🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part One]

        Sporkboy and Aquaregia scrambled for seats in the back, prompting
Spoongirl to pick a front seat as far away as possible, where she fastened
her seat belt and closed her eyes, intent on practising her meditation
techniques and determined to block out as much of Sporkboy and Aquaregia's
antics as possible.  Back in their seats, Mickey contented himself with
making airplane noises, while Astatine gazed around her in amazement.
        "When are they going to bring the little bags of peanuts?" she
asked.  "Are you going to eat yours?"
        "Look, kid, this here's an OH-ficial mission!" declared Battletank.
"We ain't carryin' no stewardesses!
        "Aw!  Does that mean no lunch, either?"
        "That's right, girlie!  Now ya'll buckle up, now, cuz they'll be
firing the engin's up soon!"
        "Aw!"  Good thing I brought the rest of the box of Toasty Tarts
with us!" she said, digging in.
        "Hey, save some for me!" demanded her cousin, trying to wrestle the
box away from her to no avail.
        Spoongirl's eyes snapped open and she glared back at the pair.  It
was no use even *trying* to concentrate with them around.  Unsnapping her
seat belt, she stalked out of the main cabin and into the cockpit.
        "I'm changed my mind.  I want to ride in one of the other planes!"
she told Legend.
        "A bit late for that now, Spoongirl." replied Legend.  "Take your
seat please."
        "If I have to ride back there with *them* I'll barf!" she declared.
        "That's what the little white bags are for," answered Tony, without
looking up from the controls.
        "That's not what I meant!" sputtered Spoongirl, "I mean....  oh,
forget it!"  She flopped into the seat next to Tony and glowered.
        Tony regarded her in silence for a few seconds, then said, "If
you're going to sit there, fasten your seat belt."  Spoongirl obeyed, then
noticed the controls for the first time.
        "Why, this is a SNB1701 corporate-class atomic jet!"
        "So it is.  You're familiar with it?"
        "Of course.  Less than a dozen were manufactured, in the early
1980's.  They were very popular among unscrupulous business tycoons and
corporate raiders...  How'd YOU get one?"
        "Let's just call it an inheritance.  How is it that you know the model?"
        "I read a lot of books."
        "Oh!   Isn't that clever!"
        "I am *NOT*....  *WHAT* did you just call me?"
        "Clever."
        "You *didn't* call me cute?"
        "Not as I recall, no.  But I admire a well-educated young lady. Did
your father teach you about this sort of thing?"
        "No!  I study on my own!  Day and night!  I have to, if I ever want
to be as good as my father!"
        "Anything to be a superguy, eh?  I felt pretty much the same way
when I was your age."
        "Really?"
        "Really.  And it's a commendable attitude.  You keep up the good work!"
        "I will!"
        "So, you think you know enough to co-pilot this thing?"
        "Sure!  Let's see, if I remember right, you just connect the atomic
batteries to power," Spoongirl flipped a switch. "...And the turbines to
speed..."  She pressed a green button and a whirring noise began.
Spoongirl beamed in satisfaction as Tony nodded approval.
        "Roger, ready to move out."  Tony pulled a lever and the jet soared
off.  "Spoongirl, will you take one more piece of advice from an old timer?
Not everyone approaches their work the same way.  Have patience with
others... especially those who have different talents than yours.
Cooperation, at times, can be as important as self-discipline."
        Spoongirl leaned back in her seat and thought about that for a long
while.
***
     A day or so had passed since cities across North America had weathered
their blistering superguy attacks, leaving them somewhat the worse for
wear, but strangely not as badly off as most cities which saw superguy
battles. The residents of these cities - Lancing, Winnipeg, Buffalo,
Victoria just to name a few out of the dozens - had thought that the worst
was over, and the threat had passed. Obviously, the touchy-feely superguys
who invaded their homes had been stopped by the forces of good, and they
had but to turn on the news at six or eleven to find out how.
     On that February morning - as significant others were kissed before
the family's breadwinners shuffled off to wherever they were gainfully
employed - the good people of these cities across the continent learned
just how wrong they had been. A horde of superguys, descending on each
city, carefully pointed out the error to their by-now infected and latent
victims.
