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                                   CALFORCE
                                  Episode 111
                         (On Being Amoral, part three)
                            "The Wheel of Amorality"
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson


            "The shadow is a moral question that challenges the
             whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious
             of the shadow without considerable moral effort."
                                                             - Jung


                                 |||---^---|||

     "Welcome, Mr. Vice-President," Johnathan Frakes (coincidence) intoned,
woodenly.  "Can I offer you something to drink?"
     "No thanks," Al Gore droned.  "I am on a schedule, and must be in Madrid
by mid-afternoon."
     "An important conference?" Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "Probably," Gore droned.  "They haven't told me yet."
     "Would you care to inspect the Ubermachine?" Frakes (coincidence) intoned,
woodenly.  He gestured in the direction of the large, vaguely menacing machine,
which was humming with what a discerning mind might call self-satisfaction.
     "I have brought Dr. Madhatter with me for that purpose," Gore droned.
"Should the Ubermachine meet his exacting scientific standards, I will have it
delivered to the nearest U.S. base, at which time a payment of one million
dollars U.S. will be made into a secret Swiss bank account that we have
arranged for you."
     "That will be satisfactory," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "Good," Gore droned.
     "I am wondering," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly, "why you
selected Dr. Madhatter as your technical assistant, and why he would agree to
work with you."
     "As for the first question," Gore droned, "it was either him or someone
from the M.I.B., and there were reasons I couldn't use the M.I.B."
     "You are concerned with their shadowy web of conspiracy and deceit, and
the possibility that they could use the Ubermachine to their own twisted ends?"
Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "No," Gore droned.  "They won't return my calls."
     "Ah," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "Or my faxes," Gore droned.
     "The fiends," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "They don't even send me a card at Christmastime," Gore droned.
     "Nor me," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     They paused, watching Dr. Madhatter going over the Ubermachine's complex
systems.
     "So," Frakes (coincidence) intoned woodenly, at last.  "How was your
flight?"
     "Oh, fine..." Gore droned.
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Nimbus exclaimed, at the top of his lungs.  There was a good deal more
screaming from him, which subsided after a good three and a half minutes.
     "Are you okay?" Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "Yeah," Nimbus said, panting heavily.  "I just had to do that."
     "I would suggest," Dr. Madhatter said, injecting himself into the
conversation, "that you and the Vice President restrain yourself from too much
conversation while in one another's presence."  He looked up from his work,
a serious gleam in his eye.  "Apart, you are two of the least charismatic
individuals on the planet.  Together, you generate a distinct anti-charismatron
field which inflicts powerful feelings of ennui upon whomever is in range of
your voices!"
     Several moments passed.
     "So what are you saying?" Gore droned.
     "Never mind," Dr. Madhatter sighed.  "The Ubermachine is very
sophisticated machine, though, with my scientific genius, I can grasp its
operation quite easily.  I recognize a number of influences of my colleague,
Dr. Unorthodox, as well as others that are not as recognizable."
     "They would be mine, Doctor," Geneva told him, smiling a bit.
     "I see," Dr. Madhatter said.  "I would like to see a test of the machine,
before I make any recommendations to old fiberboard-head."
     "Hey," Gore droned.
     *I went through the Ubermachine only recently,* Stigmata sent, turning
the large eyeball that was his head to regard Gore.  *Before, I was a second-
string villain who won only if he could get his opponent into a staring contest.
Now I can blast holes through the surrounding countryside.*
     "Ah, then another subject who goes through the machine should not
encounter any problems, true?" Madhatter asked.
     "True," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.  "In fact, we have a
subject on hand, who has volunteered for the transformation."  Frakes
(coincidence) glared and Egoiste, Arsenal, and Nimbus, who were smirking
viciously.  "Psybernet, could you show him in?"
     Geneva nodded and left the room.  Moments later, she re-entered, with
Eivandt Seconds walking in front of her.
     "Doubt?" Gore droned.  "I was aware that you lived in the region, but
I did not know that you had fallen in with this league of unimaginative
amoralists."
     "Unimaginable," Egoiste corrected.
     "I decided to hang out with them for a few days," Eivandt said, in a tone
that was almost lifeless, a fact that Gore completely failed to pick up on.
"They offered to make me incredibly powerful, so I said yes."
     "I see," Gore droned.  "Well, then, proceed with the test."
     Eivandt walked towards the Ubermachine, which was opening up before him,
its dark, forboding recesses beckoning him forward.  Geneva stood next to
Dr. Madhatter, at the controls.  Here, if anywhere, was where it could go
wrong.  While the machine was in the process of rewriting Eivandt, body and
mind, she would be out of contact with him.  She could re-establish contact
as soon as the procedure ended, before his own thought processes could
reassert themselves, but if the Ubermachine gave him a psi-shield, or, worse,
more power than it had given her, the U.L.A. would have to take him down
quickly, which would jeopardize the whole deal.
     He was in the machine.  She watched as the chamber doors closed, shutting
with an audible clang.  Lights flashed on the console, and she shifted her
attention to them.
     Soon, she would know.  And so would they.

