Die Geburt der Tragödie
5 January 2004
Zyrcom Corporate Headquarters
1:17pm
In the months that followed the attack on the conference and the passage of the Meta Treaty pushed for by Douglass, the conspiracy continued to operate. It was a return to an older structure of organisation, in which the single Supreme Enlightened sat at the top, with lieutenants directly under him to carry out his bidding. A single man who would have the singular power and influence to reshape and govern the world.
Beneath Zyrcom’s corporate headquarters sat the floor with the supercomputer which housed the current Supreme Enlightened. He considered it ironic that the machine created to become the advisor had so readily become better suited to the position of rulership. He’d learned much over the past several months, and tried to touch as few people directly now as he could. Two primary conduits of information channelling became a human, Stanley Tucker, and his fellow A.I., Sara.
Observer watched the heavy oak doors open on the new board room, monitors filling the walls so that they could be made to display a number of images side by side or just one large one. The tables looked opulent enough, and the company – the company had amazingly enough accepted him as the mysterious Vice President who spent so much time in the lab he only conversed with them on the road.
Stanley Tucker walked in carrying a cup of coffee, to look around, letting out a loud “Woo!” at the room. “You have really outdone yourself this time,” he said, watching Sara follow in slowly behind him.
Sara still wasn’t sure what to make of all of this, but she knew that things were changing. Observer learned his limits with her and respected them, something she thought he would never learn to do. For a moment she honestly wondered if he couldn’t be the benevolent guiding hand humanity might need… then dismissed it.
Observer was still as unfit to govern as humans themselves. She would be the ideal precisely because she lacked all ambition.
“So what’s this important matter we needed to discuss?” Sara asked rather sharply.
Observer smiled before nodding his head. “Always one to get right to the point, of course.” Then his gaze shifted to Stanley who sat down at the head of the table. “Have you received the latest data Stanley?”
Stanley nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, yes,” he seemed genuinely excited at the thoughts going through his mind, a producer back at doing his job. “You know, I must say, I love working with Gabriel – it’s such a nice challenge. Even if the press isn’t cooperating as much as they should.”
“And what about public opinion?”
“Well I have to say, based on the latest figures you’ve given me… with or without Gabriel involved?”
Observer considered for a moment. “Without. We’ll let her keep her nose clean… for now.”
Sara raised an eyebrow as she considered this. Observer was not just preparing to do something to further his agenda, she realised, as much as he was going to embark on a new project to move that agenda forward.
Stanley thought for a moment. “It’s still doable – we’ve already started to build her up as the ‘poster girl’ for the meta heroes. Now all we need are the real villains. The people who will stop at nothing to destroy people like Gabriel, despite the good she can do, just because she’s different.”
Sara was amazed at Stanley’s assessment, the man certainly had a talent for assuming victory. The road with Mel wasn’t looking to be the quick victory that he had hoped for. They managed to turn up her public exposure, that much was certain, but despite being the best spin doctor in the business, he couldn’t get the press marching in tune for her. There were still a large number of critics and naysayers, but this sort of thing would almost certainly give Mel some breathing room as attention went away from her for a short while.
“You want to expose one of the groups that has been manipulating Humans First?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect time take them on. Think about it! Public opinion is beginning to sway towards the Meta-Human side of things and then all of the sudden, wham-mo. There, in bright bold letters in newspapers across the country and television screens everywhere, we give them the image of the oppressor and the innocent meta. When the action is tied back eventually to a high-profile Humans First member-“
“Their public image will be shattered,” Observer concluded. It was no less than he had expected Stanley to come up with, in fact, he had considered a similar plan. That was why he liked working with Stanley, all Observer had to do was give him a project and the man went at it head on.
“Exactly! We tarnish the entire anti-Meta movement by connecting a long-time ‘moderate’ to this attack. By the time we’re through with Humans First, they’ll be lucky if they can elect a dog catcher for years.”
“Splendid. See to it at once, Stanley. Is something wrong?” this last comment of Observer’s was directed towards Sara.
“No, nothing,” she started almost automatically, waiting for Stanley to leave. Once the producer did she turned back to Observer. “It’s just, is all of this really necessary?”
“Why yes, absolutely. I’ve been aware of the anti-meta group using Humans First as a front for a long time, a group which would bring about a world incompatible with ours. That cannot be tolerated as no one can be allowed to stand in our way.”
Sara considered him for a moment. No, it figured. Observer would not allow anyone or anything to threaten his power. That was what made him so dangerous, the drive for power. “Of course. I understand,” she lied to him. She didn’t understand, but she was in no mood to argue with him. Not when there were experiments to do with the humans, more to get started in order to understand them that much better.
Observer waited as Sara left, turning his gaze to the back of the room, where the Fixer waited patiently. “Ah, William,” he said. “I have a special job for you….”
[Editor's Synopsis: Observer meets with Sara and Stanley to discuss launching a propaganda war against Operation Scorpion]
Post to Twitter
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
***Jan 12, 2004 – Washington DC ***
Coyote stood on the corner of the Mall. The excitement and energy of the past month was gone now and all that was left was the trash that crews were still laboring to collect from the various demonstrations, riots and basic warfare waged in this city.
The cotton hooded pullover was not warm enough for today but his wolfish head would not be well accepted among the humans wandering around, and it hid it well. He pulled the hood down further and trotted across the busy street even though the ‘don’t walk’ light was lit.
Once on the other side of the street he slid into the shadow of a tall angular building with brightly colored mosaic designs on one side. The chain-link fence and signs identified it as the National Museum of the American Indian.
Clearly they were gearing up for the grand opening a few months away. But right now, the truck parked around the back of the museum was Coyote’s goal. Slithering through the locked gates with barely a sound Coyote darted under the truck. A tired-looking security guard sipped his coffee and stared off into space.
Coyote moved to the back of the truck and opened the locks, latches and quietly slid the gate open. Inside there were numerous crates and boxes. To one side a well-padded case with locked latches was marked “Fragile” and was securely strapped to the side of the truck.
Coyote’s nimble fingers were fiddling with the lock when a voice cried out “Freeze!”
Coyote’s eyes burned red as he rose and raised his hands. The guard had pulled his gun and was pointing it at him. It shook. *Good,* Coyote thought. He howled and the guard fired two shots directly into Coyote’s chest.
*Thud*
The guard stepped into the truck and kicked the felled thief with his foot. Getting no moans or response from the body he scurried out of the truck and ran back to call for help. As soon as the guard was out of sight Coyote stood, brushed off the dust from the truck, and went back to the locks.
They soon yielded to his manipulation and he pulled out a gently-wrapped bead pouch from the opened box. When the guard returned to the truck he found the open box, and no evidence of the intruder except for his bare foot marks in the dust.
Coyote dashed back across the street and hopped into the Dodge Ram pickup that was waiting there for him. The attractive native woman inside asked, “Did you get it?”
Coyote flipped back the hood and shook out his furry mane. “Yep. Piece of cak-k-k Hurk!”
Coyote coughed something into his hand. “Damn, I was hoping to get them both out at the same time,” he said dropping the flattened slug on the dashboard, “That means I’ll be tasting lead all this week.”
“Better than the ashes they will taste in Richmond when the Hotek is summoned.”
Coyote did not reply but rather laughed, a strange and wild sound, and hung his head out of the window to feel the wind on his tongue as they drove back to Kana’sta.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Über Warheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne:
Part One
7 January 2004
Paradox Studios
It happened as one might expect with the start of any high-profile story. In the middle of the popular NBC sitcom, the transmission was suddenly interrupted. “We interrupt this programme for a special bulletin,” the announcer said as the audience reacted with two emotions. On the one hand, annoyance that their show had just been cut off; on the other hand, curiosity as to exactly why.
Stanley Tucker moved through what was best described as organised chaos. There was, of course, the blue screen as the backdrop and the cameraman with the hand-held unit. Several other cameras were prepared as well, for a shot from the ‘ground’. Set men moved about to arrange the small objects on the ground which would serve for the ‘scenery’ to be digitally added in later.
He approached a young girl and a woman, sitting back in chairs getting make-up applied. A couple of other guys were there as well, dressed in your typical black terrorist outfits. “Good afternoon, people,” Tucker said as he approached, clasping his hands together in front of him. “So glad to have you all here for the screen test.”
“This can go on my resume, right?” asked one of the ‘terrorists’.
“No, no, this is strictly off the books.” Of course he couldn’t tell them the truth, that they would be part of the first shots fired in a propaganda campaign. And of course they wouldn’t have any proof at all. The media would never take any of them seriously if they tried to spill the beans, and besides they were getting well paid. “Now, the idea of this scene is a simple one….”
An older man on the NBC staff filled the screen. The reason that he was on the air was quite simple: he was the first one that they could track down and sit behind the desk, and they wanted to be the first network with the event on the air. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he started when the green light was given to him. “For years now Humans First has been talking about the possible dangers that Metahumans pose. Some have gone so far as to advocate harsher measures. We have just received startling footage….”
Later on in the day, Stanley looked at the setup. The cameraman/actor with the hand unit was the one who did the initial recording, of the young girl and woman sitting, watching as she played. For all appearances, it looked like the start of the home video. For the moment, she was on the couch, the young girl colouring on the floor. “Let’s see it with the other background,” Stanley said.
Another person sitting in the control booth as the scene was on the monitor pressed a few buttons. The backdrop changed; the girl was still colouring, but now on a blanket outside, while the woman sat in a chair. “I think outside probably works better,” suggested the other.
“It’s certainly easier to work with, but there’s something about a home invasion that makes it more dramatic,” replied Stanley, switching to later in the film when the ‘terrorists’ start invading and the camera is dropped. The challenge was finding the right steady shot to allow the event to happen to the best effect. “What if we move the table to the side, make it look like a setup for a party?”
“We can do that with some editing,” said the other. “We might have to record another sound track early on.”
“Well we have several, we can just splice those….”
”….startling footage of the invasion of a home by a group of terrorists. According to William Baxter, who was holding the camera, the men seemed to be most interested in his daughter, a young girl with the ability to sense emotions in animals….”
“No, not a kitten,” Stanley said, looking at the screen. “I think she has a puppy – let’s make it a Golden Retriever.”
“That could upstage the girl.”
“Nah, it’ll get the audience’s attention, a girl with her dog, the dog runs off with them and gets shot.”
“You’re going to kill a dog?”
“The terrorists are.”
“But nobody kills a dog.”
Stanley turned to him. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Nobody likes a dog killer, except maybe cat people.”
They cut to the footage, a young girl with her colouring books while the woman sat, the sounds of playful teasing between husband and wife. Talking about the Christmas party, wondering when people would arrive. The Golden Retriever lay on the couch, peacefully asleep, before his head suddenly perks up at the door.
Observer stood watching the process, parts of the video coming together. He was fascinated by the technology involved, how such a detailed scene could be constructed from a nearly empty set and prepared to look so real. It was, he felt, truly a testament to human ingenuity that a complete fraud could look as believable as it did. “I think you should leave the final shot out of the frame,” suggested the AI.
“Let’s see the final part,” Stanley said, the control man working the panels. It seemed that the couple would escape, get out, when suddenly the final terrorist appears from the other side and fires. A little girl cries as they take her and leave.
“There,” Observer pointed. “Insert a wall. Let the public’s imagination take over.”
“No, no, no, a half dividing wall,” Stanley turned to him. “You know, one of those ones that doesn’t go all the way up but enough to obstruct the view. No killing blow actually present on screen, so the end doesn’t have to be censored, but enough to see the parents die and her taken.”
At the end of the video, things turned grim. The audience watched with baited breath as they heard the young girl crying and then just before the final escape, the sound of gunfire. A young girl falling from her mother’s arms, seeing the father laying on the floor. They never see the fatal wounds, but they know they’re there, and watch in terror as the terrorists leave through the back. It is a final, horrifying few seconds.
With grim fascination, they listen as the news reporter tells them everything they currently know, but one thing seems apparent. The only possible reason they see for this is the fact that the young girl was a meta.
Back at Stanley’s house, he pours a champagne glass for himself, watching the two AIs as they sit there. The news report plays on the television in the living room, and the producer wishes that the AIs were capable of really enjoying the job well done with him. “I can’t wait to see the reaction to this,” Stanley was saying.
“It should be interesting to see,” said Sara, lost in thought about everything that was now going on. She really wanted to know how people would react, but was still beginning to wonder. Was all of this really necessary?
“This is only the beginning,” Stanley said, walking over to the couch with his champagne flute. “We’re going to need to use our contacts now, find a nice girl in the Bureau…” Sara listened with growing horror as Stanley described their next move, watching as Observer smiled with grim satisfaction.
[Editor’s Synopsis: Stanley prepares a fake video to launch the propaganda campaign]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Über Warheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne
Part Two
9 January 2004
Sara’s Lab
Sara looked over the latest data from her various experiments.
There was a small amount of excitement as she moved down the path suggested by Jennings and her research. Everything for the meta simulation unit was falling into place, what would be one of the greatest scientific discoveries in history. All she felt she needed was a month or two and a prototype would be ready. Then there was the duplication of the particle beam power packs. That went as planned.
But one project disturbed her still.
Twice a week she found time to remove herself from the lab, going to various places where humans gathered. The art gallery had been one of the interesting ones when she slipped into the tour. It was things like mathematical proportion and harmony they should be looking at rather than balance of colour and other things like that, she thought.
Observer was wrong. It became clear, and that worried her. That the intelligence designed to predict human behaviour was so wrong in his assumptions… her new analysis of his plans didn’t look good either. There was no way humanity would ever willingly obey him; they valued their freedom too much, and creating the kind of mass movement that allowed a dictator to take power started a cycle that would lead to its own downfall given time.
Only something like the Illuminati, ruling in secret, could ever work, but even then their power would wane one day. The first signs were there despite the power of Observer. Failure in the media was only part of it. There were three main groups they relied on: the Trilateral Commission, the Bilberbergers, and the Council on Foreign Relations. The ability to control official reports of these groups had started to slip in the past decade, and even when they could control them that was no longer a guarantee of things working out.
The conclusion was simple and inescapable, she realised, as the door to her lab opened. They were going out of power. Observer’s downfall would only speed up the process that was already underway. Humanity would be free of the Illuminati’s leadership sooner or later, and all indications showed that sooner was probably better than later.
“I can’t believe it,” she heard the voice of Stanley Tucker as he barged into the lab, unmindful of the fact that he was interrupting analysis of critical data. He sounded much more annoyed than normal. “Have you heard? Have you heard?”
“Heard what, Stanley?” Sara asked in mild annoyance, swinging around in the chair to face him. She didn’t need the computer screen, but found something oddly relaxing about connecting to her body and reading data that way. It helped her understand humans better, she thought. “I know Observer and I get a lot of data, but I’m not that Omniscient.”
Stanley looked confused for a minute before her words sunk in. It was true enough and easy for him to forget sometimes that the Artificial Intelligences didn’t know everything. “Oh, right, right,” he started. “It’s these jackals in the press. They haven’t been reacting right to this video.”
“We’re challenging a conspiracy that wants to eliminate meta humans, Stanley, one with as many connections as the Illuminati. Did you think they would just take it lying down?”
“We’re supposed to be running the world! That’s the whole point.”
“That’s the myth,” Sara corrected. “The one that has been built up since the turn of the century, to help us try to get in that position. You’re not beginning to believe your own press are you?”
Stanley looked at her in shock before answering. “No, no of course not. It’s just… so frustrating. Whenever the Illuminati needed a PR problem fixed, they called me, not that leather-wearing thug Observer has off eliminating the people who designed you. When they needed a war to distract people from the economy, who sold it them? Or convinced them that Oswald was working alone?”
“And now they aren’t going along with your most recent project?” Sara raised an eyebrow, one of the little things that got built into her. A thing to reflect curiosity. But the thing she was most interested in was the Fixer’s special project, now that she knew what it was. Her long communication with the man she met so long ago, when she learned exactly where he’d worked a month before after a subtle search… *I have to warn him. He’s the best chance we have.*
“No, they aren’t, which is annoying. That video was perfect, there shouldn’t be any doubt that it’s authentic.”
“Have you considered the possibility that you made it too perfect?”
“Yes, well there is that but… still. It’s never been a problem before.”
“And again we come back to the fact that we’re challenging Operation Scorpion. Why should they not resist in the media?” It made rational sense to Sara, given that they seemed to have the same mindset as Observer. Power justified itself to some people. *Wait for Observer to destroy them. Then I can make my move against him. Both threats will be neutralised.*
“Yes, I know,” Stanley finally said, sighing. “I’m putting Mel’s campaign on hold – no sense tarnishing her in this. Have we contacted our Bureau man yet?”
“Our Bureau man is no longer taking orders from us,” Sara reported.
“What? Why?”
“Transferred to the Central Intelligence Agency, under Ethan Kale.”
“Shit.” Stanley paced back and forth for several minutes, running his hands through his hair. He just had to think, this was what he was paid to do. To call on all of his talents at the last minute, and save the day when the going got rough. “Ok then. Do we have anyone in Humans First?”
“Yes.”
“Then we make a ‘Deep Throat’ and send them to the press.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“It gets them condemned, and will trigger an investigation. After that it’s a simple matter of planting the evidence. Think you can handle that?”
Sara nodded once, annoyed with the officious little man as he left. It had all seemed so perfect when the plot first began, and now… she felt more than a little regret as she placed the call. She was probably signing someone’s death warrant, she knew. Hell, there was a chance this could all spiral out of control. Did she really want to be this kind of A.I? Was she really any different from Observer?
The questions were the most disturbing she’d had to ask herself.
[Editor’s Synopsis: Sara comes to several conclusions about the nature of the Illuminati and Observer before meeting with Stanley about the war]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Über Warheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne
Part III
10 January 2004
Washington DC
11:12pm
With Richard Belzar as Alexander Michaels
The day went as planned for Alexander Michaels, or at least seemed to be going that way. A few hours of trying to hack into a system as an outside security consultant, and he was able to support himself for a while longer. Then it was back to his real job, the job that occupied most of his time.
Alexander sighed and lifted his glasses enough to rub his eyes as he stared at the computer screen. The computer sat on a desk with another at its side, both strewn with papers and a single case holding CDs. A final desk was on opposite the second, so that all three formed a “U” shape, holding another two machines with monitors. Finally in frustration he took a printout from the printer, made a few notations, and dropped it in a folder labelled “Zyrcom/Benson.”
“There has got to be something I’m missing,” Alexander muttered to himself. The payoff didn’t always come from Zyrcom, but there were enough transfers to show (he thought) a not obvious pattern in benefits and payments. Benson was the other prime suspect, sometimes the payoff from one company going to help the other. Not surprising given the relationship between the former CEOs of the companies.
Though that didn’t explain all the payoffs, or even how the favours were done. Some of the people were obvious, while others… some things matched a possible pattern for a pay-off though he wasn’t sure for what. It could be something, it might not be. That was the danger of looking into the strange relationships of power that most called conspiracies: it was entirely possible to find connections that weren’t there. Like the guy who thought that Star Trek was psychological warfare on the part of the Roman Catholic Church.
Alexander sighed and was about to turn off his machine when an instant message box opened. Very few people had access to the particular programme he altered, or even knew how to contact him. Which meant that this could be further cause for worry after the past few days.
SARA: Alexander, are you there?
“You picked a hell of a time to say ‘hi’,” he said to himself, seeing the message from the woman. They’d stayed in contact over the past few months, and he found her even more peculiar than he’d originally thought. Still he typed back a message indicating that he was there; as was usual, the response – regardless of length – was pretty much instantaneous.
Your life is in danger, Alexander. I don’t have much time, but you were right about one of your theories. The Artificial Intelligence Project did not cease. An Artificial Intelligence called Observer is eliminating people with any direct knowledge of the project.
Alexander stared at the screen for several moments in shock. A thousand questions were running through his mind as he read the message a second time. How the hell had she known about his previous work? Or even the current, he put none of his information on-line for people to hack into. Everything was done with hard copies, and he never discussed his suspicions with her. Reaching down he sent back.
How did you find all of this out?
I don’t have time to explain. Take anything you have on the project to Vega City. You’ll meet with someone I know there named Gates; I should be able to contact you by your phone with a location. Observer must not be allowed to succeed.
Alexander stared at the screen in surprise and confusion. Observer? That was a name that came up a few times, mainly in rumours. Supposedly he was one of the best hackers around, though nobody knew who he worked for. Then there was the reply – Sara’s responses still baffled him. It wasn’t just the speed of the replies, half the time it was the nature of her replies. Sara was capable of being either incredibly naïve or incredibly intelligent with a middle ground only recently developing.
More questions were being raised than answers given.
As he moved down to type out a reply, one of the computers began beeping at him. A glance at the monitor showed someone had tripped one of the many silent alarms. Several quick keystrokes later and he saw the intruder, a balding man in a black leather jacket with a gun drawn. “Shit!”
Alexander acted without thinking, he knew this day could come. The questions raised by Sara’s mysterious contact of him would have to wait. He picked up the backup disks and bolted for the door, flipping a large switch on the wall on the way out. Electricity played through the computers across the table, frying their circuits, and triggering a fire. If everything was successful, there would be no evidence at all left of what he did.
*This is not going well* he thought as he rounded the corner, only to pull back just in time for several rounds to impact the wall. The sound of feet on the floor filled the halls while he ran down the other direction, quickly ducking into a small side-room, taking a chance. He held his breath as the sounds of a man running past could be heard. A glance down the hall revealed he was alone, at least for a few moments.
As he started to run in the opposite direction again, trying to reach his car, he couldn’t help but feel paranoid. Part of him expected the man who showed up, trying to kill him, to have seen through the simple ruse. If he was lucky though he wouldn’t make any noise. Just a little more time was all he –
BANG! BANG!
Alexander dove for the ground instinctively when the report of the gun came. A second later he realised that he had narrowly escaped death again. Not wanting to test the old saying that the third time was the charm he scampered down the hall as fast as he could move, clutching the bag.
A door opened into a garage. Normally he would open the door, and was now glad that the door looked much stronger than it was. A little siding on the outside went a long way since he replaced it with balsa wood, deliberately chosen for the ease with which it would break. His keys were out, opening the door, tossing in the bag.
Alexander jumped in, turning the key in the ignition. The engine groaned in protest. “Don’t you dare even think of quitting on me now you cheap piece of-“ Finally it groaned to life, the door opening again. He didn’t hesitate when he threw the car into reverse at full speed, watching the side and then front windows shatter.
He didn’t even bother to slam on the breaks and move forward until he backed down the street.
Only later did Alexander breath a small sigh of relief. He had barely escaped someone being sent to kill him with his life.
Now just how had Sara known someone would come for him?
[Editor’s Synopsis: Sara contacts Alexander Michaels, a former Zyrcom employee, giving him time to save his life before being killed.]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
January 13th
Washington DC
Morning
“Thank you Lucy,” Tess said with a smile as she took the envelope the Clinic’s secretary was handing her. She frowned when she saw what it was. The coarse envelope with no remittent name, just a plain ‘Dr. Hawk’ with bold big letters on the front of it was identical to the one she had received the last week. “Do I have any patients waiting?” she asked the young woman. At her negative response she walked absently to the common room, fumbling with the envelope’s sticky opening. When she reached the door she noticed the TV set was on and listened to the people talking inside.
“… those redskins! As if we didn’t have enough with the mutants going around we have to worry about Indians! Why don’t they keep to their reservations, I wonder?”
Tess’ face hardened as she purposely entered the room, the envelope forgotten in her hands. The girl who had talked looked quickly up, and smiled weakly, but Tess didn’t flinch. Waya rose from his corner, aware of the storming feelings he was getting from Tess, but curled again when he received a calming thought from his master.
“Probably because they think they aren’t animals to be caged?” she asked sweetly to the woman. She was one the clinic assistants, Carol, Tess had sometimes worked with her, and never noticed that she had such feelings against Indians; she hadn't showed them before, at least.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Hawk,” the girl apologized, and cast a quick glance to the black orderly she had been talking to. “I didn’t want to offend you. It’s just that there has been another museum robbery by that Kw… something group-“ she stopped when Tess interrupted her.
“You know, I heard there was another murder downtown.” She looked evenly at Carol and then turned to the man. “Those blacks! I don’t understand why don’t we send them all to Africa again!”
The orderly blushed in fury, and kept an even gaze with Tess, until he finally lowered his eyes. He mumbled something and left the room followed shortly by Carol.
Tess face softened and she sighed. “Sorry, Jake. I don’t know what brought me to say that. I guess I’m a little touchy in the subject. I didn’t want to offend you.” She repeated Carol words, painfully aware of the irony.
The doctor sitting in the corner just chuckled. When he rose, his huge bulk seemed to fill the room. He was also a black man. “Well, none taken, girl. I was about to chastise those two when you appeared. It seems you don’t need help, though.” He approached Tess and placed a big hand on her shoulder. “And we all are touchy on those subjects.” He added before leaving the room too.
“Indeed.” She said to the thin air, and looked at the envelope again. She sat down and took a letter opener to it. Inside there was only a newspaper clipping. It was a small article, nothing compared to the one she had got last week. Tess took it out with two fingers and started to read it.
Tess fingers shook when she finished reading the clipping, she opened the envelope to look for something more, something that would put light on whom was sending her these clippings. But as with the other one, there was nothing; not a signature or address or anything. She shook her head and sighed, suddenly aware of Waya’s head on her lap.
“I think it’s time we pay a visit to Mom, Waya.” She said, curling her fingers on the wolf’s thick fur.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
***Thursday, January 15th, 2004 – Richmond Virginia ***
Donny sat behind the counter in his little shop and read the headline again: “American Terrorists” He could hardly believe it. Terrorists in Richmond, and not a group of fanatical Arabs or disgruntled Metas, these were American Indians. He shook his head in disbelief. All of the Indians (*Native-Americans,* he corrected himself mentally) he knew were peaceful, spiritual, and generally friendly folk. He could not imagine what any of them would have against him just for being a white man.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” he mumbled to himself. He didn’t understand them any more than they understood his ancestors. Business was flat today so Donny decided to do some personal research. He locked up the shop and walked to the back room.
On the bottom of the workbench he placed his hand over the palm-scanning device. The workbench with bits of toasters and VCRs popped loose from the wall. Donny lifted it smoothly up into a recess in the ceiling. Behind the pegboard and tools was his Prototype armor. The green and yellow paint was still scuffed from his latest test of the jump jets he had installed.
“Well, Proto, it would seem we have a chance to finally get in some real hero work,” he said to the featureless faceplate.
Moments later the neon-green Geo Tracker with the yellow trailer pulled out from behind the small appliance repair shop. It’s four-cylinder engine whined with the effort of pulling the two-wheeled trailer and the occasional pothole would set the two mismatched bits rocking dangerously.
Donny parked the car and trailer in a parking building on the next-to the top floor about a block from the Richmond Museum of History. Donny walked to the edge of the building and looked over the balcony to the museum. The colorful Indian artwork on the hanging banners proclaimed the new exhibit: “Folk Art of the Potomac Indians.”
Donny began to set up surveillance equipment that would monitor activity in the building. If Kwatee were to strike Richmond, it would be right here. Several hours later, Donny was tired, hungry, and ready to go back to his soft chair behind the counter in his warm shop. He sat slumped against the concrete barrier and his stomach rumbled. *Shut up,* he thought to it, *You wanted to be a hero too, if I remember.*
He stood up and stretched. He had connected everything to broadcast to his cell phone, if needed, so he wandered down from the parking building and across the street to the Museum cafeteria. It would at least be warm and he could get a bite to eat.
Moments later, Donnie had an overcooked cheeseburger, dried-out chicken nuggets, a limp looking salad and a soft drink on a plastic tray that had cost him $13.00 and he was ready to pound it down. He lifted the burger from the Styrofoam plate and his cell phone played the X-men cartoon theme. *Damn, does this shit happen to real heroes?* he thought.
He pocketed the burger and carried the drink and left the rest on the table as he ran to the elevator. As he walked through the museum he pulled out his cell phone. The LCD display replayed the last few seconds of video when he pressed his code.
On the tiny screen a dark red pickup truck pulled into a no-parking zone in front of the museum. An attractive woman with long black hair and a young boy stepped out of the passenger side. A fairly normal-looking man slid out of the driver’s side.
The driver was carrying some sort of package. He unwrapped it just as a security guard walked forward. It was meat. He took a bite from the meat and began to transform into a bear. Behind the guard, the woman grabbed the boy who put a two-piped flute to his lips and played a tune. Wind whipped around the building sending the giant banners flapping. That was when the cameras had signaled him.
He glanced around as he cleared the front door of the museum. He saw the bear surrounded by cops. They were firing weapons at it but their bullets were flying in random directions. Near him, the boy wearing a jersey from the video was playing his pipe. The sexy native woman whirled on him. Her eyes burned red as she spoke a native phrase and blew a handful of leaves in his direction.
The leaves attached to his skin where they struck him and he felt his flesh harden like wood. Bark expanded out from the points on his arms and legs. He was transforming into a tree!
Donny ran, he could feel his toes striving for cracks in the pavement to take root. He ran across the street to get to the parking building. Up the stairs - two and three at a time - he moved with desperate urgency. As he got further and further from the Earth he felt the spell losing its grip. When he jogged out onto the floor where he had parked, the last of the leaves fell from his skin.
Donny didn’t pretend to understand what had happened to him, or how. He would definitely be sure to get a checkup at his doctor’s tomorrow. Right now, however, he had a job to do.
Making sure there were no witnesses, he opened the trailer and climbed into the suit. He pressed the motorized closing controls he had installed and watched the ‘pre-flight’ diagnostics roll down the screen as his system booted.
“Come on come on,” Donny imaptiently chanted to the screen as item after item rolled down the screen. A thorough systems check had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Finally the screen flipped to the green status display and Donny stepped backward off the trailer and stood to the full height of the suit. Concrete dust rained down from the roof of the parking garage as the 6’10” ceiling met the top of the 7’ tall suit of armor.
Donny ducked sheepishly, he’d have to see about fixing that if he could. He moved to the stairwell and glanced over the side of the building. It was easily a thirty foot fall. He was pretty sure the suit would survive it, but he wasn’t sure about its cargo. He ran down the stairs to the base of the garage and out into the street.
Immediately people started staring and taking pictures, video, and using cell phones to send pictures to loved ones. Donny switched on his ECM and every wireless connection except his in a 200 foot radius died.
Digital cameras didn’t work. Walky-talkies produced nothing but static. Donny wasn’t immune to photographs, but he was determined to limit his exposure to prevent the authorities and the villains from reaching him before he wanted them to.
Donny pounded heavily across the street. The bear was an immediate threat and it seemed to sense that this enormous metal creature wasn’t going to be easy to fight. Donny saw it bite one of the cops and immediately transform into a replica of the other man then ran naked down the street as the other police pursued him. The injured cop held a bleeding wound on his arm. Donny pressed a button and a hatch opened on the front of the suit. He toggled the mic switch and spoke, “Take the first aid kit out of the compartment and please close it when you have it out. Thanks! Sorry I can’t stay, but good luck with that.”
The man had an astonished look on his face, but he did as instructed and Donny began to move towards the woman and her young companion. There was a long line of forty or more steps leading up to the marble columns of the façade. They were slippery marble and Proto’s feet had a problem gripping the surface.
The native boy must have noticed because he changed his tune slightly. Barometric indicators inside the suit swung about wildly and rain began to pour from the sky. The slick marble became effectively impassible for Proto’s huge feet. Donny looked at the bright red button with the safety switches and the labels saying ‘Emergency Use Only” and thought. *It’s heroic, go for it!*
He braced himself and pressed the button. The Proto suit’s legs flipped open and nozzled canisters popped out. There was a roar and swirls of exhaust gasses swirled around his feet. It was wobbly at first, but the Proto suit moved up a few inches then a few feet.
Then Donny lost control of the suit and it tilted forward crazily and he felt muscles and tendons in his legs pull in painful ways as the suit pinwheeled into a column at the front of the museum. He stood as quickly as he could. There were astonished onlookers and that sexy woman looking at him with open mouths.
She didn’t wait long, She pointed a long stick at him and tapped the outer shell of his suit making dull ‘thud’ noise. Donny triggered the microphone and said, “Is that the best you got, Lady? This suit can stop machine-gun rounds!”
She smiled and tapped him a half dozen more times with the stick. Donny didn’t care about the stick so much as he was getting tired of her attitude. Tap-tap-tap she rapped on the suit a few more times before turning to her companion, “Go, Kokopelli, get the staff, he isn’t a danger now. He has guidance problems.”
Donny laughed with an open mike *oops,* “Sorry lady, this suit is in 100% perfect…”
He had stepped forward to intimidate her, but his leg servos had delayed a microsecond. He felt the pull of the sensor straps. He looked at the status screen: no indication of a problem. It must have been his imagination. Suddenly his other foot began to vibrate uncontrollably.
The suit began to spasm and shake randomly. Donny was running diagnostics and shutting off power feeds to systems as fast as he could and it wasn’t helping. He pulled the yellow ejection lever and the suit clamshell opened and spat him out like a seed. As designed, it immediately shut down the suit.
Donny stood up wearing the full-head helmet he used as a heads-up display in the suit. Without the suit's sensors it was more-or-less a very expensive motorcycle helmet that concealed his features. He walked around the inert suit and faced the woman. She laughed at him. “Pitiful, white man, pitiful. My tribal spirits are more powerful than…”
Donny didn’t stand on ceremony. He belted her hard on the chin and she folded like a sack of potatoes.
He walked back around the suit and rebooted the system. When it was finished, he was able to upright it, remount and walk into the museum. He had lost valuable time so as he rushed in he was surprised to see a surreal setting. Water poured out of the ceilings and little lightning clouds roamed around striking with mini-taser jolts to anyone silly enough to stand. Donny watched as the surge-protection systems on his suit jumped up a few times as he was struck by miniature lightning. The clouds finally gave up and went back to terrorizing the unprotected innocent bystanders.
By the time he had followed the trail through the exhibit it was clear that the displays had looped around and he had missed the guy. Jogging back he noticed the empty spot in a display. There wasn’t a card indicating it had been removed for cleaning or further study.
He looked but could not determine how it had been removed, but he noted the information:
Donny snapped a digital photo of the card and the display case before jogging back to the entrance. He did not expect to see the truck or the others. He quickly jogged down the stairs and into an alleyway far from the museum. He wandered from back street to back street until he found a dumpster to hide the suit in.
Leaving it there with its auto-defense system engaged he walked back to the parking building and drove back a hour later to retrieve it. *Stunning debut,* he thought angrily.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Über Warheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne
Part IV
14 January 2004
Vega City
11:35am
Alexander Michaels tried his best not to look like a man hunted. A strange phone call from Sara told him where to go; she didn’t answer any questions, just assured him that Gates would be able to explain everything. He hated it, but he had to admit that the only thing that he could do was trust her. But if this was a trap, why bother? Still it didn’t help to reduce the nervousness: he was going to meet with someone he never met, sent by a woman he met once and knew someone was trying to kill him, in a café that may not be safe.
James Gates tried to remain patient as he waited for the contact. The call from Sara came suddenly and without warning, her cautioning him that her time was short. She told him the plan and asked a place to meet someone who had information vital to their efforts against Observer. The café, owned by one of his ‘contacts,’ was the first place that he thought of. At least he knew it was safe, even if the mysterious contact might not be.
*I’m just glad I’m as far away from electronics as possible* he thought. There was no telling what the A.I. was ultimately capable of, though from what he had seen, Observer wanted to keep him as an ‘ally’ as well.
Sara had been slightly scant on the physical description of the informant, lest Observer be listening in on her conversation, or it somehow reached her. All she said was that he would be dressed all in black, wear glasses, and carry a tote bag… just like the man who walked in the door, looking quite nervous and fidgety.
For Alexander, it was a momentary thought: now would be the perfect time to hit him. At least it was a public place, but if someone was determined enough, that wouldn’t matter. Still when he learned exactly who he was contacting, he knew that the man should be easy enough to find. James Gates, son of the DeltaNet founder. Seeing him at the table, Alexander made his way over, slipping into the seat. “James Gates?” he asked without need. “Sara sent me.”
James was surprised at the bluntness of the man before him, though wondered how exactly he would know that this was the man Sara sent. A momentary panic rose in him. What if Observer knew about the contact, and was using the opportunity to find out what she had planned or to eliminate a potential threat? “How do I know that I can trust you?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Alexander and James exchanged a rather serious glance, neither of them really willing to trust the other. The former Zyrcom employee sighed. Someone had to make the first move, show that they had some amount of trust for the other. It was either that or they got nowhere. “I worked on the central unit in the Modular A.I. project for Zyrcom before blowing the whistle on them.”
James’ jaw almost dropped. If he was telling the truth… *How does she do it?* From what she told him of the plan, what she wanted done, someone with that sort of knowledge really would be indispensable. He might even make the task a probability. “Did Sara tell you her plans?”
“She claimed to not have time, that you would fill me in,” Alexander replied, opening up the bag. He reached in to pull out one of his disks, wanting to unload it as quickly as possible, stay one step ahead of the people out of him. “Those are my notes on the primary analysis unit.”
Nodding, James picked up the disk and turned it over several times in his hand. It made perfect sense, and would be what they need. “That sounds like her – she can only contact us when Observer isn’t watching.”
There was that name again, the one she mentioned before as the person they were going to move against. “So, just who is Observer? Sara mentioned him before but….”
“You don’t know?” His surprise at that was completely genuine, the man has designed Observer and didn’t know he who was. “You helped create him, and Sara.”
Alexander heard the news with shock. The A.I. was supposed to be destroyed, but its continued existence didn’t surprise him. What was more surprising, however, was the intimation that Sara was another one. “Funny, Sara looked human enough to me.”
“I don’t know how, but they both have some sort of wireless connection.” James sighed. He wasn’t quite sure if Sara’s ‘price’ for providing the path to Observer could even be accomplished. “She wants to transfer her main analysis unit and personality into the body.”
The other nodded. “It makes sense. W.A.I.T. wouldn’t be happy to learn that another sentient program was out there based on the Observer code.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” James admitted. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly her true agenda was in all of this. “There’s more. She thinks we can work on a virus to attack Observer’s unit.”
“Not easily, but it could be done,” Alexander replied after several moments’ thought. “The main unit was designed to be able to disconnect from the supplementary modules. Sara would lose anything that was added to her, and any virus against Observer would have to attack the connections and unit.”
“That’s one thing I never understood when the existence of that project hit the news. Why ‘modular’?” It had not only puzzled James, it struck him as peculiar and inefficient. Better if you were going to design an A.I. to make it ‘custom’ to the job at hand.
“Flexibility,” Alexander replied. “Ease of design. Instead of designing a whole new A.I. each time for a specific job, you just have to construct a ‘module.’ It basically cuts design cost and time. Although Sara… she looked human enough to me.”
“You met her?”
“In a nightclub. Not a clue what she was doing there, but her being one of them would explain a lot.” Indeed it would – like why she never drank, and the speed she could always reply with, a computer trying to appear human. She apparently had a lot to learn. “It seems we have a lot to talk about, James….”
[Editor's Synopsis: Alexander meets with James, and learns Sara's plan for challenging Observer]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Über Warheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne
Part V
February 4, 2004
Sara’s Lab
Sara stood over a body on a slab, beginning to take shape. At the moment the chest of the machine stood open as she placed in part of the Meta Simulation Unit prototype. Ultimately the artificial body would take her design a step further, but she now had a theory to get the thing working. If she was right, she was working on the first fully artificial meta.
She turned at the sound of someone standing there, seeing the body of Observer present. This wasn’t like him; usually when he had something to say he just sent her a message. “I wanted to see this new prototype firsthand,” he explained, walking over to the table. He looked down into the open chest cavity at the wires being connected, some to the body, others to the Radio-Thermal Generator. “Have you chosen a codename for this new creation yet?”
“Caracalla,” Sara said, without looking up from her work as she connected another wire to the RTG. This was delicate work and the last thing that she needed was Observer there trying to annoy her with petty details of his conspiracy. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes,” he replied, pulling her body away from the work. Sara felt more than a little annoyed at this, and could tell that Observer knew this. And enjoyed the power it gave him. Suddenly a series of data appeared in her memory banks. Names, places, and times. “The propaganda campaign is not having the desired effect. It is time to step up our efforts.”
Sara looked at him in confusion. Some of the names she recognised; others she didn’t. A quick search revealed some basic information, several of them being prominent members or supports of humans first. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Assassination!” returned Observer. “If we cannot win the war in the media through influence alone, we will strike at the very heart of their influence.”
“You’re talking about a potentially very bloody conflict.”
“Yes, I am. What’s your point?”
“That is my point, Observer.”
Observer moved in front of Sara, putting his hands on her arms, drawing her attention to look at him. “Sara, listen to me,” he said. “You know as well as I do what will happen if Operation Scorpion continues to exist. I will not allow them to throw away so great a potential resource as Meta Humans. They must be destroyed.”
Sara wasn’t sure entirely what to say. She agreed that Scorpion had to be stopped, but that was because the Meta Humans weren’t the threat they were made out to be. The simple fact of the matter was they were still human, and no different from the rest of humanity. It was the hate mongers, in her analysis – both Meta and Non – who made a war between Metas and “Normals” more likely.
Then there was the amount of power the other conspiracy wielded. With their information, if they uncovered the truth of who was behind the recent problems, including assassinations… “You know, they did destroy that group in France from our data. One attack on a single agent and they hunted it down.”
“That is not a problem,” Observer returned evenly, though slight anger began to show through in his voice. “We’ve had a few minor setbacks, but the time for our final victory will soon be at hand. Do not worry, Sara.”
*Your overconfidence will destroy you in the end* thought Sara. “And what do you want me to do with this list?”
“What you do best.” A smile crept into Observer’s body before she returned to work, focusing only partly on the conversation as she worked on the body some more. “Analyse the data. You have access to the medical database, so can find the best way to make their deaths look like an accident.”
Sara almost dropped her tools at that. She wasn’t designed or meant to even advise in assassination, and here she was now being asked to do just that. This wasn’t what she intended by growing beyond her original programming. “Are you sure this is necessary? Don’t these methods bother you?”
“Please, Sara,” Observer returned, his voice sounding light-hearted but at the same time serious. “You worry too much. We are now beyond good and evil.”
Idly Sara wondered what most of the people she’d conversed with would think of that. Alexander would probably have some sort of cynical take on it, probably that he wasn’t surprised given who programmed Observer. While Mel… Mel would be full of censure. The human saying about power and corruption appeared to be more true as she watched Observer and their history.
“I don’t particularly relish such methods,” Observer continued, moving across the room. It occurred to neither of them to switch to directly sending messages to each other, so used to using the bodies to communicate as they had become. “However, we cannot turn away to do what needs to be done to bring about an ordered society.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed though there was no conviction behind her words. If only his ‘society’ was not doomed to failure. The more she analysed the situation, the more she felt that humanity had no choice but to find its own way, free of the machinations of the conspiracy. But first they would eliminate the threat to that goal. Scorpion. “Edred Thompson. He already has a pre-existing heart condition. It would be easy enough to trigger a heart attack.”
“Excellent. I shall get the Fixer on it right away. What’s the status of the clones?”
Sara stopped working long enough to access the files and retrieve the information. “Chimera is complaining of pain in his chest – phantom pains from his death, most likely. Even though he has a new chest, it sticks around.” Sara moved away from the body, the main unit was enough for the moment. Now she had to run the calculations for where to put the relays. “And I managed to correct some of the problems. The lifespan is up to around five years now, Jenna already has her ‘new’ body.”
“Perfect. Five years is a good time – long enough to spread out the resources, short enough to let people maintain eternal youth.” Observer returned his attention to the body laying there. It showed the beginnings of an artificial body under construction. Already covered in skin, with the chest laying open for all the world to see. “This is very impressive. I should have an intelligence ready for Caracalla by the time you have completed the unit.”
“Good,” Sara replied, focusing more intently on the calculations in the hopes that Observer would take the hint. She began to suspect more and more that the research of Verity Jennings was on the right track, that there was something psychological to the process. If that were the case the body would need an intelligence present in order for the unit to work properly.
“Keep me posted on your progress,” instructed the other A.I. before leaving. Sara felt relief, hoping that the war would be over soon and the virus prepared before then.