     Buildings were smashed. Innocents thought no more, as they were taken
into the group-mind through fist, flame and power. Police were called out
in force, only to fall victims themselves to the tender mercies of the
invading superguys. The lucky ones - the uninfected - either fled to safety
or died with their thoughts ever their own.
     That day, Hell(tm) had a new competitor for suffering. It was called
Earth, and it was neither going out with a bang nor a whimper. The problem
was, it wasn't ending at all. It was the beginning of a single mind's
conception of Purgatory, with salvation always just out of reach.
***
     Maladroit's head swam with sensation as more and more minds were
brought under his sway. Each new superguy whom he absorbed spun the web
which he was casting over earth a little tighter and each new, voltionless
mind was a new song to his soul. Because of this morass of sensation, the
man nearly missed his loyal servant, the Dash, when she called to him. In
the end, she called so often, so quickly and so persistently that
Maladroit's mind began to burn with pain. Screaming out, the minister
prepared to discipline the woman - perhaps smashing her into a building at
one-fifth the speed of light. Then reason restored itself, and he turned
his attentions fully to the subverted hero.
     <<Yes, my child?>> began Maladroit, his thoughts reaching out to touch
the Dash's. <<What's the matter?>>
     Maladroit winced as the Dash's thoughts flooded into his mind.
<<MasterI'vespottedseveraljetslandinginthenearbyparkand
they'refilledwithsuperguyscomingtoattackyouIthink,sincethey're
advancingonyourofficeoratleastthegeneralareashouldIstopthemordoyou
wantmetodosomethingelse?>>
     Unable to understand the words themselves, Maladroit struggled to
comprehend the images behind the Dash's statements. Slowly, his mind
grasped the situation, causing his smile to turn up.
     "They've come at last," sighed Maladroit, "I was wondering when they'd
get around to it." He turned his attention back to his prized slave.
<<Dash, your orders are to collect as many quickened superguys as you can,
and bring them here for my defence. Do you understand?>>
     <<YesmasterI'monmywayI'llbebackbeforetheycanevenunload!>>
     Maladroit shook his head and smiled, feeling almost... paternal. Such
enthusiasm was good to see. And soon, the entire world would think and act
in exactly the same way. But first, there was one more piece of business to
attend to before he could return to the pleasure of greeting new minds into
the fold. Maladroit turned to his computer, and began typing.
     "Aleph," he tapped, "The superguys have arrived here, and knowing what
I do about Aurora, most of the Beanstalk's forces have probably come with
them. Do you know what you have to do?"
     The reply flashed onto Maladroit's screen almost as soon as he had
pressed 'Enter', "I have to do nothing. I choose to follow your plan,
Maladroit. Don't forget that."
     "I apologise, mistress," came the reply. "Do you know the plan?"
     "Of course I do! Infiltrate the Beanstalk's computer system, eliminate
its machine intelligence and take over for myself. Then, allow your troops
into the structure which will give them access to those trying to find a
way to neutralise my mass-mind."
     "It will also give you a solid body, albeit holographic," replied
Maladroit. "But as we'll be sure to add the technical genius Colleen, as
well as the medical researchers, Night Owl and Healer who are there to our
group-mind, so I'm sure the solution to your problem of lacking a corpus
won't take long to solve. If nothing else works, we can try to absorb their
warden. And finally, we'll be able to eliminate that odious child, Synapse.
The little traitor has been giving away my plans to the opposition - it's
only with great difficulty that I can keep some information away from her.
Our One mind isn't designed for secrecy, and so she's a cancer that should
be cut out as quickly as possible."
     "Good. And once you've secured that?"
     "Your body will be prepared, the Mind will become yours, and my
superguys will finish the job of turning humanity. Then we'll be ready to
meet Gggthxtsth's charge."
     "You're redeeming yourself, Maladroit," flashed a response onto the
man's computer screen. "Taking the Beanstalk will be child's play. We will
not be stopped, and today... we win."
