🚀 go-pugleaf

     <<Here's Superbabes>> JOEL said, flashing the headline up on the screen.
"HEALER CLEANS UP:  THE REAL STORY BEHIND THE TRASHMAN/HEALER TRYST."
     "I'm sorry," Elizabeth said quietly.
     "Don't be," Bruce said, rubbing his temple.  "We don't *know* Key leaked
the initial statement.  It could have been almost any of the A.L.U., or
Dangerousman or Relativity Woman could have said something in earshot of a
reporter--"
     <<Superguy Digest coming in!>>  "WHAT TRASHMAN'S NEEDIN' IS SOME *SEXUAL*
HEALING!"
     "Marvin Gaye's rolling over in his grave," Elizabeth murmured.  She
massaged Bruce's neck muscles through his robe.
     "It's the indelicacy of it all.  We're not doing anything wrong, after
all."
     "Well, this isn't the first time the tabloids have nailed me.  Don't let
it get to you."
     Bruce looked over his shoulder.  "Really?  I thought your last boyfriend
was in college."
     "He was, but Faith and I used to have the most outrageous stuff printed
about us.  And then when he and Akane started seeing each other -- according
to the headlines I was going to kill them both with a psionic weed-whacker."
     <<The SuperWatcher on deck!>>  "TRASHMAN, HEALER PARTNER UP -- AND WE
DON'T MEAN SIDEKICKS!  PICTURES PICTURES PICTURES!"
     "What pictures?" Elizabeth asked.  "JOEL, display the pictures."
     A photograph of a California beach front appeared, with Healer in her
bathing suit and what was obviously Manny Seconds in *his* bathing suit with
Trashman's head -- cap and all -- cut out and pasted over it.  You could see
the edges where they cut."
     "You weren't, were you?"
     "Christ, I'm still a *red-head* in that shot.  Weren't what?"
     "You and Faith.  You, um, you never--"
     "God no.  That'd be like incest."
     Bruce smiled.  "I know what you mean."
     Elizabeth stretched.  "Well, you can morbidly watch the headlines come in
if you want.  I'm going to shower.  I have the feeling I'm going to have a lot
of pictures of me taken today at the Council."  She wandered towards the
bathroom, and glanced back.
     Bruce was rubbing his temples.  "While I'm up, do you want an aspirin or
something?" she asked.
     "No no.  I feel that taking medication blunts the edge.  A little
discipline should--"
     <<Midnight Post!>>  "SIMPSON SHOCKER -- HEALER O.J.'S `OTHER WOMAN!'
TRASHMAN *REAL* KILLER!"
     "...actually if you could bring me a couple of ibuprofen and some alka
selzer to wash it down with I'd be really grateful...."



                               The Adventures
                                   of the
                        Adjusted League Unimpeachable

                                 Episode #78
                         "Origins Volume the Fourth"
                  "Knights in Blue Spandex Part the Third"
                                     by
                        Eric, Lord Sabre, version 5.2