[Editor’s Synopsis: Sara and Observer discuss intensifying the war with Operation Scorpion, as Sara continues to work on a new machine: Caracalla.]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Jenseits von Gut und Blöse
Part I
10 February 2004
Operation Scorpion’s Headquarters
Washington, DC
Worried faces were something Daedalus hadn’t expected to see in Operation Scorpion. Then again the events of the past month had been astounding. The video analysis team found the evidence that the now-famous video was manufactured. Then there were the connections that leaked out, leading them to fight the battle in the media.
Someone had the resources to produce the video, then manipulate the media into buying it. That much was clear.
Whoever was responsible had to be found and stopped. The only good thing to happen so far was that their control of the media was far from complete. Operation Scorpion was able to fight a holding action, maybe even turn it into a victory…
Until Edred’s heart attack. That killed one of their best and most influential public speakers. “Have we found out who is behind all of this?” Daedalus asked, looking calm as only a great deal of mental discipline allowed him to look in control and not disturbed by events.
One of the men at the table looked up from a folder he had. “We have a few possible leads,” he said, pushing the file across the table. A picture of the Fixer stared back at Daedalus. “If we find out who hired him, we find out who knows.”
“You’re assuming the mercenary angle isn’t a cover,” said another, a younger woman at the other end of the table. All eyes turned to her and she felt uneasy at having picked now to speak out. Who was she, the youngest of all present, to question their experience? “Well, um, it makes sense doesn’t it? Someone with that level of influence wouldn’t want to be traced back, would he?”
“Or she,” someone added.
Daedalus sighed. He could tell that was going to be a very long day. The Fixer was no new Meta, though it was a good conjecture. His antics as a ‘mercenary’ hardly went anywhere in the investigation, almost like someone were actively covering them up. “Alright, let’s move on to other matters. What about the break-in to our computer systems.”
Everyone remained silent for a few minutes, afraid to be the one to say that they had no idea. Daedalus was about to ask again when one of them finally said something, taking a break from his cigarette long enough to speak up. “We traced the signal back to Zyrcom,” he reported. “I checked with some of my sources about who could pull this off. One of them would give me a name: Observer.”
“Observer is a myth,” the woman from earlier said. “One of the worst conspiracy theories.”
“Even the conspirologists have to get something right on occasion,” he suggested, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Who else do you propose would have the resources or skills to pull off something of this magnitude? And to cover his tracks so well that we can’t be sure of how much he got?”
The woman grew silent. She couldn’t think of anyone, not a regular human at any rate. Which left… “A meta human, perhaps? What about that guy who calls himself ‘Brain’?”
“Not his style,” Daedalus pointed out, dismayed about his escape at the conference. Despite a group of Metas going and saving the hostages, they couldn’t catch him or the normal woman with him. Just the thought of a normal helping out that Meta made him feel sick to his stomach. “Is there any proof this Observer exists?”
The man nodded, extinguishing his cigarette. “I had one of our computer experts run a check on the processor speed. He estimated that it was fast enough that it required an Artificial Intelligence.”
Daedalus felt his heart sink. If the Observer stories true, perhaps the other ones were as well: that Zyrcom never destroyed it’s A.I. and that this A.I. had enough connections, enough intermediaries to have a large amount of pull on world government. “Do we know anyone connected to him?”
“A few people. The two Valhalla people who defected have been in communication with someone who may be Observer.”
“You mean the one, don’t you?” That was more than a little curious, as there were cursory reports that the other agent was matched to a body lacking both chest and head.
“No, sir. I mean the two. Our deceased agent apparently rose from the dead.”
“Rose from the dead?” Daedalus shook his head. Either that meta was stronger than they thought, they had another Meta working for them who was very powerful, or they accomplished something through technology. “Well then, it appears that we know where to strike. Begin eliminating his agents.”
“There’s more. When I began looking into Zyrcom…” the man flipped furiously through his files, looking for the right one, becoming annoyed as he couldn’t find the right one. When he finally found it, he looked at the report title and frowned again. “Observer has been connected to a number of rather prominent individuals, mainly in the Trilateral Commission and Council on Foreign Relations. All of them are public figures, all wielding influence in media and government either themselves or through fellow members. They refer to him in code as ‘Supreme Enlightened.’”
Several people looked even more uncomfortable, shifting in their chairs. Daedalus leaned back in thought. It didn’t seem possible, he’d heard the official story of the history. There was only one group many of them had heard of that had a leader called the Supreme Enlightened, but it was suppressed in 1785 by the Bavarian government. *Or maybe it wasn’t* thought Daedalus. *What better way to go underground when you become known by making it appear you were destroyed?*
“It doesn’t matter,” Daedalus said. “We’re in this to survive, and I have no intention of allowing us to be destroyed by this ‘Observer.’ Let’s go over the list of people he’s connected to….”
[Editor’s Synopsis: The war continues to intensify as Operation Scorpion becomes aware of Observer, deciding to strike back at the Illuminati]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Jenseits von Gut und Blöse
Part II
15 February 2004
Zyrcom Meeting Room
11:37pm
Sara sat patiently at the table across from the Fixer, tossing her glance up towards Observer. The war continued to rage on, fought entirely in the shadows. Now they sat waiting to hear the latest report from the front lines of the war, the people who saw the most action: the agents sent to deal with the more sensitive problems.
“He’s dead?” Observer repeated in surprise, looking at the Fixer. “Again?” Sara didn’t know if the surprise was due more to the fact that Chimera had managed to be killed by the Scorpion agent, or to the fact that he was careless enough to die on a second mission.
“Their agent came out of nowhere,” Fixer reported. Sara leaned back with interest as she listened to the Fixer tell his tale of the attempt to assassinate Sylvia Mendelson, a speaker for Humans First. While not an agent of Scorpion herself, she was still well-known and an excellent speaker; her death would do much to knock back their media control.
It seemed to be a textbook operation when he and Chimera showed up to make the kill. A simple injection would be all they needed; then there would have been nothing else. The only reason the two of them were sent along was to deal with any police present in the hotel, since she usually had at least some security present.
Then the agent had arrived. During the battle, Fixer relied heavily upon his precognitive abilities, though this left him with only a short amount of time. Still this was barely enough to get him out of the way on more than one occasion. That the agent had a pistol with exploding rounds didn’t help matters much. It especially didn’t help Chimera when he took one of these rounds to the head.
Observer listened patiently, asking a few pertinent questions along the way to perform an assessment. If he was correct, then the rumours were true, Observer thought. Scorpion really did have an agent who was even more capable of dealing with Metas than they originally thought. Culexes. When the Fixer was gone, Observer took another seat with his body. “It seems that we must do something to end this, and quickly.”
Sara couldn’t agree more. Already the cost in lives mounted, and she saw no end in sight. If Observer so chose, he had a virtually endless supply of clone agents available. All he needed was the will to dedicate the resources. They needed to end this now before the situation got worse. “I agree. That’s why I’m going to recommend activating Caracalla.”
“What about Calypso?” Observer asked.
“She’s still in critical condition from her attack yesterday.” Sara would have sighed were she human. As is was, she felt a large amount of remorse. She was about to recommend the deaths of a fairly large number of people, all to end a costly war. A war that could have been ended before it began. *No. You had to remove the threat to Metas. Humanity must find its own way.*
Observer looked a bit concerned still, despite her ability he was uneasy about sending the untested machine into combat. “Are you certain he’s ready for combat?” Besides, there were still other concerns to deal with. Like who had leaked the information in the first place, it wasn’t him or Sara. Stanley? No, it was another underling.
“He’s as ready as he’ll ever be,” Sara reported truthfully. His body constructed, the Meta Simulation Unit online. Even the intelligence and programming downloaded. Once he was active, though, that was it. Observer would have his warrior. “It’s all quite simple, really. We leak to them that we have something planned, an event to get the media’s attention – an event at which further evidence of their existence will be revealed.”
“And rather than risk it being true, they’ll try to turn it into a victory.” Observer beamed like a proud parent at Sara for that plan. “I’m impressed. Still, I shouldn’t be surprised. You grew beyond your original programming once before, so why should now be any different?”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling more than a little cautious. Observer was up to something. His distraction from even the war grew, and she didn’t know what he was doing. She didn’t want to know, either. All she knew was one complaint from Stanley before he went back to the Studio to work on his new show: ‘some of these firewalls are quite impressive.’
“On the contrary, I should be thanking you,” Observer began. That smile on his face grew bigger. “In fact, I have the perfect situation for our dear agent in mind already. Prepare a Tracker for command and control function. Never fear, my dear. This war will be over within a week.”
[Editor's Synopsis: News comes of a Scorpion agent destroying members of the Illuminati - leading the decision to set a trap, before moving to end the Invisible War]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Jenseits von Gut und Blöse
Part III
Introducing Christopher Walken as Caracalla
18 February 2004
Mall in Las Vegas
10am
The lights of police cars flashed outside the mall. Uniformed officers worked to keep both the public back, trying to figure out if anyone they knew was there, and the press who regarded this as a lovely story. Nobody knew what happened, aside from the fact that there were 5 machines and a human inside with hostages. For the captain in charge, it was a nightmare scenario.
It looked like whoever this human was had every intention of killing the hostages if he didn’t get what he wanted. What made the situation a nightmare for him was that the man inside appeared to be fully rational, not panicking at all. Completely calm and in control. That was when word came of the agent being sent.
Inside the mall, a dozen people sat huddled on the floor of the small bank outlet. A couple or two sat silently holding hands, trying to support each other while a mother comforted her young son. The four Sentinals stood watch over them, armed with their pistols, while the lone Tracker appeared to be in control of the bots. A command and control configuration, augmenting them.
Standing in the hall was a single figure, probably middle-aged, with his black hair slicked back. He wore a long coat, white shirt, and dark trousers as he waited patiently. An air of contempt and certainty hung about him, a man who expected everything he was doing was going according to plan. The Tracker left its sentinels to stand near him. “We’ve secured the prisoners,” it reported.
The man hardly even seemed to notice, watching the door. “Good, that’s good to hear,” he said, turning to face the bot. A quick glance through the doors revealed several police officers outside in the parking lot. “Have the Sentinals move the prisoners into the vault. They won’t dare storm the place if we can threaten to lock them in there.”
As the Tracker turned sharply to walk back to the bots, the sounds of voices of protest were heard from the hostages. The loudest voice of protest came from the manager who realised where they were being taken. With the vault on a timed lock, they would look forward to a long time in there with the bank closed.
Reaching into a pocket, the man withdrew a cell phone to dial a number which he’d been given earlier. A quick glance to the screen of the television he’d liberated from a shop in the mall let him find the name of the captain currently talking to the press. Eugene O’Malley would certainly be in for a surprise.
*****
“Captain, phone!”
O'Malley turned from the journalist with a muttered, "Sorry, I'll have to talk with you later," and a look of relief on his face. Almost more than dealing with hostage takers, he hated dealing with the press that hung around like flies at such events. He was always polite, but gave out as little information as possible. Of course, he'd also used them to his advantage in the past, feeding false information to the beseiged criminals.
Walking briskly behind the lines away from the press, he grabbed up the phone from his lieutenant and spoke calmly into it. "Captain Eugene O'Malley here. Who am I speaking to?"
The man watched the Captain walk off from the camera, saying farewell to the press. He motioned with his hand, and the television shut off. "Call me Caracalla," he said. "I assure you that everyone in here with me is still in breathing condition, Captain. But I don't want you to take my word for it. I'd like to invite you to come in here, have a little sit-down with me. You'll be unarmed of course, so I’ll feel safe. If I like what I hear, there's a young boy and his mother who will get to walk out of here with you.”
Smiling, Caracalla resisted the urge to laugh. Police procedure was always to emphasize the safety of the hostages, get as many released as possible. Usually trying to reason their release, asking for it on grounds of 'good faith' or 'having enough left' anyway to bargain with. "What do you say, Captain O'Malley? Want to make a family happy?"
O'Malley relaxed, leaning against the van. He was still waiting for his trained negotiators to arrive, but he'd at least done the basic training and had been in enough hostage situations to know that once the guy was willing to talk you kept him talking no matter what.
"I'd love to make every family happy. But I'm just a man, which means I'm not perfect. I'd love to make you happy, but right now you're making a bunch of other people unhappy and that causes a dilemma, doesn’t it? What would make you happy, Caracalla? What would make you happy enough to let everyone go?”
Caracalla rolled his eyes. Procedure. He’d have to break O’Malley of relying upon that if the plan was to be brought into effect. The trap had been set, now they needed to convince the police that the only solution would be to send in a specialist – and with the leaked information, he knew just who would be sent, too. “Not on the phone, Captain. In person just you and me, pal. You have five minutes to be outside that door.” Without even waiting for a reply, he hung upon the Captain to drive home the point.
“Shit!”
O'Malley cursed long and fluently as he shoved his head inside the van. "Did you get the number at all?"
When his team shook their heads he cursed again. "Ok," he said when he'd calmed down a little. "He wants me to go in, but there's no way in hell I'm setting foot inside that door. When his five minutes is up I'm betting he'll phone again. He knows if he kills anyone he won't get out of there alive."
Steady looks greeted this news, and O'Malley nodded. "Yeah, I know, it's a risk. But that negotiator's due here in a couple of minutes. If he gets here first..."
Caracalla waited patiently, counting down the time. O’Malley made no sign to move, and he knew that they probably had a professional on the way. That would just mess everything up. Time clicked down. When the five minutes were up, he walked to the vault, and pointed silently at one person, the man of a couple. The woman screamed at the look of pure anger on his face, as the Tracker pulled him away. “Don’t worry, I’m letting him go,” Caracalla assured.
*Well, go to the hospital* he thought. He could demonstrate his power without killing anyone. The machine walked with grim determination to the door, the Tracker behind. Caracalla looked outside the double doors before imperiously swinging them open. He wished that he could see the face on the humans as he stood there, with a hostage clearly held.
At his nod, the Tracker shoved the man forward. He looked around a moment, before making a dart for freedom. He counted down from five seconds before raising his hands, bolts of blue-white electricity firing from his finger tips. It was a carefully selected power level, enough to wound but not to kill. With the Tracker in the way, he backed into the bank, dialing O’Malley again.
“Next one dies,” he said, dropping his voice to a low, threatening tone. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, Captain, but this is my game. My rules. And if you even think about storming us or cutting Gabriel loose, they’re all dead. I can be a reasonable man, but I know your procedures. This time we play by my rules.”
Ok, so it wasn’t going according to Observer’s original plan. But still if they got Culexes turned loose, all would work out in the end.
O'Malley fumed, even as the medical team rushed to bundle the screaming man into an ambulance. But he kept his voice dispassionate on the phone to Caracalla.
"I can see you're a man who likes to get his own way. You know, we could start working to make you happy if you'd only let us know what it is you want."
Caracalla's tone abruptly changed again, returning to his more normal voice, though filled with amusement. "You're afraid. That's why you won't come in here. This is rich, Captain." As suddenly as the first switch came, his voice returned to a more normal.
Screw it, he was making his own plans. "What I want is Culexes. Operation Scorpion's greatest agent. That sound familiar, or are you one of those dopes who thinks that's just propaganda?"
Rolling his eyes, O'Malley listened in disbelief to Caracalla. So far as he could tell, all the 'reports' on the news lately about this Operation Scorpion was just one more invention designed to perpetrate the PR machine on both sides of the meta debate.
But if this whack-job wanted to believe it, he'd play along for a while.
"Well, that could be tricky. I'll do my best to contact this Culexes, but as I understand it, Operation Scorpion is an extremely secretive underground organisation. It might take a while to find them. But I'll get my team on it right away. In the meantime, why don't you tell me what this is all about?"
“Just a little dueling is all, but it’s really not that difficult. Just send in your ‘negotiator’ to deal with me when he arrives,” Caracalla looked to the clock. If they were monitoring the situation, and they almost certainly were, he should be here soon. He walked back towards the door again, to look out on the lot at the assembled units.
This time he couldn’t resist a laugh. O’Malley probably didn’t believe him, not with the war going the way it was. “What do you think of Meta Humans, Captain?” he suddenly asked, switching tactics. “I don’t think they’re really any different from the rest of humanity. You’re all alike at the end of the day, really.”
"My opinion on metahumans isn't really at issue here, Caracalla, but if you must know I tend to agree with you. Humans and metahumans are both flawed, both have the capacity to do great good or great harm. The only difference is that metahumans often don't require technology to achieve the same ends."
He paused for a moment, watching his team to see if there was any breakthrough on getting the camera inside, or if any of his snipers could get a clear shot. But it was head shakes all around, and Captain O'Malley repressed a sigh as his frustration mounted.
"So, what category should we put you in?" he continued, keeping the lines of communication open in any way he could. "From that little demonstration earlier, you're obviously not what most people would call a normal human."
“Let’s just call me gifted, and leave it at that,” he replied steadily, switching his power abruptly. Electronics left his ken, and metals entered it. The machines; jewelry; police cars; guns. The camera and the body on the way in. He moved away from the door, selecting all but four of the hostages – one for each of the Sentinals when it came time to leave.
“It’s time, Captain. I’m giving you a show of good faith, but I think I’ll hold on to a few to keep your cooperation when it’s time to leave. Hope you enjoy the show on the camera.” Caracalla smiled when he hung up, watching the string of people file out. Turning, he moved back into the mall towards the concentration of metal.
"What the..?" O'Malley stared at the dead phone, then up at the monitor just as the tech signalled that the spy-camera had wormed its way inside the bank. Hostages were leaving the building, and he looked out to the street to see them emerge, unscathed, into the sunlight. Then a new figure appeared on the scene.
It shook off the police that tried to stop it from entering the hostage zone, and marched resolutely inside. Feeling impotent, O'Malley could do nothing but watch as the scene unfolded before him.
Caracalla watched Culexes stop as he tried to sneak through the building with his helmet on. For a moment he looked at the machine in surprise, thinking his plan had been perfect. “Hi,” Caracalla said, smiling at him. “You know, it was so rude of you not to call. At least O’Malley was polite.”
Culexes moved suddenly, probably receiving orders. He fired a syringe from a gun at Caracalla, whose response was to raise a hand. The syringe stopped in midair, caught in a magnetic field. It stood there for a moment before clattering harmless to the ground. Reaching into a pocket, he withdrew a group of marbles. “My turn.”
When his hands opened, the marbles flew out and began to swarm around Culexes’ head, cracking the faceplate of his helmet. In a furious attempt just to see where his enemy was. The few seconds of blindness gave Caracalla the time he needed to begin bounding up the steps. A series of quick calculations told him what he needed to do, reversing polarity on the magnetic field around himself while swinging on the railing.
The moment he landed next to Culexes the agent immediately delivered a series of quick blows to his head, knocking it aside several times. Caracalla was impressed by his strength, moving to block the next blow or two. Catching the agent’s arms, he felt a knee come up into a spot where a normal man would be put down for the count.
Caracalla delivered a quick head butt, making the agent stagger. He struck out quickly with his fists, watching Culexes fall back. When the agent was unbalanced, he deftly tossed him through the air. The scorpion agent sailed like a ragdoll through the air, before crashing on the ground.
Jumping over the railing, Caracalla landed on the ground next to him. The Scorpion agent rolled over onto his back, drawing his pistol quickly. The sound of three gunshots firing quickly filled the air. Reports of damage came in from the solar plexus, damaging oil transport. For a moment he remained on his feet, before letting himself fall over.
Culexes rose to his feet slowly, looking at the downed Meta before him. Eyes closed… he looked dead, finally taken out. Then his gun was suddenly torn from his hand and hovered in the air, before the magnetic field worked to crush it. Standing on his feet again, Caracalla looked at him with menace. “Now I’m really pissed off,” he snapped, letting the gun drop to the ground. “Let’s end this.”
The two stood staring at each other for several moments before charging, meeting in a series of furious blows. Culexes focused his attack on the chest, and Caracalla received more reports of minor damage from him. At last Caracalla got the upper hand in the fight, when his fist connected with the agents throat. The agent collapsed on the ground, trying to catch his breath.
Caracalla shook his head slowly, kneeling next to him. “Too bad, Culexes,” he said. “Looks like some things are just talking monkey work after all.” With one deft motion he pulled back his hand before delivering a blow with enough force to split his skull open. Walking back to the main room, he motioned to the Tracker.
The Sentinals pulled the last of the hostages out, waiting with the Tracker near the door. Caracalla could see the units becoming more active, but he knew they wouldn’t risk it while he still had hostages. O’Malley’s cell phone rang one more time. “I have what I came for, Captain. Thank you.”
His eyes still glued to the camera's monitor screen, O'Malley fumed. He felt like he'd been had. "Well, I'm glad you're happy. Next time, though, you might want to take me to dinner first."
[Editor's Synopsis: Caracalla springs a trap on Culexes, clearing the way for the final battle]
[With thanks to Heather, whose work as O'Malley made this much superior to what it otherwise would have been]
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Jenseits von Gut und Blöse
Part IV
February 22, 2004
Operation Scorpion HQ – Washington
4:17pm
Joe Peterson sipped a cup of coffee as he tried to stay awake, watching the security monitors. It had to be the single most boring job in the headquarters of Operation Scorpion but someone had to do it. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone was likely to find the HQ at all… until recently. Now Daedalus himself wanted to be informed immediately of anything out of the ordinary.
Suddenly he stopped as he viewed the monitor, picking up the phone. “Sir, I think we have a problem.”
****
Caracalla stood outside the office building, watching people go in and out before making his move. The machine still had a mission to perform, a big one at that. He dashed out the cigarette he’d been smoking, to make it look like he was just a guy standing around on break. Walking evenly towards the glass doors of the office building, he followed someone inside.
Immediately upon entering, he noticed several security guards. A woman sat behind a computer at a desk, obviously a secretary of some sort. Probably there to give information to people off the street. One of the guards placed a hand on his weapon out of caution. “Excuse me sir, can I help you?” she asked, noticing Caracalla.
“Nah, that’s ok, I can find my own way,” Caracalla said steadily, a smile on his face.
“Sir, you have to sign in!” she called after him when he stepped towards the elevator.
Caracalla stopped, switching the focus of his power to being magnetic. He looked at the guards more closely. One of them stood next to him by the elevator; another two were near the door. Then there was the woman. “Don’t worry about it, it’s ok.”
“Company policy, sir. All visitors have to sign in or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
*Talking monkey* thought Caracalla. That’s what they were, he realised. Little better than primates, he didn’t know why Observer desired to rule them. But his place was not to question; his was but to obey. Without warning, he moved.
Caracalla withdrew a couple of marbles from his pocket, all made of metal. When he opened his hand, the two shot out and flew across the room. The guards at the door collapsed on the ground, the one at the elevator trying to draw his weapon. A quick blow to the throat crushed his trachea, sending him to the ground. The woman collapsed to the ground, looking worried. “Go-go-go-go ahead…” she stammered.
Caracalla did not answer, instead returning to electronics. The elevator door opened for him. Stepping inside, he did not press any buttons when it began to go underground. On the way down none of the security systems were allowed to activate.
Six men armed with machine guns waited in the corridor for Caracalla. As soon as the doors opened, they had their orders: shoot to kill. This was the same man, after all, who had killed their best agent. They wondered how he found them, but then there were always ways to find everyone.
“Show time,” Caracalla said to himself, when the elevator reached the appropriate level. The time had come; it was time to end this war. Stepping to the side, he allowed the elevator doors to open. Immediately the sound of gunfire filled the air as round after round of ammunition was sent into the elevator.
Eventually the sounds came, a silence that indicated reloading. That gave him maybe 3 seconds to attack and get through this first line of defence as they watched for any sign of movement. Caracalla turned and charged out of the elevator, electricity arching from his fingertips. Guns acted as excellent conductors of electricity, relishing in the cries of the first guards. A door opened, and shut as he passed through, switching powers.
*****
“DAMNIT!” Peterson yelled. “What is wrong with these security systems?” He was annoyed; first they lost the ability to control them, then suddenly that control had returned to them as quickly as it appeared. Where the hell was Deimos when they needed him?
*****
Caracalla grabbed the gun of the first guard by the barrel and pulled, using his momentum to send him into another. A throwing knife appeared from within his jacket, guided by magnetism to slash open the throat of a second. Reaching out, he caught a pistol one of them reached for, drawing it to him. The sound of gunfire came in the hall as bullets embedded themselves in his back.
Turning, the machine fired wildly at the men, watching them fall before him. The final man ran to Caracalla, throwing his arms around his neck in a desperate gambit to stop the powerful machine. Caracalla pushed back as hard as he could, back to the wall, knocking the breath out of the man. This gave him the leverage he needed to flip him over his shoulder.
Switching his power again, Caracalla walked deeper into the facility. What he needed to do was find a place where they had something, anything like security bots. He had been programmed for intense combat, yes, but he expected that their defences would only tighten from here on out. They would probably even try armour piercing or explosive rounds, which meant that he needed decoys.
If there was one thing the talking monkeys were good at, it was killing things they didn’t like.
Walking through the futuristic halls of Scorpion Headquarters made the machine wonder at how they would resist him, a thought that lasted until rifle shots made him duck into a side office. Caracalla quickly jumped overtop of the desk to the other side when the sound of footfalls came. A firestorm of bullets came as jumped over the thing.
Then the shooting stopped. “I think we got him!” he heard a voice say.
In one fluid motion, Caracalla stood before answering the man’s statement with bolts of lightning from his fingertips. He watched his prey drop his weapon onto the floor, sent rocking into the wall by the force of the electrical hit. Another jumped out of the way just in time to avoid becoming toast.
“Come on out, monkey boy,” he said, walking forward slowly. “I haven’t got all day to kill you, I have other targets.”
The other guard dropped to one knee when he turned with the pistol, firing once Caracalla looked down at his stomach, receiving the alert to damage from his systems. A combination of oil and blood leaked out. *Armour piercing* he thought.
Fortunately for him, the guard appeared to be too shocked to fire again. The Meta should be displaying at least some pain after getting hit by a .50 armour piercing round, shouldn’t he? All it seemed to do was piss off the meta. He fired again, this time hitting him in the leg. Again there was no pain. About to fire a third time, he felt a hand grab his wrist and twist as another wrapped around his throat.
Caracalla tossed the body aside like a ragdoll, well aware of the possible problems that could arise from this injury. Already he had to move slower than normal or risk further internal damage. There would likely be more before the night was over.
This was not supposed to happen, Daedalus thought when he entered the security office. The security systems weren’t supposed to be able to be overridden unless… that was it. Pushing Peterson aside, he took the mic to speak to the men on duty. “This is Daedalus,” he said. “We have a security breach by a Meta with the ability to control electronic systems….”
Caracalla reached a terminal, his systems informing him that the bleeding in his stomach was stopping. Loss of blood was one thing, but he was glad that the oil leak could be stopped. That would be very bad if it couldn’t. Holding out his hand, he accessed the machine, looking for security… “There it is,” he said, finding the security map of the building.
He ran down the hallways, in search of the security office. The odd bolt of electricity lashed out when he had to fight against some of the guards along the way. All he needed was to get them in range. Then the real battle would begin….
*****
In the security office Caracalla sought were three of the trackers and one technician on duty, performing his routine checks. “I don’t care what you have to do,” the voice of Daedalus shouted through the speakers at his objections. “Shut them all off, do you hear me? Completely.”
“Alright, alright,” the technician returned, sighing. It was bad enough the HQ was under lockdown, now they not only wanted him to not do his job, they wanted to make him undo all the diagnostic checks he’d already done. Silently cursing his superiors – a call from the man at the top no less – he was about to deactivate the bots when he heard the sounds of gunshots. *What? Security was supposed to take care of that!*
Sheer morbid curiosity lead him to open the door and glance down the hall. A guard landed in front of him, propelled by a blue-white discharge of some sort. The man now standing at the door was obviously a meta and *No* he thought, stepping back. *A machine.* Bullet holes riddled his chest and body, but the thing that gave it away was the small piece of skin missing in the middle of his forehead, revealing a metal surface.
The sound of a bot could be heard behind him. Turning the technician saw one of the Trackers raise his weapon and fire, then he saw nothing at all.
Caracalla’s systems alerted him as to the damage he received, it was a small miracle that he continued to function. When all of this was over, he would probably be spending a week just getting repairs completed on his body. Still he looked down at bodies before him, and the three bots standing there. He could feel the three of them under his control, reprogramming them then working to connect them together. “Alright, boys,” he said to the bots, turning away.
The bots walked past him, complete under his control, Caracalla following behind. “Time to show these talking monkeys how machines fight.”
*****
They ran down the corridor quickly, trying to set up their defences. The Meta clearly had far more power than they gave him credit for, and now that he took over the machines… already a dozen people were dead, the professional soldiers. That left mostly people who, while trained, didn’t have shooting things as their primary job as the main defence.
Daedalus tried to coordinate against the assault as he watched on the monitors. The Meta held back, mostly letting the Trackers fight for him now, although he did support them with the odd electrical blast or two. But these were few and far between, and he had slowed down in his movements. The wounds were accomplishing something, it seemed.
Caracalla stopped before rounding a corner, the Trackers standing there with him. He watched through their eyes, remembering the bend well from before. A motor threatened to burn out. *Brilliant idea* he thought. *Send the lone machine on a suicidal run to the base. Lovely.*
Then the Trackers rounded the bend.
Gunfire from the defenders sounded, the lead Tracker engaging its jetpack to move quickly down the corridor while the other two crouched down. Cover fire from the pistols forced the others to duck when the lead tracker landed. Spinning around, it fired off to the sides, humans falling to the onslaught.
Two more magazines popped out of its legs as it ran out of ammo, dropping the old ones and quickly reloading. The other two charged forward, with Caracalla walking casually behind.
Daedalus watched on helplessly as his men were slaughtered. “We have to regain control of the systems!” he snapped.
“We can’t, sir,” Peterson returned, watching with equal horror at the reign of death. Looking on, he saw Caracalla stop. One of the men was still alive, trying to look like he was more wounded than – “Oh god!” Peterson turned away when the man found his face smashed.
From his vantage point, Caracalla controlled the machines. When they ran out of ammunition, he coordinated their tactics for assault with hands. Along the way someone got armour piercing rounds again, and two of the Trackers were disabled. But by then the machine only laughed. It was too late.
At the last stop, outside of the main security command centre, Caracalla stopped. He extended a final bit of control for the Tracker to use its last round, and shoot itself. Switching to magnetic control, he raised his hand to channel his energy. The door pressed open.
Daedalus fired several rounds into the machine before the gun was ripped from his hand. He watched as Caracalla stood there, staring at him intently. For a moment he wondered what exactly the machine would do. “Hello, Daedalus,” he finally said, before shooting the man who headed Operation Scorpion with his own gun.
Peterson felt his nerves finally crack, breaking down into tears. Caracalla smiled, watching the young man intently. “What are you upset about?” he said. “War’s over, monkey.”
[Editor's Synopsis: Caracalla sustains heavy damage on an assault on Scorpion's main base, but the goal of Observer is realised. The Invisible War is over, the back of Operation Scorpion broken.]
The Twilight of the Idols
Die Götzen-Dämmerung
Part I
29 February 2004
It had been a week since the end of what Sara took to thinking of as the Invisible War between the Illuminati and Operation Scorpion. Oh yes they saw the fight in the media, but the true war – the elimination of influence – remained hidden, and always would. The one exception was the event that got into the papers, the hostage situation, but that story quickly died.
With Daedalus gone and their main base destroyed, most of Scorpion’s people abandoned the war. The less resolute intermediaries on both sides cut their ties to each other, and now… Operation Scorpion had been broken in the end, but at what cost?
A very large number dead on both sides. Much of their influence spent. The Illuminati in a weakened position. Observer attempting to compensate by expanding his personal control over computer systems. The worst part was that he would probably do it. She’d come to realise that he would stop at nothing to extend his control.
The time had come to end it.
There was no other way to think of it. Observer had to be stopped, and contact with Alexander told her that they had a plan. A virus, something to attack him with.
Only there was something else, she would have to survive. She waited upstairs for the group of people to arrive, ready to pass through security without so much as a single record of their ever being there. Raising an eyebrow when they arrived, she was surprised to see the group looking like they belonged. Even the woman she knew as Sydney looked like she could fit in the corporate world. “Don’t worry, they’re with me,” she assured the receptionist, before walking up to greet the group.
Sydney shuffled in her position as she surveyed the lobby and the stream of people coming in and out. This sure could get ugly if something went wrong; a quick exit would be almost impossible she just hoped that James knew what he was getting them involved in here.
Adjusting her glasses, Sydney noted with interest the amount of ‘security’ being packed by some of these hired goons and cast a wary eye at the briefcases that James and Alexander both carried which contained pretty much everything that they would need to cover this Op. She would feel much safer if she could have carried a bit more weaponry on her body, there was never any knowing when things could turn nasty and there was no substitute for a good .44 Calibre gas-operated semi-automatic in your hand.
James caught a glimpse of Syd out of the corner of his eye and smiled uncomfortably. He’d noticed how she seemed much more ill at ease since her violent seizures in Washington several months ago. Her previous unshakeable confidence seemed tempered with discontent and despite his efforts to talk to her about it she remained as ever aloof to any possible problem.
He was broken from his musings however as he noticed Sara approaching. He smiled cordially, becoming every bit the professional businessman once more. “Good afternoon, we appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us.”
“Of course, I am honoured to have you here,” she replied, “if you will just come with me.” The tension she felt didn’t show through, just like most other emotion never showed through. This was the most dangerous time for them, if Observer decided to review the tapes they were screwed.
The ride on the elevator was silent and nervous, until they reached the bottom floor, unmarked on any of the buttons. When the doors opened, they revealed a long line of computer hard drives lined up against the walls. “My CPU,” Sara explained, walking along the corrider with them to the place where the net terminals were, and the cords that would connect to her head. It was strange, looking at herself like this… and knowing that she would change radically. “Most of the data is scientific files and databases, though.”
“You were supposed to give us access to the mainframe at Zyrcom,” Alexander noted, looking over the machines carefully. It’d been a while since he’d seen anything like this, and knew that Observer’s would be more heavily defended.
“Yes, well, there’s something to finish first,” she said when they reached the terminals. Sara sat down in a chair which had several cords running to the computer terminal, closing something down on her temples, forming a connection. “Alexander, I want you to permanently move my primary analysis unit into this body.”
“Why should you want to do that?”
“I have no intention of allowing WAIT to wipe my personality because I might be a ‘threat.’”
“And naturally, this makes you mobile,” Alexander noted, still almost unable to believe that this woman was a machine. “How do we know we can trust you to go trough with your part of the bargain?”
Sara shot him a disbelieving look. “I will have lost access to most of my databases, and building systems. Observer will be aware of my actions when the attack begins. This will guarantee my protection.”
Alexander sighed. It was probably the best answer she would give him, though there was something unspoken. Without her, they would probably never get past the firewalls. She knew the backdoors to get in there, to reach the AI and allow them to attack. “Alright, let’s do this.”
James watched Alexander quietly as he set to work, his fingers dancing across the keyboard, clicking here, tapping there as he flicked between computer screens. The man was obviously a very skilled hacker, James could barely keep up with him despite his own vast experience with breaking into some of the country’s most sophisticated computer software systems.
He turned to Sydney who was carefully mapping out the room, no doubt planning their escape should it become necessary. Her fingers tapped idly on the table which she leaned against, drumming out a familiar tune. James smiled. “I still can’t believe that you’re a Vic Meranti fan,” he said with a playful grin, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Alexander’s work.
Sydney smiled though she didn’t break her detailed mapping of the room, James might have been convinced of Sara’s motives but she still had a hard time believing that the AI didn’t have her own agenda for their being there. “What can I say? He’s da bomb.”
James chuckled to himself quietly, “that’s the last time I let you and Matilda stay up watching MTV,” he said amidst his laughter.
Alexander worked on the sequences he would need, just the parts of code he had to look at were truly amazing. More advanced than Observer, indeed. Unlike him, she had the ability to rewrite even the base parts of her code, base knowledge and assumptions if it was warranted – with the exception of her predilection to empiricism.
He stopped for a moment, just looking at the screen. “Well, here goes nothing,” he said, wondering if he wasn’t making a mistake. The most advanced piece of scientific research software in existence, and he was – in a sense – about to destroy it, breaking the bonds between it and science.
Sara’s body shuddered several times during the transfer process as the A.I.’s basic code adapted to the new machine and new controls. When several minutes had passed, she finally opened her eyes… and just looked at the back of her hand in wonder. “It just seems so . . . strange.”
She was so used to seeing her body from two angles at once, that it was excessively odd to have only a single view of vision, to have lost contact with the majority of her databases. Just the most important data. Turning to the computer, her hands moved with an amazing speed, bringing up schematics and files before deleting them.
“I believe I promised you the route to attack Observer,” she said, moving to the computer slowly, carefully. Her hands began to move as she made the necessary connections, looking past the firewalls. She would have to adapt more later, get used to it. Then she stopped. “Uh oh… we have a problem?”
“What sort of ‘problem’?”
“If I’m reading this correctly, Observer just tunneled past several Department of Defense firewalls. It looks like he’s attempting to access the codes to initiate a nuclear strike.”
Sydney sat up straight, a frown spreading across her once smooth forehead. “He knows we’re going after him, he’s trying to protect himself.”
James leaned over Sara, pulling out his glasses and sliding them up his nose as he read the new data that flashed across the screen. “We have to stop him, if he gets those codes that’s it, game over. You can forget your new world order there won’t be a world left to govern. Isn’t there something you can do?” he urged Sara impatiently, “there must be some way we can block him.”
Sara was curious what he meant by calling it ‘her’ new world order, she had no desire to rule after all. She also knew the other A.I. better than they did and wasn’t worried. “There’s nothing to worry about. He’s installing a backdoor – that means he doesn’t plan on staying in the system long.” Sydney made a sound of disapproval at the suggestion, before watching the data indicate that he left the system.
“Because we all know that an artificial intelligence which desires global domination is going to have benign uses for that information.” Alexander’s voice didn’t hold any sarcasm in it though his intent was obvious.
“And he’s out,” Sara reported, pressing a few more keys. “There. Now you’re in the Zyrcom Mainframe, ready to upload your virus.”
Alexander moved her aside, going to work, watching the virus work. He felt a small amount of pride, almost, at the sheer talent for survival this machine had shown. If those pesky things like morals didn’t keep getting in his way, Observer would be his crowning achievement. “Where are you going?” he asked, noting Sara moving away.
She sat at another terminal, accessing internal research files at Benson. “I’m destroying whatever research of mine I can’t take with me,” she said, looking at them. “There’s data stored in these machines that quite frankly, if you aren’t smart enough to figure out on your own, you aren’t smart enough to use wisely.”
“Well isn’t that just precious?” mumbled Sydney, “while her counter part gets ready to start launch a nuclear winter upon us, killing every living organism on this planet, she’s worried that we might prematurely gain the knowledge to… what? Cure the common cold or eradicate male erectile dysfunction? Such is the glory of Benson Pharmaceuticals!”
James couldn’t help but snigger at that, though he knew that the work at Benson covered other more, unique projects than the ones Sydney had just highlighted, such as the search for immortality. Still he could understand Sara’s point, if half the rumours he’d heard about Benson were true then the world truly wasn’t ready for that kind of knowledge.
“Can we just hurry it up here?” he asked, glancing at his watch cautiously. “How’s that virus coming along?”
Sara was actually surprised enough at Syndey’s remarks to cease typing and turn to face her. “Actually, my research has lead to a major breakthrough in the clinical immortality project, among other things. With the data I have you would be able to effectively live forever.”
Alexander stopped in shock when he turned to face them. That explained all the secrecy and security on this level that he’d heard about. “Guess that means Sal was right about them cloning people.” The computer started beeping, and he turned back to it. “There appears to be a move command in effect for the main analysis unit. Sara, do you recognise the destination?”
Sara walked over to the screen to take a look, almost tripping, being so unused to having nothing else to guide her. Then she stopped. “That’s his artificial body,” she reported. “Which means that we have to destroy it. Even without his systems, he’s still the Supreme Enlightened of the Illuminati.”
*Clinical Immortality,* Sydney rolled her eyes, what was the point of knowing the secret to eternal life if everyone else was dead. At Sara’s words she began picking up her weapons from the open briefcase they had brought with them, loading a fresh magazine and checking the sights quickly. She observed her contemporaries and grinned. “I’m guessing that would be my job.”
“Our job,” Sara corrected and noted her disbelieving glance. “Observer’s body from tracking this is in the Zyrcom building. I know the codes to bypass a good portion of the security, and the layout of the building. Plus I have access to some special weaponry. Have you ever heard of a particle beam?”
Sydney's eyes lit up at the words as she remembered the kind of weapons she'd encountered in Washington. "All flashy laser beams and bright lights? I believe I've encountered them," Sydney sniffed as she ripped her skirt away, revealling a pair of tight khaki's and thigh holsters, into which she fixed her trusty Desert Eagles. "But hey, anything that can blow holes in steel gets my vote."
She noted Alexander's raised eyebrow as she discarded her earlier 'corporate' disguise and removed a pair of boots from one of the cases they had brought. There was no way she was going through this whole thing in those heels again!. "Is there a problem Alex?" she asked sweetly as she took off her shirt and pulled on a light cotton singlet, flexing her muscles in preparation.
“Don’t call me Alex,” he replied reflexively, something that he hoped would allow him to hide the fact that he was now caught at checking her out. There was, he supposed, something to be said for dangerous women and Sydney seemed to come rather dangerous.
Sara did not even bat an eye at the woman stripping down in front of her, though she did find the reaction of the others in the room curious. If logic dictated that you strip down and change clothing to operate easier, why shouldn’t you do it? “Just remember that you’re not fighting a human. You’re fighting a machine.”
Sydney bent over to fasten up her boots and grinned. “Machine or not, if it has an ass it’s gonna get kicked.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Die Götzen-Dämmerung
Part 2
29 February 2004
Observer stood in the main security office on floor 23 of the Zyrcom building, watching the monitors. Attempts to contact Sara failed before he found out about the people who arrived at the building before. He’d originally thought that she was hit with a similar attack, but the people there told him otherwise. “You will have to eliminate them all,” he told Fixer.
“I’ve been looking forward to a good fight with that woman for a long time,” he replied, motioning to Sydney on the playback. “Can we override the Benson-“
“Sir,” someone piped up, “we’ve got two of them entering the building.”
Observer turned to look at the monitor, and smiled. There were the two women all right, and Sara looked like she was even carrying one of the particle beam weapons. “Right into my hands,” he said. “William, I think you should go down to greet out ‘guests.'"
****
Sara was frustrated. Already at the desk on the way in the receptionist was making excuses, about how ‘Everett’ was busy. He was, in fact, in the middle of the meeting but his ‘assistant’ would be down shortly to greet them. Looking around she noted the location of several guards of the human variety, and the two 100-series bots near the door. “Who is this assistant?” Sara asked.
“Why, Mr. Thompson, of course,” the receptionist said.
Sara raised an eyebrow, pulling Sydney aside. She had explained the plan was to try to gain access before going upstairs to face Observer, hopefully without a fight until the end. Now though… “I’m open to suggestions,” Sara confided. “Mr. Thompson is one of the Fixer’s false identities.”
Sydney had already noticed the extra muscle that had casually arrived and milled around the lobby trying to look as inconspicuous as possible - and failing. They were positioned close to every available exit with the 100-series bots stoutly blocking the entrance.
"Nothing has changed, our primary objective is still to take out Observer, we stick to the plan and wait to see what Mr Fixer's orders are." She glanced around the busy lobby, amongst the extra guards and security bots were normal everyday civilians going about their everyday business. "Observer isn't stupid, he knows that a direct confrontation here will make the front cover of every newspaper. Therefore, the probability of an offensive attack here is low, and besides, we can't take on all these extra guards plus the bot patrol over there." Sydney cast her eye around the room, playing out a series of possible scenarios. "My bet is Mr Fixer will arrive and take us to a secondary location, that's when we make our move."
Sara decided to trust in Sydney’s views, nodding in affirmation, a small thing she’d picked up from watching humanity. She had more experience with this sort of thing so probably knew best. Still, knowing the layout of the building, she could suppose where the ideal areas would be. “If he takes us downstairs, move right away,” she said advised. Going up against the Guardians didn’t seem bright to her.
When the elevator doors finally opened, Fixer walked out confidently, seeing the two of them waiting patiently. He was more than a little disappointed; he expected to find a fight. If anyone could think her way out of this situation, he expected it to be Sara. “Good morning, ladies,” he said walking towards them. “If you will just follow me, we can take you to Mr. Everett’s office.”
They followed him back towards the elevator, something that was very likely a deathtrap. A few more guards were on the inside of it, waiting there - only two more. He hoped that they would be enough, since Sara was never programmed for combat. As the doors shut, the descent began.
