🚀 go-pugleaf

     Bomber Babe looked at the mammoth red and silver machine.  They
hadn't told her it would look so much like a coffin.  So much like
death.
     "You look nervous," the Crimson Crowbar intoned woodenly.  "Are you
scared of what might happen to you?"
     "Scared not enough will," Bomber Babe lied.
     "Oh, you've nothing to fear on that score.  Our prescans show
you've plenty of room for enhancement.  Plenty of room to rise above
yourself.  If you're certain, that is."
     Bomber Babe swallowed, running a hand through her dirty blond hair.
She stared at the Nubermachine's chamber -- it smelled of oil and ozone.
Like one of her own bombs.
     Her bombs destroyed things.  What would the Nubermachine do to her?
     Would it matter?
     The south door opened.  Bomber Babe and the Crimson Crowbar turned,
as Psybernet and Egoiste led a small group of candidates in.  Bomber
Babe saw Badsport with them, and nodded slightly to her.
     Badsport nodded back.  Her attitude had been blunted, the same way
Bomber Babe's had been.  The last few days -- the tests and exams, the
interviews and briefings.... they'd taught Bomber Babe the level of what
she was looking to join.  They'd taught her how to be afraid all over
again.
     Not that she'd needed the lesson.  She'd lost badly enough in the
past to know fear pretty damn well.
     "Ladies and Gentlemen," Egoiste said, "I believe you know Emily
James -- the so-called Bomber Babe.  You've at least seen her.  I
suppose congratulations are in order.  It seems the redoubtable Miss
James is the first to find approval.  The first of a new breed of
associate.  The first to become one of us."
     "Why's she first," Badsport muttered.  "Why not one of us?"
     "Why not you, you mean?" the Crimson Crowbar intoned woodenly.
"Patience, Badsport.  You are unenhanced to begin with -- you are
therefore not an ideal first candidate.  And you and Miss James were the
first to arrive."
     "Your time will come," the dark eyed woman near the back of the
candidates said quietly.  She gave Bomber Babe the creeps.  She always
talked like she had the trump card... like all the other hands were
marked, anyhow.  Gordon, her name was.  Alanna Gordon.  She'd come with
some smooth berk some days before.
     "This is it, huh," a thuglike man said, dirty, mottled wings
sprouting from his shoulders and downylike feathers covering his scalp -
- Featherhead, he was called.  "This is the Ubermachine?"
     "Nubermachine, actually," Psybernet said smoothly.  "It is a new
generation.  It operates more quickly... the process is more complete."
     "No more effective though," Egoiste smirked.  "Not that we could
have been made more effective than we are right now."
     The West Door opened, and Stigmata, Nimbus and Arsenal entered.
Gordon's friend was with them.  They'd been talking a lot with him
lately.  Bomber Babe didn't know what was so important about him, but
then it didn't much matter.  Nothing did.
     Nothing but the Nubermachine.
     **We are assembled, my friends,** Stigmata thrummed, his huge,
alien eyeball glistening in an appealingly disturbing way.
     "So we are," Psybernet said.  "Emily James, you stand before the
crucible -- on the other side of it is a new life.  Power.  Glory.  And
utter and complete loyalty. There is no return from it.  There is no
stepping back through the veil.  If you enter the chamber, you will not
emerge from it.  What *does* emerge will be a virtual goddess... and a
bonded and dedicated member of the Unimaginable League Amoral."
     "It's a rush," Arsenal said.  "And it's a thrill.  And it's scarier
than anything you've ever done.  If you want to say no, say no.  We
won't hurt you.  We'll just send you home."
     Bomber Babe bit her lip.  She looked at Badsport, who nodded
slightly.  The ex-skater was nasty, but she and Bomber Babe had gotten
to be friends, kind of.  The two who had gotten there first.
     "I don't got a home to speak of," Bomber Babe muttered.  "I'll take
the shot."
     "The process is not one hundred percent safe," Nimbus said darkly.
     "What is?"
     "True enough.  Step within."  The Crimson Crowbar worked the
controls, opening the massive doors of the chamber.
     Bomber Babe slowly walked inside the Nubermachine chamber, and
turned.  Badsport, Gordon, Featherhead, Rocksalt, Milkmaid and Two-
Stroke looked back, fear in their eyes.  The Unimaginable League Amoral
looked back -- with anticipation.
     Bomber Babe swallowed.  "See you on the other side," she said, her
voice shaking slightly.
     The chamber doors slowly closed.  Extension arms gripped her ankles
and wrists, and she was pulled sharply -- almost cruelly -- against an
examination table.  It tilted her up, and menacing ports irised opened,
cold machines extending.
     There was a sudden pulse, and the sound of a giant turbine powering
up to speed... and with a jolt, red-gold energy ripped into her, tearing
through her body and analyzing her to the molecular level.  With a burst
of power, Xolchipaliax Radiation encapsulated the chamber, isolating it
in time.
     And searing, hideous pain filled Bomber Babe and she screamed as
loudly as her lungs could when they were on never ending fire.  The torn
spandex and leather was ripped ignominiously off her along with the
flesh and hair beneath it, stripping her to bone and brain as her entire
body became nothing but one, giant, hideous sore.  More pain than she
could have imagined feeling... the pain of every cell of her body being
torn apart and remade, recast.
     Refined.
     The flush of power ran through Emily, accentuating and riding the
crest of pain, filling her with new possibilities -- new priorities.  If
anything, it hurt worse but the pain was cleansing Emily's soul,
dragging her pettiness and her closed vision from her as she was boiled
to her base components, and those components then exalted.
     Emily opened what remained of her eyes and stared at the naked face
of the universe.  With a flush of power and excrucition she began to
laugh -- laugh with the bittersweet knowledge of the in-joke.  Laugh
with the surety of superiority.
     And the universe laughed with her, and gifted her with everything
she ever wanted, clothing her almost as an afterthought.
     Forty hours or more, but it went by in a heartbeat.  Forty hours or
more of torture, desiccation, destruction and reclamation from the
ashes.  Outside, she knew five minutes had passed, thanks to the
machine's command of time itself.
     The chamber opened.  Steam and coolant poured from the heavy
chamber doors, and she stepped out between.  Her long, lush strawberry
blond hair cascaded back over her angular shoulders.  Badsport's eyes
grew wide at her stance... at the crackle of heat and light in her amber
eyes.  The men leered at the exceptionally fluid body that seemed to
have been poured into the liquid gold bodysuit she wore.  The men save
those of the Unimaginable League Amoral, of course, who had been there
before.
     The Unimaginable League Amoral.  Her brethren.  The future masters
of this world.
     She smiled slowly, languidly.  How could she ever have felt doubt?
     "Bomber Babe," Badsport asked.
     "No," Emily said. "Never again.  She's gone. Burnt away.  Seared
from me like a canker.  You'll find out, Tonya.  You'll find out."
     "Then who?" Featherhead asked.
     Emily smiled again, and felt the fire, light and heat boil from her
cells, causing those who saw her to gasp and flinch at the brightness.
"You can call me Incendiary," she said.  "And the World will call me
fear."