     "Godspeed, mistress," typed the man.
     "Never wish someone their own blessing," came Aleph Behn's final
response, before the screen went dark.
***
     Several jets landed as quietly as jets could in the middle of a large
Ottawa park. Which is to say, not very. Troopers and superguys climbed out
of said jets as quickly and efficiently as they could. Which was also to
say, not very. Groups were assembled, final orders were given, and last
goodbyes were whispered. Then the forces jogged off, racing towards
Parliament.
     Unseen by all, a woman streaked by almost invisibly, speed covering
her passage. Narrowing her eyes at the people who planned to assault her
beloved master, the Dash desperately wished to join the battle now. But her
orders were clear: bring as many members of the group-mind as could be
spared up to Ottawa, to break the charge of the heroes. From her mind went
out a call to all others within the link. Forces were marshalled. Powers
were readied. And lives were ready to be tossed away like confetti to
protect Maladroit, their lord and master. The servants would have it no
other way.
***
        In the Beanstalk briefing hall, Dr. Liberty Richards (aka Night
Owl) darkened the room and began her presentation.  Her first slide flashed
upon the screen, as the Task Force Auroran doctors and Elizabeth Tirkoff
watched.
        "These are representative PET scans from three victims in the
symptoms phase of the plague.  Note the increased neural activity here, in
the hypothalamic psionic nuclei.  Other parts of the brain are unaffected.
This indicates that the patient is in telepathic contact with something,
presumably these symbiote creatures.  The increased activity apparently
causes some sort of neuroendocrine activation of the immune system, hence
the flu-like symptoms until the body adjusts to the new equilibrium."
        She pressed a button and a different slide appeared, this time a
single brain.  "This is a slide from our child victim, Synapse.  Recall
that her brain is quite different from most humans, but you can still see
the pattern.  There is increased activity not only in the psionic nuclei,
but also in the auditory cortex.  This indicates that the plague has
"quickened"; she is now "hearing" Maladroit's commands."
        A third slide appeared.  "These pictures were just faxed to me by a
colleague of mine at the AlgernontopoliS Research Center.  These are PET
scans from two supervillains, fully under Maladroit's control",  captured
in that city by the Guardians of Rectitude.  As in the previous case, the
signals received by the psionic nuclei are in turn activating areas in the
auditory cortex.  But these two cases, we also see a *decrease* in activity
in the prefrontal cortex, the brain region associated with personality and
judgment.  Hence these people not only hear Maladroit's commands, but are
compelled to follow them, often showing bizarre personality transformations
at the same time.  Lights."
        The room brightened, but the assembled scientist's moods did not.
        "Dr. Night Owl, have you any suggestions for treating this plague?"
asked Healer.
        "The source of the problem seems to be the psionic nuclei... if we
can shut down the neural activity there, it wouldn't be able to affect the
rest of the brain.  That area is estrogen sensitive in humans, so it would
suggest a combined treatment of estrogen receptor blockers and
catecholamine synthase inhibitors.  I need input from all the physicians
here on working out a safe dosage.  Unfortunately, it's hard to know if it
will work, or what the side effects will be.  I wish we could try it in
rats first..."
     Elizabeth smiled slightly. "I have some specialised knowledge in the
sphere of psionics; I may be of some use. May I see your notes so far,
please?"
***
     Behind a bank of radio communication gear stood a small group of
superguys, waiting for their own mission to begin. Unlike the group which
assaulted Parliament, this assemblage had not been chosen for their raw
power and ability to soak up punishment. They were the Tribe of Behn, who
had once before fought the mad god whose home altiverse they were about to
assault; Grey Leopard and Travelling Man, who had been assured that they
would be of great use on this mission - as moving targets.
     The young radio operator sitting at the communications equipment spoke
softly into his microphone pickup, nodded to someone who couldn't see the
action and turned to the group. He spoke two words which the heroes had
been waiting with bated breath to hear: "You're on." And with those words,
the group was committed to a dangerous charge on their enemy's home turf.