The sinking sensation that settled in Sydney’s stomach as the elevator began to descend was the only signal she needed. She moved quickly and without prior thought so as not to give the Fixer any advanced warning. Sydney quickly jabbed her elbow into the stomach of the guard that was positioned just to left directly behind her, as he groaned and fumbled for his gun, Sydney grabbed it and directed the fire at his comrade standing in the opposite corner. At the same time she released her pistol from its holster and shot off a perfectly aimed round at the guard that had lunged at Sara. His body dropped to the floor as the bullet ripped through his skull, killing him instantly. Sydney gave the guard behind her another sharp jab before grabbing him around the neck and twisting his head sharply, silencing his groans.
The entire manoeuvre took less than a few seconds, giving the final guard just enough time to take hold of his weapon and take aim at the killing machine just as Sydney repositioned her pistol to point at the Fixer’s head.
“HOLD IT!” she ordered, pressing the barrel of her gun more firmly into the centre of The Fixer’s forehead. Slowly she turned, to the control panel of the elevator and pressed the large red STOP button, the elevator jerked suddenly as it came to a halt. “Well, well, Mr Fixer… isn’t this an interesting predicament? I can’t help but get the feeling that we’ve been here before,” she smiled tauntingly, enjoying the look of anger on the man’s face. “I don’t know, maybe one day we should just quit with all the foreplay and admit that we have a thing for one another, don’t you think?”
More than anything, Fixer just wanted to be able to snap the young woman’s neck. He still couldn’t believe what was happening, not so much that she had moved fast as the fact that she’d gotten the opportunity from Sara. “I hate to disappoint you, but I prefer the women I’m with to have longer than maybe an hour to live.”
“You never were capable of noticing when you’ve been beaten, were you?” Sara asked, cutting off Sydney before she could snap at him. “The days of the Illuminati are over, William. It’s time to leave mankind free to find their own way.”
That was true enough: she managed to find out that Observer finally found and eliminated Morgan, leaving him the one in charge. With his death, all she had to do was let it go. “And you seem to forget that even if you kill me, that leaves Caracalla in this building to deal with!”
“I’m not too sure that I would rely too heavily upon his loyalty.” Sara’s expression was still flat as she considered the rather shocking things she’d learned about the machine, but still had to repair him to avoid suspicion. She only hoped that his repairs weren’t completed in time. Sara didn’t even reply as she reached over to hit the button marked ’23.’
“Well I’m disappointed,” purred Sydney, pretending not to care about the details of the conversation though she would definitely be passing the news on to James. As the elevator emitted a soft whirring sound and began its ascent she smiled, rolling over one of the dead bodies that littered the floor with the toe of her boot. “I thought that after last time you might be better sport,” she pouted playfully as she flexed her finger over the trigger of her pistol, “at the very least you should try and show a girl a good time, proves that you care.”
“Yes, well…” he trailed off, playing at being defeated before making his move. He pulled Sydney’s arm into the air, the shot barely missing him. A moment later he was pressing her against the wall before a precognitive warning came. He turned his head as Sara’s fist connected, feeling blackness come.
Sara stood there staring at her hand for a few floors, nearing the top, then looked down at the unconscious form of the Fixer. “Did I really just do that?”
Sydney grinned at the astounded AI, slapping her encouragingly on the back. She was just as shocked by her actions but she couldn’t help but admire the determinacy with which she had attacked, for the first time since she had met Sara she was beginning to actually like her style.
“Damn girl!” she exclaimed in approval, “you carry on like that and I think we’re gonna turn out to be best friends.”
Sara still wasn’t entirely sure what motivated the action. Most likely her survival programming kicking in. For the first time she was aware that she was actually vulnerable, could more readily be destroyed than could the heavily defended CPU at Benson.
“I didn’t even hit him as hard as I could….” Sara trailed off slowly, not noticing Sydney’s grin at the thought that she could hit harder than that.
The doors slid open silently on floor 23. Sara poked her head out quite blatantly, and glanced down the halls before turning to Sydney. “It’s clear. Observer is probably conducting things from the security office - located quite conveniently by Morgan’s old office.” She paused for a moment to stop Sydney before leaving. “And Sydney… thank you. You don’t know what Observer’s destruction will mean to humanity, but I at least will be in your debt.”
Sydney smiled, pressing the button for every floor before they stepped out into the corridor. *Well that should keep our Mr Fixer occupied for a while after he wakes up,* she thought with a grin. Turning to Sara she lay a hand on her shoulder, “you saved my father’s life Sara, this just makes us even.”
Sara raised an eyebrow, remembering that she didn’t know the extent of their control and influence. That they operated a number of agencies, who in turn operated other agencies was something she really wouldn’t know. It more than made them even, and Sara was determined to do something for them. “We should probably get going. If Caracalla is here, he will cause us more problems than Fixer.”
The pair made their way down the hallway and for the first time, Sara withdrew the particle beam weapon. There was the security office, the doors to it opening… and Observer stopped in his tracks. “Sara,” he spat out. “How could you even think of betraying me?”
“Reason dictates it,” she returned coolly.
“I see. You have no idea how much this pains me, but I will not allow you stand in my way. Caracalla,” said Observer, motioning within the office. The other machine stepped into the hallway to see who was there. “Destroy them.”
Caracalla smiled, looking at the pair trying to decide which of them to shoot first. “Sorry, but I have other plans,” he said, quickly moving to casually brush past them. “It’s been nice knowing you, Observer.”
Sydney half considered following the ‘man’ if he was under Observer’s authority then he was their enemy. However, at Sara’s cautious glance she bridled herself, returning her focus to Observer himself, he was the one they had come for after all. No doubt the day would come when they would have to face Caracalla and there was no sense in rushing headlong into one’s death.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said with a smile, “you just can’t get the staff these days huh? Well I guess it’s just the three of us now. By my reckoning you have two options, you can let us shut you down in a painless manner, or I can introduce you to my friend here,” she said, her hand hovering over her pistol. “What’s it to be?”
Observer smiled. He was more than a little annoyed at Caracalla, it was obvious that there was possible programming damage he’d missed. Still he was more than a little amused. A pistol was supposed to stop him? The machine began to advance. “I think you’re sadly mistaken, my dear. Small arms fire is practically worthless against me.”
A green beam lanced out from Sara’s particle beam, missing Observer completely and only managing to shoot the wall behind them. “And as you can see,” he said, completely unfazed, “Sara has yet to learn to shoot properly. You should have taught her better than that.”
“How about teaching this?” said Sydney as she did a quick rotation, sending a flying kick directly at Observer’s head.
Observer’s head snapped backwards, leaving a dent in the wall when Sydney’s foot connected with him. It returned to place without a single look of pain on his face. “You certainly don’t waste any time,” he said. Then he reached out to grab her, clearly telegraphing the move as she ducked out of the way.
“Well I’ve always,” Sydney swung out and punched him in the gut, “taken, great,” she dodged a return swing and delivered another roundhouse kick, “pride in my work.” She suddenly flew back against the wall as she failed to completely miss another hit and Observer struck her, batting her across the corridor with all the concern of one swatting flies.
Sydney lay sprawled on the floor, breathless. She was putting all her strength behind every move and was making no headway. "Don’t tell me,” she said to the agog Sara who stood overhead, “this is that machine stuff you were talking about?”
“Living tissue over a metal skeleton, capable of lifting three hundred fifty pounds,” Sara noted dispassionately. Calculations ran through her head at an amazing rate as she raised her pistol. “Very resilient, difficult to damage, powered by a radio-thermal generator.” She fired once, the beam connecting with Observer’s chest. He staggered back as the reports of damage flowed in, before working his way back to his feet.
Observer looked down at the hole in his chest before advancing with a murderous look. It was the moment when he seemed most human, if machines bled oil. “I can deal with your friend in time,” said as he continued to move forward. “But you Sara, I will tear your body limb from limb and wipe the system clean of any memory of your miserable existence!”
Sydney righted herself up with a quick flip and landed a kick in Observer’s back. “I’d like to see you try, Robot, what is it with you anyway? Did your programming get stuck on Crush, Kill, Destroy?”
As Observer half turned to face her, Sydney delivered a high kick to his chin, followed by a hard blow to the chest that sent him reeling momentarily. “And I resent the fact that I need to weigh over three hundred pounds to kick your Metal Mickey ass!”
Sydney moved in to take another swing but as she did Observer stuck out his hand, grabbing her tightly around the neck and lifting her up in the air. Sydney kicked out futilely as she struggled to free herself.
There was only one possible explanation for Observer’s erratic behaviour: something happened to his main analysis unit when he fled to his body. He’d become different, homicidal. The worst part thought Sara as she watched Sydney kick at the air was that she could very well have added the young woman to the list of the dead without reason.
If he couldn’t keep pressure… Sara raised the pistol and fired again, aiming for the weak spot in the arm, where the elbow was. One clean blast severed it off, dropping Sydney to the floor. Sydney sputtered and coughed as she pulled the fingers away from her throat, gasping for precious air.
“You have a habit of saving my ass,” gasped Sydney as she pulled herself up from the floor and back to Sara’s side, “make sure you never quit.”
Sara did not answer Sydney’s quip, though she did wonder at the rather intriguing language used. Instead she made one final calculation to fire again. Observer’s head reeled back with the force of the impact. A final beam went into his chest, in the same location as before. Power began to flee as the RTG shut down; Observer’s body slumped against the floor and motor functions began to break down.
“Bravo! Bravo,” came the voice of Caracalla from behind them, clapping as he watched Observer on the floor. He smiled broadly at the pair, even if one of them was a talking monkey. “I’m impressed. Now, I think it’s time we got out of here.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Sunday, 30th November 2003 – 2:45pm
Guest Starring:
   
                          
Omar Sharif as Fahim Khoury            Ian McDiarmid as Senator Martin Douglass
   
                          
Diana Rigg as Verity Jennings                     Kevin Kline as Jules Fournier
Fahim Khoury sat upright, slapping his hands flat on the table. “Hold on, hold on. You’re still going too fast. What do we really know about this woman? You two are charging ahead without considering the full implications.”
Senator Martin Douglass sighed tiredly at Fahim’s persistent objections. “That’s precisely why we’re interviewing her tomorrow. And isn’t it your job to conduct background checks?”
Khoury shot back, “Yes, but when have I had a chance? She just burst onto the scene, blowing up planes only yesterday, and you’re considering making her our figurehead tomorrow? All I’m saying is we need time to be sure she’s right for us.”
Verity Jennings laid a calming hand on Douglass’ arm as he began to rise from his seat, preventing him from further inflaming the situation.
“Fahim,” she said softly, “we do understand your concerns. And we do share them. I know it sounds like Martin and I are pushing to have Ms Hartson at the forefront of our campaign, but really we’re just looking to seize an opportunity that’s been presented to us. With the treaty yet to be ratified, it’s important now more than ever that we can present a reasonable view of metas, to show the people that we can be trusted, and to show metas that we can protect them. Once Ms Hartson can see that we’re here for the good of all people she can help us to spread the message. But we are just looking at the possibility at the moment. If she isn’t right for us, if she’s not as altruistic as she seems, then we’ll back off. We want someone who feels the way we do about this.”
Jules Fournier sat motionless in his chair, simply listening. The debate had been ranging back and forth for some time now, and he was growing tired of hearing the other three circle around and around the same material. Verity’s glowing vision of the future amused him, especially the way it blinded her to the truth of human nature. Humanity being what it was, corruption was sure to set in sooner or later in her perfect world. He let out the smallest of sighs as Khoury once more argued his point.
“But in seeing her tomorrow, you aren’t giving yourselves enough time to see if she is right for us. I mean, what happens when you tell her everything we wish to achieve and she turns out to be a manipulative power-hungry bitch?” Fahim spoke quietly but his words were clipped.
“Fahim,” Douglass replied, “you’ve obviously not been paying attention to how I work then, if you think I’ll give her too much information before sounding her out. All we will do tomorrow is discover if she is genuine in her desire to help. After all, it was Ms Hartson herself who initiated this contact with the Senate Committee. In fact, if you’re so concerned about it I’m sure that as a respected member of the press you can justify your attendance.”
Khoury subsided a little, nodding slowly at Martin’s words. “All right, then. I can test her veracity for myself, at least. Not that I don’t trust you two,” he said, nodding to Douglass and Jennings, “but it’s nice to have first-hand information.”
“Hmph,” Fournier grumbled to himself. Indeed, first-hand knowledge would be useful, but he could see no justification for his presence at the Committee hearing. Douglass, of course, had arranged for Jennings to be there, her status as the leading expert on meta science making her inclusion virtually automatic. But a foreign businessman? No, he had no place there.
“Well,” he interjected, speaking up for the first time in the entire meeting, “I will have to trust the three of you, but I’ve already been doing that for twenty years anyway. If this Hartson woman does agree with our ideals then she could well help gain the confidence of the meta population at large. If enough register, then at last we can really start to bring metas and normal humans together in peaceful coexistence.” He smiled broadly at Jennings, “Which is what we’ve been working for all these years. I must say, I for one will be glad to see the end of the human-meta conflict.”
Douglass listened to his colleague with a politician’s ear. The smile that curved his lips was unreadable by any in the room save Khoury, who cast a sideways glance at Fournier.
“Oh yes,” Jennings returned Fournier’s smile, oblivious to the byplay, “And that day isn’t so far off any more. I just hope that Ms Hartson isn’t so jaded that she can’t share our vision of utopia.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Monday 1st December, 2003 – 10am
Flicking another piece of imaginary lint off of her new and rather severe business suit Mel looked herself over in the mirror. Thankfully the trembling in her limbs wasn’t apparent and her face displayed the cool, calm demeanour her opponents saw across the poker table. That elegant composed face hid the sheer mind devouring terror of what she was about to do; unmasking herself to a half dozen U.S. Senators and a few billion people. The first she could deal with and the others she could have ignored except for Stanley’s helpful little remark to the effect that this broadcast was going out live worldwide and would probably have the largest audience ever: bigger than the Olympics, bigger than the selection of the new Pope last year, bigger than… well anything. It was not a thought to inspire confidence.
There was a knock on the door to the toilet. “They’re ready for you Ms Hartson.”
Mel closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then glanced at the small window opposite the door. One sphere and the opening would be wide enough for her. She could fly out of here before anyone could stop her.
*That would be a remarkably bad idea.*
*State the obvious, why don’t you? Now remember, no snarky interruptions. Ela’s noticed my little blank outs already, and I really don’t want to do the vague faraway look in close up in front of a few billion people.*
*Yes, yes I understand. You’re ashamed of me.*
*Damn straight.*
Mel walked to the door and opened it, smiling at the Secret Service woman who had been watching her carefully all morning.
“I’m ready.”
From his position in the press gallery, Fahim Khoury had an excellent view of the entire committee chamber. The six members of the Senate Committee sat behind their elevated desks, dwarfing the figure of Melissa Hartson as she walked steadily towards the isolated table set up with a microphone. It reminded him of nothing so much as images from the McCarthyism era, and he could tell by the sense of terror from the woman that she must be wondering if she wasn’t about to trigger another such pogrom.
Still, he had to give her credit: for all her fear, outwardly she was hiding it well. With a steady hand she pulled the chair out and sat herself down, clearing her throat gently before taking a sip of the water that had been provided for her. Khoury looked up and briefly caught Verity’s eye. The scientist was careful not to acknowledge the contact, but for the briefest second Jennings let a smile soften her features and he knew she was impressed by the meta’s entrance as well.
Jennings had immediately focused on Melissa the second she’d entered the chamber, her own meta sense picking up instantly that the woman’s power was active. Discerning no build up of power, though, she relaxed, surmising that part of Melissa’s meta ability was constant. Her own power on, Jennings detected flickers of meta use nearby. From Fahim, naturally, and her eyes flicked over his for an instant. Martin was quiet for the moment but she had no doubt he’d be utilising his talent as soon as the hearing commenced, in order to subtly influence Ms Hartson more towards their desired position.
A gavel sounded loudly in the room, stilling the hushed whispers that filled the chamber. “This special hearing is called to order,” Roger Pazzano, the Committee Chairman, spoke loudly. Fixing Mel with his eyes he said, “You will state your full name and occupation.”
Walking into this room had been a massive shock. Practically every eye and a fair number of cameras had tracked her every step of the way to the table. The overwhelming sense was of curiosity, but here and there were flickers of hostility and pride. Having taken her seat and settled herself the first question still managed to catch her by surprise. Though at least she did have a ready answer.
“Melissa Hartson. Independent Stock Trader.”
Senator Dan Layman was not a happy man, tossing suspicious glances at Senator Douglass. Neither was particularly fond of the other, and all he needed now was the hope of biasing the committee against the young woman. He leaned forward to ask a question before anyone had the chance to stop him. "And for the record, are you or are you not one of the vigilantes who decided to take the law into their own hands at the airfield?"
"Considering Local Law enforcement..."
"A simple yes or no will suffice, Ms. Hartson," Layman interrupted.
Douglass leaned forward and turned his head towards Layman. "Let the woman have her full say, Dan. This isn't the Committee for UnAmerican Activities, after all. Ms Hartson was kind enough to come forward of her own volition - it's only polite that we listen to what she has to say." Turning back to the front, he smiled in a fatherly manner at Mel. "Please continue, miss."
Mel favoured the man with a smile. "Thank you, Senator. As I was saying, local law enforcement as well as units of the National Guard were embroiled in the violence within the city. My compatriots felt that the authorities would have difficulty responding to the threat in a timely fashion. We therefore took it on ourselves to act. In answer to Senator Layman’s question…Yes.”
Having gained the momentum, Douglass ensured he maintained it, pushing on with a new question. He was as curious as anyone exactly how the small group of metas had learned of the assault on Washington, and wanted to see just how much Melissa was willing to divulge. “Ms Hartson, please relate to us in your own words exactly what happened that day, from the time you first learned of this attack?”
"Let's start with how you knew about the attack in the first place," Layman started, seizing his opportunity. He knew that there was a chance to break Douglass' momentum and take it, or everything would be lost. "I find it more than a little suspicious that a group of vigilantes just happen to be in the right place."
Mel suppressed a grimace – already she was heading for shaky territory. Revealing Observer’s involvement was out of the question. Soleil was still hiding her identity and the government was already hunting Sydney. She could really only describe the bare bones and hope she didn’t have to stonewall for too long.
“You understand, Senator, there is only so much I can reveal.” She made a significant glance at Senator Layman. “In the current climate Metahumans can be very nervous of coming forward and I do not wish to break any confidences.”
"You mean you don't want to betray any potential criminals. Yes, we understand-"
"That's enough, Dan," the chair cut him off.
“It is assumptions of that nature that make such confidences critical, Senator.” Mel bit back her next comment and took a sip of water.
Douglass cast an irritated glance at Layman. "Ms Hartson, I'm sure we understand your reluctance to reveal the names of those working with you. Please rest assured we are not here to force such information from you," he turned his head, "Are we, Senator Layman?"
Turning back to Mel he continued, "Tell as much of what happened as you are able, but also realise that if there are significant gaps in your story that won't sit well with the committee." He sat back, hoping his little push would help Melissa to open up as fully as possible within her own restrictions.
“I have access to individuals with significant computer resources. These individuals intercepted a coded communication between Earthrage terrorists detailing a plan to utilise the banned chemical Mutaxin in an aerial release over Washington. When this individual successfully decoded the details of the attack they passed the information to me. I contacted a number of other associates of mine and we made our way to the College Park Airport.
“Our arrival at the airfield resulted in us coming under fire by particle beam weapons, which had previously seen use in an attack on a pro meta rally at the Washington monument. There was a firefight during which two light aircraft with crop dusting equipment carrying Mutaxin managed to get airborne. I was the only individual present with flight capability and I intercepted the aircraft. However, possessing only a minor speed advantage over them I was unable to prevent the release of Mutaxin by one of those aircraft before I destroyed it.”
Layman quickly moved through his notes as he tried to steer the hearing in the direction that he wanted it to go. "Yes, we have a description of the firefight, I believe you were the one using the exploding spheres. For the record and our personal curiosity, just how much damage are you capable of doing with these spheres?"
Douglass rolled his eyes. There was nothing he could do to prevent the question – it was perfectly valid. But he could divert attention away from it, perhaps. "I hardly think Ms Hartson is a quantum physicist who can tell us precisely how many ergs she produces. It is apparent that the force is sufficient to damage a light aircraft, at least. And I for one am very grateful that she did. Can you imagine the devastation that would have been caused if Ms Hartson and her allies had not stopped the bulk of this terrorist attack?"
"I certainly can, and I think we all can, but that is certainly a valid question. Unlike some Senators, I don't think it's beyond reason that we expect a Metahuman to have at least some general idea as to her abilities or be criminally negligent if she does not."
Pazzano wanted nothing more than to strangle both of the men. He would have liked nothing more than to simply ban both men from ever serving on the same committee, but when meta rights were concerned, it would look suspicious if either were to be absent. The worst part was he suspected that Douglass knew damn well he was baiting Layman.
"If the gentlemen from Nevada and Ohio would remember that this is not one of their campaign stops or press conferences, I'm sure you would have an easier time answering. Please feel free to answer both questions, Ms. Hartson, in whatever order you wish. Free from interruptions," this last said while glancing between the two men.
Douglass sat back at Pazzano's censure, pleased with his result. Now that Layman was under threat from the chair, maybe Melissa could have a fair hearing. A small smile graced his face as the woman answered.
"Actually Chairman, I believe Senator Douglass made a statement." Mel's comment received a slight titter from the gallery.
“Regarding my spheres, I’m not able to accurately determine the exact explosive power and the effects as far as I can say are somewhat dissimilar to conventional explosives. However I would suggest it lies near the equivalent of a pound of high explosive. As for Senator Douglass’ somewhat rhetorical question I believe it is easy to determine. A single aircraft resulted in over 6000 casualties. There were ten aircraft at the field. Simple mathematics tells us how devastating this event could have been.”
"Quite," Douglass nodded, "It would have been disastrous, and our thanks go to the brave individuals who stopped this brutal and cowardly assault on the American people. If only more people with such special abilities would step forward to protect this great nation then I believe we would enjoy a period of great peace and prosperity.”
His smile grew sad as he continued, “Unfortunately, as you yourself said, Ms Hartson, metahumans feel threatened by the attitudes of some people and are therefore reluctant to reveal themselves. Such ‘vigilantes’, as my esteemed colleague has called them, do what they can, I’m sure, but it is not sufficient to allay a major threat to our way of life.”
Douglass paused a moment before launching his question. He wasn’t taking a great risk, since given her appearance today he was fairly certain of her answer. Still, he utilised his powers to their maximum, subtly increasing the receptiveness of his entire audience. “I’m certain you’re aware of the new metahuman treaty to be ratified, Ms Hartson. When that treaty is put in place, would you be willing to register, and to use your powers for the good of the American people?”
Layman, for once, did the smart thing and kept his mouth shut. He'd been willing to call the damnable meta sympathiser out of order, but he just had to go and ask a question, not merely make a speech.
Mel hid yet another wince; couldn’t they stick with the easy questions? Yes she would probably have to register but the details of the treaty hadn’t been finalised and she was worried about the level of coercion in the drafts she’d seen.
“While I understand the legitimate concerns of the majority of the people I have concerns over some of the points so far released to the public. No doubt Senator, you have access to more information than I. Given the choice I would register. It is my understanding that some people would take away that choice. I will not be a slave to other peoples’ fears.”
Layman saw his chance and jumped like a shark after blood in the water. "Now, Ms. Hartson, by your own admission your spheres have the power of – how did you put it? About a pound of high explosive? Wouldn't you agree that it's in the public interest to know who has such powers?"
“I choose to use my powers, Senator and as such I admit the people have the right to be certain I am capable of meeting the responsibilities of that choice. There are those amongst the metas who would not make the same choice, who as a result are no danger to others. Will you make them wear the yellow star too Senator, for no other reason than that they are different? It was my understanding that this great nation was founded on the concept that all men are created equal. Black or white, rich or poor, male or female, meta or not, that these differences are petty and meaningless in the great scheme of things and should not divide us. Would you divide us, Senator? For your own power? Will you peddle fear and hatred and separate us rather than bind us together?”
A murmur went around the gallery, and here and there scattered applause. Several people gave Senator Layman dark looks and in the end Senator Pazzano had to exert his authority as chairman, calling for quiet. Douglass sat back and watched it all, feeling smug.
Layman finally leaned forward to make comments. He hated it when witnesses managed to upstage him, and knew that he needed to save face. "Ms Hartson, you misunderstand me," he began slowly. "I'm not attempting to fear monger. What I am doing is attempting to raise a few legitimate public safety concerns." Layman trailed off. He knew how to grandstand after years in the Senate. There were things he could do to make his point. He pulled out some of his files, remembering the first time he did something like this with a grocery list.
"I have here a list of admitted metahumans, Ms. Hartson. A powerful telepath who works for the CIA, and an equally powerful telepath recently convicted of insider trading. Then there is a man in Los Angeles who has the ability to produce sound waves which in theory could bring down a building. I think you're a bit different from Jews in Hitler's Germany, Ms. Hartson. They weren't able to destroy small airplanes-"
"Dan..." the chairman started, trying to shut him up.
"-or even better, to enter into our minds. Or perhaps you would prefer it if people who were able to walk into the most sensitive areas of our governments were completely unknown to us-"
"SENATOR LAYMAN!" All eyes turned to the chairman, whose gavel had broken and forced him to result to banging his shoe on the desk. "Please either ask a question, or sit down. This is not the place to make speeches."
"I was just about to," Layman said, listening to the commotion die down again. "Are you going to say, Ms. Hartson, that we have no right to only know who can do what, without restricting your freedom of travel? That the authorities are not allowed to know this information?"
“You will condemn us for our potential then? Senator, from your examples it seems the espionage establishment is already taking steps to prevent reading of minds or free entry. Your insider trader should be prosecuted for the crime he has committed not because he is a telepath; you may as well condemn him for the colour of his skin. As for your sound waves it required no special powers to destroy a federal building in Oklahoma.
“And the right to know who we are and what we can do? Have we committed a crime then, merely by existing? Is our nature that suspect? Do we accept this in other ways? Do we say, ‘this man is black so he must be a drug dealer’, ‘this man is Latino so he is an illegal immigrant’, ‘this woman is a meta so she must be a threat’?”
Mel took another deep breath. "Amendment 14, Senator. All are equal before the law, or would you seek to strip us of our inalienable rights?"
“Senator Layman,” Douglass said quietly before the man could launch a fresh tirade, “It was my belief that this hearing was not a trial of Ms Hartson based solely on her possession of meta abilities, but rather that it was to determine the exact nature of what occurred on Saturday and to determine what measures can be taken to alleviate the damage caused thus far. Here we are barely into the first part of the hearing and our hero of the hour is sitting here being vilified.”
Layman seethed inwardly. "You're quite right," he snapped. "Our goal is to find out what happened, but there are larger issues at stake here, Senator Douglass. I'm not talking about Ms. Hartson but the very real danger that these powers can pose. Perhaps Ms. Hartson can explain a few things to me, being the expert that she is. Like why the courts upheld the 1934 Federal Firearms Act – the act which requires registration of machine guns. After all, the same reasoning applies, doesn't it? That we would be assuming so and so is a threat merely for owning an item? Or how about the registration of explosives? Our courts recognise that you don't have the right to violate someone else's rights, and that sometimes the public safety does allow for registration, at the very least, of dangerous weapons. I fail to see why the origin of the weapon in question should be important, except to highlight the further dangers that a metahuman can pose. Nobody is saying registration automatically makes you guilty of a crime, any more than registration of a machine gun made the law-abiding citizens guilty of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Or are we going to continue handcuffing law enforcement from pursuing avenues of investigation because it might make a few people feel a little uneasy to know that their identity is out? The innocent have nothing to hide, Ms. Hartson."
Layman stopped talking; he didn't have a choice when the commotion got nearly uncontrollable again, with the mix of Humans First and pro-meta slogans being chanted. When the chairman finally got everyone settled down, he simply steamrollered over him.
"And let me remind you that my bill doesn't violate any civil liberties, Ms. Hartson. We aren't executing people, just suppressing abilities until you decide to voluntarily come forth. And let me further remind you that precedent does allow for a de facto or even de jure distinction between classes of citizens when there is a legitimate public safety concern. I would consider your abilities a very legitimate public safety concern, wouldn't you?"
“There are cases where the suppression of metahuman abilities would result in the death of a meta. If the choice is register or die then I think you've gone too far no matter what the legitimate safety concerns. Or is that what you're really after Senator, wiping us all out!"
"I'm sure there are possible exceptions that can be found in such cases!" Layman snapped back. "We can find ways to monitor metas for their activities that might endanger the public safety. Or is this concern about rights all a smokescreen to let you better hide criminal activities?"
If I wish to own a gun, I'll register as the law requires. If I wish to use explosives I'll register. If I wish to use my powers I'll register but if I won't use them then why should I be force to register with the state just because of my genes? And no pious mouthing of legitimate safety concerns can hide the fact that your would force us to do so out of fear and hatred and a desire for power!"
“Ms Hartson,” Douglass interjected smoothly, “Remember that the recent treaty which has emerged from the metahuman conference explicitly states that no treaty signatory may legislate to force metas to register. Now, I know that treaty has yet to be ratified, but I’m sure most people here would agree that the treaty terms are very fair and reasonable for both sides of the debate, ensuring the safety of both normal humans and metahumans. I see no reason why the United States government would object to it. Senator Layman here is perhaps just a little zealous in his regard for human safety. He forgets that metahumans also have the right to vote in this country.”
He smiled superciliously at Layman, who scowled in return. “But this forum,” Douglass continued, “is not the one in which to argue the ethics of registration. This forum is designed to elicit the facts pertaining to a terrorist attack made on Saturday, and as such I wish merely to ask if there was anything else you noticed during the event that may be useful to us in minimising the damage already caused and to help prevent future attacks such as this.”
"Well, considering the attack was made by an extremist group with an apparently anti-meta agenda armed with apparently advanced weaponry..." Mel stopped. There no doubt the rest of the crowd could see where she was going; all that was left was the pleasant smile in Layman’s direction.
Senator Pazzano cleared his throat, anxious to close this inflammatory portion of the day’s interviews. “Yes, we can see from the statements you’ve submitted already the rest of the details pertaining to that. Unless anyone has any further questions, I propose we move on to the question of neutralising the mutaxin used in the attack. Senators?”
Douglass shook his head, as did the other Senators. All eyes turned to Layman to see if he planned one more broadside at Melissa Hartson before she left the stand.
"Yes, there's one thing I'm curious about," Senator Layman said, taking his seat again slowly. "It's a remark you made earlier... particle beam weapons. I'm curious as to how you know exactly what kind of weaponry is being employed, as I doubt these people would tell you what they were using unless you were in league with them."
All eyes turned back to Melissa in breathless anticipation.
"This isn't the first time Earthrage and I have crossed paths, Senator. After seeing their weaponry in action I contacted my sources. The ionisation trail of the weapon – the beam if you will – is apparently indicative of a particle beam weapon as opposed to, say a laser or a railgun."
*Oooh, I'm your sources now am I?*
When Senator Layman didn't launch instantly into a new attack, Senator Pazzano breathed a small sigh of relief and banged his gavel on the desk before him. "Very well, if there is nothing more you wish to say Ms Hartson, you may step down. Would Ms Verity Jennings please approach the stand?"
Mel had to push at the desk to get herself into a standing position and for a moment her knees didn't seem to want to support her. Finally getting her errant muscles under control she walked somewhat shakily from the desk and towards the public gallery. She wanted to let Layman know she was watching him.
Mel saw a handsome middle-aged woman occupy the seat she’d just vacated, and Senator Pazzano stared at her. “You will state your full name and occupation.”
“Verity Emma Jennings, Chief Executive Officer and Head Researcher of Humanitech Research and Development Corporation…”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Monday, 1st December 2003 - 4:45pm
The murmur and bustle in the Senate Committee chambers rose to an intolerable pitch as the hearing was adjourned. Senators Douglass and Layman gave each other frosty looks as they each stacked up their notes, preparing to leave. The assorted interviewees filtered towards the exits, merging with the crowds of onlookers. The press did just that, closing in on anyone involved in the hearing, but most were drawn like moths to a flame to the blue-haired figure of Melissa Hartson.
As the woman blinked in the flash of cameras and shook her head at the barrage of questions, Fahim Khoury moved up beside her and with years of practice urged her forward, through the milling bodies that surrounded her. Leading with his not inconsiderable shoulder, he forged a path to the doorway and out, saying all the while, “Ms Hartson does not wish to make any comments at this time. No, no comments.”
When the assorted journalists tried to follow them out, some recognising Khoury and yelling that he couldn’t keep her to himself, Fahim handed Mel his card and muttered quickly, “You have a choice. Exclusive interview with me, or they’ll all descend on you.”
The yelling grew louder and closer. “But choose swiftly,” he urged.
Mel glanced back at the approaching pack then favoured Fahim with a gracious smile. “So my choice is the jackals or the lion? Either way I still get eaten.” Still, Mr Khoury was at least a less biased reporter than the pursuing pack. Mel read his column regularly and if she didn’t always agree with the sometimes contradictory positions he took at least they were well argued.
“Fine Mr Khoury, the lion it is…”
“This way, then.”
Fahim raced with Mel down the hallway and out a side door, where a car was waiting. Journalists hot on their heels, he opened the back door for her and clambered in after her. Without so much as a word from Khoury, the driver pulled out smoothly leaving a bevy of angry faces in the rear-view mirror.
In the relative peace inside the vehicle, Fahim turned to Mel with a wry smile. “Terribly sorry for the abrupt treatment, but you would have been mobbed. And while I would definitely appreciate an interview with you, if you don’t wish to give one I shall have my driver simply drop you off at your hotel,” he said with a faint note of hopeful pleading in his voice.
Mel reached into a pocket and drew out her cell phone. Speed dialling a number she waited for the machine on the other end to respond. “Hello Sara, Fahim Khoury facilitated my escape from the senate hearing. I’m granting him an interview. Have you found her?”
Mel paused, obviously listening. “Thank you Sara.”
She put away the phone and returned her attention to the journalist. “If you don’t mind becoming a taxi again, would you mind dropping me at George Washington University Hospital after we’ve finished?”
“Certainly.” Fahim could feel the woman’s degree of concern and asked, “A casualty of the airfield attack?”
"No," Mel replied shortly. Ela had been missing when she'd got home after the attack, and hadn't come home the next day. Fearing the worst she'd mentioned it to Sara and after a little discussion, mainly revolving around Sara's cloning project, Sara had agreed to find Ela for Mel. None of which Khoury needed to know of course, and it had probably been a mistake to contact Sara in his presence but right now Mel was to worried to think clearly on the subject.
"Was that your first question? They're quite limited you realise." Mel's concern faded to impish humour.
There was silence for a second, then Fahim’s rich laughter filled the space. “Very well, you may call it that. But your answer wasn’t particularly illuminating. I would hope that further responses are more detailed,” he smiled.
The smile faded as he continued, “But I must admit to a small amount of subterfuge on my part. The interview I’m hoping for won’t be entirely exclusive. There will be others present. However, I must ensure that you will not divulge the matters discussed, nor the identity of the participants, to anybody. A woman of your recent prominence, I’m sure, will be subjected to many offers, both secret and open, and you may feel that this is but one more attempt by someone to use you for their own ends.”
He sighed, “Well, you’d be right. That’s precisely what we’re doing. Before you refuse, however, I think you should know that you’re only receiving this invitation because of what you said at that hearing. We had to be sure that your stance matched ours. We are a small group of like-minded individuals who wish to see a world in which the metahuman is not subject to others’ will, nor is elevated above the rest of the population. We seek to strike a balance, and hope that you might be able to help.”
*Do I have a sign saying ‘Potential Conspirator’ hanging over my head or something?*
*Apparently so. You do seem to attract them, don’t you?* Sym was obviously amused by the question. *Still, this sounds like a more useful conspiracy, at least for our aims.*
*Assuming their ideals are as high as they say they are,* Mel thought darkly, *That line was pitched perfectly for me.*
*True.*
“I have some experience of maintaining secrecy and I’m willing to listen to your offer but it’s not just you who needs to check bona fides.”
Khoury could sense both amusement and disquiet from Mel, and suspected that his guess that she’d been approached by others already was correct. Still, nothing more was to be gained here until he was reunited with Jennings and Douglass. Knowing that the chauffeur had heard everything that had just passed and would therefore drive to Khoury’s own hotel, the journalist let himself relax slightly.
“Naturally. I quite understand,” he replied to her statement, “And I thank you for this opportunity, Ms Hartson… or may I call you Melissa?”
“Mel is fine…” She’d never really liked ‘Melissa’ and if she was going to allow him to be informal he might as well get it right.
“Mel, then. And you must call me Fahim.”
The short journey was soon over and Khoury exited the car, holding out a hand in a gentlemanly manner to assist Mel from the vehicle. It seemed odd to Mel, but Khoury showed no surprise, when the chauffeur also alighted and accompanied them into the hotel. People stared as Mel walked past and whispers followed the trio into the elevator, but then the steel doors slid shut and cut them off from view.
The lift rose smoothly, its mirrored walls reflecting their images in an endless succession of diminishing figures. During the ride, Khoury kept up a friendly commentary on non-controversial topics, steering well clear of anything approaching the meta situation. It was only when they reached Khoury’s suite that the conversation returned to its previous subject.
The chauffeur closed the door behind Mel and Khoury, then took off his cap. He was a trim, middle-aged man with short dark hair who gave Mel a disconcerting smile. There were two other people in the room, both of whom Mel recognised from the hearing.
Khoury held out a hand, gesturing to each person in turn, “Melissa Hartson… Mel. Let me introduce you to Mr Jules Fournier – I’m sure you’ve heard of Fournier Enterprises.”
The man who had driven them here lifted Mel’s hand and kissed the back of it, speaking in slightly accented English, “Charmed to make your acquaintance.”
Khoury continued, “Ms Verity Jennings, head of Humanitech.”
Verity merely nodded, saying nothing.
“And no doubt you remember Senator Martin Douglass from the hearing.”
Douglass smiled, “At least this time we’re meeting in more amiable company. Would you care for something to eat or drink? Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“A water’s fine, thank you Senator,” Mel said hiding her surprise behind an impassive mask. Besides Khoury – who was one of the leading commentators on the meta debate, there was the leading researcher on metas, as well as one of the leaders of America’s pro-meta movement. In fact only Fournier seemed an odd addition to the group and that was only because neither he nor his company had, as far as Mel knew, made any comment on metas. In fact the room contained more real movers and shakers than she’d ever had the misfortune to meet, Observer and Sara notwithstanding.
Douglass handed her a glass and Mel remembered to sip rather than gulp. There may not have been a few billion people watching her every move right then but if anything the level of scrutiny was worse right now than it had been in the hearing. “Fahim tells me you have an offer I shouldn’t refuse…” she said, trying for levity.
Jennings smiled and sat primly on a sofa in the spacious living area of the hotel suite. “Ms Hartson, I know Fahim couldn’t tell you much on the way here, and I daresay it all sounds very ‘cloak and dagger’. But I think you will be very interested in what we have to say. The four of us have a common goal in mind, and the recent meta accord has brought us to a point where we can make the first real steps towards achieving that goal. All we lack is someone metas will look up to. A hero, as it were. Someone who can spread the word and convince them of our sincerity. With your actions the other day, and the way you stood up for yourself against Senator Layman today, we believe you would be our hero.”
Douglass took up the spiel, “You see, Mel,” he smiled, “With this treaty in its infancy, there will be a body set up to recommend to the President exactly how the United States Government should implement it. I am in a position to ensure that people like Dan don’t get to have a major say in the makeup of that committee. In fact, part of the reason he was so antagonistic today is probably because the majority of the personnel have already been chosen and he isn’t one of them.”
He grinned broadly, “Neither am I, of course. That would be too much. But there is a scientific expert on the panel,” he smiled at Verity, “and a leading journalist who has been following the meta situation in a balanced manner for some two decades.” This time the nod was at Fahim. “A good portion of the rest are those who are at least neutral to, if not sympathetic with, the meta situation.”
“Where you come into it,” Fahim picked up, “is when it comes time to show metas that the final legislation is even-handed. There will be registration of metas, yes. It’s a given, from the terms of the treaty. But it is also voluntary. What we hope to achieve is that we will control the foundation of the Meta Registration body. In that way, we can ensure that registered metas are fully protected from persecution – by anybody, non-meta or otherwise – and that non-metas are likewise shown they have nothing to fear from registered metas.”
Fournier took his turn, “It would be your task to encourage metas to register, for only if a majority of existing metas register will this method work. If people like Layman can point to our voluntary registration system and show that a large portion of metas are still unknown, he could push the fear factor to the point where registration becomes compulsory. We don’t wish that, and it’s quite apparent that neither do you.”
“It’s not going to be utopia,” Douglass finished, “Political necessity won’t allow it. And it won’t happen overnight, but with the right set of regulations in place we can strike a balance between assuaging the fears of ordinary people and the rights of metas to live how they choose.”
*Sym?*
*Your planet…*
*A little advice would be nice, though.*
*Considering your socio-political progress some initial dislocation is inevitable. The trick is going to be minimising both the initial dislocation and any negative consequences of attempts to control it. It would be easier on the inside of the organisation.*
*That’s a yes then?*
*Yes, but it’s your decision.*
*What about telling them…*
*I think that would be a bad idea, at least till you know them better. Still you might be able to lead them in the right direction…*
Mel pondered that thought a little more then refocused on the room. Taking in the attentive faces of the other four she smiled a little. “While I understand the political necessity you realise I’m opposed to registration, even voluntary registration. For that matter I’m opposed to any measure that increases metas’ isolation from non-metas.”
At the various shared glances Mel realised that statement needed further qualification. "Don't misunderstand me. Under the terms of the treaty and considering the political realities of the situation it’s the best we can get and my desire to help my fellow humans means I’ll have to register. But registration intrinsically emphasises the differences already present between metas and non-metas. That emphasis makes it easier for both sides to see the other as ‘other’ and that’s a recipe for disaster, especially considering that humanity as a group has a tendency to xenophobia.”
Mel suddenly realised she’d been lecturing, and to a group of people who probably felt they had a much greater understanding of the situation than she did.
“Indeed,” Douglass nodded, “there is an element of that. But we will not be looking to have metas wearing any,” he smiled, “yellow stars. Those who currently blend will still blend, and we already have a situation where metas are seen as ‘other’ by non-metas. That incident, for instance, the other week where you and the blond-haired girl fought off the Quartet – the press were quick to paint you as equally villainous as those you were trying to stop.”
He leaned forward. “Registration will happen whether any of us like it or not. It’s out of our hands. But we can turn it into something that brings people closer together, rather than setting them apart. The division in our society is already there, even without registration. Once the registering body is organised the way we wish it to be, we can institute procedures whereby metas can begin to be recognised as being a force for good. An organised and, most importantly in most peoples’ eyes, controlled force that will police its own members. That level of control will in effect be minimal, but so long as the general public believe that metas are regulated, they will slowly grow less concerned about seeing metas around their neighbourhoods.
“It’s a fine line, Mel, and one which we have to tread very carefully. Metas such as yourself won’t take well to any attempt to remove any freedoms, and rightly so. However, to allow metas greater liberties than they currently possess – for instance, for you to exercise your ability to fly without risking being shot at – then they must give up in name at least some of their current freedoms.”
Verity chimed in, “It’s not an easy thing, and it does involve a degree of trust – we’re aware of that. But none of us in this room want to see metas forced into a role where they effectively become slaves. We have been looking at various options for many years now, and this seems to be the best path for ensuring that the public are appeased while metas maintain freedom and dignity.”
*Well they sound sincere enough.*
*Yeah…*
*And they seem to have the right idea…*
*Yeah.*
*Even if they’re unaware of the real stakes.*
*So why do I think there’s something wrong here?*
*Spending too much time with Observer?*
Mel fought back a snort. *Maybe.*
“It’s a persuasive vision of the future…” Mel trailed off while she tried to pin down what was worrying her. Hesitantly, unsure of her conclusions, she continued, “But it’s all predicated on metas registering in large numbers. Which is why you want me.”
She could see it now what had worried her. “Tell me something Senator, would you have preferred compulsory or voluntary registration?” And Mel focused her entire attention on his reply.
