you?" said Eve, becoming increasingly irritated at their reluctance to just say what the problem was but keeping her temper. So far.

"We're... not sure," said Dr. Halvargardsen, shifting uneasily in his seat. "That's why we're asking for funding to make an on-site inspection. Drones first - we need to rent or build some capable of handling the pressure at that depth - then possibly an actual presence in the trench."

"What are the symptoms?" said Eve, trying to be patient.

"Multiple earthquakes in the trench and surrounding seafloor," said Junker. "The vast majority too small to feel; the rest barely noticeable. However, there are a lot of 'em; far more than normal given the history of that area. In fact, there's almost constant seismic activity. Temperature sensors are also showing a rise in sea water temperature along most - perhaps all - of the fault."

"Could this be another demon incursion?!" said Template, alarmed.

"We consulted with the magical staff and they say almost certainly not," said Dr. Halvargardsen. "The pressure is too great even for most demons. However, this could be connected to the incursion here."

"Just how deep are you planning to go?" said Template, puzzled, knowing demons were generally immune to all but the most extreme non-magical effects.

"The deepest part of the trench - and the Atlantic Ocean - is the Milwaukee Deep," said Dr. Halvargardsen. "That's over 8,400 meters. It's the only place where the North American plate is subducting."

"Hooooo..." said Junker, startled. "I didn't know it was that deep. Yeah, we definitely need specialized equipment."

"Approval granted," said Eve, scowling. "We've had almost three years of peace and quiet - and rebuilding and improving - and I don't want to risk that by having something unknown coming at us from the bottom of the ocean!"

"Especially with the new hospital about to open," said Template, with feeling.

"Is there any update on that?" said the Principal.

"Still waiting on an inspector from the mainland," said Junker, with a heartfelt sigh. "He's supposed to approve the work we've done so we can get the permits to do it."

"Uh..." said Template.

"Yeah. We have to do the work, get it inspected, then get the permits for it. Things are complicated, since we're still a US possession and this is a medical facility which will accept patients from any nation. Maybe even from off the Earth. The whole approval system is screwed up beyond belief. Even the people inspecting and permitting know this. There's just nothing they can do. Been like this for decades and will likely continue to be. The war sure didn't help things along, either, even with pressure on Congress to expedite inspections and permitting to repair the battle damage. They pass laws and then nothing changes."

"Bureaucracy perceives improvement as damage and attempts to heal it," said Eve, sagely.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Three

The next morning at the old bakery started pretty much as usual. Blue Impact rose first, followed shortly by Energia. As was their routine they had breakfast together, finishing before Gadgetive even made it downstairs. None of them thought it a bit unusual that all three wore masks and two their full costumes. Gadgetive, as was her habit, was in panties and t-shirt until after she cleaned up post breakfast. Though she lacked the Olympic-level fitness of her partners, this garb - or lack thereof - made obvious the fact that she was also in good physical condition.

With Gadgetive finally getting breakfast the other two put their dishes in the dishwasher and went into the main room. Energia settled in to watch TV - mainly to catch the local news and weather - and Blue Impact began checking messages and notifications at the corner workstation.

"They're still having repeated severe storms north of here," said Energia. "Forecasters are having trouble explaining them. Sometimes one storm won't even die away before the next one forms."

"Uh-huh," said Blue Impact, absently.

Well, storms there were not a concern here. Finished with the news, Energia checked the DVR for recorded shows, and decided there wasn't anything she wanted to see there. She began channel surfing, not really paying attention, while Blue Impact continued her work. Energia could hear Gadgetive finishing in the kitchen and smiled. This was essentially family time. With nothing of interest to her on TV, she decided to turn that off and turn on the local NPR station. However, something unusual intruded on their morning routine as she reached for the remote.

"Energia..." said Blue Impact, her tone odd, "you have a message."

Something in the older super's voice raised the younger woman's hackles.

"What is it?"

"I think... you better read this, yourself," said Blue Impact, as she rose to let Energia have a seat at the console.

The feeling of dissociation increased as Energia looked at the screen.

"You have got to be kidding me."

The message was from Queen Tolnar. She was requesting a private meeting with Energia that afternoon. Just the two of them.

"Uhm..." said Blue Impact, uncertain what to do as Energia read the message again, then again, then just sat, staring.

"All right," said Energia, with determination - and not a little anger - in her voice. She shoved back from the computer desk and stood. "Don't tell Gadgetive about this. I'll go. If... something happens you'll know."

"Are you sure..."

Energia turned to face her mentor, nodding.

"Yeah. I want to know what she wants. Besides, something about the way this is worded... It's almost apologetic."

Her former teacher nodded, having noticed the same tone.

* * *

Energia approached the rendezvous early. So did Tolnar. The two of them slowed and hovered, facing each other, just out of reach, floating with deceptive calm in the warm Summer skies.

"Your Highness," said Energia, her tone carefully schooled.

"I wish... to apologize," said the Queen, obviously uncomfortable. "What you and my son have is... very special, and I separated you. Not out of malice, as I hope you know, but out of necessity."

"I understand that," said Energia, barely covering her surprise at the apology. Her urge to smite the older woman with a lightning bolt - admittedly never very strong - faded.

"I hope that someday, if circumstances permit, I will be able to invite you to our home. That... just isn't feasible right now."

"I... do understand," said Energia, swallowing hard. "Just... tell Maldren that I love him and wish him well and still think fondly of him."

Tolnar smiled.

"He told me to tell you the same, before I left for Earth."

They faced each other for a moment longer, but there really was nothing else to say. With a mutual nod, they turned and flew in different directions.

* * *

The members of Tricorne were on stakeout, hovering silently over a small section of the city where there had recently been a series of mysterious crimes. Stealth mode and station keeping were engaged, and the occupants were monitoring multiple instruments, including the local police channels. This was a far cry from the stakeouts Blue Impact had been on in her solo career. The only downside she could see to doing this in the team's large apergy flyer was that it was so comfortable she kept wanting to doze. Energia, on the other hand, was wide awake, but seemed obviously lost in thought; the others decided not to comment. Blue Impact had a general idea of why Energia was preoccupied and didn't want to press. Gadgetive was focused on their instruments in that single-minded way gadgeteers and mad inventors have. There was no danger of her falling asleep, either.

"It would be a big help if the cops knew how the perp is getting in," said Blue Impact, as much to keep herself awake as anything. "So far they haven't figured it out, and they haven't given us permission to go into any of the stores in an official capacity. Since we're not even private investigators that means we stay outside. For now. Though I think that if we don't spot anything tonight we should go ahead and talk to the victims tomorrow, anyway."

"If they were spoofing the alarm systems that could be detected," mused Gadgetive, puzzled. "Even by regular CSI. That's not what's happening, though. It's like they're just bypassing the alarms completely."

"That reminds me of a tale I heard about Bowman," said Energia, startling them a bit. "My uncle heard it from Amazonia, when he was working for the Intrepids."

Energia went quiet for a moment, there in the darkened cockpit of the team's large apergy flyer. When she had first thought of the story she had forgotten the situation through which it had been related. Energia had never met Amazonia, but she had heard much about her through other members of the Intrepids. Especially from her Uncle Randy, who obviously still felt her loss. He especially regretted that he hadn't been able to help her, even by becoming a healthy version of her to harvest antibodies to try and fight the cancer. That had just prolonged the strong woman's suffering. Energia shook her head, realizing the others were waiting for her to continue.

"Sorry. Anyway, Bowman pulled a prank on an entire security center shift change. The new shift showed up, the leader waved his ID card at the sensor for the door to the security center. There was a beep and a muffled click, but the door didn't slide open. Same guy tried again. Same result. Another guy tried, same result. One of those coming on shift was a techie, and she quickly plugged her analyzer into the card reader. Which kept telling her it was working perfectly and that the lock was reporting that the door had opened.

"They called the security folks already inside. They had noted the door opening and closing, but only black on the other side. The quickly got up to check and found... another door."

"Wait, what?!" said Gadgetive.

"Bowman had made an entire fake door and frame - in one solid piece - and glued it over the real frame."

"Oh, that's hilarious!" said Gadgetive, howling with laughter. "The system says everything's working perfectly, but they can't open the door! Because everything is working perfectly, it's just not the door they think it is!"

"I admit, that's not one I'd heard before," said Blue Impact, with a smirk. "I wonder if Rapscallion gave Bowman the idea."

"That's what my uncle said. Also helped Bowman install it. Oh, and they made sure the fake door was flimsy enough that the security people could tear it down easily."

After a few more hours the trio decided to call it a night.

"I'm actually not disappointed," said Blue Impact, as she took the pod off autopilot and started them towards the lair. "This is the most excitement we've had all Summer; a few late-night robberies. No-one injured, no bystanders endangered, no violence at all."

"Well, despite the media hysteria, crime usually goes down during and for a while after a crisis," said Energia.

"I wonder if it could actually be gremlins," said Gadgetive, thoughtfully. "Or maybe some other supernatural critter."

"Unlikely, but something to keep in mind," said Blue Impact. "However, I suspect these are plain, old, mundane, superhuman crimes. Which will require guile and patience to solve as much
as our powers."

Since the previous renovation of her lair Blue Impact had been able to move the large flyer and some of the other equipment in that beach shed to the bakery. With the latest she no longer had to park the flyers on the roof, tied down and left in stealth mode. Instead, the most recent new construction had blocked the old loading dock entrance from view to anyone not actually on the property. Additionally, the old roll-up door had been replaced with something which looked identical from the outside but was armored, silent and opened and closed very quickly.

Blue Impact guided them down between bakery and fence into the alley, then under the old awning. The door was already opening at a signal from the silent and invisible flyer. Deftly, she steered the vehicle inside and parked it, between the small flyer and the maintenance bay.

"Everybody out," she said, popping the canopy, the outside door already closed. She grinned. "Make it snappy. It's getting close to my bedtime."

"Ah, well," said Energia, lifting out of her seat, smiling and stretching as she flew towards the entrance to the main room. "We've got another week together. Let's hope it stays quiet."

"Yeah," muttered Gadgetive, as she clambered out. "You just know, the way these things work, the day after we start back at school there will be a rash of daylight super crimes."

"In that case, just tell people we're so good the criminals lay low while they know we're on the job," said Energia, smugly.

* * *

I entered the garage at the rear of the old San Francisco theater and headed for the enclosed stairs. I had been a bit surprised at the summons. I had thought - hoped, actually - that after Gaunt's building had imploded into another dimension I was done with magic for a while. A good, long while, if I had any say in it. It turned out, though, that magic wasn't done with me. Or, at least, one particular magical creature.

"Hello, Fen," I called out, a bit more tentatively than I meant to, as I entered the loft.

"Come on in!" called a familiar, male voice.

I recognized him, of course. I was only mildly surprised to see him present. He was Fen's adopted human son, after all.

Dutch has known Fen about a decade longer than I have, and he's about thirty years older than me. Yeah; he's a century old, looks fifty and doesn't even have regeneration. Being the protege and adopted son of a magical creature will do that for you.

Moments later I was seated on the left end of the human-sized couch, with Dutch on the right. Across the massive coffee table from us, Fen was sitting on the elf-sized couch.

"I suppose you're wondering why I called you here," she said, with a toothy grin. With those fangs, the blunt muzzle and the fur I had no trouble believing that a century and more earlier she had pretended to be a midget werewolf in a carnival freak show.

"A follow-up on Gaunt?"

"Only in part. A small part. I mainly want to talk about how the higher level of magic in the world now is causing multiple problems."

"I've heard about that, of course," I said, nodding. "I hope there's something we can do about that."

By "we" of course I meant "you." I didn't want to have anything more to do with magic.

"We aren't the first to have this problem," said Fen, surprising me with her apparent non-sequitur.

"I kind'a figured," I said, after a moment. "Didn't something like this cause the withdrawal of the various pantheons from this plane, thousands of years ago?"

"I think a good place to start working on a solution is Oak Island," said Fen, not addressing my question.

"Wait... the pirate treasure place?" I said, puzzled. "What's magical there?"

"Yeah!" said Dutch, grinning with enthusiasm. "Treasure hunt!"

I laughed. He and I were much alike in some ways. However, he was also a much more upbeat person than me. Which meant he could often lift my mood or even make me laugh. I suppose doing that was a habit he picked up when he used to - I hate to say "babysit" since I was in my early teens when we first met - keep an eye on me. Just now, he was stimulating my own sense of whimsey.

"Don't tell me it actually holds the Ark of the Covenant!"

"No," said Fen, absently but seriously, "something much older."

"Oh..." was all I could manage.

"The US and Canadian governments know about it - unofficially - as do may other institutions. Both Presidents Roosevelt were involved with the Island, before either was President. As well as the Delanos before that. Theodore was there several times in the Eighteen-Nineties; Franklin was there in 1909. He tried to organize an official expedition to excavate it in 1939, but with war looming he couldn't spare the time or money and decided he didn't want to draw attention to it."

"Oh..." I said, again. "So, we - I assume you are including me, or you wouldn't have invited me to this meeting - are going to Oak Island and having an actual, serious..."

"Treasure hunt!" Dutch repeated, laughing as he caught the lead-in I fed him.

Over the next two hours our little trio exchanged information, then plotted, planned and schemed. In the process I got some information on my semi-nemesis. The good news was that there was no sign that Gaunt had returned or was trying to. That still left us with the larger problem, which we proceed to address. When we were done we had a well-organized campaign, one where each of us knew our part, and where each part was important. There would be others assisting us, of course, but we were the core group.

My own benefit from this was that if we did, somehow, reduce the rising impact of magic, that made it even harder for Gaunt to return.

During that planning session I quickly learned why I was included in the project. While I know quite a bit about magic I am not magical myself, powers notwithstanding. I can't use it any better than most people. My contribution to the effort was through my contacts and other information sources.

I sat there for a few minutes after we completed our brainstorming. Then I sighed and shook my head.

"This is going to be a mess. Just getting the permits will take months. We also need permission from the property owners, the..."

"Others without our resources have done this before us," said Fen, sternly. "We should have few problems."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Four

"There was a robbery last night, while we were on watch, right under our noses," said Blue Impact, angrily, as she came into the kitchen for breakfast. She had, as was her custom, checked for messages and alerts immediately after coming downstairs. "Perhaps literally."

"I swear, my sensors were working properly!" said Gadgetive, for once eating with the others.

"So were mine," said Energia, meaning her inherent super senses.

"Again, there were no alarms, no sign of how whoever is doing this got in."

"You sure it's not something supernatural?" said Gadgetive. "That's getting more common."

"The cops actually called in Sharma a few days ago - which I only just learned about - and she checked several of the scenes. She says there's no sign of magical intrusion. Don't ask me how she can tell."

"So it's obviously either a super, or someone with super gadgets," said Energia. She tipped her head a bit to one side. "Teleporter? Perhaps someone who can go desolid?"

"Maybe a probability manipulator," said Gadgetive, seeming eager. "I always wanted to see one of those in action, but they're so rare..."

"I had a run-in with one, when I was with the Young Guardians," said Energia, making a face. "Not fun. Fortunately, they are rare."

"So are phasers," said Blue Impact. "The only one I can think of offhand who is still active is..."

"The Prince of Speed!" Energia and Gadgetive chorused, grinning.

Blue Impact rolled her eyes.

"I'm glad you two are going to different colleges next week. You're spending much too much time together."

* * *

The mandate of the Bureau of Special Resources was deliberately vague. Mainly because any attempt to strictly define and closely constrain the job of an organization intended to handle super problems would have been folly. Which didn't mean that many politicians hadn't tried... The independence and willingness to operate outside the normal bounds of government bureaucracy which was exhibited by the Bureau's employees was typified by the fact that nearly half of those attending this routine meeting wore flashy costumes, most with accompanying masks and a few with capes. Even their giantess boss wore a costume. The central topic in this weekly briefing was the weather. However, there was nothing mundane about the particular weather being discussed.

Originally, the Bureau had two branches. However, with the post-war budget cuts those had been combined into one. Brade was now in charge of the whole thing, instead of just the law enforcement branch. She very definitely would have traded the additional authority for the lower workload of the previous arrangement.

Much of the reason for the Bureau's funding cutbacks was due to critics claiming they hadn't actually done anything to defend the Earth during the Shilmek War. Of course, it was Bureau training and resources which had made so many of those who were praised for their effective role in the war so effective. Brade suspected that enemies of the Bureau were deliberately distorting things, and their followers blindly repeating the misinformation until those too busy or uncaring to check simply believed it.

"We think we've discovered the source of these unusual weather problems," said the meteorologist. Like the others in the meeting room he was a federal employee, but unlike the others he was a guest here. He seemed a bit intimidated, especially by Brade. "They were localized enough that we tracked them to one fairly small area. We at first thought it might be a research lab or perhaps a gadgeteer or even something supernatural, but ruled all those out through various means. The focus kept moving around, making the actual source difficult to determine. We now think it's one person. Who probably doesn't even know what they're doing."

Brade scowled, tiredly. Given the losses in facilities and personnel they frequently had to turn down requests for help, even from other agencies. However, this seemed too significant to ignore. Also, she thought she could get help from non-Bureau personnel on this.

"All right." She turned to her own people. "Get together with Dr. Timberlake and his team. See if you can identify the specific person, and make contact. If they can, explain the problem and offer training. If they can't find this person let me know and I'll talk to some people who might be able to help with that."

There was one more matter to deal with for this meeting. Brade leafed through her notes.

"Okay, what's the story with the opening of the Pine Island Super Medical Center being delayed?"

"Sabotage," said Doro, sourly. Thanks to keeping busy and Brade's insistence on her getting therapy, she was almost normal, these days. Though there were times when Brade realized that the way Doro was now might be the new normal, for the foreseeable future. "A lot of it boils down to some people seeing 'Super' in the name and having a knee-jerk rejection. Funding bills have been delayed or killed outright; certification of both facilities and personnel have been delayed without valid cause; even private donations have been interfered with, in some cases even being diverted to the wrong project. Ike Kenniman has been investigated three times because of his equipment and patent donations. Folks are accusing him of violating security protocols for the equipment and information he's providing, saying he wasn't cleared for access to some of it. Which is crazy! He invented most of what they're complaining about, himself! The man has security clearances for things most members of Congress aren't even allowed to know about!"

Well, that last was probably a minor exaggeration, but Brade understood what Doro meant.

"In spite of all of that, they're only about four months behind schedule."

"I'll ask Template what she's doing about the holdups," said Brade, with a tired sigh. "Maybe have the Bureau check into some of the shadier occurrences. That's about all we can do. We can't support the construction of a private - and very specialized - hospital. However, we can try to find who is spreading the rumors. I can also personally contact some super-friendly politicians and business folks."

"What is causing this?!" said Converse, a super with communication abilities. "I'm supposed to be able to know when someone is lying, but I swear I'm hearing people tell me truthfully they support the hospital, then two days later someone in their office has - to use Doro's term - sabotaged it. I confront them over this and half the time they don't even know about it! When they do, half the time they don't see the contradiction!"

"For a few it's a case of their assistants doing something without their knowledge," said Brade, sighing again. "They do what they think their boss would want, or what they think is best for him to do. For some people it is - as Doro also said - a reflex action. I suspect that for a few people it suddenly comes home that this is an institution which will help supers only. They then get an odd twinge somewhere in their subconscious that this is a bad thing."

"As a general rule, the more mundane power someone has the more of an instinctive wariness they have in regard to someone with super power," said Doro, sourly. "Because anyone can be a super, even without the hard work of being born rich and managing their inheritance."

"I think that's enough for today," said Brade, dryly. "Unless someone has something in addition - something work related - we better adjourn before we get accused of plotting armed rebellion."

* * *

Blue Impact had finally managed to receive official police approval to inspect some of the crime scenes. They had simply not been able to figure out how the valuables targeted were being accessed and removed. She knew that if her team failed to stop the thief, that would let the cops point fingers at them. However, she felt confident that Tricorne would be able to uncover at least something important.

The looks of the customers and staff as the costumed trio walked into their first stop of the day was a bit unnerving. However, they were all three experienced with public reactions.

"Hey," said an older man, who hurried up to meet them. "I'm Herve Rodriguez, the owner. The safe's back here."

All eyes followed them as they walked into the back.

"Mind the store," Herve snapped at one of the employees, when he appeared about to follow them.

The customer part of the pawn shop was crowded with heavily stocked shelves, but clean and well-lit. In the back it was still well-lit, and even more crowded. The owner escorted them to the office, then fussed from where he stood with Blue Impact outside, watching through the door as the two younger members of Tricorne located the point of entry.

"Okay," said Gadgetive, as she finished scanning a wall in the office. "Definitely signs of hyperdimensional rupture. Very subtle, though; nothing altered which affects four dimensional integrity."

Blue Impact nodded and smiled, feeling vindicated.

Gadgetive next turned to her right and repeated the operation with the large, free-standing safe. It was an older model, but far from antique.

"Same here, though with differences which suggest the thief rummaged around inside for a bit before removing something, rather than just briefly passing through. The scent of the quark distortion shows prolonged contact."

"Did you understand any of that?" the pawn shop owner asked of Blue Impact.

"A few words," said the older super, mildly. "What's important is that she knows what she means."

"With this information I can consult with some folks who know more than I do about insubstantiality," said Gadgetive, absently, as she put her equipment away. "Once we know exactly what form of the ability he uses we should be able to create something which can hold him. Or her."

"What good does that do me?" said the store owner, almost whining. "He's already raided my safe!"

"If we find him, the cops can find what he stole," said Blue Impact. "Or who he sold it to. Then backtrack to the thief from there."

"Oh."

"If nothing else, if the police can learn what happened to your property the insurance company will pay more quickly."

"Yeah..." said the man, sighing. "I had to take a policy with a large deductible. Thought having a good safe would be enough. How was I supposed to know a thief could walk through walls?!"

"It's a very rare ability," said Blue Impact, as she watched Gadgetive finish and in her turn look expectantly at Energia. Who was staring at the same part of the wall, frowning in concentration. "Well, true intangibility is. There's lots of supers who can walk through walls; most just leave holes when they do it. Anyway, there is some good news, if a bit late to the party: We are working with Ike Kenniman to apply Shilmek technology to block people with insubstantial powers. That will be much more practical than mad inventor gadgets for the same purpose."

"Another piece of expensive, specialized equipment."

Blue Impact decided he was just in griping mode and stopped trying to lift his mood. Instead, she moved up beside Energia.

"Anything?"

"Huh?!" she said, actually starting a bit. She immediately looked a little embarrassed. "Uh, yeah. I talked to Zeep and he showed me some things to look for. Not anything as definite as what Gadgetive found, though."

"Well, between the two of you we should have a good start." She looked at Gadgetive. "Would it do any good to examine the outside of the wall?"

"Nope," said the middle member of the team.

"Then let's get to the next store on our list."

They walked outside, into the late Summer heat. In spite of the temperature and humidity, there was a crowd waiting for them. Some were simply curious locals, wondering what was going on. Though not all...

"Great," said Blue Impact. "The press is here."

"That TV crew still dogging you?" said Gadgetive, as she exited the shop behind the senior member of the team. "Whoah! That's a lot of cameras! Plenty more than just that one crew."

"That one crew is still bugging me as much as they can without violating the court order. The traffic tickets they got from chasing me helped with that." She frowned, as she examined the assembly of TV crews and onlookers.

"Smile and wave," said Energia, following her own instructions.

They did so, though Gadgetive muttered humorous, obscene descriptions of the news crews and their personal habits through her grin on the way to their apergy flyer. Many of them in Yiddish.

"Hey!" one of the reporters yelled out. "When do we mere mortals get one of those fancy, antigravity flying cars?!"

"It's not antigravity!" yelled Gadgetive, at this aggressive push of one of her buttons. "Don't you know antigravity is impossible?! Learn basic physics and then maybe you wouldn't make so many stupid mistakes!"

Blue Impact quickly stepped between her and the crowd.

"The FAA is still trying to figure out how to design certification tests for apergy - not antigravity - vehicles. We - as anyone can - fly ours as an experimental aircraft."

She quickly herded the others into the vehicle, hopped in herself and closed the hatch.

"Whoof," said Energia, once they were safely underway. "All we needed to make this worse was Mano Dura showing up."

"Oh, right," said Gadgetive, startled. "He patrols near here."

"Yeah. I hear people have been pressuring him to solve these crimes. Which is not his strong suit. He's been in a really bad mood over it."

"One more reason to move on to our next appointment," said Blue Impact, firmly.

* * *

Investigation of the next two robbery locations had further exposed the team to both onlookers and news crews. After the third stop Gadgetive announced that there was nothing more to be learned from further examinations. Blue Impact was actually glad to declare it was time for lunch and get back to base. After they ate Gadgetive locked herself in the ground floor lab until she finally emerged for supper. From her attitude the others could tell she had not made any breakthroughs. Though she did reveal that all her data had been sent to Ike Kenniman and a few others. The fact that she felt she had done all she could - at least for now - was confirmed when instead of returning to the lab she joined the others watching TV after their evening meal.

"I feel cheated," grumped Gadgetive, after the local news was over later that day. "They cut from his question to your reply, leaving out my correction!"

"Well, of course," said Energia, spreading her hands. "They won't show anything which implies one of their reporters might be wrong about something."

"That may be an exaggeration," said Blue Impact, managing to keep a straight face. "However, they do tend to omit anything which portrays one of their staff members in a bad light."

She looked at the TV, now showing a late-night monster movie program.

"When you were in the john you missed the news from the station which keeps harassing me. They showed us leaving the store then cut directly to the flyer lifting off. I'm going to choose to believe that they didn't want to show someone from another station."

* * *

Over the next five days there were two more robberies. All had the same modus operandi: Someone came in through a wall or ceiling or floor close to the target, moved straight to it, removed what was wanted and left the same way they came in. Sometimes the target was cash; most incidents involved valuable items which could not be traced easily. Silver bullion bars and coins were popular with this thief, as was older jewelry. This again demonstrated a knowledge of the material; much new jewelry had identifying serial numbers on both the settings and the gems.

"Obviously, they're casing the joint first," said Gadgetive, as she paced back and forth in the main room at the old bakery.

"I knew letting her binge watch all those Thin Man movies was a mistake," said Blue Impact, in a stage mutter, from where she and the third team member sat on the couch. They watched the hyperactive gadgeteer stride around, while their team mascot was attended by Energia.

"Hey, those were fun," said Energia, defensively, as she stroked the cat. He rolled over and presented his belly for rubbing, purring madly.

"We need to show photos of the suspects to all the owners and employees and as many regular customers as we can," said Gadgetive, "to see if there's this one person they all recognize."

"We don't have any suspects," said Blue Impact, a bit tiredly. "Neither do the police."

She sighed and stretched.

"The perpetrator is very careful not to disturb anything except the specific contents of cabinets, safes or vaults he or she wants. No alarms trip. No fingerprints are found."

"Do any of those shops have security video running all night?" said Energia.

"No," said the senior member. "That's probably the reason they were chosen. The shops which were hit all turn off internal continuous video when they close for the day - a false economy, if you ask me - and rely on motion detectors and trip switches and such. None of which showed any intrusion."

"Could the culprit be someone already trained in security measures?" said Energia, looking thoughtful. "Maybe even someone working for a company which installs the equipment?"

"The police already checked that. Only a few the targeted businesses used the same security company."

"Phones," said Gadgetive, stopping and smacking right fist into left palm. She had modified her outfit's gloves specifically to make that act more impressive. Or at least louder. "Or maybe Internet connections. Someone who installs or repairs phone lines or Internet connections. They'd be in a position to learn about security measures. Maybe even work to hook them to the outside world for the business."

"That I don't know about," said Blue Impact, nodding slowly. "I'll ask my contacts."

* * *

The next shop hit was different from the previous ones. Before that the "Robbery Ghost" as the thief had been labelled had gone for items of intrinsic value. This latest theft, though...

"The insurance coverage was for $12,000," said the store owner, sounding tired. "That's what I had it priced for, too. I would have settled for nine grand, though, if I had to sell it now. The market's down. Just don't tell the insurance company that. Should be back up eventually, but no-one knows when."

He had photos of the comic book in question.

"I have a few others worth more than this, several of about the same value and many worth just a bit less. They were all together, too, in the fire safe. This is the only thing taken."

"So..." said Blue Impact, frowning. "The other robberies were likely for money. This was something the thief specifically wanted. That just might help us catch him."

"The police thought of that. Asked me if anyone had come in asking about that comic lately. Nope."

"Did you have that advertised online?" said Blue Impact.

"Yeah. I have a Web page with all the in-demand, rare and high-priced comics I have for sale. As well as a list of my own wants, both for the shop and personal. There were no inquiries on that specific comic for over a year. I also occasionally put adds in various periodicals. Nothing about that comic from those recently, either. That type of comic is in low demand right now."

"So, it's likely someone who wanted this for a long time, for their own use, and they won't sell it."

"Yeah," said the shop owner. He sighed and shook his head. "I've been in this business nearly thirty years and I still don't understand some collectors. I bet the guy won't even read it. Would probably be horrified if someone even suggested taking it out of the Mylar bag."

While they spoke, Energia looked around with more than casual curiosity. She had never been a comic book reader. Now, here she was, a super hero in a place which sold art and stories about super heroes. She found the experience both amusing and a bit unnerving. She wondered if the customers knew the members of Tricorne were real, or thought they were part of some sort of promotion.

Fortunately, Blue Impact was soon done talking to the owner. Unfortunately, the pair now realized that their third member was missing.

"Gadgetive!" said Blue Impact.

"Coming!" came a reply from deep in the crowded (though mostly with shelves full of comics and magazines and tables full of boxes of same) store.

"Just getting my monthly fix," she said, as she plopped a stack onto the counter. "You have a lot of stuff my usual sources don't!"

"Uh, thanks?" said the owner as he began ringing the items up.

"Do you ever come across any Young Atomic Engineers books?" said Gadgetive, as she handed over her money. Exact change, of course, calculated in her head.

"Sorry. Not my line. I carry a few paperbacks and a very few hardbacks, but not YA literature."

"Too bad. I've only got two more books to go. They're really obscure, though."

"Can we go, now?" said Blue Impact, after Gadgetive collected her purchase and turned to her teammates.

"Sure!" said the gadgeteer, grinning around her mask. "I'm happy!"

"At least we got out of there before the parking meter tripped," said Energia, as they walked to the large apergy pod.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Five

Another night, another stakeout.

"You sure that will work?" said Energia, as Gadgetive hunched over the display built into the dash of the flyer. "We're running out of time, you know."

"Yeah," said the gadgeteer, absently. "That sensor pod I hung on the front hardpoint will detect etheric disturbances. I've already mapped the background and masked it out."

"What if he comes up through the ground, like he has a few times before?" said Blue Impact.

"This isn't three dimensional," said Gadgetive, sounding irritated.

She said nothing else, apparently considering that explanation - or perhaps reminder - to be a sufficient answer. The other two looked at each other and shrugged.

"Okay..." said Energia. "Here's a question I've had before but kept forgetting to ask: Why are we using this instead of - or with - Gadgetive's super detector?"

"There's dozens of supers in this city," said Blue Impact. "Including us. As far as we know, there's only one desolidifier."

"Ohhh, yeah," said their gadgeteer, a bit later, with a gleeful chortle. "Got something. I think..."

"Can you put the image on the console display?" said Blue Impact.

"Huh? Oh, sure..."

The display for the center console popped up and showed what she was seeing. The position of the screen gave a good view to all those in the flyer.

"Just remember, we can't go onto private property without invitation unless there's someone actually in danger," said Blue Impact, as she tried to decipher the image. "The city gave us permission to go onto their properties, with the understanding that any harm which comes to us there is our fault."

"I can tell you're a lawyer," muttered Energia.

"You mean from the fact that I teach legal courses at the Academy?" said Blue Impact, innocently.

"Shush!" said Gadgetive, suddenly. "Definitely have something."

"Get the net shooter ready," said Blue Impact, reflexively snugging her seat harness.

"It's armed," said Gadgetive, after flipping switches without looking away from her display.

Blue Impact lowered the flyer between buildings near where Gadgetive had spotted the furtive figure. The craft came silently around the corner, and she slewed to point the nose where they expected the target to be. Unfortunately, the person was moving quickly towards a building which held - among other businesses - a jewelry store. The target was also paying attention. Despite the silence of the craft, they were spotted. The quarry abruptly reversed course. Blue Impact yawed the flyer in his direction and drew a bead just as the figure dove through the pavement.

"Call up the utility plans for this block!"

"I've already got those," said Energia. "Putting it on the console screen."

"That," said Blue Impact, after a few seconds, "is a maze."

She looked at Gadgetive.

"You still tracking him?"

"Sorry, teach. Whoever that is must have at least low-level super speed. They're already out of range. They also made several sharp changes of direction while I was still watching."

"That's definitely someone who knows the tunnels and sewers around here," said Energia.

"Okay," said Blue Impact, with a tired sigh. "At least we scared him off this time. I'll let the police know what happened. Oh, make a copy of that video I can give them. He may have been masked, but at least we have build, height and such. That may help the cops."

* * *

When Energia came downstairs the next morning, Blue Impact was already on the phone. After listening for a moment to this side of the conversation she realized the senior member of their team was talking to that same comic book shop owner they had visited the day before. She resisted the urge to use her powers to "listen" to the electrical impulses to the speaker so she could hear the other side of the talk.

"Woke up with a hunch," said Blue Impact, after ending the call. "I got the name, phone number and address of the man the shop owner bought that one comic from."

"You think he may have wanted it back?"

"The shop owner said he sold it to him two years ago, to fund repairs on property which was damaged during the war. That the former owner was unsatisfied because the store wouldn't pay what the other guy thought it was worth."

"A suspect!" cried Gadgetive, from the stairs, where she had come down in just panties and a t-shirt. She was almost crowing. "A valid suspect!"

"Get dressed," said Blue Impact.

"We're going after the guy?"

"Eventually, but right now I'm going to tell the police about him. I just want you to put on some clothes!"

* * *

The previous owner was quickly eliminated - too old, too tall, had a good alibi for several of the robberies - but when questioned by the police he mentioned that a private collector contacted him just days after he sold the book. That man's description fit what the police had been able to determine from the video. Of course, that was pretty general.

"They won't tell us anything about this second suspect," said Blue Impact. "That's understandable. They want the arrest to stick so they're following proper procedure. However, they also want us standing by in case he makes a break for it."

"Standing by where?" said Energia. "They won't tell us where he is!"

"It's apparently close enough for us to get to quickly," said Blue Impact, with a shrug.

They stayed in the old bakery the entire day. They trained, they ate, they cleaned and repaired, they watched TV and played games. Not only was there no further word on what the police learned from the suspect, there was no other trouble in the city which needed their special sort of aid.

"I know I said I wanted a quiet Summer," said Energia, tired from doing nearly nothing. "This is ridiculous!"

Finally, a call came in. A Detective Blue Impact knew reported that the interview with the man the previous owner of the comic told them about had produced nothing solid. He had even let them search his home without a warrant.

"However," Blue Impact relayed, once the call was over, "since we know that the culprit has some super speed his alibis could be challenged. The police are putting a stakeout on him. Hopefully, he doesn't also have super senses."

"So what do we do?"

"They can't tell us his name or where he lives or anything else personal about him," said Blue Impact. "However, that doesn't mean we can't look for ourselves. Gadgetive, do you think you can find the stakeout team? That specific one?"

"I can sure try!"

* * *

Finding the stakeout took a few hours. However, between Blue Impact and Gadgetive they had sufficient resources to do that without breaking any laws. Soon the large apergy flyer was hovering over the suspect's house, fully cloaked. The timing was fortuitous; the man had just gotten home from work.

"Okay, baseline scan completed and background features masked. If he does go desolid I'll know it immediately!"

"We're very early," said Energia. "The crimes happen during the night, and it's still afternoon."

"If he's going out tonight - and there's no guarantee of that, even if he's the culprit - he'll likely leave early. Remember, the police didn't find any of the stolen items or the costume at his house."

"So he'll have those stashed somewhere," said Gadgetive, nodding.

"He's smart," said Blue Impact, also nodding. "However, I actually do expect him to go out tonight. We stopped him last night before he could steal anything. He'll want to catch up."

"Funny how we know so much about him - even where he lives - but not his name," said Energia.

They stayed on station, stealth mode engaged, for over an hour before anything unusual happened. Then things went fast.

"Got the signal! He's in the basement... He's in the ground, heading for the storm sewer!"

"Windscreen overlay, please," said Blue Impact.

A transparent map with a moving dot appeared on the front of the canopy. Blue Impact moved the flyer above the dot and kept it there, flying high enough that buildings weren't a problem.

"How big is that storm sewer? He's moving at a good pace."

"According to the official city maps, a meter and a half," said Energia.

"If he can move that fast crouched over..." said their pilot, frowning. "I've got the reflexes but not the ground speed."

"Yeah," said Gadgetive. "We may need to hem him in before trying to catch him. How do we do that to someone who can go desolid, though?"

"You made the net so I could handle it easily, remember?" said Energia. "You get it close to him in an open area and I'll guide the net in."

They followed the trail to an apartment building. There their quarry went from storm sewer to utility tunnel, through a basement, up to ground level to cross an empty lot, then back underground in the basement of the apartment building on the other side before resolidifying.

"Lost him," said Gadgetive. "Unless he's got his stash hidden in the basement, we don't know which apartment he's going to."

"Doesn't matter," said Blue Impact. "So far all we have him on is misdemeanor trespassing."

"He wasn't staying long anywhere there wasn't air," said Gadgetive. "So he likely doesn't have breathing gear in whatever he was wearing when he left home. We'll see if there's any in his costume, I guess."

They waited for two more hours, snacking on food bars.

"Okay," Blue Impact said, finally, "it's still well before dark and he doesn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon. I say we take a break."

The others were reluctant to leave the stakeout, but both of the younger team members also admitted they could use a restroom.

"We'll make it quick," said Blue Impact. She glanced at Gadgetive. "You really need to find a way to put a bathroom in this thing."

"To preserve modesty we'd need a larger vehicle to have enough space for a separate toilet," the inventor muttered.

They were soon back on station with still more than an hour until sundown. Feeling much better.

* * *

"On the move, again!" said Gadgetive, suddenly, four hours after their break.

"Keep on him," said Energia, excitedly, as Blue Impact maneuvered the flyer.

This time his path was even more indirect. Finally, though, he traversed through a short section of packed earth between a utility tunnel and the basement of an office building.

"Wonder which business in there he's after?" said Blue Impact, on full alert.

"He's staying desolid. Moving upwards."

"Is there an online list of who or what is in that building?"

"Sorry," said Energia, after working for a moment. "Not seeing it. Got the address and the name of the building owner but not who is renting."

"I wonder if there's a sign listing them at the front..."

"He's... doing something," said Gadgetive. "Not going fully solid, but that's probably a partial rematerialization. He must be grabbing what he's after."

"All right," said Blue Impact. "Stay alert! Gadgetive, as soon as he leaves I want you to project his path, give us a best location for netting him."

"Roger!"

He didn't follow the exact same path on the way out, but as Gadgetive noted aloud there were only so many pipes and basements in that neighborhood and he was still avoiding long periods in volumes with no air.

"There," said Gadgetive, very shortly after their target began his retreat. "He should surface to cross that empty lot!"

As predicted, the dark-clad figure - clearly visible in the eerie green of the amplified light image displayed on the windscreen of the flyer - was seen climbing rapidly out of the ground just beyond the foundation of a building. Blue Impact aimed the flyer, leading expertly, and launched just before he reached the center of the empty lot. He glanced up at the sound, then frantically lunged to his left. Energia used her powers to change the course of the net and guide it to the man, then wrap him in it.

"Got him!" she crowed. "It's holding him, too!"

"Calling the cops," said Blue Impact, as she also guided the flyer onto the ground beside the fallen figure. "Make sure you keep holding him!"

"On it," said Energia.

They got out and surrounded the silently fuming figure. The scene was a bit eerie, full of long shadows and glaring brightness, due to being sidelit by the flyer's headlights.

"That, my friends," said Gadgetive, beaming, "is how you do it!"

"I hear sirens," said Blue Impact, looking up and off towards the street.

"With your ears they could be the next county over," said Energia, grinning.

Soon they could all hear the sirens, approaching rapidly. Sure enough, several police cars quickly pulled up at the nearest curb.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Six

"Oh, now that's good work," said the lead Detective, as he hurried over. "We had just gotten word he was no longer at home and were about to notify you, when your call came in."

"Girls, this is Detective Sandersen," said Blue Impact, very deliberately not mentioning that they had found the stakeout and followed the guy here from his home.

"Have you searched him?" said the Detective.

"We are waiting for you to do that," said Blue Impact. "Energia is actively holding the net so he can't move much, and with police doing the searching there will be fewer legal problems."

"I want them arrested!" shouted the figure on the ground, angrily writhing in the net. "They assaulted me without provocation!"

"Tell it to the DA," said the Detective. He squatted to give the fallen figure a visual once-over, after which he retrieved the stolen item: A black velvet bundle. When opened this proved to contain a silver cup filled with silver dollars.

"Oh, yeah. To my experienced eye, this is well over the value limit." He turned to Blue Impact. "Okay, professional opinion needed, here, from you masks. Does this guy fall under Coltman vs. Dachshund, or can we pull that hood off and get a good look at his face?"

The guy began struggling and swearing. Energia held him firm, despite being a bit startled by the Detective's question. She wondered if he knew Blue Impact was an attorney. Or maybe just suspected.

"Hey, don't I have a say in this?" wailed the prisoner, finally accepting he wasn't going to get loose on his own.

"Sure you do," said Sandersen, dryly. "Just not one we have to listen to."

"Hmmm, in my... professional opinion, he's not a known mask as either a criminal or a hero. Legal precedent since that decision holds that the costume of a hero or villain is not intended to conceal their identity but to provide an immediately recognizable alternate identity; a public identity. That 'mask' he's wearing is actually just a ski mask, and the rest isn't even a proper costume. Just black jogging clothes and work gloves. He's either a common thief or a very warm jogger."

"You don't even have to unmask him," said Energia. "He's carrying keys, a wallet, a smart phone..."

"Hey! You're spying on me!"

"I'll keep a grip on him and guide you to where those items are," said Energia.

"Good idea," said the Detective. He bent down to rummage through the prisoner's pockets, with occasional advice from Energia. The man tried to wiggle away, but between the net and Blue Impact helping to hold him still the man's pockets were soon emptied. The Detective finished and stood, holding the items. "I'm so used to costumed types not carrying ID I didn't even think of that. In spite of you telling me he doesn't count as a mask."

He opened the wallet and nodded.

"Okay, got his name and face from his driver's license. It's who we thought, all right."

Sandersen then pulled off the ski mask and officially arrested the man, by name, for grand theft. When finished he looked up at the trio of costumed supers.

"How do we get him out of that net while still holding him?"

"Uhm..." said Gadgetive, suddenly thrown for a loop. "Well, you have to put the net in a place where he can't walk through the walls, then open it."

"Great. We don't have such a place."

"We can't just keep him in that net!" said one of the other plainclothes officers present.

"We need that net back, anyway," said Blue Impact. "We'll give you contact info for Ike Kenniman. He's already working on a device specifically for desolidifiers. In the meantime, an ordinary neutralizer will work on his powers."

"Without a court order we can't put him under a neutralizer," said Sandersen. He straightened and sighed, looking tired. "He hasn't demonstrated any offensive ability."

