🚀 go-pugleaf

     Home can far too easily become a tomb for the living when the dead are
left to walk its halls. As they slid down into the Authors' Den, only just
recovered from their battle in the home universe of Gggthxtsth the Running
Gag, the Tribe of Behn thought that they would somehow be comforted by the
familiar sights, sounds and smells of home. But not all of them had
returned home and the echoes of the underground base rang false as one
voice, forever cheerful and always bright, did not chime in with the
others.
     "I'm... going to go wash up," muttered Spenser, leaving the group and
trudging toward the first non-hospital bathroom that he had seen in a week.
     "I'm going to go home, call me when you NEED me," said Elk flatly, his
weariness nearly negating his compulsion to overemphasise every few words.
     "Are you going to be okay?" asked Dickens, briefly moving in front of
Elk and looking the man in the face. Elk returned the look with a blank
stare, then slowly nodded. Dickens watched for a moment before stepping out
of the way. "I'll call later," he said quietly. "Just to check up."
     Elk shrugged and walked out, as Dickens sighed. "I'm... going to go to
my room and think things over," he said, shaking his head. "Call if
something comes up." Sighing again with a dole he wished he did not feel,
Dickens walked out of the central cave-cum-living room to his private room,
closing the door behind himself. Aphra and Milton said nothing for a long
while.
     "Maybe we should check our messages," said Milton, trying to break the
silence and getting ready to rig up the kicking machine for making such a
banal suggestion. To his surprise, Aphra simply nodded, took his hand and
led him into the Den's computer room.
     "BARD?" asked Aphra, sitting at the enormous computer's terminal.
"BARD, we're back. Were there any messages for us? BARD? Will? WILL?"
     "Maybe he's just paying attention to a random file cluster or
something," suggested Milton, weakly. "You know how he is..."
     Aphra shook her head as her fingers flew across the computer's keys,
clacking with a stacatto urgency. The great machine bleeped once and spat
requested data to the screen, for both man and wife to see.
     "Oh my lord," said Milton, staring at the 'memory used' display. Where
their friend and comrade - BARD - should have been, occupying nearly
fifty-percent of the enormous computer's space, there were only the Tribe's
files and documents, huddled into a measly half-percent. "Where did he go?"
     "I don't know, John," replied Aphra in a whisper, gently turning off
the computer before sitting in front of it, staring at blank screen with
blank eyes. "He's gone, just like Liz."
     "We don't know where Will is, Aphra," replied Milton. "For all we
know, he could've gotten bored and gone to hang out with Doyle."
     "We don't know where Liz is either," replied Aphra, with a low sigh.
"And in her case, she might very well be... dead."
     "Is there any sign of an intruder? Files missing or added? Bloated
documents? Anything?"
     "How am I supposed to know, John?" snapped back Aphra, immediately
regretting her outburst. "That's exactly what we were hoping to let Will
handle!"
     "I'm sorry," said Milton, knowing that his wife was in pain and
wondering how to lance it without making the injury greater. "Question
withdrawn." He stood and paced around the paper-strewn room like a caged
cat, before shaking his head. "Come on, Aph. We haven't had anything except
hospital food in a long time. Let me make you breakfast."
     "If you want," replied Aphra absently, as she continued to stare at
BARD's blank screen, occasionally tapping a key.
     "What would you like?" asked Milton, trying to draw Aphra's attention
at least partially away from the screen. Unfortunately she refused to
oblige, not turning even as she replied.
     "Anything, John. You know what I like."
     "Yes, I do," replied Milton, moving behind Aphra and putting his hands
on her shoulders. "You like beating yourself up over whatever happens to
those people under your command."
     "Someone has to," replied Aphra, eyes intent upon the video display
terminal. "Someone has to take the blame for what's happened."
     "Maybe so," replied Milton, moving his hands under Aphra's arms and
gently lifting her to a standing position. "But at this moment it's not the
CO because you're off-duty."
     "I'm never off-duty."
     "You don't realise how much of a lie that is, Aph. At this moment, you
are a civilian and not leader of one of the most rag-tag bands of superguys
on Earth."
     "I can't just take off my burden like that, John," replied Aphra,
tearing her eyes from the screen with an exasperated sigh. "It's not that
easy."
