Transcript of Wolf News Network’s The Spahnish Inquisition with Doug Spahn from Tuesday, May 13:
SPAHN: Welcome back. Joining us now is Army Captain Josephine Simon, also known as the super patriot Jingo Belle. Captain, welcome.
SIMON: Thank you for having me, Doug.
SPAHN: You know, you’ve disappointed millions of teenage boys by not coming in your Jingo Belle outfit.
SIMON: Just teenage boys, Doug? (Laughter)
SPAHN: (Laughter) I plead the fifth there.
SIMON: I thought people couldn’t do that on this show? (More laughter)
SPAHN: The host gets a break. We really should be talking about the President’s speech last night, though. Powerful stuff.
SIMON: Yes. It was a serious discussion about a serious topic.
SPAHN: A possible U.S. invasion of Sybia.
SIMON: Doug, what the President was doing last night was putting forward to America the case that Sybia is in violation of several United Nations Resolutions and is harboring terrorist elements that have twice organized attacks against civilians in this country. He wants the people to know exactly why he believes the Sybian government is a threat both to America and to other countries in that region of the world.
SPAHN: Well, let’s look at some of the evidence. Emperor Scorpion is the man we’re after. Why does the President think he’s in Sybia?
SIMON: The intelligence community, including the CIA, SPUD, and the Office of Paranormal Security has documentation that Unskar Kufadalla is in fact Emperor Scorpion. He is the son of the original Emperor Scorpion, Moskar Kufadalla, who controlled Sybia for much of the 70s and 80s.
SPAHN: But Unskar was not part of the current Sybian government.
SIMON: True, but it is important to remember the current regime has little authority outside the capital city. Unskar and his uncles command a large paramilitary force in Southern Sybia, and this group exerts a great deal of power and influence in the country. When Emperor Scorpion first attacked the United States in the early spring, Unskar and most of his army disappeared. We believe they have gone to ground in the caves in his territory.
SPAHN: And the Sybian government is not cooperating with American attempts to locate him. Why is that?
SIMON: There is evidence from American, British, and independent agencies that Sybia has become a site where Weapons of Metahuman Design are being developed. This violates UN Resolution 1320, which prohibits the construction of such technology.
SPAHN: So they are afraid if they open their borders these WMD manufacturing sites will be located? What evidence does America have that this is in fact going on?
SIMON: Much of it is classified. But if we look at Jack Daniels Heard-
SPAHN: The Magnificent Blastard.
SIMON: Yes. Heard’s last passport entrance was to Sybia. When Heard left America two years ago he demonstrated no superhuman abilities. DNA testing shows he went through genetic manipulation to get his detonation powers. Then at some point he is given a new passport to go with the alias he traveled under, Frank Mellon. Heard, as Mellon, flies back to America from Egypt to begin his attacks on the United States. We have information from Egyptian authorities that his passport was constructed by officials in their State Department with Sybian ties.
SPAHN: But nobody’s talking. I had Heard’s lawyer and family on three weeks ago, and they claim he was brainwashed.
SIMON: That is possible. There are reports that Sybia has a fledgling Esper Research Unit.
SPAHN: Espers as in telepaths. Psychic warfare.
SIMON: Yes. In addition to Heard’s connection to Sybia, we have physical evidence that there were electronic components in Sybia that violates UNR 1320. Stolen components used for constructing cybernetic interface systems.
SPAHN: Sybia claims those were planted by the Lair Legion.
SIMON: I need to clarify something, Doug. There is no evidence that any active member of the Lair Legion retrieved the components from Sybia. It was done by an outside source, one that the Legion and the OPS trust implicitly.
SPAHN: Has anyone identified this individual?
SIMON: The United States government is afraid revealing such information would compromise the source’s security and ability to gather more intelligence.
SPAHN: The Legion has been very quiet about their role in the investigation.
SIMON: It is my understanding they are going to meet with the President and the Secretary of State Thursday to discuss it with them.