The state law in re. usage of neutralizers had been hastily rewritten just before the war, in response to complaints about abuse by several state and local government agencies; most of which weren't even directly involved in police work. As a result the law was largely useless, restricting application where it was needed and doing little to reduce the abuse. The lawmakers refused to address the issue again, blithely saying they had done their jobs and it was up to the courts to apply the new law. Then complaining about activist judges ruining their work when the courts did so.

"The net's power supply is good for about another ten hours," said Gadgetive. "If we don't hear from you sooner I'll be at your station in nine to give it a recharge."

"We'll get right on that court order, then." He shone his flashlight on the man again and sighed. "We really can't keep him in that net for any longer than absolutely necessary, anyway."

"Here," said Gadgetive, kneeling beside the prisoner. "I'll - very carefully - adjust the net so he can move around but still can't get out of it. That should help."

"Thanks. Now we just need to figure out what he was doing between the time he left home and the time he came here."

"We followed him here from an apartment building," said Blue Impact. Again not mentioning how they found that place. "Since there's only a couple of keys on that ring I suspect he left his house keys there. We can show you where it is."

"I really want to see what he has stashed there," said Gadgetive, hopefully.

* * *

Very soon, with a bit of help from the landlord, they were in the man's room.

"I swear, he never caused any trouble, always quiet, got along with everyone else in the building, always paid his rent on time..." said the man, babbling nervously.

"It's all right," said Sandersen, ushering the man out. "We'll take it from here."

"I am very glad there wasn't a fight in here," said Gadgetive, with feeling, as she looked around the room. "Wow... He even has a complete set of Young Atomic Engineers. Several editions of some volumes. I almost hate that we had to arrest him. Guy has taste. Let me know of they auction any of this off when the legal stuff is all settled."

"Just don't go any further in than this," said Sandersen. "This is very much a look but don't touch situation."

"Looks like a large part of the money he got from selling what he's stolen went for other collectibles," said Blue Impact. "Wow."

The walls were lined with shelves and display cases. These were full of books, artwork, framed pulp magazine covers, miniatures, props, movie posters and many other collectibles. The room was cool, and a dehumidifier hummed away in the middle.

"He must have been spending it nearly as fast as he was bringing it in," said the Detective, impressed. He sighed and shook his head. "Sorting all this out may take months."

"Years," said Gadgetive. "You need to be really careful with how you pack, move and store this stuff, too."

"Well, you three have the official thanks of the city," said the Detective, shaking hands all around. "I'm afraid we have to clear out for the forensics team, now.

* * *

"One of my contacts sent me the information the police now have on the phantom thief," said Blue Impact, late the next morning. "Turns out he was a city employee, working in utilities. Something with the electrical grid. Oh, and his father is a jeweler."

"That fits," said Gadgetive. The court order for the neutralizer had come during the night, so she had gotten up early - for a change - and gone to the jail where the man was being held to retrieve the net. Which she had done by staying outside the cell with the neutralizer and telling one of the CSIs how to do it. She'd still managed to get breakfast later than her partners in crime fighting. Energia suspected she saw getting breakfast last as a challenge. "He'd have access to the businesses beforehand, as well as knowing the underground routes and the merchandise."

"They still haven't found where he stashed the stolen items," said Blue Impact. "Well, except for a few collectables he kept for himself in that apartment, like that comic. They're pretty sure he's already sold the stuff he could get rid of quickly. The rest must have been put in yet another location. He's made several large deposits to his checking and savings accounts, lately, as well as lots of large withdrawals. He likely already did enough to attract the attention of the IRS. The police also confirmed that the collectibles we found at his place were recent purchases. Most of which came from out of state. When the cops pressed him on the money coming in he claimed he'd made several sales from his comic book collection."

"Ah-hah!" said Gadgetive. "That's our guy, then."

"You mean you weren't already sure?" said Energia, with exaggerated innocence. She grinned as the gadgeteer blew a raspberry in her direction. Then she stretched. "Oh, well; mystery solved and still a day and a half to go."

"I don't know whether it's connected," said Blue Impact, sounding a bit wistful, "but he's also recently divorced."

"Hah!" said Gadgetive, oblivious to the subdued attitudes of her teammates at this bit of information. "Yeah, marriage is for suckers. Like you'd ever see me married!"

"You're asocial," said Energia, a bit more tartly than she intended. "You don't even date."

"Hey! I'm seeing a guy at college! We just both know it's purely physical."

"Yeah," said Blue Impact, quietly. "Purely physical."

* * *

Just after lunch - naturally, at a time when there was no-one in the main room - a message came in. A mission assignment. Even with Energia flying in from the kitchen, Blue Impact got to their new com center first. She read the message aloud as the others entered the main room.

"Oh, come on!" said Energia, who had been upstairs in her room, packing nonessentials to get a head start on leaving for school. She currently didn't even have a cape on. "We just closed one case, we've got just over a day before we planned to leave and they send us on a manhunt?!"

"Yeah, teach," said Gadgetive, sourly. "They don't even know who they're after."

"That's why they want us on the job. This person is causing property damage and injuries and likely doesn't even know it. Between you two we should be able to find the source of the disturbance."

"What about school?" said Energia. "I know we're due back on different days, but we'd all planned to head out at the same time, a few days ahead of the first school opening, to leave time for personal stuff. What if this takes a while?"

"We'll head out to the affected area in just a few minutes," said Blue Impact. "Make a preliminary survey. If we can't find them today, well, we'll just have to wait and see how long this takes."

"Y'know," said Gadgetive, thoughtfully, "even after we head back to school we don't have to quit. We all have ways to get back here quick and easy. We could continue in the evenings for a few nights, maybe work on weekends."

"We'll see," said Blue Impact.

* * *

The best guess as to the location of their target was in the downtown area of a city only half an hour away from the bakery by flyer.

The team's large apergy craft was the size of a minivan and much heavier, besides being far more streamlined. It had multiple safety features, including stabilizing software. They were still tossed around as they dropped into the storm from the stratosphere.

"This is rough," said Blue Impact, whose superhuman reflexes were taxed keeping them on an even keel and on course. "Much worse than any of the storms reported before."

A sudden, hard, prolonged gust tipped the flyer and shoved it sideways.

"I'm glad I'm riding in here instead of flying out there!" said Energia. "I thought weather warpers could barely affect things on this scale."

"They can't make quick changes," said Gadgetive. "This has been building for weeks. That's one reason the trackers have such a good idea of where the source is. The only problem is that the source is moving around a small city, and sometimes going outside it."

Blue Impact didn't even try to land, but kept above the buildings, moving at a low ground speed.

"It's like a small hurricane," said Gadgetive, "only it stays over this area!"

"So is this guy doing this in his sleep?!" said Energia. "If it's continuous..."

"Sleep isn't unconsciousness," said Gadgetive. "It's an altered state of consciousness."

"So if he can't - or won't - stop when we find him or her drugging them might work?"

"Almost certainly," said Blue Impact. "If the person causing this turns hostile you may have to zap him."

"Understood."

Energia's stunning shock effect was rough, but actually safer than hitting someone with enough drugs to quickly knock them out. Even with those high doses, her way was also much faster.

"All right," said Blue Impact, putting the flyer in station keeping mode above an intersection. "According to our instruments and the satellite photos this is the center of the storm and it's currently holding still here."

"So it's not like a hurricane," said Energia, peering upwards through the transparent canopy of the flyer's cockpit at the ominous clouds overhead. "There's no eye."

"I'm not getting anything definitive," said Gadgetive. "Can you sense anything unusual in the energy fields here?"

"Nothing," said Energia, after a few moments.

Very few supers could detect other supers directly, and she wasn't one of them. Even with all Zeep had taught her. Her super senses just didn't extend in that direction. There had been hope she might be able to detect the weather manipulator's powers in action, but that wasn't proving out.

"Wish the Super Monitoring Network were still around," muttered Gadgetive, as she continued working. "I understand why Ike killed it, but these short range detectors just don't have enough resolution."

"I guess it doesn't help that there are three supers closer to the detector than the person we're trying to detect," said Energia, with a wry laugh.

Gadgetive froze. Then began swearing in five languages as she angrily worked the controls. Fortunately, none of them were English.

"Are you telling me," said Blue Impact, slowly and carefully, "that you forgot we three are all supers?"

"No! I just... forgot to mask out our presences."

This required a few minutes. With Blue Impact fuming, Energia fidgeting and Gadgetive fussing, the latter soon had their signatures blocked.

"Huh. This thing is only supposed to spot active supers; the more they're using their powers the better the range and definition."

"'But...'?" said Energia.

"Well, I'm seeing several supers. However, the closest is in the building over there. Which is close enough to the current center of the storm for government work."

"So, how do we approach this?" said Energia. "Just walk in?"

"If possible, we wait for Gadgetive's blip to move," said Blue Impact, frowning in thought. "If it leaves the building that would be best. We can contact whoever that is on the QT, preserving their privacy while we check whether they're actually our target."

"We could wait until quitting time," said Energia. "Whoever it is will presumably brave the storm to go home."

"We shouldn't wait that long," said Blue Impact, "the storm's doing too much damage. Though we should fly around and get several bearings on the supers you're detecting. All of them."

This they did, Blue Impact keeping them high enough to avoid being blown into buildings. In spite of some occasional strong downdrafts.

"We're actually attracting some attention," said Energia, peering out the side of the canopy. "There's folks in buildings watching us out of their windows, and even a few pedestrians."

"Any law enforcement?" said Blue Impact.

"Not so far. Weren't they notified we were coming?"

"They were supposed to have been. Maybe they were asked to stay out of the way."

"Most cops would rather let supers deal with supers," said Gadgetive, the majority of her attention on her work.

"I'd say it's more likely they are busy with the storm," said Blue Impact.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Seven

After an hour of this, though, Blue Impact decided they had enough data.

"We have the location of the person most likely causing the disturbance isolated to within a few centimeters," she said. "The longer we wait the more damage the storm does."

"Yeah, it's definitely getting worse," said Gadgetive, with a quick check of satellite photos. Though just hearing and feeling
the wind and rain should have been enough.

They landed in the parking lot for the building - with a bit of difficulty due to the gusts - using a space for vans, then hurried inside. The receptionist seemed stunned by the sight of three people in masks and costumes entering her building. This was likely amplified by them stopping to shake and stomp off water on the vestibule carpet.

"Uh, good afternoon?"

"Good afternoon," said Blue Impact, as she walked to the receptionist's station. She was annoyed that in spite of her dewatering efforts her athletic shoes squeaked on the flooring. Somehow, the footgear of her partners didn't. Perhaps due to her greater weight. She introduced herself and the other two. "We're here on behalf of the Bureau of Special Resources, looking for someone."

She thought about asking if they did any weather research, but the place was listed as a local government office, something to do with building permits. Also, she didn't want to give away that the person they were after might be causing the storm. Hopefully, even the fact that the person they wanted was a super would be up to the individual to reveal to their coworkers.

Before the woman could answer there was a gust of wind which drove rain hard against the windows and rattled the front doors. Blue Impact grimaced. They really needed to get this done quickly.

"Who is it you want... to talk to?"

"That's what is making this so awkward," said Blue Impact, managing to not look as uncomfortable as she felt. "We know their location but not who they are."

She turned to Gadgetive.

"The target is on the second floor, about ten meters from the rear of the building and two meters in from the west wall."

"Meters," said the woman, blankly. "Is that, like... feet?"

Blue Impact resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and translated.

Decades after we were supposed to convert to the metric system and half the people in this country still aren't even sure what it is.

"I, uh, don't know who is in that exact position, but I can have security escort you to the location."

"Thank you."

"What we should have done," said Energia, while the woman talked on the phone, "is tell the Bureau and have them send someone in plain clothes."

"They're stretched very thin," said Blue Impact. "We'll even have to take whoever it is to the training facility and Dr. Timberlake ourselves. Even that is only if they agree to go, of course."

"Huh?" said Gadgetive, startled. "They have to go, right?"

"Nope," said Energia. "It's strictly voluntary."

The security guard arrived, did the expected double-take, then had what the trio wanted explained to him. A bit uncertainly, he took them to the elevator and upstairs. Once they stepped out onto the second floor he started down an aisle between adjustable partitions, taking the lead.

The floor contained a typical cube farm, with few people able to see much outside their workspace. The unusual procession garnered almost no attention as they proceeded.

"I think the one you want is this way."

He walked up to an open doorway and knocked on the frame. At first Blue Impact was the only member of Tricorne who was able to look inside. She saw a man was of medium build and perhaps northern Mediterranean coloration. He looked... down. Defeated. Perhaps even clinically depressed.

"Mr. Daniels? There's some... people here who want to speak with you."

Okay, not an Italian or Spanish or even Greek name. He could still be of those stocks on his mother's side.

Harry looked up, puzzled, as the guard stepped back. His curiosity switched to sudden concern as three women in masks and costumes entered his small office.

"Mr. Daniels? I'm Blue Impact. Uh, excuse me for a moment."

She looked at Gadgetive, who was looking at something like a GPS unit in her hands. The gadgeteer looked up at their team leader, nodding.

"Is there some place we can speak in private?"

"What's going on?" he said, voice squeaking.

"I'd rather speak in private."

"Am I under arrest?" he said, voice too loud.

"No. If you're who we think, we're here to offer you training through the Bureau of Special Resources."

"Uh..." said Harry, train of thought now completely derailed.

"We really do need to speak with you," said Energia. "I also think you don't want us just standing here while we do it, either. Can you suggest a place to speak privately?"

* * *

As it turned out, Harry knew of a small coffee shop near the office building. He grabbed his rain coat and they set off. They all got soaked in the short, hurried walk, but that was ignored. What they did note was that the storm had, somehow, become even worse while they were inside.

Once in the coffee shop they sat at a round table with high stools. When the astonished waitress came over they all ordered hot coffee - though of several different varieties. After some uncomfortable shifting, their target broke the silence.

"So... what's this about?"

"Have you ever had powers testing?"

"Uh, yeah," said Harry, "in my teens."

A bit uncomfortably, he gave them the digest story of how she had been assaulted, given an experimental treatment, and had that react with a power.

"Another probability manipulator!" said Energia, startled. "Like Vic, only in the other direction! Has to be."

It was a measure of the man's preoccupation that he scarcely reacted to this information. Fortunately, the uncomfortable silence which followed was broken by the waitress bringing their orders.

"Well, probability manipulation is the most common form of weather control," said Gadgetive, frowning, once the waitress had left again.

"Weather control?!"

That finally seemed to break through his personal cloud of gloom.

"Have you had any significant changes in your life over the past few weeks?" said Blue Impact. "Especially things which added stress?"

"Uh, yeah," said Harry, swallowing noticeably. "A breakup, then I failed to get a new job I applied for. Those were both followed by bouts of anger and depression. My doctor sent me to a psychologist, who suggested tranquilizers. He said what I had wasn't technically depression, that I just needed a little help getting over the disappointments."

"Do you have any of those tranquilizers handy?" said Blue Impact.

"At my apartment," said Harry. He looked worried. "I only took them a few times. I don't like what they do to me. You can't seriously mean that me not taking those might be affecting the weather?!"

"We don't know for certain, but that fits," said Blue Impact. "If you want we can take you to your apartment. You take one of those prescribed pills. Then, with your permission, we fly you to a Bureau facility where they can check and make sure what's going on."

"What if I am causing all this?" said Harry, obviously concerned. "Then what?"

"It's all volunteer," said Blue Impact, tone reassuring. "If you are a weather controller you'll be offered training. I want to emphasize that we are not here to arrest you. We're here to find out if you are the cause of this... unusual weather and if you are help you find a way to stop it."

He nodded, obviously still concerned.

"Do you have a car?" said Blue Impact, prompting him when he didn't speak for a while.

"Ah, no. I take the bus in weather like this. It's actually close enough I can walk when it's nice. It... hasn't been nice for a while."

"Then we will fly you to your apartment building," said Blue Impact, firmly, when he still just wanted to sit there.

They paid their bills and headed out. Entering the flyer actually elicited wide-eyed wonder from their passenger. Before they could even lift off, however, they were getting alerts about local storm-related problems. As Energia had suspected, the storm was getting worse. Likely due to the stress Harry was currently experiencing.

"My suggestion is you bring the bottle back out to us before you take any of the pills," said Blue Impact, as they lifted off. "We'll check by radio whether the medication is appropriate. Then you can take it here - we have water - and if you want Gadgetive will then fly you to the proper Bureau facility in our vehicle. Energia and I will stay here to help with the problems until Gadgetive can get back."

"Okay," said Harry, numbly.

Taking that as agreement for all she had proposed - including transporting him to the Bureau facility - Blue Impact had him guide them to his apartment building. She landed close to a side entrance and the trio waited while he went in.

"What if he bolts?" said Gadgetive.

"You track him and we take him in," said Blue Impact. "He's already consented to go."

"Besides," said Energia, quietly, "that guy looks like he's about at the end of his rope. He's not going to run."

"Yeah," said Gadgetive, nodding after a bit of consideration. "I was expecting a fight or at least a chase, but this guy needs help and knows it. Still..."

"While we're waiting I'll contact the local emergency services," said Blue Impact. "I think Energia and I should stay here and help while you take Harry to the doctor."

"If he comes back," muttered Gadgetive.

However, Harold Daniels did return to the flyer. He showed the bottle to Gadgetive, who consulted with specialists at the Bureau facility.

"They said to take the recommended dose and lie down and wait for it to take effect," she said. "Also, try to avoid stress until I can get you there."

"Avoid stress," said Harry, sourly. "Sure."

The offered him a bottle of water and he downed a capsule.

"Okay, Gadgetive, she's all yours," said Blue Impact, as she turned control of the flyer over to the woman who had designed it. "You get him to Dr. Timberlake's people - Don't hurry! - and then get back here quick. We'll work with the locals on the emergencies."

"I had one power, half my lifetime ago!" the man said, loudly, partly due to the storm noise, partly due to aggravation. "It changed me from a woman to a man! That's it!"

"Yes, sir," said Blue Impact, calmly. "They'll soon have this straightened out."

She certainly hoped so, as she rose and headed to the rear of the flyer.

Blue Impact and Energia squeezed past their passenger and into the rear compartment. Which was just as crowded as the front, in part because Blue Impact's motorbike was there, on a rack which doubled as a launcher.

"Okay, we're hovering - sort of - just a meter off the ground, a block from the first accident, which is straight out from the back door," Gadgetive called to the others. "Energia, you'll have to fly yourself to the coordinates I sent to your com. Be careful out there!"

"Roger," said Blue Impact, putting her helmet on as the clamshell rear doors opened.

"Roger," said Energia, flying out as Blue Impact pulled the bike and launcher into position.

"Better hurry, teach," said Gadgetive, as the view out the rear door wove drunkenly. "I'm having trouble holding her steady with all the buildings affecting the winds."

"Launch!" yelled Blue Impact.

The magnetic accelerator shot her and the bike out the rear door. A normal human would have blacked out. Of course, a normal human wouldn't have been able to hold on. Even with her greater weight Blue Impact - braced for this and experienced with the procedure - managed to hold her position on the bike. The bike itself was more than strong enough for both the launch and the landing.

The trouble came from how the winds blew bike and rider sideways. Blue Impact leaned against the movement, so that when the tires hit the extra motion righted her. She was already giving the throttle a twist, and once the wheels planted (as well as they were going to with the wet pavement) she added more. Unfortunately, the winds weren't steady in either force or direction, and she wove back and forth for a couple of seconds before getting the bike steady.

Fortunately she was not only an experienced rider but had superhuman reflexes. Within seconds she was tearing down the street to the wreck.

As the request for help had stated, there were police on the scene but no rescue workers, and no special equipment. The cops were doing what they could but that wasn't much. Blue Impact braked to a stop. The noise of the storm kept them from even noticing her until she was almost on them. However, they had been told to expect her, and were glad to see her. Blue Impact secured her helmet to the handlebars, then hurried the last few steps to the closest officer. The other uniforms moved in to join them, huddling, heads together.

"What do you need?" said Blue Impact, shouting to be heard over the winds.

"Just get the car open!" the senior officer on the scene yelled back. "She's conscious and from what she says and what we can see not seriously hurt, but we need to get her out and to a hospital! Don't worry, the power's off!"

"For the whole neighborhood!" one of the other officers yelled.

The wooden utility pole had fallen across the car's roof in the rear, the weight of the multiple transformers impacting the roof doing enough damage that the doors were jammed and the windows all crushed down too small for the woman to get out.

"You okay in there?" Blue Impact yelled, as she looked the situation over.

"Get me out of here!"

The woman was crowded down across the front seat, and despite being covered with blankets provided by the officers she was soaking wet and shivering. If nothing else she was already heading into hypothermia.

Blue Impact gave the situation a quick once-over and quickly decided on a plan of action. First she squatted, put a shoulder under the pole and stood, then walked the pole behind the car, dropping it between the rear bumper of the damaged car and the front of the cop car behind it. Then she began peeling back the roof, actually rolling it instead of simply pulling up on it. The force needed for that would have moved the car too much. Even before the roof cleared the headrests the woman was clambering out over the dash, onto the hood. The officers quickly moved in to help her.

They got her standing on the pavement. She weaved for a few moments, shaking her head. She looked at Blue Impact. Despite shivering so hard she could hardly speak, she made a point of doing so.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome!" said the super, smiling.

The officers got her into the police car beside the wreck, and the driver of that vehicle took off - carefully. Blue Impact then moved the pole to the side of the road.

"Thank you!" the senior officer on scene said, actually shaking her hand.

"Do you know of any other locations which need my help?"

"If you can get this car out of the road, that would be a big help. It's blocking a lane and a half and this is a major route for emergency vehicles."

"Roger."

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Eight

Energia had trouble flying at first. Then she got the idea of using her magnetic powers to anchor herself to the fixed pieces of metal all around. Once that was done she used a combination of her flight and magnetic powers to pull herself towards the fire station.

The place was a mess. She could see a few firefighters outside, tugging futilely at an enormous tangle of sheet metal and wire which had somehow gotten wrapped around the building. Some even had metal cutters, but the pile was just too much for quick removal that way. The front and back vehicle doors were blocked, and even the human door on the windward side. Energia wondered if all that mess had blown in from one building somewhere, or had built up as it moved, like a snowball rolling downhill.

One of the firefighters spotted her, waved, then got the attention of the others.

"Hey, there!" she shouted, as she landed beside them. "Where is it safe to pull on this? I mean, which direction? I don't want to damage your building."

With a combination of shouts and gestures, they indicated what they thought would be the best course of action.

"Then just pile it in that lot? Okay, better stand back."

Energia anchored herself, then spread her hands to help her visualize what she was doing. She was fighting not only the weight and resistance to bending of the metal, but the winds, as well. She worked carefully, making certain she had a firm magnetic grip on what she was moving, which was not a solid piece but a loose pile of several different materials. In spite of this a few pieces came loose, most of them rolling away in the wind.

Standing there, the wind-driven rain stinging her face, concentrating on the task, Energia strained. The effort required was due less to the amount of brute force needed than the necessity for fine, careful control with slow progress. Finally, she had all but a few loose pieces of debris wadded into an easier to control mass, which she deposited - very firmly - in the empty lot. After watching for a moment to make sure it would stay where she put it, she let go.

"Whew..." said Energia, sagging.

She relaxed a bit too much, forgetting to stay anchored. A gust of wind nearly shoved her off her feet. One of the firefighters - a woman, in fact - quickly caught her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. That just took a lot out of me."

"Come in and rest for a bit. Most of us will be going on a couple of different runs now that the doors are clear, but you're welcome to hot coffee and cold doughnuts."

"Thanks."

* * *

The police led Blue Impact to some other traffic accidents where she could help. At two of them she simply served as a human tow truck, clearing undrivable vehicles off the road until they could be properly dealt with. At one, though, she had to move a car which had hit a building, pinning an elderly man in wreckage which couldn't be moved until the car was out of the way.

The situation was too delicate for the hydraulic rescue equipment on the scene, but for someone who could exert sufficient force directly by hand while experts oversaw and aided, it was just feasible. Once Blue Impact - very carefully - moved the car out of the way the rescue workers got busy. The victim was in bad shape, but as they closed the doors on the ambulance the EMTs told Blue Impact they thought he'd make it.

Finally came a situation which was almost comical: A fire hydrant had been hit by something - perhaps wind borne storm debris - which snapped it off level with the sidewalk, creating a geyser. This added to the water already running down the street and into the drains but otherwise wasn't causing a significant problem. The police had opened a manhole to gain access to a cutoff, but didn't have the right tools to close the valve. Blue Impact dropped into the hole and simply twisted the valve spindle with her fingers. Carefully.

"That's got it!" one of the cops yelled down the manhole, when the flow finally stopped.

"That's that," said Blue Impact, as she climbed out. "You know of any place else I can help?"

"No. Thank you. I just heard that your teammate - the flying one - was able to get the trapped rescue workers and fire personnel free, so they can now get to the problem sites in this area. The storm also seems to be weakening, so hopefully there won't be any more accidents for a while!"

Waving as she walked away, Blue Impact went back to her bike. With her dense tissues she had little problem remaining stable as she rode away in the fading gusts.

"How's it going?" she asked on her helmet radio.

"I'm finished," said Energia. "Just needed to move some debris blocking the doors of a fire station, but that was a tough job. The stuff was loose and almost had the entire building wrapped up. Real finicky work; took a lot out of me. They made me rest afterwards. I even got coffee and doughnuts."

"Great. Let's meet at city hall and see if anything else comes up. If not, that's a good landmark for Gadgetive to use for picking us up."

* * *

Blue Impact reached the large building a few seconds before Energia.

"Is it just me or is the storm not as bad, now?" the younger super asked as she landed.

"The cops I was working with said the storm was dying down."

"Guess we got the right guy, then," said Energia, grinning.

"They also told me the Red Cross has a place to get food in the rotunda of the courthouse, over there," said Blue Impact, pointing. "You've eaten; I haven't. Check and see if there are any more problems we can help with, and let me know if Gadgetive gets here before I'm finished."

As it turned out, Blue Impact was done with a very large snack and back outside waiting in the waning winds before the flyer returned. She'd thought she might get an argument about taking advantage of the free grub, but tales or her work had spread rapidly and they were glad to feed her. Even better, by the time Gadgetive got there the storm was hardly a problem.

"We must'a got the right guy," Gadgetive said, beaming, as the others entered; Energia clambering in the front and Blue Impact bringing her bike in through the rear clamshell doors.

"Yes, Gadgetive," said Blue Impact, flatly, as she stowed her bike. "We must have gotten the right guy."

"Uh..."

"What did they say at the training center?" said Energia.

"They said they couldn't make any decisions until they made an extensive examination."

"Typical," said Energia, as she took her seat.

Blue Impact moved to the front of the flyer and took the controls. Without saying anything, she lifted them straight up, to well above the clouds.

"It even looks better from up here," said Energia, peering out of the canopy, down at the clouds.

"You okay, teach?" said Gadgetive, concerned at Blue Impact's silence.

"Hmm? Oh; sorry. I'm just wondering what they'll do with that man. Harry. He didn't mean to cause all this damage, but there could be legal impacts."

"Wow," said Energia, startled. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Normally, there would be a hearing and once the judge and district attorney's office were convinced there was no deliberate harm or malice the charges would be dropped. Though there could be civil suits, separately. This... is very unusual."

"If we don't tell anyone who caused the storms, would the Bureau?"

"I'll have to ask Brade about that. I don't think this has come up for one of their cases before."

"That poor man," said Energia, sadly. "I hope he doesn't have to deal with that on top of everything else."

"Anyway, that's all done," said Gadgetive, cheerfully. "Hopefully, noting else will come up before we have to head back to school."

* * *

So far, graduate school wasn't much different from regular college, at least as far as Vic was concerned. Of course, part of that was due to her unusual circumstances. One of the few benefits of the extra year she'd had to spend at Ramsey was that she, Alex and Energia had graduated together. Unfortunately, almost none of the other supers she had started with here were still around by then. She missed some of the others - especially the bewinged Angela Florello and Melanie Perron, who was super strong and could grow a protective shell - and so far she just hadn't made any close connections with any of the new super students.

Of course, as Winter moved in there was more on the minds of at least some students and teachers at the Ramsey Technical College than grades and holiday plans. Vic included.

"How do you feel about Gibbons winning his party's nomination?" said Alex, one lazy evening at the dorm.

She, Vic and Energia had gotten together in the dorm room the first two shared, ostensibly to discuss classwork. However, they were all obviously distracted by the recent political exercise.

Not the same room, Vic thought, looking around, as she waited for Energia to answer, but it's the same floor in the same wing.

Graduate students usually took apartments near the campus. However, Vic was spending a lot of her time with Michelle at her apartment - was even helping with the rent - so didn't see a need for an apartment of her own. Of course, her roommate the past five years - while also now a grad student - was younger than her peers and no-one else wanted to room with her. So, Vic's official residence was right back in the same old dorm. For some reason the rooms seemed much smaller now than when Vic and Alex first started here. On the other hand, it no longer seemed strange - to her or Alex - that one of their frequent visitors wore a costume with cape and mask.

"I honestly don't know," said Energia, frowning. "The man has hardly said a word about supers, though some of what he has said hasn't been super friendly. On the other hand..."

"On the other hand, his Veep choice is known to be an admirer of disgraced former President Harvey Thurlin," said Vic, hotly. She sighed and shook her head. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see just how anti-super Gibbons actually is. As well as how smart."

"Smart?" said Energia.

"Will he be stupid and immediately come down hard on supers?" said Alex, ticking her points off with raised fingers. "Will he be a little smart and work slowly and behind the scenes, hopefully to be exposed before things go too far? Or will he be really smart and simply ignore supers, since popular opinion is now so strongly on your side? You also have to take into account whether his Veep - Whatisname? Carl Donner! - will have any influence, and what it might be."

"He's largely unknown," said Vic, "barely made any sort of mark in politics. No-one seems to know what he's gonna do..."

"When did you become so politically aware?" said Energia, surprised.

"Since it dawned on me that politicians could declare me illegal," said Vic, sourly. She looked pointedly at Energia. "You, too, for that matter."

"Well, yeah," said Energia, shifting uncomfortably. "I do know that both the main candidates are very close in the polls, with everyone else far behind."

"You should keep up with the rest of this stuff, too."

"It's funny," said Alex, breaking the short silence which followed that. "You folks still have it better here than most places. Most other countries where supers helped fight the invasion are working on ways to further regulate them. Turns out the powers that be in lots of places had it rammed home just how effective supers can be in fighting tyranny and are getting very, very nervous."

* * *

Many people were reacting to the victory of Gibbons, in many different ways. One of them in ways which would have surprised anyone who knew him, or anyone who thought they knew who was actually running Gibbons' campaign.

Alvin Montgomery smiled in delayed satisfaction as Milton Garber conceded. All was going according to plan. Soon, people he had picked would again be in charge of the White House and most of the US Congress, plus multiple other political positions. All the while, no-one who knew him in his mundane life realized just how important he was, and those who knew how important he was had no idea of his actual identity. He preferred to work behind the scenes, where he was free from pestering by politicians and lobbyists. Where his work could remain pure.

Montgomery didn't look very impressive. He was a mousey little man, in late middle age, unimportant to those who only knew his public persona. Those who knew him as the Secret Keeper didn't care what he looked like or sounded like. They'd never even seen the real him, or heard his real voice; only the digitally altered versions of both through which he ran the organization that was going to save the world. Billionaires and politicians followed his advice; true patriots at all levels followed his orders without question.

He'd had his setbacks over the past nearly twenty years since realizing that if he wanted this country put right, he needed to do it himself. That was to be expected. The forces arrayed against him ranged from influential individuals through superhumans to much of the military industrial complex. None of them wanted to fix things, to get back to the roots of what made this nation great, and the world orderly, unless it benefitted them and their narrow interests! What helped him so much was that members of those groups - even sometimes those within a particular group - would work against other members who didn't exactly agree with them. Unfortunately, that often also frustrated his work. Compromise, it appeared, was a lost art. More often than not, though, appealing to such extremism aided his cause. All he had to do was slyly let someone know he supported them, and they would do what he recommended. All on the QT.

As the Secret Keeper he ran a covert organization that even many of those working for it didn't know existed. Another advantage of being anonymous was that the setbacks never affected him personally. Though the Five Great Powers nearly had. He had succumbed to their diabolical mind control within minutes, and only the general nature of their commands had kept him from helpfully putting all his resources at their disposal. Thanks to his Border Guard plant, Freedom's Secret, he had beaten the Five Great Powers! Only to see first supers who were late to the party and then the Shilmek take credit!

Well, he wasn't in this for credit. Leave that to history. He was more concerned with the present, and the near future. Though he was starting to feel concern that the near future was becoming the not-so-near future. Progress was slow, with multiple setbacks. Sometimes it was one step forward, then two - or even three - steps back!

Damn that Sievers woman! How she had gotten elected he was still trying to figure out. None of the analysts whose reports he had used - reports conducted thanks to him prompting various political entities which didn't even know they were doing his work - had given her a serious chance! Even doctoring the polls once he realized she was being unexpectedly successful hadn't ruined her. "Social progress, desire for change..." What garbage! Even if that was what some people wanted, how could a middle-aged, childless woman who had been widowed after only three years of marriage appeal to voters?! She hadn't even been properly trained! She actually thought she was qualified to run a country, and had somehow convinced voters of that! Twice! He hadn't taken her seriously, concentrating on his choice in the opposition party... who hadn't even made it through the presidential primaries! Then the same thing happened during Sievers' reelection. What was wrong with this country?! Should he even try saving it?!

He stopped, took a deep breath, and calmed himself. Yes. The United States of America was well worth saving. The core was still there, just waiting for the opportunity to reassert itself, and restore this nation to the greatness it had once known. All it needed was motivation and direction. With Gibbons in office his plan could be put back on track. Despite being delayed for several years. Partly thanks to the desertion of Eve Hind, just when her influence would have been most useful... But mostly due to someone he had trusted as his backup if something happened to Thurlin.

"If Gould hadn't betrayed Thurlin we'd be there by now," said Montgomery, quietly.

"What was that?" said the man at the next workstation.

"Nothing. Sorry."

Montgomery sighed and set back to work. His mundane work, that is. So much to do, and he couldn't afford - yet - to give up his day job. The connections here were too valuable.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Nine

The election seemed to take many people by surprise. Indeed, some expressed disbelief that it was that time again, already, a few wondering aloud if the election was being held early due to the war. Once it was over, millions in the US saw the results on the news and screamed that no-one had told them there was an election, and they'd been cheated out of their chance to vote. This complaint was heard repeatedly during the holidays. Some even said this when they saw the inauguration...

Clearly, much of the population had other things besides politics on their minds.

The holiday break went well for Energia, in spite of many people in her family being upset at the election results. Fortunately, her parents, uncle and aunt also were simply too busy with Christmas and the continued - if now rapidly fading - postwar problems to worry about politics, though they had all voted. So were the few non-mask friends she had in town. Of course, Jenny was quite capable of having concerns of her own.

As she was packing for the return to college, Jenny (Energia) Toulon heard a gentle knock on the frame of her open door.

"Hi, Mom!" she said, not surprised to see who was there. "What's up?"

"Honey... You seemed a bit down several times during your visit. Is something wrong?"

Jenny hesitated. Then sighed.

"When you were my age did you wonder if you'd ever have children?"

"Oh, my," said Julie, smiling, "what brought this on? Is your biological clock running fast?"

"Mom! I'm serious! The only guy I ever really loved isn't even from the same planet!"

"Come here," said Julie, taking her hand and sitting them both on Jenny's now too-small bed. "Don't rush things. You two may get together again, however unlikely that is. Also, don't feel like you're betraying Maldren if you fall in love with someone else. He's in the same situation, and if he doesn't understand I'm sure his mother will explain it to him."

Before her meeting the past Summer with Tolnar Energia would have thought that unlikely. Now, though... She nodded, thoughtfully.

"It's... There's also the fact that I don't meet a lot of guys my age in my civilian ID. Most of those I do meet I wouldn't trust, because they're probably just after the costume."

"Didn't you meet Maldren in costume?"

"Well, yeah," said Jenny, suddenly realizing that. "But..."

"Don't say 'That's different.' It's always different. You have more ways things can be different than most people, I admit, but you're not alone in that. Don't force things, don't be in a hurry. If you keep looking - even if you just keep your mind on the fact that you might want to look - you'll eventually find someone."

She laughed.

"I'm not one of those women in a hurry to have grandchildren! Even if I were, I can sublimate that with Randy's kids."

* * *

Though she had enjoyed her time at home - especially playing with her young cousins - Energia was glad to get back to school. She was far more used to that and heroing with Tricorne these days than staying in her old room at home and doing shopping and holiday decorating. When she got back to Ramsey after the holidays she found that Vic had similar feelings... including, surprisingly, those about children. Talking this over, they both realized that while they would always value their families and pre-college friends, they were making their own lives, now. As for children...

"Michelle and I do want children," Vic admitted, a bit uneasily, in private to Energia. After several years as a female she still found the topic discomforting. "We're also talking about marriage, after I graduate. Even if the Bureau assigns me somewhere else in the US, a skilled beautician can get work just about anywhere. But children..."

"Adoption?"

"That's one of the things we've talked about. I guess we'll have to see."

"You know, with modern medical techniques you two could have kids of your own," said Energia. She smirked, remembering how her uncle had spent nearly ten months as Template to have their first. "You could have one, and Michelle have one, then together you could decide if you want any more."

"Yeeeee..." said Vic, actually cringing.

"What?" said Energia, laughing. "It's just biology."

"Yeeeee..." Vic repeated.

* * *

"I think a large part of what happened in the most recent presidential election," said Dr. Delacroix, the sociologist teaching an advanced course which both Vic and Energia were in, "is that most people simply weren't too concerned about the election, being more focused on continuing the recovery from the war and dealing with the increasing integration of advanced technology from the Shilmek, Lunies and gadgeteers and inventors into daily life."

Energia nodded to herself, thinking specifically of the adoption of a new technology she was familiar with through Tricorne. Thanks partly to Gadgetive and Dr. Device - with a kick in the rear from events during the war - apergy driven craft were finally, actually, honestly being evaluated by the FAA. Even so, there were delays in adopting the technology, largely due to problems the feds were having developing appropriate tests. Simply applying traditional aircraft safety trials would mean most of these new vehicles would be immediately rejected, because their method of operation was so different. As just one example, they didn't need wings so most omitted them, which meant they couldn't glide.

"It seems that with the press treating one candidate as bland and uninteresting - whether he was or not - and the other as interesting - even if often saying things most voters disagreed with - voters tended to choose the name on the ballot which had the most recognition value. They were simply too busy with things immediately important - to them, their families, their friends, their communities - to pay much attention to politics. In spite of that the election was close, both in the popular vote and the Electoral College."

After class was over Energia was distressed to hear a small knot of students in the hall outside severely criticizing the teacher's analysis of the election. They apparently felt that the man they had supported had to have won because he was the best candidate, and everyone must acknowledge that! Energia sighed, and looked around for Vic.

"There you are!" said Vic, from behind her.

"Don't do that!" said Energia, mildly annoyed. "I was looking for you!"

Vic laughed, and Energia relented and smiled.

"Okay, did you hear about Hat Squad?" said Vic.

"What about Hat Squad?"

"They pulled a big job in Iran - taking advantage of the chaos there due to the damage from the war - and got away with a huge load of ancient treasures. Things which the regime claimed they had destroyed but which they'd actually stashed somewhere and were selling a few at a time to private collectors. Hat Squad got into the place with forged documents, loaded several semi-trailers with the contents - leaving an empty warehouse - and drove off. The trucks were next seen in the Iraqi capital, parked outside the government's main building! With a note that they were a present to Iraq. Of course, the rulers of Iran are claiming the whole thing is a hoax, intended to discredit them, and, besides, those are their property and they want them back! The Iraqis are saying these were a gift to the Iraqi people and would be restored and put on display."

"Hah!" said Energia, grinning. "I don't like the way those guys earn a living - and I'm not just saying that because they got away from us - but they definitely have style."

"Well, they apparently also kept enough stuff which was valuable but not historically important to pay their expenses and throw a big party."

* * *

"Good afternoon," said Brade, as she entered the briefing room. After sitting and opening her notes she continued. "How is everyone today?"

"Feeling like an endangered species," said Doro, sourly.

"Well, no-one can accuse the new President of being a slacker," said Brade, just as sourly, knowing her second in command was referring to the notice of further pending budget cuts for their agency. "He promised to 'rein in outrageous government overspending' and he and his supporters have definitely acted quickly to cut federal budgets."

"Right now, we can no longer cover the rent we are paying for all of our off-campus facilities," muttered Doro. "We'll have to move some of them out of those buildings and into somewhere else. Of course, with the personnel cutbacks we have enough room to bring all the people and equipment into the few facilities we have left. Well, with a bit of crowding."

"Consolidation is usually good," said Brade, sourly. "It's just that we were barely started in our operation, were already under budget cuts due to the recovery from the war, and there was not all that much to consolidate even before the layoffs."

"When is he going to meet with you, anyway?" said Doro, looking angry. "The new President, I mean."

"Probably never. It's not just me, either; he likes to 'delegate.'"

There was some muttering among the attendees at this bit of news.

"From what I've heard," said Converse, a bit more quietly than he likely intended, "Milton Garber would have insisted on even more cuts. His reputation is that he's a bit of a miser."

"Well, let's get to business," said Brade, heading off any potential political arguments. "What's going on with our new acquisition, the weather warper?"

"He's doing quite well, once he accepted that he actually was affecting the weather," said Dr. Stadtler. "He has shown no indication of wanting to join our organization or use his powers to fight crime - probably a very good attitude, given our budget cuts and how slowly such powers work - but will complete the training program so there are no more accidents."

"Excellent. Now, moving on..."

* * *

After only a bit over a month of working for the man, Alice Clarke was already regretting her career move. She'd thought being Gibbons' chief White House aide would be a major boost. Instead, she increasingly found herself disliking both the man and his policies, as well as his laziness. Not to mention his taste in music... Still, the pay was good; also, unlike some politicians and businessmen she had worked for - and in spite of his reputation - he kept his hands to himself, and his compliments were well short of sexual harassment. She'd stay on for at least a while longer.

So, today it was walk into the Oval Office (there were other rooms more suited to briefings, especially small ones like this, but this was where Gibbons wanted to "hear it") and after a perfunctory handshake sit in a chair in front of his desk. There were only three other people in the room; two Secret Service agents - one male, one female - and a technical advisor for one of the subjects on the roster.

"Okay," said Gibbons, "first, what this about US Senator in good standing Erwin Radetsky backing off on his bill to defund all financial support for super teams and disband all those with a direct federal mandate? I understand he was also trying to make it law that only people individually approved by the government could wear masks, like in Germany."

"Turns out he had somehow forgotten his cousin - also-Senator Carol Perkins - is a low-level super," said Alice, keeping a straight face in spite of the amusement she felt over that situation. "She called him on the practical and civil rights problems with his bill and told him, on the floor of the Senate, to back off the supers or their mutual grandfather - who was big in civil rights in the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies - would disown him. Given the current popularity of supers for what they did in the war and are continuing to do to help the recovery she had a lot of support."

"Y'know, politicians are supposed to use polls to get an idea of what the public wants," said Gibbons, wryly. "Not to directly determine policy. Oh, well; it was probably too extreme, anyway. What's next?"

Alice and the President went through several minor topics - mostly public relations matters - before she flipped to the next page of her note pad and saw the item there.

"You wanted to review options for dealing with the Pine Island Academy."

"They ought to nuke Pine Island off the map," growled Gibbons, slouched in his chair and playing with a fidget spinner. "Should have done that as soon as they realized what Pine had done there. We waited too long and now there's a whole nest of them. A hive. A school!""

