🚀 go-pugleaf

     It was about ten minutes after the Masked Bruce freed the Dash that they
met them.  There were two of them, dressed in the uniforms of their trade --
black suits, government haircuts, and of course sunglasses.  But where the
taller one looked like a carbon copy of all the rest, the shorter one (very
much shorter -- five foot one at the most) looked as atypical as one could
imagine.
     The Adjusted League Unimpeachable were professionals, of course.  They
didn't attack out of hand.  But Spandex Babe, the Dash, the Masked Bruce and
Kid Solipsism snapped into position, ready for the fight.
     Healer didn't, but then she wasn't A.L.U.  The equal of any one of them,
certainly, but she hadn't specifically trained with them.
     Trashman, carrying the unconscious Unorthodox Girl, didn't even look
concerned.  "Gentlemen," he said.
     The shorter man nodded.  "Trashman.  Healer.  I trust you have the
situation in hand."
     "What do you mean?" Spandex Babe demanded.  "Who are you?"
     "Special Special Agent Menalaus Roth," the shorter man said.  He looked
dusky -- indian, perhaps.  Or mulatto.  His voice had a trace of accent that
wasn't easily definable.  "Of the Mega-Intelligence Bureau."
     "Don't you mean `National Intelligence Bureau,'" the Masked Bruce asked
sarcastically.
     "I assumed there was little need for deception at this late date," Roth
said.  "You know who we are, I'm sure.  So why pretend?"  He smiled a
government smile.
     "Perhaps you could explain what exactly is going on here," Trashman said.
There was something in his voice that suggested he knew what he would hear.
     "Certainly.  One of our operatives -- a Special Agent Olson -- had
recently fallen out of favor with the upper echelons of the Bureau.  He was
approached by an outsider -- the renegade Doctor Unorthodox, who had just
escaped from the Really-Really-Hard-to-Get-Out-of-Place.  Doctor Unorthodox
suggested a course of research on his own daughter.  Something to unlock the
biochemical nature of her powers, I'm led to believe.  Olson submitted a
proposal, which was rejected.  Taking matters into his own hands, he
misappropriated funds and resources to initiate the Project himself.
Eventually, he was discovered, and Special Special Agent Thomas Kim was
dispatched to rescue Unorthodox Lass.  He disappeared in the attempt."
     Healer's eyes grew wider at Kim's name, but she said nothing.  Spandex
Babe laughed outright.  "That is the most--"
     "You have the Civilian Authorities on their way to take Olson and any
cohorts he had into custody?" Trashman asked, as though he were inquiring about
the weather.
     Roth nodded.
     "Then I assume you'll let us know when we have to testify.  Come along,
A.L.U."  He started marching off again.
     "But--" the Masked Bruce said, but then stopped, as though Trashman were
able to issue an order telepathically, using Healer as a relay.
     Roth watched them leave.  "Kim," he murmured to himself, "you really let
the fecal matter into the air conditioner this time, didn't you?"
     "Sir," his second assistant said, entering the corridor.  "I've got it."
     He held up a blood splattered metal case, designed to hold computer backup
tapes.
     "Excellent," Roth said.  "This is going very well indeed.


                                The Adventures
                                    of the
                         Adjusted League Unimpeachable
                                Guest Starring
                              (for the last time)
                                    Healer

                                  Episode #74
                          "Origins Volume the Third"
             "Unorthodox Biochemical Revenge Part the Thirteenth"
                                      by
                 Eric, Lord Sabre, putting his life into boxes



