🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part One]

     "I'm sorry," said Alternator - Jack Wynn of Mythos - as he crossed his
arms in front of his chest. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
     "But I'm with the press!" said the reporter, trying once more to push
his way past the speedster in an attempt to get to the Beanstalk's door. "I
want to get an interview with Arthur Doyle before he--"
     "He's requested not to speak with any press, Mr McFerris," replied
Alternator in a quiet voice. "Why don't you just go home and file your
story before someone else scoops you?"
     "But..."
     "Never mind," said Alternator, nodding to his black-clad teammate.
"Juggernaut, you mind explaining things to this reporter?"
     Karen Moire - all six feet, ten inches of her - walked across the lawn
towards McFerris. "What's the problem, Alt?"
     "I'm afraid Mr McFerris doesn't want to leave," said Alternator,
smiling slightly as he walked back towards the Beanstalk. "Would you be
able to talk to him?"
      Juggernaut grinned and cracked her knuckles. "I... think I can manage
that," she said, moving closer. She bent down to look the reporter in the
eye. "You want to go in there very much, don't you?"
     The reporter nodded nervously, looking around for any possible avenue
of escape. To his great consternation, none presented itself.
      "Well I very much want to go in there too, but it seems like
_someone_ decided that the whole place had to get shut down. Which means
that friends of mine are out of work. Which means they're unhappy. Which
means that I've got a lot of frustrations to work out over that. Oh, did I
forget to mention that I could punch through battleship grade steel without
feeling it? Silly me, how did that slip my mind?"
     "Um..." said McFerris.
     "Go... away," hissed Juggernaut. "You're. Not. Wanted. Here. How
unwelcome do I have to make you feel before you stop circling like a
vulture? Give me the answer in pounds per square inch."
     Alternator walked back towards the tall metal structure of the
Beanstalk, lost in thought. Far too many things were going to be changing
soon, not the least of which would be trying to find some corporate sponsor
for his team. With Aurora's dissolution there would certainly be no more
governmental funding.
     "Penny for your thoughts," said a helmeted STOP trooper, his voice
modulated and unrecognisable as it was piped over the suit's speakers.
Alternator looked up and smiled a bit.
     "I need a steadier cash flow than that," he replied. "Clarke?"
     In reply, the trooper removed his helmet. "You guessed it. Looking for
the warden?"
     "Yup," replied Alternator. "You looking for Karen?"
     "After everything's done? Yeah. I'm going to need her. For now though,
I'm just enjoying watching her chase that reporter away."
     Alternator turned to look and grinned a bit. "She's good at that," he
said. "And hey, I'm sorry about the job."
     Clarke shrugged a bit. "It was way too good to last," he replied.
"Okay, sure I've nearly died or had my mind turned to Jello more often than
I can count, but there were good times too."
     "Will you be able to get a posting in Ottawa, maybe?" asked
Alternator, walking with Clarke towards the Beanstalk. "So you'd be closer
to Karen?"
     "Beats the heck(sm) out of me," replied Clarke, sighing. "They could
just as easily send me to Victoria or Halifax."
     "Ouch."
     "Yeah. At least this was just a long drive to see her on weekends. Out
there..."
     Alternator nodded a bit. "Hope it works out for you, John," he said.
"If there's anything we can do... I know Shard's good at long distance
travel."
     "Thanks," replied Clarke, with a ghost of a grin. "I'll probably take
you up on that sometime. Unless I do get posted in Ottawa."
     "If you do, we'll never see Karen again, will we?"
     "Not if I have anything to say about it," replied Clarke, with
another, bigger grin. "I see Wish over there. Take care of yourself, Jack."
     "You too, John."
     The two men exchanged a friendly embrace. "Damn I'm going to miss this
place," said Clarke in a very low voice.
     "You and me both," replied Alternator as they separated. "You and me both."
     Clarke smiled sadly as he put his helmet back on, moving to join the
other STOP troopers who were milling about. Alternator moved through the
crowd towards Wishstar, who was sitting alone and nursing a small diet
cola.