     "Maybe it is," replied Milton. "I'm your husband, you're my wife. We
help to define each other, remember? We made a commitment to do that... at
some point in whatever passes for our pasts before we became us. Well I'm
putting my foot down, Aph, and defining us as two people who will eat a
breakfast of whatever I can find in the fridge that doesn't bite me back.
After breakfast, you'll retain the brevet rank of civilian until after all
of us have a chance to talk about Liz."
     "I guess," replied Aphra, letting herself be led towards the kitchen.
It wasn't a complete victory, but it was a start.
     The Tribe had gotten very good at half-victories in the past week.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

                Chris Angelini/Frobozz Presents

                    The Tribe of Behn...#37

                          "Paths"

       'Through the Quizzing Glass': Prologue to Arc One

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

     Slate rose as a tall, imposing man strode into the mildly bland
waiting room in which he sat. He rose not out of respect or custom, but
because it was the action which his etiquette rider program told him was
the proper thing to do in this situation. Given that everyone in this
strange corporation - named Omnus - seemed to know the slightest detail
about Slate, his group and his employer, he reasoned that they would also
know that he lacked any sort of a definable personality and therefore stood
only upon soft-coded instruction. But there was a chance that they did not
know, would expect courtesy, and so Slate stood.
     "You may sit, Slate," said the man magnanimously, crossing his arms
and staring down at the cybernetic mercenary with an intensity that seemed
to look past the hallow shell of the body and seek out the darkest recesses
of the soul. Without a look of gratitude, comfort - to be frank, without
any emotions at all - Slate returned to his seat.
     "You asked to see me," stated the man to Slate, so pointedly that the
phrase could very nearly have been used to slice muslin. "I'm a very busy
man, but I found a small window of time in which to see you. State your
case now, please, beginning with why you were so adamant about speaking to
me alone."
     "It's of little use to deal with anyone but the highest in any given
hierarchy," replied Slate, his voice a dull, expressionless near-monotone.
"My questions are best posed to you alone. You are the one they refer to as
the Paisley Lapin?"
     "That is how I'm known, yes," replied the man, inclining his head
sufficiently to acknowledge Slate but slight enough to allow his bare
tolerance for anyone not himself to come through. "Your questions? I'd hate
to be late for an important appointment because you were slow in asking
them."
     "Why have we been brought to another world?" asked Slate, with no
preamble and feeling none needed. The Paisley Lapin chuckled under his
breath, favouring the mercenary with a glance that one might give a
particularly clever chimpanzee who had discovered how to unlock his cage,
crawl to the phone and punch in thirty minutes of Dial-A-Prayer at one
dollar a minute.
     "You've been brought here because it suits me," replied the Lapin.
"But that answer won't suit you, and I mean to keep you most satisfied if I
can. You're on another world because the facilities to improve your rather
pathetic group of followers exists here, rather than anywhere else. It's
much easier to transport your group to Central Office than to bring our
resources to Earth. How did you know of your removal?"
     "My enhanced senses informed me that the gravitational attraction of
this world is slightly less than that of Earth. While this might be
dismissed as simple equipment failure, I've also noted that the air
composition here is slightly lower in nitrogen and richer in oxygen.
Finally, my self-diagnosis implant has identified no fewer than four
microbes - benign - which are unknown on Earth and biologically
incompatible with most Terrestrial organisms. The only logical conclusion
is that this is not Earth."
     "I must remember to keep my eye on you," replied the Lapin, nodding
slightly. "Someone of your calibre could be very useful or highly
dangerous. However, you've called me here for more than just information
about your location. Pose your next question."
     "You have given me partial information already. What is this regimen
of improvement to which you have committed my troops?"
     The Lapin clasped his hands behind his back and adopted a frown of
contemplation for a moment. After several moments, he finally spoke. "How
successful has your organisation been in achieving its ends?"
     "Marginally, at best."
     "Exactly," replied the Lapin, nodding. "Which was exactly what we were
looking for."
     "Clarification?"
     "Omnus will make your underlings into the ideal followers, ones for
which a general in any army would happily kill friend, relative or superior
to possess."
     "I do not recall this process being a condition of our joining with
Omnus' concerns."