     Matt shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.  It was usually a lot of fun,
being the Boston area affiliate for Radio Free Hero.  Just listen for news,
fax or relay it on, and rebroadcast Radio Free Hero's show from his basement
transmitter setup which he had spliced into the WVBR Boston University Public
Radio tower.  But now, he was *the* correspondent to the biggest superguy
story of the week.  He felt woefully unprepared.
     It didn't help that he was sitting close to some of the biggest names in
Superguydom.  And some of the less big names.  And some of the relatively
small names.  And a few of the nonexistent names.  The A.L.U. had apparently
allowed any superguys that claimed the name to show up.  It was supposed to be
fair, but Matt didn't see what was fair about letting the Super Seven, alleged
heroes at best, into the Gallery when the heroic Spoonman either hadn't or
couldn't show up.
     But on the other end of the Spectrum, the most powerful and noble heroes
on Earth were in that room.  Matt kept waiting to see Superguy himself.
     Besides superguys and interested parties, the room was full of observers,
pundits, law students, and of course the press.  The press had a pecking
order, of course.  The Cretin Broadcasting System and the Cretin News Network
were up front where their cameras could get the best position.  Court TV was
angled near to them, and so was Fox.  The next row was packed with the elite
of the print media -- Time, Newsweek, the New York Times, the Washington Post,
and others like them.  The Boston Globe was in those ranks, on the basis that
it was their local turf.
     And then came the rest.  The city newspapers who weren't really national,
but had national reporters.  The SuperTabloids and the alleged newspapers'
like Superbabes and the New York Post.  And Matt himself.
     "Ex-CUSE me!" a statuesque beauty said as she forced her way past Matt
and settled into the seat next to him.
     "Gee, Flores," a perky dolt said, following her and dragging what looked
like a manual transmission from a seventies station wagon on a chain, "you
seem awfully uptight."
     "Of course I'm uptight," Flores said, fuming.  "I mean, this is the
biggest scoop of the year, and Kent Clark isn't here to cover it."
     "How can it be a scoop if every major news service on the planet is
here?"
     "Simple.  Mighty Guy is one of the judges, and this will be out chance to
find out what Mighty Guy's real identity is once and for all.  *That's* how it
can be a scoop!"
     Matt placed the two in his mind now.  Flores Lame and Timmy "Insufferably
Vile" O'Larson, reporters for the World Weekly Shmooze.  And *he* got to sit
by them.
     "Relax," a pleasant sounding baritone said to Matt's right side.  "You
learn to screen them out."
     Matt turned, and stood up.  He shook hands with a handsome man in a blue
suit with a red tie and a tie pin that looked like a pyramid with an eye and
antlers.  Matt glanced at his own bomber jacket over a shirt and slacks and
felt underdressed, but shook the man's hand.
     "Mark Kent, Gothopolis Daily Gonad," the man said.
     "Matt DeForrest, um, Radio Free Hero, I guess."
     "*You're* Radio Free Hero?"
     "No!  I'm his Boston Affiliate.  Well, actually my friends Andy, Charlie,
Ernestine and Robin run the repeater station.  I just sort of found myself as
a reporter."
     Mark smiled.  "Not a bad first assignment, I'd say."  Mark looked around.
"All the real movers and shakers are here, and of course this is the story of
the year.  Beats the Bobbits all hollow."
     "Yeah.  Hey, who are they?  Aren't they too young to be in here?"
     Mark glanced over.  "Them?  They're superguys -- the Teen Team.  That one
on the end's actually an ex-member of Team M.E.C.H.A., so I'd say they could
be in here.
     "Oh.  I guess so."  Matt and Mark sat down.
     The aforementioned ex-member of Team M.E.C.H.A.'s head was swimming.  The
last time she had been around this many Superguys was the Industrial
Revolution, and there hadn't been much of a chance to socialize there.  But
here, except when the trial was going on... it was nothing but opportunity.
     "So who are they?" Phobos asked.  Summer hadn't really noticed that
Phobos wasn't really listening to the answers so much as asking them to keep
her talking.
     "Those two?  They're Jon Perceptor and Earth Girl.  You know, the Hero
Patrol.  They're kinda local, I guess.  I wonder if they've ever met the
A.L.U...."
     "And them?"
     "Well, it looks like HotFlash and MeltDown, but it's hard to tell,
between the mob of reporters around them and the mob of reporters around
Criticalman.  I haven't seen Confusion anywhere, though."
     "What about Badass?"
     Summer rolled her eyes annoyedly.  "Badass quit *months* ago!  Jeez, if
you can't keep up with things...."  Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on
someone in the eighth row in the non-powered spectators section.  Summer knew
that face -- knew it and the mind within it as well as she knew her own.  He
wasn't non-powered.  He was potentially the most powerful man in the room.  He
was potentially the most powerful man on the planet.
     But no one knew that.  They all thought his powers had come from the suit
of armor he had worn until the Industrial Revolution.  In the end, Summer had
helped to beat him.
     Such a short time before that, he and Summer had joined in a way deeper
than anything she had ever known.  Her linkages and his power had merged to
make the heart and soul of Bahmode Sigma, and had formed the backbone of the
force that defeated the Mighty Muddy Power Grangers.
     Spectrum's eyes fell on hers, and dared her to tell someone who he really
was.  They dared her to make a scene.  Spectrum hadn't felt he was on the
wrong side.  People said he still believed in the principles of the
Revolution.  People said he had crossed a line and couldn't come back -- that
he was a villain.  More than one person had said that he should be on trial
long before Spandex Babe should.
     Summer shivered and looked away.  If Spectrum had a reckoning to give or
receive, it wouldn't be at her hand.
     Phobos realized the girl's attention was gone, and took her quiet as
anger.  Anger at him, probably.  He had screwed up.  He looked all around
himself, with the desperation of puppy love -- looking for something...
*anything* to make up for it.
     He found it.
     "Summer," he said quietly, like he was coaxing a skittish colt.  "Turn
around very slowly, look up the aisle, and don't scream or faint."
     Summer glanced at Phobos, puzzled, and turned around.
     Andy Awesome and Smartman were at the top of the aisle, walking down.
     Summer didn't scream.  She did faint.
     "...see why we couldn't have put this nastiness behind us," Smartman was
saying to his peer.  "We need to restore confidence in Superguys.  If we drag
out this kind of negative publicity, we can only hurt our long-term
viability."
     "You make it sound like Heroism is a growth industry," Andy replied.
"Would you prefer spin control and denial of the facts?"
     "If it means the greatest good for the greatest number, then yes.
Besides, you don't know what kind of ripples this whole thing's throwing into
DefenseCo's portfolio.  This is ridiculous."
     "Then why are you and all of your... board of directors... here today?"
     "Media advantage.  We need to be seen taking an interest."
     "Media advantage?"  Something akin to anger found its way into Andy
Awesome's voice.  "Dan, Spandex Babe is essentially being made solely
responsible for the single greatest disaster in the modern Heroic Age.  Both
your organization and mine had members involved--"
     "Don't remind me," Smartman said venomously.
     "What has happened to you?" Andy asked, aghast.
     "What has..."  For a second, Smartman's eyes looked confused.  "I... I'll
tell you what's happened to me.  I've developed a rather nasty headache,
that's what's happened to me."  He stormed down to the rest of the Defense
Squad.
     Andy watched him go, his brow furrowed in no-doubt awesome thought.

