🚀 go-pugleaf

     She screamed along the corridor, six inch nails ripping five furrows
in the concrete on either side.  She saw them ahead of her -- the men in
funny clothes, the men who laughed, women who sneered, the ones who hadn't
learned -- wouldn't learn -- she saw them all and she leapt and *swung!*
     The first went down, blood soaking the floor -- the second she tore
the throat out with her teeth, bathing her lithe, beautiful form in blood.
Her nails drove through a stomach, and ripped at the thick, jellylike
organs underneath.  She laughed and laughed as they fell left and right,
bullets hitting her and being sloughed off....
     And there he was.  The one who started it.  The one finishing it.  The
tight green uniform assaulted her vision.  She was alone with him and he
was getting ready to stomp.  She threw herself forward, fingers curling
into talons as she slitted him open from throat to pelvis -- she screamed
with laughter--
     And a hand stabbed out of his chest, and knives ripped into her.  She
staggered back.  And over her, stepping out of the body of Dangerousman
stood the She-Devil, laughing and laughing as she cut Angi to shreds,
ripping the very life--
     Angi screamed, and thrashed in her bed, consciousness searing her.
Her bedclothes were ripped to shreds, and the damn sensor alarms were going
off all around her, flashing red and black, red and black.  Her muscles
burned with pain, her stomach and intestines dug knives into her like the
worst flu of them all....
     "Medical emergency," the Voice of Awenet said.  "Beta-cit Sherstone's
condition destablizing.  Medical emergency."
     Gases flooded the bed, and Angi felt her senses full.  She kept
screaming -- screaming from the heart of a killer being killed -- a warrior
who couldn't even see her opponent.



                                   2035
                   A Decidedly Different Superguy Story

                                Chapter Six
                                    by
                             Eric Alfred Burns


     Tina wasn't sure where she was going.  They kept spraying her and
stuck her with a needle once, but it didn't seem to hurt or do anything to
her.  She thought that maybe the MediProcters were mad about that, but
there was a Beta-cit there and she didn't seem disturbed, even as the
AirSkiff flew and Tina watched the land whiz by on the ground.
     "Are Ma and Pa here," she asked again.
     "No, hon," the Beta-cit said, kneeling next to Tina.  "They were
pretty sick, so we brought them to the MediPlex."
     "Am I sick?"
     "No, hon."  She picked the little girl up and set her on the little
couch next to the table.  She then sat across the table from her.  "Tina,
how long have you been able to talk to the plants?"
     Tina giggled.  "Always."
     "So nothing is different for you?"
     "Well...."
     "C'mon...."  The Beta-cit smiled, and Tina felt...warmer.  Safe.
     "Well they never answered before.  It scared me, but then they sang
and when I asked the grass to grow it did."
     "I see.  You know, that makes you very special."
     "Really?"
     "Really.  So we're going to take you to a special place, all right?"
     "All right.  Are Ma and Pa--"
     "Would you like some Ice Cream?"
     "Yeah!"
     "I'll be right back with it.  Now sit here and be a good girl, all
right?"
     "Yes, Beta-cit."
     Gabrielle Latimore stood and walked into the forward cabin.  Her
Gamma-cit assistants were already scooping out ice cream.  "Priority
connect Goodwin Clinic Director," she said, as she let her mind clear of
the emotional fluxes she had been radiating.  Her telempathic talents
needed to be cleared or they could cause side effects for Gabrielle and
those around her.
     "Carruthers here.  What is it, Gabi?"
     "We have a confirmation on unexpected Metagenetic Expression triggered
by the toxic environment to protect the subject.  Metapowers seem to have
both telepsychic and biochemical bases, with her immunity to toxins
complete, and her empathic reactions to vegative matter apparent.  However,
I didn't note the enhanced Psi-presence of a telepsi, so it's my theory the
`psychic' voices are a neurotic construct she's laying over her powers, to
rationalize her use of them."
     "Making her a Biochem basis?"
     "Affirmative -- tentatively.  We don't know that for sure, and we have
no evidence that her genetic structure isn't in flux."
     "I see.  Recommendation on how to sedate her?"
     "Non-chemically -- induce alpha-wave activity in the brain, use
hypnosis, or psychic control."
     "Agreed.  Keep her calm, for now.  I'll want to meet her at arrival."