"They tried that, remember?" said Clarke, wondering if the man actually thought Pine himself had set up the school. He was politically savvy and knew his way around the Hill, but his knowledge of anything outside the Capital was - at best - hit or miss. Especially when anything more than twenty years old was involved.

"Who tried what?" said Gibbons, mildly.

"Sung hit them with a multi-megaton nuke. All it did was mess up electronics for a thousand miles around. Though not on the island."

Gibbons sat up suddenly.

"You're serious."

"Sure. You mean you didn't know this? It caused an international incident. Even affected Florida. Millions of retirees threw fits - and their oatmeal - when they couldn't watch their soaps."

"Soaps?" Gibbons shook his head. "Never mind. Okay, nukes are off the table."

"Seriously?" said Clarke, astounded. "You were seriously considering using nuclear weapons on a kids' school?"

"What's it to you?" said Gibbons, irritated. "They're not your kids."

"Right," said Clarke, making a decision. She looked back at her notes. "All right. Economic attempts have been only mildly successful...."

* * *
Energia came into the central dorm area the next morning intending to get breakfast. Given the complications involved in attending college - especially graduate school - in her mask ID taking a room off campus just wasn't practical. Not that continuing in a single room at the same dorm was a hardship. CNN was playing on the large flatscreen and though the volume was down she read the scroll at the bottom and stopped, staring.

"What?" said Vic, already eating but not looking at the screen. Her friend's sudden reaction had triggered her sense of perception and put her on alert.

"Alice Clarke resigned as Gibbons' aide. Says he seriously proposed nuking the school. I mean, the Pine Island Academy. When she protested, he said 'They're not your kids.' When asked about this, Gibbons responded that his comments about the matter were a joke and Clarke has no sense of humor. That someone should 'do something' about her."

"'Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?'" said Vic, quietly.

"You don't really think..."

"I just hope she's careful," said Vic, tone ominous.

* * *

"Gibbons has these odd blind spots," said Andrea Valentina, Head of Administration at Pine Island Academy, a few weeks later. She was delivering the digest version of a report written by some of the school's psychology and politics teachers, at her request in response to Gibbons' remarks about the school. "He never questions what he favors or disfavors, but simply assumes that any decent, educated person has the same views he holds. His staff tries to keep him well informed, but whatever doesn't reinforce what he already believes is simply dismissed. He is then caught by surprise when decent, educated people vigorously object to his policies, especially when they demolish his positions with evidence and reason. He then assumes - sometimes angrily - that either they are crazy or ignorant or they're deliberately trying to make him look bad."

"So he's like a typical human being, only moreso," said Eve, with a slight smile.

"I remember a press conference during his final days of campaigning, when he argued that the Pine Island Academy should be abolished and all the students forced to attend school in their home areas," said Template, nodding. "He claimed this would be cheaper than having a dedicated school and produce supers who were more 'normal' and conventionally socialized. Ignoring the fact that our school is private and gets very little federal money. When someone pointed out that normal schools didn't have the facilities or training to handle super students he asked what more did they need that normal schools couldn't offer?"

"I remember that," said Andrea, nodding. "The reporter responded 'Staff who can teach a kid with electrical powers how not to accidentally electrocute someone.' Gibbons just stared at him. Like a robot which had encountered a situation outside its programming."

"So what do we do about him?" said Eve, pointedly.

"So far, he's pretty much sabotaging his own position on the school very effectively," said Lori Savage, Head of Security. "Though he seems oblivious to that fact. Just let him keep talking, and encourage reporters to keep asking questions."

"The Super PAC can help with that," said Template, absently tapping a gloved fingertip on the table top as she thought things through. "However, keep in mind that this guy isn't nearly as incompetent as Thurlin. He's careless but not stupid. Now that he knows some people - according to independent polls, something like 80% of the voting population in the US - actually like supers and want them to keep going the way they are, he's moderated his spoken views. Again claiming that he was joking before, and chastising his critics for not realizing that."

"So here's hoping he doesn't simply move to secretly acting against supers," said Junker, sourly. "For our own good, of course."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he doesn't consider our well being when making decisions," said Template, hotly.

"He hasn't actually said much about supers," said Andrea. "He's said even less about the magic problems. It's just that things he has said or done impact both supers and the magical communities, if only by reducing what they can do. Sometimes directly, but more often indirectly."

"The magical incursions have been mostly low-key the past few months," said Eve, frowning. "Also, the mages and magical creatures working on the problem have been very diligent in dealing with them. Most people who don't deliberately look for matters magical have very little awareness of the small problems or even the big problem."

"I just hope that gives them time to develop something which works to stop these 'incursions' before they're all big ones," said Lori.

"I think that's enough for this meeting," said Eve. "I know some of you want to get started on your Spring break plans. I'll see you when school resumes."

* * *

The patient was being transported by helicopter from Bermuda, where the airliner bringing him from New York had landed. Pine Island still could not safely handle large, conventional airplanes, and the logistics of the transfer had taken several hours to work out. Hours which the patient could not really afford. However, he was finally almost here.

The helicopter landed on the pad atop the brand new Super Specialists Hospital, several staff members already waiting nearby on the roof. Once the helicopter crew signaled, the doctors and orderlies hurried up the ramp onto the pad, the self-propelled gurney barely managing to keep up. This was their first serious patient and they were determined to do things right.

Due to that attitude, not only were all the hospital personnel meeting the helicopter wearing full hazmat gear, but the patient was in a sealed transport pod, the exterior of which had been sterilized before leaving the isolation ward at the New York hospital which had referred the man to them. He was wheeled inside the hospital and quickly placed in an isolation room, and the medical personnel set to work.

"Is the emergency arrival here?" said Eve, on videophone to Dr. Nief - who was now Physician in Chief - a very short time later.

"Patient is one Justice Dagger, aka Dagger of Justice, aka Blade of Truth, aka a few other things, age forty-six," said Dr. Nief. "He's an experienced mask from New York. He was found unconscious in an alley three days ago. No obvious injuries except for what he got from falling when he passed out."

"Whatever is wrong with him must have come on suddenly."

"That's the best guess, and why we're keeping him isolated. It's most likely either a toxin - possibly due to an attack - or some sort of extremely contagious organism. It could be - though this is very unlikely - some sort of metabolic problem. He has no record of health issues such as diabetes, though. We're doing multiple blood tests, a physical exam and an ultrasound."

"Ultrasound?"

"The folks who checked him in New York said they found an unusual lump in the small of his back, just left of the spine. If we confirm there is something there we'll probably do a biopsy."

"It sounds like you folks have this well in hand," said Eve. "Just keep me updated, please. I also want a full briefing once you've completed your preliminary examination."

* * *

The couple woke slowly and mutually, cuddled in each others' arms. Normally, one or the other had to be up first, often by a good measure, but today - thanks to a combination of the Spring holiday and a low crime rate, but mostly due to the family being on vacation - was a rare day when they could both sleep in. The man of the family kissed his wife on the top of the head.

"So, how do you like your life?" said Randy, grinning.

"Okay, I have a house in the suburbs of a city I love and I commute to work using tunnels built by the lost, ancient, Subterran culture," said Karen, ticking things off on her fingers, "I have a spouse who knows exactly how to please me and knows what I'm going through..."

"Thank you," said Randy, kissing her on the forehead.

"I can take a trip to a tropical island any time I want, thanks to said spouse's job..."

"Sub-tropical," said Randy, still grinning.

"I have a wonderful wife and a wonderful husband - who happen to be the same person - I have two wonderful children - one of whom I gave birth to myself. What's not to love?"

"Maaaaaa!" came a call, right on cue. "When's breakfast? You said I couldn't make it myself any more. Maaaaaa!"

"Well, there's that," said Randy, wryly, throwing the covers back.

"You can't fool me. You love that as much as I do," said Karen, doing likewise.

Karen put on a robe and hurried into the kitchen of their bungalow, while Randy got Sarah up and ready. The vacationing adults turned making breakfast into a family affair. As they sat eating their fresh, hot muffins, though, Randy noticed his wife looking both thoughtful and amused.

"What are you thinking about?"

"A guy I used to date, in college," said Karen, with exaggerated innocence. "I still talk to him, occasionally."

"Why would us eating muffins make you think of him?"

"He's a nice guy," said Karen, "but he has this really annoying way of eating a muffin."

"How can eating a muffin be annoying?"

"Instead of taking bites out of it, he plucks pieces off and pops them in his mouth."

Randy leaned in close and gave her an evil grin.

"I'll have to remember that."

"No!"

He leaned back in his chair, laughing, while Roy looked back and forth between his parents, confused. Little Sarah didn't even notice, focused as she was on the very important matter of eating her hot, heavily buttered muffin.

"I wonder what powers they'll get," said Randy, after a moment, meaning his two children.

"They may not get any, remember," said Karen. She grinned at her daughter. "Though if Sarah gets my powers she should call herself Giant Tess."

"You and your online comics," said Randy, rolling his eyes.

Spring vacation this year saw Randy and family in a bungalow as guests of the school. Keeping Randy and Template separate from those who weren't in the know was causing some minor problems, but just now there were few students here and not even a full staff. There was also little need for Template, which made things easier. Unfortunately, they had just one more full day and a partial before they returned home.

With the dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher, they faced the dilemma of what to do until lunch.

"Jungle hike?" said Randy. "Lagoon swim? Ocean swim? Volcano fishing?"

"Volcano fishing!" yelled Roy.

"I'm pretty sure there's no such thing," said Karen, glaring at her husband.

"Volcano fishing!"

"Roy, that was a joke," said Randy, realizing he was now in trouble with two members of his family.

"Vo-canno fish!" yelled Sarah, grinning and kicking enthusiastically.

Make that three members.

"Okay, we can hike up to the lookout point and take a look at the volcano's crater," said Randy, hoping that would satisfy the kids.

"Voooo-caaaaay-nooo!" howled Sarah, almost making it a song.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Ten

Randy led his family on a leisurely walk to the volcano, on a path which took them through the dormitory section of the school. He and Karen waved casually at the few adults and students they saw. One in particular caught Roy's attention.

"Who's that girl and why is she gray?" he asked, making no attempt to keep his voice down.

"That's Hazel," said Randy, quietly. "Her body is largely iron. She's one of our rescues. She finished high school here and is now one of our physical trainers."

"I remember you telling me about her," said Karen, softly. "Also how much she was upset by her friend's death in the war."

"Allessandra," said Randy, nodding. "That may have been the only noble thing she did in her whole life. It wasn't even completely selfless, since Hazel was her friend and being endangered by the attackers."

"Well, I consider that selfless," said Karen, firmly.

"Anyway, she's a lot better after so much time here, among other supers and people used to dealing with and caring for them. It helped that she had other friends - most of them on the island - and a couple of boyfriends. Now, we need to take that next left..."

* * *

At the new hospital, a surgical procedure was taking place under the baleful green glow of a neutralizer.

"I hate working in these suits," muttered Dr. Harvest, absently, as he carefully worked to expose the cyst. "Normal gloves are okay - can even amplify the apparent size of things and improve grip under the right situations - but..."

After examining two sets of ultrasounds and a CAT scan, Dr. Harvest had decided that instead of performing a biopsy he wanted to try and excise the grape-sized, fluid-filled pocket entire, along with what appeared to be some sort of short tail. He was worried that it might be a contained tumor and that rupturing it would spread some disease throughout the patient's body.

"They're for the patient's protection as much as yours," said Dr. Nief, over the PA of the contagious ward's operating theater, as he faded away. She wondered at his sudden quiet; he normally talked during surgery to ease his tension. He had been invited to join this hospital - and had very eagerly accepted - because he was arguably the world's leading expert on alternate biology and - most importantly in this case - physiology in superhumans.

They had confirmed that Justice Dagger had been poisoned with a neurotoxin, a synthetic version of a tetrodotoxin found in puffer fish. They now knew he had also been moved from wherever he had been originally drugged, then placed in the alley where he was found. Investigators in New York were still trying to determine if he had been taken anywhere else between those locations.

"This... looks artificial," said Dr. Harvest, quietly. "Also very fragile."

Well, that explained why he had stopped talking.

Dr. Nief immediately became more alert, and leaned forward as she tried to think if there was anything else they should do, given this revelation. However, the whole ward was already sealed and everyone in it except the patient in protective suits. She opened her mouth to ask a question, then thought better about disturbing the surgeon.

"It looks like it was implanted empty laparoscopically, then filled from an external reservoir. All that showed externally was an insertion point, barely more noticeable than a vaccination. It's firm, probably stretched taut. I'm not sure it can be removed intact."

He spent several minutes looking all around the object. Then reexamined the MRI and CT images. Then he looked back at the actual item.

"We should be safe in these suits, but the patient is at risk. I think I can remove this intact if I excise the tissue around it. That will support the object and hold it together. The patient will have a longer, more difficult recovery, but since we don't know what's in this thing I believe that is the right decision."

"It's your call, doctor," said Dr. Nief.

"I'll remove it. Though first I'll spray a fixative on the object and the tissues around it."

That took time, since a container of the appropriate substance had to be sterilized and introduced through an airlock. Soon, though, the reinforcing spray had set and Dr. Harvest set very carefully to work.

Meanwhile, Dr. Nief realized this might be part of a larger assault against the island, and hurriedly called Security.

* * *

All of Pine Island was a geologic shambles. The main substance of the island had been raised from the deep seafloor by Pine's graviplanor. The surface had originally been a mass - and mess - of seafloor silt with occasional bits of rock showing through, supported above the waves by the pressure of the magma plume Pine had pulled up under it. It had even continued growing - though slowly - for more than a decade after he shut his device down. How he had kept the whole thing from simply falling apart from the actions of wind and wave and gravity had been carefully detailed in his notes, but half the geologists who read them claimed they were pure fiction.

Biologically the island was also rather strange. Pine had covered the more public sections with topsoil and seeded and planted to create an idyllic scene. For the rest he used chemical methods to draw out and sequester the salt so it would wash away easily in the rain, then seeded what remained with a plant mix mostly made of salt-tolerant species. The animals came later. He'd had plans for a staged development of the growth on the island through several decades. However, his exposure as a dangerous criminal mastermind and the subsequent seizure of his assets had put that on hold. Instead, the island's biology had developed on its own, with only occasional help or hindrance by humans. The result was pleasantly wild.

The hill the Devons currently walked on was largely consolidated sediment, but decades of weathering and plant growth had resulted in a robust soil which produced reasonably solid ground. On this had been placed a high-traction pathway of some substance the gadgeteers had literally cooked up, supplemented with steps and handrails in the steepest portions.

Randy marveled at his family as they walked the steep path up the flank of the hill overlooking the volcano. Roy - already seven and a half years old - no longer aped Randy's powers... or Template's. In fact, he didn't seem to remember doing so, or that he had spent some time as a girl. He accepted his parents' powers - and those of some of their friends - as a matter of routine, and was surprisingly good at keeping the double lives involved secret.

Finally, they reached the lookout. This was a raised platform at a - presumably - safe distance from the artificial volcano. Even so, there was an occasional whiff of hot, sulfurous air when the wind was right. The peak of the volcano had originally stood higher, but simple erosion - augmented by a few super fights - had broken it down until it was now only the second highest point on the island.

"There," said Randy, pointing. "You can see the divot in the crater rim where Energex hit, then down there where the side was patched after the lava got the demons. The lava lake has cooled so much over the years that it's not even glowing, now. Though sometimes you get a crack with still-molten lava oozing out."

"Deeee-maaaaans!" shouted Sarah, bouncing in the baby carrier strapped to Randy's chest. At nearly a year and a half old, she was a bit precocious in some areas, and a bit behind in others. Some of which may have been due to her being slightly premature, though the doctors doubted that. According to them, kids her age rarely matched the average in all things. Neither did kids of any age, for that matter.

Like her brother, she had mimicked her mother's powers when in close contact. In her case, though, her mother was Karen/Colossa. That ability had fortunately faded quickly. A giant baby desperately needing a change was almost as much of a panic inducer as a shrunken one the parents worried about losing in the couch.

"Cool!" said Roy, beaming as he leaned forward, looking through the fencing which ran between the adult-chest-high safety rail and the platform.

"Not cool," said Karen. "A lot of people got hurt - many of them badly - before that."

"Also, lava?" said Randy. "Very hot. Even when it's crusted over like that is."

"Not funny," said Karen, rolling her eyes.

Randy - and Karen, to a lesser extent - talked about the history of the island and how the volcano was slowly dying because the pool of magma pulled to just under the surface by Pine was cooling.

"Another thirty or forty years and there won't be anything molten left, at least above sea level," said Randy. "The magma deep underground should stay liquid for several more decades, but it will also eventually solidify, since it's a pretty small amount as such things go and not being replenished. Though the solidified mass would still be very, very hot for a lot longer."

"Are you gadgeteer channeling, again?" said Karen, teasing.

"Nah. I just pay attention when people talk about this thing. In large part because of our thermoelectric plant. We'll eventually have to shut it down, once the magma cools enough."

They walked back down the steep path. Since they were already heading that way, Randy took them past the old Project Standby base. The jungle had been cleared for a good distance around it and a fence erected well inside the clearing.

"The UN took it over as their base on the island," Randy explained. "I could arrange a tour, but, really, there's not much of interest to see since the last of the Myrmidons was removed and scrapped."

"Miiiiir-meeeee-donnnnsss!" shouted Sarah.

"I hope she learns soon that she doesn't have to yell when she's practicing new words," said Karen, wincing. "I'm starting to wonder if she'll have sonic powers."

"Hey, I'm the one with her strapped to his chest!"

"Speaking of which, that carrier is too small for her, now."

"She doesn't seem to mind. Though, yeah, if we weren't going over so much rough terrain I would have let her walk."

"You mean run," said Karen, grinning. "You just didn't want to have to keep catching her."

"Maybe we should get one of those harnesses with the leash."

Randy waved to one of the armed UN security guards as they walked past and on to the coast.

"There's the rock which got hit by that missile which was chasing me."

All of them had seen the actual school before, and the oldest three had been in the long repurposed Pine base. Randy therefore simply walked them around the island, showing them the natural sights and a few non-natural highlights. Finally, with lunch nearing, they took a path from a secluded beach and headed back to the bungalow cluster.

"What is it?" said Karen, as noticed Randy looked thoughtful.

"Just realizing how small this island really is. It seems bigger, partly due to the variety of terrain and partly because some of it is so heavily overgrown, but it's only a few hectares. C'mon; it's getting near lunch. Let's get back to the bungalow."

However, as they approached the cluster of low buildings they were intercepted by the head of island security.

"Just letting you know there's a medical emergency at the hospital," said Lori Savage. "We are under a quarantine alert."

"Already?!" said Randy. He sighed in exasperation. Then became very alert. "Wait, this won't endanger our kids, will it?"

"Not according to the medical experts. The hospital called a lockdown about half an hour ago due to a contagious patient, but he arrived in a sealed transfer unit and wasn't taken out until he was in the special containment section of the hospital. This is just a precaution. As part of this we are also locking down the entire island, just to be safe."

Randy and Karen thanked her and continued on to the bungalow

"I think I better get changed and go check on this."

"Go on, honey," said Karen, giving him an affection peck on the cheek.

Randy left, walking quickly to a small clearing he knew of, a place near a beach with heavy brush all around. There he shifted to Template. Though access to the island was strictly monitored, some means of egress still had a few gaps. These weren't as many or as easy to use as some students thought, but there were places where a single person could leave without being noticed. Of course, Template would later have to work out some subterfuge with those who knew she was also Randy to balance the books, so to speak, in order for him to rejoin his family. Sometimes she hated this double life nonsense. She hurried into the sea and flew under water along a narrow crevice out a few klicks before surfacing to fly back in.

Template called island traffic control, letting them know who she was and where she was going. She started for the hospital, then realized that though her flight had dried her she was definitely a bit fishy. A quick trip to the teachers' showers, an exit through the full-body blow dryers - in full costume the whole time; it could take it - followed by a quick brush of her hair and she was presentable. Template then went to the main entrance of the medical center and checked with security to make certain she could safely come in. Soon she was in Dr. Nief's office. The physician briefed the super on the patient and the "cyst".

"It was safely removed and placed in our level 4 biohazard containment lab," she finished.

"That's good news," said Template, relaxing and finally sitting. "I just hope it stays good."

"Well, we didn't discover anything else which shouldn't have been in his body and he's responding to treatment. We even went over the transport capsule very thoroughly, just to make sure."

"You spoke with the hospital which sent him?"

"Yes. They're checking in multiple ways - including taking cultures from his costume and bedding and even in the alley where he was found - and so far have found nothing alarming. Of course, we're still identifying what was in that synthetic cyst. It could be harmless; I wouldn't bet on that."

"When will the quarantine be lifted?" said Template.

"Another hour or two. We want to be completely certain, since we're dealing with an unknown."

The costumed woman sighed and shook her head.

"This... How could someone do this? There's several hundred people on this island, including some children!"

"It takes a special kind of mind," said Dr. Nief, angrily. "A type which needs chemical correction."

"It's like Alice Clarke told the press," said Template, still astounded at the method of this attack. "She said Gibbons was planning to destroy the school, through the hospital, though she didn't know how. I thought she meant either finding a way to cut our funding or shutting it down on a pretense... that it wasn't up to code, or something. This, though! This!"

* * *

The next day arrived with no further scares. Karen and Randy packed their belongings and children and took the underground shuttle to the terminus on the mainland where they had left their car.

"It's hard to believe this is ours," said Randy, as he closed the rear door of their minivan on the last of the luggage. "I still don't understand why we bought it in white!"

"Cream, dear," said Karen. She laughed, and took a quick look around before moving a bit closer and speaking quietly. "Have you noticed that both your color discrimination and color vocabulary are better when you're Template?"

"Voooooh-cab-ary!" shouted Sarah.

"No, I hadn't," said her father - well, technically mother - startled. "I'll have to check that."

"Later. Right now, you're driving."

* * *

Despite wanting to relax after returning to their home, Randy had responsibilities on the island. These were especially pressing after the attempted biological attack, meaning that instead of another couple of days off he - as Template - needed to return today. After a minimum of time back home helping to unpack and then to decompress a bit, he changed to Template and flew off.

Once at the school she joined with Eve for a meeting with Dr. Nief and some of the hospital staff. In the meeting they learned that a surprising amount had been uncovered about both what had happened to their patient, and the boobytrap embedded in his body. Much of this new information was dire, indeed.

"The virus in that pouch is incredibly dangerous," said microbiology specialist Dr. Carl Dunning. Thanks in large part to gadgeteer equipment provided to his lab here, he had completed both an initial RNA scan and run multiple computer models on the virus. "It targets a gene sequence known to be in nearly all active supers. Unfortunately, it is also in a significant portion of the dormant super population, as well as many, many more who do not have enough super genes to ever develop powers. Which would be at least a hundred million people on the planet as a whole. It also shows a disturbing characteristic of mutating through generations, changing which gene complex it affects. Our models show that before it evolved into being simply another contagious virus it could have killed at least a billion. Even once it so mutated, it would still cause serious illness, and more casualties.

"I have to believe that whoever sent it against us didn't know just what they were using," he finished.

"It could have killed a substantial fraction of the human population," said Dr. Nief, quietly. "It was that virulent and that unconstrained."

"Wow..." said Template, stunned speechless.

"How are you coming with a defense against this contagion?" said Eve, getting right to the most important point.

"It's very virulence is making treatment easy, once we figured out what affected it," said Nief. "We've only worked with lab animals so far, but the response was consistent. Dose the patient with the appropriate antiviritics and the infection is effectively over in a few hours. Of course, in those few hours it can very easily destroy enough of the target's cells to kill someone. Without those - still uncommon, unfortunately - medications even supers with boosted immune systems have little chance.

"In addition to those working on finding what existing treatments work, we have three teams here and several others around the world working on both vaccines and specifics. We need to immunize as many people as possible as quickly as possible. We particularly need something which acts more quickly than the available antiviritics and with fewer side effects. As it is, there is so little time between infection and permanent damage that we have to flood the patient with three different medications. Any one of these can cause problems at these doses, and together... Well, the patient might survive and make a full recovery from the virus but they'll be sick for weeks just from the treatment!"

Template stood and began pacing. She was obviously furious. The others present said nothing, not sure how to react. Finally, she stopped, turning towards them.

"This school is my life's work. Even leaving aside this... incompetent attempt which could literally have killed billions, it is under threat from multiple sources. What? Do? We? Do?"

"For now, gather all the information we can," said Eve, with deliberate patience and calmness. "Not just about this attempt, but about anything which might be connected to this and other attempts. I know it's frustrating to wait for more information, but premature, rash action could make things worse."

Template sighed, visibly relaxed and nodded. Eve gave her a cold smile.

"Don't worry. The time will come for action. Given the fanaticism of some of those arrayed against us, that will likely include some very cathartic violence."

I was under the weather Friday and rather sick Saturday. See the October 7 post at: https://stickmaker.dreamwidth.org/ for a brief account.

I'm feeling better today, and posting the next installment as scheduled.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Eleven

"If our new facility hadn't been ready," said Dr. Nief, "the referring hospital would have treated him. I've spoken with the chief surgeon there and he admits they would not have taken the precautions we did."

"If our people hadn't been at the top of their game, due to this being our first emergency patient," said Template, "if we hadn't had a world class surgeon and facilities, if..."

"Yes," said Lori Savage, not minimizing what Template was saying but not wanting to dwell on it. "Luck was very much with us this time. You can believe I am taking measures to make certain luck never plays such a big role again."

"My question is, what is our next step?" said Eve.

"We have to keep this quiet for as long as we can," said Lori. "Tell the CDC and a few others, but make sure they know it needs to be kept quiet."

"Agreed," said Eve.

She looked around, and all the others also agreed.

* * *

The school notified appropriate health monitoring agencies at both the US government and the UN. By consensus, there was no press release from any of the organizations involved. The agencies the hospital contacted unanimously agreed that there should be no public notice. This was partly to avoid a public panic, partly to avoid a hasty response from some organization due to pressure from non-medical personnel, and partly to keep whoever was behind this virus in the dark. Part of the reason for this measured response was that two different groups - one of them at the Academy's Amazonia Memorial Hospital, under the supervision of Dr. Dunning - had already developed potential vaccines. Those would be tested and at least one proven to work before the news was released.

However, a scoop of this type was very tempting, and some people yield easily to temptation. It took a good three days, but the news broke. Yet there was still no official announcement on the attack from the new US administration. Finally, at a previously scheduled press conference, reporters had an opportunity to bring the matter out into the open. Unfortunately, the new President was reluctant to take it seriously.

"Let me get this straight," said Gibbons, smiling nastily at the reporter who had asked the question, as he spoke in an exaggerated version of his usual mild drawl. "Some mad scientist on that island cooked up a killer bug, they barely got it under control before it killed everybody there and maybe on the mainland, and now they're saying 'Don't worry. Just take this shot and you'll be fine.' Right."

"Sir, the evidence says..."

"They don't have any evidence! If they do, where is it? Why haven't I seen it? Why haven't they given it to the police? No, this is just another mess the masks have caused which they're trying to cover up."

"Mr. President, the school reported this to the CDC..." one reporter began.

"This is like that whole Shilmek attack," said Gibbons, apparently not hearing. "If they hadn't aggravated them, they wouldn't have had any reason to come here! Leave diplomacy to the diplomats! Self-appointed ambassadors - even if they are supers - have no official standing!"

Several reporters were now on their feet, some of them trying to shout answers to Gibbons own questions, to contradict his claims. The President spoke loudly, and they quieted.

"No, this is just more evidence that that school needs to be erased from the surface of the Earth and the kids put under proper supervision. For all we know that virus was somebody's science project!"

"Getting back on topic," said a respected senior news commentator, quickly and loudly enough to head off the President's claims that this wasn't the actual top+-ic, "the revelations from Alice Clarke were already causing you to lose popular and party support. There's no evidence - despite loudly voiced suspicions - that you were yourself involved in the attempted biological warfare attack against the school. However, some of the evidence has been traced back to your Vice President, Carl Donner. For several months between you choosing him and the actual election, he was in contact with an old friend who at that time was in charge of several black programs. Exactly what those programs were working on is not available - all Freedom of Information Act requests have been ignored - but previously revealed programs have, indeed, worked on bioweapons, often in violation of international treaty."

"Carl Donner is a noble human being," said Gibbons, actually seeming insulted. "Alice Clarke is a liar who worked for me just long enough to acquire a patina of respectability. A patina which has now worn completely away."

There was a confusion of shouted questions. Satisfied he had blunted this attack on him and his office, Gibbons smiled and walked away, waving amiably.

* * *

The staff of the Pine Island Academy had good reason to pay attention to this press conference. Two days later they had a meeting to discus it, and matters related to it.

"In spite of the recommendations of the CDC and several other governmental and non-governmental health agencies, the new administration is not only not helping with the vaccinations, but actively working against them," said Template, not happy but not surprised, either.

"That's about the size of it," said Dr. Nief, nodding. "The CDC is spearheading a voluntary campaign but so far can't get any of the pharmaceutical companies to make the vaccine, because the President won't get behind it. However, several non-US governments are taking this threat very seriously - some of the enemies of the US because they claim this proves we plan to use biological weapons against them - and are looking into both manufacturing our vaccine and developing their own."

"I'd love to know where this stuff actually comes from," muttered Junker. "I know that with modern lab equipment a small but talented team could make this in a few months, but..."

"Not this," said Dr. Dunning, firmly. "This is more like a something from a poorly overseen black project. One with substantial funding. As was brought up in that news conference, and denied by Gibbons."

"I'll get my contacts on that," said Template.

"As will I," said Eve, her tone rather more sinister.

"I think part of the problem we're seeing with the new administration," said Junker, "is due to the giggle factor Gibbons and his people have for anything the least bit unconventional. 'A virus which could kill billions of humans in a few months. Suuuurrreee. Write it up for the next Skiffy Channel movie.' I am very glad the war came before they were in charge. They'd have been denying it was happening even as the Secret Service tried to evacuate Gibbons."

"You definitely have a point," said Template, nodding slowly. "That could also be why there's been no official response to the magic problem. Though I think that's a good thing."

"Part of what's going on with the magical creature incursion situation is that after that rash of events a couple of years ago things got very quiet," said Lori. "Magic just dropped off the radar for most folks. Again."

"Has there been any decision on what to call this bug?" said Junker.

"The Black Virus," said Dr. Dunning, quietly.

"How is the island vaccination program coming along?" said Eve, after the moment of silence following that.

"We only started this morning," said Dr. Dunning. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I hope you understand that we aren't used to working this quickly. If it weren't for the combination of need and the new tools we have available - in part due to Lunie and Shilmek contributions by way of our own gadgeteers - developing an effective vaccine would take at least months. However, we should have half the inhabitants vaccinated by this evening."

"How about people like Hazel, who can't be injected normally?" said Dr. Nief.

"We should have a nasal inhalation version by the end of the week. Though those with metabolisms as radically altered as hers don't actually have anything to worry about. They can't even be carriers, except by external contamination, where vaccination wouldn't help."

"What worries me," said Lori, "is whether whoever set this up was careful enough."

"A valid concern," said Dr. Dunning, nodding. "However, given the sophistication of the attack the odds are good they took proper precautions. If nothing else, we haven't seen a rash of mysterious super deaths."

* * *

Alvin Montgomery fumed at the lies. The virus would only affect supers, not normal people, like him! His contact had sworn this or he wouldn't have used it! Yet even President Gibbons was repeating what the supers were saying about that weapon, even as he refused to believe it came from outside the school!

Montgomery was particularly aggravated that this plot had failed. He'd started it well before the election, knowing he would need time to covertly maneuver those he'd chosen for the task into thinking the plan was their own idea. After admitting the virus ploy against the school had somehow failed, he'd attempted to get more from his contact. He wanted to try again before the supers could convince the government to develop a vaccine against it - them having already made their own was obviously a lie; they hadn't had the time. Unfortunately, he was told that there simply was none. That had been the only sample. Montgomery himself had never come near the virus, instead having it shipped to one of his agents in a roundabout manner. Even the doctor who had done the work had carefully maintained containment, then sterilized all his equipment as part of destroying the evidence of the operation.

The original black project which developed it had been shut down due to budget cuts and all the documents put in storage while the equipment had gone to other projects. That one sample had been made and put into a freezer, months before Montgomery became involved. His highest-placed government agent had worked for half a year on this for him, and this was the result! All wasted!

The supers had found who poisoned Justice Dagger and taken him to have the pouch implanted. They weren't surprised to learn the attackers were a group of his enemies, people who had teamed up against him before. They all denied any involvement, of course. Even if they cracked, they thought the pouch would poison their foe over several days; not spread an anti-super virus. Fortunately, due to to the Secret Keeper's precautions the trail ran cold past there. The lab where the villains had taken Justice Dagger for the procedure turned out to be an old candy floss factory, abandoned for years, with no sign of recent use. The doctor who provided the drug and the virus and performed the procedure had operated under a fake ID, and was nowhere to be found.

Well, he had other ways to attack that school! Though with so many projects already underway they might have to wait for a while. That was probably for the best. A hiatus would lull their suspicions.

* * *

Template was busy with the usual problems which came with school getting back in session. That included attending the daily briefing in her boss' office given by someone from security, just to help them keep on top of things. Today, as usual, the meeting was with Lori Savage, head of security.

"Did you hear that Alice Clarke is missing?" said Lori, as she sat in the chair across from the Principal's desk and beside Template's seat.

"Was she killed or is she in hiding?" said Eve, startled, leaning forward.

"No telling, yet. However, Homeland Security has a warrant for her arrest, for spreading lies about Gibbons and Donner."

"So is Gibbons honestly trying to find her to punish her," said Template, slowly, "or is this a bluff to cover up the fact that he's had her kidnapped or killed?"

"Again, there's just not enough information yet to tell which," said Lori.

* * *

Gibbons was coming to hate press conferences. People kept rudely shouting questions about things he wasn't there to discuss. They also kept coming back to topics he'd already made clear he wouldn't talk about, time after time. What did it take to satisfy some people?! Or, failing that, to quiet them?

At least this one was at the capital building, after a scheduled talk to that assembly. He'd had a good reception from the adults. Now to try the kiddies.

Almost immediately, it went sour. Not only were the idiots asking questions about things long settled, a few kept asking about Alice Clarke.

"I haven't heard from her since she quit," said Gibbons, flatly. "I've heard a bit about her, but nothing of substance. If she has disappeared, good riddance. Maybe she finally came to her senses and shut up. Or maybe her fifteen minutes of fame are just over!"

He was still fuming as he left the front portico and headed inside. In his preoccupation he walked past architectural marvels of polished marble and carved sandstone without noting them. With his entourage of aides and Secret Service he hurried on a path intended to deter reporters from following.

It worked. However, he soon discovered that had more to worry about this day than the Press. The President was walking towards the exit where his limo was waiting when Senator Wyler approached.

"We need to talk," said Wyler, giving Gibbons few options by taking his arm and guiding him into a narrow hallway, away from his intended path.

As they proceeded, Wyler looked at the Secret Service guards for the President - who had known him far longer than Gibbons.

"Boys, can you give us a moment, please?"

They nodded and divided into two groups; one at each end of the hallway. Wyler stopped in the middle and turned Gibbons to face him. However, the President spoke first, obviously trying to take the initiative.

"What's this about, anyway?" said Gibbons, irritated and not concerned about showing it.

"They found Alice Clarke two hours ago," said Wyler, just as unconcerned about showing how angry he was. "The news hasn't been released, yet."

"Good. I hope they throw the betraying bitch in jail and forget about her."

"She's dead, Harold. Murdered. Mutilated. They were only able to identify the body thanks to that new computerized facial reconstruction process the FBI just started using. A computer program you objected to as an unnecessary expense. DNA confirmation is underway, but it's pretty certain."

"I don't know anything about it," said Gibbons, flatly. Whether he meant the software or the murder of his former aide he didn't clarify. Likely both.

"Scott Michelson says it was on your orders!" said Wyler, hotly. "Not directly, of course, but he claims the orders came down through channels from you!"

"Michelson..." said the President, blankly. "Wait, you mean that guy from Homeland Security? If I ordered her killed, why would I use official channels?! Why would I use Homeland Security?!?!"

"I'm not saying you ordered her killed. I'm saying that because of things you have said and done and indisputably ordered, there are people who think an order apparently coming from you to murder someone would not only be appropriate, but legal! Michelson is under arrest and will be prosecuted, but later. Others have also been arrested and more are being sought. Right now we - you - have to prepare for the necessary damage control."

"You know what?" said Gibbons, testily. "I don't care. If someone goes off the reservation and performs an illegal act, that's their problem. Not mine."

"You're the President! You have a duty to present a responsible leadership! If you make statements which encourage illegal behavior, because you don't like someone or for some other spurious reason, what results is at least partly your fault, whether or not you actually gave the order to do something to them!"

"It's a free country," said Gibbons, with a smirk. "Besides, I'm President and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"What about impeachment?" said Wyler, tone dangerous.

"You wouldn't dare," said Gibbons, sneering harder. "Impeach a President in your own party? They'd eat you alive."

"I made you. Keep this up and I'll break you."

Wyler released Gibbons' sleeve, spun around and stormed away.

"You didn't make me! You just endorsed me!" Gibbons yelled at the man's back. "I had help from others, too! People whose advice I trust far more than I do yours!"

He stormed off in the opposite direction, fuming.

* * *

"We need something better than hoppers and the Subterran tunnels," said Template, at the school staff meeting later that week. "I've been talking to several different teams and they all say this, but none have workable suggestions for anything better. The apergy flyers show promise, but they're still experimental, with only a few in actual service. Even those are only slightly faster than a traditional hopper. Though they're a lot more convenient."

"I keep hearing that teleportation isn't an answer, but not why," said Lori Savage.

"Technological teleportation is notoriously unreliable," said Junker. "One-shot devices will usually work, if built by someone who knows what they're doing. Some of the greatest geniuses who ever lived have failed at making multi-use devices consistently reliable... or safe. Even biological teleportation - through powers - isn't all that safe. That guy who blasted Shilmek ships with nukes during the war only moves nonliving items, except in dire emergencies. That includes himself."

"Yeah," said Template, nodding. "That's what caused Zeep. Artificial teleportation, I mean."

"I did not know that!" said Lori, startled. "I thought he was just a regular super, only moreso!"

"That may be what allowed him to survive that teleporter malfunction," said Junker. "That he was a super, I mean."

They were quiet for several seconds. They were waiting for Eve to arrive, just free associating, the conversation starting with Junker mentioning an upgrade to the school's hoppers and how they still weren't fast enough.

"I just realized," said Template, "the teams with primarily federal funding - including those who are actually licensed federal agents - are the ones doing the loudest complaining about not having enough resources. The privately or mostly privately funded teams are actually doing pretty well as far as funding and access to other resources is concerned. Their sponsors saw how useful they were in the war and reconstruction and have actually increased their support."

"You'd think, with the economy doing better, that Congress would be easing off on the budget cuts," said Junker, sourly. "Taxes and income for some federal agencies from fees are up, and a few have had the cuts relaxed. Anything involving supers, though..."

"Too many people in power - whether elected or not - don't want supers growing more powerful," said Lori, sourly. "Including Gibbons. Even though he's also being pressured by powerful people to improve the use of supers."

"Yes, but there's more than supers having budget problems," said Template. "Though they do seem to be having more than most. Super teams are also being harassed in other ways."

"So there's lots of folks in the same boat, but supers have it worse," said Junker, nodding.

Template noticed Eve standing in the doorway. Before she could say anything, the Principal spoke up.

"I think a large part of the problem those in power are having with Gibbons is that several different groups covertly or even overtly supported him, thinking he would be a counter to their opponents in both parties. Now they are surprised he's going his own way. Which is exactly what he promised in the campaign and how he behaved in his prior political career.

"As interesting as this is, however, I think we should move on to school business. Agreed?"

"Yes, ma'am," they replied.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Twelve

The Toyota Corolla wagon had been equipped with a siren and the same sort of behind-the-grill lights as unmarked police cars. Vic used them, as well as a magnetic mount light on the roof. However, as she hit the exit ramp she turned the lights and siren off and pulled the roof light in. Her orders were to get there quickly, but to approach quietly.

Naturally, I get sent on a mission in another city on a school night, was Vic's irritated thought, as she navigated off the Interstate and onto a state road. Damn budget cuts. I miss flying in near-supersonic business jets.

The time of day was late afternoon, and fortunately the call had come after her classes were over. The trip wasn't all that far, and she had avoided both heavy traffic and police interference from those who might think lights and siren could not possibly be valid on her particular vehicle. In previous instances she had simply presented her ID and mentioned budget cuts; that and a radio check usually solved the problem. Fortunately, even that hadn't been necessary this trip; Vic might need the time. She had no idea how long this assignment would take or much else about the situation. Vic only knew that local law enforcement had asked the Bureau of Special Resources for help dealing with a rogue super at a mall.

She soon came to the turnoff to the mall entrance. However, Vic found the road thoroughly blocked by police vehicles. She drove up to the barrier and showed them her badge, but they just waved her away.

More than four years since the Bureau was created, some cops still don't recognize our badges, she thought, tiredly. Of course, what happened here is that they didn't even look!

Rather than argue with the perimeter guards, she parked nearby and got her bike out of the back of Monstro. No-one seemed to notice. The bike, too, had lights and siren - and other non-standard equipment, thanks to the Bureau and gadgeteers at her college - but she wouldn't use those this close to the mall. Soon she was cycling across open ground, completely unhindered as she peddled over the well-tended grass, saddlebags bouncing.

She bumped over the curb onto the pavement of the parking lot and actually rode up to the police gathered around their mobile command center before anyone took notice of her. She parked her bike and walked to the nearest clump of uniforms as they turned towards her, confused. Vic removed her helmet as she approached, tucking it under her arm. Again, she pulled out her badge holder and opened it, holding it in plain sight as she announced her name, rank and agency in a clear voice. A couple of them frowned; the rest went back to what they were doing. Which seemed to mostly be standing around, talking.

"Beat it, kid," said the older of the two. "This is a crime scene."

Of course, part of the problem is that during a tense situation some folks get so focused on what they perceive to be important that anything else may get shunted aside.

Vic had been there, herself, so she kept her temper.

"You should have been told someone from the Bureau of Special Resources would be here," she said, loudly. "That's me."

Muttering under his breath, the cop jerked his thumb in the direction of a Captain a few cars away.

"You're the BSR rep?" said the startled Captain, who had Blakely on his jacket.

"I'm older than I look," said Vic, dryly. "I'm in a graduate criminology program. Also a decorated veteran of the Shilmek War."

"Oh," said the Captain, stunned. "All right. Uhm, the situation is that some guy in a crude costume walked into a book signing by Cyanide and blasted him with a power. Lots of people hurt, lots of panic, guy's holding hostages, won't talk to the negotiator. We have only a vague idea of how many are hurt or how badly."

Vic nodded, excused herself and stepped away a bit. She pulled out her Bureau-issue smart phone and hit the speed dial. She was soon talking to someone at the nearest Bureau facility. Well, the nearest one still open.

"That's the situation as the police know it," she finished. "Okay, that would be great! Thank you. Yes, I've met him. Right."

She put the phone away and moved back to the Captain.

"They're sending a super who is good at stealth. A Bureau employee named Gilbert Harkner, code name Smoke. He's in this area and should be here in under half an hour."

"All right," said the Captain, noncommittally.

