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Post By The Hooded Hood fails to include either sex or nudity in this chapter. Why read it at all? Fri Sep 09, 2005 at 07:02:50 pm EDT |
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#233: Untold Undercover Tales of the Lair Legion: Breaking Cover (And Lots of Other Things) | |
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| #233: Untold Undercover Tales of the Lair Legion: Breaking Cover (And Lots of Other Things) Previously: The Hooded Hood’s secret plot to transform smuggled Candian uranium into transmundium, the active component of transnuclear weapons, has enmeshed many of the villains and heroes of the Parodyverse in his convoluted gambits. Most recently he has retconned Falcon and Pigeon out of reality to prevent them reporting his involvement. While Hatman and the Shoggoth investigate the Candian connection, Sir Mumphrey and Asil pursue terrorist organisation HERPES’ links to the uranium sale, Lisa, Trickshot, and Messenger infiltrate a henchman training camp to seek leads to the location of the transmutation machinery that ZOXXON Oil will use to create the transmundium, and Yuki Shiro pursues the Machine Shop, the mercenary robots who gathered the exotic radiations that will power the process. Previous chapters at The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Character descriptions at Who's Who in the Parodyverse Location descriptions at Where's Where in the Parodyverse “So where are we?” asked Hatman. “We are in the People’s Fraternal Republic of Candia, a geographically-alternate country occupying almost the same reality as your native Commonwealth of Canada, save for a minor geological retcon back in the Pleistocene Era which has led to different geological morphology and consequent variant human development,” the Manga Shoggoth explained. “Er, yes,” agreed the capped crusader. “I mean, with the investigation. Have we found out who’s been smuggling Candian uranium out of the country, and to where?” “I have interviewed many people in this mining facility,” the loathsome elder beast answered. “It is my opinion that they are not being well treated.” “You got that right,” agreed Hatman. “But it’s hard to know what to do about it. We can’t just topple the government and replace it with one that’ll be just as bad, or worse. That’s only a knee-jerk solution.” “I do not have knees,” the Shoggoth pointed out. “What I mean is… look, can we concentrate for now on who’s shipping weapons-grade fissionable material our of here, and why. Is it an official government sale, hidden to prevent diplomatic protest?” “I do not believe so. Comrade Borin is not aware of it, and there is nothing in the manifests to indicate such a transaction.” “You believe Borin?” Hatman didn’t have much time for the Political Officer who’d been assigned to keep tabs on them during their visit to Candia. “He gibbered very convincingly when I oozed under his door to question him last night,” the Shoggoth admitted. “So we’re no nearer finding out what’s going on,” the Legion’s tactical advisor frowned. “What about Dr Roentgen? Is he being helpful?” “I do not think Dr Roentgen is interested in being helpful. I do not think he likes us very much.” “From what Zdenka says, he doesn’t like anybody very much. And since his experiments turned him from Candia’s top nuclear scientist to a sentient mass of radiation, he’s insanely powerful too.” “Sanity is a very human illusion,” the Shoggoth bubbled. “Er, yes. Right.” Jay Boaz took a breath and asked, as casually as he could. “And Zvesti Zdrugo? What do you think about her?” “She seems to be a suitable pair-bond for you,” the elder being judged. “You are psychologically and physically compatible, and she evinces similar mating signals in your presence as you do in hers.” That wasn’t quite what Hatman had been expecting. “Mating? No, it’s not like that. It’s just… she’s helping with the investigation and…” “Human genders confuse me,” the Shoggoth said. “However, if you intend to exchange genetic information with her I would be quite interested to observe the process. CrazySugarFreakBoy! attempted to illustrate the procedure by showing me a series of his DVDs, but I could not work out how or why you humans converted yourself to two dimensional pixels in order to procreate.” “Er, I don’t expect we’ll be procreating,” Hatman swallowed. “It’s not like that. We’ve both profess… I mean, we’re just co-operating on a case. And I was curious about whether you think we can trust her.” He decided to confide in the elder being. “She claims to be a goddess.” “That would explain the mythological component of her genetic structure, certainly,” the Shoggoth considered. “She appears to intersect with a plane of Platonic avatar creatures upon which she draws to shift her manifestation in this set of realities to a range of creatures indigenous to Candia.” “You’re saying she’s the real thing?” Hatty asked. “She’s the goddess of the north?” “I’m saying she seems like a compatible pair-bond for you, Jay Boaz,” the Shoggoth