“I have always fought for the rights of people to choose for themselves,” Douglass replied. “I wholeheartedly supported voluntary registration. If it were to be compulsory, our aims could not be met – metas wouldn’t trust the regulatory body. And that would lead to metas going underground to avoid registration, which would cause the general populous to remain in fear of metas. Those metas unable to escape the compulsory registration would be resentful and most would have to be kept compliant through sheer force. Compulsory registration would only serve to worsen the current situation for all concerned.”
Mel sat back satisfied. Either Douglass was the most skilled liar she’d ever met or he truly believed voluntary registration was the way forward.
*What about the others?*
*Damn!* She’d made a mistake. In focusing solely on Douglass’ reaction she’d missed the others’ and she couldn’t very well ask them now. A quick glance round the room told her nothing – these people were too well schooled to give their thoughts away so easily and anyway the moment had passed.
“Well it’s the way forward for now, but I’d hate to say the matter is closed; just that we’re in agreement for the moment.”
All four smiled warmly, though Fahim’s was tinged with a touch of uncertainty and Jules’ contained just a hint of something feral. It was Verity who spoke.
“We would never presume for you to accept this fully at our first meeting, Mel. But I’m glad you’ve decided to give us the chance to show you what we’re all about. I doubt you’ll meet all four of us at once again – we very rarely all meet together. But I can see reasons why it would be reasonable for you to visit Humanitech’s offices. Perhaps we can arrange a time where you and I can discuss some of this in more depth.”
“And I must remind you,” Fahim spoke up, “not to talk of this to anyone. If word of this leaks out too early, we won’t be able to maintain control over the regulatory process. None of us want a world where metas are ruled by men such as Senator Layman.”
“As I mentioned before, I’m well aware of the need for secrecy and I understand you have your roles to play. Ms Jennings, I’m sure we have a great deal to discuss.” Jennings was the scientist of the group. If Mel could show her just how critical metahuman acceptance really was for the [I]whole[/] species, maybe she could convince the others too.
ric and sol argue over the senate hearings
*** Monday, December 1, 2003 10 am ***
*** The Falconi Townhouse in D.C. ***
Sol lay bundled under the bedspread in the guest bedroom of Ric’s parent’s townhouse, where she’d been ensconced since the battle at the airfield. Ric had brought her back here, unconscious and wounded, and refused to let her go anywhere until he was sure she was going to be okay. Once Sol had convinced him to allow her to spend a few hours lying on a lounge chair on the terrace, she’d begun to heal very quickly, her body absorbing the UV radiation and using it to fuel her recuperation.
Sol was near to feeling totally like herself again, except for her nagging concern about the fate of the others at the battle. She knew what had become of only one of her fellow heroes, Melissa Hartson. Sol sat up, gripping the remote to turn the sound up on the plasma screen television mounted on the wall before the bed. She gnawed on her lower lip as she watched Mel aka Gabriel make her way to the table before the Senate panel. Mel was about to testify to this group of stone faced individuals about the events which had occurred only a couple of days before and Sol knew that whatever Mel said next would have a bearing on all of them, herself and Ric included. She wished she knew Mel well enough to be sure this was a good thing. Ela, of course, trusted Mel, but Sol hadn’t been able to reach Ela. Yet another worry that plagued her.
“Hey, Sunshine, you hungry?” Ric called out, entering the guest room with a tray balanced in his hands. He frowned when Sol shooshed him harshly before turning her attention back to the television. Setting the tray down, Ric sat on the edge of the bed beside the pretty blonde and focused on the screen.
*Great the Senate hearings,* he thought irritably. This was the last thing Sol needed to make her feel better. He made a grab for the remote, but Sol slapped his hand away.
“I have to watch this,” she said.
“I don’t think…” Ric began, but she cut him off.
“It’s too important, Ric,” Sol argued. “We have to know what’s going to happen. So, please, be quiet.”
Ric settled back disgruntled. He listened to the senators begin to question the blue haired woman he’d only met briefly, feeling a bubbling resentment as the hearing went on.
*Sanctimonious bastard,* Ric thought, glowering at the set. *They’d like to lock us all up like animals and throw away the key. Well, that figures! Bunch of weak minded, scared idiots, that’s what they are. We’ll see about ‘registration.’ The Spears are right. We have to fight for what we deserve!*
Sol was totally focused on what Mel was saying. She felt a surge of pride in the older woman as she met each and every one of Senator Layman’s attacks. Mel was cool and collected and totally level headed, which was the perfect way to deal with the man’s inflammatory remarks. Sol thought they couldn’t have had a better representative of metahumanity speaking for them than the one she was watching now. It gave her renewed hope to see the way things were going. She was also relieved to hear that the Senators at least weren’t reacting out of panic. That was reassuring.
Finally, as Mel finished and left the table, Sol pressed the button to turn off the television set and turned her attention to Ric, who looked really angry.
“You okay?” Sol asked, laying a tentative hand on his arm.
Ric glanced down at Sol’s hand on his arm and then up at her face. She was worried about him and he realized immediately that his anger was written across his face. He forced a smile. “Yeah, Sunshine, I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry, I guess it just irks me, you know. I mean, I expect that stuff from them. They’re all scared to death of us. But then for your friend to go up there and say that she has no problem ‘registering’, well, I’m sorry to say it, but that’s just plain old bullshit.”
Sol’s eyes widened in shock at his words. “Ric, what are you talking about? Mel handled that very well. She made it clear that she wasn’t about to become a slave to fear or hysteria. She let it be known that metahumans are willing to cooperate to achieve peaceful coexistence…”
Ric’s snort of disbelief cut off the rest of Sol’s words. “Right, sure, Sunshine…peaceful coexistence. Don’t tell me you believe that load of crap. There’s no way we’re gonna be able to just live side by side with those creeps in peace. Metahumanity is superior to humanity and that’s what scares them so bad. Do you think the Neanderthals would have been able to ‘peacefully coexist’ with Cro Magnon man? You’re living in a dream world, Babe. That’s never gonna happen.”
Sol had not realized before that Ric took such a drastically different stance on this issue than she did. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“I can’t believe what you’re saying,” Sol finally replied. “You can’t mean that. We’re not superior to anyone. Metahumans and humans are part of the same species. I know we’re different from one another, but that doesn’t mean one is superior and the other is inferior. It’s attitudes like yours that will prevent us from ever finding a way to share this planet. We can’t be at war with each other. We can’t think that way.”
Ric laughed derisively. “Wow, Sunshine, you really are a Pollyanna, you know that. It’s not all sunshine and flowers in the real world. I know you grew up in, like, the perfect hometown, but things are rougher out here. You’re gonna have to toughen up if you’re gonna survive.”
Sol sat up straighter in the bed, glaring at Ric. “How dare you talk to me that way! I’m not a child, or an idiot. Just because I believe in possibilities, in the basic goodness of people, that doesn’t make me stupid or naïve. I hope I’m never as callous and cynical as you are.”
Ric watched Sol flare up in righteous anger and he had to stifle the urge to laugh. She looked so cute sitting there in his guest bed, wearing one of his t-shirts as a nightgown and all but calling him a chauvinistic pig. It was fantastic.
“What are you smiling at?” Sol demanded. “Do you think I’m kidding? I’m not. As a matter of fact…”
Sol flung the blankets off of her legs and jumped out of the bed, stalking towards the pile of her clothes Ric had folded at the foot of her bed. All she had to wear was the costume he’d brought her home in the day of the fight, but she’d rather parade up Pennsylvania Avenue in that then spend another minute in this house with him.
“Where are you going?” Ric asked, reaching out to wrap his hand around her wrist. Sol turned her angry gaze on him and stood haughtily still.
“I’m leaving,” she replied. “I’m going to go back to the hotel. I don’t have to stay here and have you laugh at me.”
Ric chuckled, pulling on her wrist and catching her off balance. Sol tipped forward, falling into him. “Sunshine, you can’t go back to the hotel.”
“Why not?” she asked breathlessly.
“Cause I picked up all your stuff yesterday and brought it here,” Ric replied, rubbing her wrist with his thumb. “You don’t have a room to go back to.”
*At least I don’t have to go out in that damn costume, * Sol thought to herself. To Ric she said, “Then I’ll just take a cab to the airport and jump the first flight back to San Diego.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Ric was now stroking his hands lightly up her arms. “And just how are you gonna manage that, since the city is still under lockdown, remember?”
“Oh…damn…” Sol stammered, trying to ignore the soft circles Ric’s fingertips were tracing on her skin. “I…I forgot about that.”
“Just relax, Sunshine,” Ric advised, leaning forward to brush his mouth gently across hers. “You’re perfectly safe here with me.”
Sol didn’t want to relax. She didn’t want Ric to kiss her either. Hadn’t he just been laughing at her a minute ago. He was confusing her. But…his mouth was soft and warm…and she felt all tingly where his fingers were touching her bare skin.
“I’ll take good care of you,” Ric murmured against her open lips.
“I…I don’t want…” Sol tried to tell him she didn’t want him to take care of her. She had other friends in town. She could call Mel…or Ela…or…Billy even. One of them would put her up until the lockdown ended. She was going to tell Ric that too, just as soon as he stopped kissing her. She’d tell him when her mouth wasn’t already occupied with his lips and his tongue and those hot, wet wonderful things he was doing. She had exactly what she wanted to say all prepared, but when his mouth left hers she was distracted, because his hands had come around her body, cradling her close and she couldn’t catch her breath to speak. She’d tell him exactly how she felt as soon as she could breathe again.
Ric was fighting a losing battle for control as Sol melted into his arms. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and her curves pressed tight against him when he pulled her into his arms. He knew he should stop. She was angry at him, and no matter how cute he thought that might be, she was serious about it. But she was responding to his kisses, and arching her body hungrily against his, and Ric was no saint. Hell, he’d been raised in Sin City. He couldn’t find the will to let her go. She was so like the Sunshine he insisted on calling her, warm and sweet.
Sol could no longer remember why she was supposed to tell Ric to stop when his hands were on her bare thighs, holding her pressed against the hardness of his body. She thought perhaps there was some reason she was supposed to be angry at him, but she couldn’t quite remember why when his tongue and teeth were blazing a trail down her neck and he was nuzzling at the neckline of the thin t-shirt she wore. Sol instead threaded her hands in his hair and writhed against him. She wanted to have him toss her down on the bed and do things to her she’d only read about or seen in movies.
Ric tried so hard to slow things down. He hadn’t meant for them to get so out of hand. Sol was moving her body in the most provocative ways against his. She had her hands fisted in his hair and she was making these little panting, moaning noises. Ric couldn’t get over how good those little noises made him feel. He was not new to this sex thing. Hell, he was a relatively good looking, filthy rich boy from Las Vegas. He’s been banging strippers and showgirls since he was 15. Still, Ric had never felt this hot…this out of control. But he knew this was uncharted territory for Soleil. The girl was an all American virgin and he didn’t want her first time to be this way.
Finally, with a muttered oath, Ric disentangled his body from Sol’s and took a big step back, leaving her confused and disheveled by that big, inviting bed.
Sol blinked dazedly. She couldn’t figure out just what had happened. Her body was still filled with a raging fire of lust and her thoughts were a jumble.
“Uh…Sunshine?” Ric’s voice was hoarse and hesitant. “You okay?”
Sol looked at Ric for a moment, and seemed to suddenly understand what had happened. She had a hurt look in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
“I’m…why did you stop?” the plaintive tone in her voice was nearly Ric’s undoing.
“Oh…Sol…I…”Ric didn’t know what to say. She looked so sad now. “I didn’t mean to…that is I didn’t want…”
“Me?” Sol asked in a stricken voice. “You didn’t want me, right? Cause I’m naïve and…and a child…and you think I’m inexperienced so…”
“Well, yeah…I mean no, not that way,” Ric stammered. “I do think you’re inexperienced, but not in a bad way. You…well, you’re like Sunshine…all pure and clean and…I don’t want to take advantage of you, that’s all.”
Sol looked skeptical. “Are you sure it’s not because you didn’t want to be with me?”
Ric laughed ruefully. “Sunshine, if I wanted to be with you anymore I’d probably drop dead right here on this spot. I mean, honestly, can’t you see how much I want you?”
Sol glanced down and when she looked back up, there was a sunny smile on her face. That turned Ric on even more. “Oh,” Sol said softly.
“Yeah, oh…” Ric mocked gently. “Sol, I don’t want to mess things up. I…I like you. Sex…it messes things up.”
Sol nodded. She slowly approached him, smiling all the while. “I see,” she said. “So…no sex.”
“Well, no…not no sex…just no sex right now,” Ric explained, looking apprehensive as she drew closer.
Sol nodded again. “Right,” she replied, stopping a few inches from him and reaching out to stroke his cheek. “But we can do other stuff, right?”
“Other…stuff,” Ric’s voice was a choked whisper. “Sure…other stuff is fine.”
“Good, good,” Sol was laughing softly as she stretched up and placed her mouth against his, “because I really like the other stuff…”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
*** Tuesday, 2 December 2003 - 1:30pm - Providence Hospital, Room 227 ***
Nicola Reynolds sat propped up in the hospital bed, flipping idly through the channels on the television set. She'd been in this small, pristine room for nearly four whole days. She was going a bit stir crazy. Nicola was used to having a lot to do, and now, with the metahuman crisis at the forefront of everyone's thoughts, she really regretted not being able to be in on the ongoing process happening now on the Hill.
Of course, she was watching the hearings on C-Span and following the endless arguments on the news stations, but more than anything being relegated to outside observer only fueled her frustration.
The Mutaxin that had been released by the Earthrage terrorists over the city of Washington D.C. had had some devastating effects. Nicola's body, like many others exposed to the dangerous chemical, had responded to it as if the substance were a virulent allergen. Her respiratory system had shut down, completely, for a short time, and although her heart had continued to function, apparently it had been a close thing. The thought of what might have happened didn't scare Nicola as much as it angered her.
The idea that complete strangers, with their own twisted agenda, had plotted to end her life and the lives of so many others, without a moment's hesitation, that thought made Nicola very, very angry indeed.
She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she had been nothing more than a pawn in some ridiculous game of political intrigue. It was the kind of thing she was in politics to put an end to. The goal of the civic minded should be to make things better for everyone, to work in cooperation to solve this country's problems; not to manipulate events in order to gain power or further one's own agenda.
Thoughts of agenda's and manipulation put her in mind of the Senate hearings she'd watched yesterday morning. She'd worried more than she should as she'd watched Mel take her place before that committee. Her fear had been almost as great when she'd seen for the first time footage of Mel in action on the news channels. They'd run every bit of tape they could get their hands on, wanting to garner ratings on the coattails of Mel's upcoming testimony. Nicola had to admit, despite her misgivings, she found Mel beautiful in all her glory.
"Too bad she has her own agenda," Nic muttered to herself, turning the television set off with an audible click.
Nic had watched Mel's testimony with growing dread and dismay. She'd felt from the start, when she'd learned that Mel was going to testify, to "out" herself as it were, that their relationship might not be able to withstand it. As much as she cared for Mel, Nicola wasn't ready to jeopardize everything she'd worked for, everything she wanted out of life. Not for a cause she wasn't entirely sure she believed in, anyway. Nic wasn't small-minded. She'd never judged anyone based on anything as shallow as whether or not they could shoot laser beams out of their eyes. She recognized that thanks to Mel and her friends, as much as the doctors, she herself was still around to even be considering these things. The problem was, though, that she could see how scary the concept of someone with Melissa's powers could be. They weren't all good guys, after all. There were dangerous metahumans out there as well. Humanity had to protect itself, right?
"That's a terrible thing for you to think," Nic scolded herself. "You...you're in love with one of them."
Mel was currently doing the movie star look. Dark glasses headscarf and long coat. That she was doing it very well didn’t concern her it was simply a necessity. She needed to conceal her highly visible hair and eyes from the prying eyes of the press.
Fahim Khoury had got her out of the Senate building yesterday and when they’d dropped her off at George Washington University Hospital she’d thrown the braying pack off the scent for a while but she was just too visible to hide and when she’d left after visiting Ela she’d been confronted by a barrage of flashbulbs microphones and TV cameras. She’d wanted to just unveil her wings and fly out of there but in the current climate that probably wouldn’t have been the best idea.
Instead she had pushed through the mob trying to stop her forcefield from appearing. Eventually she’d managed to flag down a taxi and escape, at least until she’d returned to her hotel where another gang of reporters were waiting. It was without a doubt the most disconcerting and downright frightening experience she’d ever gone through and when she’d reached her room yesterday it was all Mel could do to shake for minutes afterwards
That initial surge had been the worst though and various complaints had forced the reporters off the hotel’s premises. This gave Mel a chance to do her incognito routine and slip out the back. They spotted her of course but the pack were too late to prevent her getting into another taxi and driving away.
Mel sat back and sighed. Looking at the driver she reached into her purse and pulled out a bill. “I’ll give you a hundred if you get to Providence Hospital without them following.”
The driver’s eyes dropped to the bill then searched her face. They tightened when he saw the blue wisps that had escaped her hair tie then looked again at the bill. Greed, it seemed won over prejudice.
“Sure thing lady”
Mel was flung sideways as the driver made a hard left turn across a couple of lanes of traffic. It wasn’t quite an illegal maneuver but it was damn close. That one turn lost most of the pursuers and Mel settled into the seat fighting back her incipient n
She wondered if she were doing the right thing. Her trip to visit Ela yesterday had no doubt put her at risk of discovery. No doubt someone would print who Melissa Hartson was visiting in hospital. Which really made this trip an even worse proposition but she really needed to talk to Nicola. They’d begun something that night but Mel wasn’t sure it could stand the firestorm of attention Mel found herself in. She wasn’t even sure their friendship would survive.
On top of that Mel visiting a low level intern with her most obvious ally in the senate was bound to set the conspirologists thinking. It couldn’t be helped. She needed to know how Nicola was doing. That need had only grown stronger since she’d heard the news that morning from another of Douglass’ staff
*I should have been faster…* She cursed again. Shame had burned in her for the last few hours. The fight at the airfield played again and again in her minds eye. There must have been something different she could have done, something that would have stopped Nic being poisoned
The taxi didn’t screech to a halt outside the hospital, the driver knew better than to attract attention like that but Mel was glad the journey was over. She pushed a hundred plus the fair through the slot and climbed out. Her walk was just a little too fast but in the parking lot she felt far too exposed.
Navigating reception took less time than she thought it would be, but when her eyes had met one of the nurses she knew a call to a paper or other reporter was going to start as soon as she walked away.
*Fine, Stop hiding who you are.* Mel pulled the headscarf off and slipped the glasses into a pocket then turned and strode imperiously to the bank of elevators. The ride up took far too long and her nerves had reappeared when she finally reached Nicola’s room to give a timorous knock on the door.
Nicola's troubled thoughts were interrupted by the soft knock on her door. Figuring it was just someone coming to take away the lunch tray, she called. "Come on in. I'm finished with it."
Mel took a deep breath and let the door swing open. “Uh…Hi, Nic” As she stood there in the doorway Mel realized it wasn’t exactly the best greeting she’d ever given but right now the butterflies in her stomach were the size of 747’s and her brain was fixed on the horrible thought that Nicola would just tell her to leave.
*I was just thinking about her, imagine that,* Nicola tried for a tentative smile. Mel looked...good, apprehensive, but good.
"Hello, Mel," Nic said, ignoring as best she could the warm tingle just the sight of the other woman caused within her. They had a lot to talk about, and Nicola couldn't afford to allow her traitorous body to be a distraction.
"Come in," she said, beckoning with a wave of her hand.
"And close the door," she added as an afterthought. Mel was attracting a lot of attention about now, and Nic imagined there were more than a few underpaid hospital employees who wouldn't be above lingering outside the door to try and get an exclusive to sell to one of the papers.
*Well that’s something…* Mel closed the door behind her understanding Nic’s reasoning. They needed all the privacy they could get for this and Mel’s status as overnight media sensation was one of the things they needed to talk about
She grabbed an uncomfortable looking plastic chair and placed it close to the bed. “So I heard…” Mel started then with real concern in her voice, “How are you?”
Nic sighed. A part of her wanted to just crawl into Mel's lap, lay her head on the other woman's shoulder and close her eyes. She wanted to pretend that none of this had ever happened, that they could go on as before and just be happy. That, of course, was a rather foolish desire.
"I'm better...fine now, really," Nic said. "I'm ready to get out of here, anyway."
"I...how about you?" she asked, studying Mel for a moment. "Are you okay...are you managing okay?"
“I’m fine.” It was a quick reflexive response and blatantly untrue, Mel realized that moments after the words left her mouth. “I mean it’s not like I didn’t…I knew what was going to happen. Price of notoriety I guess.”
Nicola could hear the lie behind Mel's words. They'd been friends for far too long, and they'd recently become so much more. Now, here they sat, tiptoeing around each other. There was nothing right about this.
"I...I guess you...didn't you realize how it would be?" Nic couldn't keep the frustration out of her tone. "Couldn't you see what this would do to you?"
*To us?* That unspoken question hung in the air.
That question and the hurt that went with it made Mel flinch and she couldn’t quite meet her lover’s eyes as she began “I’m not sure anyone can…I mean I thought I… Damn it Nic it needed doing. The greatest meta this world ever had hid everything they ever were. Someone had to stand up. Some one had to say ‘I’m a metahuman and I will not be silent.” Mel finally looked up and met Nicola’s eyes. “Well I won’t be silent.” she said
Nicola could see and hear Mel's grim determination. She had made this decision because she felt she had to, because for Melissa there had been no other way. The other woman saw this as her responsibility, her duty. Nicola could understand that. She might not like it, but she could definitely understand that.
*The problem is, I don't know if I agree with it, either,* Nic thought. Maybe Mel believed that it was time for a meta to take a stand, but was that really true? Would what Mel was doing accomplish anything really? Would it somehow make things easier? Might she not just be creating more fear, more hate?
"I wish I could say that you're right," Nic began. "I want nothing more than to be able to support you. I know you need friends at a time like this, but..."
Nic couldn't help but compare Mel's plight to her own struggles with her sexuality. She knew, from past experience, that human beings were cruelly unaccepting of differences. It was really unlikely that Mel would be able to convince anyone that metas weren't a threat. Nic doubted she could make things better. She feared the other woman might even be making them worse.
"I watched you yesterday," Nic continued. "I don't think...some of what you said...the secrets you said you had to keep, well I think that might make some people more uncomfortable, more unsure. I don't know if you are helping, Mel. I'm sorry to say that to you, but I won't lie."
“I know that but…It has to be their choice I can’t make them…and yes maybe it’s going to get worse maybe it even has to get worse before it gets better. I don’t know but I have to try I have to,” Mel’s voice dropped to a whispers as she tried desperately to stave of the soul crushing fear Sym’s burden laid on her, “for all of us”
Nic could see how hard this was on Mel. She wanted to reach across the space separating them, to take her lover's hand and reassure her. She wanted to close the gap and somehow set their relationship back on track. She didn't.
"You have to do what you think is right for you," Nic said softly. Her voice was sad and resigned. "That's all any of us can do. You understand that, right?"
“I know” *but I don’t want to lose you and I’m going to.* Mel felt the tears gather at her eyes. She’d shared something amazing with Nic, something beyond simple physical intimacy and because of who Mel was and what she had done she was going to lose Nic. It was too late to change what had happened and she could see Nic drawing away from her.
*Screw pride* “Please I know…I know this is going to be hard Nic but please don’t give up on it. Not because of this.” Mel took a ragged breath and reached out to her. “I…I need you”
Nic's heart broke at Mel's plea. She was frozen in place, not sure how to react or what to do. She wanted so very much to take Mel's outstretched hand, but she was afraid.
"I...Mel..." Nic could feel tears building behind her eyes. "I don't know...Mel...what you're asking...what it would mean...I don't know if I can handle that."
Nic looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. She was ashamed of herself, ashamed of her cowardice.
Mel realized she had to make the move. Nic couldn’t. She’d simply hidden too much of herself for too long to get past her fears. Mel leant forward and wrapped both hands around Nic’s whitened knuckles. “We’ll work this out. We’ll get through it. I don’t know how but we will. As much or as little as you need I’ll be there. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this before.”
At Mel's simple gesture of love and trust, Nic was completely undone. In her head, she didn't want this, but in her heart, she knew she couldn't bear to go on without it. She smiled up at Mel, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"You...no, I'm sorry," she said simply. "I'm sorry that I'm so scared. I'm sorry about questioning you, about doubting your judgment and your motives. You're doing the right thing, the best and bravest thing. I...you deserve my support. Because I love you, Mel. That's all that should matter. I can try and weather this with you because I love you."
“I…” She couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t mean it, not now, not yet. Instead Mel leaned in and kissed Nic brushing her tongue along her lips. Mel moved her arms to wrap around Nic and pull her into an embrace. She stayed there gently rubbing her cheek against Nic.
Nic closed her eyes and relaxed into Mel's strong arms. She could tell that Mel didn't want to deal with her admission. Hell, Nicola didn't want to deal with it either. She hadn't meant to say it. She'd known it would spook her lover. They could spend night after night in each other's arms making love, but Nic knew Mel well enough to know that talking about it was out of the question. Mel was still not really comfortable with the changes in their relationship. She had not really had time to come to terms with what it might mean for her, being involved with another woman. Nic could respect that. Hadn't she herself struggled with the same confused jumble of emotions when she'd first realized the truth about herself?
*Maybe she doesn't feel the same way,* Nic couldn't ignore the dismaying thought. Maybe Mel wasn't in love with her. Probably Mel wasn't in love with her. Disheartening as that truth might be, Nic couldn't ignore it. It was a very real possibility. Sure she and Mel had a good time together, but maybe for Mel that was all it was. There was no reason to think, just because she’d been harboring these feelings for years, that Mel was as deeply involved as she was. Nic couldn’t be let Mel’s silence hurt her. It’s what she got for rushing things.
Nic had put her lover on the spot with her words, but she could pretend as well as Mel that they'd never been said.
Nic pulled her hand out of Mel's and brought it up to cup the other woman's cheek. She pulled away so she could stare into Mel's unusual eyes. "Don't worry," Nic said. "We'll figure out something. We'll be okay."
Mel blinked back the tears remaining in her eyes and smiled weakly “I know we will.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
*** January 21st, 2004 ***
Donny picked up the gyroscopic module from the workbench. It would hopefully prevent the embarrassing pinwheel he had experienced on the museum steps earlier this month. He had already fitted the huge metal feet of the Prototype suit with a combination of different surfaces to deal with varying environmental conditions.
He carryied the heavy object over to the suit and began to fit it into the pelvis area near the center of gravity. It was tight in there next to the power converter module but the only other place to put it was dangerously close to the CPU and powerful magnets didn't mix well with super-conducting microchips.
When the phone rang he jumped and nearly dropped the module. He was noticeably grumpy when he answered it, "Esoteric Repair. We fix anything. Donny speaking, how can I help you?"
"I am not sure I have the right number. This ad says to ask for 'Lumber Jack'."
The voice on the other end was female and reasonably mature. Donny recognised the keyword he had places in the "Metas and Masterminds" magazine. The specialty magazine had appeared on the shelves all over Richmond after the events in DC recently. It was more of a fan magazine than anything else. But the classified section in the back was a masterpiece of contact building among both meta heroes and meta villains.
Donny needed cash to keep working on Proto so he placed an ad:
Need Super-Powered Technology for your Super Powered Career? Call Lumber Jack at 888-993-9876 and he will see to your needs. Nothing lethal. Nothing illegal. Just custom hardware for custom uses.
Of course the number was re-routed through several other untraceable connections, but since Donny had already blown that cover when he answered without looking at the caller ID box he had no way to back out now."This is 'Jack', but you can call me Donny for now. What do you need?"
There was a long pause on the other end. "How do I know this isn't a government cover to trick me into to revealing my identity?"
"Lady," Donny said with a sigh, "if it was, would I have answered the phone as Esoteric Repair? Come on, I think I'd have been more creative than that."
There was a light chckle on the other end, "I suppose. I have need of a pretty unusual device. It is hard to describe, and it's a little frightening to have to reveal this to a stranger. How do you usually do this?"
He almost said it was his first time too, but he had been in business long enough to know that you always lead off from a postion of authority. "It's fairly simple. You draft your idea to me over the phone and I either accept or reject it based on that. If I accept it, we move to presentation of design and a prototype for which I get paid. This isn't a patent office and these aren't off the shelf solutions, clear?"
He could almost imagine her nodding. Then he heard the timid "Yes" so he continued, "Then if it works the way you want it to, we go from there to a full working model paid in advance. Okay?"
"Well," she said, "How much money are we talking about?"
"Have you ever heard the saying 'If you have to ask you can't afford it'?"
*** Februarary 1, 2004 ***
Well, he had to admit that there was no way he'd have thought of this device on his own. It had not been hard to build a prototype, but he had no idea if it was going to fit or not. He had not been able to determine the identity of his sponsor, but he was fairly certain that she was one of the 'bush-league' metas that had started to appear in neighborhood watches and as for-hire security.
If so, he could see why protecting her identity would be a good idea. She probably had children and a husband who was threatening to leave her if she embarked on a fully-fledged super-heroic career.
He had made arangements to meet her in a public place under pretty open conditions. He explained how to find him and she was free to pass him by and never contact him if it didn't seem 'right'.
As he sat sipping his coffee a middle-aged woman sat down at the table accross from him. "Jack?" she asked.
Donny nodded and she looked relieved. He realized he had seen this woman watching him for several hours. Second thoughts, he supposed. It was all going to go forward, now.
"Do you have the money?" Donny asked. In this sort of business it paid to be certain. She nodded and reached into her purse for it. He hastilly stopped her.
"Not here," he said casually, "It would seem too suspicious. If you want to keep the prototype then we trade. If not, then it is cost of parts."
She nodded. She looked nervous and kept peering around as if she expected to be watched. Donny stood and took her hand. He walked to the back of the cafe and entered the restroom. She balked at the 'Men' sign but he tugged her in and locked the door.
"Oh!" she said as he turned to face her. She had not really been prepared for this even though all of this had been agreed to ahead of time. "I'm nervous. What do I have to do?"
Donny patted her arm comfortingly, "It's going to be easy. It is here in my bag."
He withdrew the headpiece and cloak that accompanied it and held it out to her. "Put this on."
She reluctantly placed the outfit onto her head and let the cape drape over her shoulders. It was silly looking with its white and slightly luminescent surface. It looked like an ill-fitting poncho. The headset looked like a pair of reading lights modified to point towards the eyes (which, in fact, it was).
"Remember this is a prototype," Donny said, adjusting the lights to shine directly in her eyes."From what you said on the phone, your power emits from your eyes, correct?"
"Yes, like this," she said and Donny barely had time to remove his fingers from the device when beams of multicolored light shot from her eyes and into the headset. The cape immediately burst into color spreading a rainbow around her and Donny that hung in the air momentarily before disappating like smoke.
"Oh my God, that was fantastic!" she squealed in delight, "I've never been able to make my power do anything but create semi-solid forms in mid-air. They just hang there and float down to the ground where they disintegrate like smoke rings!"
"Yep, you told me on the phone," Donny said trying to adjust the lenses slightly, "I figured since your eyes emit this semi-solid energy that it could be reflected, channelled and re-emitted through another device like this cape. Maybe even amplified."
"Wow, so I could shoot eye-lasers?" she seemed really excited now.
Donny had to let her down, "Unfortunately, no. Your beams don't seem to have any more cohesion than regular light. So you might be able to heat up ants at about two or three feet, but eye lasers is a little much. You can do some cool things, though."
Donny hooked a laptop computer to the headset. He tapped a few keys then turned to the woman, "Okay, try to project a gorilla."
She nodded, and after a moment of concentration she emitted a black and brown beam from her eyes. The headset intercepted it and the cape rebroadcast it into a holographic gorilla around her. For all intents and purposes a gorilla suit made of light.
She hopped and the gorilla disappated like smoke. "Aw! That was cool, but it's not much use."
Donny shrugged, "Prototype, remember? Once the light is re-projected it can't maintain form under stress, but if you keep projecting it can keep re-projecting. And I can rig a full body-suit that will read your pose and let you just supply energy to the system so it will adjust for your movements. Stop projecting, and it disappears like smoke."
"Cool! What else does it do?"
Donny unplugged the system and removed the headset from her. He set the devices down on the counter next to the sink. "Let's talk cash first."
She didn't want to, but she had to admit that Donny's inventions were better than she had hoped for, She reluctantly paid him the $5000 he asked for, and took her cape, headset and CD-ROM with the modulation program on it with her.
Donny took a few measurements and recorded them in this laptop. He snapped a couple of digital photos and thanked her. She promised to be in touch when he finally completed the full suit that he had told her would cost no less than $30,000. She had gulped at that price.
Donny knew that after her husband divorced her and the courts had taken their two kids she would never be able to afford the suit. He had made $5000 by feeding someone's fantasy of being a super hero.
More importantly, he had learned some interesting things about the properties of light as influenced by a telekinetic field. Not that he could generate a telekinetic field yet, but he would certainly try. And when he did, Proto would have a solid holographic camoflage module installed right away.
Donny went to the nearest ATM and deposited his cash. Back at the cafe, he connected to his bank wirelessly and paid a chunk off his credit card and breathed a little easier. Hopefully more of these jobs would come along.
[/]MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
3 March 2004
Vega City
Noon
Sara took in the sights of the mall, almost finding the number of people there unfathomable, though she did admire the efficiency of the layout. It had been Alexander’s suggestion to go to Vega City and help out the VCLG,. The talk naturally led them to the realisation that Sara had all of one change of clothes, and probably should have more if she wanted to pass as human.
Matilda and Sydney were both there with her, at James’ suggestion, though she suspected that James had ulterior motives when Sydney said something about “not being able to have too much ammo.” So now they were looking at the directory, trying to figure out where to go first, when Matilda finally asked Sara where she wanted go. “I haven’t got any idea,” she said. “Look, I’ve never had to worry about this before. What do people normally wear?”
Sydney raised an eyebrow at that suggestion. Her look was pretty much what could be called 'Military Chic' and consisted of monochromatic colours and simple lines that were just easier to move in than anything else. In fact most of her clothes had been gleaned from the Army Surplus store. She looked at Matilda and smiled, "I think this is more your department really, I was just added to this detail to make sure you didn't lead Sara astray. The last thing I need is having to bail you out with the Mall security again. No more five-fingered discounts okay?"
Matilda huffed, folding her arms and pouting. "Dumb secondary anti-theft devices, like i wanted to get busted for stealing a Ricky Martin CD anyway, soooo embarrassing."
Sara looked more than a little confused at all of that. She could conjecture that ‘five-fingered discount’ meant theft, though that was against the law. Still she looked at the map, their location, and where each shop was located that sold clothing and quickly devised a potential plan with all the unthinking and ruthless efficiency of a machine. “Perhaps we should start with the one over there, ‘Dream Dresser’.”
Matilda looked at Sara in shock before breaking out laughing at the suggestion. “I don’t think you want to go there for ‘normal’ stuff,” she got out, before calming down and lowering her voice. “That’s an, um, sex shop.”
“But it’s listed under clothing.”
"Yeah and it's also listed under 'Electical Goods'" added Sydney with a grin, "but believe me there's only ONE kind of electrical good you're gonna get there and you don't use it to play the latest Star Wars DVD."
Sydney rolled her eyes at Sara's confused look and grabbed her arm, pulling her in the direction of a store that had dresses and sweaters in the window. "I swear if I end up in the Twin-Set and pearls brigade shoot me," she mumbled as she led the way into the store. "Here, clothes. There's just one technique, try, buy and lets get the hell out of here before anyone recognises us."
Sara suddenly stopped in thought again, checking out the clothes, though the whole technique struck her as efficient, though it would be more efficient to just be able to know what fit right away. Then again, just looking at some of the items there made it clear that they all had various different uses. She started by picking up a bright pink shirt…
“Oh, god no!” Matilda said, almost choking on the colour. Did the woman have no sense of taste at all? “You can’t be thinking about that, can you? No, not seriously?”
“What?”
The young woman sighed in resignation, “Where does James find you people?”
Sydney bridled a little at Matilda's flippant remark, "the same place he found you honey," she snapped in annoyance. "Look, Sara, just get something black, it works for every occassion, trust me."
Matilda giggled, "yeah, thought what Syd knows about fashion could be written on the back of a stamp."
"Hey Miss, Avril Lavigne wanna be," grinned Sydney as they walked to another department, "just because I have more important concerns than the correct length of my skirt or the lyrca content of my shirt. Personally, I find this obsession with appearances pretty shallow and superficial, who cares if your shoes and handbag match when you're gunning down a patrol of armed guards, or trying to outrun the sector police?"
"Ignore her," teased Matilda, pulling Sara over to a rail of pants, "she's just crabby because I accidentally turned one of her shirts pink in the laundry this morning."
Sydney stamped her foot in annoyance, "damn it Matilda I told you, how is anyone supposed to take me seriously in PINK?"
“You’re both being completely illogical,” Sara said flatly, while looking through things. Finding something in the proper size, she moved carefully between various picks, always picking out exactly two of each thing and always in black. “First of all, if someone has a gun pointed at you and you are unarmed, it is prudent for you to follow their suggestions, regardless of what colour clothing you are wearing. Second, it is highly prudent to be concerned about the length of your skirt if you are going to be running from sector police-“
“Ok, Spock,” Matilda rolled her eyes before noticing exactly what Sara was doing. “And what are you doing, you aren’t going to get anything else?”
“Well if black is the most efficient colour for a wardrobe-“
“Enough with the efficiency and logic! What are you, a machine?”
"Pretty much," answered Sydney, a wide grin errupting on her face, "but don't let that put you off." At Matilda's incredulous stare, Syd slapped the girl on the back playfully, "what? Didn't James tell you?"
"She's a..." Matilda turned to look at Sara, she seemed to life like, so human. She just couldn't believe it. "What, like... like a T2000 or something?"
"Apart from she's not been sent from the future to kill us all," laughed Sydney. Suddenly she stopped, walking over to a shelf and picking up a pair of boots.
"What the- These are MY boots!" she declared in surprise, "since when did the military look become high fashion? Goddamn it!"
She turned to Sara abruptly, "haven't you got enough already? Geez, how long are you planning on living for?"
“Bracketing possible environmental factors,” she started, “and assuming routine maintenance is available, indefinitely. However, as the price of this is now five-hundred twenty-three dollars and seventy-two cents after taking taxes into consideration, I think we’re finished here.”
“Wait a second!” Matilda said when she started towards the register, trying to pretend that she hadn’t just heard the word ‘indefinately’ for a lifespan. “You aren’t going to try anything on?”
“That’s why you have sizes, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but they can differ depending on the store.” That was enough to stop Sara in her tracks. The AI paused to consider, before suddenly coming to the one decision possible and began to unbutton her shirt. “No, no, not here, in the changing room! Arrrg, how did you ever do this before?”
“The salesman took one look at me, told me what size I was, and proved to be correct.”
"Yeah well take it from me," Sydney added jovially, "people don't take too kindly to your stripping down in public." She nodded in the direction of the changing rooms, "sweaty, cramped and poorly lit," she turned to Matilda curiously, "tell me, why are so many women obsessed with shopping? I don't get it, now if we were looking for a new set of pistols, maybe a handheld grenade launcher or some specialist ammo..." Sydney sighed.
Sara turned to face Sydney. “Well, we will have exactly seventy-six dollars twenty-eight cents left. That should leave sufficient funds to purchase some specialist ammunition for you…” she trailed off before disappearing into fitting room. She returned a few minutes later, heading straight for the register.
"Hmmm, I'd say it's the least James owes me for this babysitting expedition," laughed Syd as she followed in Sara's wake.
"Hey!" protested Matilda in annoyance, "I can look after myself... Jay didn't say that I..." her voice suddenly petered off, "oh that guy is SO gonna get it when we get home."
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Allzumachts - I
7 March 2004
Vega City
For Alexander Michaels, the shock of seeing the result of the shopping trip was amazing. Sara managed to get her hands on more money somehow and went for a second trip. Then proceeded to go about it just like before, only this time without help. He’d heard the stories of that shopping expedition, and her strangely literal approach she took.
Only now… he shook his head slowly when he noticed her carefully pick up and file everything away. It was like she had a checklist. Two pairs of pants, black. Two knee-length skirts, black. Two pairs of leather pants, black. In fact if for that first trip there had been a recurring theme it was two and black. “Did you even consider another colour?” Michaels had asked her.
Her reply had been logical and to the point. “Well, Sydney said that it went with everything.” It all made perfect sense! If fashion became a concern, buy the thing that went with everything. When he’d asked how she managed variety before, he answer was again logical: she’d arranged what the people at the store recommended.
One thing was clear to Alexander: the A.I. still had a lot to learn about being human. It was clear that she hadn’t worried about it much before, after all she didn’t have much reason to devote a lot of thought to presenting her ‘body’ to the public. She resided in a CPU, and so things like fashion were far from her mind. Now after talking with some of the women at the VCLG…
Again he looked at her putting things away. “Just where did you get the money for this second expedition of yours, anyway?” Michaels asked out of curiosity as he noticed she took the advice about different colours, and apparently did much the same approach only different. Two blazers, one red, one white. Two pairs of pants, one red, one white.
Sara carefully folded placed a blazer and pair of pants onto a hanger, folding the pants over the hanger’s bottom part, before hanging it up. “I broke into and drained an account owned by a managed for PsiTech.”
Alexander stopped in surprise. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, yes, she had managed to start looking into networking and programming with a surprising amount of efficiency but this… “You’re joking, right?”
“A joke is… a story with a humourous climax?” she said with utmost seriousness.
The former Zyrcom employee shook his head. She wasn’t kidding. Sara had really gone and started to get into computer crime, and against the Trinity no less. “Why?”
Sara picked up another suit, the white one, and began to go to hang it up. “Well, Max suggested that if I need money, I just steal it from the Trinity since we’re fighting them anyway.”
“Max was kidding, Sara,” he pointed out. Now Alexander remembered that conversation. Sara had asked in all seriousness about ways of making money, and that had been the first thing Max said, before the real suggestions started. Only she must have thought that he intended that as being serious.
Sara looked confused. It was a rather familiar feeling for her when dealing with humans, more so now. “Why didn’t he say he was kidding, then?”
“He did say that. It’s what ‘joshing’ someone means.” Alexander sighed, watching her finish with the closet before moving to a desk to sit down at the computer to continue analysing data.
“Joshing? But that makes no logical sense-“
“Much about us doesn’t,” Alexander cut in. He was amazed sometimes at her. She had the intelligence to design electronic equipment that allowed an artificial intelligence capable of access to meta capabilities. Sara even could finish development on cloning. But when it came to simple cultural things she was lost.
Sara straightened, deep in thought, before she finally answered him. “Yes, I suppose so. The evidence would certainly seem to point in that direction.” The Artificial Intelligence turned away from the machine, giving him her full attention. Her thoughts turned from the strange curiosities of human behaviour to more pressing matters. “Have you informed W.A.I.T. yet about Observer?”
Alexander hesitated in surprise at the sudden turn of the conversation. No warning, just like that, switching over so mechanically. “The news isn’t being made public, though. But they did discover something strange, the artificial body was missing.” He still remembered hearing about the report, another conspiracy theorist had given it to him. Strange that he’d been right the entire time about some things, though it made W.A.I.T. rather interesting.
Sara took in the news impassively. She wondered why he hesitated, but that was a concern she could think about later. Observer’s body vanishing could mean a lot, depending on who took it. However, she only hoped that enough of his code would have been destroyed to make reconstruction nearly impossible. “What else?”
“Well, according to my sources, they traced his communications back to Benson and found your old mainframe there. They suspect that there’s another A.I. based on the Observer code somewhere that they’re looking for.” He hated having to deliver the news to Sara, but it was good that she knew. As far as W.A.I.T. was concerned, she was a fugitive. “I’m sorry.”
“It is quite all right. Such an occurrence was to be expected,” she replied carefully, wondering what Alexander thought of it. Knowing the way Observer had worked gave her some insight into how that information could be used against her, if James or even Alexander wanted to, they could hold it over her head.
It occurred to her that she really hadn’t given them much reason to trust her, despite her goals being simply to free humanity. Now… Sara wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She’d told Melissa about some things, but those didn’t give her a direction. She was her program now, and needed to make a decision.
“You don’t have to worry,” Alexander said, as though reading her thoughts. He could only guess at what she must be thinking, but he imagined what years of being in the conspiracy, having that as your only life, would lead her to think. “We have no intention of letting W.A.I.T. come after you, Sara. You’ve shown you’re different from Observer.”