Smoke actually arrived in under 15 minutes. Vic sensed something and turned to look just as the new super materialized. She hadn't seen him with his power active before; even in his solid form he looked like a grey man made of smoke. She remembered that he didn't wear a costume; he didn't need to.

"Ah, good," said Vic, as Blakely did one of the few legitimate triple-takes she had ever seen. "You're early."

Vic briefed Smoke on the situation and what was needed. Then she turned to the Captain.

"Can you think of anything else?"

"Uh, no. That about covers it."

"He can - with your permission - get in there and scout the situation. Then come back and tell us. Without the suspect knowing."

"That... could actually be useful," said the Captain. He thought for a moment, sighed and nodded. "Go ahead."

Smoke nodded and faded from sight. Vic was left wondering how long this would take.

As it turned out, less than ten minutes. Vic had just sensed Smoke returning and was looking in the direction of his approach as he materialized. He seemed to be in distress, coming out of whatever immaterial state he had been in a bit too far away and too high off the ground, then dropping and staggering the last few steps to those waiting for him.

"All the hostages are down," said Smoke, looking sick despite the lack of facial detail his powers caused. "Some of them are probably dead. Maybe all of them. Including Cyanide."

"Damn," said Vic, now also feeling sick. The Captain didn't look much better. "What can you tell us about the suspect?"

"He had this glowing shell, probably a force field. He was ranting, talking to himself, or maybe the hostages. I don't think he knows they're out or dead. He's... really demented. Not rational. No idea what his powers are, but there's a lot of physical damage. No signs of heat or cold or energy blast damage, but there's what looks like explosion damage."

Vic looked at the Captain, who now appeared rather grim.

"I need to get in there," she said, quickly. "I think I can take this guy out with little or no collateral damage. Even if I can just get him away from the hostages that would help. Be sure your people are ready to go in on short notice. SWAT if I can't handle him, and EMTs either way."

"Roger," said the Captain, nodding. "How... will we know if you do need help?"

The report on the situation and Vic's quick decisiveness had made him realize the situation was well outside his competence zone and that she was the expert on scene. While not exactly deferential, he was now obviously much more receptive to her suggestions.

"I have a two-way radio in my helmet which covers police bands," said Vic. "I'll set it for whatever frequency you need."

She looked at Smoke.

"Also, I want you following me. Do not engage; you don't have enough training or experience for a super fight. If I can't call for help, you do it. You got that?"

"Yeah," he said, voice squeaking a bit. "I have my radio, too."

Vic went to her bike and started pulling her combat outfit from the saddlebags. Thanks to good design and long practice it went on quickly. Mostly it was the same armor she had started with her first year at Ramsey, though much had been repaired and some parts replaced. The weapons were largely the same, as well. The most significant new component was her helmet, which was the same one she had worn riding her bike here. This had been built specifically for her by techs at the Bureau. It had built-in com gear and neck protection which tucked inside the collar of her armor. The same techs kept trying to get her to allow them to install sensors in the helmet, but with her sense of perception and heightened normal senses she didn't need those.

"That should do it," said Vic, after a quick inspection.

"I don't doubt it," said Smoke, looking very impressed.

Vic noticed that even the cops now seemed to be taking her more seriously. The two supers set their radios and set out.

"How are you going to deal with that guy's force field?" said Smoke, quietly, as they approached the nearest entrance.

"I have something which should work, given your description," said Vic.

She had actually practiced using her abilities against a force field, thanks to the folks at the Bureau of Special Resources. They didn't work as well through the immaterial barrier as through physical armor, but they did work. Though only for people who "wore" their invisible protection close to their bodies. Fortunately, this guy did. Even if the Purple Art was ineffective against his shield, she could probably use throws to disable him. He didn't seem to be unusually resilient, from what Smoke had seen. In fact, the less experienced super had described him as "pudgy."

Smoke vanished before they reached the door, moving ahead unseen. Vic did a quick around-the-corner glance, saw it was clear inside and entered. She moved quietly towards the bookstore where the signing had been held. There were obvious signs of damage to the store and the area immediately outside it.

Vic went flat against the store's wall and sidled up to the broken display window. She carefully peeked around the edge.

The stranger was Caucasian, maybe in his early thirties, overweight and wearing an obviously homemade costume. No mask. His hair was light brown, unkempt and already thinning. He was pacing around, occasionally stumbling over something - or someone - heedlessly, muttering to himself.

Vic steeled herself, took a deep breath, and stepped into view.

"I am Special Agent Vic..."

"Yahhhhh!" the man screamed, shrilly, charging.

Vic jumped backwards, unnerved by his strange attack but glad to be getting him away from the injured. She dodged repeated attempts to hit her, leading him out into a central atrium of the mall. Suddenly he paused, gasping for breath. Vic was quite happy to let him just stand there, and didn't close. After a moment, though, he posed again. She thought about telling the Captain the culprit was away from the hostages, but decided she didn't want to remind the guy of them. Hopefully, Smoke would relay that information.

"What do you want?" she said, as calmly as she could.

"Ah'm Billy Bang!" he screamed. "Ah'm gonna' bang ya'!"

"What?!" said Vic, startled.

He may have been trying to take advantage of her being startled, or perhaps had already decided to attack. He charged again. He was fast but clumsy. He lunged at where Vic had been well after she dodged out of the way. She snapped a light punch at him, using the Purple Art and ki projection. She was thrown around and backwards, her entire arm stung and throbbing.

Vic rolled nimbly to her feet. Billy Bang shook his head for a moment, looking stunned. His lip was bleeding on the left corner, so at least she had hurt him a little. He looked at the floor in front of him as if expecting to see Vic lying there. Vic did not try to take advantage of his distraction. She was still shaking off whatever he had done to her, noting that her armor was damaged around her right fist. Unfortunately, he quickly realized she wasn't lying on the floor and spun around.

"There you are! Cain't hide from me!"

This time, when Vic dodged his attack she went for more separation, then threw a concrete trash can at him. It struck, and exploded, hurling fragments.

His force field reacts explosively to attacks! she realized.

That made corralling him much more difficult, but at least she had him away from the hostages. She thought about using one of her weapons, but wasn't confident of still being able to project the Purple Art through his protections that way. Even her gloves and boots would slightly hamper that, and she likely would need every advantage she could get.

He posed, raising his arms wide, fists clenched.

"Bang yah!"

He slammed his fists together. That protective barrier of his reacted by projecting a blast of explosive force at Vic. She couldn't dodge - the effect was too wide - but she was able to prepare herself. The blast hit her, and she rolled with it. She hit a wall, crashing through into a service corridor.

Thanks largely to her armor Vic was not hurt and only a little stunned. She rolled away from the hole, out of the line of sight with Billy Bang. Then she did a kip-up and light-footed it to the wall.

She could sense his approach. Vic moved along the wall to beside the hole her exit had made and waited. Just before the demented super reached it she attacked with a plain, old-fashioned roundhouse kick, swinging her foot around the edge of the hole and putting everything she had, everything she had learned, into it. There was a substantial blast. Vic cried out at the pain which radiated from the armored top of her foot up her leg. The wall moved, actually shoving her back over a meter as dust filled the air, but even as the echoes from the explosion faded she could tell that Billy Bang was gone, beyond the range of her senses.

Vic grabbed the ragged edge of the hole and stood on one foot to examine the damage to her leg. The armor was busted up but there wasn't any blood. Indeed, a tentative test showed her leg would support her weight, if she went easy. She looked around the edge of the hole, and as the dust settled was not surprised to see another hole in the far wall. She was a bit surprised to see another hole along the same line in the wall beyond that. She was astounded to see the holes continuing all the way outside. Vic really hoped he hadn't gone much further than that.

She hopped across the destroyed atrium, through the hole there, across the next room, and so on until she reached the outside. Billy Bang, fortunately, was lying unmoving in the parking lot. He appeared to have hit and bounced multiple times before coming to a stop. Even better, this was not the side where the cops were waiting, and except for a few cars left from the evacuation it was otherwise empty.

Vic limped over to Billy Bang. He was out. Very soundly out. She sighed with relief.

She looked up as Smoke appeared.

"That was incredible!" he shouted.

"Actually, he did most of it," said Vic, wincing as she put too much weight on her injured foot. She explained about his force field. "I managed to turn that against him."

Several police officers - most of them SWAT - came running around the corner.

"Any of you have portable neutralizers?" Vic called out.

Three suddenly reversed course. Vic sighed.

The others surrounded Billy Bang, well out of reach, aiming various firearms at him. More cops arrived, the Captain among them.

"Are the EMTs heading in to help the victims?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Captain Blakely. "I sent them and some officers in as soon as the security cameras showed you had this nutcase away from them."

"Good work," said Vic. She suddenly felt tired, but managed to not sag. This often happened when her regeneration kicked in. She was just glad it would wait until she was no longer active and needed the energy for something else. She'd need food, soon. "I think, though, that you need to get one of the EMTs here to check him. He's still not moving. Does anyone have any information on this guy?"

Even with the name she gave them and now photos being sent out, the answer came back as a negative.

"Oh, here comes the neutralizer," said one of the cops.

"Better not use that until you have one of the EMTs check him," said Vic, reflexively moving back as they set the older model, breadbox-sized gadget on a sturdy tripod, aimed at Billy Bang.

They didn't like that advice, but the Captain agreed and sent word.

"I hope this guy is just stoned," Vic said, with a grimace, as she looked down a the still-unmoving figure. "I hate to think I had to do this to someone not responsible for his actions."

"Whatever his reason," said Captain Blakely, "he's going to be put away somewhere for a good, long time."

"Amen," said Vic, nodding.

She was about to say something else when someone screamed. Vic looked quickly at Billy Bang... and froze. He was still lying there, motionless. However, a shapeless thing rose from his form, gathered itself, and headed for Smoke. Who stared at the sight, in stunned immobility where he hovered well above the others present.

Vic sprang towards the... creature, grabbing a weapon from the assortment on her back. She leapt and swung the wooden tonfa overhand at the thing, reflexively projecting her ki through it. She expected the tonfa to pass harmlessly through it, but there was a solid impact.

The indistinct thing screamed, then lunged at her. Vic dropped and rolled away, coming back to her feet with her second tonfa in her left hand. The thing had turned back to Smoke, who was frantically dodging. Vic lunged in, striking alternately with both weapons, working them long, mixing swings with thrusts. Despite her armor she did not want to get any closer than that.

The thing now turned its entire attention to her. It attacked; she dodged and struck. This sequence was repeated, over and over. Each time it came at Vic she dodged and swung; each time she hit it seemed diminished... yet it kept coming at her. Until, finally - with one last, hard strike - it vanished with a distinct pop.

"What... was that?" demanded Captain Blakely.

"I have no idea," said Vic, catching her breath, and now feeling really tired. "I can assure you that I will do everything I can to find out, though!"

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Thirteen

Early afternoon, in San Francisco. Among the people walking around the shops and stores of this downtown area were at least two who were much more than they seemed.

"Are you sure he wants a cell phone?" said Tiger, as he and Tal wandered around a shopping district.

"Chet hasn't said anything about that," said Tal, with a knowing smile. "However, he has repeatedly complained about his current phone not being able to do this or being too slow for that or not showing enough bars or holding a charge."

Tiger's mind was mostly on what his wife was saying, but his engineering side couldn't help but take notice of all the new construction. Some was directly due to the war; some indirectly; some long planned. New stores, offices and banks were going up, with some old ones coming down.

"Well, that last could be cured with a new battery."

"No, dear; it's a sealed unit."

"Well, that's stupid," muttered the engineer.

"I know, dear. That's what he has."

"Okay, I guess we get him a new phone," said Tiger, with a careless shrug. He frowned as they turned a corner. "What's all that?"

The sidewalks and even the streets were full of people, much to the distress of drivers trying to get somewhere. Amidst the horns blowing and the babble of excited talk came muffled sounds of some sort of heavy activity.

"Great," said Tiger, sourly. "Come on; let's try this way."

"Don't you want to see what's going on?" said Tal, who obviously did.

"None of our business."

Some supers might have used their enhanced strength and agility to bypass the crowd in their way and continue in their planned direction. Others might have boldly moved in to investigate. Tiger wasn't one to show off. Showing off was for social creatures; a way of reinforcing or enhancing their standing in the herd. Something Tiger didn't worry about. Tiger - with Tal rolling her eyes and following resignedly - simply went wide to go around the blockage. He wasn't there to get involved with whatever had caused the crowd. He and his wife were shopping for their son's birthday present. Without that mission he might have let his curiosity lead him into investigating, but right now he was focussed.

However, when someone crashed through the double panes of thick safety glass in the window of a nearly-finished building about twenty stories up and across the street, Tiger reacted without hesitation.

He leapt straight up and kicked off from the side of the building he'd been walking beside. From there he bounded across the street, to kick off from there. He caught the stunned young man only a couple of floors below the broken window. Tiger's momentum carried them down and across to another building, where he used his free hand to cushion their impact then slow their fall. Tiger pushed off and cradled his passenger for the last two stories, landing on his toes and going all the way to his knees.

He laid the man carefully down and was just starting to check for injuries when noise - screams not least among them - caught his attention. Tiger looked up to see either a robot or a bulky suit of power armor leap through the ruined window.

The contraption fired rockets to cushion its drop, but still hit hard enough to leave deep footprints in the pavement.

"You've interfered for the last time!" someone shouted over speakers built into the thing.

The right arm raised and a panel opened to let a light machinegun deploy. By which time Tiger had grabbed the young man and ducked down an alley. The massive machine trundled to the entrance and discovered it was too big to fit.

"You think this will save you?" the same male voice screamed, sounding almost hysterical with anger. "I will burn this whole alley to ash!"

The machine gun panel closed and another opened. Before whatever was inside could extend, though, something crashed into it from above, jamming it.

"Too bad we're not there," said Tiger, from well up on a fire escape.

The operator - or occupant - of the machine was just starting to turn the cameras upwards when a chunk of steel slammed into the seam between the head and neck. This was backed by the momentum of a grinning Tiger, who dropped down and double-kicked the piece of fire escape handrail deeper. Upon seeing the metal was deep enough he sprang away.

"Zap 'im!"

Under the assumption that the device was well insulated both electrically and thermally, Tiger had deliberately pierced whatever screening was present, using a seam for easy access. Now Tal took advantage of that to send a miniature lightning bolt into the workings via the protruding chunk of metal.

The thing dropped, the front sliding down the building corners on either side as the legs buckled then pushed backwards. It sputtered and twitched, smoke rising from the rupture. Tiger dropped onto its back and heaved on the metal chunk; it bent but the seam also widened. He then yanked the handrail out and got his fingers in. He gave another heave and off came the dome-shaped head. Inside was a stunned - and scorched - middle-aged man in a jumpsuit.

"Anybody we know?" asked Tal, dryly, as she clambered onto the machine to stand with her husband.

"He talked like he knew me, but I don't know him," said Tier.

The subject of their exchange was beginning to stir.

"Can you check on the victim? He's behind the dumpster."

"Sure," said Tal.

While Tiger extracted the man from the suit of powered armor, Tal went to the young man.

"You... won't get away... with this," said the grey-haired man, giving Tiger a venomous look.

"You mean get away with rescuing someone from attack by a maniac in powered armor who endangered hundreds of bystanders and caused a couple of million in property damage?"

He ignored the man's further attempts to speak as he used his claws to cut the restraints holding the guy in place then hauled him out and onto the sidewalk.

"He doesn't seem seriously hurt!" Tal called out. "I'm contacting 911 for an ambulance and the police and the BAG for a pickup."

"Good," said Tiger, a bit distracted as he removed several items from the man's outfit. "Wow. This guy has full-paranoid spy stuff. Even had a fake suicide needle. Wonder if he has a shoe phone..."

He held up a small, pressurized injector, similar to those carried by people with severe allergies.

"You sure it's fake?"

"Yeah. Pseudotetrodotoxin to knock him out and lower his vitals. Might be fatal, but he's in good enough shape he'd probably survive."

"You... liar. I am prepared to die for our nation!"

"Maybe. Looks like whoever sent you knows that but doesn't want to lose you yet."

* * *

Several hours later - much of that time required for the Bay Area Guardians to convince the local police that Tiger hadn't been the cause of all the mayhem - the suit was in the team's garage, the operator in their detention center and the young man in their medical wing.

"Sorry your day was interrupted," said Mesa, as he and Tiger walked to the interrogation room.

"Hey, beats shopping."

Tal had been debriefed and gone back to buy their son's birthday present. Tiger, though, had been asked to stay. Not only was his technical knowledge potentially useful in examining the suit, but Steel Lace thought he might be able to get the man who had worn it to talk. He obviously knew who Tiger was and - to put it mildly - didn't like him. That might allow them to get a rise out of him, which in turn might lead to some revelation.

"The attacker's injuries were minor," said Mesa, handing Tiger a stapled sheaf of papers, "and because of the power armor they're letting us hold him pending further investigation. Here's what we have on him so far."

"Name, rank and serial number, huh?"

"No, he's refusing to talk. Literally hasn't said a word. He's even had his fingerprints and retina prints altered. We put a rush on his DNA - thanks in part to new Lunie tech - and the military sent this."

"Horace Middleton, former Captain in the US Army Special Forces," said Tiger, reading the document. "Dishonorable discharge for torturing Iraqi civilians he 'knew' were insurgents. Not to get information, but to 'teach them a lesson.' I thought that suit looked like rejected military tech from a few years ago."

He sighed and shook his head as he finished leafing through the document.

"Looks like he got into the service a few years before the new psych screening. Of course even that's not perfect, but it does cut down on the expert liars. Not that this guy would agree that's a good thing."

"We also have a bit on the man he attacked. Armistead Murchison. Construction worker, mostly lays cable in new buildings, good at his job, never in trouble with the law."

"So why was this guy after him?"

"Murchison is a latent super. He got tested by the Bureau in that pre-war project of theirs to try and find, activate and train supers to get ready for the Shilmek. The war was over before they could figure out how to activate him. Then came the budget cuts. He went back to his old job."

"So this nutcase was trying to eliminate Murchison before he could come into his powers?"

"Actually... From what the witnesses say, he never tried to kill him. Just... stress him."

"In my vocabulary 'stress him' does not include throwing someone through a window on the twenty-first floor!" snarled Tiger, his aura flickering.

"Well, that was after several minutes of chasing and attacking and endangering him and his coworkers. I think Middleton was getting a little fed up with his tactic not working."

"Wait," said Tiger, turning to his friend. "He was trying to activate Murchison's powers?!"

"The young man's political views read like a milder version of Middleton's."

Tiger's aura appeared in full; a glowing image of a tiger. A very angry tiger.

"Let's talk to this guy," said Tiger, his voice distorted and inhuman.

"Uh, yeah," said Mesa, reflexively stepping away, even though he was not the target of that rage.

A standard interrogation technique involved putting the subject in the interrogation room and letting them sit and wait for a while. Knowing this man was familiar with the routine, Tiger and Mesa were already in the room when Middleton was brought in. He covered it well, but Tiger could tell he was startled. Playing on this, as Middleton was escorted to the other side of the table the two supers glared at him, with Tiger actually glancing pointedly at his wristwatch. As if Middleton was late. The man managed to hide it, but to Tiger's enhanced senses he was thrown off balance by this reversal of the usual technique.

"Scaring someone to trigger their latent powers is the stupidest..." said Tiger, further startling him. He leaned forward, aura flickering. "Didn't you idiots learn anything from Tokyo?!"

"Their fear is irrelevant," said Middleton, tricked into talking by being thus put on the defensive. "What's important is having another super to defend this country!"

"Even if you break most of a neighborhood in the process?" said Tiger. "Even if the person - whether you activate their powers or not - hates you for what you did to them"

"If they're a responsible adult they'll accept that it was necessary!"

"You just don't get it, do you?" said Mesa, calmly, his measured, resonant bass a counterpoint to Tiger's staccato baritone. "You think that because you want more supers working for your cause you can do whatever it takes to get more supers. Well, you're not only wrong - demonstrably, illegally wrong - your whole premise is flawed! As far as your victims are concerned - me, too, for the record - you're a madman who uses all this violence as a flimsy excuse to hurt people. Because you like to hurt people, something which folks who encounter you soon realize, including your victims. If your subject does survive they'll wind up hating you and your cause."

"It's obvious you care nothing for this country!" yelled Middleton. He tried to stand but the security guard pushed him back down.

"I care enough to take you out of circulation," said Tiger, ominously. "You've done enough harm to the US and its citizens."

"You will not get away with this," said Middleton, again, his tone and posture haughty and triumphant. "The Secret Keeper knows."

"The who which?" said Mesa, confused.

"Somebody with no imagination who thinks he's important but can't even come up with an original tagline," said Tiger, smirking.

* * *

"An actual conspiracy?" said Tal, later, not really surprised. She had dropped by the Bay Area Guardians base to pick up Tiger after finishing her gift shopping. "Not just militaristic anti-super groups talking about an ongoing war for supremacy between supers and normals which nobody but paranoids seem to notice?"

"Yeah. Probably a bunch of 'em, actually. We've seen it before, with groups like those idiot middle-managers who were behind the super child slavery ring and that undersea base on the Atlantis Seamount. In this case, different groups have been taking advantage of the post-war confusion to organize, collecting rejected people and equipment, each building a secret task force, all ignorant of the others or at most barely aware of them. I imagine that others who were working in the shadows for years before the war have also benefitted. That suit of powered armor was one of three from a canceled program, all missing. No surprise it was cancelled, as easy as we took it out. Oddly, it seems that the specific group behind this effort is not anti-super; in fact, now that we know what to look for we have found multiple incidents where someone likely from this group located active supers for recruitment and tried activating latents. Usually in vain, in both situations. Sometimes fatally."

Tal, Tiger and Mesa were in the team's breakroom, using it for its intended purpose. Snacks were mostly over and drinks nearly finished by the time the other two had brought Tal up to date.

"Of course," said Mesa, "you aways have pure opportunists who see a tragedy and think 'Now is the time to act!' even if what they then do is something they should never have done, much less after a tragedy. Some of these groups which ostensibly have the same goals are actually in competition with each other. Some without realizing it!"

"Then they wind up accomplishing the exact opposite of what they claim their goals are," said Tal, sourly. "Like those maniacs shooting utility workers who were just trying to get the lights and water back on."

"Yeah. They even claimed in their defense that they were fighting the alien occupation. Weeks and months after the invasion was defeated."

"This sounds like it falls under civil authority," said Tal, after a moment of thought. "The local and state police."

"Local and state police aren't interested," said Mesa. "While there have been a couple of incidents here in California which can be blamed on these people, they're based out of state. The federal agencies we've spoken to - including the Bureau of Special Resources - are so busy and have had so many cuts they can't devote much attention to the problem. Brade actually told Steel Lace we could go ahead with whatever steps we thought were appropriate. Just keep them apprised."

"Whoah," said Tiger, suddenly sitting upright, eyes wide. "I wonder if that's deliberate?"

Both were used to Tiger's sudden leaps of intuition, thanks to years of exposure. That didn't mean they always followed what he meant, but this time it seemed obvious.

"You think that there are still folks in the federal, state and local governments - people still following Thurlin or maybe someone new - who are deliberately working to promote these cutbacks?" said Tal. "To make their own illegal plans easier to hide?"

"Yeah," said Tiger, nodding slowly, his gaze distant. "It fits."

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Fourteen

"So that was a demon," said Vic, stunned. She shook her head.

"Surely you suspected this," said Sharma, puzzled.

"Well, yeah. Suspecting is different from knowing!"

The two of them were sitting in the conference room of the Bureau of Special Resources facility closest to the Ramsey Technical College. In this specific case, BSR personnel shared a building with the FBI and a couple of other federal acronyms, all of them affected - or afflicted - by the budget cuts. This was the only room in the building with video conferencing capability. Getting it reserved had taken both perseverance and patience. That, however, had allowed the Bureau time to call in a specialist - Sharma, from the Assembly - to examine both the scene at the mall and Billy Bang. Several days after the fight, Doro had finally notified Vic that the conference to discuss the results of the investigation was on for that evening. Once again, Vic was out late on a school night, for the Bureau.

Participating by video were Brade and Doro. The huge super had asked the mystic - who was on retainer to several government agencies, federal, state and local - to travel to the scene of the attack and check it out, as well as the federal prison hospital where Billy Bang was being held. He claimed no knowledge of his actions, and insisted that he didn't have powers. He was of about average IQ with somewhat subpar language skills and a slightly belligerent attitude, though that last could be due simply to the situation. He did have a record, of several misdemeanor and two felony convictions for various offenses, including assault.

"The traces are clear," said Sharma. "He was possessed. Most likely by something which didn't bother asking permission, but simply empowered a weak-willed host desirous of being more potent. Why Cyanide was targeted is currently unknown. He has been retired for years, and was never much more than a super celebrity."

"Naturally, he survived," said Brade, her tone irritated. "Sorry. Had a couple of unpleasant encounters with that glory hog late in my career as a crime fighter."

Sharma turned from the monitor to Vic, giving her the same sort of long, penetrating look Dr. Freysdottir had on more than one occasion. It was just as unpleasant and unnerving from her.

"You were fortunate that you thought to use your ki techniques against it. It was non-corporeal."

She began to stand, as if intending to leave. Vic, Brade and Doro all began asking questions.

Sharma hesitated, and sat again, looking puzzled.

"You have more questions? I thought I had adequately described the situation."

"Do you have any information on where, when or how this man was possessed?" said Brade.

"No."

"How about some way to protect him in the future?" said Vic.

"No."

That caused consternation.

"I don't..." Vic began.

Sharma sighed.

"As long as men desire, there are things which will take advantage of that." Her tone was slow and patient, as if explaining something to a not particularly bright child.

After a few more questions were likewise given - at most -vague and unsatisfactory answers, Brade reluctantly let her go.

"That is why I hate dealing with mystics," she muttered, after Sharma left. She shook her head, then straightened. "Well, at least it's good to know that you have something which works against demons. Or whatever that was."

"I really don't want to fight any more... things like that," said Vic, with feeling.

"Unless something some of the magical types are working on succeeds, you may have to." She shook her head again, more slowly, looking tired. "We all may. Because this massacre will only be a start."

* * *

Oscar Congreve frowned - then scowled - at the report as he read it. He reached the end, then went back and searched for several things. Even when he found what he was looking for, the information did nothing to help his mood.

He couldn't understand how his operative had been betrayed. Somehow, one of the greatest enemies of freedom and order had intercepted Middleton during what should have been a routine operation. One which was already going wrong even before Tiger had shown up. Or, at least, that was the official account. Unless he could speak to someone who was actually there - Middleton would be ideal, but he had been disarmed of his "suicide injector" and was in a high-security federal prison - he'd have to extrapolate from obviously biased reports.

Well, both he and Middleton were patient. That was one of the things Congreve looked for in his men. They would both wait. Wait for an opportunity to act. Eventually, Congreve would find a way to free the man. Meanwhile...

Congreve sighed, put the papers back into the folder and put it in his FILE basket. Let that wait. He had plenty of things which wouldn't already on his plate. Like figuring out how his organization would compensate for the loss of the Big Man powered armor. They had cannibalized the only two other suits to keep that one running. There weren't enough parts left to put either of the other two into service. He'd been counting on that armor!

Well, no help for it now. If only he could get information on exactly how it had been defeated! Accounts were fragmentary and conflicting, and the suit was currently at the Bay Area Guardians base, while he and the majority of his assets were in an isolated government-owned area in Arizona. However, the official version of the battle was obvious nonsense. Congreve had personally supervised the covert acquisition of those pieces of equipment because he knew their potential, while those blind bean counters at the Pentagon had dismissed the suits as not worth the minor and eventually correctable flaws. He had personally insisted their one working suit be used for that mission because the city was heavy with active masks and Tiger was known to live in the same area as the target. He had not expected any of them to interfere - this was supposed to be a quick, in-and-out operation, with plans to contact the subject later if they were successful in activating him - but was prepared if they did. Only... Congreve sighed and shook his head. Again, there was no sense dwelling on this until he had more data.

Congreve continued his work. His office was soundproofed, including the windows, which also had heavy drapes drawn. He didn't like interruptions. Which is why he was annoyed when his office door opened. There was no call ahead of time asking for permission. Not even a knock. He whipped his gaze up towards the door, mouth open, prepared to ream whoever had dared to disturb him when he was working. Only the rant died in his throat as Tiger stepped into his office.

"You're a hard man to find." said Tiger, mildly, smiling. "Almost as hard to get the attention of, too."

Behind him came a large, muscular man in a costume of muted browns and reds. He looked a bit like one of those Olmec ball player statues. Some small part of Congreve's brain identified him as Mesa. Congreve reached under his desk and pushed the alert button. Carefully showing nothing.

"What... How..."

"Like he said," rumbled Mesa. "It wasn't easy. But it was worth it."

"We got our break when someone thought to check if any of Donner's cohorts from his pre-political days had ever been involved in projects connected to the equipment used in these attacks," said Tiger, calmly moving up to Congreve's desk. Mesa remained at the door, very effectively blocking it. "At first that gave us bupkis. Only, someone remembered a guy named Frederick Nunnally asking a lot of questions about that power armor project. Then the armor went missing. Very suspicious. They looked for Nunnally, only he turned up inconveniently dead. Investigation of him found that a bunch of other stuff he had some connection with was also missing, including nearly a hundred million in funds. Someone managed to track some of those funds, and found they were part of what was paying for this place."

"Yeah, there was some pretty creative financing going on there," said Mesa, scowling. "Fortunately, the good guys also have some folks who are good at tracking stuff like that. Though, really, you couldn't have gotten better facilities for a hundred million?"

"Of course," said Tiger, "that was mostly circumstantial, and while folks were investigating they weren't acting, yet. What changed that was the tetrodotoxin your guy had in that autoinjector. It's the same stuff used on Justice Dagger, or whatever he's calling himself this week. Investigators - super and norm - were already closing in on the source of that. Once we spread word the same stuff had been used somewhere else, they moved on the supplier and captured his records. Which led us directly to this charming place. Hence, the raid."

Tiger leaned over the desk, grinning, causing the man seated behind it to reflexively pull back.

"Nearly all of that was accomplished by non-super, ordinary federal investigators, trying to figure out what happened to a bunch of equipment and money, and despite severe budget cuts. Coincidence? I think not!"

Congreve was baffled by that odd non sequitur. However, if these idiots wanted to waste time talking nonsense while his security forces mobilized to stop two powerful supers, that was fine with him. He stalled, waiting on his rescue.

"You have nothing on me or the feds would be here. Somehow you sneaked into my office without alerting anyone, but that won't last. You'll be under arrest for trespassing on federal land in a few minutes."

"The feds are here, handling the roundup of the other personnel and securing the property," said Tiger, casually. "The whole base has been seized. They asked several of us supers along in case you had any more super-class surprises. When they realized what was here they realized they were short handed for actually taking a military base, even one last officially used in World War II. Mesa and I volunteered to handle you."

"Yeah," said Mesa, grinning nastily. "We can't actually arrest you for a federal crime, but we can keep you here if you try anything. So, please... try something."

Congreve didn't believe him but by now knew something was wrong with Security. He suddenly drew a portable neutralizer from the holster attached inside his desk's footwell and shone its sickly green light on Tiger and Mesa. His triumphant snarl vanished when Tiger quickly took the bulky weapon from him and tore it to pieces.

"Idiot..."

Tiger quickly and deftly yanked the man out of his seat, laid him over his desk and zip-tied him. The supernatural creature turned in time to help the drooping Mesa into a chair, then used his com to tell the federal law enforcement officers conducting the operation that he'd had to restrain Congreve for assault. They said they'd send someone as soon as they could.

Moments later a pair of Deputy Marshals hurried in.

"That's him," the senior of the pair said, nodding, as he lifted Congreve's head and looked carefully at his face. "He had a neutralizer?"

"That's what's left of it," said Tiger, casually, from where he was checking Mesa. The big super was by now groggily insisting he was all right.

"Next time try to leave the evidence intact."

"I'm a federal employee, the man in charge of this installation!" yelled Congreve, finally regaining his voice. "You are all here illegally! This is a secure installation, and you must have authorization from the Secretary of Defense to even enter these grounds!"

"That's funny," said one of the Deputy Marshals. "Our boss checked with the SoD this morning, and he'd never heard of you or your facility. This is supposed to be a nature preserve."

The two men hauled the protesting Congreve away, leaving the supers.

"Too bad neither of us has super speed," said Tiger, when Mesa had recovered a bit more. He sighed and grimaced. "I am sincerely sorry about that. It never occurred to me that he'd have a neutralizer right at hand. I saw him reaching for something, but figured it'd be a handgun, which wouldn't do more than inconvenience either of us."

"So did you mean him or you when you said 'Idiot'?"

"Me," said Tiger, with another sigh. He gave his friend a sloppy smile. "Well, both. I do get too cocky sometimes."

"Talk about cocky, did he not know that wouldn't work on supernaturals?!" said Mesa, already almost back to normal, thanks to the very brief exposure. "Or did he not know you're one?"

"I think part of the reason - maybe even the main part - is that people like that don't want to believe neutralizers aren't the complete super-stopper they want to have."

* * *

Several days after the arrest of Congreve there was a major conference between the Bureau of Special Resources and several supers not employed by them. Normally it would have been considered improper for a federal agency to share information in this way with those outside government employment. However, given that they were already asking reputable super teams and even a few individual supers to help make up for the shortfall from the budget cuts, Brade felt this sharing of information was only fair. Therefore, once a preliminary analysis of the material recovered from Congreve's organization had been performed she sent copies of the files to those groups and individuals via secure Internet connection. A few days after that, she organized this virtual meeting.

"I hope you've all had time to review the information," Brade said as she opened the conference.

At each location in the conference someone confirmed this.

"Our own people have already begun a review of what the Marshals Service recovered. I believe Doro would like to make a preliminary statement on the matter."

"The super activation program was only about a quarter of what they were doing, and nearly all of it was illegal," said Doro, obviously outraged. "However, that was the most blatantly harmful part of it. They, themselves, documented multiple incidents where they assaulted people just to try and stimulate their powers! None of those attempts were successful, several people were injured, and three died, with over five million dollars in property damage! Yet their records - including comments and observations - show no sign of remorse of even a reconsideration of their actions, and they kept complete records! I can't believe this guy thought he was helping the US with his actions!"

"We all need to keep in mind that many fringe groups see the post-war situation - especially with all the budget cuts - as an opportunity to further their goals," said Brade. "I've seen it before. They'll make use of the lower degree of monitoring by various government agencies due to distractions in the post-war environment and lower funding more recently to make off with dangerous equipment, to train more openly, to act more openly. They know they're right, so they have no qualms about breaking laws or hurting people. It's all justified in their minds. I'm just sorry it took us so long to connect what were previously seen as isolated anti-super attacks."

"I have seen this phenomenon, as well," said the Black Mask, over the video conference rig. He swept his gaze around all the holographically represented faces in the Intrepids' new council room. "Be on your guard!"

"I just wish the Super Liaison office hadn't been one of the casualties of the budget cuts," said Converse, with a sigh. "This would be so much easier if someone close to him could get the President's attention!"

"Definitely," said Brade. "Anyway, here's what we've learned which isn't in that report."

* * *

"It's confirmed that Oscar Congreve really is Frederick Nunnally," said Steel Lace, at a briefing of the Bay Area Guardians the day after the video conference. Her green-colored, flexible power armor had been through many changes over the past thirty years, but the reason for her nome de guerre was still obvious. "Officially deceased for several years. Besides what we already knew about, we now know he also improperly attacked several valid special interest groups while accusing them of being extremists, and improperly supported some actual extremist groups. Yet Donner - who presumably was aware of all this - persuaded some friends of his in Homeland Security to put Nunnally in charge of several black projects, several years before the recent election. Then, after Nunnally had been revealed as a criminal, his death was faked and he was set up with a new identity, presumably also with Donner's help. Whether all this was intended to support some illegal effort Donner planned for later or was just him helping a friend is unknown."

"Donner is looking more and more like the power behind the throne," said Cumulous, scowling.

"Maybe," said NightMist, frowning. She leaned forward a bit, resting her forearms on the table. "Or maybe his true goal is to manipulate things so that public opinion turns so strongly against Gibbons that he resigns, and Donner takes over legally. Or - perhaps - he is counting on generating enough outrage to cause someone to assassinate the President, or Donner will have him killed in a way which is presented as an assassination."

"That would still be an assassination," said Tiger. "As well as a coup."

"Whatever is going on at the White House these days, it's going to take a lot more than what we currently have to bring either the President or Vice-President down," said the Collator.

"Agreed," said Steel Lace, after a moment. "Our information connecting Donner to these acts is mostly circumstantial. I don't recommend any individual super or super team actively try to gather evidence against Donner, but we should keep his apparent role in mind and share anything suspicious we uncover."

"That would be two traitorous Veeps in a row," said Aura, scowling.

"Gibbons could still be the actual brain in this," said the Collator.

"All the more reason to keep what we know as secret as we can," said Steel Lace, sternly. "In all likelihood, whoever is behind these events will lay low for a while, after the recent scandals. We need to be patient."

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Fifteen

Former Presidents did not receive the same level of protection as acting Presidents, though they were far from unguarded. Even with the post-war cutbacks Livia Sievers felt she had little to worry about as she sat in the office of her home, working on her correspondence. In fact, she was so unconcerned - and so caught up in reading an interesting letter - that when her maid entered with the afternoon tea Sievers didn't even look up, but simply gestured for her to put it on her large desk. She was caught completely by surprise when the hood dropped over her head and the several thousand volts shot through her body.

Limp and unresisting, vision, hearing and scent cut off, she was loaded onto the draped bottom of the tea cart and hustled from her study. She was off the property before the security guards could even notice there was a problem.

* * *

She was never completely unconscious. However, between the stun gun and the sensory isolation from that stuffy bag Sievers was not actually, fully aware during the trip. She was lifted by two or three people - probably male - from the tea cart and dumped into the back of some large vehicle. As it drove away - in what seemed like a normal fashion - she was searched then thoroughly bound.

She could occasionally hear people talking, but between distance, the noise of her ride and the hood couldn't make out any details.

What seemed like long hours later the vehicle stopped. She was lifted out and carried inside some structure. After a trip with several turns she was dumped on what she quickly realized was a bed. Her bonds were removed and the hood whipped off. She had a confused image of several people hurrying away, one of them wearing a maid's uniform. One stayed behind.

"Irving Frankel," said Sievers, startled. "Gibbons' new White House chief aide."

He smirked.

"Welcome to your home for the next few days."

Sievers was astounded. The few times she had met the man - all of them before his current job - he had seemed a bit twitchy and nervous as well as self-effacing. Timid. That he would be involved in this... Was all that an act, or had something driven him to this in spite of those characteristics?

"I can't believe you came here yourself," said Sievers. "There goes plausible deniability. Which means your 'few days' is a lie. You wouldn't have shown your face if you planned to leave me alive."

That realization gave Sievers a chill, but she refused to show it. She had faced down Shilmek warriors and mad scientists, as well as supervillain attacks. She had also stood her ground negotiating with a superhuman alien queen. This was nothing, barely anything out of the daily routine from her time as President.

"I had to take care of this myself!" said Frankel, so angry he was almost shouting. "Too many people were disobeying me, refusing to do what I told them; or else doing what I told them and getting it wrong! I had to make sure they got you and not one of your doubles!"

"Doubles?!" said Sievers, now more confused than anything. She shook her head. "So why kidnap me instead of killing me? Did you just want to gloat before getting rid of me?"

"We're not going to kill you," said Frankel, still angry but giving her a cold smile. "We'll let you loose in a few days, dosed to the eyeballs with psychotropic drugs and ranting incoherently, to take the blame. You'll be so discredited by then that no-one will believe your accusations against me."

"Blame for what!?"

"With you in prison that'll take the heat off the President!" said Frankel, triumphantly. He didn't seem to be listening. Or maybe just wasn't fully understanding.

"Just how is that supposed to work?" said Sievers, outraged. "I haven't even been charged with anything, much less tried and convicted! This also isn't a prison! Just a secure room in a government safehouse!"

"Who cares about all that? You're away from your contacts and the press. We can blame you for anything - Everything! - and no-one will contradict us!"

"You know, if Gibbons had just backed off a bit and bided his time, he could have gotten away with anything," said Sievers, calmly, trying a different approach. "However, each time things haven't gone his way - each time his more fanatical supporters have been frustrated in their actions and ambitions - you've doubled down."

"That smug idiot Gibbons doesn't even know what we do to help him consolidate his power! We're protecting the sanctity of the office, after finally getting it back in proper hands!"

Okay, that was an interesting and potentially useful bit of information. If she were ever in a position to use it.

"He doesn't know how the sausage is made! He's just our figurehead! But we have to keep him in power to keep us in power! So we can get this country back on track!"

"Okay. Even if Gibbons isn't implicated in this, you're doing it in his name. You've - stretching the metaphor a bit, I admit - now so overextended your credit to cover your risks that even if you somehow won this gambit, no-one will ever back you again. Because the payout for this is trivial compared to what you're betting on it."

"Oh, I am so going to rub your nose in that in a few weeks!" Frankel sneered. "Yeah. That's all we need to turn this around. You'll see!"

He turned and stormed out. The spring latch very distinctly locked behind him. Then the deadbolt was locked manually, presumably by the very large man Sievers glimpsed standing guard out there. There were only keyholes on this side.

Sievers wandered around the two rooms of her prison, checking her options. No windows. No landline phone, though she found a wall jack for one. The President remembered something from a Secret Service briefing about being able to attract attention by shorting phone wires, but she didn't even have a paper clip.

Okay, what had they left on her person? She had no cell phone, or any of her possessions, actually, except her clothing. Even her shoes were gone. The ceiling was solid, as was the floor. The only visible exit was blocked by a metal-clad security door. There was a full bath, but it lacked even an exhaust vent. It looked like the only way out of this was by magic.

Sievers stepped into the center of the main room and waited for a slow count to ten. Not because that was necessary for what she was about to do; simply to make herself ready for the hoped-for result. She then took a deep breath and spoke, in a loud, clear voice.

"To right this wrong with blinding speed!"

There was a pause of several seconds. Then several minutes. She began to wonder if it had failed. She reminded herself that even the person she was calling needed time to respond. She thought about sitting down to wait, but decided to give it a bit longer. Suddenly, a green blur zipped in through a wall and solidified into a tall, lean man in running clothes and bycocket cap, all in green; a man with long, green hair, green eyes and pointed ears.

"Madame President," said the Prince of Speed, smiling as he doffed his cap and used it to perform a sweeping bow.

"I'm surprised that still worked," said Sievers, hugely relieved.

"Well, when I set that up after the war was over I put a lot of mojo into it," said the Prince of Speed, his smile turning into a boyish grin. "It should last for at least another couple of years. Meanwhile, let's get you out of here."

"I've never traveled at super speed before," said the former President, as the Prince picked her up.

"You could close your eyes."

"Are you kidding? I want to see this! Let's go!"

He laughed, and they went.

* * *

As it turned out, one reason His Highness needed time to respond to the summons was that after he received it he contacted the Bureau of Special Resources. A plan was quickly hatched, for the Prince to locate the source of the summons, retrieve Sievers and deliver her to a designated location, then make sure she was kept safe while the closest Bureau personnel traveled to the house where the kidnappers had taken her. They actually caught Irving Frankel and several others at the safehouse before anyone there knew Sievers was gone.

"That's impressive," said Sievers, once she was able to speak to Brade over a video link from the Bureau office the Prince had taken her to.

"You were noticed missing pretty quickly," said the huge super. "We were already looking for you when we got the call from His Highness."