SPAHN: The Lair Legion were presenting their findings to OPS agents in Paradopolis when they were attacked by the Puppet Maker, correct?
SIMON: Yes, and we have evidence that Albrecht Zollstein, the Puppet Maker, was hired by an agency with ties to Sybia.
SPAHN: So what happens next?
SIMON: That depends more on the Sybian government than the United States, Doug. They have been caught in violation of UN Resolution 1320, and there are consequences for that. One is more cooperation with inspections and the presence of UN troops in Sybia. If they continue to refuse to cooperate then the President may have to look at other options.
SPAHN: Congress is in the middle of hearings on giving the President authorization to use whatever means he finds appropriate to locate Emperor Scorpion in Sybia. Do you think he will get it?
SIMON: You’d have to ask one of your analysts, Doug. Making predictions is not in my job description.
SPAHN: So you won’t make a guess on whether or not the UN Security Council will tell Sybia they are not complying with UN Resolution 1320 and must accept inspectors and UN forces?
SIMON: Sorry. I saw William Kristol and Gloria Borger in your green room earlier. I suspect they might be able to help you with those questions. (Laughter)
SPAHN: (More laughter) And that’s what we call a perfect segue to break. Thank you, Captain Simon.
SIMON: My pleasure.
SPAHN: When we return, Gloria and Bill discuss the day’s events, and Ann Coulter drops by to tell us why liberals should be sterilized. Her idea, folks, not mine. Come back for the fireworks!
*****
When Henry St. Ides, the Tech-Spectre, was captured by the U.S. government two years ago, he thought he was in a good bargaining position legally. After all, he knew.
About the Grey Eminence: the unseen manipulator, the power behind a number of thrones that ran American military, political, and industrial institutions. He had no idea who the man was, but St. Ides had lists of people who were loyal to this extralegal authority. If placed in the proper hands, these lists could be used to build a case of conspiracy that branched out in dozens of directions, and could cause the rich and powerful a great deal of embarrassment. So during his interrogation he dropped the legendary figure’s name to the man who captured him: Mr. Epitome.
That was a mistake.
Epitome shrugged it off, saying he wasn’t interested in ridiculous stories from an industrial spy and assassin who was facing thirty felony charges, including two capital murders.
The next morning, Henry was snuck out of prison by parties unknown and brought to a Washington apartment, where Mr. Epitome was waiting for him in costume.
“Mr. St. Ides, what you’ve told me has given you an opportunity,” he said, after dismissing the men and offering Henry a chair and some coffee.
“I figured yesterday was an act, that a boy scout like you would want to know about this guy. It was smart to play it safe. The Grey Eminence has people everywhere, making sure everyone keeps quiet.”
The statement caused Epitome to smile grimly. He reached behind his chair and produced an evidence bag that contained Tech-Spectre’s stealth suit, “This helps you too. We can’t seem to activate your technology, even after recharging the power packs. No invisibility, no intangibility.”
Henry St. Ides tried not to sound too puzzled when answering to the shorter man, “Yeah, the suit only responds to my bio-signature.”
“And my researchers say it will be impossible to reverse-engineer the tech in order to build our own, but-”, Epitome pulled out a pair of long grey gloves with circuitry embedded in them, “-we can create a field that counters your costume’s ability to become non-corporal.”
“Good for you. That seems a bit unnecessary, since you already have me and the suit.”
Mr. Epitome tossed the evidence bag into St. Ides’s lap.
Tech-Spectre finally realized something was very wrong, “What the hell’s going on here?”
“You’ve escaped federal custody. Whoever helped you managed to make off with your suit as well.”
Henry began sweating as Epitome slipped the gloves over his gauntlets.
“In a couple of weeks, after you tell us every dirty little secret you know, Tech-Spectre will be back in business. This time, though, you have only one client. Do I need to tell you who that client is?”
St. Ides shook his head.
“Do I need to tell you what will happen to you if any attempt is made to desert your new employer or betray his trust?” Mr. Epitome tugged on the ends of his gloves to make them taut around his powerful hands.