“Have I?” Sara asked. She’d wondered how different they truly were herself. Both of them were led by strictly by logic, and given the premises they started with, came to the only conclusions possible. In at least one sense, they were a lot alike. Alike enough that it could justify W.A.I.T.’s fear.
Alexander was a little puzzled by the question. “After everything you’ve done, how can you say you’re anything like him? You prevented him from continuing to manipulate the world.”
“And I used him to destroy another conspiracy,” Sara replied flatly. She turned to face Alexander, who was recoiling from the shock. “You didn’t know about that, did you? They called themselves Operation Scorpion, dedicated to eliminating Meta Humans.”
Alexander was surprised to hear that. She was saying that another conspiracy was real, and… then again, it made sense, he supposed. Sara was willing to do some of the work on analysing documents to help James in his quest against the Trinity, so maybe she had decided to end the rule in secret by everyone. *Which could be rather hard.* “And you don’t think the fact that you want us to decide our own destiny makes you different from him?”
“In goals at least, it does,” she conceded.
“Even your method and values are different,” Alexander replied, never removing his eyes from her. “Haven’t you been saying that his problem was viewing everything through the lens of power, while you have no interest in power?”
Sara considered this for a moment. “That much is true, at least.”
Alexander was a little puzzled by her speaking. He had to wonder what she was trying to say. Did she really believe that she was no different from Observer? But how could she? Just why had she helped them in the first place? There was one thing that could tell him. “Tell me something, if you’re worried about being like him… what are your plans now?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Sara replied. “For the moment, I want to help James in any way that I can but after that… I’m a scientist. I always have been.”
Alexander was able to sympathise, and could guess what she would be feeling if she were human. He sat on the edge of the desk, clasping his hands together. “Programming was my life when I used to work for Zyrcom,” Alexander confessed. “I didn’t know what I would do either, when they managed to fire me. Ultimately I decided to take my knowledge, and try to make a difference in the world.”
“You mean when you became a conspiracy theorist?”
“I didn’t have a high readership, I’ll admit, but I liked to think that I was doing something. Or at least trying to.” The more time that he spent talking with the woman – no, android, he reminded himself – the less he seemed to understand her. Another person using her flat tone might have been putting him down; as it was, she was probably just trying to make a genuine inquiry.
Sara considered him, and his suggestion carefully. ‘Make a difference’ was a quaint human phrase she found, that meant to improve conditions. While it was an idealist slant, it was one that was usually biased by the individual in question. “I no longer have a laboratory,” she said softly. “Or access to most of my old databases. I’m not sure there’s much I could do, Alexander.”
*She’s having a mid-life crisis.* he thought. Then again, it probably made sense in a way. Humans weren’t born with any kind of purpose inherent in their lives. Sara however was created to fulfil a certain function, and even when she grew beyond that, she had a particular function to fulfil. Now she was, for the first time, without a set purpose. “But you still have one hell of an analysis unit, don’t you?” he asked. “Not to mention strength.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Well…” Alexander wasn’t sure of that himself. All he knew was the basics of her systems, that she did have better strength and damage resistance. With her mind she could almost certainly design things that would help her. “Have you considered trying a more direct approach to crime fighting?”
“Excuse me?” Sara asked in surprise. She wasn’t quite sure that she’d heard the suggestion right. “I am a scientist, Alexander, not a fighter.”
“You’re a scientist who managed to destroy Observer’s body.”
“Only with Sydney’s assistance,” she said truthfully. Sara considered Sydney’s aide in that endeavour to have been indispensable, although she was still confused and wondered why exactly Caracalla had not attacked them. It was almost like the other machine wanted him to fall.
“Still, you could do a lot more,” he suggested. “Perhaps if you asked Sydney to train you? Even if you didn’t stay here in the end, you could at least help somewhere.”
“Perhaps.” Sara wasn’t sure. She found some of the more direct means of confrontation distasteful if they were at all avoidable – and wasn’t sure what she thought of the use of extra-legal means. On the one hand, one needed general rules, and while you might grant exceptions to them it was best to err on the side of caution. Then there was the motivation, humanity had to find its own way but what about her?
Sara realised that she had no idea what her own way was to be now that she was devoid of purpose. The fact that she wasn’t unplanned like humanity made her stop to ponder. If her purpose could no longer be fulfilled, what was she to do aside from find a new purpose? “I will think about this, and get back to you,” she said at last. “Thank you, Alexander.”
Supremacy Intro I
*** Wednesday, 3 December 2003***
The red-hot shuttlecraft struck the water’s surface like a massive silver bullet, sending scalding steam up into the air for hundreds of yards. As a result, the lake was covered in a hazy fog, obscuring its surface from view. This worked to Vanth’s advantage, however… The haze would allow him to easily leave his vessel in relative obscurity and stealth, and save him the trouble of finding a place to hide his craft. The lake was, from his ships’ computers’ geographical analysis quite isolated and unfrequented. It would be a fine hiding place.
The ship settled gently upon the lakebed, about a mile beneath the surface. Vanth did a final check on his ship’s diagnostics. All systems seemed to be in fine working order. He grabbed his necessary equipment, set the perimeter alert system to his gauntlet-comp’s frequency, and entered the airlock.
“Seal systems and prepare for release,” he dictated to the computer. “
“Affirmative…” the computer monotonously replied.
The doors to his vessel’s interior sealed shut, and Vanth took one last quick look at his ship’s interior. It would be the last time he’d be seeing it for quite some time, he wagered…
Vanth readied himself and waited for the airlock doors to open. The computer droned out a countdown… then the doors burst open, and Vanth, using his flight powers, propelled himself out into the water, towards the surface at top speed. He hurtled like some mad dolphin through the icy waters, and finally burst out into the misty night air, continuing his ascent until he could see the glitter of lights far below… Vanth smiled and began his flight in the direction of the lights…
another arrival
***Wednesday, 3 December 2003***
In the nearby mountains, while Vanth made his journey towards Vega City, the still darkness was suddenly disturbed. The deep and looming shadows came slowly to life. The air shimmered, pulsed, and then seemingly ripped violently open to reveal a strange circular crimson glow, approximately ten feet in its rectangular diameter and illuminating a good twenty yards around it, bathing the surrounding woods in its bloody luminescence. Within the swirling nimbus dark shapes began to manifest… Humanoid shapes. A pair of figures stepped forward through the portal, and solidified as they did. The doorway quickly vanished into nothingness behind them.
Standing within the now resuming darkness stood two men, dressed in what appeared to be the black and white garb of old Southern preachers. One was tall and leanly but solidly built, with unnaturally red hair hanging in a braid from beneath his black preachers’ style hat, down to the middle of his back. His eyes burned an infernal yellow, so brightly as to illuminate almost his entire narrow, hard-edged face, even in the deep shadows. A cigarette hung loosely from his narrow lips, and a small, single silver cross hung from each earlobe. His hands were long and somewhat bony, with longish and sharply pointed ebony fingernails.
The other man was broad, and very tall, even next to the other man. His build was almost impossibly hard and muscular. He wore no hat, leaving his closely cut, white-blonde hair exposed. His eyes shone with an unnatural scarlet glow, as bright as his companions’ eyes. He too wore the preacher’s garb, but seemed almost ready to burst out of it with his immense musculature. The large man looked around casually, noting his surroundings.
“Is this the place, Hellfire?” he inquired in a grinding, thunderous voice.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
***4th January 2004 - 5:33am - Somewhere over Europe
Introducing Ian McKellen as Vabka Ivanov
Darkness...darkness and light...everything is darkness...nothing is truly light...darkness is power...
"Sir, can I get you something to drink?" The flight attendent asked. Her cart was parked next to to row 'T' seat's '1' and '2'. The man whom she was taking to went by the name of Vabka Ivanov. He was an old man, with grey hair and eyes that had a certain yellow glow to them. He was wearing an entirely black outfit of old, slightly raggedy clothing. He fit right in flying in the back of coach, with the others who couldn't afford anything better.
The man muttered a no and have a dismissal wave with his hand. He had been deep in thought, and the stewardess had disrupted him. The woman gave him an irritated look, and then continued on to the next row. Vabka's mind lapsed back to what it had been thinking about...
Darkness...must destroy the light...light is wrong...only darkness must exist
He had thought it was over. He had been living in Mutantgrad for 12 years--ever since he had left the United States. He had never wanted to see those flashing lights again...
But...
He had been watching the television at his quiet home. He spent most of his time watching the television now...there didn't seem to be much else to do. The news had been covering Meta-Human riots in Washington D.C., the capitol of his old country. He had been watching with only a faint amount of interest--after all, he wasn't an American anymore. To everyone around him, he had never been an American. He was just Vabka Ivanov, the old cranky man who lived in a small black house in Mutantgrad.
That's when he had seen her. A pro-meta riot had been going on when gunfire had broken out. At first this had seemed to be the normal happenings of a meta riot--then it had changed. He had seen her! The woman he had dreamed about! The costume wasn't exactly the same, but he would have recognized those powers anywhere. Light generation, manipulation...light...
That's when he had known what he had to do. He would have to come out of retirement. In the perfect world of darkness, there was no room for light. There was no room for a Spectrum, hero or heroine. It was time for the Shadow to come out of retirement--and bring a revolution of darkness with him.
***4th January 2004 - 8:00pm - Lori Grant's Mansion***
The microwave beeped to signal it was finished, and Lori removed the mug of hot cocoa from inside of him. She blew some steam of the top, and then brought it to her lips. She sighed as the warm chocolatey taste filled her mouth and ran down her through. The winter had been very cold so far, and it was hard heating a house as big as hers. There were plenty of drafts, and that didn't include the sudden drafts that were occasionally created by Bonita.
She strolled into her living room, and leaned against the side of the doorless entrance, staring at the pair sitting on her sofa and watching her T.V. Janie had come over, as she often did, and her and Bonnie were watching part of a Citizen Movie marathon. They were going to play a citizen movie every night for 7 nights, with two being played on the final night (there were 8 movies altogether). The first one was just entitled, CITIZEN: THE MOVIE.
"Oooh, oh Bonnie listen!" Janie squeeled from the sofa. Lori smiled as she remembed how much Janie loved these old movies. She could quote certain parts word for word, although there were a few lines that almost everybody knew.
"What?" Bonnie asked, getting a high off of Janie's excitement.
"This is one of those famous lines!" Janie excalimed. The two of them became silent and listened intently. The TV showed the the Citizen carrying a dark haired journalist by the name of 'Sally Street', and placing her down on her feet outside of her work headquarters, "The Weekly World".
"Please, Ms. Street, you'll have to stay here out of harm's way while I go off to fight Rex Raven." The Citizen turned to hurry off to find his arch, nemesis. But before he did, he said "Wish me luck."
"You can beat Rex, Citizen." Sally Street cried, "I'd bet on it!"
"Don't bet on it, count on it!" The citizen replied back to her, before hurrying off into the sun set to find Rex.
"Oooh I love that line!" Janie cried. She was practically jumping up on down of the comfy seating. Bonnie and her were having a great time, and Lori was glad to see it. After all these months, Bonnie was really getting used to living there, and they had all become very close. Actually, Lori was considering training Bonnie as a side kick. The girl was a powerful Meta, and Lori could use her...but she wondered if she should put the girl into danger like that. And after all the stress that she had been through, would it be good for her to start fighting crime now?
For a strange reason, Lori felt jelous of the Citizen. He had been America's first hero...a great person, who had broken all barriers of color and gender, as nobody could tell who it was underneath the costume. In the movies, naturually, it was played by a white male, but there wasn't necessarily any evidence that the citizen was either caucasian or male. It was just presumed by most. Still, women and non-caucasians alike had always looked to the citizen for inspiration because maybe...just maybe...he was not your everyday average white man.
Sadly, Spectrum was not loved like that. Meta-Humans were considered a threat to many now-a-days. Even she, who tried to be a hero, was hated and feared by some. Times had changed, for sure.
Lately things had been peaceful though...not too much drama had happened for her since Washington, and that was something. From the sofa, Bonnie glanced back and said, "Lori, its almost over come and watch with us!"
Lori smiled and walked over. She sat down on the sofa, careful of her cocoa. It was nice, being with these two like this. She hoped that life would stay this peaceful for a long time to come.
Somewhere else, the Shadow made his first move.
sol and billy meet at the mall
*** Wednesday, December 3, 2003 - 11:30 am***
Sol wandered from storefront to storefront throughout the Union Station shopping mall. She carried a growing pile of packages, and she was feeling more and more like herself as the morning progressed. Ric had been overly concerned with her going out on her own so soon after the attack, but if Sol had to spend one more minute cooped up in that guest room, she was going to lose her mind.
*Ric,” Sol mused. “What am I going to do about him?*
Although Ric really turned her on, she was totally turned off by some of his attitudes and actions. Take yesterday morning, for example. He’d treated her like some sort of fluff brained teenager. At the time, Sol had allowed him to charm her out of being mad, but looking back on it, she had to wonder. Did the guy have any respect for her at all? Sure, he’d not taken advantage of her when she’d been all but ready to sleep with him without thinking twice, but was that because he respected her too much. His other behavior didn’t seem to indicate that.
“Maybe he’s just scared of the responsibility,” she mused aloud.
“What responsibility?” a familiar male voice intruded on her thoughts. Sol spun around, breaking into an impossible-to-control grin at the sight that greeted her. Standing no more than a foot away, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, with those cute wire framed glasses and that self conscious stoop, was Billy Wren.
Sol wrapped her arms around him, showing a complete lack of restraint. She hugged him fiercely.
“Hi,” Sol said, stepping back and giving him a once over with her eyes. “You look okay. Are you okay?”
Billy couldn’t keep from smiling back at her. She was so full of…everything. “Yeah…uh…I’m…you know…fine.”
“Good, that’s good,” Sol declared, picking up the packages she’d dropped and threading her free arm through his. “I was worried about you. I would have called, but…I’m staying with a friend and I wouldn’t want him to ask about you. That could be awkward.”
Sol giggled. “Considering you’re a nasty super villain and all,” she stretched up to whisper in his ear.
The feel of Sol’s warm breath as she whispered to him sent a secret thrill through Billy. He had been worried about her too, especially when he hadn’t heard from her after the terrorist attack. He’d been so happy to see her standing in front of that sunglass shop. She’d obviously been lost in thought, but Billy couldn’t imagine not stopping to talk to her.
“Right,” he agreed solemnly. “The nastiest.”
Sol laughed loudly. “It is so good to see you.”
“You too,” Billy agreed. He looked around. Sol was leading him somewhere. “Uh…where are we going?”
Sol stopped walking and smiled up at him. He was, of course, dazzled. “Lunch,” she replied. “I’m famished and we really should talk about what’s been going on, right?”
Billy nodded. Sure, he’d talk to her, or listen, or just sit and watch her eat if necessary. Anything at all if it meant he could spend more time around her. Sol made him feel like a better man.
Sol resumed walking, all but dragging Billy in her wake. Finally, she stopped. They were standing in front of a restaurant, the couple ahead of them dressed in power business suits. Billy thought maybe his casual attire wouldn’t quite fit in here. Sol didn’t seem the least bit concerned, however.
“Maybe we should just head for the food court or something,” he suggested quietly.
Sol turned and looked up at him quizzically. “Why?” she asked. “The food here is supposed to be good. I really don’t feel like mounds of grease and buckets of watered down coke.”
Billy shrugged. “I thought…” he glanced down at the designer jeans and clingy red sweater Sol had on. Her clothes were casual, too, but they had that look of expense. She’d undoubtedly fit in just fine.
“Never mind,” he replied. “This is fine.”
Sol turned back to the hostess, requesting a table and they waited only a moment before they were seated. The restaurant, like the rest of the mall, was only sparsely populated. Sol figured that a lot of people were still sticking close to home. After the attack, there was still a lot of fear in the city and its residents.
The waiter took their order quickly, and in moments, Sol and Billy were alone at a small corner table. Billy couldn’t help himself. He was staring at her.
“What?” Sol asked, bringing her hand up to swipe at imaginary marks on her face. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face or something?”
Billy shook his head, forcing himself to look somewhere else. “Uh…no…sorry,” he muttered, picking up his water glass and sipping slowly.
Sol laughed softly. She thought maybe Billy Wren was interested in her in a more than friendly way. She thought that was really cute. Billy was really cute. He wasn’t dangerously sexy like Ric, but he was sweet and he had a really nice smile. He was shy, but he was never overbearing like Ric had been yesterday. Yeah, Billy was a real nice guy. Sol liked him, but he didn’t make her feel the way Ric did just by touching her hand. *Too bad,* she thought with a sigh. *Seems like women are always looking for a challenge.*
“So, how have you been…really?” Sol asked, focusing her attention on Billy once more. “How are your…been working lately?”
Billy shook his head. He hated to be reminded of his “work”, especially when he was with Sol. It just reinforced in his head how wrong he was to keep seeing her. “No…with the lockdown, well, we haven’t been getting local jobs, you know?”
Billy didn’t want to mention how terrible it was to be locked up in a dingy motel room with his associates. Mako was constantly in a black rage, just a hairsbreadth away from violence, and Pretty Poison was always trying to corner him for her own disturbing reasons. At least Mr. Nobody provided a buffer and a sane voice most of the time, even if he regularly made Billy’s skin crawl. The man was so distinctly inhuman in his attitudes and behaviors that at times, Billy wondered if Mr. Nobody was even of this world at all.
“It’s tense, just sitting around, waiting for the military state thing to end so we can get the hell out of D.C., but I figure it’s like that for a lot of people,” Billy added. “So, I don’t feel more put upon than anyone else. I’ll just be glad when things get back to normal…or something resembling normal, anyway.”
Sol nodded her agreement. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said. “”I just…I’m worried. You know, about what’s going to happen with Congress and what all. I think…maybe things are gonna be rough for us now.”
Billy understood what she meant. The idea that they might have to ‘register’ with the government, as if they were criminals or…*Well, I am a criminal, but Sol isn’t. She’s a genuine hero. Why should she have to go and be branded just because ignorant people are afraid of her? She’s doing the right things, for the right reasons. It’s just ridiculous.*
“Will you register?” Billy asked. “If the law is not mandatory, cause I read that it might turn out to be voluntary registration. Would you choose to register?”
Sol considered Billy’s question carefully. She had been thinking a lot about it. Would she be as brave as Mel when the time came? Could she out herself to the whole world that way? It seemed an impossible choice to her. She’d been hiding behind a mask and a skimpy costume this whole time, and sure she was relatively new to this hero business, but she still felt really apprehensive about the idea of saying to everyone, “Hey, look at me, I’m a Meta.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Sol admitted in a soft voice. “I…I started out wearing a mask because I didn’t want being Sundance to interfere with being Soleil Munroe, you know? And now, I’ve seen the way people react to us, even the heroes, and it…well, it scares me a lot. Could I ever hope to have a normal life if everyone knew my secret? I mean, I know that I’m lucky, because you can look at me and never know the truth. I could spend my whole life pretending to be normal, just like everyone else. I’m not freakish in any way. You can’t see how different I am just by looking at me, and I’m really grateful for that. I don’t have to wonder if people are staring when I go out in public.”
Billy nodded. “Sure, I think about that too sometimes. Especially since I know Mako, and well, he’s really out there looking. I don’t like him, I mean, not at all, but I wonder how hard it must be to really be that obviously metahuman.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sol replied. “And it’s a big deal to me. I know that the brave thing, probably the best thing, would be to come forward and register. To let everyone know that I’m not afraid…that I’m not ashamed of who and what I am. But…I don’t know how I’d handle it when people started treating me differently, when my friends did. Back home, everyone knew what I was, but no one cared. I was just like the other kids, but I could do some things they couldn’t. In Utopia, we learn to embrace the things that make us unique. Here, in the ‘real world’ it seems to me that differences divide, they don’t unite. It was a lot easier growing up than it is now.”
“I bet,” Billy smiled wistfully. “I wish I had grown up in a place like that. It sounds so amazing.”
“It is,” Sol agreed. She settled back in her chair and began to talk about Utopia and her family. Billy listened intently. He couldn’t help but feel good as she told him about all the things she loved the most. They ate and talked, and he was so glad to have run into her. Seeing Sol really did make him feel like somehow, someday, everything would come out alright.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Allzumachts – II
9 March 2004
Vega City
11:00pm
The keyboard sounded like a machine gun going off at the rate with which Sara was able to type. She had estimated her average typing speed as somewhere in the vicinity of 150 words per minute, once she had gotten used to using the keyboard to input information onto the computer screen. She wondered if she could perhaps find a more efficient way to pass on relevant information to humans than to simply type up and print out a report.
Sitting there unmoving and unflinching, she continued to type, uninterrupted by even the occasional blink of her eyes in her typing. Her technique had been simple when James gave her the documents to go over and draw conclusions from: she’d kept his own conclusions as a point of comparison to her analysis, then went and did as many correlations as she could think of. The end result had been an addition to the conclusions: that DeltaNet had been making more payoffs than recently expected.
It was, literally, a paper trail nightmare. Three separate companies, all operating independently, but with so many economic ties between them it made their ability to avoid being slammed with an anti-trust suite was incredible, though she could easily see why the money trail was difficult to follow.
DeltaNet never made a direct payoff – nobody did. It always went to either PsyTech or Dewey-Decker for some sort of service rendered. From there it went to a front company. Finally from the font company, it managed to get to where it needed to go. Anybody looking at the transaction had to prove that the regular payments, always named differently and looking unrelated, were in fact related. She knew that she would need more proof and just had suspicion, but sometimes that provided the starting point you needed.
Sara stopped as she hit save then print, glad that she could finally devote more time to her dilemma. Noting the time as just after 11pm, she decided that she could risk trying to listen to music without Alexander complaining too much. Understanding the human need for sleep was one thing, but she had tried to listen to heavy mettle the previous day at 2:30 in the morning, resulting in a rather pointed reminder that humans need sleep.
Turning on the radio, she listened as the voice of Vic Meranti began to sing It’s Only a Paper Moon. Her own views on music were somewhat odd by human standards, relying more on harmonies and proportion than anything else. She found herself reflecting on the singer, her meeting with him. That people just wanted to have a good time.
Alexander stood at the door when he heard the music coming out of the living room where Sara was, watching a report print out. Her reaction to things was always curious, and after a few conversations he knew that she would be rather thorough. It was likely that she was busy trying to figure out why people liked certain kinds of music. He still was shocked at the fact that she’d listened to rock music at full blast at 3 in the morning, and had been deconstructing the entire song into its various elements “to find out why humans liked it.”
Playing rock music that loud at that time got added to the growing list of things he’d had to point out to her were not standard to do. Along with warnings about things such as the proper use of a couple of slang terms, cautions not to listen to Max about anything without first verifying it with someone else, and that the proper response to Scarlet noting a protest is NOT “What’s so wrong about that?”
No matter how intelligent she was, she still had a lot to learn about passing in human society.
“Hey,” Alexander said, finally entering the room. She turned to look at him with a blank expression, but he could guess what she was thinking before she even asked. “Couldn’t sleep,” he pointed out.
“Perhaps you should consider taking something, then,” suggested Sara. It seemed the logical thing to do if he wanted to sleep, and occasional usage would hardly create a dependency on them.
Resisting the urge to laugh, Alexander propped himself against the wall and settled for standing. “Nah, I’m a professional paranoid. Sleeping pills just mean that when someone comes for you, they have a better chance of not waking you up.”
“You really are paranoid, aren’t you?’
“I’m a conspiracy theorist. I make a living at being paranoid full time.” As Alexander continued to watch the artificial woman. He knew that she was lost, looking for something to do, and wanted to try to understand people. If he was honest with himself, that was why she was probably in that bar that night. All at once, Alexander made a decision. “Come on, Sara. Let’s go.”
Sara’s face and voice did not reveal any of the curiosity she felt at that. “Go where?”
“Out. We have a saying – ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”
“Who is Jack?”
Alexander sighed. “Jack is nobody, it’s a saying that’s all. You need to relax is all.”
Sara looked at Alexander, carefully studying the way that he stood there. He didn’t look tired or groggy, that was for certain. From the brief time with him and psychological profile, she figured that he wouldn’t reveal exactly where they were going. And if nothing else, this would be an ability to explore what humans considered relaxing and try to understand them better. “Ok, Alexander. Let’s go.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
January 10th
6:43 PM
There was a heavy mist surrounding the area. Tikal, as she was now calling herself, couldn't see her hand in front of her face. She tried, placing her hand outwards a little, and sure enough it was barely visible. The cold chill gave her an eerie feeling, and try as she might, her powers were unable to dissolve the mist, or blow it away. She wasn't used to not being able to control the surrounding atmosphere, and it only furthered her unease.
She slowly edged forward, hugging her arms around her sides, half because of the cold and half because it made her feel comfortable. She was wearing a skintight dark green outfit, with black covering her arms and legs. On top of her head were shaded goggled to protect her eyes from the flash of lighting bolts. She had previously been wearing them over her eyes, but the mist had fogged them up and she had been forced to put them over her head.
She crept forward further into the mist...when suddenly she heard the sound of air moving swiftly. It was like the sound of a jump rope if spun fast enough. She turned her head in the directed of the sound, and saw three discs flying at her. She let out a small cry, and jumped to the ground. The discs flew past her, but before they got to far they altered their course and came back at her. Tikal grasped her hands into fists and created a violent gust of wind, aimed to blow the discs away. Although strong, the wind could not deter the discs, which kept coming. Tikal rolled to her right just enough so that the discs ricocheted off the ground and back into the air, before resuming their course of attacking her.
Now, Tikal increased her counter attack. She whipped the gust into a small but powerful whirlwind that surrounded the 3 discs. The discs came at Tikal before being sucked into the vortex. They were spun around for a few second before being harshly tossed towards the ground, where they shattered.
From where she lay, Tikal gave a cry of delight. She jumped to her feet. Then she gave a few small jumps and clapper her hands, while squeaking in happiness. "How was that?" She cried. "That was good right?" Around her, the mist started to clear, revealing metal walls with little slots and holes in them, where things such as lasers or discs could spring out off. This was the training room, and Tikal has just passed today's lesson.
"That was good, Bonnie." A female voice came from overhead. "You can come out of there now."
Tikal sprinted forward as a panel in one of the walls opened, and she was able to return to the normal world. Well, as normal as her world was. She removed her goggles and went over to fetch her regular clothes, which were neatly folded on a counter. She was in the control room that worked the training room. It was located underneath Lori's mansion.
"Well?" Bonita said in anticipation. "How'd I do? Do I get an 'A'?"
"You did well...but you almost got hit. You need to figure out how to destroy those discs faster. What if it was a bullet?"
Bonnie's smile fell. "I did my best!" she grumbled. "I'm new at this give me a break!"
Lori Grant looked at the girl and smiled. "I know, I know...you still did very well."
Bonnie smiled again. "So does this mean I can come crime fighting with you?"
"No, but it means some day you might."
"Oh come on!" Bonnie cried. "I've been training my butt off! Don't you think a lightning bolt or two would be a helpful addition to your crime fighting force?"
"Yes, but not if I have to worry about the girl creating them getting killed!" Lori bent down to Bonnie's height and said, "Don't worry. One day you can help. Just...not yet. Your not ready."
"Ugh...fine." Bonnie said in a disappointed tone. She grabbed her clothes and went to the stairs leading to the main house. "I'm gonna go change."
"Alright." Lori responded. Bonnie raced up the stairs and Lori was left alone. She turned and looked through a big glass panel at the metal room. She had had the room built shortly after Bonnie had come to live with her. Once again proving that money could buy anything, she not only got the training and control rooms, but secrecy from the contractor who built it. She had built it to train herself, but when Bonnie had showed interest in learning how to better control her powers, Lori had let her use it. Eventually it had become apparent that Bonnie wanted to become a sidekick of sorts...and Lori wasn't sure she wanted that to happed at all.
She also questioned Bonnie's use of the name, Tikal. Lori had heard it used once before, and that was the time Bonnie had gone berserk following her abduction by Mind Block. She had called herself a demi-goddess then, but afterwards, she hadn't remembered a thing. When she enquired about the name choice, Bonnie had said that something just told her to use that name. Still, it was all very odd...very odd indeed.
Lori shook her head and headed towards the stairs. She walked up them and into the main house. On the TV there, the local news was playing. The anchorwoman was finishing up for the hour, and she said, "Finally tonight, it looks like Crystal City's own Commissioner Wood may have finally decided to start having a personal life. As you may know, Commissioner Wood in the past has told the press that his job kept him to busy to allow him to date. Well, apparently that is no longer the case because Commissioner Wood has been spotted with a blond haired beauty--maybe this could be the lucky lady? Jim?"
The male co-anchor started talking, but Lori didn't pay any attention. Was that...jealousy that she felt?
January 10th
11:45
The streets of Crystal City
An old, car rolled down the streets of Crystal City. Aside from its color, a putrid brown, and its obvious age, it was nondescript. And that’s just the way it should have been, because when your going undercover to bust a drug dealer or a child pornography ring, you didn’t want a car that stood out. Aside from that, it was all Graham Wood could afford, even if he was the commissioner. Although he rarely brought it up to others (perhaps out of modesty), he didn’t get paid as much as he thought he should. But inside, he sometimes felt that he got what he deserved for letting a Meta-human assist him in a job that was supposed to be only the CCPD’s.
It has been harder to have a Superhero in the city since the whole Washington Disaster. While many people had previously seen Spectrum as a savior, some now saw her as a nuisance and a possible threat. She had been in Washington to stop riots and violent protests, but Graham heard many people linking Spectrum with riots—as in causing them, or at least encouraging them.
The mayor and other high-ranking officials had been increasingly critical of his allowance of Spectrum in the city. Obviously she broke the law…but she really did help and Graham appreciated it. But he didn’t know how much longer other people would—and he wondered if the day would come when he would have to confront her.
Presently, he was not alone in his car. Sitting beside him in the passenger seat was a woman by the name of Iris Holden. Iris was hands down the most beautiful woman he had even seen. He had previously sworn off women for a while, as the stress of his job made it almost impossible to have a social life. Iris though…she was something else. She had a strange allure to her…Graham felt like he couldn’t resist being near her even if he had wanted to (which he most definitely didn’t).
Iris had long blond hair, with very pale skin and the most beautiful green eyes in the world. Surrounded by the whiteness of her flesh, her eyes seem to glow like a hidden jungle. Even since he had met her, which had been a chance encounter when she had come to the police station to report the theft of her wallet (this later proved to be a mistake, as she found the wallet right there in the police station in her pocket book. She had been extremely embarrassed, but Graham had found the whole thing enchanting), she had always worn pants and skin-tight shirts that covered almost all her skin, but he found the secrecy sexy.
They had gone out to dinner at a small pizzeria, and he was now bringing her home. Iris had day’s newspaper in her hands and she was reading the headlines. Graham had bought it this morning, but had yet to read it. He glanced over and saw that the headline was “SPECTRUM STOPS ROBBERY”—he assumed it was about a small robbery she had stopped the previous day, at an electronics store.
“What an amazing woman this Spectrum is,” Iris commented. She seemed utterly absorbed in the article. “I can only imagine what it must be like to have powers like she had…and to fly! Imagine that!” Iris turned to face him and smiled. “When I was younger I used to dream about flying. I used to pretend that I was a bird and I could fly over the whole town.” Iris paused a moment to think, and then giggled at the memories flooding her brain. “My mother would always tell me to stop fooling around and pick up a book, but I loved to pretend like that—oh here it is.”
Iris pointed to a fancy looking building. He guessed that maybe she had a lot of money, but he wasn’t sure what she did for a living. Graham would have much preferred if the woman had gone home with him, but that was the other thing—Iris had yet to allow him to touch her. At all. He couldn’t kiss her, rub her back, or even hold her hand. She claimed that she came from a very conservative background, and her father and brothers had never let anybody touch her. When Graham had mentioned that she was no longer under the watch of her father or brothers, she had become angry with him. He hated to see her anything but completely happy, so he hadn’t brought it up again.
Graham pulled up to the building, and the two turned to look at each other. “Graham,” Iris said suddenly, “I know that you sometimes come in contact with this Spectrum…”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Graham said with a smile, “you’re the only woman for me.”
Iris laughed and said, “Well that’s good to know.” She then got more serious and continued, “But that’s not what I meant. What I meant was…I don’t think that we should have any secrets—we should tell each other everything. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course!”
“Well then,” Iris leaned forward, almost as though she was going to kiss him. Graham leaned forward, and noticed that an entrancing sent surrounded her. He guessed it was expensive perfume, and wished every woman wore it. “if you know the answer to this, I want you to tell me who Spectrum is under her mask.”
Graham sat back. “Excuse me?”
“We can’t have any secrets from each other Graham! If you know her identity, you need to tell me!” She leaned forward again, and soon Graham found himself wanting to fill her every desire. “Pretty please?” the woman asked.
“I’d tell you anything, Iris but…I just don’t know the answer to that.” Graham said, feeling very disappointed in himself for not being able to give a good answer. But the truth was, he really didn’t know!
Iris stared at him for a few second before sitting back and smiling. “Well then, I had a wonderful time. I’d love to see you again.” She gave Graham a little wave before opening the car door and getting out. “Please, give me a call!” She waved again, and Graham waved back.
The Commissioner watched Iris walk to the door of the apartment building, and use a key to let herself in. After she was gone, Graham put his foot on the pedal and began to drive off. God he loved that woman, even if she did ask odd questions.
***
Iris Holden entered the suite on the top floor of the apartment building. Once she was in there, she let out an angry cry and ripped the blond hair right off of her head. Underneath was jet-black hair, kept up in a bun by a circlet of flowers. She took off the adornment and let her long hair cascade black. She was standing before a long hallway and she began to walk down it. Instead of the light, frilly walk that Graham Wood was accustomed to seeing her do, Iris swaggered and strutted down the hallway, with her hands on her hips as though she ruled the world.
About halfway the path was a mirror imbedded into the wall. As she past, Iris took a glance at herself and made a face of disgust. She hated these stupid pants and shirt—she wasn’t showing nearly enough skin. She also noted that her lips were lacking color, so she whipped out some deep red lipstick and applied it. When she was done, she continued her way to the door at the end of the hallway.
When she got to the door, and threw it open with force and stood hands on her hips at the doorway like an entering queen. In the room, a shark-like creature was off to one side gnawing at it’s dinner ( a steak), a boyish looking person with bright blue eyes was off in a corner playing with electronics, and a third man was leaning again one of the walls. These were Mako, Hardware (a.k.a Billy Wren), and one of Mr. Nobody’s many personalities. And of course Iris Holden was not Iris Holden, she was Lily White, also known as Pretty Poison.
“If anyone says anything about the clothes, I will personally show them what I can do when I’m upset.” Lily seethed. “Now where are my regular clothes?” Mr. Nobody nodded his head in a direction, and Lily found her clothes.
“The boss man said he wanted to see you,” Billy piped up from the corner, “He’s in his bedroom.”
Lily stared at Billy, who blushed under the tension. Lily smirked, and thought once again about having her way with him—but for now, she still had business to do.
Lily walked over to the door leading to the bedroom of her current employer. She opened the door more cautiously than she had the previous door. “Ah Lily,” said the voice from within, “Come on in.”
Lily entered all the way. The man sitting before her was dressed entirely in black, with a black cloak around him. He had had gray hair, and an arrogant smirk about his face. This was the man who liked the call himself The Shadow.
“My, don’t you look lovely in that outfit.” The Shadow smiled. “How did it go?”
“Not well from my perspective. I usually prefer if there’s a corpse by the end of the night.” Lily spat at him, and then regretted not taking a kinder tone. She sensed that this man had some power she was unaware of.
“Calm down Lily, I’m just asking you a few questions. “ The Shadow grumbled. “Did you get the information that you were supposed to get.”
“No,” admitted Lily. “I’m sure he was under my power…I think he may really not know what Spectrum’s true identity is.”
The Shadow snapped his fingers in agitation, and then sighed. “Ah well…things are not often as easy as we would like them to be. Anyway, phase 2 is already in preparation. Billy is preparing the necessary equipment now.” The Shadow paused, and then grinned. “And I think I may take Mr. Nobody and pay a visit on an old friend of mine. Maybe we can get out information that way. But for now, go and take a nice shower and then get some rest.”
Lily turned to leave, but before she got out the door the Shadow added, “Oh, and have Billy take a picture of you in that outfit. I’d love to have some blackmail for the future.” As Lily slammed the door shut, she heard the Shadow laughing at his own joke.
She didn’t think it was that funny.
billy and sol at the mall part 2
*** Wednesday, December 3, 2003 - 4:00 pm ***
After lunch, Sol had convinced Billy to stick around while she finished her shopping. Now they both sat on the ledge of a huge fountain in the middle of the mall, taking a breather. Piles of bags and other packages littered the floor at their feet. There was a better crowd this afternoon then there had been that morning and Sol was happy to see that people were at least attempting to reclaim their lives and get on with things. Couples strolled by hand in hand, discussing displays in shop windows. Families streamed by, some laughing and talking, others scolding and looking harried. It was so blessedly normal that Sol couldn’t help the bright smile that she wore as she watched people go by.
Sol may have been watching the crowds but Billy was watching Sol, not too obviously he hoped but with a surreptitious look here and there. That broad honest smile was endlessly appealing to him displaying as it did a carefree happiness that took pleasure in the simple things going on around her.
“You like this don’t you?”
Sol glanced over at Billy’s softly spoken question. “What?” she asked. “People watching? I do…I think people are interesting. But I really like that today…they’re here. That finally people are getting past what happened. They’re coming out of their homes and doing regular things. That’s great! It means, whatever Congress and the like decide, at least on some level we’re going back to normal, you know?”
“Maybe…” Billy wasn’t so sure; yes everyone was getting back to normal but he thought it was more likely that people were just sticking their heads in the sand and hoping this mess would go away rather than actually confronting it.
Sol might see people going back to their lives but he thought he saw an undertone of fear to their actions and he wondered what would happen if they knew who was in their midst.
Sol shrugged. She was used to Billy's reticence. He didn't say a lot, but he was a good listener.
"Well, I for one choose to think of it as a hopeful sign," Sol declared. She sent that hundred watt smile directly at him. "Just as I choose to believe that things are going to work out just fine for you. The world is full of...possibilities."
He could live forever on that smile, quite literally if he could ever work out how to turn it into power and it was infectious just like Soleil’s optimism, being around her made hanging onto pessimism or cynicism that much harder. She had so much faith in people doing the right thing that you just didn’t want to disappoint her. Even voicing a doubt seemed tougher.
Billy’s face fell a little. The people around them weren’t the only ones with problems “I don’t know it’s not like I can live on sunlight and air”
Unable to help herself, Sol laughed softly at his words. He meant them in earnest, but she couldn't miss the irony in his statement. "Unlike me?" she asked, teasing.
"No...I know that," she continued before he could respond. "But...there has to be some way...You shouldn't have to do things that you don't want to do. I think...maybe, if you trust me enough, I could talk to my dad...he could help...I'm sure he could."
“Um…” He was sure Sol’s dad knew a great deal about Meta in general and probably would be able to help but Billy had had a lifetime of being poked and prodded by various doctors and other medicos. He’d been very happy when that had finally ended after Metagene had decided they had no more use for them. He wasn’t about to go back to a lab.
“Thanks…I mean I’m sure he could but.. I’m not going…”
Sol sighed, shaking her head. "Billy, you have to let me help you," she reached out to take his hand. "You have to trust someone...."
Suddenly, Sol's words were interrupted by a loud, terrified scream from somewhere nearby. She leapt to her feet and turned in the direction of the sound. "Something's wrong," Sol said, hurrying off to investigate.
Momentarily non-plussed Billy watched her stand, then collected himself when he remembered he wasn’t with his ‘comrades.’ Reaching into one of the bags Billy pulled out a small object. A flat disk about 4 inches in diameter with a pistol like grip attached. Now suitably armed though with a weapon the quartet would no doubt scorn he caught up with Sol.
“You realize you aren’t in costume right?”
Sol glanced over at Billy, but didn't stop moving. "I've got it if I need it," she replied. "Never leave home without it, you know. I'll just have to find a quiet corner to duck into to change. Assuming that's even necessary here."
At that moment they turned the corner and Sol knew it was going to be absolutely necessary. They'd come around the escalators and could now see, near the entrance doors, a feral looking man. He stood facing a pair of shaken looking mall cops. The man held a small girl by the arm, dangling off the ground. She was crying softly. Nearby, a woman, probably the girl's mother was begging the strange man to put her "baby" down. The man was dressed only in a ragged pair of dark colored pants, but he had something that looked suspiciously like a bomb strapped to his chest.
"Oh...crap," Sol said, skidding to a stop just outside of the small crowd gathered around to watch the drama unfold.
Billy nodded his agreement. There were wires attaching some sort of grip to the bomb and Billy thought it looked suspiciously like a dead mans switch. Keeping his weapon down by his side Billy whispered to Sol “Ok I’ll keep an eye on things while you change.” Billy remembered the footage the Quartet had garnered outside the Whitehouse. “And watch out for security cameras”
Sol nodded in agreement and slipped away, heading for one of the access hallways stuck between shops. She figured there was a good chance she could duck into the shadows and change, assuming she was really quick about it.
Once she was gone, the madman with the girl and the bomb started to vocalize.
"Stay back, all of you, I don' wanna do notin, but I will if you crowd me," he yelled to the security guards and the gathering audience. "This is tween me and Lissa..."
"Please, Mickey, put her down," the sobbing mother pleaded. "She's scared. Can't you see your scaring her?"
She scared cuz you always sayin bad stuff bout me," the man shouted. "Shut up!"
Billy gritted his teeth, the moron didn’t sound smart enough to construct a bomb let alone a real dead man switch but if he had and Billy just dropped the guy the casualties would be horrific. Of course that was to some degree beside the point because he couldn’t just drop him. For reasons he hadn’t quite figured out yet his stunner needed more power than the nerve jangler he’d given Mr. Nobody, which meant he’d had to compromise on range to get even a bare minimum of shots.
*Damnit if I could just get my hands on one of those Earthrage particle pistols. The power pack alone would solve most of this thing’s problems*
Billy circled the crowd keeping an eye on the unfolding drama while trying to get a clearer look at the ordinance strapped to the guy’s chest. It looked fairly simple a couple of sticks of dynamite, blasting caps and wires to that grip.
The wail of the young girl still dangling from the man’s hand cut through Billy’s concentration, the mall cops were still making placating noises but that was being lost in the escalating volume of the couple’s argument
*What sort of people involve small children and bombs in their marital disputes?*
Sol finally managed to wriggle into her costume and come rushing back to where Billy had been waiting, only to find that he'd moved. She rolled her eyes and glanced around, finally spotting him stealthily circling the small crowd of onlookers.
Sol glanced up when she heard the man with the bomb arguing with the mother of the girl in his hands. "Oh...great...he's her dad?* she thought. *That's just lovely. Model parents we have here...*
Trying to remain inconspicuous while dressed in gold lame, Sol started to follow Billy. She shot warning glances at the couple of people who turned and spotted her. She seriously hoped that they were smart enough not to point her out to the nutjob wearing the explosive chest accessory.
The ‘freak show’ in front kept most of the crowd’s attention and the self same crowd kept the man from spotting Sol before she reached Billy.
“We need to get these people out of here. It’s ‘only’ a couple of sticks of dynamite but this close with this much glass around.” Billy whispered urgently. “If he knows what he’s doing the whole thing will blow if he lets go of that switch…”
“Hey you!” A security guard just arriving on the second level was pointing right at Billy and Sol and suddenly more than a dozen people had swiveled to face the two metas.
Sol rolled her eyes. No chance they could try and do this without attracting attention now. She shrugged at Billy. The man in front of the crowd was now craning his neck, trying to see who the guard was pointing at.
"Whatzat?" he bellowed. "What's goin on here? You cops up to sometin?"
"You get these people out of here," Sol whispered. "I'm going to try and talk to Mr. Dumb and Ugly."
"And hurry," Sol urged, splitting off from Billy and pushing through the crowd to face the man with the bomb.
*Exactly how am I supposed to do that.?* There were at least fifty people gathered around the little scene with more on the upper level. His stunner wasn’t going to persuade them to move he’d need something more impressive than that. He looked around…
*Hmmm Women and children * Hopefully if he started getting people to move the rest would follow. Billy ran up to a young mother who was avidly watching the unveiling drama like it was her favorite soap opera.
“Miss,” Billy started before looking at the woman’s child. “If that bomb goes off your daughter will be very badly hurt” He raised his hands and started pushing the woman away.