                                   * * * * * *

--From the Personal Recordings of Dianna Potentiate

     The earliest memory I have is a swimming pool.  It sounds weird, but
there it is.  I couldn't have been three.
     I remember little things -- the locker room with the concrete floor and
the green and yellow lockers.  The showers that didn't turn off.  And the pool
itself.  It was full of kids, though I can't remember any of them.
     Wait.  Wait, I can.  I can remember a little boy smacking me on the back
as I climbed up the ladder, and I can remember that boy's mother yelling at
him.  Telling him that he was bad -- that he shouldn't hit, and especially not
girls.  And I remember sliding for the water.  Oh, I can remember that.  I
loved the water.  I used to wade into public fountains and jump through
sprinklers in all my clothes.  And I loved to go over my head though of course
I couldn't swim.  But I could hold my breath and I didn't feel like I was in
danger.
     My parents told me that once, on a trip, I jumped into the deep end of a
pool and my Dad jumped in after me with all his clothes on.  My parents
laughed when they told me that, and I did too.  It was so silly.  But the
upshot was, I wasn't scared.  I was just holding my breath, sinking to the
bottom, and I was angry when he pulled me out.  I don't know.  I can't
remember it.
     But I remember that slide.  I was going so fast, all alone, and at the
end there was all that water.  All that wonderful water and I wanted it.  It
was like I was flying, and at the end was everything I ever wanted.
     And I slid off the end and my Dad caught me, and I didn't get more than
my butt wet, and we went to the shallow end of the pool.  I think.  I remember
him catching me, and me being angry, but of course he didn't want me to go
under -- I'd drown.  I couldn't swim, after all.  He had to keep me safe.  I
don't mean he shouldn't have.
     I can't remember any more of that day.  I have to really think hard to
remember any of it.  But I do remember it, and so I guess that's the beginning
of my story -- the day I reached and was caught.
     That sounds cynical.  I should start over.