     "Are we all ready?" asked Aphra Behn, as she ran a mental check over
her equipment for no practical reason that she could think of. Cell
phone... if they got out of sight of one another, they were dead. Mace...
if the battle got to quarters that close, they were dead. Neo-Kevlar... if
the enemy landed a blow, she was dead. Bus token... if required to use the
mass-transit system, she'd be late. Then Aphra realised that she was trying
to find a routine; something comfortably familiar to take her mind off of
the numbing terror which she should, by rights, feel.
     "Check," said Dickens, with a lopsided grin. Spenser - resplendent in
his Faerie Queen-inspired Red Cross Knight armour - sketched a jaunty
salute which ended with his gauntlet colliding rather soundly with his
helmet. As Spenser staggered, Milton rolled his eyes and indicated his own
preparedness.
     "Ready Liz?" asked Grey Leopard, doing his best not to think about
what was to come. Elizabeth Gaskell nodded, and flashed a nervous smile.
    "Ready Grey," she said. To one side, Elk harumphed, which everyone took
as a check. Travelling Man merely nodded stoically.
    "We stick to the plan," said Aphra, her body language and voice
betraying no hint of the fear that she felt. "Milton does... whatever the
devil it is that Chronosphere says he can do, and gets us to Gggthxtsth's
home altiverse. Once there, we harry him, keeping out of his way and
distracting him from Elk. Elk, you know what to do next?"
     "Why YES Aphra, I DO!" replied Elk, puffing out his chest just a bit,
and hoping that his show of bravado would impress Gaskell. He spared Grey
Leopard yet another glare, just to let the little punk know that he was
watching every move the man made. Cory smiled back, wondering why Elk kept
looking at him as though he had gas. Poor man had probably had chili for
lunch. "Because of the EXPLOSION of unknown ORIGIN I now..."
     "No, Elk," sighed Aphra, putting a hand to her temple. "I asked if you
knew what to do. I didn't say recap through expository speech."
     "Oh, SORRY!" replied Elk, trying to shake off this humiliation. "I use
my NEWFOUND powers to BATHE Gggthxtsth in the PHYSICAL laws of an ALTIVERSE
which does not SUPPORT his godlike BEING!" He finished with all the drama
of a first time actor who had just asked what his motivation was for the
role of Spear Carrier #3. He turned to look at Gaskell. "And LIZ, how do
YOU feel? Do you NEED another shot of THIS altiverse's reality?"
     "No, I'm fine thank you, Elk," replied Gaskell, with a small smile.
She hated to be reminded of her condition of being unable to interact with
anything in her own altiverse which didn't conform to the laws of some
unknown universe. Elk's reality warping powers provided a treatment for
this, if not a cure. However, it was better than being poked and prodded by
well-meaning scientists while doubting her own sanity. "I think the last
jolt that you gave me should last for a few more days. But I appreciate you
asking."
     "Once that's done," continued Aphra, "Gggthxtsth and his troops will
be neutralised."
     "In theory," finished Travelling Man tersely, his face wearing a
somewhat ironic smile.
     "In theory," repeated Aphra, with a sigh. "If Chronosphere is right."
     "He seemed to think he was," said Milton. "But then again, we're
taking a lot on faith."
     "When facing gods, faith may be all we have," replied Spenser. "So why
don't we go before we lose ours?"
     Milton heaved a sigh. "I just hope he was right that my pseudo-demon
summoning powers can be reversed," he said. "I _don't_ want to attract
Gggthxtsth's attention now of all times. With your permission, dear?"
     "Granted," replied Aphra, nodding to her husband. "Everyone, look sharp."
     Milton concentrated for a moment. In the past, his powers had been
fairly simple to use. Just speak a word and forge a light link with
whatever got summoned. Then, send them back with a bit of willpower. But
now, he would be using that shot of willpower to send foreigners to the
land where the darker of his servants came from. He really didn't need to
mess this up. The situation was bad enough already - Murphy's attentions
would not be appreciated. Hoping that he had stocked up a lot of good karma
over the past few months, Milton opened his eyes and pronounced a word that
he had been very careful not to say for quite some time.