     "Of course it wasn't," replied the Lapin dryly. "Our deal was with you
and you alone, as commander of your group. You will be spared this process,
although we do have several improvements to offer. Omnus has purchased your
product, Slate, and we mean to shape them as needed before use. Never
forget that your followers are nothing more than goods, to be used as the
owner sees fit."
     "I see," replied Slate, giving no indication of this one way or
another. He simply pressed on to the next question. "Do you intend to
upscale my followers' powers?"
     "Absolutely not," replied the Lapin. "Any fool can promote a pawn to a
queen, but how can you be sure that the queen will remain of your colour?
No, your followers have powers sufficient to our needs. There is only one
thing keeping them from becoming perhaps one of the most feared
organisations on your Earth."
     "That being?"
     "The mind, my dear Slate. Their ordinary, cluttered, feeble minds,
filled with the trivialities of their meaningless lives and distracted by
the least sensation. Do you realise how close you come to perfection?"
     Slate was not thrown by this sudden shift in topic - he was incapable
of such. "I did not."
     "You do, and if I didn't know that the idea was anathema to you, I
would tell you not to be so modest. You, Slate, are perfection of mind and
cognition. Focused not on the baggage of the past that the weak carry, but
on the unlimited possibilities of the present. You cannot be distracted by
the unimportant minutiae of life because to you, life is an eternal now.
Your vision is clear and your self is centred. In short, you have
transcended the prison of flesh - the trap into which all sentients fall.
This gift of transcendence will be given to your followers."
     "How do you propose to accomplish this?" asked Slate, without a trace
of curiosity.
     "While you lived in the lap of luxury for the past week - and yes, I
understand it was no more comfortable to someone as you as a rat infested
hotel would have been - your followers have been enduring sensory, sleep
and food deprivation, psychological conditioning, aversion and electroshock
therapy and regimens of will-deadening drugs and light hypnosis to cement
together everything that we're trying to accomplish. We've run extensive
biological scans, learning some most interesting things along the way, and
have prepared exercise and training routines best suited for bringing your
men to their peaks. We have analysed their powers thoroughly and will teach
them how to use what they have in the most efficient manner possible."
     "How long is this process expected to take?"
     "Several months. Matters are proceeding apace. While you wait here,
you will be given constant updates on their projected status so you may
develop leadership strategies best suited to take advantage of their
perfection. Further, we will offer to you cybernetic improvements the likes
of which are not seen anywhere in your stifling little universe."
     "Will I be able to inspect these before they're accepted?"
     "Naturally. I would expect nothing less."
     "The cost?"
     "Buried as a condition of your hiring. Omnus believes in never cutting
corners. Or I should say that we don't now, under my leadership."
     "Then I thank you for your time and have no further questions nor
reservations about this project."
     The Paisley Lapin smiled. It was not a smile that should be seen on
anyone named after a skittish herbivore, but one which belonged on a
ferocious predator, a smile which held the promise of a throat bloodily
ripped apart between bared teeth. The smile looked very natural on the
Lapin's face. "Then I believe our business is ended for now, Slate. It was
a rare pleasure to deal with someone so rational."
     "I accept your compliment in the manner it was meant," replied Slate,
nodding slightly in the way that his rider program instructed him. The
Lapin returned the nod, stood and strode out, leaving Slate to ponder
nothing at all.
***
     "This just won't end, will it?" asked Dickens as he looked at the
untouched orange juice in his hands. He and the remainder of the Tribe sat
around their kitchen table, gathered to hear news of BARD's disappearance.
"Ben leaves us, Liz does... whatever it is that she did, Will vanishes...
you know, we really should've stayed dead. At least then we vanished all at
once, painlessly, without having an arm chopped off here and a leg torn off
there. It would've been so much easier and a whole lot less painful."
     "We don't get the easy way," said Spenser, putting a hand onto
Dickens' shoulder. "But we've managed to survive this far, haven't we?"
     "Bits of us have."
     "Gentlemen," said Aphra quietly, in a tone that said more than any
should could've. "I called you here for a reason. I'd like a few minutes to
say my piece."
     "Go ahead," said Spenser, glancing to Milton questioningly. The man
shook his head and shrugged in reply.
     "In recent days I've begun to question my ability to lead this team,"
said Aphra, steepling her fingers while resting elbows on the table-top.