     May 19, 1994

          I've officially become optimistic about Trudy's progress.  Her
     initial resistance to psychological counseling and therapy has mostly
     dissipated, and she is really beginning to open up.  The Masked Bruce
     wanted to know why I didn't enter her mind and `heal' her.  It was,
     after all, where I got my name from.
          So why didn't I?  I didn't want to.  It was working as a
     Psychologist for the Mega-Intelligence Bureau that caused me to
     develop those parapsychological therapeutic techniques.  The incident
     with Radian, coupled with the M.I.B.'s treatment of Trudy and their
     misuse of the discipline has caused me to rethink the so-called quick
     fix solution.
          About her younger years, Trudy has remained cautious and
     guarded.  I can't fault her for that.  She's also getting impatient
     to return to duty.  She points to her active duty during the Satanic
     Crisis as proof -- forgetting that the reason we approved her then
     was we thought we were all going to die anyhow.
          But she wants to return to a normal life.  It's an
     understandable desire.  It's been so soon, though.  Not even three
     months.  The kind of systematic abuse they inflicted on her could
     take years to work through, not to mention the abuse she's never
     really had to confront from her years with her father.
          But if it takes years, then Trudy will spend her life chained to
     her past, and by the time she's ready -- whatever that means -- her
     life will have passed her by.  She's so young.  So full of promise.
     And she's been hurt in ways I can barely comprehend.  Could I condemn
     her to spending her entire life unravelling what happened to her?
          Our tax dollars at work, folks.
          In any case -- it's out of my hands.  I have pronounced her
     sane.  Neurotic?  Certainly.  Traumatized?  Far deeper than the
     surface probes I've used could measure.  Healthy?  In no way.  But
     sane.  That means her fitness for duty is now in the hands of
     Trashman.  Is that the blind leading the blind?  If I had the power,
     I'd have Trashman chained up because he'd escape from any
     straitjacket.
          We're in a markedly unhealthy profession anyhow.  Neuroses are
     little more than channel markers.  Is Ramrod neurotic?  Was he ever
     sane to begin with?  What about She-Devil?  What about Andy Awesome?
     How can any man be awesome and balanced?  Is he even rational?
     Plausible?  We dealt with it in CalForce by living the Californian
     way.  I can hear Key and Yury now.
          There has to be a better way.  The next generation has to be
     prepared.
          And Dianna's trusting me to find it.  Well, we will see.  I'm
     not in California any more.  If the next generation screws up or
     blows up the World Trade Center or gets themselves killed, it will be
     entirely my fault.

                                  * * * * * *

     "She said yes?"
     Mike nodded, and applied more oil to his hands.  He rubbed it into Jane's
shoulders.  They were tense.  They were always tense.  The Knopler effect that
allowed Jane to slow down to a normal rate of speed didn't negate her power.
It just internalized it.  Soaked it down deep, where it never rested.  "Yup.  I
guess it was almost accidental.  Spandy and Bruce were having a dinner meeting
and trying to get this A.L.U. Academy off the ground, but they kept talking
about Trudy, and how she was doing, and how Healer was really helping her, and
Spandy said something like, `Man, if we only had someone like Elizabeth as our
Commandant.'"
     Jane giggled.  "And she said yes?"
     "She said yes.  Though Trashman tried to convince her to join the Primary
team first."
     "Oh?"
     "Yeah.  She said it wasn't for her.  She wanted to get out of that end of
the business, at least for now."
     "Pity.  She's good."
     "Agreed."  Mike massaged deeper, working out knots even as he felt new
ones forming.  "You know, it occurs to me that there's no way to actually
finish rubbing your back."
     "I don't know what you could possibly mean," Jane said innocently.
     "Of course.  How foolish of me."

                                  * * * * * *

     The small cabal formed in a dark room deep within the `restricted' areas
of the Really-Really-Hard-To-Get-Out-Of-Place.  Roth was there, of course.  As
was Kim.  And Pongress, Bankert and Paul.  Roth's assistant Furr.  And a few
spectators and the designated spy for the opposition, who was actually a free
agent now after contract talks with the Russian service and M.I.6 fell through,
though the Mossad had put in a bid for him.
     Each inserted their key into the double security lock on the case.  Each
punched in their computer codes.  Each had retina checks taken, and each
grumbled, took off their Sunglasses, and took the tests again.
     The case processed these requests, and asked for the voiceprint analysis.
The agents broke into a four part harmony version of "When the Saints go
Marching In."  Then their computer terminals, plugged into the output port on
the case, generated a fifty question history exam.
     Fortunately, only Paul scored under an 85, and that served to help confirm
his authority.  It wasn't his fault, he was recruited during the Ford
Administration.
     One by one, the lights flipped green.  The locks inside the case released.
The explosives were disarmed.  The needle traps released.  The tear gas
canister was resealed.  The beacon deactivated.  The deadly spider was killed.
     The lid popped open.  Kim opened it wide.
     After a few moments, he started chuckling.  Swiftly, it became full
laughter.  Pongress laughed too, and Paul.  The others didn't.
     "Tom, I don't see what's so funny!  How could--"
     "It's *all* funny, Men," Kim replied.  "Every bit of it.  This is just
perfect.  All our work.  The Hell (tm) we inflicted and the Hell (tm) we
endured.  And it was all for this.  No wonder Trashman got out of lab in a
hurry."
     The case was designed to hold sixty data tapes, each holding a gigabyte of
compressed data.  But that isn't what the case was holding.  The case was
holding a single piece of paper.
     "I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU CAN SUCCESSFULLY SUE US WITHOUT OFFICIALLY ADMITTING
WHAT HAPPENED" it read.  There was a stamp of a Garbage Can after it.
     Roth, Furr, Bankert and Paul got up and left without another word.  Kim
kept laughing.  It was all so perfect.  It was the only way the PUS project
could end.