“No.”
Mr. Epitome turned away from the dark-featured man, “You are a treasonous murderer who deserves the gas chamber, Tech-Spectre. But what you know and what you can do makes you valuable. Follow orders and you will see how valuable. Break them, and I will bury you in a place so deep they will never find you.”
Henry St. Ides chose to follow orders, which explains why he is a free man today with luxury apartments in San Francisco, Paris, and Costa Rica. The work was surprisingly easy, even if he had to occasionally deal with Mr. Epitome. Today was such a day.
The two were back in that same DC apartment. Epitome didn’t even stop reading from his paper when Tech-Spectre phased in from the roof.
“I hope no one saw you,” was all he said.
“I’ve managed to sneak around NORAD undetected, sport. I think I can get past the hotel cleaning staff,” St. Ides’s stealth suit shimmered as he made himself visible. The pearl-white costume covered him head to toe except for his eyes. He wore a shoulder holster for his pistol and a slim backpack to carry his gear.
“Have you eaten?”
“You going to make me breakfast? That’s sweet.”
Mr. Epitome smiled and finally looked up, “I wouldn’t waste my time cooking for you, Ides. But there are coffee and donuts in the kitchenette.”
As Tech-Spectre went to get a cup and a cruller, Mr. Epitome stood and followed him. He was still smiling, which usually meant trouble for Henry.
“I had an interesting briefing with the Idiom Saturday. She alluded to you and your arrangement with us.”
Henry pulled off his mask to eat. He grinned, his teeth contrasting against his dark skin, “You say briefing, I say booty call. Can’t leave that woman alone, can you? Frankly, I don’t see the appeal. She’s too… rompish,” he let Mr. Epitome stew a moment, then responded to the hero’s veiled allegation, “I haven’t spoken to Idiom since before you locked her up, Epitome. Before you caught me. My guess is she just figured it out.”
Epitome nodded and refilled his mug with coffee, “Probably so.”
“Now, if we’re done talking about your sad love life, can you tell me what you need me for? It better not be Sybia.”
The duo went back to the apartment’s circular table, “No, that’s over. We’ve gotten authority from Congress to go in, and confirmation that Russia will not agree to any new Security Council Resolution compelling Sybia to accept inspectors and UN troops. I don’t think the President is even going to ask for a vote from the Council, unfortunately.”
“You want to make the UN look bad when we invade and find Emperor Scorpion,” Tech-Spectre surmised.
“I want the United Nations abolished and replaced with something that actually works: how seriously can you take a governing body that permits someone called Thighmaster to run a country?”
“So it’s ‘Today Sybia, tomorrow the world,’ Epitome?” Henry St. Ides joked, half afraid to hear the answer.
“Clever. This is what I need you for,” Mr. Epitome pulled a dossier out of the briefcase by his feet. It was tagged ‘Salvage, Virgil.’
Tech-Spectre cringed. Virgil Salvage was normally left off the list of the great villains, but that was because most people had no sense of history. Salvage, a 15,000 year old caveman, had been around for most of it. He was a survivor.
“Salvage has been sighted in Peru, looking for mercenaries. You are heading down there and see what he’s up to.”
“Is this just reconnaissance, or do I have to go undercover?”
“You need to get as close to him as possible, because in addition to learning his plans, we need a sample of his stem cells.”
“Ah-what?!”
And so began Henry St. Ides’s introduction to microbiology.
*****
After his meeting with Tech-Spectre, Mr. Epitome changed to his shirt sleeves and tie and left the apartment building. He drove his Taurus back to Persephone, listening to the Secretary of State’s press conference on C-Span Radio about the President’s meeting with the Lair Legion. It was as Epitome had expected: the hero team provided the President with no new information as to the whereabouts of Emperor Scorpion, though the group stressed they were sure he was not in Sybia. What Mr. Epitome didn’t know, and what was truly important to learn, was how the Legion was going to respond when America refused to back down from their position and went ahead with their plan for unilateral invasion of the Scorpion’s homeland. If they chose to interfere things would become even more complicated.