"Did they find my maid?" said Sievers, concerned. "Is she all right?"

"Yes. They searched the whole property after they noticed you were gone, and found her unconscious in a closet. She's expected to make a full recovery. Anyway, the BSR was one of the agencies notified and we were already on full alert when His Highness contacted us."

She laughed.

"Ironically, the closest Bureau facility to the location where they were holding you was one of the few we were keeping open after the cutbacks. It was actually overstaffed, due to having personnel and equipment from closed offices moved there. So we had plenty of people and gear to throw at that safehouse."

"Well, there are many people I need to thank for this rescue whom I haven't seen yet," said Sievers. "However, I think they'll excuse me if I tell the press about this first!"

* * *

The news of the kidnapping and the involvement of a member of President Gibbons' personal staff in that operation hit the news fast and hard. The President - the current one - immediately declared a press conference, confidently announcing that the supposedly arrested Irving Frankel would be there at his side. Then he rescheduled it. Then he cancelled it. Rumors raged, including inside the White House, when Frankel could simply not be found. Even his own personal assistant claimed that the last she knew, he was in his office working on a special project.

Word spread that Gibbons had lost his famed cool and was literally ranting as he stormed around the Oval Office, demanding answers no-one had. It didn't help that his Vice President was late to the gathering the President ordered. He'd sent his regrets, first claiming that he was busy with urgent business, then that security measures required him to participate via video conference. That was true, though not strictly adhered to by Gibbons and his people. During the delay Gibbons ordered the conference moved to the situation room because of the better video conferencing equipment there. Soon, though, it became obvious that Donner would not be appearing even by video. The White House staff wasn't even sure where he was. Neither was Donner's own staff; when queried - first by increasingly high ranked White House staff members, then by Gibbons himself - they eventually responded that when the news came in he had quickly made several phone calls. Then he had departed with his personal security team - not his Secret Service men and women, as required by regulation - with an announcement he was on his way to the White House. This shortly before he called Gibbons with his apologies that he couldn't make the press conference. His whereabouts were currently unknown.

"I wonder who Gibbons will nominate for the new Vice President?" mused Tiger, smiling at all the fuss. "His new chief aide was certainly a hit."

* * *

The Secret Keeper was doing some ranting of his own. Alvin Montgomery's carefully scheduled plan had gone off the rails so quickly and thoroughly he was still giving orders under the assumption all was proceeding as planned for over an hour after Sievers' rescue. In fact, it was one of his contacts who - rather timidly - asked why they were going ahead with the planned release of disinformation when the subject had already given a press conference revealing the plan!

A quick and frantic check by Montgomery revealed that not only was the captured former President now free, but all those involved in her kidnapping had themselves been captured! He sat back, stunned, with a vague and confused thought that he was glad this was happening on a weekend, when he could work to salvage his efforts to save the nation from the privacy of his home.

Montgomery shook his head, and began cancelling the releases of information incriminating Sievers in various plots and plans. She had preempted that program by stating that those behind her kidnapping had planned to do this, which meant doing so now would only support her claims!

What he would do about Donner he still didn't know. Montgomery had been counting on him as his highest-ranking insider. The man should have stayed and bluffed it out! By fleeing like this he had ruined any option for continuing his important role in the current administration. Instead, now even Montgomery didn't know where he was! All he could do was run damage control, which included heading off leads to his operatives who were connected to Donner and Frankel.

Finally, exhausted, he sat back, wondering exactly what had happened. None of his operatives outside of those who had been in on the plot - and who were now all unreachable, for one reason or another - had even known Sievers was missing before her press announcement. Even her own Secret Service staff had only just started looking for her when the Bureau of Special Resources suddenly announced they had rescued her! Montgomery simply had no information on how she had escaped.

Finally, he stirred.

This was a setback - a major one, since it meant the loss of Frankel and Donner - but he still had many other schemes in progress. He would prevail.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Sixteen

The caller ID told me who was behind the ring. I sighed, considered not answering, then sighed again and picked up the receiver.

"I assume you're not calling about the latest political mess," I said. I was glad Sievers was safe, and feeling rather afraid about what those who had ordered her seized might do next. However, Fen would say that was all fugitive and outside our mission purview, and we needed to focus on our own, longer-term tasks.

"The which, now? Oh, right... Sorry, I've been both busy and distracted with more important matters."

Not quite what I'd just imagined her saying, but close.

"Are we ready?"

"We have to be. There's a mystically important time approaching in under a week. If we're not ready by then we'll have to wait nearly a year."

"What happened to the long term?"

An ominous growl came over the line, and I figured I better stop joking.

"Well, I'll go pack."

"Lawrence Hawthorne I know you," said Fen. I could almost hear her toothy grin. "You've been packed for days, occasionally repacking when you think of something."

"So, I'll grab my bags and get there as soon as I can," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Be here - at the theater - bright and early tomorrow," said Fen, pointedly. "I've already reserved a hopper from the Bay Area Guardians and filed a flight plan for that airport you found. If you aren't here, we'll come looking for you!"

That last was obviously meant as a joke. I had no doubts, however, that she would feel no reluctance to land on the roof of my building if I were late.

Getting the permits and permissions to dig on Oak Island had been vastly more difficult than anticipated. However, all that was done, in the name of a small corporation I had established. This entire operation was all legal and above board; others had been doing the same for decades, with varying degrees of success in their efforts. Most of the funding for our effort had come from Fen, though I had spent some of my own money as well. I had managed to keep this dig out of the press except for a few bland notices which led then to briefly report that yet another group of fools were about to waste millions digging on Oak Island.

The place had been used as a base and rest stop and depository by smugglers and pirates for centuries. Most of what they put there had either been retrieved by them later, or found by treasure hunters who didn't advertise their success. However, for more than a century there had been rumors - most completely unsupported - that there was far more on that island. Perhaps even long-lost ancient holy relics. I didn't know whether what we sought counted as holy, but I had on good authority that it was, indeed, ancient.

* * *

The next morning I pulled my Corvette into the garage at the back of the old theater. Dutch closed the roll-up door behind me, then came over for a greeting and to help with my luggage.

"Would you believe this is the first time I've parked in here?" I remarked, as we hauled my barely fitting suitcases out of the 'Vette's minuscule trunk and put them in Fen's full-sized van. I grinned. "Also, have you ever noticed the trend of small people buying the largest road vehicles they can?"

"Yes, to both," said Dutch, grinning. He paused in his loading and tipped his head to one side, gaze momentarily distant. "Fen says she'll be down in a minute."

Dutch was a telepath, which was how he and Fen had connected, back in the Thirties. He'd needed help as a young man learning to control his ability. So, it wasn't uncommon for them to communicate mentally at a distance.

Fen did, indeed, soon join us. She insisted on driving. Which I had figured, since the pedal extensions were already installed.

In minutes we were at the Bay Area Guardians' reserved section of an airport outside of town. There we parked in the hangar and began transferring our gear to the assigned hopper.

"Something else I've never done before," I muttered.

"Pardon?" said Dutch.

"I've seen these before, including up close. I've even ridden in other types of superhero team vehicles, including flying ones. This will be my first ride in a hopper."

"You know Fen got her license from Orville Wright, back in the late Teens, right?"

"You are filling me brim full with confidence."

"Well, if it would help, I could take the controls," said Dutch, innocently. "I got my license in 1939."

"I hate you," I said, mildly, as he closed and latched the door to the cargo compartment.

"Let's go, people!" said Fen, from the cockpit. "We're burning daylight, and we're already four time zones too far west!"

"I still don't understand why you didn't start this from your Kentucky home," I said, in a stage mutter, as the engines started.

"You, Dutch and I were already here," she shouted, to be heard over the rapidly rising noise.

* * *

We landed the hopper at a private airport a couple of towns over from our destination. The owner was an former mask who had guaranteed privacy. We rented a full-sized van from a nearby agency and set out, with Dutch driving. Once we reached the island I was put in charge of getting the equipment to where Fen wanted it and then set up to dig. I'm no engineer, but I know how to tell experts what is needed and let them decide how to do it.

Fen, meanwhile, arranged for the covert transportation of some of her kin to the island. I wasn't certain exactly how they got there or even why they were there. When I asked about the former Fen ignored me. When I asked about the later she sighed and said "Just in case."

A small amount of heavy construction equipment was moved across the causeway and along a rough trail to a clearing near the target location. The main rig - the one which would dig the actual hole - was a gadgeteer development based on studying equipment the Subterrans had used to excavate their underground tunnels and habitats, all those thousands of years ago, to escape the ice age. That was the most important piece of equipment. Below a certain level the ground here was full of both tunnels and natural caves, all flooded. This gadget would quickly dig down as far as needed, sealing the walls as it went.

With that underway I looked for Fen and Dutch. He and I would be staying on the island in a locally rented camper van; Fen said she would stay with her kin, in the woods. I soon found Dutch and the van, and together we looked for Fen and her cousins. They were somewhere away from both our construction crew and the few locals who lived on the island.

"We really need more people for this," I muttered, as I tramped through the woods with Dutch. "You, me, Fen and a few of her Bluegrass Elf friends, plus the construction crew is it."

"Too bad the Walrus couldn't make it," said Dutch

"He's too busy training the new Victoria."

"You keep up with that stuff a lot more than I do."

"Out of sheer survival necessity."

Fen and her cousins were sitting around a small clearing, chatting. I had never seen so many pointed ears in one place before. As Dutch and I entered several of the little people there waved. Fen rose and walked to us, demonstrating that she was, indeed, taller than most Bluegrass Elves.

"We have a preliminary location. To narrow it down I need to check alone. Well, without any other psychics present. Too much interference for delicate work with more than one doing the search. Dutch can come, if he keeps his distance."

"Just try to keep me away," he responded, enthusiastically.

Okay, I now knew that one reason for her kin to be here was to help find whatever it was we were supposed to retrieve. They had apparently lined up and walked a grid in the hours I needed to get the equipment on the island.

The three of us donned day packs - Fen's the same size and weight as the other two - and set out down the newly bushwhacked trail. We soon reached the area the elves had picked out.

I watched Fen center herself. With arms slightly out, palms down, she began walking around the woods. She was slowed by the necessity of diverting around the many trees here. This land had never been excavated, according to the best information I had. However, it had been cleared a couple of times, most recently in the Sixties. That was enough of an interval for some sizable trees to grow up here.

"No dowsing rod?" I asked.

"Those are for amateurs," she said, in a scornful tone.

I had to smile at that.

Dutch and I watched her for over an hour, occasionally placing stakes where she indicated. Finally, she had it narrowed down to a tiny area.

"It's directly under here."

We marked the spot, and I looked at the surrounding woods.

"They'll have to 'doze in a new access road. Don't know how long that will take."

"Sooner started, sooner finished."

* * *

As it turned out, we managed to get the new path made and the digger thingy in place just barely before dark. The next morning the operators made a final check, and started it working.

The custom gadget was both fast and thorough. A built-in pump at the bottom of the digging part kept the small amount of water which did leak in promptly removed. Down and down it went, as the spoils pile grew. At the end of the first day of digging Fen announced that we were actually over half way to the target.

She was the only obvious non-human the workers saw; her cousins kept out of sight. Given the reaction of the workers to just her, I figure that was a reasonable precaution.

Shortly after lunch the second day of vertical burrowing the digger hit something solid. That in itself was not unusual; there were both rocks and chunks of metal from previous excavations - some of them undocumented - all through the area. Even though this particular area had never been dug - supposedly - we kept hitting rocks of various sizes. This, though, was a large piece of hard stone, flat and horizontal. The rig was stopped, and the foreman sent a couple of men in bosun's chairs to the bottom.

"That's not native rock," he said, after they examined the obstruction and reported back. "It's also been worked. Smoothed and fitted."

"This might be the lid to a buried chamber," I guessed

They had actually taken a video camera down. At one point, one of the men stamped his foot experimentally. The stone was too thick to tell if there was a hollow below from the sound.

We briefed Fen, showing her the video on a laptop screen. She made a show of considering what the next action should be.

"I think my partners and I need to discuss this," said Fen, finally. "Take off work early. We'll get back to you tomorrow."

Naturally, once they'd left Fen's kin hurried over, carrying hand tools. They didn't need the bosun's chairs. Five of them simply levitated down to the flat stone.

Within half an hour they had what turned out to be a stone-lined vault open. It was full of water, which immediately started rising in the caisson. Fortunately, the pump had been left on automatic. Working by feel in the dark, brackish water the elves wrapped ropes around... something. This was then hauled back to the surface. While the rest of us clustered around what turned out to be an old - very old - crate those in the hole did another check in the vault, then resealed it and dressed the bottom of the pit back the way it had been. When the crew came back the next day they would find things apparently just as they had left them. We'd have them crack open the vault and discover it empty. I would then reluctantly close down the operation.

Meanwhile, Fen was acting like a pre-teen human tearing into a Christmas present. Soggy wood and water went flying as she worked, causing most of us to step back.

"How do you stop her when she gets like this?" I asked, hands raised protectively.

"Hey, I just smile, nod, step back and hope there's not too much spatter," said Dutch, smirking.

"That sounds about right," I said, nodding.

Inside the huge chest was a grey box.

"Look," said Fen, pointing with a claw-tipped finger. "Wrapped in lead sheeting, with the seams soldiered. All hand work."

We heaved the box out of the waterlogged chest and set it down where we could get a good look at it.

"Hundreds of archeologists are rolling in their graves, right now," I said, breathing a bit heavily from the exertion.

After a quick examination of the second box the elves took pity on me and joined together to use the telekinesis some of them - Fen included - possessed to put it on a heavy work table.

We used shears to carefully cut the lead open enough that we could start peeling. Inside was another sturdy box, a chest, this one also of wood. Impressively, it was bone dry. As Fen examined this, I glanced over at the remains of the outer box. I made a mental note to have a sample carbon dated, just to satisfy my own curiosity.

With some effort we pried the heavy chest open. Inside was yet another box, also of wood, but much older. Vastly older. This one was not of normal construction. In fact, there was no obvious way to open it; it appeared to be a solid block of some hardwood. Except it was light enough to reveal it must be at least half hollow. Somehow, though, I knew it could be opened... that it wanted to be opened.

"What... is that?!" said Dutch, quietly, after a moment.

"The Ancient Egyptians called it..."

Here she spoke a short phrase in a language I didn't understand.

"According to my grandfather that's a corruption of the Atlantean..." and she said something which sounded vaguely similar. "Modern mystics who are aware of it generally refer to it as 'The Thing.'"

"Uh..." I said, brilliantly.

Dutch grinned and began singing.

"Get out of here with that," he thumped the table with an irregular, three-beat rhythm, "before I call a cop!"

"Okay, I remember that song, now," I said, grinning.

Several of the elves began singing the song, partly in celebration. Also partly to annoy their cousin.

"I wish I didn't," muttered Fen, glaring at the singers. "Okay, we need to get this back to Los Angeles, stat."

"We're not going to open it?" I said, disappointed.

"Not here. This Thing requires a carefully controlled setting. The Bay Area Guardians are setting up a facility at one of their auxiliary buildings for preparation. We've already organized several mystics to provide help. Even Dr. Piano will be there. When we're ready we'll move The Thing from there to the site."

* * *

"What are you doing?" said Dutch, when he saw me writing something at the table in our camper van that evening.

"Just updating my journal."

"You still doing that, Larry?"

"Yeah. You can blame Mack Risk. He persuaded me to keep a record of both my personal life and our adventures as detectives, 'way back in 1940. He said I had a talent for writing."

Dutch picked up the plastic bags with the samples I had taken from the crate and chest. He glanced at the labels I had written and nodded, then put them back on the table.

"You ought to publish those," said Dutch, as I finished and closed the notebook.

I paused, looked back at him and smiled.

"What makes you think I haven't?"

I exited the camper while he was trying to decide whether he should pursue the matter. You can't really ask for a better straight line than that.

* * *

I hadn't been in the Bay Area Guardians' base since that first affair with Gaunt. I had never been in this particular room, before. Aura - the team's mystic - was there, as were Fen and a few others I knew vaguely, including Dr. Piano. There were also some folks I didn't know. I was a bit annoyed when no introductions were made. Especially since they needed me to legally do what they wanted to do. Something which had caught everyone - me included - by surprise late the day before, thanks to "need to know."

I had only learned that I wasn't finished with all this magical stuff when someone thought to check on how to access the land where they planned to perform the ceremony. Turned out Fen hadn't asked and I hadn't known to tell her that I was the one to talk to about that. Ah, well...

"Glad to see you made it!" said Dutch, cheerfully shaking my hand.

He had been sitting in a folding chair at a folding table near the front of the storeroom when I entered. He'd almost jumped to his feet when he saw me. I guessed that he was bored.

"I still don't know exactly what they plan to do," I said, once I retrieved my hand. At his gesture I sat on one of the other folding chairs. He sat, too, and we leaned towards each other across that somewhat flimsy table, speaking in low tones.

"I know, but only vaguely. They will use what's in the box and some powerful enchantments to place regulators on the flow of ectothere. That's..."

"The basic substance of magic," I said, nodding.

"Yeah," he said, nodding in reply. "They can't stop or remove magic, but that will make it harder to use. That in turn will greatly reduce the chance of success for the sorts of actions which cause incursions and make those harder to happen."

I glanced at the organized chaos taking place inside a portable pavilion which had been erected in the center of the large storeroom. I noticed Aura heading towards us.

"Any idea when they'll be ready?"

"Tomorrow," said Dutch, also watching the gorgeous mystic approach. "They need to be at the site by mid-morning at the latest. They've already arranged transportation for all those who will actually be taking part."

"I won't be," said Aura, looking disappointed, as she joined Dutch and me. "I'm one of those who know what is happening who will be charged with monitoring the world situation to watch for problems, instead of participating."

"Ah," I said, nodding as if I had expected this. I turned back to Dutch. "I'll make certain to be there early, then."

"Well, you've got the keys," said Dutch, reasonably. He grinned. "Just be glad Fen agreed to put you up for the night. She's a great cook."

* * *

Eve hind sat back from reading the message, smiling in fierce satisfaction. She was at her bungalow on Pine Island - she rarely left the island these days but definitely made use of both modern and not so modern methods to keep in touch with the rest of the world - in her study, at her oversized desk. The message had been hand delivered just minutes before, and came from a detective agency she had hired years before.

"Found him," said Eve, quietly but triumphantly.

The man behind the plot to have Harvey Thurlin elected President - who had somehow tricked her into helping with that - had been located and named.

Now, she could have her revenge.

Masks XVIII

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Seventeen

Once again, I was the outsider protecting magical types as they worked on something so esoteric they couldn't adequately describe it to me. I had thought I would be left out of this stage - Fen had even told me after Oak Island that my part was over - but multiple factors had conspired to change that situation. Not least of them the location they had picked. It turned out that Fen hadn't known who now owned the land where they wanted to perform their spell.

"This is the first time I have been on these grounds," I announced, looking around. The grass was already tall and the lot as a whole starting to look wild. There were even some saplings rising enthusiastically towards the sky. "Unlike my other recent firsts, I could have gone the rest of my hopefully long life without breaking that streak."

I had only seen this property from the outside, before now. Most recently from the top of a nearby hill, late at night. At least this time we had a nice, sunny day for the work. That didn't change the fact that my empathy was going crazy, telling me many bad things about my surroundings.

The land where the "Local Gozer Worship Center" had stood had been taken over by first the feds, then the state, then the city. None of them actually wanted it. It had been declared a hazmat site, even though tests showed no chemical or nuclear contamination. People who worked on the reclamation kept getting sick, though. This reaction was declared psychosomatic, even by the magical types called in to investigate. Though I suspect they meant something different by that term.

"I thought you'd be interested in visiting here," said Dr. Piano, puzzled. "After all, it was through your machinations that Gaunt's plans were derailed and the location of his supposed triumph wrecked."

"Don't say that out loud!" I said, cringing. "It wasn't anything like that direct! I just let a few people know that Gaunt had bought this property and I didn't know what he planned to do with it."

Though that alone had been enough to mobilize a number of magical types in the region - many of whom normally would cross busy streets to avoid each other - to cooperate on Gaunt's downfall.

"My apologies," said Piano, with a slight bow of his head.

"Besides that possibly inaccurate assessment," said Fen, giving a toothy grin (with those fangs of hers, it's hard for her to grin any other way), "being someone already aware of the situation who is not themselves a mage of any type means you're ideally suited to defend the rest of us as we work."

"You folks do tend to get distracted," I noted.

"Beyond that," said Sharma, "there is the potential of purely mystical attack or possibly backlash. Things which would not affect an insensitive such as yourself."

Well, that was comforting. Maybe.

Those of us present - mages and their mundane guardians - began hauling equipment from the odd assortment of vehicles we had used to travel here. Prime among that was a plain, wooden box, which was only handled by Fen. Something the mystics treated as a great treasure. Some of the boxes were promptly opened, but not that one. Clothing, braziers, stands for those and much other equipment was pulled out and arranged. At least I knew we had proper permission to be here, and to perform this rite. All I had to do was stop at the office of the real estate agent who handled things for me locally to get the key.

The property now belonged to me. It had sort-of belonged to me before I traded those documents to Gaunt; though that was possession only in the sense that I had information which could be used to bring question to the legitimacy of the Wold claim to ownership. The Wold family - which had lost the property first to Gaunt then to the Feds - had tried repeatedly to get it back, but so far had been unsuccessful. That was due less to any effort on my part than to them still reeling from the loss of the previous patriarch and the top two contenders for that position before Louis Carstairs took over. Only for him to be killed and then revealed as one of the Five Great Powers. All those losses of leadership had left both the family and the business conglomerate disorganized, and missing important information. They also found themselves owing debts - monetary and other - which Carstairs had taken on as part of the Five's unsuccessful bid for world control. Then their main building and the land it was on had been acquired by Gaunt through mechanisms legal, financial and mystical - causing further confusion and loss of information - only to be imploded into another dimension within weeks. Not long after that, many of the Wold family's other properties - and individual members - had been adversely affected by the war. Even that huge, wealthy, influential tribe was having trouble regaining their former position in the world after all that.

While they hadn't actually given up trying to get this particular location back, they were currently focusing on keeping some of their other properties which were under various, immediate threats. I figured by the time they turned their attention back to this land they were very likely to figure "Eh, it's not worth it." Especially considering what was about to take place here. That family had a history of avoiding conflict with powerful mages, and there were thirteen here, apparently doing my bidding. Something completely unplanned by me. Sometimes you just get lucky.

I had purchased the land - from the city of San Francisco, at a bargain price - mainly to keep it out of the hands of anyone who might misuse it. Including the Wolds. The location was still a "magical nexus" (whatever that meant). At the time I hadn't expected that my ownership would make access for this operation ridiculously easy. Since it was also suitable in other ways - not least due to having been used for whatever it was Gaunt tried to do - this must be the place.

In fact, from what the mystics were able to explain, Gaunt's activities were what pushed things over the edge, magically. He had apparently created some sort of portal to bring in extradimensional allies or perhaps mercenaries. That alone would have opened the floodgates for magic in the world. The mystics who had foiled this had inverted the portal, actually driving all the magic in that building - along with the building - the other way. (They claimed they hadn't intended that operation to be so thorough. I tend to believe them.) That loss of magic just wasn't enough to stop what had already been triggered. Something they needed a while to realize.

The thirteen members of the magical community present for the operation wandered around the fresh sod which had been carefully laid over the fill which had been brought in to replace the hole left by the removal of the building. They muttered to themselves and each other, in several languages, none of which were currently in use by non-mages. I looked at the other guards - all non-magical but either empowered in some way or very skilled - and we collectively shrugged.

As if choreographed, when Noon - local, not by the clock -approached the mystics - of three genders and four species - placed that box we had retrieved from Oak Island in a carefully chosen location and moved to form a perfect circle around it. I had been told earlier that this was as close to the center of the disturbance as they could get without a major excavation... which fortunately was not necessary. The location they chose wasn't exactly in the middle of the former building's footprint, but close. The actual site had likely been in a deep subbasement. Perhaps even in a well dug beneath that. At least, that's what I had gathered from the mystics and their assistants in the planning sessions for this event.

There was a secure fence around the property. The city had hoped to turn it into a park, but that plan had fallen through due to the "psychosomatic" effect. So they fenced it in. I got the fence as part of the deal. However, the fence only impeded access, not the view. Our activities had gathered spectators around that fence, people watching us. Many of them had cameras of various sorts. Some were professional news folk.

"I don't like this," I muttered, as I glanced at the gawkers. "I don't like it for what we're doing. I don't like it on a personal level."

"Don't worry," said Carl, one of the other protectors. "The whizzes put up a distortion field. Cameras and such will just see blurs."

"They should have put up a MYOB field," said Sally, another one.

I nodded, wishing I'd thought to suggest both of those things. Oh, well; live and learn. If I survived.

"I just noticed," I said, quietly, as the mages worked. I gestured at their circle. "There's six males, six females, and Mer."

"A perfect balance," agreed Sally, nodding.

I'd met her a couple of times before. She was a gorgeous, mid-level physical super - a soft brick in the parlance of masks - who hired herself out as a bodyguard. She normally did celebrity security, but was currently working for a dumpy-looking man I'd never heard of before today, but whom the other mages seemed to respect. I definitely found her attractive, but before this our encounters had been too brief - and too involved with business - for me to pursue anything further. Maybe this time would be different. From what my empathy was telling me, I thought she might feel the same. Or she might just be admiring the body I was wearing. Though similar to my base form, it was physically augmented as much as my powers could manage. Which meant I currently looked rather more striking even than usual.

Of course, right now we both needed to keep our minds on business.

We were all armed. I don't know about the others - well, some were carrying obvious non-firearm weapons, semi-legally - but I had a licensed handgun, concealed. My still nearly new 10mm. Plus a light sword Fen had loaned me, after determining that my occasional practice of various forms of blade fighting included such long weapons. It was presumably enchanted in one or more ways.

Dutch was also there, similarly armed. He was the only one of the guards whom I knew more than casually. I glanced over at him.

"Do you think there actually will be a need for us?"

"Probably not. But it's better to have us and not need us..."

He didn't finish the well-worn but appropriate quote, instead simply giving an expressive shrug.

Don't ask me what the mages did. Oh, I can describe some of the actual actions they performed. Sometimes they chanted. Sometimes they sang. Sometimes they danced. A few of them drew diagrams. On the ground and even on each other. But what they actually did remains a mystery. At least to me.

Some of the spectators left. More arrived. The number seemed about constant as the procedure continued. At least we hadn't attracted the attention of the authorities. So far. I was almost lulled into a fugue state, but knew I needed to stay alert. I literally shook myself, and began focusing. I started to think that maybe they would finish with no interruptions... except that they kept going on and on.

I was just starting to wonder if we guardians should take staggered restroom breaks when the attack finally came. Naturally, it was rather unexpected in method if not in occurrence. Their approach was blocked from our view by the onlookers around the fence. Our first indication that something was wrong was a disturbance in that crowd. Boldly, the attackers approached the main gate, the crowd parting uncertainly but quickly from their path.

The scene was so surreal that if all of us bodyguards hadn't all had plenty of experience with the surreal we might have doubted our own eyes. Figures in dark red robes approached in an angled formation, one man in the lead, six spreading out on each side behind him. That's right; another group of thirteen. Though this one didn't look as diverse as ours. They were all chanting in an almost musical fashion, but it sounded horrible.

"The Devil's Chords," said musician Dutch, ominously, "but they're not Jimi Hendrix."

When they reached the gate they simply kept walking, passing through the chain link and galvanized tube steel as if it weren't there. Only, once the thirteen of them passed through we could see that now much of the gate wasn't there.

I drew my 10mm, but hesitated. So far nothing they had done counted as an attack; only property damage and trespassing. A quick look around showed no other attackers, but I couldn't see the entire property from here. Our mages didn't even seem to notice the strangers coming straight for us. The guardians on the other side of them didn't seem to have noticed the intruders yet, either.

"There is a protective shell around them," said one of the other guardians. "Magical attacks - even from melee weapons - will be of greatly reduced effect. Purely physical attacks will be reduced somewhat but if potent enough should get through."

I nodded; I'd made the right choice going for the gun. Still, though, I could not legally shoot. If they simply kept walking my only choice was to stand firmly in their way and see what happened.

Maybe they didn't know that. Maybe they did but didn't care. All I know is that that the chanting suddenly rose in volume and speed, and the leader drew a sword from under his robes. He held it tip up, edge towards us. Specifically, towards me.

I had positioned myself just past the part of the curved driveway where the walk in front of the building which had formerly stood here now ended in fresh sod. Naturally, that sword seemed like it was meant for me, personally. I shivered, but stood my ground. However, not everyone on my side did.

Sally to my left and Carl to my right moved from their positions, out and then forward, swords of two different types in their hands. They moved ahead on either side of me, turning us into a receptive wedge of three to meet their approaching wedge of thirteen. They did not attack, but readied their weapons. The strangers did not change pace, but their chanting suddenly was punctuated with a shout. Sally and Carl were hurled away. I fired on the leader.

I saw the bullet slow and almost stop, its passage causing their magical protection to come partially into view. The jacketed hollowpoint smacked the leader squarely in the forehead. Not hard enough to kill or even seriously injure, but it rocked him, shaking his hood back. Now I had a clear view of his face, including the rapidly rising welt I had just caused. He was very, very angry with me.

I fired again, and again, and again, quickly, now, aiming for center of mass. Sally and Carl were back on their feet and charging. I heard more shooting, from Dutch's direction. None of the bullets did more than hurt them, but we were shooting quickly and each bullet wore away at that mystical barrier.

My slide locked back. I dropped the empty magazine and reloaded. Sally and Carl swung their blades and rebounded. Carl dropped his sword and drew a small automatic, probably a .380. Sally scowled and swung harder. Her strength was greater than human, and the blade obviously stronger than normal weapon steel. She was hurled back again, but her attack caused the second in line on her side to flinch, as that blade came uncomfortably close to her target before rebounding. The chanting of the intruders sounded desperate, now, but their pace was the same. The lead man - and that sword - was nearly within reach. I rapid fired, the bullets slowing less each time, hurting the man more.

Dutch had recharged his .357 with a speed loader. Between him, Carl and me with our guns and Sally with her strength and sword, something broke, almost like a giant balloon popping. They didn't last long after that.

* * *

Alvin Montgomery was incensed.

"You have nothing on me!" Montgomery yelled at the detective interviewing him. "I don't have any pornography of any kind in the cloud! I certainly don't have any child pornography anywhere! I'm not a pervert and I'm not stupid!"

A sudden chill came over him as he thought of something.

"Unless you planted some..."

They had come to his office, arrested him and hauled him away, right in front of everybody. That was bad enough; however, once he got to the station he learned that they were trying to get a warrant for his house! They took his keys during the booking. This meant that based on what someone - they wouldn't say who - had said, claiming he had placed child pornography online, once they got the warrant they could enter his house, invading his privacy, with ease! Naturally, passwords were needed to access anything on his computers normally, but with physical access to his equipment...!

"Let's stay on topic, please," said the detective, making a mental note to recommend a psychological evaluation. "You had some pretty impressive security on the material in your accounts."

Montgomery bit back on his outrage and decided to change tactics. He'd present them with the very image of a wrongly accused innocent citizen, someone who would cooperate with the police in a reasonable manner, in spite of his honest outrage.

"Well, yes," he said, obviously still irritated but sounding reasonable. "Any responsible person does, these days."

"Except you used security software from your job with the federal government for your online data storage accounts."

"Yes. On my home computers, too. When I saw how well it worked I decided to use it for all my personal stuff."

"Mr. Montgomery, these software packages and applications are not available for private use."

"Oh, I got it through my employee discount," said Montgomery, blandly.

Hallover looked him in the eye.

"There's no such thing. So, either you stole this from your work or somehow illegally obtained it from the supplier. So, even if the tip was wrong, we can hold you until we find out where you got this."

Montgomery scowled. This was trivial.

"I can't talk about that," he said quietly. "You can ask my boss about the use of office security software for people who occasionally work from home."

Hallover nodded. That actually sounded reasonable. Though he'd definitely have someone check with the man's boss as to whether that could be legally done, and whether it had been done in this case.

"So, when do I get out of here?" said Montgomery, hotly. "I have a lot to do."

"That's not up to me."

"Not up to you?! You're the one interrogating me!"

"I just report what I uncover. The District Attorney's Office makes the decisions."

"Another mindless drone," said Montgomery, tone scathing.

"I think we're done, here."

He called the guard, and the fuming Montgomery was taken back to his cell.
* * *
We stood there, panting, for a moment, looking at the fallen attackers. Most were still alive, some moaning in pain. The leader looked like an old piece of chicory root. He was even smoking, his sword a rusted wreck.

I quickly glanced around. Our mages were still busy, paying us no attention. There were no other signs of attack. I relaxed a bit, and switched to a fresh magazine.

Sally and Carl looked the worse for wear, especially Carl. However, they resumed their positions. We waited, standing guard. Eventually, we heard sirens in the distance. Bizarrely, most of the onlookers were still there, clustered around the fence, except for the main gate. I worried that police or even EMTs might try to interrupt the ceremony taking place behind me. However, shortly before I saw the first LEO approach the fence a glow from behind me began casting a strange shadow on the ground in front of me. I had no desire to look and see what was causing it.

When the cops did get there they took one look and backed away. Smart. I wished I could have joined them. A strange tension began making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Then all of my hair, like a classroom demonstration of static electricity. I held my ground. Then, slowly, about twenty minutes after the attack had been thwarted, the sensations and eerie light effects faded.

"There," said Dr. Piano. "Not so bad as we feared. Quite neat and quick, in fact."

I could have shot him.

"Where did they come from?" asked Sharma.

I finally glanced back. Everything looked exactly as it had before they started - though things definitely felt better. The box was again closed. I felt irritated I hadn't even gotten a glimpse of what was inside. Then decided maybe that was for the best.

The mages were all now registering the fact that we had been attacked, and the attackers felled.

"Any of you know these folks?" I asked, gesturing at the fallen, robed figures.

"Those are Myrenic Cultists!" gasped one of them, the pudgy guy Sally was there with. "They were wiped out!"

"Someone must have found some of their tomes," said Piano, ominously. "I always felt there were a few missing."

"Is it okay for me to let the cops and paramedics in?"

"Eh?" said Piano. He looked up and finally noticed the folks at the gate. "Oh; yes. Definitely. This area is now clear."

"Very clear," said Fen, beaming.

All of them looked insufferably pleased with themselves.

* * *

As it turned out, the DA's Office forwarded the case to the State Attorney General. Who called in the FBI. Who got a warrant to have Montgomery's computers seized. Over the next few days, as more and more suspicious activities on his part were uncovered, Montgomery was moved first to a state penitentiary, then to a high-security federal prison.

As Montgomery sat in his new cell, it dawned on him that in his desire for anonymity he had avoided applying any protections for his civilian ID through his authority as the Secret Keeper. Which meant that unless they gave him online access so he could send word that "Alvin Montgomery" was to be exonerated and protected from further investigation, he would be treated like any ordinary person in prison.

The psychological evaluations were the worst. At first he pretended to be an ordinary federal office worker caught up in a mistake. However, the psychiatrist had quickly determined he was concealing something. Gradually, she - Of course it was a woman! - had weaseled out of him that he was influential in behind-the-scenes politics. Then used that to declare him a paranoid with delusions of grandeur! Wasn't that just like a woman?! Let her in a bit, and she'd use the shared confidences to sabotage you!

Since that revelation he had completely refused to cooperate. Just let him get online, then he'd show them. Only, they had uncovered enough from what they had deciphered on his computer to now consider him a national security risk; they were not about to let him anywhere near a computer or even a cell phone with Internet access. He tried telling them he was protecting the nation, but they wouldn't listen! Meanwhile, he'd been forced to use a landline to contact an attorney. So far that man hadn't been much help.

So he waited, fuming.

Part Eighteen

"I'm not sure how seriously to take this," said Special Agent Sanders, concerned. "Either this guy is a raving lunatic, completely divorced from reality or he's the secret power behind one of the nation's major political parties! As well as at least two of its biggest political scandals!"

"Who says he can't be both?" said Special Agent Thompson, sourly. "Or that he's the only one? In either party?"

"Please leave your cynicism outside the office," said Special Agent in Charge Covington. "Focus on what we know about this case."

"Right," said Sanders. He looked down at his notes. "Well, we have enough on him to hold him without bail until trial. That trial will be spectacular, too, even if he does just turn out to be delusional."

"What, exactly, was he doing?"

"The biggest plan currently in the works was to support Gibbons - whom he saw as a moderate but easily deceived - in order to get Carl Donner in a position to execute a bunch of operations he - Montgomery - saw as essential to returning the US to its former greatness. As he saw it. Which largely means putting the world back as it was towards the end of the Cold War. If his records are accurate he previously tried going straight for the win with Thurlin, only to have that bomb because his Veep turned against him. Then he backed Sievers' opponent - twice - and lost completely - twice. This time Donner was to be Montgomery's man in the office, doing what Montgomery wanted to be done, with Gibbons kept in the dark. Gibbons was being set up to take the fall if Montgomery's machinations through Donner were uncovered, hopefully leaving Donner as the new President."

"That almost sounds reasonable," said Covington, frowning. "Well, if this were a third world dictatorship or eastern Europe in the Sixties."

The two agents spent nearly three hours going over what they had uncovered from Montgomery's computers and physical records with their boss.

"This... It's detailed enough that he obviously was keeping close track of not only what the general public knows about political affairs in the federal government over the past fifteen years, but an enormous amount of inside information," said Covington, when they finally finished. He sat for a moment, slowly shaking his head. "That includes stuff that's classified. Yeah. This is big. I'm going to make some calls."

"I just hope we can keep what this guy was doing quiet," said Sanders. "At least until the trial."

"Not much hope of that, I'm afraid," said Thompson. "We arrested this guy at his office, which is a federal workplace. The news hounds are already sniffing for a scandal."

"Just do what you can," said Covington.

* * *

Again, the desire for a scoop and the temptation to be the one who provided it overcame the secrecy measures employed by the feds. Within two days of the meeting multiple news outlets had multiple versions of what Montgomery had done, though few came close to the truth in facts or evaluation of potential impact. Within a few more days there were enough additional leaks and official press releases and comparing of notes that the basic framework of the story was available.

Gibbons' tactic at this revelation was to smugly proclaim that this proved he had nothing to do with any of the scandals. Ignoring that he had been a patsy in the operation.

In the main room of a certain defunct bakery these events were definitely a topic of discussion.

"Wow. There's sure a lot of red faces - more from angrily shouting denials than embarrassment - among politicians these days," said Gadgetive, as she madly channel surfed. "Everybody is denying being affected by outside influence. They're even claiming PACs don't impact their decisions. Then having to explain why they changed their position on something after a donation."

"What gets me," said Energia, scowling, "is the ones saying that letters, e-mails and even phone calls from voters don't affect their decisions."

Tricorne was again together for the Summer when the news broke. Though all three members tried to leave politics out of their heroing operation, some things were inevitable.

"Looks like both sides were involved," said Blue Impact. "Turns out Montgomery was collecting info on others who were doing the same thing to the various political parties as him. None of them were as extensively involved as he was, but it was there. Some were even working the same party he was, though none were pushing it in exactly the direction he wanted."

"Do you think this might bring about reform?" said Energia, obviously doubtful.

"For a while," said her teacher. She shook her head and gave a wry grin. "Folks who think this is something new or unusual aren't paying attention. There have always been those who were the 'hidden power behind the throne' or wanted to be. Probably always will be such people. That's why we have to keep checking these things."

"What I don't understand is the folks in power who are still supporting Gibbons - most of whom were also Thurlin supporters, and may still be - and denying that this Montgomery guy had any influence on them or those they supported," said Gadgetive, getting back to her point. "Despite the evidence of how he even redirected their funding and organizational activities in ways they didn't even know about!"

"I just wish they could find Donner," said Energia, with a gusty sigh. "Of course, if they do he'll take a lot of the heat away from Gibbons."

"Eve Hind is certainly feeling smug lately," said Blue Impact. "She'd been hoping to get back at whoever it was who maneuvered her into supporting Thurlin for those few, early years of his political rise. She was disappointed that it wasn't some vast conspiracy. Just a half-vast clever idiot with delusions of grandeur.

"The really sad part is that Montgomery was only responsible for part of the lies and distortions. A significant part, but only a part. He even complained - in the journal he kept about his covert activities, and in person once he realized he wasn't escaping punishment, accusing others of the same crimes he committed - about others interfering with his work. He didn't know who most of them were and they seemed completely unaware of him, but he was certain there was some group deliberately working against his project. The data they're getting from his logs is helping the investigators find some of those others."

"Well, all that still won't get rid of Gibbons," said Energia, irritated. She threw her arms wide in aggravation. "He's refused to accept responsibility for, well, anything."

She settled down a bit, though she was still scowling.

"Truthfully, all he's done is trash talk and make 'jokes.' You might get him on inciting violence, I guess, but that's unlikely. As Gibbons himself has said, it fails the Reasonable Man test; no reasonable, rational person could misconstrue his 'jokes' as serious orders. Nothing he's actually done is impeachable. Also, there's so much resistance to his more outrageous ideas that even most of the folks in his own party aren't supporting them. So we will likely have to live with him for at least the next three and a half years."

"At least the housecleaning these events forced on him have resulted in competent, responsible people being installed in a lot of the positions which previously went to Montgomery's choices," said Blue Impact. She grimaced. "Mostly."

* * *

Of course, not everyone was paying much attention to the scandal. At least, not all the time. Some people were actively busy trying to help others. Some of them worked for the Bureau of Special Resources.

"Whoever did this guy's - formerly gal's - previous powers evaluation was an idiot," said Dr. Timberlake, sourly, as he gave his weekly report to Brade and Doro. "He's an odd type of probability manipulator. I suspect that on some level she either wanted to be a man or was envious of males."

"Umph," said Brade, frowning. "Well, does it look like he wants to turn back, now that we know how the change happened?"

"No. He's... satisfied. Interestingly, learning how to control his powers went a long way towards correcting the neurochemical imbalance causing his mild, recurring depression. The researchers are joyously predicting several award-winning papers being written once they figure that one out."

"I recall that he was cleared to return to work," said Doro. "Does it look like there any legal or social consequences to that?"

"No. We managed to keep quiet that he was causing the storms. The meteorologists never knew it was him and haven't told anyone but us that the storms had a single person causing them."

"Good," said Brade, nodding. "With luck, this guy will be able to live out his life normally. Except for maybe helping with the occasional weather emergency."

* * *

Getting the legal complications involved with our operation at the old Wold property settled took longer than the actual operation and fight had. Much longer. The fact that witnesses uniformly testified that we were peacefully holding our "religious ritual" and the cultists forced their way onto private property and attacked us should have made it a clear case of self defense. However, the fact that half of us were armed - even though technically legally - engendered significant suspicion. The fact that the cops couldn't figure out how to open that one box didn't help. Fen's raft of attorneys plus my own and those of some of the other participants had to organize a unified assault on the District Attorney's office to even get bail.

After conferring with each other, speaking in a language at least as exotic as what the mages had used for their spell, the defense attorneys petitioned for a summary judgement as soon as possible. Largely because several of the people involved were not locals and needed to be elsewhere immediately. The DA's office was so used to people - innocent or guilty - asking for delays and extensions they weren't quite sure what to do about this. Mention of the guarantee to speedy trial further confused them. Once mention of magic came out, however, there was a collective silence for about three hours... then abruptly all charges against us were dropped. It's like they suddenly wanted to be rid of the lot of us.