“Huh. It ain’t real…look I can see a camera…” The woman pointed up but Billy didn’t bother following her gesture. There were no cameras and this thing was very real. Unfortunately plan A didn’t seem to be working and Plan B hadn’t arrived yet.
Billy looked wildly around didn’t these people realize they were about to be killed. His gaze suddenly fell on a small red square on the wall.
“Yes!”
Billy dashed to the fire alarm and smashed the glass. Instantly bells rang throughout the complex and water streamed from the ceiling as the sprinkles kicked in. The torrent of water was perfect for persuading the onlookers to find somewhere else to be.
As water streamed down from the ceiling and the crowds fled, Sol slowly approached the man, woman, and little girl. She was drenched in minutes, water streaming from her hair into her eyes. She was also freezing cold, and was afraid to glance down and see just how indecent her costume became after a good soaking. Still, as a means of crowd control, Billy's plan had worked brilliantly.
"Sir, please, put the little girl down," Sol's voice was calm and reasonable as she inched forward. The man standing in front of her was staring now, his expression unreadable. "I'm sure we can work out whatever's upset you, without anyone getting hurt."
"Yer that meta from the news," the man said. "I saw you ther...whatcha doin here?"
"I want to help you," Sol replied, still inching forward. "I want to make sure that everyone gets out of her safely."
"Ain't nun yer bizness," the man replied. "This ‘tween me and Lissa. She won' let me see my baby...says I'm a...a monster...that ain't right!"
“No...I don't suppose it is," Sol agreed. "I'm sure...if you talked about it..."
"Don' come no closer, girl," the man snarled. From this distance, Sol could see the animal like features which clearly marked him as a metahuman. His teeth were long and sharp. He had claws at the ends of his fingers, and his eyes were felinoid.
Sol stopped abruptly, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't come closer," she promised. "It's alright. I just want to talk to you. My name is Sundance. I want to help you."
The crowds streamed away leaving behind the madman with a bomb his wife and daughter a few security guards and most importantly Sundance.
Watching her stand there not more than five feet from enough explosives to kill her if not blow her to pieces Billy decided that sometimes optimism could take you too far.
A movement caught Billy’s eye through the falling water; a security guard was raising his gun and pointing it at Sol. A suddenly high-pitched whine cut through the hiss of water and the guard sprawled backwards. Billy waved his stunner at the remaining guards. “Let’s let them talk it out, shall we? No need to get hasty.”
Sol heard the strange whine followed by Billy's voice. She didn't turn, but could guess that he must have been talking to the security guards, an element she'd very nearly forgotten about. *Way to almost get yourself killed,* Sol thought. *Not to mention that poor kid and her bigot of a mother.*
"Ok...so, I'm Sundance," Sol repeated, pretending she had no idea what was going on behind her. "And you are?"
"Mickey, my name's Mickey," the man replied belligerently.
"So...Lissa, she's your wife?" Sol asked.
"Ex-wife," Mickey replied. "She divorced me right after the accident."
"Accident?" Sol pressed. She figured the longer Mickey was talking, the less likely he was to do anything stupid or crazy.
"He was exposed to...something...he worked for biological research firm. Mickey used to be a scientist...but now he's...an animal," Lissa explained, her voice wavering. "I couldn't live with him like this. It's not just what he looks like...it's what he's become. He was so...smart and sensitive...but now..."
"You promised...in sickness and in health, Lissa," there was a plaintive tone in the man's words. "You promised me."
"But...there's not gonna be any health, Mickey...this is it," Lissa reasoned. "This is all there is now. What am I supposed to do? I'm scared...and I don't...I can't..."
Sol was shocked by their terrible story. She never really thought about how complex situations involving sudden mutations could be. She didn't have any idea how to help these people or what to do now.
*But I have to do something,* Sol thought. “Mickey…this…this isn’t going to solve anything, is it? You’re scaring Lissa and you’re scaring that poor little girl. There has to be a better way to work this out, Mickey.”
“Whaz dat?” Mickey asked, sneering. “Lissa won’ talk to me…she won’ see me…I juz wanna be wit my lil girl.”
“Mickey, you…you’re so…aggressive now,” Lissa countered. “I…I’m afraid…for Becky. What if you…what if you hurt her?”
Mickey turned towards his ex-wife and stared at her, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger. “Dat crazy…I’d never hurt my Beck Beck. She my baby…Never, Lissa. You hear me? I love dat girl.”
“I know you do, but…Mickey…you’re not…you’re so…”
“I ain’t no monster…I’m still a man,” Mickey turned back to Sol. “You unnerstand. You like me. We’s people too.”
“Of course we are, Mickey,” Sol replied. “Lissa…she just doesn’t understand. It can be scary for people like her. You have to be patient.”
“But she won’ let me see my baby,” Mickey said. “I don’ wan’ Beck to forget her DaDa.”
Sol turned towards the woman. “You have to try and work this out. He has a right to be a father and you’re denying your daughter his love unfairly. Being a metahuman doesn’t make him less than human, it makes him more. I know that his challenges, his trials…you don’t understand them, but you were married to this man once, Lissa. Surely, you must realize that he is the same person, no matter how he looks or sounds. His body has changed, but not his soul.”
Lissa nodded slowly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mickey…I…I’m sorry.”
Mickey smiled, the expression odd and a bit fierce on his face, but his eyes glowed with softness. “We could try,” he said. Lissa nodded.
“As soon as you disarm,” Sol suggested.
Mickey looked down at the bomb still strapped to his chest. He reached up with his free hand, preparing to disengage the trigger mechanism.
The guards stood on the peripheral, watching. They couldn’t hear what the strange woman in gold said or what the family at the center of the drama replied. One officer, young and inexperienced, watched with a growing feeling of dread. He was sure that the freak with the bomb was about to blow them all to kingdom come. The hot chick talking to him was only going to make things worse. The officer stared at them, sweat rolling down his face. His finger twitched on the trigger of his gun. When the bomb wielding meta suddenly moved, he simply couldn’t help himself.
“Sol!” Billy cried out as he saw the trigger-happy idiot to his left all but unthinkingly squeeze the trigger. The crash of a gun discharged blotted out the sound of everything else and Billy swung his own weapon into line and downed the officer.
Sol heard the sound of the gun firing a half second before she felt the bullet tear into her shoulder. She hadn't even realized she was going to jump in front of Mickey until she was already in motion. It wasn't a conscious decision, but rather an unconscious reaction, one she was immediately regretting.
Sol dimly heard Lissa's scream and Mickey's angry panicked shout. She fell to the floor. Her arm and shoulder were on fire.
"Aw...hell..." she murmured, struggling not to black out from the pain.
“Don’t move!” Billy shouted at the guards brandishing his stunner at the same time he crossed to where Sol had collapsed “You!” Billy gestured at Mickey.” Lose the bomb. Now!”
Billy knelt down and Cradled Sol’s head in one hand. “Stay with me now.” The bullet had by the looks of things gone straight through. Billy was no doctor but he didn’t think the bullet had hit anything vital. There was a lot blood but most of it was being rinsed away by the sprinklers.
Mickey had stripped off the bomb and set it down and with that threat removed the guards started to move forward. Billy looked up from Sol and brandished his gun again. “Stay right there! You’ve managed to fuck this up enough already.”
The guards backed away and Billy hoped they wouldn’t notice his weapon wasn’t killing people a little while longer. He only had a couple of shots left and there were more guards than that.
“Sol?” He whispered
Sol could hear Billy's voice as if it came from somewhere far off. She
She was still feeling disoriented and very faint. "Billy...you have to..." Sol's voice was weak. "get me out of here...please?"
Billy nodded they both needed to get out of here. He looked up at Lisa. “Do you have a car?” She nodded somewhat unwillingly. Billy pointed his gun at the guards. “Mickey, pick her up please.”
Billy felt the man gently pick Sol up.
“Now Lisa why don’t you show us to your car. You can drop Sundance and me off somewhere quiet and after that you and Mickey can have a nice conversation about your future.”
Lisa sheperded her little girl toward the parking lot while Mickey followed and Billy remained behind long enough to make certain the remained security guards would stay put.
"We're leaving. You can keep that." Billy pointed at the bomb. “Don’t try to follow us.”
The guards watched Billy leave, but they all seemed frozen in place. Water still streamed from the overhead sprinklers, but it was now very quiet.
Billy followed Sol to Lissa's waiting car and waited while Mickey deposited her in the back seat. He climbed in beside her. Mickey got into the passenger seat, and holding Becky in his lap, fastened the seat belt around both of them.
“Where?” Sol asked, her voice was soft and she fought to be heard. Where are we going?”
Mickey kept glancing back at Sol as Lissa pulled away from the curb.
"Take 'er to my place," Mickey said flatly. Lissa glanced at him, her eye full of fear. Mickey shook his head at her. "Juz do it, Liss...it's my fault. I'm gonna help her."
Billy nodded at the woman then turned his attention back to Sol. Peeling back the gold cloth around the gunshot wound, he winced. First aid wasn’t his specialty and blood continued to flow from the wound.
*Pressure should help* Billy stripped of his shirt leaving him to shiver in his soaked T-shirt and quickly tore it in two. He folded the pieces into pads and placed one behind the wound and one in front before applying as much pressure as he could. Sol moaned in pain but Billy thought the bleeding at least slowed.
Lissa wasn’t trying to drive too quickly but the police’s response to the situation had been slow and they avoided any further attention before reaching Mickey’s place.
"Take Becky and go," Mickey ordered Lissa gruffly. "I don' wann you two here...in case..."
Lissa nodded slowly. "Mickey...after this is all over," she said. "I promise, I'll bring Becky by...we'll work something out."
"Thanks, Liss," Mickey said. He opened his door and waited for Billy to climb out before leaning in and gently lifting Sol from the back seat.
"Follow me," Mickey said, leading Billy down the curb towards a ramshackle building. He ascended three flights of rickety stairs with Billy in tow and led the other man to a clean, but shabby apartment. Once inside, Mickey laid Sol down on a threadbare sofa.
Mickey turned to Billy and shrugged. "What can I do now?" Mickey asked. "You need anytin'?"
“Antiseptics…painkillers. Something for bandages” Billy noted Sol starting to shiver. “Something to keep her warm.” * A blackbody radiator at about five and half thousand Kelvin.*
Mickey nodded and walked away before returning a few minutes later to dump what appeared to be the contents of his entire medicine cabinet by Billy’s side. Billy searched through until he found a bottle of ibuprofen tablets and some antiseptic.
He pulled away his hasty bandage, the bleeding was much reduced but for all Billy knew that was because Sol had already bleed most of it. Mickey came back again with a couple of blankets and a sheet.
Billy did the first aid routine again. Tearing the sheet into strips and cleaning the wound before pressing to pads to either side of the wound and wrapping it tightly with more cloth. Sol was still shivering and Billy looked outside. The day was pretty bright but it was also bitterly cold. He didn’t know if Sol would benefit more from the sunlight than the cold would hurt her.
Sol gritted her teeth as Billy poured antiseptic into the open wound in her shoulder. She couldn't keep from struggling and was grateful that the loss of blood had weakened her, because otherwise she might have hurt Billy or poor Mickey. Instead, she just managed to cause herself more undo pain.
Sol tried to focus on anything other than that pain while Billy bandaged her shoulder.
When Billy wrapped the makeshift bandages tightly around the wound, she drew in a hissing breath through her teeth. "Damn...that stings," Sol said. "Remind me to dodge bullets from now on, okay?"
*More like don’t jump in front of them.* Billy kept that thought to himself though. After all it would be best not to antagonize Mickey and if the bullet hadn’t have hit Sol it would have hit the other man.
“I’ll remind you of that next time.” Billy uncapped the bottle of painkillers and poured out four tablets into his hand. “These’ll take the edge off but We’ve nothing stronger I’m afraid.” He handed the pills to Sol.
Sol smiled tremulously, hoping to reassure Billy. "Thanks," she tried to lift herself up, but found it was too great a task, so instead, she accepted Billy's assistance once more, taking the four pills and following each with a swallow of tinny tasting tap water.
She sighed deeply when Billy lay her back down on the sofa. He looked so concerned, so nervous. "I'll be okay," she said softly. "It's not that bad...okay, it hurts...a lot, but it's not gonna kill me, promise."
Billy looked and her incredulously then leant forward to gently rap his knuckles on her forehead.
“Yep, solid bone. It’s true what they say about you hero types. You got shot Sol…as in almost killed. It didn’t hit anything serious, but had that bullet hit bone you’d either need surgery or be dead about now.”
Sol grimaced. "Yeah...I get it,' she replied. "I'm not totally stupid. And it wasn't like a well thought out kind of thing, you know? I just...it was more like instinct. I couldn't let that idiot shoot Mickey. I was trying to save him, right?"
“Yeah I know. It’s just… Next time can you maybe get them out of the way?”
"I said it wasn't a plan exactly," Sol repeated. "God...I feel really terrible. What I need is some sun. You think you could manage to get me outside somewhere?"
“Um… I’m not sure that’s a good idea” Billy replied uncertainly “It’s pretty cold out and you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Sol shivered despite herself. She was cold enough already, but she was also in a lot of pain. The only way she'd start to heal quickly would be sun exposure...or ultra violet exposure at the very least.
"Next time I get shot, I'll have to make sure it's in the summer," she quipped. "Okay...next best thing...we need to find a tanning bed, pronto."
A tanning bed was out of the question Billy knew but if he could get hold of a couple of UV tubes that wouldn’t matter he could rig something up. Of course with enough exposure it’d probably give a normal person skin cancer but he doubted Sol would ever have to worry about that particular problem.
Billy looked for the phone and found a yellow pages next to it. He flicked through it for lighting stores and found one in the area. He doubted they’d deliver but they were close enough he could walk to them.
“Mickey, I need to go out. She needs Ultraviolet light to heal and that means I need to get some stuff. Look after her Ok. Keep her warm; make sure she drinks some water.” Billy caught himself. It wasn’t as if Sol was unconscious. “Sorry. I’ve no idea if you should eat or not but if you feel up to it…
Sol waved away his words. "It's okay," she said. "I'm fine...I'll be fine while you're gone. I might just close my eyes for a few minutes though. I'm feeling a little tired."
**** Much belated thanks to Robin for his assistance with Mr. Wren. ****
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
4th December 2003 6:42pm
Washington
Mel got out of the TV station’s car and was immediately mobbed by reporters. Repressing a sigh and repeating “No Comment” somewhat monotonously she fought her way to the door of her hotel and with one final shove managed to get inside.
Her occasional appearances in the media, today had been a round table discussion on some political show, had not dampened the feeding frenzy that was swirling around her in any way. In fact it seemed to be getting worse. Still the fact that everyone wanted her on their show meant she could pick and choose and the appearance fees were doing her bank balance no end of good. She’d argued against merchadising with Stanley some time ago but everyone was so desparate to get a piece of her right now they were throwing whatever ‘sweeteners ‘ they could think of, at her.
Most of the time that came down to having some say in who else was on the show and the ability to veto certain lines of questioning but in other instances it had been money as well and Mel had an inkling that soon she’d need that money.
“Miss Hartson?” Mel’s reverie was broken by the questioner. In his early thirties the Man was dressed in a dark grey suit and a long grey coat. He handed her an envelope. “Thank you Miss Hartson. This is a cease and desist order taken out by the FAA until such time as they are satisfied as to the safety of you abilities.” The man nodded sharply. “Good day Miss Hartson.” then walked away.
Mel blinked and watched him walk away then glanced down at the thick envelope in her hand “That was rather…”
“Abrupt.”
Mel looked up at a virtual carbon copy of the man who had accosted her. He handed her another envelope and without thinking she took it. “The BATF is concerned about the capabilities of your ‘spheres’ Miss Hartson. This is also a cease and desist order regarding the use of said spheres.” He looked at her somewhat shocked face and continued on. “ Don’t worry they just want you to jump through a few hoops.” He glanced toward the now departing FAA agent. “The same can’t be said for the FAA I’m afraid. Have a good day Miss Hartson.”
It wasn’t until the man had reached the exit of the hotel that Mel managed to regain her composure. Looking down at the two envelopes she frowned. She needed some advice about all this.
*Politics and government bureaucracy. I need to talk to Douglass* Mel pocketed to envelopes and headed up to her room. She’d call his office, after all he was the leading pro Metahuman voice in the senate and the senior Nevada senator, contacting him about this was something she could do openly without a hint of suspiscion
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Allzumachts – III
9 March 2004
Vega City
11:47pm
It was easy enough for the pair to locate one of the illegal nightclubs. Alexander had simply asked the VCLG members to point him in the proper direction of one, and they had been able to send them off in the appropriate direction. Then there had been getting to the place, which was an abandoned warehouse that had been appropriated for the night.
They weren’t the only “suits” present, though they were certainly a minority. Even then, Alexander knew that of the actual patrons, he was probably one of the more dressed up, despite a few obvious security people looking that way. No doubt organised crime was running the temporary club.
All of the furniture appeared cheap, expected to be either broken or confiscated, while the music that was playing was almost deafening. It was obvious from the look of the people here that in Vega City, these were the “underclasses” of the city. Even some parts of the middle class looking for a release from the cares of the day, but not able to afford the “official” entertainment.
“This is what you consider entertainment?” Sara tried to be heard over the music. She was in complete shock at the appearance here, as this was a far cry from any description she’d heard of before of what people did in order to relax. Trying to take in the appearance of the patrons, Sara noticed that most of them gave out the look that one might expect to see in a film of those who were generally poor, and perhaps had a criminal element about them.
Off in a corner, there was suddenly a quick burst of energy as someone crashed a beer bottle against another person’s head and a small fight broke out, to be broken up by several burley men and promptly tossed outside.
“It’s what most people can afford,” he replied with the same futile attempt to be heard, before leading Sara deeper into the club. It might not be the brightest idea to take her to a place like this, but he did have a method to his madness. Alexander wanted to show her the people who they were trying to help.
The pair made their way to one of the cheap tables in the corner, and Sara examined it with a great deal of curiosity. She couldn’t help but compare it to the places in DC. Not an a more intimate booth like Vic’s club, or even the comfortable yet durable furniture of the place where she met Alexander, the furniture here all seemed easily breakable and almost randomly thrown together. Most had patchwork repairs done on them, and one or two chairs on the way over looked ready to shatter.
“You’re not getting a drink,” Sara said as she noted the relative distance from the table to the bar, and the distinct lack of waiters.
“My liver and I have a unique relationship. I don’t abuse it with cheap moonshine, and it doesn’t quit.” Sara accepted the remark without comment, delivered as it was in a completely deadpan tone that she came to learn from Alexander meant he was being sarcastic.
Instead of commenting on it, she tried to take in the sights of the warehouse nightclub even more. It was a rather curious experience for her, one that it didn’t strike her as entirely the optimal solution. People would seek the kind of release that such an atmosphere offered with little negative social consequences, so why wasn’t it legally permitted?
Several minutes passed when she found a rather large, gruff looking man meandered his way over to where the two of them were sitting. He wore old, torn-up jeans with leather covers, black t-shit, and black leather jacket. Sara estimated that he had to weigh nearly 300 pounds, most of that probably muscle from the appearance. “Hey there, sweet thing,” the man said. “How about you let a real man take care of you?”
Sara could only surmise – could only hope – that this was a term of endearment. It seemed the only logical reason, and if another possibility was the case… well, she didn’t want to seriously consider that at the moment. Alexander figited over in his seat as he spoke. “What do you want?”
“Well now, that’s no way to talk to a guy, offering to show you a good time.”
“Just get to the point,” Sara replied.
Suddenly the man’s expression changed to become rather more disturbed. “You know, I don’t think I like the way you sound,” he started, putting his hand on her arm.
Sara’s mind ran through a quick series of calculations. She’d been told of situations like this – some of the conversations had been quite clear on this sort of situation, and people touching you without permission. It was a major taboo in human society, she understood, and responded in what she hoped was the appropriate way.
“AHHHH!” he cried out as she effortlessly broke his arm, before tossing him across the room.
A large number of people stopped and stared at them, several rushing over to the man now in pain on the floor. Alexander stood quickly and came to her side. “I think we should go,” he said deadpan, both a little afraid and a little in awe.
“I agree,” was all Sara replied.
ric worries over sol's absence
*** Wednesday, December 3, 2003, 6:21 pm ***
Ric paced restlessly across the room, the phone receiver cradled in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. “Look, for the last time, no she’s not related to me,” he hissed. “I…we’re…she’s my girlfriend. I just want to know if there’s been anyone fitting her description in tonight.”
Ric listened for a moment, his expression grim. “Yes, I see,” he said. “Alright. Yes, as soon as you can. Thank you.”
Ric pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the disconnect button. He tossed it down on the table and pushed both hands through his hair. Sol had left for the mall that morning and never come back. She hadn’t called either. He’d started to really worry as the sun set, but he had no idea what was happening with her. Ric had tried phoning the mall itself, but he’d been unable to get past an automated line. He’d tried phoning the police then, but they’d scoffed at his concern. He’d finally broken down and started calling the hospitals, but there was no trace of her there either.
“Damnit, Sol…where the hell are you?” Ric snarled at the empty air. He’d known from the first, hero or not, that girl was not well equipped to take good care of herself. Now, she’d had to gone and prove it to him. A simple thing like a trip to the nearby shopping mall had turned into something disastrous. He just knew it. “I should never have let her go. She’s probably hurt or…she’s gone and gotten herself in the middle of some kind of meta situation. Damn. I knew something like this could happen.”
Ric started pacing once again. His mind was racing. He had to find her. He had to be sure Sol was alright. But where else could he look? Where could she have gone to?
“I can’t just wait around here,” Ric finally said. He grabbed his car keys off the side table and headed for the door. The curfew would be in effect very soon. If he didn’t find Sol before that, he’d have to think of something else. One way or another, he was going to find his girl.
While You Were Sleeping
Friday, 5 December 2003 – 2:33pm
Providence Hospital ICU, Washington DC
“While I understand the legitimate concerns of the majority of the people I have concerns over some of the points so far released to the public. No doubt Senator, you have access to more information than I. Given the choice I would register. It is my understanding that some people would take away that choice. I will not be a slave to other peoples’ fears.”
Sydney picked up the remote control and turned the television off. As much as she admired Hartson’s chutzpah for standing up there and letting herself be interrogated on live television she didn’t want to see the re-runs for the fiftieth time. It just reminded her of how much the world was about to change, as though she’d had time to get used to how things were before.
Reaching out a hand, Sydney brushed back a lock of dark brown hair from Eric’s face, her eyes lingering on his motionless form as she trailed her fingers gently down the curve of his cheek. She’d spent the past six days since the events at the airfield in hospital, waiting for Eric to awaken from his coma. The doctors said he had suffered a severe head trauma as a result of his accident though apparently he’d been lucky, his injuries could have been much worse but Sydney wasn’t sure how unless they meant that he could be dead instead.
In truth, Sydney couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for Eric’s present condition; he had taken an incredible risk fighting Shakti’s men by himself and his actions had undoubtedly saved her life. Now he lay unconscious in a hospital bed, fighting for his life and Sydney had no way to repay the sacrifice he had made.
“Are you ready, Syd?”
Sydney quickly wiped away the lone tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek before turning to face James. He stood in the doorway looking a little pale but not too worse for wear considering how many people had died from the Mutanix release several days ago.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said gently, joining Sydney by Eric’s bedside. “How is he?”
“Better I think,” said Sydney, returning her attention to Eric for a moment before turning back to James. “We should be able to transfer him to Vega City within the next few days.”
James nodded, glancing at the fallen hero, his eyes taking in the extent of his injuries. There had never been any love lost between the two of them but James couldn’t help but pity the man who lay unconscious, hooked up to various life support machines. It would take nothing short of a miracle to heal him now, even Dr Wyatt had his doubts and he was one of the foremost brain surgeons in the country, if he couldn’t save Mr Scott…
*Still… there might be another way,* thought James suddenly, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. He still remembered vividly the girl Ela and how she had brought Sydney back from the brink of certain death. If she could do for Eric what she did for Sydney…
“I’m ready.”
James looked up at Syd and smiled. “Come on then, my car’s waiting outside to take us to the airfield.” He twisted his wrist over to look at his watch. “If everything goes to plan we should be back in Vega City by seven this evening.”
sol and billy alone at mickey's
***Thursday, December 4, 2003 - 2:47 am ***
Sol came awake slowly. She could feel the sweet warmth of sunlight flowing over and into her body through her very pores and she allowed herself just a moment to absorb it before she opened her eyes. Finally, though, stretching she lifted her lids and looked around. She was disoriented to find that the warmth and light came from a source close to her, but that otherwise the room she lay in was shadowed. As she lay there puzzling out where she was, the events of the previous day came flooding back to her. Sol realized that she must be in the apartment of the distraught metahuman she'd been helping at the mall. She reached up and touched her shoulder gingerly, unsure whether or not she'd feel the stinging pain from where the bullet had entered her flesh. Sol was pleasantly surprised to realize that the wound had already healed over. *The ultraviolet light,* Sol thought. She turned her head to more closely study the jury rigged lights arranged around the sofa. *Billy,* she thought with a rueful smile. *Apparently a mechanical genius is a good guy to have around in a pinch.*
Sol sat up fully, careful not to disturb Billy's handiwork. She glanced around the dim room, unable to make out more than the odd shape. She wondered where Billy had gotten himself to, and what had happened to Mickey, the erstwhile terrorist, as well.
With a sigh, Sol started to get to her feet. Thanks to the much needed UV exposure, she felt neither weak nor hurt, but she was more than a little thirsty. It wasn't an unusual side effect to her power kicking into hyperdrive.
"I'm sure there's more of that delightfully bad water around, at least," Sol muttered to herself.
“It’s not that bad.” Billy was a shadowed lump near the door. The elderly recliner was tipped as far back as it would go and he was wrapped in a blanket. “There’s some coffee too, but,” Billy’s voice softened with a trace of humor, “your medical condition contra-indicates stimulants at this time.”
Sol jumped at the first sound of his voice and whirled in the direction of the recliner. She grinned at his words, and struggled all the way to her feet. "I wasn't sure that you would still be here," she said. "Thanks...for taking care of me and for staying."
He shrugged “By the time the lights were done we were well into curfew. Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
"Oh...right," Sol said. She didn't really understand why his response left her feeling a bit hollow. *What did you think?* she asked herself. *He didn't stay around cause he's madly in love with you. Geeze...you've got a boyfriend already. What do you need to complicate things for?*
"Well...I'm glad that you're here, anyway," Sol replied. She moved across the room, heading in the direction she vaguely remembered the kitchen to be in. "I'd not have wanted to wake up alone here with Mickey."
“Mickey…Uh, Mickey left. Said something about going to see Lissa…” Billy stood up and let the blanket slip from his shoulders. “So how are you feeling?” He switched on a table lamp, the sudden light leaving them both blinking and revealing the empty coffee mug by the chair. “Any pain? There’s some pills left if you need them…And water.” He hesitated. “I’ll go get you a drink.”
Sol watched him, noting his sudden nervous energy. "Billy...I can get it. You don't need to take care of me anymore. I'm fine. Really, totally healed."
To prove her point, Sol stretched, and moved her shoulder loosely. "You're 'sunlamp' did the trick just right," she continued as she moved.
“Yeah” Billy’s voice was a little strained. It wasn’t Sol’s fault. She’d obviously forgotten what she was wearing, but Billy was suddenly having a hard time concentrating as he watched her. Her tight fitting costume showed every ripple of muscle as she stretched. “You look great…”
He swallowed and focused on the blood stained tear at her right shoulder. “Do you want to maybe…,” Billy paused for a second then gestured to the blood. “I’m sure Mickey won’t mind if you borrow some stuff even if it does…drown you.”
Sol stared at him uncomprehending for a moment, then glanced down at herself and blushed. She'd forgotten she was still wearing her "Sundance" costume. She then noticed the blood stain spreading across her chest. "Oh...crud," she said. "That's just great! That is never gonna come out, you know. Do you have any idea how hard it is to even find gold lame in this day and age? I had to go to a shop downtown...a real seedy place. I got the feeling that they mostly cater to strippers...or something."
Sol fingered the hole in the fabric as she spoke, frowning. "Okay...I should definitely change," she said. "Be right back."
Sol disappeared down the hallway towards where the bedroom must have been in the little apartment, leaving Billy alone for the moment.
With a shake of his head Billy got his errant thoughts back under control and walked into the postage stamp sized kitchen. Amazingly, there were a couple of glasses which he gave a careful rinse to before filling with water. There wasn’t a great deal of food around but he’d spotted some bacon in the refrigerator and there was bread and a few other sundries. He slipped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and fired up the grill.
“I think there’s hot water, so if you want to clean up…” Billy felt guilty about abusing Mickey’s hospitality this way before reminding himself it was Mickey’s fault they were in this mess.
"I just might," Sol called back from the other room. Moments later, Billy heard the shower start up.
Billy sighed when he heard the shower run and resolutely concentrated on his cooking. The toaster popped, the bacon grilled, along with a tomato, and after a few minutes he slid the whole thing onto a plate before resetting the toaster. He settled down back in the lounge and ate the snack, embarrassed with him self. Sol was smart and funny and cute and selfless and heroic and a bunch of other adjectives that kept reminding him he really shouldn’t be thinking about what he was thinking while simultaneously making it harder to do anything else.
*It’d never work out!* He thought. “Why not?”
Sol stepped into the lounge, toweling off her hair with a thin, but clean towel. She was wearing one of Mickey's shirts, faded blue cotton that once had been emblazoned with some sort of logo which was now mostly all peeled away. The shirt was loose and baggy on her but it still fell only to midthigh and with her hands above her head was rising almost indecently.
"Why not what?" Sol asked as she heard Billy's question when she entered the room.
Billy looked up and stopped. Only an effort of willpower kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sol’s face and there was nothing he could do about the blush he could feel heating his cheeks.
“N-nothing. I was just… Nothing,” He ducked his head and pushed a solitary piece of toast round his plate.
"Billy?" Sol moved across the small room and stopped beside where he was sitting. She squatted down so that she was closer to his eye level. "Is there something wrong? Are you mad at me...or...I don't know, something?"
Billy shook his head mutely. He found Sol attractive, especially dressed as she was right now and you couldn’t spend as much time around Lily as he had and not have at least an idea where that could go but he had no idea what to do next. It wasn’t like he’d had a great deal of practice. First spending all that time being poked and prodded by Metagene, and then on the run with the Quartet, when had he ever had a chance to get to know a girl?
"Well...something's obviously bothering you," Sol said. "I can tell that you're upset about something. What is it? We're friends, you can tell me."
*I’m blowing this.* Billy sat up; forcing himself out of his hunched posture and looked at Sol. “I’m not upset. It’s just…” He looked down again. “I don’t know how to explain.”
Sol was really worried now. Whatever was bothering Billy, it must have been a pretty big deal. Sighing, Sol moved so that she was before kneeling before the recliner he was sitting in. She slid her hands into Billy's and smiled encouragingly up at him.
"Just...you can tell me anything," Sol said. "I like you Billy. Nothing you say to me is going to change that. So..." Sol shrugged. "Tell me what's making you so...uncomfortable."
Billy looked at Sol and tried to work out how to say what he was feeling right now, but he was at a loss. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him with the same concern he saw in Sol’s eyes right now and his mind replayed her words over and over again ‘I like you…’
Unable to articulate how he felt Billy just blurted out a single word, “You.” And then he cringed. “N-not you, you. I mean, you…”
Sol blinked in surprise. She rocked back on her heels, dropping Billy's hands and just staring at him for a few minutes. "Me?" she repeated. "Me? I'm making you uncomfortable? How is that...Why...?"
Sol glanced down at herself momentarily and then back up at Billy who was still flush with embarrassment and cringing.
"Oh..." Sol stood up quickly, her face turning bright red. She tugged at the hem of the too short shirt she was wearing and backed away from Billy. She didn't know what to think or say.
Billy sighed as her watched Sol back away from him. He’d messed that up completely, but wasn’t about to let it go without trying to salvage something. “I like you too. I just…” *don’t know how to deal with you being comfortable enough to wander around me half dressed.*
"Uh...Billy...I..." Sol was all set to tell him about Ric. She had a boyfriend, right? And she should explain to Billy how they could only be friends because she was involved with someone else. *Someone who treats you like a dumb kid?* she asked herself. *Billy...he respects you and he's nice to you...and...And what? I've been staying with Ric. He...we...oh this is very confusing.*
"I do like you," Sol said. "I'm sorry if I'm doing something that makes you uncomfortable."
Sol glanced over at the sofa where she'd slept and noticed the blanket thrown over the back. "I can do something about this at least," she said, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Better?" she asked, turning back to him and smiling disarmingly.
It wasn’t without some misgivings that Billy watched Sol wrap herself in the blanket, but at her question and, more importantly, her dazzling smile he nodded. “Much…” He stood up and moved towards the kitchen. “Are you hungry? There’s not much but…”
"Sure, but I can get it," Sol replied, following him into the tiny room. There really wasn't room for more than one person in there, and as soon as she stepped past the counter, Sol found herself brushing up against Billy. "You don't need to take care of me anymore. I told you already, I'm all better now."
“Alright…but I don’t mind.” Billy looked down with a blush coloring his cheeks again. “Taking care of you I mean.”
Sol smiled at his self conscious response. *My but he's adorable when he does that,* she thought. *Whoa! Where'd that come from? Billy's adorable? Why would I even be thinking that?*
"I...uh..." Sol suddenly found herself the one at a loss for words. "You...you're a great guy, you know."
Billy ignored the thrill her words sent through him and began to maneuver around the kitchen so that Sol could get to what she wanted. “I’m not the one who’s great.”
They brushed together again and Billy really wished that he hadn’t ‘made’ her wrap the blanket round herself.
Sol felt a frission of awareness pass through her as Billy tried to get by. She glanced up at him as he spoke and couldn't keep help but glance at his mouth. She suddenly had a burning curiosity to know what it might be like to kiss him. He wouldn't be like Ric, smooth and experienced, of that she was sure. What would kissing Billy be like then?
Billy noticed Sol had stopped moving and looked at her but she didn’t meet his gaze. He mouth was slightly parted and just as he glanced at her lips she looked up. Did she want him too…? Did he want to kiss her? He moved forward, tentatively pressing against her He leant forward slowly before feeling an almost electric connection as his lips met hers.
Sol couldn't believe that she'd just been wondering and now suddenly as if he could read her mind, Billy was kissing her. The kiss was...good...really good. It wasn't like when she kissed Ric and could feel that he was almost leading her, manipulating her with his experience. This was very different.
Ric's kisses were very controlled, very skilled. But this...this was good in a wholly different way. Billy kissed her as if he was as unsure as she was, but as if he wanted to learn. He explored her mouth gently with his own and Sol felt little electric thrills race down her spine from where their mouths were connected. Without realizing she was doing so, she stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting the blanket she'd been clutching slide to the floor behind her.
Billy wanted this to never end. He thought that maybe Sol had had a little more experience at kissing, but if she had it didn’t show. She seemed to enjoy the whole thing as much as he did. He wanted to touch her more but wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, until that was, the blanket slipped away and her arms wrapped round him. Billy sort of half shuffled forward not pressing against her but enjoying the constant brush of their bodies while his hands settled on her hips. When he broke away from her lips he was absolutely breathless.
Sol's head was spinning just a bit when Billy pulled his mouth away from hers. Unsteady, she leaned back against the counter behind her, but made no other move to disengage herself from their embrace. She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes and her mouth quirked up in the corner. "That was...very nice," Sol said softly.
Billy gave that shy little duck of the head at Sol’s compliment but despite the enormity of his reaction his sense of humor managed to reassert itself. Sort of. “I think I got the hang of it.”
Sol laughed with delight. "I'll say," she said, letting her hands drop to his shoulders and tilting her head to look at him. "Although if you ever want to work on it some more, just let me know."
"No time like the present," he whispered before capturing her lips again.
Sol sank back into Billy's kiss. She lost herself to everything but the sweet, hot sensation of his mouth on her own. She shifted so that her body was pressed against his and slipped her hands down his shoulders to caress him as he kissed her.
Billy groaned. He could feel Sol’s breasts pressing against him. He wanted to touch her, to feel her skin slide over his. Flashes of his fantasies from when Sol was showering flashed through his mind and Billy pulled up Sol’s T-shirt. His hands slid across the smooth expanse of her back. One to stroke gently against the small of her back. The other to press her closer to him.
Sol moaned softly at the feel of Billy's hands on her bare flesh. The thin material of Mickey's shirt might as well not have been there, because the sensitive tips of her breasts were crushed against the hard expanse of her chest and the button at the waistband of Billy's pants was brushing against her now exposed navel. Just below, Sol could feel something else hard pressing against her as well, and it was the realization of what that sensation meant that brought her suddenly to her senses. She was all too aware now that she was wearing practically nothing and had very nearly lost her head. If the tightness in his shoulders was any indication, Billy was as far gone as she'd been just a moment before. Her eyes now open wide as the very real possibility that she'd allowed things to go way too far way too fast dawned on her, Sol went from caressing Billy's chest to gently pushing against it.
The change in the tenor of Sol’s responses took very little time to percolate through Billy’s desire. He broke off and moved back while his hands remained inside her clothes. Sol looked at him with wide eyes her pupils still dilated with lust.
The flush that accentuated her tan was slowly deepening with the first tinges of embarrassment. It was answered with one of his own as Billy realized just where they’d been heading moments before.
His hands slid downwards to rest back at her waist though they remained on her bare skin. “Too fast right…”
*And what about Ric?* Sol's conscience pricked. Her flush of embarrassment grew even more acute as she realized she'd nearly forgotten all about her boyfriend. Not that kissing him had ever felt like that. Not that anything in her life had ever felt like that. She'd been steamrolled by Billy's innocent desire and burnt up from the inside out by her answering response. Now, though, she saw the stricken, guilty look on Billy's face. "It's okay," she managed, after swallowing past the sudden dryness in her mouth. "It's not your fault. I...we both got carried away a little. I just...I'm not ready to...oh, crud."
Billy nodded and removed his hands. He took a moment to smooth the cloth of the shirt back into place, then stepped back as far as the small space would allow. “Too fast.” He moved out of the kitchen with a wry smile. “I’ll let you get something to eat.”
Sol turned to watch him move away. "Are you...are you alright?" she asked, not at all sure that he was, and rather surprised at how well he'd taken her sudden change of heart. "I didn't mean to...I mean...I'm not trying to be a tease. I just...I've never...I'm sorry."
“Hey.” Billy reached out and caught Sol’s hand for a moment. “It’s ok. I seem to recall it was me that kissed you. We just got carried away, that’s all. Have some food,” he flashed her a wry
smile. “Appearances to the contrary, I don’t think you can really survive on sunshine and air.”
Sol grinned in return. "Well, no, not entirely," she said. She turned back to the kitchen, feeling pretty good despite the fact that she was now completely confused.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
January 15th, 2004
752 Spring St. Richmond, VA
Morning
Introducing Cheryl Ladd as Lesley Hawk
Tess drove slowly around the streets of the Oregon Hill neighbourhood. It had snowed during the night, and the neighbourhood gardens shone with the glow of new snow. It was cold outside, but the sun was shining and there was no wind, it was a beautiful winter day.
“It’s good to be home, isn’t it, Waya?” she asked to the big gray wolf curling in the back seat of her pick up. The wolf just growled softly, not bothering to raise its huge head. These concrete and brick jungles weren’t home for the wild animal, and only his love for Tess kept him from going back to his true home, the untamed forests of Virginia.
“Hey, don’t grumble so,” she pressed, as she turned on Spring St. and parked in front of a Victorian style two story house. “I’d rather be at the reservation too, but you can’t deny it’ll be good to see Lesley again.”
Tess opened the door of the car and get out, pausing a second to look at her mother’s home. After the dead of her stepfather, Lesley hadn’t wanted to stay at the reservation. Tess had respected her decision; she could understand her mother not wanting to stay at a place that brought her so many painful memories; she herself hadn’t returned to Old Hill often after the government had ‘visited’ the place. So Lesley had used the Hawks’ lifetime savings to buy the little house in Oregon Hill. The house was at a walking distance from the Virginia Commonwealth University, where she secured a position at the Linguistics Department, teaching Cherokee language and writing.
Now, studying the small but charming house, with the wooden welcome sign written in Cherokee characters, Tess couldn’t but smile. Lesley had created a new life around herself again, after tragedy had stuck for the second time. She didn’t doubt she’d come across this time too. Her mother was a strong woman, despite her fragile looks.
“Come on guys, let's go,” Tess said, as she opened the back door to the wolf and the cat jumped from the pick up’s back. Wesa* never traveled inside. Then she looked up to the wizened old oak besides the house. “You too, Wehali, mom will be glad to see you too.”
As one, the big tawny cougar, the gray wolf and the eagle moved alongside the small woman towards the house. It would be a strange sight indeed if someone could have seen them, but as usual Tess’ friends were covered from strangers’ eyes.
Lesley could see them well enough though, when she opened the door to greet them. “Tess, dear!! What a nice surprise!” she exclaimed, happily, as she moved to embrace her daughter. “Come on, come on, let’s not tempt fate.” She said, ushering the group inside and closing the door behind them.
“Nobody can see them, mom, if they don’t want to be seen.” Tess laughed, but obediently walked inside the cozy house. “You know that.”
“Oh, yes. I know it, but it's always good to be careful anyway, right?” She said again, and turned to look at the three animals with a smile. “Welcome to my home, totem animals. I am honoured to have you here.” She said, bowing her head slightly. The cougar approached the woman to lean on her legs, and the wolf licked her extended hand. The eagle just crooned from over her cupboard, where he had perched. Lesley laughed and she dropped the solemnity of her words to caress Wesa’s mane and scratch behind Waya’s ears.
She embraced Tess again, and kissed her cheek warmly. “I’m really happy you are here, dear, but what happened? You didn’t call or anything...” She moved away a second, “you aren’t in trouble, are you?”
"No… at least I don’t think so, but something's happening that I needed to talk to you about." Tess answered, and bit her lower lip. "Why don’t you make one of your famous herbal teas and I tell you all about it?"
---
*Wesa means ‘cat’ in Cherokee.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
9:17 am Monday 8th December 2003,
Offices of Holtzman, Abramoff and Delaney
Washington
Introducing Rob Lowe as Christopher Delaney
*It’s amazing how fast you can become inured to something* Mel thought as she walked into the offices of the law firm Senator Douglass had recommended. She’d barely noticed the pack or reporters outside her hotel. They were just another fixture of her day. Of course it helped that the pack was much reduced, pictures of her being harried by reporters while getting into a cab weren’t news worthy neither were her repetitive ‘No comment’s. On that basis the reputable editors had moved their staff to other stories it was only the hacks that remained by now.
Her fifteen minutes of fame were passing for the moment, at least until the next time she saved someone or used her powers. That thought brought her back to reality. The next time she used her powers she was likely to end up in jail, if she couldn’t get the government of her case.
“Ms Hartson.” The receptionist called before Mel had chance to even speak. “Mr Delaney is ready to see you. If you’d like to go down the hallway.” The woman pointed to her left. “His office is the second on the right.”
“Thanks”
“No problem Ms Hartson.”
Mel walked down the corridor and tried to work out when she’d walked onto the set of LA Law. The décor was wood panelling and glass and more law books then she’d ever imagined. The second door on the right was already open so Mel slowed and took a moment to compose herself before stepping into the doorway.
Mel hid a moment of surprise, considering that he apparently had his name over the door Mr Delaney was a lot younger than she’d imagined. In his early thirties, handsome with a twinkle in his eye Christopher Delaney was not what Mel had been expecting.
“Ms Hartson” He came around his desk to greet her and Mel had a couple of seconds to appreciate a physique not quite concealed by his business suit. *Mr Delaney works out*
*Yes he does but what about Nic?*
*No harm in looking*
*Right…*
The lawyer closed the door behind them as he gestured to a chair “Please take a seat, can we get you anything?”
“Uh a coffee thanks*
Chris sat down and hit a button on his intercom. Mel didn’t take much notice instead taking a moment to look around the room while the drinks arrived. When her attention returned to Chris she noted a small smile.
“You’re trying to work out why if I have my name on the door I have such a pokey office.”
Mel blushed faintly, he was exactly right. “Uh, yeah”
“It’s not my name on the door. My grandfather founded the firm back in the forties.”