"Given our heavy losses, I'm beginning to wonder if I've managed
effectiveness of any kind at all. I have been wondering whether or not I'm
the most qualified or even qualified for this job."
     "Aph!" said Milton, rising to his feet, but was silenced by a piercing
glance from his wife.
     "As leader, I have the right to call for this," she replied, following
him with her gaze as he slowly sat back down, in deference to the team's
leader. "I'm not doing this out of self-pity or some need of attention,
John. I have honest doubts about myself and I can't shortchange you or this
group by being a halfhearted leader. That's the one reason that I'm calling
for consensus about this issue."
     Milton was about to reply when the phone rang, which being a phone,
tended to do such things. Spenser walked over to the table and answered,
speaking quietly into the receiver while the others waited quietly for the
message.
     "That was TFA," he said, walking back to the table. "A situation here
in Windsor got called in about an hour ago and they want us to check it
out. Three powered individuals of no certain identity are smashing cars and
shops, taking what they want and running off before the police can show."
     "An hour ago?" asked Milton, incredulous. "And they waited this long
to tell us?"
     "I hear that they've been having organisational troubles," said
Dickens. "Could that be why?"
     "It doesn't matter why," said Aphra. "We have to do something about
the situation immediately. But first the vote."
     "I'm voting with action," said Spenser, opening a portal to Arcadia
and summoning his Red Cross Knight armour. "Aphra, I'm following you into
this, no matter what."
     "That sounds good," said Dickens, grinning. "That's my vote too."
     "Add a third voice to that," said Milton, slowly smiling. "Aphra my
dear, I think you have yourself an answer."
     "You're all impossible," said Aphra, with a shake of her head. Then,
slowly, her face brightened. "And I love all of you for it. Get kitted up
and be back here to leave in five minutes. Dickens, give Elk a call," she
finished with a sigh. All nodded in agreement and the group hurried off to
prepare.
***
     Interlude...

     Somewhere between Here and There, under Now but over Later, where you
hang a Left and then a Right unless there's a One Way Street, in which case
you follow Brock until you see a Becker's and just go in there and ask for
directions, they don't mind really, there is a place which exists only as
an opinion: the distant faded dream of a universe. This void constituted
all that remained of a future timeline rendered null, a time never-to-come
in which the world had become a bloodied rock, spinning in space while
demons and their god ruled its shattered hulk with iron fist. The whole had
been kept locked in place by a Mobius loop of time, joining one altiverse's
end to another's beginning, brutally forcing the two to merge into one. It
was a mad plan, all the more so because it would have worked had it not
been for some meddling superguys and their cat. But the loop had snapped,
and the future vanished forevermore.
     At least in theory, it had. The realm of madness should have long
since been swallowed up by entropic forces of the universe, yet still a
tiny concept of it remained, clinging not to life - which had long since
fled - but to the possibility of life and the shadow of existence. Like the
sanity of most final year university students, it was almost completely not
there. It existed in no place and no time, and in theory even this shade of
existence should have been denied it.
     The possibility of an artifact - older than recorded history and
something that had to persist in one form or another - kept this future
from breathing its last. It was Unreal, and could therefore exist without
existing, just as did the barest fragment of the shadow-timeline which the
amulet kept extant to house itself.
     We now return to the rest of the story, which the Author guarantees is
a good deal more real.
***
     Big Behn paced her room, rocked her child, and thought back over how
she had come to this point. She had conquered so much... she had even taken
an Earth before the hordes of Gggthxtsth had forced her to flee back in
time to the present to start over again. She had faced her greatest
challenge - the Tribe of Behn - whom she considered nearly her equals,
possessing as they did her entire repetoir of abilities though not her
genius. She had suffered through the humiliation of having the system which
projected her body as physical destroyed, forced to hide away in a backup
holographic projector under the care of the mercenary Slate, while the man
attempted to assemble something capable of giving her physicality once
more. And she had found her greatest triumph in destroying her temporal
duplicate, the woman who had come before her, after she had been revived in
the past as Big Behn had been and embarked upon a mad scheme to take the
world. From her duplicate's virtual corpse, Big Behn had snatched her
greatest solace: the small holographic child whose body had been co-opted
to house the code of Big Behn's double. Finally, Slate had contacted her,
telling of a place to where he had been taken, and promising her power
beyond limit. With little else to do, Big Behn had followed.