                                  * * * * * *

     The only time Trudy had been in 660 Commonwealth Avenue since her
rescue/escape from the Mega-Intelligence Bureau had been during a crisis that
the world's superguys had thought they were going to lose.  Satan T. Lucifer
Jones had brought a mammoth starship through from a different Altiverse, with
the specific intention to destroy Planet Earth with it.  The massed fleet of
the Xolchipalian Defense Forces, bolstered by the power of the ships of the
Ottsamaddawidu Confederation, had been decimated by the huge ship.  The heroes
of Planet Earth were preparing for a last stand that was sure to fail.  Trudy
had joined her fellows then, though she was still barely hanging on.
     And then Dangerousman had saved the Earth, and then Dangerousman,
Dangerousgirl, the Dash, Relativity Woman and Team Cynical defeated Satan in
Seattle, Washington, and Trudy had left again.  She had been staying in a
Vermont Safe House with Healer -- Bruce Rogers owned it, and had set it up as
per Healer's instructions.  And Trudy had tried to put her experiences into
words.  Into perspective.
     And now she was standing outside of the hideous building, staring up at
the three towers.  The Adjusted League Unimpeachable Central HeadQuarters for
Morally Outstanding and Upright Superheroes, Exclusively.
     Trudy wasn't sure if that included her, anymore.  But she had to check.
She pushed through the front door, and entered the Hideous lobby.
     <<Trudy!  Hi there!>>  JOEL -- the Justice Overmind Electronic Locus AI
donated by the Xolchipalian Defense Forces -- said in a cheerful, if relaxed
voice.  <<It's good to see you again!  You look great.>>
     "Thanks," Trudy said, running her fingers through her hair.  Time ha
restored a short, wavy head of blond hair to Trudy.  Not the mid-back length
she always wore before, but hair nonetheless.  The scarring was mostly on her
back and upper legs, so her clothes hid it.  Trudy supposed she did look good.
"Am I clear to move on?"
     <<Well, sure.  You're a member.  You're in good standing.  And as far as I
recall, you live here, right?>>
     Trudy wondered if she did.  "I guess.  Right -- is Trashman in?"
     <<In his office.>>
     Trudy stepped into the center tower elevator and let it lift her up to the
eighteenth floor.  As it opened, she almost walked bodily into Dianna
Potentiate.
     "Trudy!" Dianna said, a smile lighting her face up.  "I didn't know you
were back!"
     "Got in about three minutes ago," Trudy said softly, smiling.
     "Wonderful!"  Dianna hugged Trudy, who let herself be hugged.  "Are you
back on duty?"
     "I have to talk to the boss about that.  And you know what that means."
     "Oh yeah.  Good luck -- he's been in a foul mood lately."
     "How do you tell?"
     "He speaks more slowly."
     Trudy chuckled, not really seeing anything funny in it.  "Well, I'd better
have it out with him."
     Dianna nodded and stepped into the Elevator.  "And then I'm buying you
dinner.  You don't have a choice."  The doors shut.
     "When have I ever?" Trudy asked the doors, and started down the hall.
     "TrudirEEEENO!!!!!!"
     Trudy was scooped into a bearhug by Mike Green.  She squeezed his hands as
he held her, and let her go, still holding her shoulders.  "God," he said.
"You look great -- it's great to see you."
     "It's great to be here," she said, smiling.
     "I bet, I bet.  Oh man... how long have you been here?"
     "Five minutes, maybe.  I have to go begging for duty."
     "Oh joys.  If it'll help, I'll sacrifice a goat to the Gods of
Sanitation."
     "I dunno.  We'll see what he says."
     "Yeah -- we need to celebrate, though.  What plans you got?"
     "Dianna said she was going to buy me dinner."
     "Yay!  I'll force her to buy us all dinner."
     A whirlwind filled the room.  "OmygodTrudyyou'rebackthisiswonderfulwe've-
missedyousomuchIdon'tknowwhattosayexceptthatit'swonderfultoseeyouandyou're-
lookinggreatbutyou'veheardthatathousandtimessoIwon'trepeatitagainweneedtohavea-