Fortunately, they decided to continue holding the surviving cultists.

"Just how did you arrange that?" I asked Fen, giving her an accusing look.

"Wasn't me," she said. "I didn't even want magic mentioned."

We - that is, the entire bunch of us, mages and defenders - were in Fen's loft over her theater in downtown San Francisco. This was the first time I had ever seen the roomy place crowded; Fen isn't one for parties. I glanced warily at the mages and their guards; some of them were obviously envious of Fen's art collection, which among other items included original work by several famous cartoonists from a century earlier. One page even included a rendering of Fen, as some sort of leader of a fantasy werewolf pack. Oddly, the art was getting more attention than her 1938 Nobel Prize.

"Me," said Dutch, raising a hand. "I knew that all the magical activity in that park lately had both the state and city politicians spooked. They had just gotten things quiet and managed to placate the fundies of all stripes who were demanding the land be exorcised. They didn't want to start that up again."

I nodded in sudden understanding. Given the conflicting demands from self-proclaimed representatives of multiple different religions - some of which didn't even officially exist - of course the city and state would want to avoid bringing attention to that property again.

"So, that land is safe, now?" I said, hopefully.

"Oh, definitely," said Dr. Piano, who had wandered over to learn what we were discussing. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"I dunno... I have a lot of my funds tied up in that," I said, making a show of rubbing my chin and looking uncertain. "I might need a while to decide."

"You're going to leave it fallow, aren't you?" said Fen, laughing. "Just leave it, and every time the city makes a fuss hint that you might have a buyer but can't reveal the details. When they ask you what happened to the sale, sadly say nothing came of it. From now on."

"Hey, what's the use of having an indefinite life ahead of you if you don't make long-term plans?" I asked, innocently. "It helps that the Wolds already had it zoned for basically whatever they wanted to do."

"You just want an excuse to have a private bit of wild land on the outskirts of a major city," said Dutch, grinning.

"Maybe," I said, smiling.

Even Dr. Piano laughed.

* * *

"We now know the source of the Black Virus," said Lady Carver, back on Pine Island specifically to deliver information which officially didn't exist from the UN. "An illegal black project, as I understand you people already suspected."

"I'm surprised the Gibbons administration admitted this," said Eve. "Even in private to UN officials."

"They're... embarrassed. They knew nothing about the program. Of course, neither did anyone in the Sievers administration. According to the records from Montgomery's computer, during Sievers' first term a group of rogue officials decided they needed unconventional weapons, for reasons making sense only to themselves. They covertly organized several programs to develop them, ostensibly for the deterrent effect. Though how something kept secret even from one's own president can deter enemies wasn't explained. These programs were conducted with people sworn to secrecy using diverted funds and kept hidden from all elected officials. Then those who organized this mess started falling by the wayside, for multiple reasons. The program which produced the Black Virus was one of the last to fall, and none went to completion."

"Yet the Black Virus exists," said Template, angrily.

"What Congreve - well, Nunnally - acquired was the rushed final effort of the program's director, to try and justify it. It was not by any means intended as a finished product, but rather a preliminary article intended only for further testing; a starting point."

"Damn," said Dr. Dunning, paling. "No wonder it was so... indiscriminate."

"I have made certain that the information on how this organism was created has been destroyed," said Lady Carver, flatly. "In fact, that and several similar operations have been performed by the Gibbons administration and verified by the UN. Once you destroy your samples there will be no more Black Virus."

Left unsaid was the fact that there would be no negotiation of that act. Given how much the school depended on UN support, the virus would be destroyed.

"At least we can be sure, now, that the Black Virus didn't get out, and likely won't," said Eve, nodding.

"What about our vaccine and the notes made on the virus?" said Template.

"Those can't be used to recreate it," said Dr. Dunning. "We only have sketches of the RNA; and even if we had a complete map that alone wouldn't tell anyone how to make it. That would require a major research program."

"Good riddance," said Eve.

* * *

"I am very glad we're through with that mess," said Brade, with a tired sigh. "Well, for the time being. There will likely be repercussions for months. The actual situation seems to be on the mend, though."

She sighed again, and stretched.

"I hate politics and I really hate political corruption, and worse than all that is political opportunism taking advantage of indifference."

"Well, here's something to cleanse the palate," said Converse, handing Brade a report. "Summing up, there's a major hurricane moving towards Texas. They'll likely need super help, and we should start organizing now."

"All right," said Brade, with a slight smile. "I'll have Doro get on it immediately."

She scratched her head and yawned.

"Let's just hope it isn't too bad."

* * *

Later that evening - after Lady Carver had observed Dr. Dunning's sample of the virus thoroughly destroyed, thanked all those involved and left - Eve came across Template sitting on her favorite rocky outcrop, staring out at the ocean.

"You seem thoughtful," said Eve. "Perhaps even unsettled. Are you dissatisfied with this resolution of the Black Virus matter?"

"Oh, no," said Template, with an uncomfortable laugh. "I'm... actually a bit embarrassed to admit something. That I didn't get to engage in the cathartic violence you predicted."

"Well, I think that, just this once, you should be satisfied without that," said Eve, amused.

"Amen to that."

* * *

Sorry this is a bit late. I finally went to the doctor yesterday for a persistent tendonitis in my right elbow. Partly because of that I was able to sleep over ten hours last night and am feeling much better. Of course, that means I got up late, despite frequent complaints from my calico. :-)

This is the end of Masks 18. I have already started on Masks 19 (a murder mystery/detective story) but think I will try to write another Freddy on the Loose to tie up the loose end in that series first.

I hoped to start posting this the day after Christmas. However, it proved longer and more complicated than anticipated.

BTW, I already have a few notes on Masks XX. :-)

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

As usual, I was the first one active in the morning. For someone who was physically superhuman, Sally was a real slug-a-bed. Even after actually waking up she liked to lay in bed, dozing and occasionally rolling over. Making dramatic moans in protest of the coming of day. I had breakfast ready by the time she staggered into my apartment's kitchen. I suspect the aromas were what finally roused her. She entered, stopped, and stared at me blankly for a long moment, then winced.

"Right. You wanted to cuddle."

"Actually, you wanted to cuddle," I smirked.

The plates were already on the table; I was putting the cooking gear in the sink when she entered. We were both dressed in panties and long-sleeved blouses. Though I filled mine out better.

"I have never done that," she said, as she sat at the kitchen table. I took a moment to note that after only a few days habits were already setting in; she had her favorite seat picked out. "Not in college. Not even as a kid at slumber parties. I think you just have a perverted idea of what goes on between two women who happen to be in bed together."

"Maybe," I admitted, with a grin. I shrugged, well aware of the effect the material sliding across my generous bosom was producing. "There are simply times I like being a woman."

"You've probably spent more of your life as a woman than I have," she said, suspiciously, as I sat across from her.

"My dear," I said, smirking, "I've probably fucked more guys than you have."

"That's... weird," Sally said, digging in. Refreshingly, she didn't seem particularly bothered by that revelation.

"You knew my history was as weird as I am going into this relationship."

"Fair enough," she said. I'd learned by now that her saying this meant she'd had enough of a topic.

We ate in silence for a while.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" I said, finally, as we finished.

"Ask you what?"

"What the difference is?"

"I worked with a shapeshifter before. They bragged that it's the variety that's important. While insisting they always be referred to in the plural."

"That's true," I said, nodding. "About the variety, I mean."

"I do have a question, though."

"Shoot."

"How can you change your hair like that? Hair is dead tissue."

"Same way I change my fingernails," I said, wiggling my digits. "Same way my teeth change, even though enamel is also dead tissue. Same way I change my mass."

"In other words, you don't know."

"Nope."

I laughed and went back to my meal.

"I'm just glad the Montgomery cleanup is still going on," she muttered, a few moments later.

"Don't you wish it was all over with?" I said, curious. "That's the attitude of most people. So they don't have to pay attention to their purported leaders again. Get back to their own interests without that unpleasant distraction."

"Yeah, if it were actually over with. I thought they'd find a way to shuffle it over to one side and just go on like always. Instead, they're moving slowly, but it's going ahead, and they're being thorough about it. Lots of people being investigated for undue influence on political parties, new security measures are in place... Hopefully we can have a least mostly fair politics for a while."

"I hate to disillusion you," I said, gathering some omelet on my fork, "but 'fair politics' is an oxymoron. While this farce is nearly over, there's plenty more going on. It just part of human nature."

She finished - eating much more than I had in a bit less time - got up and headed to the sink. Fortunately, by now I had a good idea of her appetite... and appetites. After a moment I joined her with my own dishes. I thought about playfully bumping hips with her but decided she might take it wrong. Besides, just then, the phone rang. I dumped my dishes and headed for the kitchen extension. I just caught Sally's amused smile and rolling of the eyes as I grabbed on the handset. Yes, it's an old-fashioned landline, wall-mounted phone, with corded receiver, an actual rotary dial and analog-to-digital converter. Most of my phones are modern cordless units, but I happen to like this one and keep it in the kitchen wherever I live. It was made in an age when phones were intended to be pretty much eternal and indestructible. It had even survived the brothel fire, and still smelled faintly of smoke. It also had the best sound quality of any of my phones.

I was surprised when I saw the caller ID on the converter display. I even thought about not answering. Then, with a sigh, I lifted the handset.

"Yes."

"This is Brade, head of the Bureau of Special Resources," said the deep-voiced woman. "I wish to speak with Lawrence Hawthorne."

"Speaking."

There was the slightest pause. Followed by a tired sigh.

"Larry, we have a situation and I need you to look into it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You may have heard about a super attack on a board meeting..."

"Sorry. Been busy and not keeping up with the news."

"Could you please change back to your base form?" she said, icily. "This is disconcerting."

I sighed and shifted. Thanks to my magic ring my clothes still fit properly, though they were now definitely too feminine for the normal me.

"Done."

"Okay. The news accounts say it was a rogue super who killed several influential businessmen in Seattle then herself. What they haven't released yet is that the supposed attacker is Doro, and she's still alive. Barely."

"Wait. That sweet kid who lost her husband in that big attack on the Shilmek?"

"Yeah. I know she didn't do it. Thing is, while the Bureau has hired an attorney for her, we don't have an office in Seattle. Also, if this is a setup whoever is behind it is likely watching us, so any investigation the Bureau or probably any other government agency conducts will be known and probably interfered with. We are, of course, investigating, but we want someone independent to check as well."

"I'm not a licensed detective."

"No, but you know more about detective work than 90% of licensed detectives. If you want I'll put you on payroll as a consultant, but I'd rather arrange that later. Right now I don't want any connection between the Bureau and you."

"Money isn't a problem," I noted, beginning to feel outraged. I didn't know her well, but Doro had a good rep and had been through Hell the past few years. She might be a mask but by all accounts she was one of the better ones, and certainly didn't deserve this. "I also have some non-bureau help I can call on. Send the particulars to my private e-mail account and I'll get right on it."

She confirmed the e-mail address and rung off.

"What?" said Sally.

"How'd you like a job?" I said. "Safeguarding me while I investigate an anti-governmental conspiracy?"

"Uh..."

"Well, I don't know if it's directly against the government. It's definitely against a federal agent."

I gave her the brief as we walked to my study. Once I had the computer booted I opened my e-mail client. Among several other messages, there was Brade's. It wasn't even the latest. I saved the attachment she sent, then started printing it.

"Wow," said Sally, as she saw the details. "Someone really did a number on those poor guys. As well as Doro."

"Five will get you fifteen it was all done with weapons, rather than super fists and feet," I said. "The autopsy will show that, if so. Something most people don't realize."

We made some general plans. Then I looked down at myself.

"Guess I better put on something more appropriate."

"Can we have a little more fun, first?" said Sally, tracing the line of my jaw with a fingertip.

"I suppose we can work that in," I replied, grinning.

* * *

"I can't believe you're a woman, again."

She spoke in a low voice as we walked through the Reno–Tahoe International Airport.

"It's a disguise," I replied, also quietly. "Lawrence Hawthorne is a known associate of several people from the Bureau. Lorraine isn't."

"Why a woman, though?" she persisted.

"Are you mad 'cause I'm built better than you?" I asked, teasing.

"I think you just like making me uncomfortable."

"Or maybe I'm just making sure you keep your mind on my safety, instead of my cock."

"You're the one who keeps thinking about - or with - your cock," she muttered, irritated. "Even when you don't have one."

I smirked.

"As a woman, you should know - and you have definitely demonstrated - that a cock is not necessary to have a libido."

I had contacted some folks I knew in the SeaTac area on the QT, not even mentioning I would be coming there. Then I made the plane and hotel reservations in my Lorraine Hawthorne ID. While connecting my base self or the Bureau with this trip by a pair of women was possible, it would not be easy. I'd also most likely be notified if someone came sniffing around these preparations.

For this trip Sally Driscoll was Sandy Hawthorne, Lorraine's niece. I had no trouble keeping to the role of aunt, and Sally certain didn't reveal any relationship more intimate than that in her behavior. I was actually appreciating "Sandy's" solid sexual identity for this trip, since that greatly helped with this pretense.

We checked in at the gate and confirmed the arrival time.

"We've got over an hour," I said, airily, as Lorraine would. "Want to try my frequent flyer club?"

That she did. We both sat in cool, quiet comfort, snacking and drinking and chatting. Given her superhuman metabolism and my regeneration, neither of us was feeling more than a bit relaxed from a fairly substantial amount of alcohol when we finally boarded. The flight was uneventful and even pleasant.

"I think I like your life," said "Sandy" almost purring as she stretched out her legs and settled into the well-padded seat.

"Always fly first class," I said, also enjoying myself as I settled in for the short flight. We were both tall for women, and enjoying this minor luxury. "The extra room alone is worth it."

* * *

I had a reserved a double business suite at a nice hotel. There were two bedrooms, each with a sizable bathroom, plus a central area with two desks, a large-screen TV, and a wet bar with refrigerator and small stove. We also had smaller TVs in each bedroom. After putting my clothes away I briefly tried out the bed and found that it definitely met my approval.

I had kept to my "Aunt Lorraine" role the whole flight, then at the SeaTac airport, on the cab ride to the hotel, during check-in and even as we unpacked, cleaned up and got ready to go out. Much to Sandy's disappointment. She'd wanted a little post-flight coitus.

"Sorry. Business before pleasure."

"Speaking of business, where's that big gun of yours?"

"Back home, in the gun safe," I told her, flatly. "Washington State does not recognize Nevada's concealed carry."

"You mean you're defenseless?" said Sally, startled.

"Not at all. I have my wits and my powers and you."

"Oh." She sighed, possibly due to previous experience with weapons regulations. Her next words seemed to confirm that suspicion. "I packed my sword, but know to leave it here unless I really need it. So, are going to the scene of the crime?"

"No. Our first move - the first several, in fact - will be to check with others to see what they already know. That will let us avoid at least some duplication of effort and possibly point us in the right direction. Also, if our investigation finds something different from what they tell us that could be a clue."

I shrugged.

"Although the clue might just be that someone was incompetent."

"Right," she said, nodding.

She had a professional attitude when on the job or receiving instructions. I suspected she wanted to move out of the celebrity bodyguard profession and into something more proactive. She'd certainly shown interest in both Mack Risk and my own, less extensive, investigations during her short time with me. Sally was particularly receptive to advice on practical security measures. Speaking of which...

"Make sure you turn off your computer, your tablet, anything with information on it which you're leaving here," I told her. "Don't count on the screen saver."

"Roger."

* * *

We took a taxi to a department store, walked through the store - though with stops, some planned, some "Oooohhh, doesn't that look nice..." on both our parts - then out the other side and down the block to a bus stop. This much I had plotted out ahead of time, downloading maps and schedules for the Seattle bus system and printing them while still at home.

A short bus ride later and we were in a rather less upscale part of town. Though one where we were still not out of place.

"Keep an eye out," I said as we turned down a surprisingly clean and tidy alley.

Under my supervision she quickly made some changes in her clothing and hair which altered her appearance enough to confuse most observers. Then I changed to my base form, my clothing changing with me, but into something very different from my usual style.

"You look a bit like a pimp," said Sally, smirking.

"The clothes change isn't a miracle," I said, paraphrasing John Love, who had given me the ring. I hadn't explained how my clothing changed with my form and while she had remarked on that ability Sally hadn't pursued the matter. She apparently considered that part and parcel of the ability which let me change my hair and nails. "Actually, for our disguise that impression is appropriate."

"Eeewww..."

"Don't worry; no experienced john would actually mistake me for a pimp," I said, tone reassuring. "Nor you for a hooker."

She muttered something which might have been "They better not."

"Well, we fit in like this. That's the important part."

The other end of the alley let out into an area a bit shadier than the one we had left, though one which was still not low class. Definitely not. I consulted the map I had printed before leaving my home near Reno and we quickly found the address. This was a small office building, with businesses on both the ground floor and the second. The latter was what we wanted, and I led us to the access for the stairway.

I pushed the button on the intercom set into the wall beside the locked door.

"Yeah?"

"Larry Hawthorne to see Silvio."

There was a slight pause.

"Come on up."

There was a click and a buzz from the door. I opened it for Sally and we entered. On the other side was a steep, narrow set of stairs. No handrail; poor lighting; walls close on either side.

"Just who is this guy?" said Sally, quietly, as we climbed.

"Information broker. Mostly legit."

"Mostly?"

At the top of the stairs was a short hallway, clean and well lit. Three unlabelled doors were on the left side; on the right were restrooms. Straight ahead was a fancy, glass door with the names of the business' owners, in alphabetical order, last name and first initial only. The business itself was unnamed. I pushed through, then again held the door open for Sally.

"Larry!" came the clear, tenor greeting, in a midwestern twang with a trace of Hispanic accent. "Good to see you again!"

"Hello, Gordo," I said, using his nickname as I smiled and accepted his hearty handshake. "Yeah, since you moved up here we don't see much of each other."

He was about my height and very stocky, and much darker than my rather English complexion, looking to be vaguely forty to fifty in age. While he was a bit pudgy there was also muscle under there and anyone who underestimated either his physical or mental prowess would likely come to regret it.

"And who is this? Your client?"

"Would you believe she's my bodyguard?"

He laughed, but I knew he had quickly sized both of us up and likely spotted that she was very fit. Since he knew me, he most likely also suspected she was a physical super.

"Come on into my office and take a load off."

His office was nearly as big as my entire apartment back home. I figured he was the senior partner, since the room seemed to take up a good third of the upper floor of the building.

We chatted for a while, mainly gossip about what old friends and acquaintances and even enemies were up to, as well as the general state of Nevada, the US and the world. Soon enough, though, it was time to get down to business.

"I know you left Nevada due to the crackdown," I said, by way of redirecting conversation.

"I was already making preparations after your place burned," he replied, good mood gone. "There were other signs, but that..."

"I think someone in this area is trying to spark another crackdown." That brusqueness was partly to get to the topic I wanted and partly to get away from some very unpleasant memories.

"You mean the attack on Corporate Salvage," he said, nodding. "Yeah. Completely out of character for someone like Doro."

Her name had still not been officially released in connection to the crime, but I wasn't surprised he knew it.

"You got anything on that?"

He gave me a long, evaluating look. Then spared Sally another. He nodded.

"Yeah. Okay, one confirmed fact is that someone - as yet unidentified - tried to bribe the chief coroner for Seattle to falsify the report on the bodies. Someone - maybe the same someone - also tried to bribe the doctor in charge of Doro's case at the trauma center where spent the first couple of days after the event to say she'd done it to herself. Both men raised stinks, got called on the carpet by their bosses, then the bosses had to pull back when the situations were made public by some good newspaper reporting. Most of it by a guy named Ernest Chiodini. All of this is still just in the local news only, so far, with little reaching the attention of the larger media circles."

"What does that company do, anyway?"

"They buy up businesses in trouble," said Gordo, with a sour expression, "and salvage them. Fire the employees, then cash in all assets, sell off all properties. They use the money from that to pay the company's debts and pocket the rest. Which can be a substantial amount, but is rarely what the company is actually worth. Oh, and they usually find a way to cheat the former employees out of any company based retirement benefits."

"All of which generates profit for those involved in the looting of the company," I said, nodding, "but is bad for business as a whole in the area. Not to mention the working population."

I'd seen this before, unfortunately.

"That's the consensus. There are a lot of people who aren't sad to see that company take a hit."

He may have used that phrase deliberately.

"What has Doro said about her involvement?"

"That is being kept very secret," said Gordo. "Even her attorney has barely been able to talk to her. Of course, part of that silence is due to her injuries."

"Is she safe in the prison hospital?"

"Probably safer than in a public hospital," said Gordo, confidently. "They're used to protecting those in their care from attempts by other prisoners or people on the outside while the patients are helpless."

I nodded, sitting back a bit.

"Is her attorney legit?"

"I know people who have tried to... influence him and have not only failed but had him make trouble for them," said Gordo, with an amused smile.

I had the distinct feeling he knew better than to try and bribe or intimidate the man and got a warm, fuzzy feeling when someone less informed didn't.

We spoke for nearly an hour, but he'd given us the most firm information right at the beginning. The rest was inferences and guesswork. Except that he also gave us the contact info of the local reporter he had mentioned earlier.

"Thanks, Gordo," I said, rising. I extended my hand. "I owe you big time for this."

"You catch whoever did this and we're square," he said, gripping my hand almost uncomfortably firmly. "I don't need the sort of trouble this could bring."

"You got it."

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Two

"Do you trust him?" said Sally, once we were back out on the street.

"For this? Yes. It's in his best interest to find out who is making trouble in his town. Trouble which could cause him to lose clients and maybe even have to move again."

"So, he's a super?"

"I'm not really sure. I do know that he's been in this game since the late Forties at least."

She looked a bit surprised at this, but only a bit.

"Someone Mack Risk introduced you to?"

"Oh, yeah," I said with a fond smile.

"Say, uhm..."

"Yes?" I said, puzzled.

"I know we can't have sex at our fancy hotel but..."

"Okay, we'll find a hotel which rents rooms by the hour..."

"Ewww..."

"...and have a bit of fun."

"On second thought, a little celibacy is good for the soul."

I laughed.

* * *

We took a bus to the big Westlake Center mall downtown. Once at our destination I found a secluded spot and changed to my Henley R. Regatta identity. We got a room at a motel nearby before doing any actual shopping, though.

"Anything in particular you want?" I said, casually, as I locked the door.

She practically stripped me and herself at the same time. Which I found gratifying.

Afterwards we showered - yes, together - and dressed and left a big tip for the maid. We went on our way looking slightly rumpled but feeling much better.

We then proceeded to the nearby mall and had supper, then bought some clothes and other supplies. We paid cash for everything, including the room.

* * *

Once again back in our "aunt and niece" guises we boarded the monorail to travel to the stop closest to our hotel. From there we used a taxi to return to our double business suite, closing the door behind us just after dark. The route could have been quicker and more direct, but not only was I making backtracking us more difficult, I was teaching Sally how to get around a city without being tailed. We put our new belongings away - including some food and drink in the wet bar area - and I started for my bedroom to clean up.

"What is this?" said Sally, holding up a couple of items I'd bought while we were out. "You're kidding. A collar and leash?!"

"You know I can do some animals, right?" I said grabbing the door frame to stop and leaning back into the room. "On the off chance we need a bloodhound or guard dog..."

She just smirked and shook her head.

I was very glad to get out of that bra; Lorraine is a healthy gal and needs a lot of support. Even though the ring makes clothing fit perfectly, the style of bra I had picked - which was pretty much essential for the type of top I was wearing - had thin straps. Too thin. Once clean and more casually dressed in slacks, a comfortable bra and a long-sleeved T I went into the central area and settled down with my laptop to do some checking. Sandy, meanwhile, watched TV. I had already noticed that all three sets had IR headphones for private listening, which I greatly appreciated.

"Okay, looks like the news about Doro being the suspect finally broke outside this area," Sally said, a little later, taking her headphones off to talk to me. She suddenly noticed what I was wearing, and grinned. "Damn, you look good for your age."

I felt flattered, but knew she was speaking platonically, so focussed on her first topic.

"The problems with the investigation still haven't reached the major news agencies," I reported. "However, there's lots of rumors. Unfortunately, there are more about a coverup of 'a government agent' going rogue or acting as part of a federal attack on business than there are of her being set up."

"What would the motive be?" said Sally, coming over to my desk. "For someone setting her up, I mean."

"It could simply be someone trying to get revenge on Doro. However, I wouldn't bet that way. More likely, whoever is behind this had a reason to get rid of those businessmen and also had a grudge against Doro. Setting her up for the murders doesn't just get revenge on both them and her, but damages her reputation."

"Is that what you're checking? Who might want to get rid of those men?"

"In part," I said, nodding. I grinned at her. "I'll make a detective of you yet."

"So tomorrow we meet with her lawyer?" said Sally, barely stifling a yawn.

"That's the plan. Better get ready for bed. I'll be heading to mine, soon enough."

She gave me an affectionate peck on the forehead then sauntered off.

* * *

There was an interesting event the next morning which - probably - had nothing to do with our investigation: President Gibbons gave a speech. An unusually - for him - long and honest one. Basically, he apologized to the citizens of the United States. He confessed that he'd thought the presidency would be an easy post given how well things were going currently, and had expected to coast. That because of his relaxed management style "certain factions" had used his lack of oversight to suborn people he trusted, and thereby caused enormous damage to democracy in the US. He promised to knuckle down and do the job right from now on.

Yeah. We'll see. Anyway, it was time to get ready for our next outing. This time we used a combination of taxi, monorail and bus to reach our destination.

I was actually getting a little tired of all the subterfuge, but it was still a good idea if only on general principles. This was why I made the appointment with the attorney as Henley Regatta.

Brandon Shaw was a senior partner in a small but well respected local firm. Tall, slim, going a bit grey - which gave him a very dignified look - he was one of two in the company who specialized in criminal cases. Both were on retainer with local federal offices. He had been informed by Brade - indirectly - that Henley Regatta had her confidence and he and his assistant were there to help with the investigation. As we began talking in his very nice office he was a bit wary, at first. However, the fact that I asked smart, pertinent questions and made appropriate comments soon had him more relaxed.

"People who know Doro say she wouldn't have done this," I said. "I believe them. She was last seen entering her apartment. Then nothing until the Bureau was notified that she'd been involved in a multiple killing a day and a half later. So, there could be powers involved, or a neutralizer, or maybe just someone with anesthetic gas."

"I insisted on a blood test," said Shaw, scowling. "Had trouble getting it - had to threaten a court order which likely would have taken too long - but they eventually complied, though almost too late."

"So what did they find?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Pseudotetrodotoxin," he spat out. "Just traces left, but it's not a natural substance. Given the half life in her body, and using the time between when she was found and when she was tested, we know she must have been given a substantial dose some time before the murders. An amount likely just barely sublethal."

"Yeah. There's a lot of that stuff floating around recently, for some reason. Maybe because few powers give a defense against it once it's in the body."

"From what the doctors tell me," said Shaw, "it is also more likely to produce a coma without death than regular tetrodotoxin. Especially when administered by someone trained in its application. The good news is that if someone survives the poison they'll usually recover in a few days with no lasting effects. The medical report confirmed that she was not only unconscious but completely helpless for hours before, during and after the attack. That, plus her disappearance from her apartment pretty much cinched it, at least in my mind. The police originally claimed the injury was self-inflicted, but that went by the wayside pretty quickly once I challenged it."

"How was her injury made?"

"Short-barreled shotgun firing a deer slug." He pointed a finger at his own chin to show the angle. "Firing up and back from under the chin. Tore her mouth up pretty good, including the palate. It's mostly soft tissue damage, though her jaw was broken, right at the point. There are already people saying this incident justifies more gun control. Even though sawed-off shotguns - not to mention murder and attempted murder - are already illegal."

"Has anyone explained why someone physically superhuman who planned to kill several people with her bare hands would bring a shotgun?"

"The working hypothesis by the police was originally that she planned to kill herself with it after she finished. They haven't explained, yet, how there were no fingerprints on the weapon, even though Doro was in plain clothes with no gloves. I had to suggest - firmly - that they check the ammunition for fingerprints, too. No word on that, yet."

I shook my head, as well. Looking at Sally I saw she had an opinion similar to mine and that of the attorney.

"According to the medical report that slug did nearly kill her," Shaw noted, sadly. "Fortunately she's gotten tougher over the past few years. Unfortunately, while she heals quickly she doesn't have regeneration. Unless she can get time in a regeneration tank she'll have scars and need some crowns. Though she is expected to otherwise make a full recovery."

"Those are getting more common, too," I said, hopefully. "The tanks, I mean."

"I'm also having trouble with discovery. They keep putting me off. Especially on the initial autopsy reports. The city says the coroners haven't had time to finish, but in a major case like this they always bring in extra help and do a quick preliminary. I may actually have to get a court order for that."

"I suspect part of the problem is that the results aren't showing what the DA expects them to show," I said, dryly. "From my research, I know she's demonstrated some anti-super sentiments before. If the examination was showing that the injuries to the deceased were made with clubs instead of fists she may have told them to look again."

"You didn't hear that from me," said Shaw, with a slight smile.

"Really, that's pretty basic," I said, with a shrug. "It's also speculation, until you get the reports."

"Hmmm, yes," Shaw said, rubbing his chin. "I think I'll try harder to light a fire under them. I know a judge..."

"I think we're done for now, so we won't take any more of your time today," I said, with my own smile. I stood and offered my hand. "Thank you for meeting with us. I hope we'll be talking more soon."

He was already reaching for the phone as we walked out.

* * *

Another day passed with us making basic inquiries of several sources. We also did a reconnaissance of the building where the murders had taken place, openly as Lorraine and Sandy. It was a local hotel - not far from ours, deliberately - which frequently rented rooms for important business meetings. In this case, while all of the business involved in Corporate Salvage had local offices, the bosses had come to town for a personal get-together on neutral ground. They had obviously wanted to talk privately about something they considered very important. Unfortunately, I didn't have any details beyond that. However, while touring the facilities - on the pretense of wanting to rent rooms for a conference - I made several contacts and spotted multiple ways of potentially getting into the scene of the crime without detection.

"So, given that the room they chose was deliberately isolated, that made the attack easier," said Sally, when I pointed out that location. She shook her head as we walked towards a bus stop near the convention center hotel. "They didn't make any efforts to conceal their meeting or their presence in the city. I've worked security enough to know that if they had thought they might be in danger they - more likely, their own security people - would have taken better precautions."

"I suspect they either had no feeling they might be in physical danger, or simply assumed that hotel security would handle any problems."

"In which case their own security people should be fired." She frowned. "Or maybe they were in on it?"

"Probably not. Keep it in mind, but not as a priority."

Once back in our own hotel suite - yes, by a circuitous route - we began checking messages. I had one from Brandon Shaw which I immediately opened. He'd received the autopsy reports on the dead Corporate Salvage businessmen, but only after getting a judge to file a court order. He'd had to take that route due to the prosecutors stalling, obviously under orders, so he had the judge go straight to the coroner's office. However, the result was not a proper coroner's report; rather, it was more like a press release. A very dumbed-down press release. The injuries were all described vaguely enough that they could have been made by blunt objects or superhuman hands and feet. Much other expected information was simply omitted. Shaw closed by reporting that he went back to the same judge, showed her the report, and the woman had ordered independent autopsies.

"That's good news," said Sally. "Maybe the new ones will exonerate Doro."

"Hopefully, they'll at least incriminate someone else."
I was about to say more but was interrupted by a notice that a new message had arrived. Another e-mail from Shawl, marked Urgent! I opened it, started reading, and snarled.

"The bodies have disappeared from the morgue."

"Shit," was all Sally had to say.

* * *

The next day there was a press release from DA's office about the missing bodies. It made big news, not only national but to some extent international. This was partly due to the office making vague accusations that the theft of the bodies was due to other supers trying to cover up Doro's crimes.

We went back to Shaw's office that afternoon for an update.

"The new forensic pathology team I organized must work with copies of the notes and photos from the first autopsies," said the attorney. "The coroner's office sent me those as a consolation prize after the bodies went missing. I sent copies of those documents to each of the pathologists we've hired. They won't have to come here for the work, so it will actually be faster. If those documents are accurate and adequate."

"So much of that work depends on feel and even smell," I said, concerned. "I know experts can do a good job just from examining the work of others, but - at the risk of sounding ghoulish - we really need those bodies."

"They're almost literally turning the morgue upside down," said Shaw, looking and sounding tired. "It's possible someone simply put them in a safe place and went on vacation, but in all likelihood those bodies are already ashes. The next of kin are screaming."

"This looks like catch-up," said Sally. She usually played silent partner in these discussions, but when she did talk it was to ask or point out something the rest of us had missed. She did, indeed, have the makings of a good detective.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, and giving her an affectionate smile. "Someone who is smart but not used to committing crimes - at least of this type - keeps realizing they need to do something. Unfortunately, once they act they're doing these things very well."

"So... It's either someone clever who just isn't used to this type of crime but is learning fast," said Shaw, thoughtfully, "or they know to call in experts, but are only calling on them for specific tasks."

"Either of which fit someone unethical who felt the need to take things to another level with those vultures," I said, frowning. "Whatever the reason for that is."

* * *

"What's on the schedule today?" said Sally, after we returned to the room from breakfast the next morning.

"I'm not sure," I said, with a sigh, feeling tired already. "Frankly, I'm out of ideas. Well, for the moment."

I grinned at her.

"One of Mack Risk's favorite sayings was 'When in doubt, walk it out.' Which meant that you should keep working the scene and the witnesses. Do the legwork."

"That actually makes sense," she said, nodding.

We changed and headed out.

* * *

We checked street vendors. We checked the doormen of neighboring hotels. We checked security guards for all the businesses in the area around the convention center. That took all that day and a couple of hours the next morning. After deciding we'd covered all the available angles from that resource we headed back to our suite.

"You mentioned something about checking security cameras," said Sally, as we rode up in the otherwise empty elevator.

"That would likely take court orders or warrants," I said. I frowned. "Actually, I wish I'd thought to ask Shaw about that. I know the police got the videos from the convention center, but I don't know if they checked neighboring facilities."

Back in the suite I did a quick check of my e-mail, and found one marked Urgent! from Shaw. I shifted to Henley Regatta form and used my drop phone to call instead of responding to his message. His secretary was expecting my call and put me right through. I set my phone to conference mode and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch in the central room.

"Someone broke into the medical examiner's office last night," he said, without preamble. "Took off with the computers, the paper records and the sample jars."

"I can't say I'm surprised," I said. "Didn't they increase their security after the bodies went missing?"

"I don't know. Like you I just assumed they would, but after this..."

"I was going to call you anyway," I said, after he went silent. I mentioned my idea about checking the security videos from businesses around the convention center.

"The police actually already did that," he said. "They even checked with ATM cameras, and found who had been using the machines during that period and are interviewing them."

"That's more thorough than I expected."

"Anyway, I sent copies of all the digital files they sent me back to the coroner's office. Keep in mind that this is not for public release yet. I only know because the head of the medical examiner's office called to ask if I still had my copies. I did a quick check, confirmed that I did and sent them back."

"We got very lucky," I said, quietly. "If you hadn't received those copies so soon..."

"Tell me about it," said Shaw. "Of course, by the time the original materials - including the computer files - vanished, I'd already forwarded what I got to the three outside medical examiners. Which makes me wonder if whoever is behind this might be someone old enough that they don't how quick and easy it is to share information in digital form."

"That's less an effect of age than awareness," I said, frowning in thought. "Though, yeah, that sort of unawareness is more common in older folks. What I'm thinking, though, is that whoever is behind this is someone who may be aware of modern technology - and likely uses it - but isn't interested enough in it to understand how easy it makes backing things up."

"Some older businessman who was done wrong by the vultures?" said Sally, speculating aloud as she spoke for the first time. "Maybe a coconspirator they were about to turn on?"

"They weren't exactly secretive about when and where they were meeting," I said, frowning. "Though they were about what they were meeting for."

"We still don't know," said Shaw. "They didn't have a meeting schedule, they didn't keep minutes..."

We spoke for several more minutes, but none of us had anything more to say which was likely to be constructive. We each promised to keep the other notified of developments, and I ended the call.

Sally and I sat in silence for a moment.

"Damn..." was all I could manage, finally.

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Three

The next day the news of this latest problem with the case broke. Politicians of all stripes were making hay out of the evidence being missing. However, one in particular was very outspoken about this development.

"Talk about suspects," said Sally, pointing to the TV as a particular very well dressed middle-aged man came on, "there's one of the usual."

"Yeah, he's a politician," I said, shrugging. Solomon Harvek had run against Sievers in the primary before her first term. He'd given up on running for the office he'd held for several terms in order to make his bid, then lost to her by a large margin. No-one but him and his cronies was surprised; he'd been losing votes for years and probably would have lost his seat, anyway. "Don't tell me he's back on the campaign trail. Last I heard, he'd stopped trying for office and was content running things from behind the scenes."

"He's a major businessman with - get this - one of his most important offices in Seattle."

"None of which connects him to this case in any way," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but he made several fortunes after the war by winning bids on contracts connected with the reconstruction. Only after the boom some of those companies he supplied materials to got into trouble. Nothing major, but..."

"Let me guess," I said, smirking. "The vultures got some of them."

"Yeah."

"Still doesn't mean he did it. He is such a public figure that him being involved doesn't make sense."

"Weren't you the one who told me murder rarely makes sense to someone outside the case?"

"Uhm, yeah," I admitted. "Okay, he's on the list, but not a priority."

* * *

Most of our time the next few days was spent talking with people who knew the victims, as well as security and other personnel at the scene of the crime. They had been told by the cops not to talk about this, but didn't like the way that had been done. That resentment, combined with the natural desire to talk about scandal meant that most could be persuaded. I just had to figure out whether they were more likely to talk to press or private investigators. My empathy was a big help, there. As was my decades of experience. It helped that we could legitimately claim we were working for Doro's attorney. Private security were more likely to speak with someone like that, since they were well aware that they would likely be called on to testify in court. Meanwhile, low-level non-security staff would often open-up to a reporter off the record, while mid-level staff would speak on the record, though they'd say less. Upper management would only talk through their lawyers. However, they often let things slip in announcing they wouldn't say anything. They just could not be concise, but had to elaborate on why they weren't saying anything.

It turned out that pretty much nobody we talked to at the hotel liked Corporate Salvage or the businessmen in charge of it. Those men had earned multiple fortunes buying troubled businesses and selling off their assets to earn large sums in the short term instead of earning more in the long term by helping them recover. (I admit I don't understand all the financial details, which apparently involved tax laws that effectively gave them huge discounts for ruining those businesses.) Despite all of them being multi-millionaires they were poor tippers and skimped on amenities for their meeting. This after spending a large amount of money on the actual meeting facilities! They were all new money, likely originally from the upper middle class or lower upper class, rather than old money people. Those sorts would be more accustomed to displaying a sort of mildly condescending generosity by tipping well, and also to splurging on food and drink catered for the meeting. Neither did the murdered businessmen display the genuine willingness to help those less fortunate often demonstrated by new money folks who had worked their way up from further down. (Yes, I'm generalizing hugely, here.)

One important clue which no-one else seemed to have picked up on before our inquiry was that a rental van had been parked in the hotel garage in the visitor area just before the murders. The same van had left right after the crime. This was a full sized, commercial-style van, and the attendant on duty for the shift right before the murder remembered because the driver had requested a slot near the elevator. No explanation. The attendant didn't remember the license plate, but he did recall the rental company. Also, the only windows in the van were up front and in the rear doors, and the latter had been blacked out. He had the distinct impression there were several people in the van but he only saw the driver. Even more unusually, when the van left the driver gave the attendant a sizable tip. Something not normal for him to get, especially when had hadn't done much more than hand over a ticket, recommend a level where they would have access to the elevator, and take payment less than an hour later.

We returned to our suite that Thursday afternoon after a very productive, if very tiring, day.

"I am exhausted," said Sally, dropping onto one of the lounges in our business suite and removing her shoes. "I am also impressed. Just watching you work those people..."

"Partly powers," I said, a bit modestly, "partly skills learned from experts over decades."

"Well, we learned a lot about what was going on," she said, wincing as she alternately massaged her feet. I'd have offered but I learned early in our relationship I just didn't have the hand strength necessary. Of course, that also begged the question of why someone physically superhuman would have such problems from just standing and walking. "It seems like the more we learn about those guys who were killed the more people we find who would have liked to have done that to 'em."

"We need to hit that rental company tomorrow," I said. "Not only was that whole van operation suspicious, but the fact that the driver tipped the attendant might mean he's from out of town."

We settled into our already established evening routines; both of us handling personal matters online as well as checking various potential sources of information about the case. I also sent Shaw an e-mail with what we had uncovered about the van.

"Hah!" said Sally, a bit later, startling me as she pulled off her headphones and gave a triumphant grin.

"What?"

"They caught Carl Donner."

"Do tell," I said, rising and moving to where she was watching the news on the big TV. She turned up the volume.

Turned out the disgraced former Vice-President had left the country using a false passport, on his way to Jersey. That's the island of Jersey, in the English Channel. A popular place for people to send funds they don't want traced. There he got a rude surprise; he'd secreted a large amount of money there and made arrangements to rent a villa, all the while thinking it was a privately-owned island near Bermuda. I could understand the money part - I had some of my own funds stashed there - but to not know where it was geographically...

"I've been there," I said, baffled. "About the only thing it has it common with Bermuda is that it's an island in the Northern hemisphere. It's been part of Britain since 1066. It's still a British Crown Dependency, a Bailiwick. It's climate is definitely not subtropical. Didn't the idiot even notice the flight was taking too long?!"

"Hush!"

Donner had made a go of it for a while, living under his fake ID. He'd finally been caught when an American tourist saw the man and recognized him. The tourist had the sense to not confront Donner but instead reported the sighting to the nearest American Embassy. When they didn't act on his tip - to be fair, they were getting a lot of them, with the others apparently all false - he contacted both Interpol and the local police. Since Donner had an international warrant out for him, once a single law enforcement agency took the report seriously enough to check his ID, the jig was up. He was currently on his way back to the US. In shackles on a US government plane.

"He'll likely be held in a Club Fed somewhere in the southeastern US, tried, convicted and sentenced to a short term in the same facility plus a huge fine he can easily afford," I said, with a tired sigh.

"Cynical, much?" said Sally, raising an eyebrow.

"Just experienced."

* * *

We had made more progress than I expected before the end of the week. Therefore, the next day day we made a visit to the rental agency where the van had come from. That evening we would be back at the law office to meet with Shaw for a mutual update.

Our visit to the rental agency that Friday proved both fruitful and frustrating. It was fruitful in that the clerk told us only one van of that type had been rented the day of the murder. He also remembered the guy who rented it, giving a description which matched the driver at the hotel garage. They'd used a prepaid debit card. He was reluctant to tell us the name used or even show us the papers.

My empathy told me he was getting suspicious about our cover of being reporters checking on a political scandal and I knew our IDs wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny. I thanked him and we left.

"What next?" said Sally. "Break in tonight?"

"No need. We just talk to Shaw, tell him what we uncovered about the rental company and have him get a warrant. We already have an appointment to brief him on what we've learned and what we need to continue pursuing. With luck he can get the warrant tonight for use tomorrow. The rental agency is open on the weekend, remember."

* * *

We got off the bus over a block from the law office and walked. I was already back in my "Henley Regatta" ID, and Sally had again redone her outfit, including removing the wig she had worn to the rental agency. It wasn't impossible to connect the current us to the pair who had gone there and asked questions, but I'd made sure that was very difficult.