     Life might have been many things, but it certainly did not seem to be
boring. There came a knock at the door, which brought the
temporally-orphaned woman out of her reverie immediately.
     "Enter," commanded Behn, wondering exactly how much influence she had
now that she was a holographic stranger in a very solid strange land. She
was willing to bank on Not All That Much, which was a very safe bet. The
Paisley Lapin glided into the room, favouring the woman with a cool smile
as he did.
     "Ah, Ms Behn, you're looking as lovely as ever," he said, seating
himself before being asked. "I trust that you're finding accommodations
here to your satisfaction?"
     Behn nodded slightly, rocking the child. "They're adequate, I suppose.
I really shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth either... being here
seems to have saved my life, such as it is."
     "The secret to success, Ms Behn, is to know that everyone has to be
somewhere. Then, it simply becomes a matter of knowing how to arrange
things so people are in exactly the position to help you most. Be that on
another continent from you, in the office into which you put them, or in
the path of a swiftly moving bullet which you have had fired."
     "Is this at all relevant to the situation at hand?"
     "Not in the least, Ms. Behn. I simply needed a few moments to reveal
my personal code of ethics to further chill those playing along at home.
But I came here for more than just expository speech, my dear. I have for
you a proposal."
     Big Behn smiled faintly, allowing just a trace of scorn to bleed
through her civil exterior. "At the moment I've decided to remain single,"
she said. "Though there is a man who will soon find that he simply cannot
resist me..." Behn smiled coolly at the thought.
     "I don't much care about how you do your trysting, Ms Behn," replied
the Lapin, meeting her suddenly blazing eyes with a calm dispassion. "But I
do care about the safety and comfort of my guests. Therefore, I've come to
offer you a gift."
     "A gift?" asked Big Behn, raising a questioning eyebrow. "And where
might I find the string that must be attached to it?"
     "Strings bind, but they can also be untied. Yes, I give few things
away without price."
     "I'm not sure that I care to hear this price."
     "Judge the value of the gift, not the price charged."
     Behn smoothly sat, the holographic projector giving her the illusion
of being supported by a chair. "I'm listening. Convince me."
     "That should be simple enough, Ms Behn," replied the Lapin, a feral
smile appearing momentarily upon his lips before fading into his commanding
face. "What I propose to give to you is existence. Nothing more and nothing
less. I mean to give you a heart which can beat in time with your
far-reaching passions, hands that can grasp for your dreams, and abilities
which can set you amongst the gods. You already have all of that within
you, Ms Behn. It remains only for me to envelop it once more in solidity
and form."
     Big Behn's eyes narrowed to hide the sheer avarice which suddenly lit
them. Instead of focusing upon the burning desire that she felt for what
had been offered, she probed for the loophole, the catch.
     "What do you get from this, Lapin?" she asked levelly.
     "Isn't the ascension of one such as yourself thanks enough?" asked the
Lapin, his tone mocking.
     "For one such as yourself? I'd have to be a fool to believe that."
     "And you prove yourself anything but," replied the Lapin, his
expression never changing. "There is a price, and a hefty one at that."
     "I'm listening."
     "Simply put, you would owe me a single service," replied the Lapin. "A
marker which I could call in at any time."
     "This service would be rather involved, then."
     "I might call upon you to raze a country to cinders or get me a frozen
enchellada from the corner store," said the Lapin, smiling. "It all depends
upon my whim at the moment I choose to redeem the debt."
     "I have two questions, then."
     "Only two?"
     "Only two that I haven't deduced the answer to already," replied Behn
with a savage smile.
     "Touchee," replied the Lapin. "Let me hear them."
     "Firstly, presuming that I accept, when would this take place?"
     The Lapin paused and fingered his amulet for a moment, before looking
back up. "Ms Behn, the forces at my disposal are, while not limitless,
nearly so. The procedure will commence the moment you give word."
     "I see," said Behn, nodding slightly.
     "You had another query?"
     "My daughter. Would she be included in the process?"