It was after one when Mr. Epitome made it back to his office, through the industrial park and past a small clutch of anti-war protestors that was sure to grow as the days went on. He eased his car around the back of the squat, three story concrete and glass building to his private entrance. Grabbing his briefcase and the bag that contained his costume, he sprinted up the steps leading to his apartment on the third floor.
Inside his home he fed Glory, dropped the Salvage dossier back in the vault where Epitome kept all the files relating to his work with the Grey Eminence, and took the stairs down one flight to his office, along the way resetting all the alarms and countermeasures that made the top floor of the Epitome Division one of the most well guarded places on Earth.
Once in his office, Epitome checked in with his receptionist to see if anything major had come up while he was out.
“The Lair Legion called, sir,” Joan Ruffino sounded tense. She knew how important this event was, as did most of the Epitome Division, “They said, uh- said that they were watching you.”
“Hm.”
“Uh, sir? Is that a threat? Because it sounds like a threat.”
Mr. Epitome smiled, “More like a blessing, Joan. Really. Nothing to worry about. I need you to call Dr. Theriot in the labs to bring a tech crew to the hanger. I’m heading up there now,” the hero turned off the intercom and walked to the stairs, on his way to outfit the Epitome Express for war.
*****
“Beautiful, isn’t it, MODEM?”
The Machine Organism Designed for Exterminating Meddlers did not have the appropriate programming to accurately judge the view’s aesthetic value, but it could admire efficiency. And what the organic supercomputer saw was efficient.
A huge subterranean cavern lined with machines, each one the size of a building, each one powered by the planet’s own geothermic heat. Thousands of strong, mindless workers performing and repeating back-breaking tasks without rest or even complaint. Assembly lines constantly running, producing weapons that could outfit dozens of armies at a fraction of BALD’s normal cost.
“It is impressive, Hole Man. A model factory system.”
“Between my Holoid army and your technical know-how, we can change the world,” the stunted, rat-faced man exalted.
The bloated head that was MODEM swiveled its hover-chair to gaze down at him, “BALD is not interested in world conquest. We seek to learn and to prosper.”
“Not I. All the riches that lie beneath the Earth are mine to do with as I please. That fire opal I gave to the Mind’s Eye before she and her master departed is but a mere trinket,” the gemstone had been the size of a basketball.
MODEM found Hole Man’s lustful fixation with Factor X’s female servant perverse and potentially damaging to their alliance, and was ready to tell him so when a figure began stalking up the hill towards them.
“It appears Emperor Scorpion wishes to speak with us,” he observed impassively.
“Oh, goody. More whining from the brat.”
Emperor Scorpion wore dark black armor segmented like his namesake. The suit’s wrist guards were blood-red (the same color as his helmet’s large faceted eye coverings) and spade shaped. From the back of his head hung a long appendage of black and red cable, ending at the small of his back in a sharp black point. As he came to the top of the hill he folded his arms.
“I inspected the Skypion platforms. Their braking distance is inadequate.”
“Is it?” MODEM asked.
“Yes. I informed one of your worthless scientists, and he replied there was nothing he could do without removing either armor or weapons.”
“That sounds correct.”
Emperor Scorpion stared at the freakish pair, waiting for some type of satisfaction. None came.
“Is there anything else, Scorpion?” Hole Man made his voice more nasally than usual.
“When Vassilych returns, we will discuss this further,” he stormed off, his cybernetic stinger twisting behind him with a life of its own.
“I have a monster called Groogax. Looks like a giant starfish. We could feed that dolt to him and Groogax’s stomach juices would remove any trace he ever existed.”
“Factor X says we need him, so he lives,” MODEM intoned, “However, it may be prudent to keep Groogax close by.”
Hole Man chuckled at what he thought was MODEM’s wit, forgetting that his partner wasn’t programmed for humor either.
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