     "They didn't have anything stronger, that's why." said Wishstar,
before Alternator could say anything. "And I knew I'd be lost in thought,
so I figured it wasn't a good idea for them to be filled with pink
elephants. Would've gotten messy after awhile, you know?"
     Alternator sat down next to her. "I think I've got an idea how that
would be, yeah," he said. "How's it going?"
     "Well, let's take inventory here," replied Wishstar. "The only job
where my ability's really useful is being axed because the public can't be
bothered to start using the brains they were born with and thinking a bit;
most of my best friends are being scattered to the four corners of the
Earth; I'm unemployed; my father's in jail for murdering the most evil guy
of any time and this all happened just when my life was getting too damn
complicated. I guess the answer's 'not all that great', Jack."
     Alternator hesitated a moment before putting his arm around her. To
his relief, Wishstar didn't flinch away or rebuke the public display of
affection. "Have you talked to him yet?"
     "Hm? No, he's dead, remember?" replied Wishstar.
     "I don't mean him, I mean your father," replied Alternator.
     "Hell, I'd rather talk to Maladroit."
     Alternator was about to respond before pausing, then nodding. "Yeah. I
kind of understand, Daph. I was never very tight with my parents myself."
     "Read that to mean you hated their guts, eh? Been there, done that,
got the slides. Whoever thought up that 'Honour your father and mother'
rule never had Cal Anaesthetic as his dad."
     Alternator nodded slightly, leaning against Wishstar. "So what now?"
he asked.
     "Don't know," replied Wishstar. "Maybe try to find another job like
this one. They're converting the Kingston pen into a power-stopper ward so
maybe I can get in there. If Aurora's not a millstone around my neck, that
is."
     "You've got experience, ability and a temper that could stop Andy
Awe-Inspiring in his tracks," replied Alternator with a small smile. "How
could they turn you down?"
     "With one flick of a rubber stamp, Jack."
     "Only if they're idiots."
     "It's a federal prison. You know who runs it."
     "Okay... conceded."
     "Hm, you know..." began Wishstar. Alternator turned to listen. "I
suppose I could always just learn about my other job."
     "Figure out what you're meant to do as Wishgiver?" asked Alternator,
shifting slightly to look at Wishstar.
     "Figure out what I'm going to do as the Wishgiver," corrected
Wishstar. "Remember what those guys at the School said: the office is brand
spanking new. I get to decorate it any way that I want."
     "If you need any help deciding on a decor," replied Alternator, with a
smile. "You know my number."
     "By heart," replied Wishstar, adjusting her mirrorshades slightly. She
wore a small smile, her usually guarded face's concession to how she felt
at the moment. "Now shut up. I feel like being with you for a bit."
     Alternator grinned and leaned fully against Wishstar.
***
     "Hey, what're you doing here?"
     Portia Jennings turned to see an armoured Al Peterson standing behind
her seat on the Beanstalk's lawn. She grinned and motioned him to sit down.
     "You thought I'd stay away?" she asked, shaking her head. "Unh unh, no
way. I'm here for the long haul, beginning to end."
     "How'd you get here, then?" asked Peterson, dropping his suit to a
crouching position.
     "Um..." replied Jennings. "Better not to say."
     "You flew, didn't you?"
     "Yeah, kinda."
     Peterson sighed. "I thought you weren't going to mess with that until
your legs got better."
     "I wasn't," replied Jennings, defensively. "But I couldn't get a ride
here and everyone was working and... I'll be damned if I stay away, because
of a stupid little--"
      "Spinal injury," finished Peterson. "This place really meant a lot to
you, didn't it?"
     Jennings was quiet for a moment. "It isn't the place, Al," she said,
after a moment. "It's what it was to me. It's... where I grew up. Where I
got to make the dumbest mistakes of my life and it's also the place where I
got to have the best time I've ever had. I got to make a difference here...
now it's gone."
     "Have you thought about trying to make a difference somewhere else?"
     Jennings blinked, looking at Peterson. "Leave the military?"
     "Yeah."