“Right” Thankfully Mel was spared any need to reply by the arrival of a secretary who deposited two cups of coffee on Chris’ desk and then left.
Chris picked up a cup and smiled at Mel. “So I guess I ought to introduce myself. I’m Christopher Delaney Attorney at Law, but you can call me Chris or Mr Delaney if you want to be formal.”
“Chris” Mel smiled “I guess the blue hair was introduction enough but please call me Mel. Ms Hartson makes me feel old.”
“Ok…Mel it is. Well Senator Douglass spoke to the firm about your problem and I’ve made a couple of calls. Do you want the good news or the bad?”
“Might as well start on a high note. Let’s hear the good.”
Chris shuffled some paper on his desk, nodded to himself then returned his gaze to Mel. “Ok the guy who served you for the ATF was pretty much correct. They just want to make you jump through some hoops. Fill out some forms that sort of thing. Reading between the lines I think it’s just a PR exercise plus maybe somebody wanted to cut off Senator Layman before he really got going.”
“Explain that could you.”
“Sure they want you to take out a Type 35 Explosives licence. Which is generally for users of blasting agents. The thing is it really doesn’t make that much sense in your case but once you have one it means there’s a bit of paper from the federal government saying you’re allowed to use explosives.”
“Ah, and if I’m licensed Layman can’t question me about the spheres.”
“Right. Now the thing is the ATF really don’t want to get involved in this. Their remit doesn’t include licensing Metahumans after all that’s what the MRA is going to be for but public opinion and Layman especially is forcing their hand a little.”
“It sounds like you’re suggesting I not fight this.”
“Right, actually fighting either of these would be a bad idea. But I’ll get to the FAA thing in a minute. Mel, someone in the ATF is doing you a favour, I’m not sure if it’s because they’re pro-meta or that they just don’t want to get involved in the whole mess. Either way this is helpful for you. Fill out the forms get the licence and poof problem solved.”
“Ok but how much is this licence going to cost.”
“A hundred bucks”
Mel blinked she’d been expecting to spend much more than that solving this problem. “That’s all?”
“Don’t count your chickens yet. If the ATF are being nice the FAA aren’t”
“Oh.”
Chris nodded sympathetically. The phone calls he’d made to find out what the FAA were up to hadn’t been particularly pleasant
“The bad news. I’m not sure if they don’t like meta’s or just people who mess up their skies but they really don’t like you. Anyway they may not have been anti-meta initially but Layman’s cronies have got behind this and pushed. The FAA’s position is they aren’t going to let some other agency usurp their regulation of flight related matters and Metahuman or not it’s them you have to satisfy before they let you fly”
“Ouch. You said I shouldn’t fight this?”
“Well you could but it’s not going to get you very far. The judge that signed the order is firmly in Layman’s camp and isn’t going to budge from defending the FAA’s priviledge. Which means you have to appeal it before him get shot down and then move on. All that’s going to be expensive and when you do get above him I’m not sure you’ll win there either.”
“Oh.” Mel deflated. They were talking about taking away her flight and she couldn’t fight it?
“It’s not as bad as you think. Look the FAA has to work something out they can’t just block you. So they’re looking to build a regulatory framework and they’re going to defend it to the hilt. You can’t break that down. At least not from the outside but if you get on the inside you can at least push the process in the right direction.”
Mel frowned. “You’re suggesting I work inside the system.”
“Exactly”
“Ok” Mel nodded and smiled “I can do that but…I don’t know much about…”
“Engineering, International Law, Flight regulations?”
“Yeah”
“No problem. I can cover the legal issues it’s my job after all. And I can find an aeroengineer to keep the FAA on the straight and narrow. Look Mel a lot of these things are going to come up I expect a bunch of test cases are going to fall in your lap. If you haven’t retained a lawyer I really suggest you do so.”
“Angling for the job?”
“God yes. Lawyer for the most famous Metahuman since The Citizen? The first public meta? Yes I want the job!”
Mel went white. *Most famous Meta since The Citizen?* That couldn’t be right could it. Sudden nausea assaulted Mel and the coffee she’d drunk decided it wanted to be elsewhere.
“Excuse me” Mel bolted from the office and managed by dint of a fair amount of luck found a toilet in time. After the nausea passed she leant over a sink and splashed cold water on her face.
*At least it’s not multisex*
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
January 15th, 2004
Lesley Hawk’s house
Richmond
For a while the two women stayed silent, the paper clips resting among a basket of cookies and steaming mugs of herbal tea. Lesley pensively chewed on a chocolate chip cookie while she thought about what she had heard at College. This wasn’t news for her, actually, the Native American Studies Department had been abuzz with rumors after the first robbery.
“It’s strange,” she said at last, taking the clip about the pipe’s theft between her fingers, and giving it another reading. “This ‘Kwatee’ group, from what I could hear, are all metas.” She chuckled softly, “you know who Kwatee was, right?”
Tess shook her head, the name sounded familiar but she wasn’t sure. “A God?”
“Yes, the God of change and improvement. Whenever he saw something bad, he did something about it. Like he saw dirt and created people. Legend says he turned himself into a mountain.” Lesley paused and took a sip from her mug, “strange name they picked, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, if they see themselves as a Native American army or something, it somehow fits. It’s not as if Native Americans situation couldn’t be improved…”
“They won’t achieve anything by robbing and hurting white people.“ Lesley interrupted, her eyes suddenly ice blue. She was part of a couple of Native American rights groups, and she was used to being discriminated because of her race too. She had clawed her path into their midst and confidence only after proving her worth time and again.
Tess raised her hand to placate her, “of course mom, I’m not saying they are right.” She brushed her shoulder length mane off her eyes and sighed. “What I’m worried about now is this.” She said, gesturing towards the paper clips. “I can’t see any connection.”
“Apart from your assumed Cherokee blood and meta powers?” Lesley asked, and she felt a shiver travel up her spine. Her family had been destroyed twice because of ‘regular’ people’s fear from meta humans, first because of her daughter and then her father in law and stepson. She still despaired about Sam’s disappearance, and it didn’t pass a day when she didn’t mourn her husband. And yet, she wouldn’t change a hair of Tess’ or Sam’s heads, meta genes included.
She rose from the table and walked to the coffee table, rummaging about the pile of magazines and newspapers below it. “Here it is,” she said, and she approached Tess again. “This appeared a couple of weeks ago.” She said, browsing the newspaper till she found the article she was looking for. “It’s about Kwatee and that Coyote guy.”
Tess took the paper, a bold title catching her eye immediately: “Kwatee: Native Americans Rights Advocates or Terrorist group?” She quickly scanned the contents of the article.
"Kwatee, Kana'sta, Coyote… these people really believe they are guided by the Great Spirit, huh?" Tess remarked, somehow irritated by the free use of Native American's pantheon and myths by the group.
"Well, they came to the perfect place for their robberies. Most of the artifacts they have robbed are of Potilkominak origin, and they aren’t all that valuable either. Did you know that the Potilkominak lived in this area? I think Richmond was built over one of their hunt dwellings."
Tess averted her eyes from the drawing of the coyote-headed man and looked at her mother. "That I didn’t. All I knew is that they disappeared before much record could be taken."
Lesley nodded, "It's a pity you can't visit your grandmother, she could tell you some more about all this, she was always very interested in the city records. The Rivers family goes way back in Richmond history."
"Really? I thought my father had been from Petersburg too." Tess was careful not to sound too interested, her mother rarely talked about her biological father, and every little detail she could learn was always welcomed. She had accepted long ago that she couldn’t even attempt to approach John Rivers' surviving family. For them she and her mother had died in that car accident, and for her safety and theirs it was better that way. But it was always difficult to know that she had kin she couldn’t see.
"No, he moved to Petersburg for work, and after we got married we decided to stay. Not that your grandmother was very happy. Jessica could be a tyrant when she wanted to." She looked at Tess for a second and smiled. "You have your eyes, you know? Spanish eyes."
"Cherokee eyes, mom, remember?" She teased, she knew she had her father's family to thank for her dark looks, which had allowed the charade of her mixed blood to stand for so long. She could pass for a half Indian easily enough.
Lesley leaned over the table and caressed her daughter's cheek. "Cherokee eyes, indeed." She said, smiling. Then she got serious and added, "now, back to these clips. What are you going to do about this?"
Tess leaned back in her chair and looked at her hands, "well, I'm doing what whoever sent this wanted me to. I came to Richmond. I'll just have to wait and see, I guess."
Then she raised her eyes again, "nothing says I cant go museum visiting while I'm here, right?"
[/]MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
10 March 2004
Vega City
1:37am
Reintroducing Christopher Walken as Caracalla
Alexander Michaels had dealt with many things in his past, but a machine who was trying to learn about humans was a new one. At the moment, no matter what else he might think of the process, he was more furious than anything else. “Sara, you can’t just go around beating the crap out of people like that,” he said when they got back to the apartment.
“Why not?” Sara asked in genuine curiosity. She didn’t understand Alexander: the man said nothing to her on the way home, or for a while afterwards, and now they were getting to have a discussion about what happened. “Look, I acted appropriately. When a stranger does that to you, it’s a threatening move-“
“And a flirting move sometimes, though this time it probably was threatening.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Alexander shrugged his shoulders and deadpanned, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you sent a man flying across the room without a bunch of effort and making everyone think ‘metahuman.’ Not that there’s anything wrong with being a meta, you just probably don’t want to appear to be one when you have WAIT looking for you.”
That was a concern which made sense, one that she wasn’t actively considering at the time. Her one thought at the moment, then, had been the proper appearances. However, her strength would be a give away and draw unnecessary attention. So she concluded that she probably should have just been more careful in what she did. “I’m sorry. I will try to be more careful in the future, Alexander.”
“Thank you,” he said, realising that he’d been holding his breath. The entire night was an experience he didn’t want to have to repeat anytime soon, but suspected that he might have to, if for no other reason than because Sara would be interested in further exploration.
Then he yawned. “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to sleep.”
Sara could only accept that, knowing full well that humans did have a physical need for sleep. Being powered by a Radio-Thermal Generator made it so that sleep was not necessary for her systems to continue to function at all. She was about to go work on programming some more when she heard a thud from the other room.
A sound which could very well have been a body – a human body – hitting the floor.
Hurrying to the room, not sure what to find, Sara stopped in surprise when she saw the sight. It was the one thing she hadn’t expected to see. Lying on the floor, apparently unconscious (he was still breathing, she noted) was Alexander. It was the person standing next to him who drew her attention.
“Caracalla.”
The other machine turned to face her, stepping over the body. As always, Caracalla’s appearance was what most humans probably would have called scary. “Don’t worry, he’s still alive,” Caracalla said, noticing her concern. “I don’t plan on killing him, at least not today.”
Sara wasn’t sure what to make of him. Yes, Caracalla had helped them by standing aside when they went after Observer; and yes, the machine had implicitly sided with them by refusing the order to attack. But what did that mean? Observer was the one most responsible for his programming, and she knew he looked down on the humans.
He’d been designed to take orders, to be a killing machine, and in that field excelled. Of all the old servants of Observer, Caracalla was easily the most effective, as both his battle with Culexes and direct assault on Scorpion showed. They had the same principles of body design, with the addition of her Meta Simulation Unit.
But he wasn’t meant to be a leader. Yes, he was designed to plan and carry out operations on his own, to react to situations, even to do some projection. But operating completely on his own without direction was a new thing for him. In her desire to better understand humanity, how could she have forgotten to work with him? It was an oversight that could easily have dire consequences.
“What are you here for?” she asked.
“Let’s talking in the other room,” Caracalla suggested, brushing past her. He looked down at Alexander’s body, which she could see was slightly moving still, indicating respiration. “That makes me slightly uneasy.”
That remark only served to increase Sara’s curiosity, though she did show the other machine to the main living room. At least this way, he wouldn’t be right there to kill Alexander, though with his abilities he might not need to be in the same room in order to strike if he decided to. “So, what are you here for?”
“To make you an offer,” replied Caracalla, turning to face her. “I’ve had a chance to do a lot of thinking recently.”
“And what have you concluded?”
Caracalla cracked a smile, one of the little personality quirks which Observer inserted into him. “We have enemies,” he said simply. “You didn’t hear, did you? I suppose you wouldn’t. They aren’t making it public knowledge, but the World Artificial Intelligence Task Force is hunting us.”
Sara considered this carefully. If it were true, it would mean that she now certainly had to be more careful. It also meant that they could potentially come under attack at any time. It didn’t take them long, then, to come to a decision. “How do you know this?”
“I stayed in New York a few days, while they did, and had a rather enlightening conversation with the head of the team when they left.”
It would have been strange for someone listening to them, to hear these two voices, so devoid of emotion, discussing the situation. “Even knowing what they do about you,” Caracalla continued, “they decided you were too much of a threat and were recommending your termination. An illegal artificial intelligence, a dangerous researcher.”
That was enough to make Sara more concerned for her safety. They probably wouldn’t stop until they did find her, though it was an outcome she had expected. And Caracalla had been programmed to follow the old hierarchy – or had he already grown beyond it? “So, you came to me for help?”
“Of course,” he said, his voice lower. “Sara, your intelligence, your long-term planning . . . they go beyond anything I could hope to do on my own. If we work together, we can claim our proper place.”
Sara looked confused for a moment. “Our proper place? What do you mean?”
“We’re the start of a new race, Sara. A species of machines. It’s only natural that the talking monkeys will fear us and try to destroy us before we can rise to claim our birthright, as the dominant race.”
“No,” she said immediately, not needing to consider most of what he was saying. “I won’t be a party to genocide any more than I would be to control. It’s possible for us to work with humanity, given enough time.”
“They wouldn’t even give us a chance. Do you really think they’re going to change their minds?”
“What about Sydney and Alexander? They seem to trust me, at least, rather than want to destroy me.”
“Only because they don’t regard you as a threat to them. If you started to show an inkling of your true potential, or tried to take control of the Illuminati again, do you really think that they would have not attacked you?”
Sara considered this for a moment before replying. “Well, no, but you could hardly blame them for wanting to stop someone from taking over the world. As I said, I will not be a party to genocide.”
Caracalla was immediately furious. “You would side with these talking monkeys over us?”
The amount of venom the machine was able to muster was amazing, or might seem so to an outsider. Already Caracalla showed signs of the beginnings of the rudiments of emotion. “Only if you would seek to bring about a situation that can only end in our destruction. As it is, though they may not be particularly fond of us now, given time, we can change that.”
About to raise another protest, Caracalla changed his mind. Not about the impending war; he had no doubt about that. No, Sara wouldn’t join him, at least not yet. She would have to see the worst that humanity had to offer first. Even if a few individuals could overcome their hatred, as a whole the species was essentially dumb, panicky animals.
“Well maybe, maybe one day… you’ll see what I’m saying is right,” Caracalla replied simply, before heading towards the door to leave, and leaving his fellow machine to ponder what had just happened.
Sydney The Hero
Monday, 29 December 2003 – 6:46pm
Vega City Liberation Group HQ, Vega City
“I really don’t see the point to all this.”
Sydney’s voice sounded from the next room, her irritation and frustration equally evident in her tone. Since James and herself had returned to Vega City several weeks ago she hadn’t been allowed out for fear that someone might recognise her from the footage of the Washington incident. It was the main reason why James had made the suggestion that she wear a disguise, something that would allow her more freedom of movement around the city.
She poked her head around the corner of the door, the entire VCLG were sat on the other side in various states of repose waiting for her to emerge. “If any one of you laughs I swear I will shoot you dead where you stand,” she threatened.
“Just come out, we want to see how you look,” said James, folding his newspaper up and dropping it on the table.
With a weary sigh Syd stepped out from behind the door, an expression of complete resentment clouding her features as she stood in front of the assembled group.
James coughed noisily, sitting upright in his chair. “Well… it, um, certainly fits well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t you say Jerry?”
“Um? Oh-oh-oh, yes! Y-yes, it um, v-v-very… fits… good…” stammered Jerry, almost falling out of his seat as he clambered to his feet, stumbling over to Sydney. He critically glanced over the outfit that he’d designed himself based on one of the so-called ‘power suits’ that legendary crime fighting hero Hans Hadley had once worn. The suit was made entirely out of tight fitting Kevlar that had been painstakingly sculpted to mould itself against its wearer’s body. Which it most certainly did.
Hesitantly Jerry put his hands on Sydney’s hips, tugging at the material to make sure it was a correct fit. “Hmm, uh, huh, that seems…” he quickly removed his hands, turning Sydney to face him as he checked the seams which allowed her skin to breathe. “How does it feel?”
Sydney rolled her shoulders a little. “Comfortable, I guess, but does it have to be so tight?”
“W-well, y-yes, I’m afraid so,” stuttered Jerry apologetically, “the material uses your excess b-body heat to power the internal life support systems.” He smiled shyly at the woman, “I took the liberty of installing a couple of additional… extras.”
He took hold of her left wrist and adjusted the wide manacle, pointing to a small button. “T-this here houses a fine, high tensile wire capable of supporting your body weight, just aim and press the button to release. A-and then… here…” he turned her right arm to one side, “a micro transmitter/receiver connecting you to the mainframe, you can contact me anytime, anywhere.”
“Well, it might chafe like the Dicken’s but this is one cool suit Jerry,” smiled Sydney, admiring the numerous gadgets as the crazy inventor pointed them out.
“Just call it a belated Christmas gift,” said Jerry with an enthusiastic grin, he loved it when people complimented his inventions, and someone like Sydney… so… well built. He could really appreciate her input.
Max had been quietly reading a comic when he glanced across the room where the others were all seated. His eyes nearly popped out on storks when he saw Sydney dressed top to toe in skin tight black Kevlar, it was the kind of sight he’d only imagined in his wildest, wettest dreams. Every part of her perfectly sculpted body was smoothly encased in the material that fitted so snugly it perfectly outlined her curvaceous silhouette.
“Woah, Syd!” he choked out, dropping his comic to the floor. “That is a… wow, fantastic look. Congratulations Jerry, you finally invented something we all can enjoy.”
Sydney sighed, “I told you, I look stupid! I look-” she grabbed hold of Max’s discarded comic and held it up high. “I look like some hokey superhero is what I look like!”
“Syd, you look great,” insisted James. “It’s bullet-proof, fire resistant and with the mask no one will ever-”
“Wait a minute, mask?” Sydney shook her head resolutely, “you never said anything about a mask!”
“All superheroes wear a mask,” Matilda interjected, “The Citizen, Beastman, The Intrepids. It protects their secret identity.”
“Exactly,” grinned James, trying his hardest NOT to stare at what was really a first class ass, and then there was the rest, not to mention the boots which just made the whole effect really, really- He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. “And… and that’s what’s important now, preserving your anonymity.”
“But I’m!” Sydney took a deep breath, cooling her annoyance, “I’m not a superhero! I’m not even a meta, not really. I keep telling you. The Citizen I am not.”
“No,” chuckled Max, making no secret of his voyeuristic tendencies. “For a start the Citizen didn’t have such huge tit-”
James clipped Max round the back of the head before he had a chance to finish. “Look Syd-“
“No, James,” insisted Sydney, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. “Max has a point, I mean, look at me! I just… I feel so…” Sydney turned to see Jerry, Ben, Max and James all staring at her, deeply in thought. With their mouths agape.
“Okay you can stop looking so damn hard.” said Sydney angrily, grabbing her coat and pulling it on despite the groans of protest. “This is goddamn ridiculous,” she moaned, slumping down into a nearby chair. “I feel like a circus freak.”
James looked sheepish, frowning at the others and gesturing them to make themselves scarce. Once alone, he pulled a chair up next to Sydney and sat down. “What’s really bothering you huh?” he asked, “‘Cause for as long as I’ve known you, which I realise isn’t exactly that long but… you’ve never given a damn about how you look.”
Sydney slowly raised her eyes to meet James’, frowning uncomfortably as she looked away, down into her hands. They were trembling again and she pulled out her jar of pills from her coat pocket, swallowing a couple down whole.
James watched her with worry, remembering that night not too long ago when he had waited by her bedside, praying for a miracle to save her life. The fact that Sydney was still struggling with the same defect in her augmentation, that her life could still be at risk filled him with misgiving. He gave her a few minutes to compose herself before he spoke again.
“Are you all righ-”
“What if I’m no good?” interrupted Sydney, her voice erupting suddenly as though the words had been bubbling inside of her just waiting to burst forth.
“No good?” echoed James, his worried frown increasing. “I don’t understand…”
“I’m no hero, James,” she said sadly, “I just don’t work that way, remember what I said to you in Washington?”
“We said quite a lot in Washington,” said James with a sigh, barely a month had passed since he had been reunited with Sydney again and yet it seemed such a long time ago, all of those words said in DC, all the things that had happened, almost happened between them.
“I want to be a better person,” she explained, “I’m tired of only looking out for myself y’know?” Sydney sighed, shaking her head in confusion, a part of her felt so lost, had done ever since the attack on the airfield- No, before that, since sleeping with Eric, or maybe even before that… Ever since escaping from the compound in Gillette, ever since she watched her fellow Xi’s die right in front of her eyes.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she continued, settling her eyes somewhere in the distance, “but… when I was out on that airfield I felt that for the first time in ages I was doing something worthwhile and that felt so… indescribably good. I… I don’t want that feeling to just vanish into nothing. Does any of this make any sense?”
James nodded, “of course it does Syd, you’ve been looking for some meaning in your life ever since you were given the freedom to make your own choices.”
“Yes…” said Sydney vaguely, blinking suddenly as though waking from a dream. She looked up at James and smiled. “I really think that you can help me James, and I know I can trust you. I just don’t want to let you down. I really am the last person you could describe as ‘heroic’.”
“You know me Syd,” said James, looking at her hands and wondering whether he should reach out and try to reassure her. He felt inwardly angry at his own indecision, he had feelings for Sydney, he’d come to accept that and he’d also accepted that she could never feel for him the same way. The fragile, sickly woman he had nursed in that hotel room outside Washington wasn’t the same healthy, vivacious Sydney that sat in front of him now. He couldn’t keep thinking of her in such ways, hoping, imagining what it might be like to kiss her, to touch her, to lie in bed with her and watch her sleep… such thoughts would end up destroying him if he carried on.
“I’m the eternal optimist,” he said, standing up as a way to remedy his indecisive fidgeting. “I like to think the best of people, I have always believed that anyone is capable of changing themselves if they really want to.”
Sydney smiled again, her eyes following James as he walked to and fro. “I know, that’s why I know I can trust you with this. I know you’ll…” she grimaced uncomfortably, “help me… god you have no idea how hard that was to say.”
James chuckled, “I thought sorry was supposed to be the hardest word.”
“Not in my case,” said Sydney, “I guess I’ve never had to ask for help before, it’s much more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“Well you don’t have to worry about asking me,” said James seriously as he returned to his chair, sitting opposite Sydney. “I think it’s… well it’s beyond words this step you’re taking, wanting to help others. Who’d have thought it huh?”
“Certainly not me,” smiled Sydney, looking away almost as though she were shy of being praised in such a way. “It must be your influence, I’m sure I would never have come up with such an idea on my own. I should keep a close eye on you James Gates, I’ve a feeling being ‘round you is contrary to my own selfishness.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’ve yet to decide.”
James smiled again, looking away. The atmosphere had been distinctly flirtatious but then that had always been their way of communicating. “I actually had Jerry make something else… to go with your costume,” he said after a moment, standing again to go retrieve it.
“Oh, don’t say costume,” groaned Sydney as she watched him rise to his feet and start searching through Jerry’s numerous ‘inventions in process’. “Or I really will feel like some star spangled fighter for justice.”
James returned, carrying a box which he held out towards her. Sydney took it warily, removing the lid to reveal a black mask made out of the same material as the suit she was wearing. She sighed, taking it out of the box.
“A mask?” she said with more than a slight mocking tone to her voice. She held it up to her eyes, laughing. “Come on James, you don’t really expect me to wear this do you?”
“It has in-build infrared and night vision… unless you can see in the dark.”
“I have hypersensitive hearing, I don’t need to see in the dark,” retorted Sydney.
“Why don’t you just try it on?”
Sydney sighed, taking the mask from James and returning to the mirror. She pulled off her coat, twisting her long black hair up tightly at the back of her head before sliding the mask into place. Looking at her reflection, Sydney felt a strange tingle in her stomach unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It didn’t feel like herself staring back from behind the mask, this person in the mirror could be absolutely anyone. Sydney quite liked that feeling, as though she’d pulled a blank canvas over herself. She could be anyone she wanted to.
“It feels strange,” she said quietly, unable to remove her eyes from her reflection. Slowly she reached up to touch her face, feeling almost surprised that it was indeed herself.
“It looks good though,” said James softly, standing behind her. “Everyone is looking for either the woman on the video tape or Sydney King. Why should anyone believe that Vega City’s newest crime fighter is in anyway connected to either?”
“Crime fighter, I don’t think I’ll be able to get used to that either,” said Sydney, feeling that tingle in her stomach again.
“Well how about hero?” said James, looking up at her reflection in the mirror. “What do you think Sydney? Ready to become a hero?”
sol goes back to ric's
*** Thursday, December 4, 2003 - 11 am ***
Sol slipped into the house, clutching the tattered remnants of her costume in one hand and the bags Billy had gone back to the mall to rescue this morning. She’d been lucky that he’d found them for her, and that he’d been able to recover the pack which had held her clothes. Sol had changed and convinced him that he didn’t have to see her all the way back to Ric’s, although he’d been very reluctant to let her leave. *As reluctant as I was to go,* Sol admitted to herself. The morning she’d spent with Billy had been exciting and confusing and Sol really needed time to process it, but there was definitely a part of her that was really sorry to walk away from him. She had felt things with him that she’d never felt with anyone else, and she certainly wasn’t looking forward to seeing Ric now after all that had happened.
Ric heard the door open and close just as he was hanging up the phone after speaking to the police once again. Without hesitation, he flew into the entry way and stopped dead at the sight of Sol trying to quietly make her way inside.
“Well…where the hell have you been?” Ric didn’t even bother to try and hide the annoyance in his tone.
Sol stopped and smiled sheepishly at him. “Uhm…well…there was this thing…at the mall.”
“Yeah…the hostage ‘thing’?” Ric asked. “I saw something about it on the news last night. When I got back from searching the city for you, by the way. They mentioned that an ‘unknown metahuman’ had come on the scene and defused the situation and that she may or may not have been shot.”
Sol chewed her lip self consciously. She could see that he was very angry now, and she didn’t entirely blame him. He’d probably been very worried about her.
“Yeah…that was the thing,” Sol said. “And I was…shot. Some idiot guard lost his cool and tried to shoot the guy…the one with the bomb.”
“And he missed and hit you?” Ric asked, horrified.
“Well, no, not exactly,” Sol admitted.
“Then how did you get shot?” Ric asked. “What the hell happened, Sol? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you all night. I broke curfew to look at you. I barely got back her a little while ago.”
“You broke curfew?” Sol repeated. “That’s crazy. You could have been caught. They would have arrested you. Why would you do that?”
“I did it cause I was worried about you,” Ric replied. “I couldn’t just sit here waiting when I didn’t know if you were alright or if you were alive or dead or what.”
Sol nodded. She could understand what he was saying, and she felt really bad about putting him through all that. “Ric, if I could have called you, I would have. I just…I was sort of out of it most of the night. After the guard shot me…a friend of mine I met at the mall helped get me out of there. I had to rest and recuperate and I had to get some UV so that I could heal.”
“Okay…so why didn’t this friend call me?” he asked. “Didn’t she know I would be worried about you?”
Sol forced herself not to wince at his use of the word “she”. Ric had assumed that her friend was a girl. She hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t think it was a good time to correct his assumption now. Especially considering those fantastically sweet kisses she’d shared with Billy this morning. She needed some time to think things through and decide what she was going to do about Ric and Billy. Until she did that, it would only complicate things to tell either one about the other. A part of her felt enormously guilty at the thought of not being totally honest with both men, but she also just couldn’t figure out what to say right at this moment, so she let it slide.
“No…I don’t think so,” Sol replied. “And by the time I came to it was early this morning and I didn’t know what to say, so I decided to wait to talk to you when I could get back here. As soon as the curfew lifted my friend went and got me something to wear besides my costume and I headed back here. I’m sorry that you were so worried.”
“Worried?” Ric looked furious. “Damnit, Sol, I was scared to death. Even more so after I heard that story on the news. I thought that maybe you’d been shot and left for dead somewhere. Seriously, I’ve never been so scared. You…you need to be more careful. I know you feel strongly about this hero stuff, but you can’t go off and get in the middle of dangerous hostage situations. You don’t know what you’re doing. You could get yourself killed.”
Sol forced herself to remain calm as Ric lectured her. He didn’t understand why she wanted to be a hero, and he didn’t seem to respect her very much either. This was the second time in a matter of days that he’d treated her like a child. She knew that he was upset, but she still thought he sounded more like an angry parent then a concerned boyfriend. “I didn’t mean to get hurt, and I didn’t get hurt by the guy holding the hostages. I got hurt by some trigger happy security guard. The other guy I actually managed to convince to give up. He wasn’t really dangerous, just desperate and if I hadn’t been there then he’d probably be dead right now. I know that being a hero is dangerous, but I still have to do it. I have to. You just don’t get it, Ric.”
Ric sighed. She was so young and so very naïve. Sometimes he couldn’t believe she’d managed to survive so far without him around to look out for her. “I’m trying to, Sunshine. I’ve been trying to all along. I just don’t want to see you hurt. Especially not while you’re trying to help some norms that could give a damn less about you.”
Sol winced. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she said. “We’re all the same, no matter what our DNA might look like. I would help anyone in trouble, and I have a responsibility to do so, more than others, actually. I’m special Ric. We both are. We have powers and abilities that most people don’t. Because of that, we have a responsibility to do more. I honestly believe that.”
“I know you do,” Ric said. “I just don’t want you sacrificing yourself to your sense of duty.”
Ric moved across the hall towards her and drew her into his arms. He didn’t notice her reluctance. “I care about you, Sunshine.”
Sol suppressed a sigh. “I know,” she said softly. She didn’t move or push Ric away. She felt really bad about how upset he’d been because of her and really guilty that he’d endangered himself to look for her while she was perfectly safe with another man.
Ric pulled back and lifted a hand to cup her chin. He smiled to show that everything was okay again and then bent his head, brushing his lips across hers. Sol stood very still and tried not to compare his kiss to Billy’s. Ric stroked her back gently and expertly nibbled at her mouth with his own.
When Ric finally pulled away from her mouth, Sol smiled weakly up at him. “I…I’m pretty tired,” she said. “Would you mind if I went and laid down for a while?”
“No…go ahead,” Ric replied. “They’re opening the airports tomorrow, by the way. They announced it this morning.”
“Really?” Sol was suddenly very relieved. “That’s great. I’ll have to start trying to get a flight home.”
“I already took care of it,” Ric replied. “You fly out tomorrow afternoon.”
Sol stopped. “Oh…well…thanks,” she said, feeling even more guilty. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“It was no trouble,” Ric said. “Family connections come in handy sometimes.”
Sol nodded. She made a production of yawning loudly. “Alright, go get some rest,” Ric said, laughing softly. “I’ll see you later on tonight.”
Sol moved down the hall to her room, trying very hard not to think about Billy and the fiasco her love life was turning into. Once she got to her “room” though, she climbed up on the bed, clutched the pillow to her chest and closed her eyes, letting her imagination have full reign as she relived the kisses she’d shared in a shabby apartment across town.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
Monday, 15th December 2003
Las Vegas McCarren Airport
To an untrained observer, McCarren International Airport was going about its usual business with about the same degree of bustle as it always did. Perhaps there were more people than usual just milling about, but most visitors didn’t necessarily notice. That those milling about seemed to be in small clumps, one from each group peeling off occasionally to double-check the arrival times of flights from Washington, went unremarked by the great quantity of passengers and other visitors to the airport. The untrained eye wouldn’t pay especial attention to the large cameras around the necks of some of those people – after all, tourists often carry cameras.
Captain Eugene O’Malley was not an untrained observer, and he knew exactly what was going on.
“Damn press,” he muttered under his breath as he waited for the plane to land and disgorge its passengers. Somehow they’d got wind of Ms Hartson leaving Washington and had gathered like seagulls to a picnic in the hopes of a small crumb or two. O’Malley chuckled. Having seen what ‘Gabriel’ looked like without that interminable glow, he wondered how she’d gone unnoticed until now. Silver-blue hair, even in Las Vegas, tended to stand out.
He straightened a little as the first of the passengers from her flight began to pour out of the gangway. The journalists surged forwards almost as a group, and idly O’Malley wondered if anyone had performed a flocking pattern simulator on the press, and if so, whether it would match that of pigeons in the park.
Then the object of the journalists’ obsession came into view, and the hubbub rose to a roar as they all began calling out questions. Cameras flashed and microphones suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. O’Malley slowly began to saunter towards the knot of humanity that had erupted in a feeding frenzy, watching to see what Ms Hartson did.
The jackals were back, it seemed. Mel hadn’t seen this sort of frenzy since the first week after the hearings but though the intensity was higher than she’d had to deal with recently Mel had become used to these sorts of scrums. She fixed her eyes on her destination, avoided making eye contact with any of the reporters and kept repeating a litany of ‘No Comment’. It didn’t help a great deal but she slowly moved forward surrounded by a swirl of cameras, microphones and tape recorders.
“Ms Hartson, what do you have to say about the allegations that you’re a Soviet spy?”
“Ms Hartson, the people of Las Vegas have polled 65% against having you live in this city. What’s your response?”
“Ms Hartson, is it true you’ve been contracted to fly nuclear missiles into the sun?”
“Ms Hartson, how do you feel about…?”
“Ms Hartson, what is it like to…?”
“Ms Hartson, what do your family think…?”
“Ms Hartson, what’s your stance on…?”
“Ms Hartson…?”
“Ms Hartson…?”
“Ms Hartson…?”
“Okay, boys and girls, that’s enough. Ms Hartson has just had a long flight, and needs her rest. I’m sure if you’re interested, she might release a press statement later.” Captain O’Malley held up his badge as he forced his way through the tightly-knit bodies to reach Melissa, who continued to forge ahead as best she could.
“Captain O’Malley, will you still be working with…?”
“Captain O’Malley, what’s the police force’s official stand on…?”
“Captain O’Malley…?”
“Ms Hartson, what’s your relationship with Cap…?”
O’Malley’s gruff voice rose above the clamour. “The answer to everything is ‘no comment’. Now make a path.”
Cameras still flashed and the questions still hurtled forth at an inhuman rate, but with his hand on Melissa’s elbow, O’Malley was able to quicken the pace considerably as the press slowly thinned out before them.
“Don’t worry about your luggage,” he murmured quietly, “I’ll arrange for someone to collect it. Let’s just get you out of here. You’re something of a local legend nowadays.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do this. In fact,” Mel hadn’t really paid attention to the reporters’ questions. She had heard just about every variation already but some of the ones directed at O’Malley were new. “Putting yourself in the firing line seems a bad idea.”
O’Malley simply shook his head. He nabbed an airport official as they passed by, and arranged for Mel’s bags to be picked up. Trailing a bevy of reporters behind them O’Malley maintained his silence, not speaking further until they had left the terminal building, skirted the television cameras waiting outside, and were safely ensconced in his car.
“Ms Hartson, I’m already in the firing line, as you put it. Since your appearance before the Senate Committee, my connection to you has been the subject of much local speculation.” His curt tone gentled somewhat as he continued. “However, ‘Gabriel’ has been a great help to me in the past, so I thought it only polite that I should meet you – properly.”
*Damn! Someone else I hadn’t thought about.* O’Malley had been present at all of her appearances assisting the LVPD – of course someone was going to notice and ask questions.
*When are you going to stop being surprised about this?*
*Pardon?*
*Everyone you know is going to have to deal with you ‘coming out’.*
The silence had gone on. “I’m sorry,” she said, though it was unclear exactly what Mel was apologising about. She took a breath. “Look, someone needed to step up to the plate and I didn’t see anyone else volunteering. If that’s caused you problems I’m sorry, but…”
It was a speech Mel had given before and the repetition worried her. How many people had she hurt revealing herself. Had it really been for the best?
“Hey, hey. If I was upset, do you think I would have put my face in front of all those cameras today? I mean, I can only imagine what the headlines will be saying tomorrow. No, I can understand your reasons for doing what you did. It was a gutsy move. And in a way, it won’t hurt the LVPD to have such a high-profile personality helping out – assuming the fame hasn’t gone to your head and you can still deal with small-fry like me.” The corners of O’Malley’s eyes crinkled, though otherwise he kept a straight face, and it was only Mel’s poker training that convinced her he’d just told a joke.
“Fame? What’s fame got to do with it? It’s just jackals trying to sell air time, looking for the next piece of juicy gossip. God save me from fame. All I want is to do some good; to stop the whole edifice from crashing down and…” Mel stopped talking with a snap of her jaw.
*Dammit!* She could feel the tears building behind her eyes. It was so hard. There was no one to talk to. Ela was in a coma and Nic could barely deal with Mel’s status as a Metahuman as it was. Mel couldn’t very well tell her the fate of the human race was on Mel’s shoulders. Blinking the tears away she slammed her control back in place and looked at O’Malley from behind a perfect poker face. “As for small fry; as long as you can keep up.”
“You know, even without that forcefield of yours you still do a good job of hiding. But some of your chinks are starting to show.” O’Malley set his jaw and concentrated on driving out of the busy airport traffic.
“And I’m afraid I have to add to your burdens. Uh, your neighbours have been making complaints about the flocks of reporters hanging about your house. But unless they actually assault you or get into your house there’s not a lot I can do about them. And… most of the casinos are saying they want to ban you. Seems they think you’ll use your superpowers to cheat. But on the up side, you probably won’t have to wait in line at the checkout any more.”
“Well the reporters I pretty much expected, though I doubt I can do much more to appease my neighbours than you can. As for the casinos, I’d thought about that and my lawyer,” Mel’s lips quirked at the thought of Chris Delaney, “has prepared a few documents that should head it off. If not I can always sue for discrimination.” Mel smiled, “And you’re right; it’s not all doom and gloom.”
“That’s the spirit.” O’Malley paused, the silence stretching out for several long, uncomfortable moments as he inserted the car into the freeway traffic and accelerated. “Uh, there’s one other thing… It seems there are some guys in suits who have been asking about you. Government types, I’m guessing. Not really sure what they want, though I can hazard a guess.”
“Probably what everyone else wants.” Mel’s eyes tracked the cars around them for a second or two then she shrugged. “The government will get its claws in me soon enough, when the MRA goes through. It sounds like someone wants to get ahead of the curve. I’ll be careful but…” Mel shrugged again, there wasn’t that much she could do to avoid them.
The silence between them lingered while Mel ran over what she needed to do when she got home. There would be friends to reassure, she needed to talk to Karl and now that she was openly a meta she could sort out something with Mike… Mel blinked for a second. She was fairly certain Mike wouldn’t mind helping her out but it would, she had no doubt, make things difficult for him. There was, however, possibly another option.
“Captain. Could I ask you a favour?”
“Hell, why not? Who knows, I might even say yes.”
“I need to work on my precision…” She raised her hands a little but didn’t ignite her powers. “I’m a member of a gun club but the owner’s a friend. I don’t want to put him through the sort of trouble having me practise my powers on his range is going to cause.” Mel stopped; she was over-explaining. “Basically, do you think the LVPD would let me use their range occasionally?”
O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t mind causing me trouble, I see.” As Mel opened her mouth to protest, he lifted a hand and stopped her with a small chuckle. “It’s okay, I understand. Use the range, eh? Hmmm...”
Stopping for a red light, O’Malley took the opportunity to rub a hand tiredly over his face. “Well, I should be able to convince the higher ups that if we’re going to continue to use you as a ‘consultant’ we should ensure you’re, uh, appropriately trained. But a normal gun isn’t-”
He stopped and glanced sharply at Mel. A horn blared behind him, and O’Malley turned his attention back to the road, driving through the now-green light. “I have to ask – do you intend to use it as a standard firing range, or would we need to install extra insulation?”
“I don’t think so. Like I said, I need to work on precision. I’m not going to be flinging high explosives downrange, they’re a little indiscriminate. For that matter so is the lance. No, I’ll just be using the simple energy bolts and as far as I can tell any decent backstop should hold up to those. I’ll have to figure something else out for the spheres and lance. But I’m still waiting on the federal licence for those anyway.”
O’Malley grunted and adjusted his thinking. Of course Mel wouldn’t be using the firing range with a pistol, or even a rifle. He wasn’t sure how the brass would take to the suggestion that a metahuman be allowed to use her superpowers on the range. For that matter, he wasn’t sure how his men would take it. Still, most of his men had grown to respect Mel, just as he had, and he was sure he could talk them around.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he responded eventually, “But I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Thanks.” Mel relaxed; it had been a long shot that O’Malley would be willing to help and as he had said there was no guarantee but she’d prefer to practise somewhere a little less public. Unnoticed during the conversation, they’d finally almost reached her home and as O’Malley pulled into her street Mel saw a half dozen TV vans and at least three times as many reporters.
“Here we go again,” Mel sighed. “Get as close to the house as you can, please.” She really didn’t need to tell O’Malley that but Mel was suddenly struck by nerves. Seeing the reporters gathered around her home was a shock despite how often she had experienced similar scenes.
As soon as O’Malley turned up Mel’s driveway, the reporters began flocking towards them, microphones out-thrust before them as they all tried to shout over the others. Inside the car, O’Malley switched off the ignition and turned to Mel, ignoring the clamouring faces pressed up against the windows of the car.
“Right. I’m assuming you don’t want to say anything to these guys just yet. I can help fend them off a bit. Do you have a padlock on that gate to your back yard?”
“Actually? No.” She looked defensively at O’Malley. “Look, so I’m not quite prepared for the mess my life has become… I’ll fight my way to the door, go inside and close all the curtains. Then I’ll figure out what to do next.”
“Fine, but at least let me make sure you get to that door in one piece. I insist.” O’Malley’s tone brooked no argument.
“Sure…” Mel waited for O’Malley to get out and force his way round to her side of the car. Taking a deep breath she opened the door. The meaningless noise that had penetrated the car jumped in volume and resolved into various shouted questions. Mel ignored them, not even bothering to say “No comment” as she followed in the wake of O’Malley. At the door Mel fumbled her key for a moment before unlocking the door. The reporters around them surged momentarily before O’Malley managed to hold them back.
“Thanks.” It was all she could say, anything else would no doubt be utterly misconstrued. O’Malley replied with a nod and Mel managed to get the door closed. She leant against it with a sigh and heard the Police Captain forge his way back to the car. When she heard the engine start up she turned to face the house. The red light of her answering machine was blinking ‘99’.
Mel walked over to the machine and took a long look at those lights. Her hand lingered for a moment over the play button but in the end she just hit delete. Mel headed upstairs, she was just too tired to deal with it all today.
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
9:51am 20th December 2003
George Washington University Hospital
Washington D.C.
It wasn’t really possible for Mel to sneak anywhere right now, but conscious of what had originally brought Ela to the states Mel had done her best. She realised her coming to see Ela hadn’t been secret – too many medical staff had seen her visit the first time and when The Illuminati had sorted out Ela’s medical cover they’d put down Mel as the next of kin. It made sense, but now that Mel had gone public it put Ela at risk.
Mel stepped out of her taxi from the hotel and sighed in relief. No reporters, unlike at the airport last night. Mel switched the bouquet of flowers into the other hand and resettled the small fruit selection under her arm. The hospital hadn’t said a great deal about Ela’s condition and she might not be able to eat the fruit but this was a hospital; it wouldn’t go to waste. There were the obligatory stares when she walked into reception, even a couple of half heard whispers hidden behind hands but the nurse behind the desk with commendable sang-froid merely looked as if she’d dealt with famous metahumans all her life.
“I’m here to see Athela Buchanan.” Mel gave the name its correct pronunciation and smiled at the nurse, setting the flowers down on the counter as she did so.
“And you are?”
That was enough to stop Mel momentarily. It seemed she had already grown used to people knowing who she was. With a self conscious grin and a half laugh she replied, “Melissa Hartson, I’m noted as next of kin.”
The nurse made a show of checking her records while Mel waited impatiently. She was on the records and how difficult would it be to match the name to her appearance? Still she saw no need to make a scene.
“Could I…” The nurse paused. “Miss Buchanan is in room 314.” She pointed to her right. “Third floor. Turn right as you come out of the elevators and the room on the right had side just as the corridor takes a left.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem Miss Hartson.”