                                 |||---^---|||

     "Look, I don't care *who* you are," the old woman told Manny.  "We
don't reveal our client addresses to nobody 'cept the police, if they've got
a warrant."
     "But, my brother was kidnapped by two people in one of your rental vans,"
Manny protested to her.  "We have the license, we have the description...
why, right now he could be undergoing...um..."
     "What?" the woman asked, unimpressed.
     "Lots," Manny finished, lamely.
     "Look, if it were up to me, I'd help you," the old woman said.  "My
granddaughter is a big fan of yours.  So is my daughter, my niece, my
other niece, my neighbors, their daughters, their friends, and their
chihuahuas.  But unless you have a warrant..."
     "I have one!" Mighty Guy exclaimed.  Manny and the old woman dove for
cover, and moments later, Mighty Guy burst into the rental company office,
showering the employees with bricks and broken glass.
     "Um, thanks," Manny said, accepting the slip of paper from Mighty Guy.
"Where did you get this?"
     "I got it with the CD player I bought last month!" Kent told him,
proudly.  "I knew it would come in handy, one of these days!"
     "Um, Mighty Guy," Manny said.  "This isn't a warrant.  It's a warranty."
     "Yes!" Kent told him.
     "There is no 'y' in a warrant," Manny told him.
     "There isn't?" Kent asked.  "I thought a reason had to be given!"
     "Um..."
     "Here," the old woman's voice came from under what remained of the
service counter.  A large book labeled 'rental information' was lobbed out
at them, landing at their feet.  "Next to the last page.  I didn't tell you
this."
     "Then who..." Kent started.  Manny shushed him, and picked up the book.

                                 |||---^---|||

     "Why...why are you here?" Glum asked her twin children, Ian and Chelsa.
She tried to remember giving birth to them, only three years before.  It
was impossible, while they stood before her, at the foot of the bed.  Their
bodies were adult, their eyes were ancient, and their appearance was divine.
     "We're looking for father," Ian explained, again.  "We regret we can't
stay and be social, but we must kill him."
     "He's gone, hasn't he?" Chelsa asked.
     "He's gone to--" Rumiko started, before Glum covered her mouth with a
hand.
     "Earth, of course," Ian said.  "Where else would he go?"
     "What does the Magestrix want with him?" Glum asked, her body crackling
with electricity.  She shifted Rumiko so that the two-year-old was behind her.
     "They don't," Chelsa told her.  "They are quite pleased with the Earth
now, given how it has, in a short time, become an esteemed provider of
comfortable footwear."
     "Following the Radian situation, we left the Magestrix," Ian continued,
as though he and his twin shared a voicebox.  "We found their structure too...
confining, for what we have become."
     "Has he gone to Earth to see his brother?" Chelsa asked, politely.
     "His brother...you mean Dar?" Glum asked.  Chelsa nodded.  "I hardly
think so.  And if you think I'm going to let you touch him..."
     "He must have gone to see Aunt Akane," Ian said, ignoring Glum.  "Ever
since the situation was resolved, he has been uneasy about what has happened to
her."
     "Perhaps we will encounter her as well," Chelsa replied.  "I would not
have thought it, being what I am now, but I am rather looking forward to a
return match with her.  It would go rather differently than the last one,
wouldn't you agree?"
     Glum blasted them with bioelectricity, as much as she could muster.  They
scarcely noticed.
     "Let us continue to Earth, then," Ian said.  "We should have been heading
there all along."
     "Mother, do not follow us," Chelsa warned.
     "Don't follow you?!?" Glum asked, almost hysterical by now.  "Don't
*follow* you?!?!"
     "You are at a crossroads," Ian told her.  "If you stay, you will live,
and Rumiko will not be orphaned.  But if you come to Earth, you will perish."
He bowed, and turned away.  Glum watched them melt through the walls, knowing
that the advanced defenses built into the walls were not enough to stop them.