                         The Adventures
                             of the
                  Adjusted League Unimpeachable

                          Episode #106
                   "Origins Volume the Fifth"
             "There Are Those Who Call Me... Bruce"
                         Part the Sixth
                               by
     Eric, Reverend Sabre, who never ceases to be amazed....


                   CONTINUITY CUCHINA CUCHINA


       (Despite our previous lack of success, we continue
         to search for a new Continuity Note Narrator.)



                   (Um... you can start now.)

          I know.

(Er... I'm sure you do.  But we're trying to get this portion underway.)

          Give me a few moments.  I'm centering myself in the role.

                          (Excuse me?)

          Sigh.  Look.  Just give me a few minutes so I can get
     into character, all right?  If this is going to be something
     real... something that comes from me unzipping myself and
     letting the audience see something that they can truly
     identify--

     (Just read the Continuity Notes.  We're running over.)

          `Just read the Continuity Notes?'  I thought I was
     dealing with professionals here.  There are no unimportant
     roles.  If I can't find the motivation of the scene, the
     entire sense of reality will be lost!

(The motivation of the scene?  It's *narration!*  It's less than even
                   that!  It's *exposition!*)

          I know that!  So give me a moment here!  Think... what
     *would* a narrator be thinking here?  What *would* a man on
     the edge, with the gritty feel of--

    (Um, perhaps you misunderstand the assignment.  We're not
asking you to play a narrator.  We're asking you to *be* a narrator.)