                                * * * * * *

     Chalandra slipped into the next juncture.  The smells were getting
stronger.  The Pits had come this way, all right.
     Chalandra felt her ActId pulse three times -- the signal that the
trace signal had been lost.  It was a failsafe designed to allow citizens
to know when Awenet could no longer track them.  Well, that was what
Chalandra had in mind.
     She crept as silently as she could, trying to let her ears reach out
and feel the presence of the others--
     Ears feel out....  She was out of Awenet's range.  There was no reason
she couldn't save a little time and reduce the risk of detection... by
anyone.
     Her skin, uniform and equipment grew less solid, less real, and broke
into a thick fog that dissipated almost instantly.  Chalandra, crouched a
few moments, as the lights in the ducts, not detecting a large heat source
any longer, shut down.  She whistled her invisible song, and let the sound
fill and swell until she knew the passageways far better than any human
could....
     As she got her bearings, she wondered -- as she always did -- what
happened to the clothes, the ActId, the machinery and the gun when she
shifted form.  She had never tried the more esoteric forms -- wolf, or
wolfish humanoid, or humanoid Bat -- but the Curse seemed to envelop her
clothing as easily as it did herself.
     No matter -- magic of any stripe was suspect in its properties.
Chalandra pushed up and floated down the accessway.  She had to be close.
     There -- a sound out of her song's range.  She swooped and pressed
against the bulkhead.  Down here, every wall was thick, but solid --
strength needed to shore each compartment up against the weight of the
MetroPlex above.  Thick metal...proof against shock or bullet, but oh so
permeable to sound.
     Human voices.  Not ordered or careful.  The voices of life.  Life on
the edge.
     The Pits.