     The Lapin smiled, unsurprised by the question. "Give the word and she
can be," he replied. "Though as her guardian, you would take responsibility
for her boon unto me until she reached an age where she could resume the
responsibility. For which I might wait... her abilities in the real world
might prove to be interesting."
     "Abilities?" asked Behn, surprised.
     "I had thought that you only had the two questions," replied the Lapin
with a wry smile.
     "New information presented itself," said Behn. "What abilities?"
     "Your daughter would seem to have a good deal of metahuman potential
ready to express," said the Lapin, his eyes boring into the child as his
amulet glowed faintly. "Should she be clothed in flesh, I'd presume that it
would express itself sooner or later."
     "Interesting," replied Behn. "I've come to a decision."
     "Have you?" asked the Lapin, chuckling lightly. "Might I ask what it is?"
     "Of course you may," replied Behn, coolly. "And in this case I'll even
answer. I've decided... yes."
     "I'd thought as much," replied the Lapin standing, motioning for Behn
to do so as well. "Rise, Ms Behn... and embrace your destiny."
     Behn stood, miming the taking the Lapin's proffered hand. With his
other, the man touched his amulet, invoking the powers of Unreality that
were his to command. Behn gasped, nearly loosening her grasp upon the child
that she held as the raw stuff of power seared her holographic form,
spreading through it like a brushfire in dry woods, flooding it with
forgotten sensation and feeling. Every cell suddenly came alive, every
neuron fired, every nerve celebrated its sudden existence by feasting upon
pain and pleasure, gorging themselves beyond the point of bloated
satiation. The sensations rose and fell over Big Behn like ceaseless waves
of pure feeling, and Behn felt herself nearly washed away by the unending
rhythm. Dimly she heard her child crying, obviously lead along the same
dance of experience, but there was nothing which Behn could do for her. For
she herself was being born anew, and one infant emerging from the womb
cannot comfort another. At once, Behn felt like the mother and newborn,
expelling something vital from herself to live and grow, while at the same
time being expelled from all that comforted and nourished her, forced into
an unkind and uncaring world by unrelenting forces of nature... or
Unnature.
     Suddenly the waves receded and Behn collapsed to her knees, trembling
like a naked child whose umbilical cord had been freshly cut. And since
time immemorial, there had been only one thing for the newborn to do.
Ignoring her adult's pride, ignoring the other in the room, ignoring all
except a single long forgotten instinct, Behn cried from the very centre of
her soul, painting the horrors and mysteries of rebirth upon her face in a
tempera of saline.
     The Lapin said nothing as he watched the woman at his feet wracked
with birthing sobs. Slowly, Behn's mind cleared and experience flooded past
the temporary fortress which newborn innocent had erected. Ensuring that
child was sill clutched in her arm, Behn rose with a regal bearing. A robe
was settled around her shoulders and Behn's mind barely registered that her
body had emerged from the process unclothed. Somehow, despite the indignity
involved it seemed only right that she return to the world nude, but never
again naked. With clearing eyes, Behn looked at the Lapin.
     "It is done," he said simply, holding out his hand once more. Again
Behn took it and this time gasped as no dumb show ensued, but flesh met
flesh. "I welcome you back to the world, Aleph Behn."
     "I'm real again," whispered Behn, relishing every sensation. She
looked back at the Lapin, voice resuming its imperious tone. "Any favour
that you ask for can't be too much, given what you've restored to me."
     "Is that so?" asked the Lapin. "Hmm.. as it happens, I do have my boon
already in mind."
     "Absolving it at the start would be welcome," smiled Behn, gently
stroking her child's red locks. "What do you want me to do?"
     "It's simple, actually," said the Lapin. "Give me your child."
     Behn froze, then yanked back the child in her arms. "No... not that..."
     "I certainly hope you don't intend to renege on our agreement," sighed
the Lapin. "My price is your child. Give her to me and the matter will be
over and done with. You'll have a long while of conquest ahead of you in
which to forget all about her."
     "Anything," replied Behn, narrowing her eyes. "Anything but that. I'll
do you two favours, just leave me with my child."
     "The price is set, agreed to and needs only be paid," said the Lapin.
"That I can't change. But..."
     "But?" asked Behn.
     "I might be persuaded to allow you to buy back her freedom," said the
Lapin, his smile spreading across his face. "For a small price..."
***

[Continued in Part Two]