     "Al, no offence, but are you high or something? It's all that I've
ever known about, all I've ever worked in. The army's always been a part of
my life."
     "It's been a part of mine, too," replied Peterson, with a sigh. "But
Aurora's been more to me than any reg forces unit I've ever served with.
And once it's gone..."
     "Oh, Hell(tm)," replied Jennings, catching the man's drift.
     "Yeah," replied Peterson. "I was assistant warden here. Once this
place folds, I don't have that anymore. There's no way to go back, Porsch."
     "Maybe you can get your old rank reinstated... I mean come on, what
you did wasn't that bad..."
     "I made a choice. I'm living with it now. Maybe it's the first time
I've ever done that, but damn it, I'm living with the consequences. Funny,
hunh? Me... finally being responsible."
     "But what would I do out of the army?" asked Jennings, looking at the
ground.
     "You said that Aurora gave you what you wanted?" asked Peterson.
     "Yeah. It really did. Gave me a purpose, kinda."
     "Why not join a team, then?" asked Peterson, with a very small grin.
"Or better yet, form one. You're a superguy now, why not use it?"
     Jennings smiled ruefully. "I'm a military brat, Al. I know army. I'd
get on a civilian team's nerves so fast their heads would spin."
     "Just something to think about," replied Peterson with a small smile.
The two settled back to watch their home breath its last.
***
     Arthur Doyle sat at the front entrance of the Beanstalk, which was as
far out of the structure as he could go with Colleen's temporary portable
holopack. Its range was extremely limited, it wouldn't last very long
without extensive circuitry retuning and it had an unfortunate tendency to
pick up 'I Love Lucy' reruns, which left Doyle with an overpowering craving
to go and join a band. He looked up as a certain red-headed engineer sat
down next to him.
     "Hey there," he said to Colleen, accepting a chili dog from the woman
while checking the power level on his holopack. As it was run from a
battery rather than the Beanstalk's main power array, Doyle had to be
careful not to backwash too much energy into it. The level seemed safe for
a chili dog; if he'd overloaded it then the acid indigestion he'd get would
be extremely explosive.
     "Hi," she said, swiping a strand of hair from her face. "I liked yer
speech. T'was quite moving."
     Doyle smiled sadly, taking a bite of the meat-byproduct tube. "And I
meant every other word of it, too. You know, I always thought the hero was
supposed to pull the fat out of the fire in the nick of time, Col. So what
happened? Why aren't there any cavalry on the horizon?"
     "Because we'd hae tae clean up after the horses when they moved on?"
     Doyle sighed and took another bite of his dog, chewing reflectively.
"It's not supposed to end like this. What happened to the happy ending?"
     "In case ye hadnae noticed, Art, we havenae had a happy ending in
quite a long while."
     "So maybe it's just down the road still, and the story's not done."
     "Or maybe," replied Colleen, looking at Doyle, "There's just nae such
a thing."
     Doyle shook his head. "I can't believe that, Colleen... I just can't."
     "Why not?"
     There was a long pause.. "Because I've got nothing else to believe in.
There's nothing _left_ for me to believe in. It's all been chipped away
from me and I'm not even sure that I can point to a time when I lost any of
it."
     "Art, look at me," said Colleen, turning the man's head towards her.
"Art, nae matter whae happens... nae matter who betrays ye or how the fates
conspire... ye will always hae something tae believe in. This I swear tae
ye, with my word as my bond. The world's chipped enough 'o ye away, Art. I
willnae let either 'o them chip away more."
     "Thank you," whispered Doyle, closing his eyes. "One more thing... to
believe in."
     "For always, Art."
***
     CAUTION agent Dow turned at the light tap on his wrist, to see
engineer Kent standing behind him. The agent leaned backwards to hear his
words.
     "Okay," whispered Kent. "I've just spent the past hour telling every
news service I could get ahold of that I have absolutely nothing to tell
them about the evidence that we've found. Could you explain to me why I'm
doing this again?"