However, despite our precautions all was not well at the law office. As soon as we entered the reception area I went on alert. This was late on a Friday afternoon and most of the staff had already gone home, but I'd called Shaw to make sure he was there and someone would be available to let us in. Only, while the doors were unlocked, there was no receptionist. The lights were off, too. I knew we were there past usual closing time, but Shaw was supposed to be waiting for us. However, this scene didn't add up. Sally had also noticed something was wrong. There was no need to raise the alarm yet; the receptionist might just have gone to the restroom, the lights might be on timers... Still...

I motioned for Sally to go right, to the door which led to the offices. I cut left and went behind the desk. It was pretty large, actually an elevated reception station. A quick glance showed the phone was off the hook. There was no other sign of disturbance, but that was plenty. Especially since the switchboard was as dead as the overhead lights.

"Trouble," I said, in a low voice.

I quickly opened the cupboard doors under the station but found no sign of the receptionist. While Sally kept watch through the door where she stood, I took a quick look in the restrooms. I found the receptionist - out cold and badly injured - laying on the floor of the men's room.

After a quick check to make sure she was alive, I called 911, reporting an assault with injuries at the office. I made sure the operator knew to tell the police there were two friendlies on the premises checking things out.

I was interrupted by a sudden sound of violence. I hurried back out into the reception area to discover Sally fully engaged with half a dozen men in black clothes and ski masks, complete with bulky gloves. I scooted my cell phone into a corner and moved in to help. I jumped one of the men from behind and had an immediate success in disabling him, simply through taking him by surprise. Unfortunately, these guys were professionals. I was quickly set upon by two others and quickly beaten into submission. Fortunately, their distraction with me allowed Sally to finish the others then come to my rescue. In seconds all the attackers were reduced to moaning lumps of pain.

"How are you?" she asked, panting.

She'd taken a couple of hits hard enough that bruises were already forming, and that was just what I could see on the parts of her skin currently showing. Sap gloves are not something to take lightly, even for a low level physical super. Her clothing was also the worse for wear. With my regeneration I'd likely be back to fully healed before she was, though that was only because she'd stopped them quickly. Still, neither of us had serious injuries.

"Feeling both inadequate and rather aroused," I admitted, as she helped me to my feet. "I am very, very, very glad you're with me on this."

"Are they low-level supers?" she asked, wincing as she rubbed her left upper arm.

"They're wearing sap gloves," I said, as I retrieved my phone, talking as much to the 911 operator as to Sally.

I had immediately recognized the feel of those from painful past experience. Then confirmed them once I had a good look at the gloves.

She started to ask me something, but was interrupted by a moan from down the hall. Which reminded us that we were there to see someone. Sally and I quickly zeroed in on the sound and found Mr. Shaw. Fortunately, while he was stunned that was more emotional than physical.

"I've already called 911," I said, noting how dazed he was. "There's cops and an ambulance on the way. You might need to call others, though. Like your partners, or security agency."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

He picked up a desk phone, only to find that it was out of service. He had to pull his cell out of his pocket to make his calls. We later learned the attackers had cut all the wires to the building, including power and Internet. Which explained why I the phone at the receptionist's station was dead.

"By the way," he said, briefly covering the mouthpiece of his cell phone, "thank you."

While he spoke with his contact I briefed Sally on what to say and how to act with the police. Then I had her go restrain the attackers while I made sure Shaw was as uninjured as he seemed. The whole time I was talking to the 911 operator, letting her know what we were doing. I told her we would wait outside for the cops.

I helped Shaw up and together we made our way to the foyer. Sally had just finished her knot work, and looked satisfied. She quickly moved to take Shaw's other arm and we went outside.

Sally and I got Shaw seated on a bench shortly before the police arrived, sirens shutting down as a pair of marked cars careened into the guest lot. The drivers skidded their cars into position, exited with guns out and squatted down to put the engines between themselves and us. Then began yelling orders.

"I'm..." Shaw tried.

I pulled him and Sally down onto the ground and made sure they put their hands on their heads.

"But I'm..." Shaw protested.

"Submit now and don't get shot," I hissed. "Identify yourself later."

This shouldn't have been happening; I'd told the 911 operator that the good guys were out front, waiting. As we went onto the ground I made sure the phone - with the 911 operator still on the line - was on the bench.

The cops moved in quickly and zip-tied us. They left us face down on the pavement and went inside.

"This is bogus," said Sally, who could have broken the plastic zip-tie easily but knew not to. "They didn't even leave one of them on guard!"

I could hear the 911 operator saying something loudly, but the speaker on the phone wasn't up to whatever message she was trying to deliver. Partly because of ambient noise. Some of which was very interesting.

"I hear more sirens approaching," I said. "Cops and - further off - ambulances."

"What...?" said Shaw, the most confused.

Three more marked police cars arrived, and an unmarked car with a couple of detectives in it. They piled out, guns drawn.

"There's the cavalry," I said, smirking. A glance inside showed the first two cops running out of the foyer, towards the rear of the building, along with a couple of the assailants. The others were left yelling in protest after them. Good luck with escaping out the back. I hear more sirens around there.

There was some confusion, but we quickly identified ourselves and the real cops just as quickly got our IDs out to verify that. I was very glad mine was real. They cut the zip-ties and helped us up.

"So who were those first cops?" said Shaw, once we were back inside, out of the weather.

"Fake cops to rescue the assailants if something went wrong," I said, nodding.

"Yeah, their cars are old models," said the Lieutenant in charge of the real cops. "Probably bought at auction and recommissioned. Their uniforms and gear aren't quite regulation, either."

"Somebody was being thorough," said Sally, nodding. She grinned. "Just not thorough enough."

"Anyway, here come the ambulances. Once you're cleared by the EMTs we need to get you down to the station and take your statements."

* * *

Hours were needed before we were allowed to leave the police station. They knew we weren't telling them the whole truth, but given the circumstances they decided to focus on the hired hands for now. Well, as soon as those worthies recovered enough to question. Sally had really done a number on them.

We were taken back to the law office. We'd been at the station long enough that the crime scene crew had finished and allowed the repair crew to get to work. Some of the other partners in the firm were there, talking with Shaw. However, when he learned we were back he excused himself to speak with us.

"I don't understand," said Shaw, once we were in a conference room left untouched by the attackers. "Why do this?! Why risk additional attacks? Every piece of information I have on the case is digital or printouts of digital files, and those all have offsite backups!"

"Sometimes your best break comes from someone deciding to stop your investigation," I said. I shrugged and winced. Despite my regeneration my injuries still had a ways to go. "Of course, sometimes the way they decide to stop the investigation is to stop you, so be extra careful. By the way, be sure to ask if the wounds on those murdered Corporate Salvage executives could have been made with sap gloves."

"Which are?" said Shaw, puzzled.

"Tough gloves - leather, vinyl or something similar - with lead or steel weights or powder sewn into pockets on the backs of the knuckles. They hit like an old-fashioned blackjack, except they're not illegal most places in the US."

Turns out he didn't know what a blackjack was, either. Kids, these days. Don't they even read the classic detective novels, or watch film noir? I took pity and explained. After hearing about the kind of damage sap gloves could do to a normal, Shaw looked speculatively at Sally. He then visibly decided not to ask too many questions.

"You think whoever is behind this is getting nervous about us?" said Sally, to bring things back to my point and away from Shaw possibly realizing she was a super.

"Or what someone else is doing. Or both." I said.

"I'm just glad you two arrived before they did any more damage to our equipment," said Shaw. "They had just started roughing me up and hadn't even gotten to my computer, yet."

"Though maybe you should check those offsite backups," I said, thoughtfully, "just in case."

Vic is in for a fight!

In a world with masterminds and mad inventors, sometimes the merely brilliant get overlooked. Is a gadgeteer less impressive because their work was for theme parks and entertainments, rather than to aid some grandiose criminal plan?

Abner Sturgeon built some of the most intricate mechanical devices in history, but was fired after the company he worked for went digital. Now, his work is appreciated by nearly everyone except his former bosses. Appreciated and valued. Especially by a certain class of supervillain. Because some problems need old-fashioned solutions.

Can Vic handle whatever Abner throws at her? Deadly amusement park rides? Robot celebrity avatars? A museum of insanely clever mechanical assassins? We'll see...

Masks XX: The Mystery of the Mechanical Master

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

The video conference call was unusual in more aspects than the fact that all three participants were wearing costumes with masks. The members of Tricorne were planning yet another Spring Break together. However, this time the youngest member was proposing something different from previous teamups.

Ponytail bouncing as she spoke, Energia presented her case with her usual enthusiasm. After waffling back and forth for several years on the matter of whether to wear a cape, she had finally decided to reserve that accessory for her formal costume and do without otherwise. She had long settled on the theme of green bodystocking with blue pieces over that, plus a blue mask. These complimented her red hair nicely.

The middle member, Gadgetive, was not in her heroing rig - which looked like a display on a manikin at a military surplus store sale but was so much more - but was her usual skeptical self when it came to changing anything about their team.

Blue Impact, in her current outfit of slacks, shoes, shirt, gloves and mask - all in medium shades of blue - topped with her trademark dark blue leather jacket, was noncommittal.

The energy-force manipulator found herself with a hard sell. Especially to the team's middle member.

To make the call, Energia was visiting the new Intrepids base; Blue Impact was at the security station for the Pine Island Academy; and Gadgetive was "testing" the communications rig she was installing at the college where she was currently a student. (She seemed to change schools each semester, to take advantage of some particular teacher or program. Energia thought she was currently back at MIT but wasn't sure.) The topic was their arrangements regarding getting Tricorne together for the week they had off from school for Spring Break. All three were definitely in favor of that. However, a suggestion by the youngest member was meeting with some opposition.

"I just think she'd make a good addition to our team," said Energia. "Besides sharing some classes with her, I've worked with Vic several times, and both of you know her. She's expressed interest in working with us. I mean, she's never actually been in a super team before. Just more general law enforcement teams, some of them admittedly with super involvement. Even during the war she was more working with the military and other feds than supers."

Energia was shading things a bit - in her mind simplifying them harmlessly for her pitch - but what she told them was generally accurate.

"It's that whole 'working with the feds' thing which makes me nervous," said Gadgetive, sounding suspicious. "What about her being a member of the Bureau? Isn't that her actual job?"

"She's - Not on retainer, what's the term? An intern? - anyway, thanks to the budget cuts she's paid to go to school as long as it's to prepare for her job, but they don't have money to actually hire additional employees right now. Weird bureaucratic accounting stuff. However, she's a badge-carrying federal LEO all the time; she's just not on their regular payroll. Working with us would count as on-the-job training for both her school work and with the Bureau. Which means they'll pay her expenses for interning with us."

"I don't like letting a fed in," said Gadgetive, in a sour mutter. "I mean, she's registered with the Bureau! They know who she is!"

"I'm registered with the Bureau!" said Energia, exasperated. "You let me in!"

"Technically, you were in Tricorne before you registered," said Blue Impact, playing devil's advocate. "Even before our team was named, in fact."

"I can't believe you let them know who you are," muttered Gadgetive, sulking like someone far younger.

"I trust Brade and Doro and the few others who are authorized to access the private information on supers who have registered with the Bureau," said Energia, flatly. "They have all these safeguards to prevent anyone else from getting that information, too."

"What safeguards?" said Gadgetive, perking up a bit.

"If I told you they wouldn't be secret."

"I bet you don't even know."

"Nope."

"If anyone is interested," said Blue Impact, looking to one side at something, "they just interrupted the usual news for a special report on Solomon Harvek."

"Who?" said Gadgetive, honestly puzzled.

"He's the one behind the plot which almost killed Doro," said Energia, hotly. Though she was surprised Gadgetive didn't recognize the name. Maybe she had been busier than usual with "more important" technical matters, and had somehow missed all the news about him. Though Energia wondered why his connection to a death ray hadn't penetrated her usual preoccupation.

"Wait, what?!"

Blue Impact added a news channel to their conference call and turned the sound up.

"It was for the children!" said Solomon Harvek, plaintively. as the segment cut to him making a statement on the way into court. "These men were ruining lives, families! Think of the poverty, the suicides!"

"Who's he taking about?," said Gadgetive, confused, even though she now appeared to be remembering more about what was going on with him. Maybe due to several technical companies being involved, as well as mad science. "Corporate Salvage? They only went after him because they caught him cheating them. Harvek did a lot more harm to the economy than they did!"

"Yeah," said Energia. "I don't see him doing anything for anyone but himself. Especially not the 'little people.' He's one of those who thinks 'poverty' means you don't have a million handy for impulse buys."

"Don't bother confusing the issue with facts," said Gadgetive, sourly. "The rich are different from us. The world does what they want. Until it suddenly doesn't."

"Easy, now," said Blue Impact. "Be careful you don't tar all the wealthy with the same brush you use on the small percentage who are actual criminals."

"Well, that rich criminal is up for multiple murder counts," said Energia. "Some of them federal LEO."

"Anyway," said Gadgetive, getting back to the topic of the call, and deciding to take another tack in her protest against adding anyone to Tricorne, even for just a week, "it's weird that Vic used to be a guy!"

"What have you got against guys?"

"Huh? Nothing! I just think it's weird, is all."

"By most measures, it's more weird that my tissues are as dense as magnesium," said Blue Impact, wryly. "That's not even possible in normal biology."

"Yeah, and Vic is now completely female, right down to the chromosomes."

"It's still weird," said Gadgetive, firmly.

"It's more common than you think," muttered Energia. "Anyway, Vic needs more experience with teams and the Bureau will pay his - I mean her - expenses."

She scowled at Gadgetive.

"Now you've got me doing it."

"Doing what?" said the gadgeteer, confused.

Time constraints meant that they couldn't come to a full agreement that session. However, they still had a few days until the break began. Energia felt she had a good chance to bring at least Blue Impact over.

* * *

"How'd your call go?" said Solange. When Energia exited the video conference room she was leaning against the wall beside the door, playing a game on her smartphone.

The new Intrepids base was... smoother than the old one. At least, that was the word which came to Energia's mind, as she looked around. It lacked the texture - the character - of the old base. The hallways were slightly rounded, paneled, colored in a purpose-appropriate manner, and seamless glow panels in the ceiling lit everything with almost no shadows.

"Well, Gadgetive is understandably reluctant to include anyone else in Tricorne," said Energia, smirking. "Though I think the main reason is that this makes us more than three, so we can't be Tricorne any more. Doesn't matter that Vic will be interning with us to learn about super teams for her planned career, and not with the intent of becoming a full-time member."

She decided not to mention Gadgetive's objection to Vic's gender change, given Solange's own experience in that area. At least these days she was less likely to dress the way a teenage boy would have wanted someone as shapely as her to dress.

"Gadgeteers," said Solange, rolling her eyes as she put her phone away. She pushed off from the wall and began walking. Energia couldn't help feeling a bit envious at the casually sexy way she moved. As far as she could tell that was completely unconscious, simply a product of the geometry of her body. Unlike the exaggerated way she had often walked when they first met. "Anyway, are you ready for the tour of our new base?"

"I've been here before, remember."

"Yeah, but we didn't have half the stuff completed the last time you were here that we do now. We're almost finished! Well, until someone gets an idea for an improvement, which always happens. Anyway, c'mon!"

Solange spent the next hour and a bit giving her younger friend a quick tour of the new base, starting with the subtrain tunnel access deep underground. After scrapping their original plans due to demon problems - and abandoning the initial stages of its construction - the Intrepids had asked Zeep for help. At the direction of Bowman and several other super inventors, Zeep had consolidated and shaped a small nickel-iron asteroid and placed it in the deep hole where the old mountain base had been. Iron of the coldest sort - and a huge amount of it - now sealed one of the portals demons had used to try and invade this world. Dr. Piano - in a classic understatement - had stated "That should, indeed, settle the problem."

"That's why the subtrain access starts well above the demon level," said Solange, grinning, as they rode through the well-lit tunnel back to the base, "and goes out and then down to intersect the Sub-Terran tunnel network."

"Hence the long tunnel with the teeny-tiny subway cars," said Energia. She grinned. "I'd hate to walk this. Especially in the dark."

"Not a problem for you, since you can both fly and generate your own light."

Significant construction had then taken place both inside and outside of the new base. The latter turned the rounded cone into a proper mountain - though with a natural iron alloy core and an exterior of reinforced concrete which was in turn covered with a pseudo-natural limestone facade - thereby producing an overall shape which closely resembled that of the mountain destroyed by the Shilmek. The inside of the new mountain had been tunneled through and equipment installed. All the hard work had been very worth it. The new headquarters could take far more damage without the shields than the old one, and the new shields were four times as potent. Thanks to Zeep's help, the process had actually proceeded more quickly than the original plan, allowing them to complete their new base only a little behind schedule.

"I like it," said Energia, summing up as they exited the elevator at the top level. "Though I do miss the odd nooks and crannies from the old base. The corridors and chambers here are more open. Everything is very orderly and organized. The old base had more character, though. There were all these little areas which actually made it feel more intimate."

"Well, most of those resulted from remodelings down through the decades." Solange grinned as they entered the lock to the outside. "Just give it time. Like I said, we're already seeing places where we need to make additions and changes."

"Sounds promising," said Energia, as the outer hatch opened, revealing a very beautiful - if obviously still new and very manicured - scene.

She stepped outside into the park on top of the artificial mountain and lifted off, waving goodbye to her friend as she climbed away.

* * *

The Saturday before the official beginning of Spring Break, a Toyota Corolla wagon notable only because of its age - and the fact that this was denied by its pristine appearance - drove sedately through an old business district of a major East Coast city. Vic followed the directions she had been given and memorized, and turned Monstro into the designated alley. There, as promised, was a delivery door, which began opening as she approached. She pulled under the awning and inside, noting the small if odd selection of vehicles present. As the door closed behind her she saw Energia waving.

Vic quickly shut Monstro off and exited, waving back. She had vaguely Asian features, though with Occidental eyes. Her hair was long, the color dark brown for most of the length but light at the tips. (Energia knew from college that most of the length - including the frosted tips - was from extensions.) Her skin was a bit too brown for her actually fully Caucasian ancestry but not dark enough for either type of Indian. She had taut muscles, high, firm breasts and slightly broad shoulders, with a torso tapering to a mildly narrowed waist then flaring into very feminine hips. Her outfit could charitably be described as "tomboyish."

Vic now saw the other two regular members of Tricorne. The four of them came together - Gadgetive hanging back a bit and scowling - at their mutual center of mass. There were handshakes, and even a hug between Vic and Energia, which surprised the former a bit.

"Welcome to our humble abode," said Blue Impact, smiling.

"Enter freely and of your own will," said Energia, hamming it a bit. "C'mon, get your stuff and we'll show you to your room; then you get the tour of the rest of the lair."

"I am very glad to be with you folks this Spring Break," said Vic, fervently, as she opened the rear of her station wagon. "For multiple reasons. One of them being that I did not want to go back to tutoring. Since this counts as continuing education, the Bureau's training program will pay me - and more than I get from tutoring - to be here. Though I have to write up a report on what I learned."

She only had one large suitcase and a hard-sided equipment case, both of which she yielded to Blue Impact. They began walking towards the large elevator on the loading dock at the back of the bay.

"Tutoring?" said Gadgetive, puzzled, asking in spite of her resolve not to have anything to do with Vic.

"She did it for a few semesters and still complains about it," said Energia, amused, as the double doors to the elevator opened.

"Kids today are so stupid!"

"To be fair, you were tutoring them because they were having trouble," said Energia, playfully wagging a finger.

"I had this one guy I was tutoring in history. Specifically, World War II. He didn't understand why he had to learn what he called 'ancient history.'"

The doors closed, and Energia pushed one of the buttons. The large elevator began quietly climbing. Vic had the distinct impression the current load was only a small fraction of its capacity.

"You should introduce him to the Sailor," said Blue Impact, dryly, "who fought in the War of 1812."

"That history he liked! I think part of the problem was that technology played such a large part in the Second World War and he didn't like tech. He - maybe deliberately - refused to learn anything technical, despite me having to physically take his smart phone from him to make him focus on the lesson. He just didn't see the connection between the rapid development of technology during and after the war and him being able to text anyone, anywhere, any time."

Vic heaved a great, much-put-upon sigh, just as the doors opened onto the upper floor hallway. They stepped out. Energia led the way down to Vic's room, which already had the door standing open.

"He was actually convinced that only one B-29 was ever built - the Enola Gay - and that it dropped all - not both, all - the atomic bombs in World War II, including those used against Germany. That the plane was developed as part of the same program which built the A-bomb, though he couldn't name the Manhattan Project. Any time I tried to explain there were thousands made, he smugly said 'Why would they build more than one when it was all they needed to drop the Bomb and beat the Germans?' When I explained that none were dropped on Germany he smugly said 'Of course they were. How else did they win?'"

Energia was politely commiserative as she opened the door, while Gadgetive was mildly dismissive that anyone could actually be that stupid and Blue Impact made no comment. Once inside, at Vic's direction, Blue Impact plopped the suitcase on the bed and the case with her armor on the floor at the foot. Vic began unpacking as they continued talking. She still felt a bit odd at having "girl clothes" to put away, but played it casual. Still, she finished quickly.

"You and Gadgetive should get along great," said Blue Impact, tongue in cheek. "You have very similar tastes in civilian clothes. Now, let's give you the grand tour."

"So, that elevator is hydraulic - the works are under the loading dock in the garage - and goes all the way to the large shed on the roof," said Energia, as they stepped back out into the hallway. "Our big apergy flyer is usually parked there, but we can use the elevator to take it all the way down for maintenance."

"I think the rest should be show, rather than tell," said Blue Impact.

They took the stairs down, the oldest and youngest members pointing out various features as they descended the open stairway along the wall into the large volume which took up most of the lair. Gadgetive mostly stayed silent, only occasionally correcting some technical thing she felt the others had gotten wrong or not given adequate attention to.

Once the quartet was downstairs - back at the same level as the loading dock - they showed Vic the kitchen, com center and lounge; the last two being in the large, central area, with Blue Impact's private corner. The tour ended at the couch, recliners, other chairs and coffee table, which were all in one carpeted corner. These faced - or nearly so - the large TV mounted on one wall. The home entertainment center was on a set of low shelves below that. The four of them sat, and for a moment were all silent. When the conversation resumed, Vic became more of a participant as she talked about what she hoped to learn during the week she would be interning with Tricorne. She even suggested that if she did well they might invite her back for the full Summer... which did not sit well with Gadgetive. After a few minutes, though, her manner changed again.

"Uhm, if you don't mind a possibly personal question," she asked deferentially of the team's leader, "where does 'Blue Impact' come from? I've read a lot of explanations, including that it's from an old comic book character."

"I loved manga and anime as a kid," the oldest present replied, smiling at the memory. "Even learned a little spoken Japanese. So when I was trying to find a mask name I was strongly influenced by the 'Color Noun' names of several manga and anime characters, such as Red Impulse from Gatchaman."

"Hey, I like anime," said Vic, grinning. "Maybe we can have an anime night."

"Oh, please, no!" said Gadgetive. "It's so... unrealistic! Not to mention full of senseless posturing."

"Are you sure she's a girl?" said Vic, in a stage whisper, to Energia. Blue Impact wondered if the youngest Tricorne member had coached their visitor as to how to needle the gadgeteer.

"We had our doubts for a while. However, the fact that she often staggers down to breakfast in panties and t-shirt have removed them. She doesn't show it in costume, but she's at least a B-cup."

"I dunno..." said Vic, peering pointedly at the increasingly annoyed Gadgetive. Though she was hiding her own discomfort at the topic. "I know guys who could carry that off. Just needs the right padding..."

"Do you both want to have your floors painted with nitrogen triiodide?"

"All right, that's enough," said Blue Impact, though she was grinning. "Vic, we need still need to train you in our security measures. You don't want to accidentally trip any alarms."

The same procedure worked at each of the five entrances, including the one on the roof. Just enter a number on the security keypad and either speak a codeword, or allow the scan of a thumb or eye. Given that she had no masked identity to protect, Vic chose the latter. Actually, both thumbs and both eyes, at the recommendation of Blue Impact.

"One thing we regenerators need to keep in mind," said Blue Impact. "If we regrow a finger or eye, the pattern could change. That's why you need to do both thumbs and both eyes."

"Roger," said Vic, though she grimaced at the thought of having to regrown digits or eyes.

Earlier, those already present in the building had been watching for Vic's car and let her into the garage manually. For future access, she was given what looked like a remote garage door opener, only with more buttons, and a tiny camera.

"Just treat it like any of the other security keypads," said Energia.

"It's not too different from what I've used before," said Vic, nodding. "With federal stuff, like safehouses."

"We keep trying to install a biometric ID system," said Blue Impact, "but given the masks and costumes and range of unusual physiologies involved for us and our approved visitors, they just don't work right. So far, our best security measure has been secrecy. Just don't talk to anyone about what's really here unless they're supposed to know. Which is not a long list."

"I still say you should let me install traps," said Gadgetive, sourly. "Wouldn't have to be lethal. Just nets, or stun rifles, or anesthetic gas, or..."

"As I have explained repeatedly," said Blue Impact, sternly, "traps don't have judgement, and are therefore illegal. Now, let's move on to the security center. That's not only were we manage our security electronics, it's our com center. Though it's not the only access location."

Gadgetive was still muttering under her breath as Blue Impact explained how to log in to access the building security systems and the crime monitoring software from any of the terminals in the building.

Part Two

Vic was using the treadmill in the lair's gym the next morning when she saw Energia enter. Like Vic she was wearing workout clothing, though with added mask. Vic waved as she moved to one of the mats.

"Good morning," Energia said, waving cheerfully back. She noticed that Vic - in kicking jeans, a sport bra and running shoes and without her hair extensions - had the machine set close to its maximum normal human level. She grinned at the martial artist. "Ah, Sunday at the lair. Filled with the sounds of whirring and clanking exercise machines."

Energia slipped off her shoes, stepped onto the mat and began stretching.

Vic was still on the treadmill - though at a slower pace, working on her endurance - when Energia finished her warmup and went to one of the machines.

"Did you just set that for nearly maximum normal human?" said Vic, a bit startled. Though only a bit; she knew Energia liked to stay fit, and included strength training in her workouts.

"Yeah," said Energia, as she took her seat. She smirked at Vic. "You got a problem with that?"

"Well, I tried it on the max setting for normal human, and it wasn't quite enough. So I moved it up to the lowest setting in the superhuman range, and that was too much. Unless I wanted to cheat and use my powers."

"Huh," said Energia, frowning as she trained. "I'll ask about that. I've never been comfortable at the max norm setting, and Gadge uses lower than I do, and Blue Impact never goes below the lowest superhuman setting. I don't think anyone was aware of a gap."

They trained in silence for the next several minutes, until Energia finished her reps and changed settings to work her legs.

"I guess you miss this at the college," said Vic, as she increased speed again. "All this special equipment, even though you're in the normal human range. I know they have some training gear for the superhuman program, but that's mostly really heavy free weights. Though I guess you could use the normal gym..."

"I do, actually," said Energia, beginning to breath hard and noticeably perspire. "I tried suggesting they put in custom machines, not just for physically norm range supers like me but to better train the super strong. They said they wanted to but didn't have the budget. I said they could probably get some of the gadgeteers in the super program to do the building for free if they just found someone to donate the raw materials, but they weren't really interested."

She stopped and grinned at Vic.

"I think they've learned not to trust gadgeteers unless they can put a proven responsible one in charge of the rest."

Vic gave a short but sincere laugh at that.

"Speaking of which, I'm glad you warned me that Gadgetive would be standoffish," said Vic.

"Yeah. Gadgeteers and mads in general hate change they don't deliberately cause, especially in what they see as 'protected status' environments. Such as the groups they associate with. Dealing with those changes distracts them from things they consider important."

She took on a look of revelation

"I wonder if that's why she keeps changing schools. So she doesn't get used to any one setting."

"You have more experience with gadgeteers than I do," Vic said, as she slowed again, this time going for a cool down. "What... well, what's up with them? I mean, I've heard the savant lecture, but..."

"It's just an itch some people have," said Energia, as she rose and moved to the free weights. Again, the weights she chose weren't the heaviest intended for normal humans, but they were still impressive for Energia's size and build. "A compulsion, when they get the idea. They know it will work, the actual build is just to tease out the details, or serve whatever need they perceive the invention will answer. Besides that, they have to show all the doubters. Gadgetive isn't as bad as a lot of 'em, though she can still get really, heh, 'focussed' sometimes."

"She makes Alex seem normal," said Vic, in a quiet voice.

"Well, if you want to get her to talk to you bring your combat outfit down to the lounge and start going through it," said Energia, grinning. "It's pretty different from her own armor but still very effective. She should find it irresistible."

"I might just do that," said Vic, grinning back. "I haven't checked it out since getting here. I should make sure all is in order."

She finally got off the treadmill and moved to a device intended to train reflexes.

"I still don't really have a handle on her, though," said Vic, as the gadget began randomly swatting at her. "She's a lot like some of the folks at the college, but both more extreme in some of the same ways and different in others."

"Well, she's a full-blown gadgeteer, on a par with Dr. Device," said Energia, quietly. "They - gadgeteers - tend to develop their social skills - including an awareness of their own sexuality - late and often deliberately, when they finally admit what they're missing. She also has a lot of tragedy in her background. The surprise is that she's this close to socially functional."

"Wait," said Vic, as - distracted but still succeeding - she reflexively blocked a swat from the machine. "Are you saying that Gadgetive isn't... doesn't..."

She floundered, automatically continuing to block and dodge as she tried to put her question into words.

"I think she currently counts as ace," said Energia, frowning in thought as she did alternating curls. "Asexual. She feels attraction to guys and understands it on an intellectual level, but doesn't let it affect her decision making processes."

"That's... Well, I'd say it's weird, but I'm probably weirder than that when it comes to sexuality, at least when you take my entire life into perspective."

"It's a weird world," said Energia, grinning again as she moved to put her weights back on the rack. "Especially where sex is involved."

They each trained for nearly another half hour before stopping. Vic a bit early, because she was starting to get hungry. Energia going a bit longer than she usually did because she wanted to talk and train with Vic.

"Well, lunch won't be too much longer in coming," said the energy/force manipulator, confirming Vic's internal clock. "I'm going to shower, change into something more heroic, and hope we don't get a call before we can eat!"

"That sounds like a plan," said Vic, laughing.

* * *

Vic - extensions back in place - discovered that meals in Tricorne's lair were a communal affair. Even Gadgetive attended, and arrived in the kitchen on time. Though not everyone always ate the same foods.

One thing Vic had already learned as a general rule in regard to supers who were serous about having mask careers was that they ate a huge amount. Especially protein and complex carbohydrates. Something they had in common with many sorts of athletes. Just now, Vic, herself, was over halfway into an enormous ham and honey mustard sandwich. Something she had suddenly acquired a craving for after seeing Blue Impact making one. The experience was not at all lessened by the fact that the bread was whole wheat, still warm and fragrant from the breadmaker Blue Impact had loaded that morning.

"As I understand the situation," the oldest person present said, after swallowing, "you can get paid to continue to learn how to work in super law enforcement for pretty much however long you can justify the classes you take."

"Which means I'm staying in school for the foreseeable future," said Vic, with a shrug. "I never planned to get a doctorate in anything, but by the time the Bureau bean counters say they can justify actually hiring me full time I might have one. Of course, the longer I stay in school and the higher the degree I get, the more they have to pay me when they finally hire me!"

"I know, I know..." said Energia, rolling her eyes. "Typical bureaucratic thinking of this fiscal year's bottom line instead of saving money over the long term. Of course, Tricorne has enough funding - most of it from private foundations and individuals - for all of us to go pro right now, but so far none of us have. We're actually earning quite a bit of interest. I would like to finish out my master's then start with the team as a career. That's still a couple of years off, though, thanks mostly to the war interrupting things. I think Gadge wants to get her doctorate before going full time, but she's ahead of me in college. Teach - Blue Impact - says she wants to continue at the island for a while longer but eventually go full time with Tricorne, too."

She grinned.

"We might just all arrange things so we start as a full time team the same date!"

"Big time!" sang Blue Impact, baffling the others. She made dancing motions with her upper body as she sat in her chair. "We're on our way, we're making it!"

The others stared.

"What?" she said, stopping and smirking. "You don't know the classics?"

"I keep forgetting you're a lot older than you look," said Vic, in sudden revelation.

"Hey, you have the same problem except you look younger than I do," said Blue Impact. "I at least look like I'm of legal age."

"I've never seen her act like this before," said Gadgetive, actually appearing concerned.

"Oh, wait," said Energia, grinning. "I remember her mentioning something about an old boyfriend being back in town."

"Not a boyfriend - I wish - but a guy with powers I met in my early hero days. Mysterious creature of the night type. This is civilian ID stuff, so, no more details, sorry."

"You've got a date?" said Gadgetive, grinning.

"A reunion, tomorrow night. Two people who met while adventuring years ago and have hardly seen each other since."

"Well, congratulations and good luck!" said Vic, grinning.

"Not a date," said Blue Impact, rolling her eyes. She convinced no-one.

* * *

Later that afternoon Energia came down from her room to find Vic on the floor of the lounge area, playing with the cat.

"So, another innocent falls victim to his feline charms," said Energia, grinning.

"Yeah, your little beefeater, here, is pretty slick," said Vic, laughing.

"Hey, that's not a bad name," said Blue Impact. Though she was working at her private station in the corner of the lair, her keen senses let her know what was going on.

"What?" said Energia.

"Beefeater. He does love those beef-flavored treats."

"Wait," said Vic, startled. "How long have you had this cat?"

"Several years. We just never got around to naming him."

"Who's naming what?" said Gadgetive, entering with a yawn. Most likely, she was taking a break from whatever her current project was in the lair's workshop to get some caffeine, sugar and fats.

"Vic called our cat a 'beefeater' and Teach thinks that would be a good name."

"Oh, great. How long have we had that cat? And you're letting a newcomer name him?!"

She stormed out. The others exchanged looks and shrugs.

* * *

In a - perhaps futile - attempt to placate Gadgetive, that evening Vic brought her combat gear down to the lounge. Her excuse was that she needed the room to lay everything out for examination. Whether that was her primary reason or not, the gear - once separated into its component pieces of armor, weapons and auxiliary equipment - did, indeed, take up a lot of floor.

"Wow," said Blue Impact, as Vic examined one of the armor segments for damage. "I've seen you wearing it, of course, but never realized just how... involved it is."

"Yeah. Took a lot of research and trial and error to get all of this to fit on me in a way which doesn't impede my movements. We actually consulted some SCA people and research publications on Medieval armor."

"You both have regeneration," said Energia, absently, as she watched Vic check straps and padding, "but Teach has built-in armor. You're normal human when it comes to toughness."

"Well, someone in good physical condition can better resist damage," said Vic, her tone just as distracted. She held a knee piece up to the light and scowled for a moment at what looked like a scrape in the composite material. She relaxed when a thumb test showed it to be a smudge. "I can also pump things up a bit with ki manipulation, but that takes concentration."

Unfortunately, Gadgetive didn't show while the armor was being inspected, in spite of Vic slowing the process by explaining the armor pieces and the weapons, com gear, medical gear and so forth which went with the suit. She actually solicited suggestions for improvements from the other two. Once it was all back in the carry case Vic put that on the floor at one end of the couch, then sat at that end.

"I hope that's as close as I get to discussing female clothing during this visit," she said. "Especially underwear."

Vic sighed, shook her head and gave them a wry grin.

"For some reason, women who hear about my involuntary sex change then want to give me a crash course on how to live as a woman. Despite the fact that I've been one for years, now."

"To be fair, there are some things you still might have missed," said Energia. She grinned as she recalled a few times her Uncle Randy - usually as Template - had needed help with some bit of female apparatus. S/he usually asked Colossa, who would later tell Energia about the situation, to their mutual amusement. Sometimes, though, Energia was the only one available who was in on the secret of her uncle's dual identity. She sobered as something else occurred to her. "However, we're all professional women, here. I also think most of our conversations would pass the Bechdel test."

"That's good news," said Vic, seriously. "I thought I'd have to endure lots of - excuse the expression - girl talk."

"That does happen," said Energia, head tipped a bit to one side and grinning as she considered the matter. "Not often. Even just hanging around the lair we usually maintain a mostly professional attitude towards things. Though we do have our purely social moments."

* * *

"First Monday of Spring Break and we're up at six and in the gym by nine," said Vic, laughing. "I guess it beats being on night patrol, but this is not typical student behavior."

"We might not get any action this time," said Energia, as she and Vic again shared their morning exercise time. "That's never actually happened to us during Spring Break, but a week is a fairly short time. You just might be left seeing us doing pretty much nothing."

"Well, I'd rather not have to fight," said Vic, philosophically. "I came here to learn about how super teams operate, so I can better work with them in the future. I'm actually looking forward to our first combat training session, this afternoon."

"Just remember, each team is different," said Energia, grinning. "Though, yeah, there are certain things most of them have in common."

"Like really good security," said Vic, rolling her eyes as she deftly switched off the reflex trainer between swats. "I have an excellent memory and know exactly the procedure to get in or out without setting off the alarms. I still am not planning to go anywhere outside this building without one of you three along to get me back in."

Energia had to laugh at that.

"We're actually working on sensors which I can trigger directly with my powers," she said. "That wouldn't help you, of course. So far, though, I'm still punching in like everyone else."

After lunch that afternoon, though, there was a subtle change in the group feeling in the old bakery. Blue Impact was busy in her corner, talking with someone for over an hour. The others could tell something was up, but not whether it involved the team as a whole or just her. Finally, she left her private area and called the others together.

"I have an assignment for us," said Blue Impact. "I was recently informed by a contact that someone was planning a raid on a display of Fifties and Sixties gadgeteer devices, which is at the big museum downtown."

"Wait!" said Gadgetive, eagerly. "It that the classic theme park stuff Abner Sturgeon created?!"

"I thought you might be interested in that," said the team's senior member, smiling. "Turns out that one of the backers of the event has connections with the masks community. He was warned - by a source he declined to reveal - that several groups were threatening an assault on the exhibit. Most of those groups and individuals involved want to steal all or part of the devices being shown, to sell as collectors' items. At least one wants to destroy it as heresy. Heresy of what I don't know."

"So are we gonna get private access if we act as security?" said Gadgetive, excitedly.

"Uhm, sort-of," said Blue Impact, her smile slipping a bit. "They want two of us to dress as hostesses - we'll be in disguise and they'll provide the dresses - while the others watch from hiding in costume. If trouble does come the assumption is that the two already in costume will either handle things on their own or delay things long enough for the other two to sneak away, change and come to help."

"Kind-of awkward plan, if you ask me," said Gadgetive.

"Well, the idea is that having two people working the exhibits will let them spot covert attempts."

"That almost makes sense," said Energia, dryly.

"I'm glad you think so," said Blue Impact, her smile now impish. "I volunteered you and me for the hostess roles, since neither of us use armor or weapons and would be ready to act without them in an emergency."

"Oh," said Energia, now not looking nearly as certain.

"Did I mention we get to keep the fancy dresses they custom fit to us? So we two need to get non-costume disguises ready and get over there for a fitting by seven."

"Oh! Well, we're not supposed to take payments, but there's no law against it, and since they're made just for us..."

"I thought you'd like that. We start in the morning. There's just enough time for us to have another group training session with Vic today as soon as our lunch digests."

* * *

That evening, after all the fitting was done and those who would be on duty in disguise were back at the lair, Energia cautiously approached the door of Gadgetive's workshop. She normally avoided this part of their base; it was where Gadgetive went when she wanted to be alone (which seemed to be her default state) and the energy/force manipulator usually respected her friend's wishes. Just now, though, a combination of concern and curiosity led her there while the other two in lair were busy with their own pursuits. The door wasn't locked; if it had been Energia would have tried again later. She pushed it open.

"Oh, hey," said Gadgetive, who started, but only after Energia took several steps into the room. Obviously, she was distracted - and distressed - by something.

"What's up?" said Energia.

"With what?" said the gadgeteer, with blatantly fake casualness.

"You seemed happy when we were talking about those, uhm, devices, but then you got sad."

Gadgetive twisted uneasily in her seat.

"Oh, well, it's... just that one of the last... trips I went on with my family before the accident was to one of the theme parks where they had those devices," said Gadgetive. She started out still faking casualness, but both her mood and volume faded as she spoke.

"Oh," was all Energia could think to say.

She hesitated a moment, then gave her friend a long, firm hug. That Gadgetive didn't protest this - even comically - was adequate evidence she desperately needed it.

"I'm sorry, hon," said Energia, voice barely above a whisper. "You had already been through so much in your life before I ever met you, but you usually don't show it, so I forget..."

"Hey, it's all right," said Gadgetive, patting her friend's hand as Energia eased out of the hug. "I'm... Well, not over it; I guess I'll never be over it, but... I can deal. Most of the time. I just need to remember the good stuff."

"Like your parents having to physically restrain you from disassembling some of the mechanical equipment at the park?" said Energia, grinning.

"How'd you ever guess?" said Gadgetive, laughing. It was a bit forced, but at least she was laughing.

Part Three

The exhibit was in the technology hall of the museum complex near the city's center. The exhibit was in the elegant main building, which still appeared modern a half century after construction. There were also several annexes - mostly older buildings - nearby and a large storehouse out in an industrial area. The museum as an institution was nearly as old as the nation and highly respected. Some people - including wealthy donors to the museum - objected snootily to "popular culture" exhibits such as this one. They preferred that what they saw as a dignified institution restrict itself to more "serious" displays. Such as incredibly expensive paintings and sculptures and - for technology - stock tickers and bank vaults. However, the "popularizing" displays garnered far more support with everyone else, so they continued despite the objections.

The specific event for which super help had been requested was a display of items from classic theme park attractions. This included automated vehicles from both amusement rides and visitor transportation, surprisingly sophisticated automatons of several types, sections from "living" structures and a complete automated (though for exhibit only) kitchen. Many of these were presented in sequences, showing how the current versions had come from earlier ones. Energia's duties involved guiding people through a progression in the development of robotic avatars used in various attractions.

Even as she greeted the next tour group, she marveled at how the war damage to the city was now almost unnoticeable. This building had only been lightly affected, and most of the others in the complex were likewise spared. However, the civic center across the street - visible through the front doors and windows of this building - had needed to be almost completely rebuilt. All of those repairs had been finished more than a year earlier, and now you couldn't tell they'd ever been damaged.

"This portion of the exhibit demonstrates how the animated manikins advanced in sophistication," said Energia, or "Sue" as her nametag read. "The earliest ones were, indeed, barely more than manikins with motors added. Fortunately, park management - realizing how unconvincing they were, even at a distance - formed a team called the Advanced Technologies Research Department. This was soon nicknamed the Head Shop. Both their organizational structure and nickname were inspired by Lockheed's famous Skunk Works. Company management was belatedly very upset when someone later pointed out that the nickname was also slang for a place to buy drug paraphernalia. The managers felt that those in the workshop had put one over on them, but by then the nickname had stuck."

She found the way her voice echoed from the high ceiling to be a bit distracting, as were the voices and footsteps in the large, busy foyer from those outside the walled pathway which she led her charges along. Fortunately, the next part of the tour was in an enclosed function room. She led her group from the first section, across a short stretch of marble-floored open foyer, through a door and into the next portion of the tour.

"Here you see the first results of their work. These manikins were intended to replace those we just saw in the same attractions. The improvements are obvious, though they still don't stand up to close examination."

There were many murmured sounds of people being impressed.