                                   * * * * * *

     The stage was set.  The live cameras caught it all.  The wide, circular
room glowed in the fluorescent light -- the wooden benches and rostrums
counterpointing the pervading hideousness of the building.  Around and above
the chamber the rows of the gallery loomed over, the faces gleaming.  The very
newest heroes -- Misfit, Jon Preceptor, Mirror Maid, and their peers.  The
oldest, longest standing heroes -- Wonder Grunion, Dangerousman, Figuremaster
and the rest....  All watching.
     If one were in the defendant's stand, facing the three adjudicators, they
would have the active member's box to their left.  Unorthodox Lass, Kid
Solipsism and Dangerousgirl sat in that.  Of the three of them, only Kid
Solipsism didn't look depressed or angry.  He looked vindicated.  Unorthodox
Girl looked lost, Dangerousgirl looked miserable.
     To the left of the defendant's stand was the prosecution.  The Masked
Bruce stood there, every hair perfect as always.  But where the Masked Bruce
was usually relaxed, he was now tense.  His eyes were burning, and they never
turned to look at the defendant's stand.
     Continuing left, one saw the clerk and recording secretary.  Mandy
Harken, the Liaison with the Rogers Foundation and the Administrator of the
Adjusted League Unimpeachable, served in that office.  If she had an opinion,
her face didn't reflect it.
     Across from the defense and the prosecution was a table with the three
counsels behind it -- Trashman in the center, the Dash on his right, Mighty
Guy on his left.  The Dash's eyes were red, and her body was tense and
trembling with her power despite the calming Knopler Effect instilled by her
Stereochair.  Trashman looked... well, like Trashman.  Utterly calm, never
relaxed.  Unfazed.
     Ice.
     Right next to the Defendant's stand stood Nouveaux Skunk.  His manner was
easy... calm.  He looked like a politician with eighty percent of the vote.
He looked like he had all the cards.  He looked like he was playing the game.
His unusually handsome face and distinctive hair -- unnaturally black with a
white streak -- would make him popular with the cameras, no doubt.
     And in the stand, and yet at the center of it all, was Spandex Babe.
More beautiful, if that were possible, in her trouble.  But there was
something vulnerable there too -- a vulnerability almost alien to the warrior.
     Trashman struck the bell before him, two beats of two.  "This Council is
now in session," he said.  "Is there unfinished business."
     "If it please the Council," Mandy said rising.  "There is the issue of
the Disciplinary Adjudication brought forth by the Masked Bruce against
Spandex Babe concerning her actions in the Industrial Revolution."  It all
seemed so... civilized.  Formal.  A veneer of ritual superimposed over an ugly
truth, like shelf paper on linoleum.
     "The case is open," Trashman assented.  "Will the prosecution please make
its opening remarks."
     The Masked Bruce rose and walked around the Rostrum, into the center of
the room.  "Ladies and gentlemen... comrades at arms... members of the press,
spectators and of course our associates... we are, at heart, discussing facts.
Undisputed, incontrovertible facts.  We are not debating ethics or legality.
We are not seeking the truth.  The truth is apparent.  Spandex Babe willingly
murdered an innocent man sheerly out of prejudice.  She participated in a
pogrom designed to oppress and very possibly exterminate a minority class.
She was not an idle follower, deluded by a cult of personality, but instead a
ringleader.  Through her participation, she lent the facade of respectability
to the Revolution and lent the name of the Adjusted League to it too.
     "I'm not an attorney.  I'm not used to standing in front of the world and
accusing a woman I once respected.  But that respect -- the friendship I once
felt for Spandex Babe -- must give way to the facts.  We cannot eliminate the
stain on our honor until we accept the facts, and carry them to their logical
conclusion.  A conclusion which I intend to pursue with all of my strength.  A
conclusion which is obvious.  In short, the nature of the crime demands the
dismissal of Spandex Babe, the cessation of any association with her, and the
devotion of the Adjusted League Unimpeachable to redeem its honor!"  The
Masked Bruce's voice had risen and filled with fire, but now he seemed to
settle.  "Through the course of this deliberation, I believe you will all see
the obvious... and only recourse.  Thank you."
     The Masked Bruce returned to his rostrum, with applause filling the room.
Trashman rang the bell before him to restore order.

                                     * * * * * *

     "Roger, stop it," Daydream Believer snapped to her dead friend.  "This is
a trial."
     "Not enough of one," Roger retorted, but he stopped clapping.  "She
should be put away."
     "It's not that simple."
     "The Hell it isn't."
     "Roger!  What's gotten into you?"
     "Come on, DDB.  These people kidnapped me.  They critically injured you.
They *killed* me!  They should be taken down -- every last bloody one of
them!"
     Daydream Believer shook her head.  "But.. but Spandex Babe isn't to blame
for all of that.  She didn't--"
     "The only thing that makes Spandex Babe better than the rest of them is
she had the balls to take what's coming to her--"
     "If you two don't shut up, I'll drag your genitals through your nose,"
the She-Devil growled from the seat in front of them.
     "Good luck," Roger snorted.
     "Roger, I like my anatomy the way it is," Daydream Believer snapped.
     "Whatever," the ghost said, and settled back into his seat, sinking a
couple of inches into it.