     Dow raised an eyebrow. "Very simply," he began. "Because we need to
present the illusion of knowing too much. We do already - that lady
assassin gave us more information than could be comfortable for whoever's
behind the manipulation of CAUTION and by extension, the rest of the task
force."
     "Right. Got it. We're brainiacs. Now, why do we want to do this again?"
     "Because," replied Dow, with a cold smile. "If we're seen to know too
much, then someone else will try to silence us. They sent one of the
world's leading assassins to kill me just for investigating them; imagine
what they'll do when they think that we have some intelligence on them."
     Kent's eyes bugged for a moment as his voice shot up to a high-pitched
squeak. "You mean they're going to kill us?"
     "Shhhh!" admonished Dow, slapping a hand over Kent's mouth. "No. With
luck, they won't get more than one of us before this is through."
     "That's so comforting," moaned Kent, sitting down hard on a chair
behind Dow. "I'm not espionage trained, I can't defend myself, even frozen
waffles popping out of the toasters scare me..."
     "And that's why you're going to disappear for a little while," replied
Dow, with a hairline smile. "Trust me, you'll be in little danger. The
chances that anyone gets you are..."
     "Yes?"
     "Oh, one in three."
     Kent sighed. "If I rush out right now, I'm sure I could find a really
nice samurai sword to throw myself onto..."
***
     A small television set glowed in front of the darkened cell, the
portly occupant of which stood at attention, wearing a final salute. A
prison guard walked up to the television, switching it off.
     "I'm sorry, but we need to take this away now," said the guard,
unplugging the set.
     "Thank you for letting me see them off," rumbled the man behind bars,
his voice low and filled with a new humility. "That was more than decent of
you."
     "We're not ogres here," replied the guard. "And thank the warden. He
had a long talk with someone else in the profession who convinced him to
let you watch. Night."
     Cal Anaesthetic sat on his cot, an unfamiliar smile threatening to
reshape his lips. Even at the end of it all, something went right. Maybe
Daphne's next step would be to talk to him, face to face.
     Anaesthetic rolled over to look at the ceiling. Or maybe not. There
was such a wide gulf still between them, and he'd managed to dig most of it
himself. It would be a long time before he'd managed to even begin to fill
it in.
***
     Jacques Maladroit - Chronosphere - watched the winding down of the
closing ceremony with heavy heart and troubled brow. Though rid of his
armour for the day, his mind was still filled with the doors and paths to
the future that shifted and writhed like a snake about to strike. This
ending of Task Force Aurora locked into place several increasingly bad
futures which should not - _could_ not - come to pass if there was any
justice in the universe. Which there was not, as well the bastard son of
Time knew.
     He closed his eyes, trying desperately to resolve the least disastrous
course, trying not to see kilometres of land burning, snow-capped mountains
hulled by brilliant flashes of light and metal booted feet pounding across
hand-parched earth. Ringing behind all of this was a chilling laughter
which rose in duet with another chuckle of pleasure. The gleeful symphony
rang in Jacques' ears as he pushed on, searching for some path that did not
lead to disaster...
     "Excuse me," said a soft, feminine voice behind him. Future's doors
slammed closed, retreating to the back of the man's mind as he turned to
face the speaker. "Chronosphere?"
     "Yes," he replied, smiling wanly at Aphra Behn, leader of the Tribe of
Behn. "Or Jacques, if you'd like. Just not... Maladroit. At the moment that
name's not safe to wear. Neither is the face, but I can't take that off
quite as easily."
     "I'm sorry about that," replied Aphra. "I wish there was something
that I could do."
     "Know a good plastic surgeon?" replied Maladroit, with a wry grin.
"Seriously, thanks. I'll be okay... maybe grow a beard or something, get my
mug in the _Weekly World Schoomze_ with 'They Saved Maladroit's Brain'
scrawled under my face, the usual crap. It could've been a lot worse,
really."
     "Oh?"
     "Oh yeah," replied Jacques, looking intently at Aphra. "I could've
become _him_." He nearly spat the last word.
     "You could've," said Aphra, with a soft smile. "But you didn't. For
which I'm glad. I meant to say thank you."