Nearby, on a nearly parallel path, Blue Impact (her nametag read "Constance") was giving a similar spiel on the equipment used to move visitors around the park. Energia and Blue Impact - already in disguise - had been fitted with attractive dresses the night before and this morning had been mixed in with several other hosts who guided visitors around the exhibits and gave presentations. Only upper management knew they were supers. All the hosts had received a set of briefings and printed documents to study for their particular parts of the show. The exhibit was scheduled to last for a month, but the attack would likely come in the first few days... if it came at all.

The show was pretty impressive, and involved several parallel chains of exhibits, each with a multi-stage tour through multiple rooms, all starting and ending in the huge main lobby. Energia wasn't a techie but knew enough about technical matters through training and experience to appreciate the importance of the items being displayed. However, her appreciation was only a fraction of that exhibited by the team's gadgeteer.

"Yeah, you don't see magic doing anything like this!" said Gadgetive, enthusiastically, over their earbuds.

"What about some of the famous magical automatons?" said Blue Impact, in a low murmur, just loud enough to be picked up by her earbud through bone conduction.

The older super was currently walking back to the start of her part of the tour, with no-one close to her. She was therefore free to talk, though quietly.

"Not the same."

"They look and act the same," said Energia, in a similar murmur, taking advantage of the ambient noise to comment as she lead her crew through an open - and busy - stretch of hallway.

"Okay, let's talk digital, then!" snapped the gadgeteer. "The integrated electronics communications system used for the later-made of the devices on exhibit and their modes of operation were part of the foundation used to form first ARPANET and later the Internet. Let's see the elves develop intercontinental digital communications!"

"Actually, the Bluegrass Elves have what they call 'the Enternet' aka 'the wood wide web,'" said Blue Impact, quietly. "Glomahr told me about it. They use the fungal rhizomes which pervade a wood or forest to send messages and even monitor conditions the plants are experiencing. They use their fingers to interact with the plants and rhizomes, so it's also digital. They've been doing this for thousands of years, though the nicknames I mentioned are, of course, modern."

"Not the same thing," said Gadgetive, smugly. "Besides, that's biological and psionic. Not magical."

Energia reached the next part of her tour just then and had to stop talking over the radio and prepare to resume her spiel. Blue Impact also got back to the start of her tour. Gadgetive, of course, was under no such constraints.

"Most of what's on exhibit here was the work of a pretty small group," she said. "You hardly mentioned any names in your spiels, and those were all bigshots. Upper managers. The actual workshop was run by Abner Sturgeon, who was probably a gadgeteer and maybe a true mad inventor. He's not mentioned at all in the stuff for the exhibit, and barely in any of the official histories, even though he was instrumental (sorry about that) in designing the equipment which made their park a hit. After the founder of the company died Abner had a falling out with the corporate executives who took over from him. He finally 'retired' in a fit of exasperation.

"Poor old Abner," said Gadgetive, finishing with a sigh. "He was dead, alone in his home, for three days before anyone started worrying about him. They had to call in one of his former coworkers - Emil Logsdon - to figure out how to get in safely to check on him. Abner had spent his last eight years occupying himself modifying his home into a fully integrated mechanical system. Just to show his former bosses that his ideas would actually work."

Energia gritted her teeth and smiled at her tour group, as Gadgetive rattled on. All the undercover duties fell to her and Blue Impact due to one of the few things Gadgetive and Vic had in common: They both refused to wear a dress. The amusement that shared attitude brought Energia kept her mood pleasant with the guests at the exhibit in spite of Gadgetive's occasional rants.

* * *

"Second day of this," said Gadgetive, tiredly. "When do we get some action?"

Her post was on the roof near a skylight over the middle of the foyer. Vic was stationed similarly above the main entrance.

"Be careful what you wish for," said Vic. "By the way, Blue Impact, be sure to thank whoever thought to put a portajohn up here. I do wish we had a bit more shade, though."

"It's only another seven and a half hours," said the team leader, amusement in her voice.

Still, the day ended with no unusual activities. Well, until they got inside the lair and were descending the stairs to the living quarters level. Vic took her helmet off then instead of waiting as usual until she was in her quarters, and Gadgetive did one of the few legitimate triple-takes the others had ever seen.

"You all right?" said Energia.

"You're... different," said Gadgetive, to Vic, making it an accusation.

"I am?"

"Oh!" said Energia, laughing a bit as she got it. "Vic took her extensions off. That's her natural hair length."

"Oh. Yeah. It fits better under the helmet this way," said Vic, touching her short hair. She also gave a bit of a laugh. "It meets Bureau hair length regulations like this, too. Yesterday I dressed for work in my room, then took the helmet off in my room later, so I guess you hadn't seen me like this before."

Gadgetive stared a bit. Then, muttering under her breath, she pushed ahead, hurried through the door and on to her room.

"Is it just me, or is she worse than usual lately?" said Blue Impact, irritated.

"I think she's just still upset that we have an 'unexpected' guest for Spring Break," said Energia. She looked over at Vic, who was obviously uncomfortable. "Don't take it personally. She'd react the same way to an additional cat."

"I don't actually find that reassuring," said Vic.

* * *

"You're looking a bit under the weather," said Blue Impact to Energia, the next morning, as she and the others had a quick breakfast at the lair before heading to the museum.

She and Energia were actually in civvies and disguises involving wigs (a new one for Energia; a different one for Blue Impact). They would carry their costumes to work in gym bags, which would be stashed in a janitor's closet near the front atrium at the museum.

"I can't get that ride theme song out of my head," said Energia, tiredly.

"Best way to get rid of an ear worm," said Vic, "is to listen to another song."

"I actually tried that. It worked for a while, and I was able to get to sleep, but then I woke up with the ride song playing in my head, again."

"You sure it wasn't Gadgetive playing something in AM RF which only you could perceive?" said Blue Impact, impishly, looking at the team gadgeteer.

"Huh?" said Gadgetive. She suddenly looked thoughtful. "Oh. Yeah. That would work for her."

"Oh, thanks, teach," said Energia, glaring back and forth between the other two members of Tricorne. "You've given her an idea."

"Hey, I'd never do that!" said Gadgetive. "I mean, as a short term prank, while you're awake, maybe. Not to keep you from sleeping. Sleep is important."

Vic managed to hide her smirk. She had realized early in her visit that Gadgetive was pretty much constantly short on sleep.

"Well, let's load the dishwasher and get going," said Blue Impact. "It's Thursday, and things will ramp up tomorrow. Let's enjoy what will hopefully be a - relatively - quiet day."

"You had to say that," said Energia, with a sigh.

* * *

Later, with Vic and Gadgetive at their concealed posts on the roof, Energia and Blue Impact - already in their civilian disguises - donned their hostess outfits with the others who were giving the tours. As they prepared to start their day, Blue Impact thought she heard Energia muttering under her breath. Moving closer, she realized what the other was saying.

"Please don't let there be a robbery," "Sue" muttered. "Please don't let there be a robbery."

"Worried about your new dress?" said "Constance" quietly, as the two supers lagged behind the other hosts.

"Of course I'm worried about my new dress! They said we could keep them afterwards!"

"Well, if some..."

There was an enormous crash, something not just heard but felt.

"Mech attacking the building!" shouted Vic, over their earbuds.

"Shit!" yelled Energia. She looked frantically around. "I just realized, we're further from our costumes here than at any point on the tours we give!"

"Then we better hurry!" said Blue Impact, taking off running.

"Now we're running in high heels!" shouted Energia.

* * *

By the time they got to the atrium Gadgetive and Vic were both at floor level inside the large room, having descended through a skylight via the former's rope. Nearly everyone else was gone, even the security guards. This was not surprising, because the two supers were fighting several armed and very well protected drones. Fortunately, the armaments seemed to be less-then-lethal. That didn't mean they were safe to be hit by.

Blue Impact - thanks to her superior reflexes - made it to the janitor's closet first. Her and Energia's ID badges had been coded to unlock this door and a few others in addition to those the regular hosts' badges opened. Energia ran in as her teacher held the door. Neither bothered turning the lights on; both had senses which made that irrelevant. Both had also practiced putting their costumes on quickly, even in difficult situations.

Again, Blue Impact finished first. She charged out the door and into the atrium while Energia was still getting her bodystocking secured, causing the latter to emit a squawk of outrage. The oldest member of the quartet took in the scene as she ran. Vic was mainly dodging; machines were not the sort of opponent her abilities were best against, though she was far from helpless. Gadgetive was faring better, since this was the sort of foe she was good against, but there were several drones. If Vic hadn't been drawing the attention of half of them the gadgeteer would have been swarmed.

Blue Impact made full speed towards the closest drone. She caught it with a place kick just as it was turning towards her. She even managed to aim it at another drone. That put those two out of action. Blue Impact continued to evaluate the rapidly changing situation as she moved to the next target.

The drones were flying spheres, a bit less than a meter in diameter, method of propulsion unknown. They could sprout tentacles with claws or weapons from concealed ports. How many of either they had was currently unknown. They weren't hugely fast but they were quite maneuverable. As witnessed by the throbbing in Blue Impact's foot, they were also very solidly built.

On top of all that, Blue Impact could see a much larger sphere working to widen the hole in the wall through which the drones had entered. That device was big enough to have a person inside. She didn't know for certain that it did, but figured that was pretty likely.

A drone targeted her, and she dodged. One thing in the favor of the defenders was that for some reason they retracted a weapon-equipped tentacle after a shot, then redeployed it. A flaw in the programming, or was the maneuver necessary to recharge/reload the weapon? Something to be determined later. Blue Impact leapt into a diving roll and came up with a chunk of wall, which she threw at another drone. It dodged, resulting in a glancing blow, but that still kept it from acting against any of the trio for a moment.

Energia finally arrived, flying into atrium above the fray. She zapped a drone with each hand, using focused heat rays. Disabling them took several seconds.

"Get the big one!" Blue Impact shouted.

Energia gave a short nod and flew towards where the larger sphere was still clumsily widening the hole. It suddenly found the loose material it was removing shoving hard against it, moving it backwards, allowing Energia to fly outside and gain altitude.

"They're using graviton manipulation," said Energia, changing tactics. "Hang on..."

The small spheres inside fell and rolled. The big one dropped, but recovered, its stronger drive resisting Energia's efforts. She tried a heat ray, but the thing had some sort of protective field. Magnetism and electricity likewise proved useless. That left visible light, but a brief test of that proved the armor too tough to burn through quickly.

"Hah! You supers never learn! My foamed cermet armor can withstand over three thousand kelvins!" shouted an amplified voice.

Energia did a quick evaluation, then flew away.

"What the Hell..." said the operator, confused. Then he grinned, hanging in his uncomfortable but secure harness inside the sphere. "Hey, did I just scare off the big, bad hero?"

"Nope," said the big, bad hero. "Check your rear camera."

Instead, the mech quickly spun around, throwing the man inside painfully against the straps. He gaped as he saw Energia, glowing and smiling, with a hand on the large transformer in the small lawn on one side of the museum property.

"Smile. Wait for flash."

"Shit!" he screamed, as he frantically tried to target her.

Too late. The eye-searing, visible-light beam which streamed from her other hand cut deeply into his armor. Energia went all around the mech, leaving just a central cylinder containing the cockpit. This dropped to the pavement with a loud clunk and began rolling.

Energia intended to use her Meissner effect to stop it, but was interrupted when the rear hatch blew off as the occupant ejected. The operator at least had the presence of mind to wait until the hatch was pointing away from any close structures. Though he did scrape along the pavement - with much sparking - before the ejection pod could turn upwards. All that, however, didn't stop Energia from snagging him in mid-rocket boost, holding the pod until the flames stopped, then grabbing the pilot as the pod ejected the seat and his parachute deployed. Energia separated the inventor from his seat and deposited him - a bit ungently - onto the grass near the hole he had made in the wall.

She thought he might give a defiant speech swearing revenge or retribution or perhaps try to escape. Instead, as Energia corralled the still-rolling cockpit, he chose the third most common choice of gadgeteers and mad inventors in such situations.

"My mech!" he wailed. He crawled over to the nearest part. He cradled as much of the huge, heavy armor section in his arms as he could and rocked it. "My beautiful creation..."

Energia watched to make sure he wasn't actually trying to get manual control of some weapon. However, he just sat there, holding it and crying, until Blue Impact arrived and zip-tied him.

"Is that it?" said Energia, landing beside Blue Impact.

"We took care of all his drones. You took care of his battle mech. There's property damage but nobody hurt, beyond being scared and some minor bruises and scrapes. Looks okay."

"That's what you think!"

The amplified voice made all three of them start. A quick look in that direction showed men in armor running towards them. Armor which looked like exaggerated versions of what police wore when on riot duty.

"We are RIOT SQUAD!" shouted the smug man with the bullhorn, confirming that analysis of their style of dress. "And you are quashed!"

If they had simply attacked without the warning they might have had a chance. Instead, the leader had to posture. Something the others in the group complained about later, including directly to him.

Thanks to that warning, Energia leapt into the air while Blue Impact did a diving roll to the side. As a result, the attacks against them - beanbag rounds, spinning nets and pepper balls - found their only target in the already captured inventor. He was hit with multiple pepper balls and two nets. Meanwhile, Energia tried a mass electrical jolt tuned to the human nervous system. It was only partially effective, due to the shielding in their body armor. Then she had to frantically dodge, as stun bags, pepper balls and several nets came at her from multiple directions.

The fight was then well and truly engaged. There were successful attacks on the part of both sides but nothing definitive, leaving the situation hanging in the balance. Fortunately, Gadgetive and Vic - who had been making sure the drones inside were all completely out of action and that no bystanders were under the debris - arrived on the scene and quickly turned the tide decisively against the second set of attackers.

Gadgetive found herself mainly defending the others. She jammed the attackers' communications, gummed up several of the weapons and generally made herself useful without having much time to become more offensive. Vic, on the other hand, very quickly took out three of the six still standing after Blue Impact's first counter attacks. The older super soon found herself in an informal competition with the martial artist as to how many each took care of. It finally came down to Vic facing the last attacker by herself while the others were busy restraining those already downed. That last member of Riot Squad standing being the man with the bullhorn.

He threw this at Vic, and used the moment she needed to dodge to prepare for her defeat. He could see that he was at least twice her age and knew he had been training hard since his teens; there was no way she had enough experience to stand against his superior skills. Smiling, the man moved in, planning on an elaborate display of his martial prowess. He started with a feint, designed to set up his target for a series of other feints and stunning blows, which would culminate in a devastating finishing strike.

Vic blocked the feint and bounced off the block into a heel-palm strike to the man's helmeted forehead. His head shot backwards. Fortunately for him, the rest of his body followed. He hit the pavement hard and didn't move.

"Wow..." said Gadgetive, wide-eyed behind her mask as she saw this. She turned to Blue Impact and grinned. "Okay, she might be useful after all..."

Part Four

Thanks to the complications of the double attack, cleanup took hours. Between museum security, local police, milling bystanders and many, many news teams things did not go smoothly. Fortunately, the police did keep the news teams away from the actual scene, so the four supers were spared having to deal with them as well. Even as the matters involved in the actual assaults were being straightened out, though, another complication arrived in the form of a museum official, who was accompanied by several more security personnel. The team members were, at that time, standing around, waiting for a high-ranking local police official to arrive and formally take their statement. The leader of the new arrivals may have therefore seen them as easy targets. Ignoring the police and the security men and women already present, he marched directly to the quartet and addressed them in a challenging manner.

"While you were busy with trivialities someone stole the Tuesday Ruby!"

"Wait..." said Blue Impact. "That's in a completely different building. It's a permanent exhibit. We didn't even know there was a threat to steal it."

"The obvious question is why not?!" the man said, shrilly, as he ignored the efforts by one of the uniformed officers to regain control of the situation. "It is the most valuable single item on exhibit! Why wasn't it your priority!?"

"Look, we knew nothing about any threat against anything except this specific, short term exhibit," said Blue Impact, angrily. "If you knew there was a problem, why didn't you bring it to someone's attention?"

"Oh, now you're trying to blame me?" said the man, even more shrilly.

"Right," said Blue Impact, with a tired sigh. "We risk our lives stopping two robbery attempts, and all we get is criticism for not stopping a third which took place somewhere else."

"The Tuesday Ruby isn't the most valuable object in this museum complex," said Gadgetive, in an authoritative tone. "It isn't even the most valuable object in the mineralogy museum. That would be the Idol's Eye Blue Diamond. The ruby is valuable, though, and famous. The Precious Stones even wrote a song about it, back in 1967."

"I'm talking about the theft of a national treasure and you're arguing trivialities!" the man shrieked, his voice cracking. "What are you people even doing here?!"

"We were invited," said Blue Impact, flatly.

"Well, not by me!"

"Right," Blue Impact repeated. She looked at the senior officer present, who rolled his eyes. Deciding to focus on their actual problem, she turned to look at their prisoners. "Vic, who was it that you suggested calling, a few minutes ago?"

"FBI. They have a special branch for dealing with art theft and art fraud, and I think that's what the items in this exhibit count as. The ruby would, too."

The mad inventor and several others started shouting denials about that classification, but one of the uniforms present overrode them in volume.

"Whoah! No FBI! This is specifically a local crime, and we'll handle it."

"I really don't need an argument over jurisdiction, just now," said Blue Impact, who noticed that most of the uniforms were stepping back a bit. "We have a federal officer interning with us. She already made the arrests."

She pointed at Vic, who pointed to the badge on her belt.

"You're not a fed," said the officer, actually sneering. "You're a pseudo-fed!"

"If you think you can ignore my authority," said Vic, tone deadly, "you'll find yourself arrested, in restraints and up on charges. Back off!"

He did, though sputtering. His retreat was due in part to the senior officer present having a quiet word with him.

"Stop ignoring me!" shouted the mineralogy museum official.

As if that were possible, thought Blue Impact.

"Sir, we're not ignoring you," said Blue Impact, trying to be diplomatic. "We're calling in experts to deal with your problem."

That was Vic's cue to start making calls. Meanwhile, the senior uniform quickly got on his radio. Before he could receive any sort of definitive response, however, several unmarked cars arrived and - among others - three well-dressed men and a woman got out. The man apparently in charge of these new arrivals looked around, stone faced but obviously attempting to sort out what was going on. He saw Vic wave, then point to her badge. His eyes might have widened just a bit. He walked quickly over to her and the pair spoke quietly for several minutes. Then, at Vic's suggestion, the man waved the senior uniform present over.

By now Blue Impact had her own cell phone out and was making several quick, terse calls. Finally, she nodded, thanked whoever she was speaking to and hung up. She walked over to the head of museum security.

"I just finished a conference call which included the city's Attorney General," she said, politely but firmly. "The museum gets funding from the city, the state and the federal government. However, this exhibit is here from out of state. Given that, and the fact that an authorized, active federal officer made the actual arrests they all agreed that the FBI should take custody."

"I'll have to confirm that," said the man, stiffly.

"I would expect no less."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that if you don't confirm that I will report you for dereliction of duty!" snapped Blue Impact. She spun around and marched towards Vic, who had just finished with the men she had been talking to. "Tell me some good news."

"The Chief, here, got a call which pretty much confirmed what we had already decided: The FBI has jurisdiction. They have a team on the way from the local office. They've already cleared this with the city."

"What about my ruby?!" screamed the mineralogy museum man.

"It's not your ruby, Fred!" yelled another administrator. "It belongs to the museum! Have you even officially reported the crime, yet?"

He started to make an angry retort, then looked startled. Then he hurried - soon breaking into a run - back the way he had come.

* * *

A museum official eventually confirmed the obvious; that the exhibit was closed for the rest of the week. More likely for the rest of the month. Repairs had to be made, and additional security arranged to keep things safe until then. The quartet was therefore out of a job.

Once they arrived, the FBI team essentially told them the same thing. It was "Thanks for your help. We'll handle things from here."

"I heard what our two roof squatters told the police," said Blue Impact, as the four women walked back to their ride, which was hidden in a lawn care garage at the rear of the museum's administration building. "However, once we get back to the lair we definitely need a debriefing of our own. I have questions I haven't heard anyone else ask, yet."

As their apergy pod settled into cruise mode for the short trip back to Tricorne's headquarters, Energia noticed Gadgetive yawning.

"How can you be sleepy after all that excitement?"

"Not sleepy," said the gadgeteer, in a sour mutter. "Just short on caffeine."

"Feeling tired?" said Vic, with saccharine cheerfulness. "There's a nap for that!"

"Huh?" said Gadgetive, blankly.

Vic suddenly straightened in her seat.

"Sorry; it's my boss."

She reached up and tapped a concealed switch on her helmet.

The call didn't last long, but by the time it was over the chameleon-skinned flyer was already dropping through the roll-open top of the storage shed on the roof of the old bakery. The quartet disembarked from the vehicle, crossed the short distance to the top of the stairs - unseen thanks to a high fence all around the periphery of the roof - and entered the lair.

"What a mess," groaned, Vic, collapsing melodramatically on the lair's reinforced couch, still in her armor. "Is this the way your cases usually go?"

"No, but a lot of them do," said Blue Impact, just as tiredly. She gave Vic a sympathetic smile, as she sat in her recliner. "Though we don't usually have to deal with the paperwork they put you through."

Vic gave a tired laugh and pulled her helmet off.

"You remember that call I got on the flight back here? That was Doro, telling me they'd gotten five calls to verify my identity and authority. Two of those from the FBI!"

"Was the gem theft just coincidence?" said Energia, as she landed gracefully on the other end of the couch. "Or did some mastermind set all the rest up as a distraction to steal the ruby for a mega-laser or something?"

"Whoah," said Gadgetive, eyes going wide as she - as usual - entered the large, main room last. "I hadn't thought of that. They do use rubies for some types of lasers. Though it'd be easier to culture a synthetic with exactly the right properties than steal something that well protected."

"I suspect that the ruby theft was for ransom," said Blue Impact, frowning in thought. "Even recutting the Tuesday Ruby - which would be a cultural crime - wouldn't let them get away with selling the pieces; its chemical signature is registered and the pieces would be quickly identified."

"We need a bigger couch," said Gadgetive, glaring at the two on that piece of furniture. There was actually plenty of room.

"Oh, use the other recliner," said Energia, sourly. "You never sit on the couch unless you're watching TV anyway."

"Okay," said Vic, trying to ignore the byplay and get back to the case, "one other thing I got from the call was a warning that other places which also have some of the tech from the exhibits might be targeted. They've notified the FBI and local law enforcement in the appropriate areas."

"Closest place to here - after the museum - would be Abner Sturgeon's home," said Gadgetive, looking thoughtful as she distractedly sat on the coffee table. "It's in a suburb of Charleston."

"Probably not our concern, then," said Blue Impact. She sighed and rose. "All right, let's get started on the debriefing. What was the first anyone knew of the attack?"

"That big thump," said Vic, "as the power armor punched a hole in the wall to let the drones in. I didn't see or hear it before that, and I was too far away for my sense of perception to catch it."

"Yeah," said Gadgetive, nodding. "Must have been stealthed, like our flyer. Didn't see or hear anything before that."

Blue Impact led them through a detailed account of their actions, piecing together what had happened as best she could. Finally satisfied, she nodded.

"That's about all we can do until I get the reports of the prisoner interrogations," she said. "I'll just make notes for now."

"Y'know," said Gadgetive, hopefully, "I'd like to see that house."

"Sturgeon's home?" said Blue Impact, pausing on her way to her private, corner workstation.

"Yeah. It was supposed to have been cleared of all his stuff, but there are rumors that the new owners just left it all there. That either it was too much trouble to remove, or that the new owners were actually admirers of his work."

"Well, it should be easy to find out who owns the property," said Blue Impact. She turned and resumed course.

The others looked at each other; Gadgetive happily, Energia neutrally, Vic not sure what was going on.

"She's very good at the online detective work," said Energia, by way of explanation. "Also at the gumshoe stuff, though that's different in costume than for police or PIs."

"Yeah, that last I already knew," said Vic, nodding. "Part of Bureau training is what the difference is and how to do each. Though I'm not really good at any of those."

"Got it!" came the triumphant cry from Blue Impact, a bit later. "Property was sold a few weeks after Abner's death - turned out the guy who let them in had his power of attorney - to a real estate developer. Then, nothing. Which is very strange. Every other property in that neighborhood has changed hands at least twice since then."

"That was years ago!" said Energia, surprised.

"There's a lot of paperwork still to go through," said Blue Impact. "A couple of lawsuits, problems with the utilities, zoning violation complaints... There's also some records which haven't been computerized. I've got both custom software and a couple of contacts in the appropriate city office sorting through things. I suspect the property actually was sold again at least once, but so far haven't tracked down to whom. That could take days or even weeks."

"Just to be safe," said Vic, carefully, "we should at least go take a look. I have the impression that the local cops aren't even being advised there might be a problem for the house."

Perhaps she was hoping to make a favorable impression on the team's gadgeteer.

"We really should check it out," said Gadgetive, doing her best to look like an eager puppy and failing miserably.

"If this is all a mastermind plot," said Blue Impact, slowly and thoughtfully, "we can expect more complications. It's what they do."

"So, we're going?" said Gadgetive, eagerly.

"Yes," said Blue Impact, grinning at her enthusiasm. "We're going. After we clean up a bit. We're still dirty from the fight."

"We should have lunch, too," said Vic. "In all the excitement we missed it."

That idea met with all-round approval.

"Better late than never," said Energia, agreeably.

* * *

The people walking their dogs and tending lawns and flower beds in the upper middle-class neighborhood that afternoon looked askance as the apergy pod silently descended straight down out of the clear sky to park on its wheeled landing gear in front of the incongruous house. However, even when four costumed figures exited to stand at the gate, the attitude of the locals was to obviously think some variation of "Well, of course that place would receive that sort of attention." and to go on about their business. None came over to ask what the masks were doing. None even gave them more than an occasional surreptitious glance.

"No doubt which one it is," said Energia, quietly, as they stood looking at their target.

The sprawling, two-storey house was on a correspondingly large lot. It was not only the oldest structure in the neighborhood, it was the only one of its style, which included a white picket fence. There was a mail box on the gate post, but it was empty, with no name; just the number.

"Wow. Guy must have spent a fortune on this," said Energia, flying up a bit to get a better view. "Even back in the Fifties, this was not a cheap neighborhood."

She looked around.

"I'm surprised someone hasn't bought it and torn it down to build another McMansion."

"It was bought, remember," said Blue Impact. "Not long after Abner Sturgeon died. Supposedly by a real estate developer, who promised to put up a showcase home as soon as he got the funding."

"That sounds familiar," said Energia, smiling as she landed.

"To what?" said Gadgetive, puzzled.

"The wild promises people promoting startups sometimes make," said Blue Impact.

"Well, whoever currently owns it makes sure it's well-maintained," said Vic. "Place looks immaculate."

"Too immaculate," said Blue Impact, frowning. "It's like..."

"Like something from a theme park," said Energia, nodding as she got the team leader's drift.

"I bet there's automated mowers," said Gadgetive, sounding excited.

"So... Do we just knock?" said Vic, uncertainly.

"That works surprisingly often," said Blue Impact.

"Of course, when it doesn't," said Energia, all too cheerfully, "we usually wind up fighting for our lives."

Blue Impact lifted the latch and pushed the classic white-painted gate open. Then jumped back as many things happened rapidly. The least of them being that the gate slammed shut and relatched.

Hatches opened in the sod and menacing looking devices deployed from under the ground. All those on that side of the house were pointed at Blue Impact. Armored shutters rose into place over all the doors and windows, locking solidly into place.

"Attention!" said an amplified voice. "This property is in security lockdown! All intruders will be neutralized and held for the police!"

"I don't believe it!" shouted Gadgetive, excitedly. "They left it intact! The whole thing's here! It must be!"

"Is there somebody in there?" said Energia, loudly.

There was no response.

"The place is supposed to be empty," said Blue Impact, frowning. "This must all be on automatic. Which means the new owner needs to be contacted."

"Yeah, and you won't let me have traps," said Gadgetive, pouting.

"What if Vic identified herself as a federal LEO?" said Energia, frowning in thought. "Is it sophisticated enough to recognize that?"

They tried. Vic help up her badge and identified herself and her agency in a loud, clear voice.

"There is no warrant present," said the same voice. "There is no probable cause. You will not enter this property."

"Yeah, that sounds pretty sophisticated," said Energia, impressed.

"That voice sounds a lot like the big guy who did so many of the voices for the theme park Abner worked for," said Blue Impact. She looked at the team's gadgeteer. "You think you can do anything with this from out here?"

"I'm remembering something a biology teacher I once had told a class," said Gadgetive, with a sour expression. "'Under the most stringently controlled conditions of environment, conditioning and heredity, the organism does what it damn well pleases.'"

"Are you saying this is alive?" said Vic, startled.

"Or close enough as makes no nevermind, as my grandma used to say," said Gadgetive. Her scowl deepened. "There's a reason I don't work with biology."

"So is this a person?" said Blue Impact, firmly.

"Nah," said Gadgetive. She frowned. "Probably not. I mean, I don't think so..."

"Should we try negotiation?" said Energia, grinning.

"No," said Blue Impact. "Right now there's no sign of trouble here. We'll continue to try and find the owner, but for now we just leave this alone. It may have already called the police."

"Nothin' on the police scanner," said Gadgetive, frowning, "though I bet there would be if one of us tried to enter the property."

"What if I flew in?" said Energia.

"Probably react as soon as you crossed the property line," said Gadgetive, nodding. "Not sure how, but some of those things which deployed look pretty formidable."

"Yow," said Energia, mildly.

"Yes," said Blue Impact, nodding. "So we back off and contact the owner."

"Yeah, this looks like it would at the very least call the authorities if someone tried to break in," said Vic, also nodding. "Since it didn't call before we got here, there probably hasn't been any attempt at intrusion. For now we should leave things alone."

Part Five

"Guess what?" said Blue Impact, a couple of hours later, back at the lair. "Turns out the person who owns the house is the same Emil Logsdon who had to let the police in, years ago. He is part owner of the real estate company which bought the house, which is why there's no record of further transfers. He just had the company say it was waiting for a buyer to develop the property, in order to head off complaints about the house not fitting with the rest of the neighborhood. I guess he took it over as a private project. Or maybe as a memorial to his friend."

The other three had been in the lounge area, talking about the case while their leader worked in her private corner. When she finally had something to tell them, Blue Impact was pleased to find that they were already together and close by.

"It did fit in when it was built," said Energia, who had learned to appreciate old things from her maternal grandmother. "The whole suburb was bought out, usually one lot at a time, and the other old houses torn down, with the properties often being combined to make room for McMansions."

"Well, yes," said Blue Impact, with a straight face. "Anyway, the bad news is that when I tried to contact Logsdon I couldn't. He seems to have disappeared. Even his wife doesn't know where he is. She just spent several hours calling around to their children and grandkids and other family as well as friends and business acquaintances. No-one has seen him since early this afternoon."

"I bet he's inside that house," said Energia, with conviction.

"His wife says he went to check on it after the attempts were made on the exhibits this morning, but no-one saw him actually arrive there and he's not answering his phone. Because of the circumstances the police are already looking for him. His car has an emergency location device and the police say his vehicle was found abandoned in a culvert well away from the path he should have taken to get from where he was to the house."

"Shit," said Vic, alarmed and angered. "I bet someone kidnapped him to force him to let them into the house and something went wrong."

"Well, he's almost eighty, and while he's in good health any rough treatment of someone that age could definitely have serious health results. Also: language."

"So we need to find him soon," said Energia.

"He needs to be found soon," said Blue Impact. "Not necessarily by us, but by someone. Soon."

* * *

"This case is turning out to be pretty big," said Blue Impact, at breakfast the next morning. "Though there's still nothing probative, both local and federal investigations - plus my own checking - have shown connections between all three robbery attempts at the museum and several similar recent crimes."

"Shit," was all Energia said. The others stayed silent.

"Please be more careful with your language," said Blue Impact, tiredly. "I know you're well past legal age, but it still gives a bad impression."

"You can tell she's older than she looks," said Gadgetive, smirking. She was absent-mindedly tapping her fingers on the table they sat around. The others had learned to ignore that.

"Yeah, but she has a good point," said Vic, a bit reluctantly. "They train those of us who work for the Bureau of Special Resources - including part-timers like me - to mind our manners. Something I forgot until she called me on it yesterday. Perception can be as important as reality to some people. We must be like Caesar's wife, and avoid even the appearance of impropriety."

"So," said Blue Impact, resuming. "At least five out of seven recent tech crimes we know of have connections to the works of Abner Sturgeon. Investigators say that the ruby heist has connections - though they're more tentative - to whoever planned the other crimes. We therefore need to check on more of Abner's work, and try to find some way to track down whoever is behind all this."

"Not a lot to go on," said Vic. "Doro says all the thieves we caught were paid through intermediaries. The few of those who have already been caught in connection to the other crimes gave testimony indicating they were also contacted indirectly."

"Again, all signs of a cautious, competent mastermind at work," said Blue Impact. She sighed. "We need more information."

"None of his stuff is still actually used by the theme parks," said Gadgetive, thoughtfully. "They may have some in storage, though. That could be a target."

"The FBI has already thought of that," said Vic, nodding. "The company's official line is that they reused or scrapped all the old equipment. Most of the stuff in the show here, for example, actually came from private collectors, with the rest already being in museums. Which means the exhibit organizers unintentionally gathered it all in one place for the thieves. The FBI is making Abner Sturgeon's old employers give them inventories of what the company still has, though, and they're also keeping an eye on whatever is left, wherever it is."

"So, this hypothetical mastermind will probably seek other targets," said Energia.

"More likely, if there is one mastermind behind all this they'll redouble their efforts," said Vic, speaking from personal experience. "They may back off a bit, or postpone some operations, but they'll always come back to their original goals. If only to prove that the dullards working against them don't have a chance."

"So, what is there for us to do?" said Energia. She noticed that for some reason all four of them were leaning close together over the kitchen table, speaking quietly. She deliberately leaned back a bit, and the others followed her example.

"Unless we can get permission from the police to examine the evidence at one of the crime scenes," said Blue Impact, "or find someone who can get us in that house, we just wait. Which is the hardest role."

* * *

After the meeting ended Vic headed to her room, intending to change into her training garb and get some exercise. She had only been there for a few minutes when there was a knock on the door. From both the sound and her sense of perception she knew it was Blue Impact, but Vic had learned not to let folks know she could tell those things unless she didn't mind freaking them out. Of course, with Blue Impact the difference in knocks was pretty obvious, given her denser tissues. Though most people still didn't notice.

Vic quickly pulled her gi top on over her sport bra as she went to the door but didn't bother tying it, simply closing it and letting friction hold it in place.

"Hi, boss," she said, smiling. "What's up?"

"Have you got a moment to talk?"

"Sure. Come on in."

As the team leader entered Vic quickly tied her top closed but made no other changes, since Blue Impact got immediately to the subject.

"Have you noticed any... problems with Energia the past few months? You've seen more of her recently than I have, and I'd appreciate your insight."

"I've known her for a few years, but you've known her longer," said Vic, frowning as she thought about the question. "Though, yeah, I knew her before the war, so... She was really down for several months after Maldren left, which is understandable. I know how I'd feel if Michelle had to leave."

"Is she getting over missing him, though, or is she just covering that up?"

"I honestly can't say. She does still seem down on occasion, but who isn't?"

"Okay. Sorry for putting you on the spot like this, but you have been closer to her at college than I have at the Pine Island Academy, recently."

"Yeah. If I notice anything more definite, I'll let you know."

"Thanks."

* * *

The break came late that afternoon. Vic received a call from Doro, instructing her to call the head of the local FBI investigation. The others knew about the calls, but since Vic went to her room for the second - and stayed there for nearly an hour - they had no idea what was going on. Until Vic called them all together in the main room.

"Okay, the FBI says they were able to track some of the stolen old tech to a warehouse in a freight center about fifty miles north of here," said Vic, unable to keep from pacing across the short-nap carpet which covered the floor of the lounge area. "They're planning a raid and want us along in case whoever is behind this has more supers on hand guarding the place."

"When will the raid be?" said Blue Impact.

"Seven thirty tonight. They claim they picked the time because it's late enough the suspects will be getting sloppy but early enough the agents will have good light. Frankly, I think that's just the earliest they could get everyone there."

"Well, we can make it. Did they have any recommendations for how we should approach, or when and where to meet them?"

"They sent me a text with full instructions."

"Indirectly, I hope," said Energia, a bit alarmed.

"Yeah. This is my Bureau issue phone. It has gadgeteer security measures, including spoofing what cell repeaters it's using."

"Good," said Blue Impact. "Let's get those instructions printed."

* * *

Tricorne + 1 arrived at the rendezvous point just before the assigned time, to discover that the agents had gone ahead. There were just a few people left behind at a communications van to coordinate. One of the agents standing guard outside the van walked over to meet the team as their flyer landed.

"Yeah, sorry," said the agent. He didn't look or sound sorry. "They saw some activity and decided to go ahead. We probably won't even need yo..."

Sounds of explosions and automatic weapons fire from the direction of the warehouse presented an ironic denial to his statement before he could even finish it. He spun around and stared at the smoke starting to rise in the distance. Energia shot into the air as the other three jumped back into their pod and quickly followed her.

They immediately found themselves in a war zone... only it was a battle with just one person against the supers and agents. The FBI personnel were engaging a gargantuan, extremely stocky man who was casually tossing forklifts and pieces of building at them. Usually with one hand.

"Who is that?!" said Energia, as she circled overhead.

"I don't know, but this is a potentially lethal situation," who was baling out before the flyer touched down, leaving Gadgetive to handle that chore. "Don't hold back."

"I doubt he'd notice me if I held back, from the looks of him."

Blue Impact hit hard enough to crack the pavement, then ran towards the antagonist. The pod landed just as Energia opened up. She hit the figure with a heat blast which melted and ignited the asphalt in the pavement he stood on. He yelped, looked up at her with a glare, and leapt.

Energia - expecting this - dodged out of his way and hit him with a flash attack as he passed. Dazzled, he couldn't see where he would land and hit badly. Then immediately bounced back to his feet.

"Tough, strong, fast..." said Energia, taking evasive action as he ripped a chunk from a neighboring concrete loading dock and hurled it at her. She grabbed it magnetically by the steel reinforcement and sent it back at him. He punched it out of the air. "May have fast regeneration, too. This isn't going to be quick or easy."

"On my signal, blind him again," said Blue Impact, changing direction. "Gadgetive, when she does, you hit him with as many nets or webs or whatever you have available as you can. Then Vic and I will move in and pound on him until he yields."

The tactic had worked before. It worked on this guy. At first. This time, unfortunately, as the cocoon of contractile webbing tightened, he simply shrugged and it burst asunder.

Blue Impact was already racing towards him, and he was facing away from her so she continued. She changed her attack to a leaping double kick, however. She caught him over his right kidney and actually shoved him off balance forward and made him grunt a bit. Then he turned and slammed his fist downwards. Fortunately, Blue Impact was already rolling away, so instead of spattering her he just showered the area with a spray of broken pavement. This also left him open for Vic.

The martial artist blind-sided him with a hook kick to the gut. To the brute's obvious surprise, he grunted and staggered backwards. He still recovered in time to swing at her. Vic didn't even try to block this but did a backflip away from him. He charged after her, and Vic found herself fighting alone against the monster whose undivided attention she now had.

He was no clumsy brawler, something he had already demonstrated. While he obviously preferred brute force attacks, he also had enormous skill. If he had hit Vic even once, she would have been out of the fight and maybe even dead. However, as experienced and quick as he obviously was, she was highly skilled, just as quick and far more agile. Moreover, every time she hit him, she hurt him, while he couldn't touch her. Vic even managed to split his lip and bloody his nose with a leaping front snap kick, from which she went into another backflip, to land cat-like on her feet. He looked less surprised and more impressed with each of her successes. He still wasn't going down. He was also obviously healing as they fought.

The others tried to help, but Vic and the huge man were moving too quickly and erratically. Finally, she caught him with a side kick to the solar plexus. She had been using the Purple Art and ki projection and her skill with every blow before this, which was the only way she was able to hurt him. This time she put everything she had into the strike, worried that they were moving back towards the FBI agents. This commitment to the attack left her vulnerable, but fortunately her gamble paid off. He gave a huge grunt, staggered, then curled around his gut and fell to the ground.

Vic backed away, breathing hard but not really panting, and watched. Slowly, she relaxed. She stood and watched as Blue Impact and Gadgetive cautiously moved in and bound the guy.

"I don't know if this will hold him," said Gadgetive, worried. She looked up at the slowly approaching feds. "Let's hope they have a neutralizer."

As it happened, they did. The quartet pulled back as the FBI agents attached the unit to a tripod and shone its baleful glare down on the huge man.

"There," said the tech who set it up. "That will hold him!"

"If he's a genetic super," said Blue Impact, pointedly.

"What other kind is there?" said Moshe Sanders, the agent in charge, absently.

Blue Impact sighed but decided not to enlighten him just then.

"Why don't we see what he was guarding so vigorously?"

* * *

As it turned out, documents. Stacks of boxes of actual, physical papers.

"What. The. Hell," said Agent Sanders, as he looked up from the box he had opened and around at the rest. He shook his head. "All right, get some more of those open and take a look at what all this is."

They didn't need long to learn that it was strange.

"Uh, boss? This one is a paper trail with receipts showing that President Gibbons sold votes to China."

"WHAT?!"

"This one has him taking bribes to promote removing embargoes on several nations which are known supporters of terrorists."

"This one shows how the Vice President is plotting to assassinate the President, declare martial law and use that to become dictator."

"Hold on," said Agent Sanders, scowling. "What is this, headlines for tabloids?"

"There's stuff here going back years," said Sanders' main assistant, who had skipped to the rear of the pile and opened a box there. "Even to before Thurlin."

"Over here!" someone called out, from deeper in the warehouse. "There's weird, mechanical-looking things!"

"Pantographs," said Gadgetive, after those not busy inventorying box contents hurried over. "Specifically, these devices are used to reproduce handwriting. I'm also seeing old teletype machines. Though both categories of device have a lot of extra stuff driving them."

She pulled out a compact flashlight and began examining the equipment in detail.

"Da... Wow... You use this terminal, here, to select a preprinted form and a machine to print or write what you want on the form. Only someone has added a text generator. An electromechanical text generator. You type in someone's name and this..."

She straightened, froze for a moment, then spun around, wide-eyed behind her mask, to face the others.

"This is some of the Head Shop's work! I remember, they used these in the reproduction newspaper office in the theme parks to produce humorous documents for park visitors. Things like fake wanted posters, newspaper pages and the like. Wouldn't take much modification to make this produce what's in those boxes."

"So the purpose of this warehouse is to produce scandal documents. Why?!"

"Agent Sanders, this is very typical of mastermind type planning," said Blue Impact, sternly. "Specifically, this is intended to create short-term confusion. To distract those in power and those who work for them. Obviously, these documents were intended to be 'leaked' to various news agencies. The idea being to get everyone in the government busy disproving the claims instead of looking for the stolen items and whoever has them."

"That's crazy!" said one of the agents.

"You try telling a mastermind that!" said Vic, who had been the subject of such an operation.

"It might have worked, at that," said Agent Sanders, nodding. "If these had been leaked piecemeal... At the very least, news agencies would have been distracted from covering the thefts and various government speakers would have been busy issuing denials."

He looked around the large, open area in what was supposed to be a disused and empty warehouse, and sighed.

"We're still going to be stuck cataloging all this. Though, since we found it before it could be released, we can make that a low priority."

"You better hope they haven't released any, yet," said Vic, direly.