                                * * * * * *

     Bill glanced back at the bedroom he and Liz shared.  He had taken
certain stimulants a few hours after his medication, which allowed him to
stay awake until he was sure his wife was asleep.  He had to handle the
production and assembly questions himself -- while his daughter was bright,
all Metagenetic expression tests indicated she didn't possess either his
old transdimensional hair powers or his enhanced intellect.  The
ultrasophisticated inner workings of the armor itself could only be dealt
with by Bill... and the one man he trusted.
     Who was late, Damn it.
     Never mind.  He checked the status of the orders.  They all showed
green, and fully three quarters of the different components had been
finished.  Furthermore, neither Awenet nor the various programmers or
monitors could trace any of it to Bill Paul or each other.  While Awenet's
mind-boggling complexity prevented even a programmer of Bill Paul's
magnitude to hack it, Bill could still design and develop ways to hide what
he was using the system for.  Even Awenet hadn't been able to put the
pieces together....
     "How's the process going?"
     Bill looked up.  He was startled, but the pain was a little too great
for him to jump.  "As expected."
     "You look like Hell."
     "You look downright offensively healthy."
     "Clean living."
     "Like Hell."
     The two embraced.  Bill let the man step back.  He was in phenomenal
condition.  His straight black hair was lightly dusted with grey.  It made
him look distinguished, not old.  He looked maybe forty -- not the sixty
plus he had to be.
     "Damn, it's good to see you, Bruce."
     "Not Bruce.  Leftenent Commander Michael Green, X.D.F.  No one's
called me Bruce in decades."  Mike grinned.  "You know, I miss it."
     "How's life in the big old Galaxy?"
     "Great.  Wonderful.  You're coming with me this time if I have to
kidnap you."
     "I can do more good here."
     Mike laughed.  There was little humor and a lot of derision in the
laugh.
     "Bruce--"
     "Come off it, Bill."  Mike circled the table, pacing.  "Earth is a
joke in the Spaceways.  It's seen as a retarded child.  The whole damn
planet is believed to be `going through a phase,' on its way to real
prosperity and success.  Why do you think Xolchipalian Technology's been
highly restricted here?  Why do you think you're still a Protectorate,
rather than a Member World of the Xolchipalian Support Network?"
     "Bruce, how will we ever evolve if the ones who want to help the
planet along leave the damn planet?  The Earth needs the Awesome Force--"
     "The Earth has an Awesome Force.  And the Earth doesn't need
Superheroes.  It's on the right path -- it's just stalled out.  You're
talking about a step back, not forward."
     "Mike -- don't even you see?"
     "See what?"
     Bill sighed.  "Did you know the legend of the Knights of the Round
Table aren't known any more?  Or greek Mythology?  Or even Huck Finn or
Ivanhoe or Faulkner?  *I* don't know a lot of them, but neither does anyone
else."
     "Your point?"
     "We have no heroes, Bruce.  Even the Heroic Age is being forgotten.
Did you know Manny Seconds died last week?"
     Mike looked shocked, and then sad.  "No...I didn't."
     "I got an invitation to the funeral.  That's how I know.  There were
thirty seconds of NewsChannel Alpha about him -- all the good work he did
for Double-A.  Confusion was barely mentioned.  We've even lost the heroes
we had last century.  The real ones.
     "Mighty Guy, !, you, me -- no one remembers them.  No one remembers
Team Cynical.  No one remembers a damn thing -- not the P'Tonic Crystal
Affair or the Hordax or the Greenslimy Aliens or Akron.  No one.  We need
heroes -- we need people to rise above their station and show everyone else
that they can too.  We need heroes that mothers can tell their children to
eat their spinach so they can grow up to be just like those heroes."
     Mike thought about it for a second.  "What about Andy Awesome?"
     "Andy doesn't count any more."
     "Of course not -- he disproves your theory."
     "Bruce--"
     "No sweat, compadre.  I'm buying your bill of goods.  I'm glad to hear
someone on this damn planet say it.  So let's take a look at your plans.
If we throw enough Xolchapalian tricks into it, even Awenet won't be able
to break the damn thing down."
     "What about the restrictions you mentioned?"
     Bruce chuckled.  "Supreme Commander Wheaton took me aside before I
flew off here to attend the convention, reminded me of the restrictions,
and then told me to make damn sure Double-A didn't catch me.  The XDF isn't
as bound by rules and pacts so as to inhibit creativity -- not like the
Ottsamattamuhuhuha Empire or the Kreeps."
     "So, the Hordax might have had some good effect after all."
     "Don't fool yourself," Mike said bitterly.
     "Hey, Bruce -- c'mon.  Trashman's breakdown can't be--"
     "Just shut up about it.  Let's take a look at this armor of yours.  I
only have a few days before I need to announce my presence for the
Convention.  I *have* to be there -- it's my cover."
     "Right."