                                 |||---^---|||

     The late afternoon sun shown through the hole that Stigmata had blasted
through the walls of the English country house.  Al Gore squinted and tried
to move, but found that his wrists and ankles were bound by dry rope.  He
groaned, droningly, as the dull pain in the back of his head flooded him.
     "Ah, you're awake," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly.
     "What happened?" Gore droned.  "Why did you knock me out?"
     "We didn't," Egoiste told him, from somewhere outside of his hazy
peripheral vision.  "Dr. Madhatter did."
     "He...but he can't," Gore droned.  "We can track him whereever he goes."
     "He didn't seem concerned about that," Nimbus said.  "Said Harxxon would
remove your bug plants."
     "Harxxon?" Gore droned.
     "Company he was representing," Arsenal informed him.  "They're the new
owners of the Ubermachine now."
     "But, our deal..." Gore droned.
     "They tripled your offer," Psybernet said, smiling more than Gore
remembered seeing her smile before.  "And the money's already in our account.
They'll be by to pick up the machine tonight."
     "What are you going to do with me?" Gore droned.
     "Since we no longer have to worry about being nice to you," Frakes
(coincidence) intoned, woodenly, "we think we'll kill you."
     "You mean," Gore droned, "you were just pretending to be nice before?"
     "Well," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly, "not pretending, per se.
After all, just because we're villains doesn't mean we can't be polite, at
appropriate times."
     *You got any last words?* Stigmata asked.
     "There was the speech I was going to give at noon," Gore droned.  "I have
it memorized, I can give it now, if you'd like..."
     "We just asked if you had any last words," Egoiste told him.  "We didn't
tell you to tell us what they were."
     "Oh," Gore droned.  "Sorry."
     "Gabrielle, would you like to do the honors?" Frakes (coincidence) intoned,
woodenly.
     "Certainly," Arsenal answered.  She raised a silver-and-grey armored
gauntlet.  An energy grid began to form...
     ...just as warning lights began to flash from a nearby console.
     "We've got company," Psybernet reported.  "Perimeter scanners have picked
up six paranorms coming in from the southwest.  At their present speed and
trajectory, they'll be here..."
     There was a tremendous crash, as the far wall was reduced to dust.
     "...right about now."
     "Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm!" Confusion declared, as MeltDown set him down on the
ground.  Beside him, the rest of CalForce, save for Chalandra, took up heroic,
battle-ready poses: to his right, MeltDown and Criticalman stood, with the
latter's thumbs in battle formation; to his left, HotFlash and Microvax stood,
the former burning strategically, while the latter brandished his lethally
glowing VaxAxe; behind him, Mighty Guy flexed his muscles and adopted a classic
"Charles Atlas" pose.
     *Easy for you to say,* Stigmata commented.
     Manny removed the chunks of wall that had become imbedded in his face as
a result of MeltDown's ramming into the wall at high speed.
     "What I said was, all right, nobody move!" Confusion told them.
     Nimbus flexed his muscles.  Egoiste smiled, ferally.  Arsenal lifted her
gauntlets in the general direction of CalForce.  Stigmata sort of stood there,
huge eyeball-head glistening.  Frakes (coincidence) removed his Tihron from
his utility belt.  Psybernet looked through a side doorway.  Gore droned.
     "They're moving," Criticalman hissed to Confusion.  "Now what?"
     "Now, now," the Crimson Crowbar intoned, woodenly.  "There's no need to
fight.  You're here to rescue your friend, Eivandt Seconds, otherwise known as
Doubt, right?"
     "Right," Microvax said.  "And to apprehend you, being as you're escaped
criminal masterminds and all."
     "And we understand you rolled back the odometer on the van you rented!"
Mighty Guy exclaimed.
     "Doesn't that sort of go with the second bit?" Egoiste asked.
     "Well," Mighty Guy said.  "Yes.  But I thought it deserved special
mention."
     "We certainly have no intention of surrendering to you," the Crimson
Crowbar intoned, woodenly.  "But we can reunite you with your former
teammate.  Oh, Eivandt?"
     Eivandt Seconds emerged from the side room, and it was immediately
apparent that he wasn't the same Eivandt Seconds that had left the team nine
months before.  He was almost a foot taller, now, and his skin boasted a
number of pastel colors, which seemed to change and flow as the light played
upon him.  His face was thinner, as was his body, and he walked with an odd,
self-possessed grace.  Long, multi-hued hair flowed behind him, like an
afterimage left by a strobe light.
     "Say hello to your brother," Psybernet told him.
     "Hi, Manny," Eivandt said.  "Guess what?  I'm new and improved."
     "I thought pastels went out years ago," HotFlash said.  "You call this
an improvement?"
     "Tell them your new name," Frakes (coincidence) intoned, woodenly, as
he raised his Tihron.
     Eivandt smiled.  His teeth looked sharp and white.
     "You may call me...Willwarp."

WHAT SORT OF NEW AND IMPROVED POWERS DOES EIVANDT HAVE NOW?
WILL WE SEE AN EXCITING BATTLE NEXT EPISODE?
DO BEARS CRAP IN THE WOODS?
DO PINTOS EXPLODE?
DO REPUBLICANS FILLIBUSTER?

Superguy.  The scent opens your eyes.

        Gary W. Olson         <^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v
swede@drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu  >  "If you're so special, why aren't you dead?"
     swede@drycas.bitnet      <      - The Breeders, "I Just Wanna Get Along"