partyorsomethingalthoughIsupposethere'salreadysomethingintheworksareyouonduty-
noIguessnotsinceyoujustgothereandhaven'tspokentoTrashmanyetI'mnotevensureif-
he'llletyoubackondutyhe'sbeensosnottylatelystillbetweenallofusIguesswehaveto-
beabletooutvotehimoheit'sgoodtoseeyou!!!!!!"
     "Hi Jane.  Love you too.  Look, I need to go see Trashy.  I'll see you
both tonight, all right?"
     "Right!  Man, it's good to see you.  C'mon, Jane.  Trudy!  I wanna see you
in the morning.  We'll play Magic -- it'll be great!"
     "Sure."  Trudy watched them go.  She trembled slightly, and turned to
continue down the hall.
     "It's about time."
     Trudy glanced up.  Kid Solipsism was inside of his office, glancing out
the window.  "Hi there," she said to him.
     "Hello.  I'm glad I decided you came back."
     "Me too.  But I have to see what Trashman will say."
     "Please.  I didn't conceive of a horror story like yours without factoring
in the probability of you returning to duty, older and wiser.  It's almost pro
forma."
     Trudy smiled.  "At least you're not dancing around the subject," she said.
     "Why should I.  I thought it up.  I just think I may be more disturbed
than I imagined, because I have trouble believing I'd conceive of such nasty
things happening to someone I like, like you."
     Trudy almost blushed.  "Thanks," she said.
     "Whatever."  The Kid turned away, and Trudy left.  There was something
almost... pure, really, about the Kid's treatment of her.  She sighed again,
and walked the rest of the way to Trashman's office.
     The door was shut.  She knocked.
     "Come."
     She opened the door.  Trashman was typing into a terminal.  It seemed to
have a series of financial statements and transactions displayed, connected
around a company called DefenseCo.  He shut it down as he turned to her.
"Unorthodox Girl," he said lightly.
     "Lass," she corrected.
     "Lass.  Right.  Of course.  It's good to see you."
     "Thank you."
     "What can I do for you?"
     Trudy had rehearsed the scene in her head.  She'd demand to go on duty.
Beg.  Plead.  Anything to return to her life.  All of that left her head, right
then.  "Well," she said slowly, "I thought you might have some work for me."
     Trashman nodded.  "I see.  Do you feel ready to return to duty?"
     "I'm sure Healer has filed a report."
     "She has.  And I've read it.  I didn't ask Healer's opinion.  I asked
yours."
     Trudy nodded.  "I... I'm ready."
     "Good enough.  There are a few things we need to clear up first, but you
can consider yourself active, effective immediately."
     Trudy was started.  "But... you need to tell JOEL--"
     "I told JOEL as soon as he reported that you had walked into the building.
And we're in privacy mode now, so he isn't listening."
     Trudy smiled.  "Thanks," she whispered.
     "Now -- to business.  First, I need to apologize to you."
     "For what?"
     In answer, Trashman opened a file drawer in his desk and took out a stack
of tapes.  They looked like computer tapes of some sort.  "This is a complete
record of what the Mega Intelligence Bureau did to you.  I felt it necessary as
Team Leader to review them.  I do not feel that decision was in error, but it
remains an invasion of your privacy.  For this I apologize."
     Trudy smiled, a little shaken, but not badly.  "Don't worry about it.  I
assumed you would, and I assumed Healer would brief you anyway."
     "You assumed wrong, in her case.  I asked, but she told me to perform a
feat that at the very least is anatomically impossible.  She said you were her
patient, and therefore your confidence was ensured."
     "Wow.  I... I guess I don't believe in that, any more."
     "Trust is a hard thing to regain.  Do sit, please."
     Trudy sat.  Elizabeth wouldn't even discuss Trudy's case with Trashman?
That was... that was wonderful.
     "The second order of business... I took it upon myself to resolve a loose
end."
     "What's that?"
     "The ultimate fate of your mother and sister.

                              [End of Part One]