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killer shrike
Thu Mar 02, 2006 at 12:07:14 am EST
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The Adventures of Alcheman #29 Part One
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The Adventures Alcheman #29


“Seduction of the Innocent and Others, Part One”



“How does that feel, Michael?”

“Michael Wooster examined the object in his hands, “It feels like a gun.”

Constance Blott chuckled enthusiastically, “That gun is a Turrets Arms .454 Recoilless Gauss Rifle. It has an optimal range of three quarters of a mile and can fire 350 rounds a minute on full automatic.”

“Impressive,” Michael assumed as he handed the weapon back to Constance.

“Most certainly: the TA .454 can put a grapefruit-sized hole in titanium plate,” the woman aimed her new favorite toy down the length of the Blott Estate’s firing range, “It could blast Donar to smithereens.”

The young man self-consciously tugged at the strap of his goggles, “Ah, Donar?”

“You know, the Legionnaire who brags of being bullet-proof. Pfft. Metahumans and their vainglorious claims.”

“Actually, I believe there is a great deal of evidence that he is in fact immune to gunfire. I seem to recall reading in-“

“You sound just like your sister, Michael,” Constance said sharply as she put the prototype rifle back into its case.

“I beg your pardon?”

The wild-eyed heiress explained, “In your Pavlovian defense of the superheroes. I would expect better of you, since you are so… egalitarian,” she reached out and gripped Michael by the wrists, “Someone who appreciates the Constitution as much as you must see how the superhero’s standing in our society is a violation of every principle our country was founded on. They are elitist, garish fascists with no respect of the rule of law or the Judeo-Christian ethic.”

Michael Wooster, political science major and costumed crimefighter, could have offered a half-dozen rebuttals to what Constance’s claims, but he did not come to Obsidian for spirited debate. He was here in an attempt to sway one of his childhood acquaintances from pressing charges against his sister, with whom she had a similarly inspired altercation in a nightclub. So, “Ah, yes. To a point.”

“I’m so glad you agree with me Michael,” Constance stepped closer, “All my so-called intellectual friends keep arguing against SR 1066 on the basis of civil rights. But they never stop to consider how the superhumans violate our rights to life and liberty,” closer, “and the pursuit of happiness.”

“Yi! I mean, how so?”

A quizzical look crossed Constance’s face, “How so what?”

“I mean to say, that is, how is it that superhumans have denied you the right to pursue happiness?”

Constance let go of Michael and spun away, “Haven’t you ever heard of poetic symbolism, you jughead?! A thematically inspired segues?”

The mood swing was disquieting, “Well, I, ahm-“

There was the chirp of Constance’s cell phone, “What?” she demanded brusquely.

She listened for a moment. Then her devilish smile returned. She hung up and considered Michael with an odd look of triumph.

“Your ride is here.”

*****


The steel-reinforced gates to Obsidian swung open and the staff security escorted Michael and Constance’s car to the street. A woman familiar to both waited for them.

“Honoria! You look amazing!” Constance enthused, “You must tell me your work-out regimen.”

“I’ll email it to you. Michael, we need to go. There is a situation at your house.”

Michael Wooster’s state of alarm magnified to full blown panic, “Its not Var- Cole?!”

“No, your house guests are all well,” she subtly let him know that Cole King, the former mutate known as Varmint, while still suffering from severe blood poisoning caused by his impenitrium-laced bones, was still with them. Honoria reached behind her to open the passenger door to her Humvee, “I’ll explain the situation en route. Constance, good evening.”

“She always played things close to her chest,” Miss Blott stage whispered to her departing guest, “It was a pleasure to see you again, Michael. We should set aside some time to continue our discussion later.”

“Yes.”

“Splendid. It’s a date,” Constance waved to Honoria as she stamped to the driver side of her car, “Ta-ta, Flumphy!”

Michael caught the growl that rumbled in the back of the statuesque blonde’s throat, “So…. what is the emergency.”

Honoria put the Humvee in drive and pulled away from the Blott family fortress, “There is no emergency, Michael.”

“Ah,” a long pause, “Then I wish you hadn’t told me there was to take me away from the Blotts. I, uh, was attempting to reason with Constance. About Jenni.”

“Did your attempts at reasoning include heavy petting in the stables’ hayloft like the last time I interrupted the two of you in ‘contemplation’?” Honoria inquired pointedly.

“No,” Michael sulked.

“I take it by your disappointment you had no opportunity to jam your tongue down Constance’s throat this time?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean,” Michael Wooster sighed, “Why are you dredging up the past, Honoria?”

“To remind you of what a horrible, manipulative shrew Constance Blott is. Using the vernacular, you may think you’re playing her, Michael, but it is you who are being played,” Honoria lectured as she idled at a red light.

Michael objected, “I’m not trying to manipulate her. I’m appealing to her, her better nature.”

“I truly and sincerely doubt the witch who used the trauma that came with the news of the suicide of Kurt Cobain as an excuse to seduce her prep school lab partner’s boyfriend does in fact have a good side,” the young woman exposited with some sarcasm.

The young man tiredly ran a hand through his brown hair, “One has to have hope, Honoria.”

“Not always,” Honoria sighed, “Sometimes you are too decent for your own good, Michael. Except, of course, when you’re biting the buttons off-“

“Could we please talk about something else?” Michael pleaded, “How did you know I was there?”

“Your teammates informed me of your plans while I was visiting," which in reality meant 'inspecting', "My impressions of your operations are summarized on those index cards by your feet. If you wish to review them we could discuss my findings.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Michael enthused as he reached down to gather up Honoria’s notes. This was the type of criticism he was used to.

*****


The bolt that secured the Psychic Samurai in her cell was slid aside to allow her captor’s entrance.

“My apologies for interrupting your meditation, Chiaki Bushido,” the man in the ornate bronze colored armor bowed to the young woman who sat cross-legged on a straw mat in the center of the room. Her prison was at the top of a tall tower, circular, its four narrow windows obstructed by steel bars.

Chiaki did not even open her eyes, “Your prior behavior makes it clear such statements of contrition are empty. How is Miss Wooster?”

Toshiro Makazawai smirked and squatted next to the slim brunette, “She is well. Madame HERPES is in consultation with her as we speak. I believe she wishes to propose some kind of alliance.”

The sheer absurdity of the statement caused Chiaki’s eyes to fly open. When she did she noticed what Toshiro had come to gloat over, “You have my sword.”

“Yes,” the katana hung from the Bushi’s sash alongside his own blades, “When the time is right it will be returned to you.”

Chiaki sighed quietly, “Why have you chosen this path, Toshiro Makazawai? It will not take away the dishonor you have brought to your house. It will not appease your conscience.”

“Killing you will relieve my conscience greatly, Chiaki Bushido,” the Brass Bushi dropped his prisoner’s meal of raw fish wrapped in rice paper onto the mat, “And on the off chance you manage to kill me, knowing that the cost of doing so is your honor, well, that will be adequate consolation,” he turned on his heel and walked out.

Chiaki Bushido was forced to admit her old rival was correct: though she had a far different calibration of the odds than he.

Next: Jenni takes a meeting with the heads of HERPES while Trudi finds out her sister’s been kidnapped. Guess who she calls for help? Well, after Alcheman. Out soon.



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