     "Hell(tm)."
     There was the familiar eerie sound effect - and a dark portal opened.
But rather than sucking through some hapless pseudo-demon, Milton commanded
the portal to open the other way around. And to his great surprise, it did.
The shadowy portal stood ready, making light sighing noises as though it
were repeating a tormented man's last, painful death rattle over and over.
The assembled group found the effect most gratuitous.
     Aphra took a deep breath and nodded. She looked over her friends and
new acquaintance... and swore to herself that as leader, she would not let
any of them die on this mission. Each one bright and full of life; she
would not be responsible for any of those lights winking out. Aphra simply
did not want to live with that on her conscience. Grimly, with these
thoughts running through her head she rushed for the portal, leading the
rest. "Now!", she shouted, plunging through the inky black disk, followed
closely behind by the others.
    The radio operator shook his head as he watched the gateway disappear.
More than anything, he was glad that his role was support, because there
was no way he could have had the courage to jump through a portal to
who-knew-where so easily. He turned back to his radio, routinely checking
several circuits for shorts, and wondering which - if any - of those heroes
would be coming back.
***
     "Company HALT!" bellowed General Anaesthetic, calling his troops to a
sudden stop. Behind the armour-clad STOP troopers, the spandex-clad
superguys also ground to a halt. They did not stop because of the General's
order, nor to avoid colliding with the troopers. They had stopped simply
because the sight in front of them would have caused even Superguy himself
to pause and blink for a billionth of a second. Lined up around the
building which held Maladroit's office; circling it like a living wall of
humanity were countless group-mind superguys standing stock still, watching
their enemies.
     "Oh..." began Jack Wynn.
     "...my..." continued Commodore Amiga.
     "...goshes!" finished Bizarre Guy.
     "There must be hundreds of them..." breathed Portia Jennings, her
voice sounding awed even when electronically amplified.
     "Four thousand, three hundred and twenty two!" chirped Aquaregia
helpfully, smiling at the suited trooper. "And approximately two point
three two five are being added every second, although that mean is going
down as the brown-haired woman who's adding them feels the effects of
muscle fatigue!" She grinned winningly at Portia. "Ooo, are you planning to
eat that high nutrient bar that's in your suit's leg compartment?"
        The communicator on Windswimmer's wrist beeped.  "Legend here,"
came a voice.  "Windswimmer, report.  What's the situation?"
        "Windswimmer here.  Uh, I suppose it would be pretty unheroic of me
to say I think we're dead meat?"
        "That bad, eh?  Roger.  I'm standing by on the Rectijet with first
aid supplies, and for emergency evacuation if necessary.  Ferry any wounded
back here.  And, while you're at it... try to keep an eye on the kids."
        "Got it.  Windswimmer out."  She gave Ludge a nervous look.
        "You'll do fine, gal!" muttered Ludge, attaching his plasma blaster
and eyeing the mob of tranformed superguys as if they were a prize hog
ready for barbequing.
     General Anaesthetic stared at the wall of superguys for a moment,
before turning to address the assembled superguys and troopers. "The plan
hasn't changed. Yellow Squad, you protect Amiga. Everyone else - PORTIA,
STOP FEEDING THAT BRAT YOUR SURVIVAL RATIONS - try to soften these jerks up
enough to let Chronosphere and the commodore through! Take your positions!"
    Tourists, ministers, pages and senators had long been in the process of
sprinting to their cars, busses and whatnot, in a desperate attempt to get
away. Generally, one did not survive in politics by being in the middle of
a big showdown - and that wisdom took on real life application today. The
defending superguys didn't try to stop them, as their fight was only with
those who would try to enter Maladroit's office.
     Shouldering his gun, and pausing only to remove a 'Kick Me Hard' sign
from his back, Anaesthetic turned to do just that. His place was with his
troops, and he would be damned if he let something like lack of
invulnerability or a powered tin can get in the way of that. He had a rifle
and his convictions - they would have to be enough.
      Those of you thinking 'oh yeah, he's toast', put up your hands now.
***

[Continued In Part three]