                                * * * * * *

     Chalandra crept along the side of the wall.  Her clawed hand-like paws
at the tips of her wings gave her excellent purchase along the wires and
conduits.  She was a little surprised at how warm the conduits were.  She
wasn't sure why Double-A needed to keep things this warm -- perhaps it was
parasitic heat from the power cables, or perhaps the heat bled from the
production facilities.  These tunnels were literally nestled among the
facilities, after all.  Like rat-warrens among the larders.
     Rat warrens.  Were the Pits the rats of this modern age?  Chalandra
couldn't remember seeing a single rat in twenty years or more.  She
couldn't believe mankind -- even Andy Awesome -- had managed to defeat the
rats.  It wasn't possible.
     She came to the opening.  Two humans there.  They wore mismatched
clothing, most of it thick and bulky with armor.  Each held a weapon -- the
one on the left had one of the HK-807s she had begun associating with the
Pits, the one on the right with one of the Double-A Assault Weapons that
DefSquad carried.  She wondered how he had gotten it.  She decided that she
didn't want to know.  She crawled above them and into the tunnel they
guarded.
     Crawling along the top of the ceiling, she let her sonar paint a
picture.  This juncture went thirty or forty feet, and then expanded --
expanded into a lock -- they must extend out near the Sound.  This
surprised Chalandra -- how could the Pits live so close to a populated
area?
     Well, how often could the Locking Bay be used anyhow?  Once in five
months?  Chalandra knew they were too deep for Algae Farming, here.  It
made sense.  Enough room for--
     Chalandra made a count, and nearly fell off the ceiling.
     There were eight people in the tunnel, plus two guarding one end and
two more guarding the other end.
     Twelve.  There had to be more than Twelve Pits in all of Seattle....
     Of course, there were about ten in the raiding party that had tried to
score Chalandra.  Could Chalandra have cut the population of the Pits in
Seattle in half?  She couldn't have--
     There must be more cells than this.  That was the proper explanation.
There were more groups of Pits elsewhere in the tunnels.  And some of this
group must be out -- doing whatever it was they did.  So there had to be
more.
     One of them was injured, Chalandra noticed.  It was the DataThief from
the attack they made on her on Ground Level.  So this was the same group.
     Time to make contact.
     The Bat boiled away into smoke and fog -- a thick mist that boiled
into a fog that filled the room.  There were shouts of fear and anger, and
the sound of cocking weapons.  Chalandra waited just long enough, and
pulled the mist closer, closer, closer, letting it evaporate and letting
her solid form take shape....
     The Pits surrounded her.  The Pits were terrified.  She stood, HK-807
held carefully in one hand, and looked the group over, letting her beauty
and their fear mix into a reaction.  She allowed part of the hypnotic
quality of all Vampires to squeak out and affect them too.
     "Hello there," she half-purred, half-snarled.  "Would one of you care
to tell me who's in charge, I have a few questions for him -- and I *don't*
have all night."

                                * * * * * *

     Dan grabbed Andy's shoulder as he walked through the door.  "How is
she," he asked, a little desperately.
     "She's stable," Andy replied, "and sleeping.  It's all right, Dan.
She just had a particularly bad episode.  She was about due -- until now
she's been one of the least affected."
     Dan sort of nodded.  "And Noj shall strike all eventually, swatting
those as they drift near, in turn, without malice or knowledge."
     Andy sort of nodded, forcing a smile.  He looked around at his oldest
friends.  All looked a touch pained.  That Dan's Noj Project had been
successful they didn't mind.  That he believed it they did.
     "Andy," Miche said, rising, "Should I expect a bad episode like that
too?  After all, my skin is nearly as resilient as hers."  Indeed it was.
And that near invulnerability had preserved her beauty as well -- preserved
her and Angi both, as their skin refused to wrinkle.  The two looked as
beautiful as ever, if a touch prematurely grey.  This was contrasted to the
wan, sunken look of the others.
     "It's unlikely you would have as severe an episode, Michelle.  You
have always been more diligent at taking your medications than Angi has."
     "Andy," Linda said, rising.  She looked by far the worst of all, the
hair loss from the disease and the treatments revealing how...inhuman her
musculature really was.  "Could I go and sit with her?  I mean, I'd stay
out of the way, but I know how... terrible she feels when she's helpless.
I'd really like it if--"
     "Of course, Linda.  Of course.  Don't turn down the speakers, however.
The Styx helps to calm her, and it reinforces her powers, particularly her
invulnerability."
     "Of course."  Rat hobbled into the room, leaning on her cane as she
went.  Andy remembered when that body was stronger than normal, when her
grace was exceeded only by High Jinx....
     High Jinx -- High Jinks, in his later years.  Dominic White -- dead.
Kevin Latimore -- dead.  Steven Skidmore -- dead.  The Fiddler -- dead.
Bill Dickson -- by now, without any medication at all, no doubt dead.  He
felt their ghosts crowd around him.  He felt Angi and Linda, barely
clutching to life in the next room.  Linda's disease had puzzled him, until
Andy had determined that Dominic's transformation into Demon-Ick, all those
years before, had actually forced the radio-chemation base of his original
powers into Linda's form, forcing her mutation.  Thus, even Rat was dying
from Dangerousman's radiation, it seemed.
     Just like all the rest of them.  Dan, himself, Michelle, Bink.... too
many deaths.  But despite two decades of fighting for their lives, they had
survived better than most.  Calforce -- the ones who predated the
terrorists who had usurped their name -- were all dead, insane or in comas
but for Chalandra.  Team Cynical, all dead.  The Extreme Team -- only Pinky
hung on.  The Defense Squad -- Bill Paul, Liz Paul, and Dan Quayle -- the
oldest of them -- clung to life.  Solutions Unlimited was gone.  The
Adjusted League--
     Best not to think of the Adjusted League.  Such a tragedy.  After the
ALU fell apart, Trudy Unorthodox and Danielle Potentiate had joined the
Defense Squad.  Kid Solipsism had joined Calforce.  And the Masked Bruce
had gone to space, joining his brethren in the Xolchipalian Defense Forces.
Of course, since Earth had become a Xolchipalian Protectorate, that meant
really they might get to see him....  But Andy suspected his loyalties had
been with Trashman and Spandex Babe -- and his lover, the Dash -- to the
bitter end.
     Superm00se and Space Moose were dead.  Force Ten -- wiped out to a man
in the during the Hordax.  Team M.E.C.H.A.--
     Beloved Summer....
     "Andy.  Hey, Andy...."
     Andy looked up into Bink's eyes.  They were clear -- she had been
forced to take far more medication than the rest, as the disease seemed to
twist her innate cuteness against her.  So it was rare that she was as
lucid as she was now.  "Yes, Bink," he asked.
     "Are you all right -- you seemed to nod off, there."
     "Yes.  I'm all right.  Just...visiting old friends."