                                   * * * * * *

     "Will the Defense please make it's opening remarks?"
     Nouveaux Skunk glanced at Spandex Babe for a moment and stepped forward.
He smiled slightly, clearly relaxed.  "Thank you, Counsel," he said, and
glanced around himself into the gallery.  "We have an impressive audience," he
said lightly.  "I don't think I've seen quite so many members of the
fraternity since Superguy's funeral.  I wonder why it's always the negative
events that draw us together.  Funerals.  Trials.  Revolutions.  Yes, I wonder
that quite often.
     "But that, I suppose, is not relevant.  My esteemed colleague has spoken
of facts.  `The facts of the case are this.'  `The facts are indisputable.'
`This is not a case of morality, but of fact!'  Fact fact fact fact fact.  A
veritable tyranny of facts.
     "Well, I hate to dispute a man of such nobility and learning, but the
Masked Bruce is wrong.  This is not a case of facts.  The facts are plain, but
they are pale in comparison to the facts that surround them.  The death of the
Mage called Wilhelm is but one death surrounded by hundreds of others on both
sides.  It is a fact made significant by just two things... the *fact* that
Spandex Babe was involved... and the *fact* that the Masked Bruce was
involved.
     "The Masked Bruce said that the death of Wilhelm was murder.  This is
patently false.  The word `murder' does not mean an intentional death.  A
murder is the illegal death of a citizen.  It is a crime against the state.
But the state has declared that no crimes were committed against it.  So this
fact is not a fact after all.
     "You will all be presented with facts.  With opinions.  With testimonies.
With passions.  But in the end, what you will be presented with is emotion.
Belief.  The belief that the Industrial Revolution was wrong.  The belief that
the Revolutionaries -- and Spandex Babe in particular -- acted out of malice
and acted in a way ill befitting heroes.
     "Well, perhaps they did."  Nouveaux Skunk looked thoughtful.  "Perhaps
they were vicious bigoted killers who didn't give a damn about anything or
anyone.  Perhaps they never were heroes.  Perhaps they don't know what it
means to *be* a hero.  To make sacrifices for your fellow man.  To risk
everything for what you think is right.  To try your damnedest in the face of
horror.
     "Or perhaps... just perhaps... everything they did was out of some notion
of the public good.  Perhaps -- in their fear and ignorance -- they were
trying their best.  And perhaps they have sacrificed more than most heroes
could.
     "I know this much.  Spandex Babe was a hero before the Industrial
Revolution.  And I say to you that no matter what happened Spandex Babe is
still a hero today.  She has made mistakes.  She has crossed lines and
sacrificed important parts of herself.  But she is still a *hero*!
     "The facts are clear.  Wilhelm is dead.  But that does not make Spandex
Babe a murderer any more than any soldier or superhero or police officer who
must confront a situation where deadly force becomes necessary.  One warrior,
exhausted and shell-shocked, reacted against a potential threat.  This is not
right, but neither is it murder.  And neither is it grounds for her exclusion
from the ranks of the Superguys.  It is, in the end, simply a fact which she -
- and we -- must learn to live with so long as we remain in a profession where
we fight for a living.  Each of us confronts the question of deadly force in
the discharging of our duties.  Each of us must make snap decisions that could
mean the difference between life and death for ourselves, for our opponents,
and for the innocent we have sworn to protect.
     "That Spandex Babe made the wrong decision at the wrong moment is not in
doubt.  That she acted maliciously, acted out of prejudice, acted out of
hatred, or acted against the spirit of the charter of the Adjusted League
Unimpeachable is.  And as long as that doubt exists.  As long as the question
remains one of ethics, one of principle, and one of perception, then the
*fact* of Spandex Babe's guilt is questionable.  And as long as there is
question as to Spandex Babe's guilt we are bound by the laws we have sworn to
uphold to consider her innocent.  This is, in the end, the only possible
resolution to this case, and it is my solemn duty to pursue this case to that
conclusion.  Thank you."
     Nouveaux Skunk returned to Spandex Babe's side.  There were murmurs, some
positive, some negative.  There was no outburst.  No applause.
     Trashman turned to the Masked Bruce.  "The Prosecution may present its
case."


WILL THE PROSECUTION PRESENT ITS CASE?
WHAT SORT OF CASE WILL IT BE?
IS THE CASE ONE OF FACTS OR ETHICS?
COULD ANYONE POSSIBLY CARE LESS?
WILL TRASHMAN BE DRIVEN TO DRUG DEPENDENCY BY HIS RELATIONSHIP?


The answers to these and several other questions will be found in Black's Law
Dictionary, exclusively on Superguy.