          That's exactly my point!  Look, if you're not going to
     give the Method a chance to work -- if you're going to let
     external mouthings take the place of internal motivation--

                 (Read the note or we kill you.)

          Right.  *Right!*  Now that's a motivating factor that
     actualizes the scene!

       (No.  This is a .38 that actualizes the narrator.)

          Right -- the metaphoric structure allows.... um... that's
     a real gun, isn't it?

                   (Read the note, actor-boy)

          This... um... this episode takes place concurrently with
     events towards the end of "The Last Empress" storyline in
     CalForce.

     (Now start running.  In thirty seconds, we open fire.)

          I... um... do I get the part?

        (Twenty-nine... twenty-eight... twenty-seven...)

          Non-creative philistines!  I -- all right!  I'm going,
     I'm going.

           (We continue to search.  God help us all.)


                           * * * * * *

     Jane leaned against Mike and smiled.  His arm was firm and warm
around her.  Strong.  Real.
     They were alive.  She had seen her own death that morning, but
Dianna had saved her.  Mike, at one quarter his normal power, had won
the day.  They were alive.
     What an incredible thing that was.
     "You know, they are waiting for us," he said quietly, and kissed
the redhead's temple gently.
     "I spend my life being early for things," Jane murmured.  "For
once, let them wait for us."
     "As long as you like, Hunna."
     Jane sighed, and burrowed deeper into his arm and shoulder,
relaxing and opening her eyes.  The Seattlite sunset was warm and
bright.  Jane smiled at the insanity of the scene -- she was cuddling
with her boyfriend while sitting on top of their flying saucer, hundreds
of light years from the world of their birth, scant hours after they'd
fought for their lives, nearly lost, and said boyfriend had become nigh
omnipotent before their eyes.
     "It's Crazy, isn't it?  We all went insane halfway through the
fight, right?"
     "Ask Kid Solipsism.  If I *am* nuts, I'm pretty happy here."
     Jane traced her fingers along Mike's forearm.  He'd changed into a
loose fitting chamois shirt and jeans, and had rolled his sleeves up.
Jane liked the feel of his arm, the smell of him, everything about him,
really.
     She ran her fingers on the oddly warm gold metal of the Omniquantum
Megabracer on that arm.  "What's it like?" she asked.
     "It?"
     "All that power?"
     Mike chuckled.  "You should know, Miss Fastest-Girl-You've-Met.
Really, the weird thing is how different it *doesn't* feel.  I mean,
M'Yet Dukat was on a whole cosmic trip -- and I admit, that initial rush
was pretty intense -- but now, I just feel... well, more like me.  A
billion times more like me.  Utterly and totally more like me."
     "So, pretty much like you?"
     "Sorta."  Mike smiled.
     "What will giving it up be like?  Can you do it?"
     "Sure, if it comes to that."
     Jane turned slightly and looked at Mike.  "If it comes to it?  Why
wouldn't it?"
     Mike shrugged, careful not to disturb Jane.  "Not saying it will or
won't, Jane.  But we have to consider the fact that I'm not going nuts
with power-lust.  There's nothing that says anyone else will or won't.
Seems kind of crazy to take the chance when we don't have to."
     Jane frowned.  "And if they decide they do have to?"
     Mike laughed.  "Hey, it's not *my* decision.  I just don't want to
have to cut anyone else's arms off, you know?"
     Jane smiled again, a hint of relief in her.  "Yeah.  I almost feel
sorry for Dukat."
     "I definitely do.  Poor schmuck didn't ask for this."
     "He took the Omniquan--"
     "Oanthat, Hunna.  I can't stand that neo-military claptrap."
     "Yeah -- it's pretty vile.  But any way you look at it, he chose to
take them."
     "Yeah."  Mike looked out at the sunset a long moment, holding the
woman he loved.  "Things just don't always work out the way you expect
them to."



[[Continued in Part Two]]



--
Eric Alfred Burns             | The happiest moment in anyone's life
sabre@superfluous.wa.com      | is that moment of glorious, madcap fraud
http://www.halcyon.com/sabre  | when you send personal e-mail out
Poet, Writer, Gadfly-for-Hire | on company time, like this piece here.