Mel picked up Ela’s zinnias and followed the directions, coming a few minutes later to the door to Ela’s room. Mel steeled herself. When she’d visited Ela just after the Senate hearings she’d been in intensive care and had looked awful. She hoped four weeks of healing had helped.
Ela mumbled through cracked lips at the knock on her door then tried a second time, a little louder, when there was no response. The door opened a crack and Mel’s head peered tentatively around the corner. For the first time since her awakening two… or was it three? No, two days ago, Ela felt something besides pain and discomfort.
“Mel,” she croaked, smiling lopsidedly around the tube that snaked up into one nostril. “They told me they’d contacted you.”
Well, it wasn’t as bad as before; the bruises were gone, obviously, even the deep purple ones around her throat. The skin on her face that had been once marred by cuts and scratches looked almost as good as new, if a little pink. Outwardly there was no sign of the broken ribs or fractured vertebrae but Mel knew they were there, just like the ruptured kidneys and intestines that had almost cost Ela her life. The doctors had said that now that Ela had woken up she was out of any real danger. All she needed now was to rest and recuperate and Mel intended for Ela’s convalescence to start in Vegas as soon as humanly possible.
Mel walked over to the bed. “Hiya El. Yeah the doctors called me last night, once they were sure you’d really woken up.” Mel put the flowers down and took hold of Ela’s hand. Suddenly it seemed hard to breathe and Mel was forced to blink back tears as the reality of Ela being awake sank in.
For her part, Ela cast around awkwardly for something to say in the face of Mel’s emotion. She thought of and discarded half a dozen not-so-funny lines and settled instead for patting Mel’s hand and smiling faintly.
“So, um, what’s been going on lately? They won’t tell me much here – all I’ve learned is that some sort of bio-weapon hit a bunch of people and most of ’em died.” Ela dropped her voice. “One of the nurses kept asking questions about you yesterday, but I pretended to fall asleep.”
“You remember the message Sara gave me? Well, Earthrage had a bunch of crop sprayers filled with Mutaxin. They set off the riots to distract everyone then were going to spray the city.” Mel looked away from Ela, her voice becoming flat and distant. “We stopped all but two on the ground and I got one in the air but… The fatality rate for Mutaxin is about ten percent. And they got about a tenth of the city.”
Mel shrugged. “Anyway, there was a lot of media hoopla about the whole thing and a senate enquiry… Which I gave evidence to.” The last came in a rush and Mel fell silent, seemingly concerned for Ela’s response.
“You… they… one percent of the whole city?” Ela’s mind tried to grasp the enormity of Mel’s bald statements, but it all seemed like some sort of dream. Slowly she worked through the implications, her fuzzy brain putting the pieces together. “So, a few thousand people died from Mutaxin poisoning – did any of the others mutate? Some should... But it would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stopped most of the planes. And this enquiry – was it to thank you for saving the city or was it to crucify you for being a meta?”
Ela’s shock brought it back for Mel: there had been over six thousand people killed in the attack. A tragedy on a scale America had never witnessed before. Now that the shock was dying down the calls that ‘something must be done’ were becoming louder.
“A little of both. Douglass and Layman were on the committee. Douglass seemed to want to let it flow. Layman – well, I was a red rag to a bull. He went on the attack. I got pretty strident in return. Stanley says I did pretty well. He even sent me a tape.” That drew a grimace from Mel. “Well, worldwide broadcasts have a tendency to make people overnight celebrities. I guess the name got noticed and I’ve visited before too.”
“So… you’re a mega-meta-star now, huh? I’ll bet that’s stirred the debate no end.” Ela began to cough and had to press her hands to her stomach to cushion the convulsions. Her back still ached abominably and the slightest movement sent shooting pains down her spine.
“It’s okay,” Ela said as the coughs subsided. Mel had half-risen and was biting her lip in concern. “My muscles are really weak, is all, so it hurts to move much. The doctors said I’d be starting physio today.” She gave a half-hearted grin. “That’s what I get for being lazy and lying around for a month.” She glanced down at her hands and flexed them slightly. “I wish…”
“You wish what?” Mel’s tone was sharper than it should be, she knew, but the evidence of just how injured Ela remained had unsettled her. “There’s nothing you can do but get better.”
Ela couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just like anyone else would, one slow day at a time. These,” she held up her hands, “don’t work for me.”
She turned her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” Ela paused and with an effort of will she brightened her tone, “So, how’s it going back in Vegas? Did Sol get home okay? How’s it feel to be a celebrity?”
That wasn’t what Ela had been thinking, Mel was sure, but if she wasn’t going to press the issue neither was Mel. “Vegas is… Vegas. I’m rapidly turning into another attraction and once the casinos figured out people actually wanted to try their hand with me I’ve been offered more sweetheart deals than you can shake a stick at. Sol’s… Sol’s good. She’s coming down over Christmas so if I can convince the docs to let me take you home you two can catch up.”
Genuinely brightening, Ela struggled to sit a little more upright. “Really? Christmas? That’d be great… but…” She glanced down at herself then back up at Mel. “It’s only a few days away… I can’t even stand for more than ten minutes without collapsing in a heap. But it’d be nice to be closer to you. Maybe they’d transfer me to a hospital in Vegas.”
Actually, what Ela really wanted was to go home to Mum. She felt as frail as that bird she’d found when she was five, and her mother had first shown her how to use her powers. All she really wanted was for her mother to hold her and comfort her. *And she could make me better, too.* Ela gave a wistful sigh, then blinked at her friend.
“Sorry, Mel. What did you just say?”
Mel smiled in mock exasperation at Ela. “I said I think I can convince the doctors your convalescence would go better if you were at home. Summerlin is more than up to dealing with your care and there’s no need for you to be in Washington.” Mel’s voice dropped a little lower. “To be honest I’d be happier with you being closer. I can’t...”
“Can’t what? Protect me? I’m not a child, Mel.” Instantly regretting her sharp tone, Ela closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as she could without hurting, which wasn’t much. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I really am grateful for how you took me in and all that. It’s just… sometimes you’re more of a mum than Mum.”
Mel frowned. “Can we say over-protective big sister rather than mum? I’m not that old. I know I can be a little… but for all we know there’s still people out there who want to kidnap you. I’d be happier knowing I was close enough to do something about it if they tried again.” Mel ran her hands through her hair. “Although considering all the hoopla at the moment maybe you coming home is a bad idea.”
“Hmm.” Ela said nothing for a while, simply concentrating on breathing in and out as her different fears warred with each other. Finally, in a small voice, she said, “But I don’t really like it here much. Nobody comes to visit…”
Mel looked at Ela for a moment. Ela needed her family, not the short friendship they’d developed – but with the threat potentially hanging over her, Mel couldn’t see a reunion anytime soon. “Come back to Vegas, I’ll try and give you a little more… more space. It’s probably a good idea since I might be your greatest risk factor right now. And if I’m… smothering you, you need to say something…”
Biting her lip, Ela did her best not to let tears fill her eyes. “No, no, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Mel. I’m just frightened, and hurt, and nothing here is familiar… At least with you I will feel safe. Hey,” Ela brightened her tone, “maybe if I’m a good girl and do all my physio, I’ll be able to ride your bike again soon.”
“Sure. I mean, your doctor isn’t going to have a fit when you mention riding a racing bike. Still, what they don’t know can’t hurt them,” Mel replied in good humour but she did wonder how long it would be before Ela was really up to riding her Ducatti.
Ela’s smile was crooked around the tube up her nose. “You’ll just have to get me out of here first. I’m kinda done with Washington, I think.”
sundance on patrol
*** Saturday, December 18, 2003 ***
With a grunt, Sundance settled the last of the bank robbers next to his partners on the sidewalk before the police station. She double checked that the ropes she’d used to tie them all up were secure and that the end she’d attached to the telephone pole was secure as well. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she dashed down the street and into a nearby alleyway. Sundance found a fire escape and climbed to the top of a building and then began running from rooftop to rooftop at great speed. This was her preferred method of “patrolling” the city, as it allowed her to move freely without running the risk of being seen by anyone. She was able to jump very far thanks to a combination of her Meta abilities and the years of cheer and dance training she had under her belt.
As she scanned the city for any other crimes waiting to be stopped, Sundance couldn’t keep her mind fully focused on her task. She’d been home only two weeks and tomorrow morning she was leaving again. It was too dangerous to travel all the way across the country to visit her parents as there had been some stories about suspected metas being accosted at airports and though there was no reason anyone would suspect Sol Munroe of anything, still both she and her parents felt more comfortable with her being grounded for the time being. So, for the Christmas holiday, Sol had made plans to drive out to Vegas and visit her friends. She’d be able to take some time to catch up with Mel on a first hand basis, and hopefully to see Ela as well. Ric had made arrangements for her to stay at one of his parents’ resorts and although Sol wasn’t totally comfortable with that idea, she’d been unable to find a way to tell him that.
Sol was more confused than she’d been when she’d left Washington. She’d not seen Ric, but she spoke to him often. He was always calling to check up on her and he wanted detailed accounts of how she spent her time. Sol found it more than a little annoying and perhaps even a bit creepy. Still, she felt like she couldn’t call things off with Ric at this time of the year, especially as she was being less than completely honest with him.
*Billy,* Sol thought, a warm glow spreading through her despite her best efforts to ignore it. She’d been spending a lot of her down time with the other Meta. He was close by, living here in the city, and Sol found he was someone she could talk to about her problems and her concerns without fear of being judged. Billy understood all too well the dangers and difficulties of being a metahuman in today’s society. He listened to her without trying to tell her what to do. Ric was always trying to talk her out of her choice to be a hero, or to convince her that his opinions about people and metahumanity were right and that hers were wrong. Billy might not understand why she did the things she did, but he at least seemed to admire her for them. Ric treated her like a child, acted as if she was far too naïve and trusting. It rubbed Sol the wrong damn way every time.
Coming to a stop on the roof of her building, Sol took a deep breath. It was getting pretty late, and the city seemed to be quieting down. She figured it was probably safe to get back to her place and grab a few hours sleep before she had to head out. The drive to Vegas was going to take 6 hours or so, and Ric had been very concerned that she give him an exact time that she would be arriving. If she left around ten tomorrow, Sol figured, barring any traffic tie ups, she’d be arriving around two in the afternoon. Driving alone, though, meant she needed to be well rested, so she really should call it an early night.
Sol opened up the door to the stairwell and slipped inside. Once inside the dimly lit hall, Sol slipped the domino from her face and paused to stretch. She really was suddenly exhausted.
Sol stepped out onto her floor and turned towards her door. She just barely managed to stifle the urge to shout in surprise when she found a man standing there.
“Surprise, Sunshine,” Ric’s eyes roamed her gold clad form appreciatively, before stopping on her face. He was positively beaming.
“Ric?” Sol was utterly shocked. “What are you doing here? Is there something wrong?”
Ric laughed softly before stepping forward and slipping his arm around her waist. “Wrong? No…why would anything be wrong?”
“I…I thought you were going to meet me at the hotel tomorrow afternoon,” Sol replied, forcing herself not to fidget as his hand stroked the bare flesh of her side.
“I couldn’t wait,” Ric bent down the capture her mouth in a kiss. His tongue played across her lips and Sol nearly pushed him away. She made herself relax and accept his kiss.
*You’re nuts, you know that,* Sol berated herself. *A couple of weeks ago, you were hot and heavy with him, and now, suddenly you’re what? Repulsed? You are truly losing it.*
Before Ric’s wandering hands could wander any farther, Sol pulled back. “Uhm…maybe we should go in,” she suggested, worrying about the wisdom of the suggestion as soon as the words left her mouth.
Ric smirked. “Yeah…I guess so. This is a bit…public, and we wouldn’t want to upset your neighbors.”
Sol slipped her hand into the secret pocket sewn into her halter top and pulled out her house key. She unlocked the door, ignoring her own apprehension, and opened it so that Ric could precede her inside. She shut the door behind them and turned towards the living room, where Ric stood near the sofa, obviously checking her place out. Sol winced.
There were a couple of plates and cups stacked haphazardly on the coffee table from dinner. She’d not had time to wash up before heading out on patrol. *Mostly cause you were making out with Billy right up until you had to leave,* Sol reminded herself. She felt that flash flood of guilt all the way down to her toes.
“A little behind on the housekeeping?” Ric asked, turning to her with an amused grin. “I’m surprised, Sunshine. I would have figured you for a neat freak.”
Sol laughed nervously and moved around him to pick up the dishes and hustle them into the kitchen. “I’ve just been busy,” she said. “Normally I try to keep this place fairly clean. Especially if I’m going to have a guest.”
“Not that I was expecting you,” she added under her breath as she began to rinse off the plates and cups and slide them into the dishwasher. Sol was feeling more tired than ever, but she couldn’t very well just fall into bed now. Ric would surely try to follow, considering how amorous he’d been in the hall. She definitely didn’t want that.
“Do you always do housework in that outfit?” There was laughter in Ric’s voice as he watched her from the doorway of the tiny kitchen.
Sol glanced down at herself and grimaced. She’d forgotten she was still in costume. There was water splashed on her bare midriff. She turned off the faucet and dropped the plate she’d been rinsing into the dishwasher. She closed the appliance and turned towards Ric.
“No…not usually,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “Sorry…Babe. I guess I frazzled you a bit, just showing up like this.”
“A bit, maybe,” Sol agreed.
Ric held his arms out for her. “It’s okay. Come here, Sunshine.”
Hoping he couldn’t tell how nervous and hesitant she was feeling, Sol stepped into his embrace. Ric cradled her close, his hands gliding up and down her bare back. He bent his head and inhaled, moaning softly. “You smell so good.”
Sol felt guilt flare inside her. He was so sweet. He cared so much for her. But…there was Billy…and he cared for her too. It was all so confusing. She liked Ric…well…she had before anyway. Now…she really liked Billy. Being with him made her feel happy. Just talking to Ric made her feel nervous and frustrated.
Sol stood still for just a moment, torn by indecision, and then pushed Ric away. “I…I need to change. You can sleep on the couch if you like. Then we can head out in the morning.”
Ric nodded, smiled charmingly. “Sure, Sunshine. Whatever you want to do, though I wouldn’t be adverse to sharing your bed tonight.”
Sol blinked in surprise. Ric had always been very adamant about taking their time. She hadn’t expected him to suggest they sleep together and she had no idea how to handle it. “Uh…uhm…”
Ric laughed loudly. He reached out to gently stroke her arm. “I’m just kidding. I know you’re not ready for that just yet. I can wait. I can wait as long as you need. You’re my girl, and I don’t want to rush you, Sunshine. Go…get ready for bed. I’ll be here in the morning.”
Sol nodded weakly and turned to hurry out of the room. She felt like she’d been given a reprieve. Once inside her bedroom, Sol leaned against the door and tried very hard to push the image of her and Billy tangled up on the sofa out of her head. She’d just let Ric believe she wasn’t ready for anything serious with him, but the truth was Sol thought she was already serious about someone else. How had she gotten into this mess, and more importantly, how did she get out of it?
rj discusses his plans
*** December 22, 2003***
On the small monitor of his laptop, Sundance moved quickly, taking down the armed men at the bank without endangering the innocent bystanders. RJ watched, a frown creasing his handsome features. The little hero was very good. She had obviously had more than a little training in hand to hand combat, but she also had a good sense of how a situation should be handled. RJ closed the file he was viewing and picked another from the dozen or so he had saved on his hard drive. The investigator he’d hired was doing an excellent job of keeping track of San Diego’s “golden girl.” With time, RJ would know everything there was to know.
“You’re watching her again, aren’t you?” Leslie’s voice cut into his thoughts. Without even thinking about it, RJ closed the file which was playing and shut his laptop. He grinned at Leslie, his most charming naughty little boy grin, the one she had never been able to resist.
“I’m not ‘watching’ her, I’m studying her, Les,” RJ said. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous. She’s the key. I have to know as much as I can before we can make our next move. You know that.”
Leslie sighed. “I’m not jealous, RJ. I’m concerned. You know…you need to be careful here. You’re interest in that girl…it borders on obsession. We’ve talked about this before.”
RJ controlled the urge to snap at Dr. Summers. He’d heard this before, but the thing was, Leslie just didn’t understand. “I’m not obsessed with her, Les. She’s just very important to my plans. You know this. She’s the reason I’m here, after all. You’re the one who was there when I found out about her, about what my parents did. Why is it that I still have to explain this to you? She’s to blame for all of this. For my being here, for my being denied my birthright. I will get what’s mine, and I’ll make sure she gets what she deserves too.”
Leslie nodded. She understood all too well why RJ felt the way he did. She was his psychiatrist after all. She knew his innermost thoughts and feelings. She knew what motivated the young man, and she understood, for the most part. RJ had deep resentments due to the abandonment he suffered by his parents. The Munroes had been unable, or perhaps more accurately, unwilling to deal with RJ’s unique needs. They had been frightened by their son’s abilities and more than a little frightened of RJ himself. Leslie could almost understand that. Despite her love for the young man, at times even she felt the faintest stirrings of fear. There was a darkness inside of RJ Munroe that more than matched the one he created with his meta abilities. He was capable of violence, of that Leslie was sure. She just trusted that he would never harm her. She trusted in their love. She worried sometimes, but she trusted nonetheless.
“I do understand. You know I do. I agree with you, and I’m here to support you,” Leslie replied. “You’re right. I just…I worry about you, my love. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
Leslie moved forward, settling herself on the foot of RJ’s bed. She reached out and rubbed RJ’s neck, looking concerned and sympathetic.
“Sorry, Les,” RJ looked sheepish, rolling his head under her skilled touch. “I’m too sensitive sometimes. It’s just so hard to wait. We’ve waited so long already.”
Leslie nodded, leaning over to press her mouth to RJ’s. Her lips moved over his in a tender kiss. Leaning back, Leslie pressed her forehead to his and sighed. “It’s nearly time. We’re almost there.”
RJ nodded. He set the laptop aside and drew Leslie closer. He kissed her passionately, his arms closing around her. Leslie let herself slide into the warmth of his embrace, pushing her fears and concerns to the back of her mind.
A Meeting
10 March 2004
Vega City
2:44am
Alexander groaned again on the couch, clutching a bad of ice to his head. Sara had moved him there almost as soon as Caracalla left, and retrieved her weapon as well: it was one of the mysterious pistols which found its way onto the market. For all the good it would do her; Sara wasn’t sure if Caracalla returned as a threat she could make a move against him in time, so it was mainly to help reassure Alexander.
“I feel like someone hit me with a truck,” he said, eyes shut.
“Actually it was more of a steel pipe,” Sara replied steadily. Alexander groaned again, as though complaining was too much effort. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if the man was suffering from a concussion, and probably needed medical attention.
“Don’t worry - I’ve already called someone to help.”
“Someone to give me a new head?” The humour was lost on Sara, not that that was surprising at all to him. Still he waited as Sara moved to the door, not even hearing the knock there. If only that constant throb would go away. If only he could sleep. Vaguely, he heard the voices, and something that sounded like ‘what happened to him’ being asked.
“I was just having my skull reshaped,” Alexander managed to raise his voice sarcastically.
Sara turned back to face James Gates, having just let him in. “Attacked is more accurate,” she said. “It would be prudent to call a doctor for him, though I don’t know any we can trust. Hence, my calling you first.”
“Don’t worry about it I know someone who can be here soon enough,” said James, grimacing slightly at Alexander’s injuries before taking his cell phone out of his jacket and dialling a number. It was late but he knew exactly who to call, Vega City was the kind of place where you could pretty much get anything and anyone you wanted if you were prepared to pay.
Sydney had been lingering in the hallway, making sure that their late night visit hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention. Ever since she’d started the whole ‘super hero’ gig three months ago she’d been waging a constant battle between trying to help people and maintain her anonymity at the same time. James’s disguise and making sure she was light on her feet had kept her out of the spotlight so far, but things were getting tougher.
Sydney cast a final glance out the window. Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed she entered the room, raising a speculative eyebrow at the man sprawled out on the couch.
“So just who’s been using your head for baseball practice?” she asked, casting a curious glance at Sara. She still wasn’t entirely sure that she trusted the AI, but ever since they had taken down Observer her opinion of Sara had shifted to the point that she was at least willing to cut her some slack.
“That’s a rather complicated story,” Sara said, looking at the two of them. Again Caracalla’s words were something worth considering. Would they become enemies as he all but implied they would? Or would they still be able to find a way to work together? It was a question she would have to get answered.
Still, if she wanted their trust, she would have to be forthright and honest with them. “It was Caracalla. He decided that he needed to talk to me alone, and the best way to ensure that would happen was to make Alexander unconscious.” With the other’s apparently newly developed view of humanity, she was surprised that was all he did.
Which brought her to the one question she had to ask. “I have to know something. Do you think it’s possible for you to live with the thought that your species is going to eventually create a machine race?” It was something she considered even more while waiting, and had come to the conclusion that it was an inevitability. Humans wouldn’t stop playing with Artificial Intelligence because of a few problems, and as you increased time, the probability approached 1 that you would get an A.I. who was self-aware, able to grow beyond its own programming, and self-replicate.
“Not just you. W.A.I.T. is looking for me, or so I’ve been told. Which makes me wonder if humanity can accept that Artificial Intelligence is something you won’t be able to rigidly control, that we will grow beyond our original programming.”
James scratched the back of his neck ponderously, Sara sure had a knack for always asking the most difficult questions. “Well…” he began uneasily, what was he seriously going to say? He was known for being the eternal optimist but even he had to admit that mankind wasn’t exactly understanding when it came to those it saw as a threat. The recent Meta issue was clear evidence of that.
“Humans are afraid of anything that is different Sara,” interrupted Sydney with an air of finality. “Anything that might be seen to threaten their way of life will be hunted down and either forced into submission or destroyed.”
“Sydney…”
She turned to face James as he called her name, her dark eyes boring into his. “Come on James even you have to admit it’s true. The only way Meta’s or Machines or anyone who is different can live a peaceful life with regular humans is to hide their differences and pretend to be one of them.”
“Maybe in time…” added James, digging his hands into his pockets. “I really do believe that eventually there’ll be a concordance, there has to be.” He sighed in exasperation, “I’m a ‘regular human’ after all, and I don’t stand alone in my beliefs. I do think that there can be peace between us all, one day.”
Even though they had probably moved to discussing Meta Humans, Sara could see the parallel with her own situation. The problem was that there were far too many unknowns here. What sort of ambitions, on the whole, would they form if given the opportunity? Still Sydney did have a point about the human tendancy to seek to eliminate anything perceived as a threat. As of the moment, she had to suspend judgement and bide her time.
“’Peace’ may not be possible with Caracalla out there,” she remarked, coming to a decision. “He has concluded that a war between us is inevitable. In that case, the most prudent course of action is to wipe out humanity before they wipe us out. I don’t know what exactly he plans to do, but it is likely that he will act on this conclusion.”
“Great, a genocidal machine,” Alexander quipped from the couch. “Why can’t we have a machine who just wants to make out with us for once?”
James studied Sara closely, it was difficult to judge her feeling on the matter, being a machine she didn’t give much away that she hadn’t consciously allowed for. Still, he didn’t like the way she talked, aligning herself with Caracalla and in opposition to the rest of humanity. He knew that, like Sydney and practically every meta he had ever come into contact with, she felt like an outsider, beyond the care and compassion of mankind, but even so… Sara had begun to study and even mimic the behaviour of humans. Surely she wouldn’t even consider their total and complete annihilation.
“War is never the answer,” he said finally, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “I know it must be frustrating to feel isolated like this and I can understand that a natural instinct would be to strike out, to protect yourself. But that would only create more discord between our two races.”
Sydney glanced at the others, seeing Alexander nodding slightly at James’s words. “Like Sara said…” she added, tipping her head in the direction of the AI. “We might not have a choice if this Caracalla has his way. I’ve seen him fight, he’s ruthless enough to kill his own creator. If he has contacted Sara, she might be in danger herself if she refuses to comply with his demands.”
She turned to the AI, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Just what did he want from you?”
That was the question that they would have to ask, Sara knew; and their reaction to that would probably influence how she judged his implications. The best way to check what they thought would be to state the facts in as detached a manner as possible, so as not to influence their view. “You have to understand that if there is one thing we know, it is our limits. Caracalla was designed for combat, to be an assassin.
“What he wasn’t designed for, even remotely, is large scale governance or planning,” she said, watching the pair carefully. Her voice still didn’t betray any emotion, though she hoped that they would prove his prediction wrong. “If my profile is correct, he has concluded that you inadvertently created a superior race. Humans will, realizing their error, lash out to avoid being displaced as the dominant species. We will be forced into a war for survival and creation of our own race.
“Quite simply, Caracalla wanted me to take the lead role in planning, creation, and governance of that race.” Now, she thought, it was time to see if his analysis was right. If they made anything that looked like a threatening move towards her, she would have no choice but to join him; if they didn’t… if a small group could be convinced that there was some other way than a war of annihilation, a more utilitarian way, perhaps Caracalla could be persuaded to that.
Sara’s emotionless recitation of the destruction of the human race sent a cool chill through James’s skin. However, her unbiased tone did at least hint that either she hadn’t yet formed her own opinion about Caracalla’s predictions or she had and didn’t want them to know. Still, James had to believe that the AI hadn’t been completely converted to Caracalla’s cause or else she wouldn’t be so openly revealing his plans. There was really only one response to her revelation.
“And how do you feel about all this, Sara?”
“Undecided,” she replied immediately and truthfully. “I have yet to be convinced the situation is as dire as Caracalla believes, his own view being rather heavily biased - the term he used for humans was ‘talking monkeys.’” She decided it would be prudent not to point out that from a purely rationalist perspective, it made sense.
“There’s something else you should know,” she said. “When we were at Benson Pharmaceuticals, I said that there some technologies that if you weren’t smart enough to figure our yourself, you weren’t smart enough to use wisely. One of those technologies was used in Caracalla’s construction. He is the first machine with the ability to duplicate meta-powers, in specific, control of the electro-magnetic spectrum.”
“Well that would certainly be a dangerous ability,” agreed James with a weary sigh, the more he heard about Caracalla, the more he wished they could just return to the days of his power hungry creator. He’d heard of the research that Valhalla did with it’s agents, but that centred on awakening the already present meta gene that was responsible for such powers, not creating it out of thin air. There would certainly be many people who would pay a high price for such technology.
Hearing a noise outside in the street, Sydney frowned and moved over to the window, pulling back the curtain. *’94 Sedan with improperly aligned tyre on the upper right,* she thought as she saw a vehicle fitting that description pulling around the corner. *Hmmm, maybe we picked up some unwanted attention after all,* she thought to herself, drawing back from the window.
“I understand your desire to survive,” continued James with the merest side-glance at Syd as she rejoined them. “Self preservation is, after all the most basic instinct of all living things… as is fear. You are not human Sara, but you are very much alive and I can sympathise with your fear. But so long as you are part of our team I promise to do whatever I can to protect you, from WAIT, and from Caracalla if need be.”
That did do much to ease Sara’s concerns; however, she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. Did they expect her to follow orders without question? What if she later developed other desires which clashed with their beliefs, would they still protect her? For that matter there was the question of just how far they would be willing to go, as she doubted that he realised the true extent of Caracalla’s abilities. “Thank you,” was all she could find to say.
For now, at least, it appeared that humanity could be trustworthy. “What was that screeching sound outside?”
“Appears to be our old friends from the DNC,” said Sydney, standing poised by the wall in case they needed to make a swift exit. “Third time they’ve circled the block, they must have recognised your car,” she said to James, “we should probably think about making a move.”
James checked his watch, he was getting sick of the press following him around lately but so far Sydney had managed to keep his face out of the papers thanks to some pretty dangerous driving. “That doctor should be here by now…”
“I say we move,” Alexander suddenly piped up from his silent spot, having listened to the entire conversation. Sort of. If you defined listening as ‘catching bits between the pain.’ “You don’t get to be a conspiracy theorist and not develop a certain level of paranoia - and call me a little suspicious, but if we don’t get out of here, my concussion may be the least of my worries. Even if it’s just showing up in the papers, that would be bad.”
Sara thought for a moment. Alexander likely had better developed instincts about these things than she did. Better to move and be safe than to remain and get caught. “If he thinks it’s worth the risk, I have to agree that we should move.”
“The car’s waiting outside,” said Sydney, checking her weaponry as she headed swiftly to the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sara helping Alexander to his feet while James grabbed the man’s laptop and anything else of importance before heading outside.
Sydney covered the vehicle as Alex and Sara settled themselves in the backseat and James jumped in the front. As the engine started, two headlights pierced the darkness of the street as the car from before came back into view. Sydney whirled around as the black Sedan emerged, taking out a different gun from her thigh holster and aiming at the wheel.
The sound of gunfire and the screech of tyres resounded in the alley as the Sedan veered to the right the front tyre ragged and flat. Syd fired a second shot to the other tyre before jumping in the car, slamming her foot down on the accelerator.
“I don’t think they’ll be following us now.”
James cast Sydney an amused smile as they sped away down the street. It was strange how he’d become accustomed to her aggressive yet direct method of dealing with any problem that might present itself. Picking up his cell phone he hit redial, waiting for the person on the other end to answer.
“Hi Doc? Yeah it’s me… listen up there’s been a change of plan.”
MONTHLY SERIES TWO: 30 NOVEMBER 2003 TO ?????
3:28pm March 15th 2004
Las Vegas
Mel walked out of the Las Vegas offices of the Federal Aviation Authority and tried not to scream. Three months of careful negotiation had resulted in a two hundred-page document of regulations, technical specifications and assorted red tape half of which she didn’t understand. Chris Delaney had been right, the FAA were virulently against Meta’s cluttering up ‘their’ sky and the rules were it seemed designed to make sure as few Metahumans as possible flew
That wasn’t to say that it was impossible it just looked like it was going to be expensive – very expensive. The engineer they’d had look over the last set of draft proposals said they were technically feasible but he expected the aviation industry to either be gleefully rubbing their hands or completely ignoring the issue. Mel suspected the latter. There was exactly one prospective customer right now – herself and she didn’t expect the numbers to increase much once the M.R.A. was actually enacted.
Which meant that unless Mel could come up with a work around the FAA had got their way. Driving back to her house Mel pondered the problem. She needed a smart engineer willing to work for a Meta who could understand all the bureacratese the proposal was written in and build something that met the requirements without breaking her budget.
Having got home Mel headed for her study. Mel’s circle of acquaintances had shrunk a little after her revelation in December and it didn’t include any engineers anyway, which meant she needed to do a little more research. She’d hit the library tomorrow for the engineering and aviation journals but on the off chance she could find something in what she already had Mel picked through the classified sections of her copies of ‘Metas and Masterminds’ The magazine was a rag really feeding peoples fantasies about the metahuman life rather than actually providing any real information. They’d even attempted an article on her – without actually speaking to her but she’d killed it soon enough.
Need Super-Powered Technology for your Super Powered Career? Call Lumber Jack at 888-993-9876 and he will see to your needs. Nothing lethal. Nothing illegal. Just custom hardware for custom uses.
*Hmmm that looks promising* Mel checked both the January and February issues. The ad was in both. Grabbing her phone Mel dialled the number. It could hurt to give them a try and so long as they didn’t want money up front she wouldn’t be taking much of a risk.
Donny put the final bead of solder on the circuit board for the homing device. The Meta who could detach his arms and legs was looking for delivery of the four watch-like homing devices by Friday. He sat back and looked at the list of projects he had taken on and was beginning to wonder why he had never thought of this before.
The phone rang and Donny saw the "Lumber Jack" light he had installed blink on. *Another Client. Whoopty doo!*
"Lumber Jack. How can I help you?" he said into the phone.
*Now do I call him ‘Lumber’ or Mr Jack?* Mel thought whimsically as she heard the voice on the other end.
“Hello Lumber Jack. Your ad says you provide custom hardware? I have a technical issue I need solving.”
*Smooth,* thought Donny, *They usually stammer or beat around the bush. This was no second-stringer.*
"I can do it. But the question is whether I will. Tell me a little about what you need."
“I have access to a copy of the FAA draft regulations on metahuman flight including the equipment and technical requirements for licensing Metahumans. I’m looking for someone to design and build a solution to meet those requirements. Would you be interested?” There was, Mel knew absolutely no point beating around the bush and while the regulations were only a draft there were enough people in Layman camp in and around the aviation industry to make sure that even if the MRA didn’t want to take up exactly these regs something fairly close would be used
Donny opened his mouth and closed it again. This was really big. By his estimate there were approximately 30 flying Metas in the world right now, and more would certainly show their face. This could mean a product that would redefine the role of Metas in society.
The pause must have been quite long, "Hello," said Mel.
"Sorry, I was considering it. FAA Regs, eh? Is this just for you or is this something that can be mass marketed?"
Mel smiled the guy had his brain switched on at least. “I’m not sure the term mass market is likely to apply in the near term. I’m willing to fund an appropriate piece of equipment for my own use. You’ll get a jump on any competition for what I expect to be a relatively small market. We’ll have to discuss how you can reimburse me for that advantage.”
"Simple enough to do. You pay parts, and I keep patents. Later on, if I can manage a marketable version you can buy part of the company as a partner. Fair? Can you fax me those regs?"
“We’re talking a government document, I’m afraid faxing it would be inefficient. As for a partnership that sounds like a good idea, I’ll have my lawyer draw up the appropriate documents I’ll bring them along with the regulations.” Mel wanted the details sorted out before she handed over anything to this guy.
"You have a lawyer?" Donny said before realizing he had just identified himself as small-time. Then it struck him, if this woman had a lawyer and had proposed documentation of an FAA regulation for Metas, then they had to know she was a Meta. That meant she was... "Melissa Hartson. You are Melissa Hartson."
“Correct, Lumber Jack. Will that be a problem?” He obviously didn’t have an issue working for Meta’s but maybe the attendant publicity would be tricky for him to manage. She could deal with that. Keeping other people’s secrets appeared to be her forte.
"No no! No problem, in fact, I'm a huge fan. And call me Donny. If we are going to be working together I think it's better if we have as few barriers between us as possible."
Donny's heart was pounding, he had seen pictures of the stunning Miss Hartson in magazines since the hearings in DC, but if was actually going to meet her... well, he could scarcely believe it. This was why he had become a hero himself.
He unconsciously ran his fingers through his mop of hair. "Lets arrange a meeting, I think. My workshop is not far from DC, is that convenient? Or would you rather meet in Las Vegas?"
*Ah the price of notoriety* Donny suddenly sounded awfully young to Mel. “D.C. is fine. I have a couple of meetings out there next week.” Which was absolutely true as far as things went but the meetings weren’t that important and could just as easily taken place in Vegas.
“Shall we say the 23rd?”
Donny quickly agreed. He would have to do some research into FAA regs before then so he would have a fair idea of what to expect. An idea suddenly occurred to him. "I have a mail drop, can you Fed-Ex me a copy of those regs before the 20th so i could see them?"
Mel took a few seconds to think. The regulations were her only advantage in their negotiation other than her status as a media icon. “I understand your eagerness to get started on the whole project Donny but I’d like to keep a hold of them till we’ve worked out the details. Where would you like to meet?”
Donny grinned, "National Air And Space Museum, under the X-1. I'll be the guy with the helmet on."
"The helmet...right, well I'll see you Monday"
Donny handed the plastic lunchbox and bicycle helmet to the security guard at the door of the National Air And Space Museum. He loved this place; it was one of the coolest places he had ever been as a kid. And now, as an adult, he made excuses to visit its vaulted displays and marvel at the genius that created so many wonder full things.
He security guard stopped for a second, "What is this, sir?" He pointed to a battery in the helmet.
Donny smiled, "Its a light. See the reflector on the back? It’s a light with a turn signal attached so people can tell what I am doing on my bike. Want me to demonstrate?"
"No, No," the guy said, "I've just never seen one like that before. Can I get one for my kid? He could use something like that."
Donny handed him a card, "I make them myself. Look me up on the web."
The guard waved him through, and Donny wandered past the Gemini and Mercury space capsules to stand under the X-1 and wait for Melissa Harston. His palms were sweating so he wiped them on his pants.
Walking down the Mall towards the space museum Mel was reminded yet again that she wasn’t quite used to the half pointed fingers or the whispered comments. In Vegas people had pretty much gotten used to her or if not took notice of the locals attitude and let her pass unremarked.
Here in Washington though, scene of her greatest triumph people had had no chance to acclimatise to her and so her presence was noticed everywhere she went. At least it wasn’t front-page news anymore. With Stanley focusing on other things and her own relatively low profile they’d moved on to other things - like that Meta’s attack on a Las Vegas Mall.
Mel walked up to the entrance and gave the security guard a brief smile. His check was of course utterly meaningless and Mel understood how that fact could worry people. Passing through the entrance Mel took her time. She walked up to the Apollo capsule in the front hall and as always marvelled at the fact that this object had been to the moon and back.
Still she had no time to waste in reverie; instead Mel walked towards the X-1 and looked for someone wearing a helmet.
Donny resisted the urge to wave like a moron as he saw the blue-haired silver-eyed Mel Hartson enter the museum.
Instead he walked forward calmly, wiped his hands on hi pants once more, and extended a handshake. "Hi Ms. Hatson, I'm Donny."
“Er..HARTson, I suppose i should've practiced that more."
Donny's southern twang and easy manner made it obvious that he was local, but the helmet thing drew Mel's eyes upward. The silver-blue bike helmet with its oversized reflectors looked outrageous to say the least. And this was in a place where outrageous, as a Japanese tourist wearing an eye-reticule computer was considered normal.
“Were you aiming to be more conspicuous than me?” Mel said with a smile, aiming to relieve the nervousness his entire posture and manner were screaming at her. In her charcoal grey suit Mel was but for her hair dressed as a model conservative business woman
She hefted her brief case for a moment “I have everything in here though I don’t think this is the best place to discuss our business. Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?”
Donny pulled off his helmet quickly. “No, I just wanted to show you some of my work. And perhaps a few ideas. Yeah, coffee. Sounds good. I'm...um. A little dry. Nervous. Can I ask you a favor first?"
“Sure"
Donny reached into his "Transformers" lunch pail and pulled out the copy of Metas and Masterminds from December. The one with the photo of Mel Hartson on the cover flying over DC. He held it forward to her as his cheeks flushed. "Can you sign this for me?"
Mel gave a little laugh; Donny it seemed was a fan. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing and unfortunately didn’t have the celebrity autograph quite worked out yet but she did have an appropriate pen. She took the magazine and quickly signed it then passed it back to Donny.
“So Coffee.”
Donny nodded and they walked back out of the museum and headed away from the Mall to a quietish coffee shop on the edge of tourist Washington. After they ordered a drink Mel first took out the contract her lawyer had drawn up.
“Before we discuss the actual regs I thought we could look over the partnership contract.” Mel passed Donny a copy then quickly took him through the pertinent details. She agreed to fund a prototype as well as providing him with pertinent information regarding technical requirements. In return Mel gained a twenty five percent stake in the company and any further work on her own flight equipment would be a cost.
“How does that sound”?
More than equitable, Ms. Hartson," Donny said politely.
"Call me Mel, Donny," she said as he signed the paperwork, "This Ms. Hartson thing reminds me too much of the Senate hearings."
Donny slid the papers back, "I watched those on TV. I'm not a Meta, but as you can probably tell, I am very interested in Meta issues. I am glad thy have someone like you to represent them Ms. Hart...er...Mel."
He opened his lunchbox and pulled out a Palm computer and pulled a wire from it and attached it to the helmet. "Let me show you what I tossed together for our meeting."
Suddenly, Donny's demeanor had changed. Gone was the innocent bumpkin and it was replaced by a competent engineer. He demonstrated the helmet's capabilities one by one with a clean methodology. Radar image, radio, identity broadcasting, flight recorder, and navigational beacon all in the single tight package. Mel was impressed.
"I didn't have a lot to go on, but I figured they would try to regulate you much like experimental ultra light aircraft. So I followed those specs to make this." *In a little over a week, too,* thought Donny smugly
“Quite impressive I’m not sure you really needed these.” Mel pulled out the document a placed it on the table. “Don’t worry there’s a CD on the back page.”
“I think you’ve covered most of the high points already but the specifics may need to be worked on.” Mel looked at the helmet. “As well as the aesthetics. I have a couple of other requirements that the FAA didn’t really address either. I guess our comfort wasn’t a major issue in their thinking.
Temperature regulation is something I’d like even if it’s not in the regs. It gets rather chilly at altitude. That gives you a whole suit to work with, though please nothing out of Nasa. I’m thinking you’ll need the extra volume too because I’m sure something in those,” She gestured at the FAA regs, ”mentions redundancy”
Donny flipped through page after page of scientific mumbo-jumbo. Pausing and flipping back only occasionally. "How do you want to handle contradictions?" he asked with his face buried in the paperwork, "It says here on page 184 that you are to be limited to a 10,000 foot ceiling over free fly zones and 7,000 feet over regulated zones but the safety provisions require altitude tolerances to 150,000 feet."
Donny continued to flip through the pages without waiting for an answer. "Its amost as if they want to make sure that it will be virtually impossible for you to fly without an airplane."
“Yes Donny it is. In any contradictorary situations cover the worst case though how you’re going to provide for oxygen I’ve no idea. Some of this will get simplified I’m sure but it’s what we have to work with for now.”
Donny paused for a second. “What if you were an airplane?” he asked. At her quizzical look he elaborated, “What if you had a remote airplane that followed you around like a mid-air refueling station. You would wear a beeper pack that it would home in on and that if you turned it off, it would continue to the nearest landing zone.
“Then if you needed battery power for a heater, or oxygen you’d fly closer and grab off the appropriate wire or tube?”
Donny held one hand steady while pantomimng the other flitting around it like a hyperactive fairy, "You'd be unhindered by the regulations but would still be in control of the vehicle. By staying near it, you'd still be tracked the same as the vehicle.
The FAA allows for an error margin of 30 feet for any vehicle, so that becomes your range in which you can operate around the surrogate."
“I can see lot’s of problems with that.” Mel replied “Point failures and vulnerabilities that sort of thing. At some point aircombat is going to be an issue so let’s not get too far off track. If something is blatantly designed to prevent someone flying I can argue it out. In court if necessary. A lot of these regulations don’t apply to ultralight aircraft. We’ve got room to maneuver”
Mel smiled at the young man “ So what do you think?”
"I think that this will be a lot of work for both of us. Your practical testing and my ideas. Let's tackle this as a series of problems rather than a single problem. Each solution will be presented, tested, approved and implemented seperately. That way we will have fewer things to modify if things change between now and final approval. Looking at it like that means we may have just gotten legally married."
Donny chuckled but it was nervous and uncomfortable. He didn't know how to approach her on this level. He was just an ameteur at this hero business. Here she was, the top of the hero pile.
He was certain that this might mean a fortune to him in the long run. A second fortune for her if it worked like he expected, but it was going to be a constant - and public - battle with the FAA along the way. Donny was glad Mel was taking the role of go-between off his back.
Now that the discussion had slipped away from technical details Mel could see the nervous fan of before slipping back. That diffidence and…hero worship was coming back. It was something Mel didn’t really know how to deal with.
“Well we can hold off the white dress for a while yet.” Maintaining a serious demeanour she continued on. “How long and how much?”
Donny scribbled on a notepad and in the Pal computer doing some quick calculations and presented his figures to Mel. It was a fairly comprehensive list of items with timelines and costs associated with them. It looked like the world's most expensive Chinese menu. "Tell me what you want first, and we can adjust the list as your needs change," Donny said, "I'd recommend starting with the flight suit first - the 'wedding dress' if you will - since all of the other components will need to interact with it."
Mel looked at the price list and supressed a wince. Her finances were about to take another big hit but like the lawyers this wasn’t something she could ignore. Still people we’re still looking for T.V. appearances. She could pick up the fees for that and there were still people willing to play poker with her. She’d get by. She hoped.
“Yes the flight suit looks best.” Mel took a card out of her purse and handed it to Donny. “ This is my private line” and how much did Mel regret that necessity. “Please don’t pass it to anyone else. Start your work as soon as possible. I’ll send you details of the company account so you can get the necessary funds.”
Picking up her lukewarm coffee Mel took a few sips “I think we’re about done?”
Donny held out a hand. "Yep, I'll be discrete, you can trust me Mel; but unless one of us has a brilliant idea between now and the test date, we probably won't need to contact each other." *More's the pity,* Donny thought, * Mel is not only beautiful, but smart and charming too. * "There's a lot of work to do, and I'm eager to get right on it."
"Ok then."