     "For not becoming him?" asked Jacques, shaking his head. "Don't thank
me. Thank Mistress Time for that. Do you know how easily I could've turned
into him? So many points of intersection, and I just got lucky..."
     The man slowly trailed off as a doorway gaped open before his mind's
eye. In the centre of the scene was the woman standing before him... her
twin... and...
     Maladroit slammed his eyes closed, putting a hand to his temple,
desperate to block out the possible future that he'd seen. Dimly, he
realised that Aphra had been speaking the entire time.
     "--just wanted to say thank you for helping us through those few days.
We wouldn't have had a cohesive fighting force in time if you hadn't warned
us... is something wrong?"
     "No!" shouted Jacques, shaking his head in denial. Maladroit placed
his hands on Aphra's shoulders, demanding her full attention. "Listen to
me, Ms Behn. Just... listen, please. You received a warning from the future
once before, and you thought it was too late to act on it. It isn't but...
things have changed. The danger's shifted away from this Susan to... to...
argh, I don't know!"
     "Jacques," began Aphra, looking concerned. "What's wrong? What are you
trying to say?"
     "I'm trying to say..." strained Jacques, closing his eyes and plunging
towards the door that had hidden his portent. But it slammed closed in his
face before he could reach it, rejecting him. Sadly he opened his eyes
again. "Damn it, I've lost it."
     "Lost what? What are you talking about?"
     "A warning, Ms Behn," replied Jacques. "An omen from the future. You
and your kinspeople are very special."
     "I know," replied Aphra. "Liz showed us that..."
     "Yes, she did," replied Jacques sadly. "Liz reached her full
potential... for a moment. And then gave it all away for the greater good."
     "She..."
     "I don't know any more, Ms Behn," replied Jacques, shaking his head.
"So I can't tell you what happened to her. What I can tell you is that your
potentials... all of them... are vastly different from hers and each
others. Over her brief life Liz was forged into a tool by which reality and
unreality could be mediated. She became so much more than what Benson or my
'brother' created you to be. Each of you has a place in the Fabric, but
you've yet to become fully a part of it."
     "Fabric?" asked Aphra, looking confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure that
I follow."
     "Neither do I," sighed Jacques. "Things seemed clear a moment ago...
but time shifts so quickly and I can't hold onto it for long... gods, I
wish it would just go away, it's a worse show than an Aaron
Spelling-a-thon. At least he's a showman... time isn't."
     "Thank you, I suppose..." said Aphra, looking uncertain.
     "Don't thank me yet," replied Jacques, smiling slightly. "I didn't
really tell you anything. All I do know, all that I can tell you, is to
look for your destinies and try to embrace them to enter into your true
role. But don't be waylaid by false paths, and look to the one who came
before you for the way."
     "The one who came before me?"
     "Sorry, I don't know what that means," sighed Jacques. "There's just
one more part. Do not tease a rabid weasel, for it may carry the seeds of
-- damn, no, now I'm looking ten seconds into the future of ACME Fortune
Cookies. I'm sorry, I'm not much of an oracle."
     "You're the best that I've ever met," replied Aphra, removing a small
square of card from her pocket and handing it to the time-tossed man.
     "What's this?"
     "The Tribe's number," replied Aphra with a small smile. "Not generally
available, but for a fellow superguy without a support organisation to fall
back on anymore? Call us anytime."
     "Thanks," replied Jacques, tucking it into his pocket.
     "We have to stick together, now more than ever. Canada's about to go
back to an era of heroing that I honestly can't remember with much
nostalgia. There aren't many of us to cover the whole country, so we're
going to need to stick together."
     "Yes... we are," Jacques gazed at the sky for a moment. "God help us all."
     "I'll see you soon, I hope," said Aphra, smiling a bit as she made
ready to leave. "I have to speak to Mythos and Triumph before they leave.
Give us a call sometime."
     "I will," replied Jacques, patting his pocket as Aphra left. "Sooner
than you think, I'm afraid."
***
[Continued In Part Three]