                                * * * * * *

     DCH.  DefSquad Central Headquarters.  The designation was technically
a misnomer, since there was a `central' headquarters for each region
DefSquad patrolled.  This one was DCH-CentSeaOne, in Central Seattle.
     Interpreter-Six looked at his display, Awenet processing different
possibilities, guided by the Interpreter.  "Supervisor-D," he said.
     "Yes, Interpreter-Six," she answered from her central data display.
     "I think I've narrowed Hidden Pit Sight Nine-Fourteen down to a few
levels of Access Piping near the Lock."
     "How so?"
     "It's strange -- through ActId signal traces of Alpha-cit Chalandra
Harkness, CitIdCode 9090073821447A."
     "Harkness?  She was involved in that Kidnapping Yestereve, right?"
     "Yes.  This is a legit trip though -- she chartered AirDinghey 119C to
Pad Dexter, and then moved through the tunnels on her own power until Trace
was lost."
     "She's entitled."
     "Yes -- but since she was involved in the incident yesterday, Awenet
computed a possibility of revenge on her part.  SmartCom traces then
interfaced with analysis programs to both track her and use her movements
to add new possibilities to the parameters of Search Site Nine-Fourteen."
     "I see."  Supervisor-D leaned back in her chair.  "So how did she
track Nine-Fourteen so quickly, when we couldn't?"
     "Combination of things, Ma'am.  She's a trained investigator,
according to her file.  She could logically determine the accessways the
Pits would have to emerge from to attack her where they did with minimum
SmartCom interference.  Once in--"
     "Yes?"
     "Alpha-cit Harkness's file flags her as a Paranorm."
     "Unlicensed?"
     "No, ma'am.  Grandfathered, Regulation Eight Ninety-Five.  Widow of
Manny Seconds, CitIdCode 9090073831548At, also Grandfathered Paranorm.  The
waivers come from the Board and Chairman Goodwin themselves."
     "Understood.  Make up a strike team, but make *certain* they realize
Alpha-cit Harkness is on legitimate business.  At most she will be guilt of
Civil Violation Nine Oh Nine -- Vigilantism.  She is to be preserved and
not in any way injured.  If she is not engaged in demonstrated Vigilantism,
she is *not* to be apprehended.  She has the clearance to prowl around
whatever conduit she wishes."
     "Understood and affirmative.  Calling in the team now."


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events herein should not be considered to affect said characters save in
the context of this story>>