repeated. “Assuming you can work out how to render yourselves into two-dimensional pixel form.” Count Wolfgang Fokker lifted his Luger and laid the muzzle against Asil’s template. “Talk, old man,” he ordered Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “Who was behind the murder of our informant within the United Nations? Who denied us further access to alien and extradimensional technology under investigation by the world’s governments. Speak, or she dies.” Sir Mumphrey and Asil were captive in the HERPES master-squidship, roughly a quarter of a mile underwater in the Indian Ocean, surrounded by the most powerful terrorist group ever to own weapons of mass destruction. Now the villains were angry because they had been denied access to more by the murder of their stooge. “Asil?” Mumphrey asked his amanuensis. “Have you worked it out yet?” “I think I know who did the murder,” the girl replied. “But not how he got there.” “Whodunnit then?” the eccentric Englishman challenged. Asil glanced contemptuously at Fokker and his pistol. “Eustace Slaw?” she ventured. “The Master of Motown,” hissed the Head of HERPES. “His sonic constructs are powerful enough to smash through a castle wall and pound Vincento to shreds. But why accuse him? There are many who could…” “No footprints,” Mumphrey sighed. “No sound was heard, despite stone breakin’. Slaw absorbs local sound to concentrate into his constructs. No footprints or fingerprints at the scene of the crime.” “And so much broken glass,” Asil added. “All the glass in the room was shattered. Even Vincento’s spectacle lenses were starred. It all points to a high frequency sonic attack. And Slaw is the go-to guy for that.” “Sir, Eustace Slaw is imprisoned in the Safe,” a HERPES tech-flunky reported, looking up from his database. “Check the files hidden at http://www.chillwater.org.uk/HH/data.htm suggested Sir Mumphrey.” He turned back to Fokker with a contemptuous glower. “The who was never the problem,” he told the villain. “The how and the why were. Now we know that General Vincento was on the take from more than one source. At first we thought he was killed to deny you access to the tech secrets reverse-engineered from captured alien and Technopolitan stuff. Once we knew he had two sources it also became possible that someone had just got something very useful off him and wanted to keep you from getting’ the same.” “How could Slaw have got out of the Safe?” demanded Wolfgang Fokker, wavering between scepticism and fury. “It is the most secure metahuman detention facility on the planet!” “Peter von Doom got out,” Asil realised. “Back when ITC needed him. The Interdimensional Transportation Corporation have the contract to maintain the anti-teleportation generators that cover the site. They were able to bypass the suppression field and shift him out, replace him with a robot double.” “Exactly, m’dear!” approved Mumphrey. “And ITC still has the contract despite that, because now they’re under new management.” “Elizabeth von Zemo!” screeched Fokker. “That Baroness bitch has taken over ITC! And she’s been prowling for advanced technology!” “Can’t prove anything, of course,” Sir Mumphrey shrugged. “But the facts fit. Asil, when we escape from HERPES remind me to get OPS to do deep scans on all the Safe inmates to check they’re actually who they’re supposed to be, please.” “Of course,” agreed Asil. The gun was still at her head. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” Count Fokker leered evilly. “You see, now that you’ve told me what I know there’s absolutely no reason to let either of you go on living. So now it’s time for you both to suffer painful, cruel, humiliating, terrifying, gory, lengthy deaths. And did I say painful?” “Oik,” said Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “So whut now?” Trickshot asked as he watched Fleabot crawling over the control room’s interface console. “We just sit here flapping our mouths while robo-pet there sorts through their database?” “You don’t just sit there flapping your mouths,” Fleabot assured the irritating archer. “You look stupid as well.” Messenger didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “It’s only a matter of time before we’re found anyhow,” Lisa told her companions. “Somebody’s going to find the trussed up guards sooner or later.” “Or that computer manager Hiram Levi,” Messenger suggested, referring to the man Lisa had summonsed to get them into the secure facility on the super-villain training island. “No, Hiram’s going to sleep for some time,” the amorous advocatrix assured him. “He’s quite exhausted.” Messenger shuddered. “How long kin it take ta find out where the last bunch of guard-goon graduates got shipped off to?” Trickshot demanded. “Well, if you want to try navigating lethal firewall defences in a virtual environment be my guest,” Fleabot answered. “I suspected you had a deathwish when I first saw that costume.” The archer looked down at his green and purple superhero outfit. “What’s wrong with my costume?” “It’s designed to strike colourblindness into the heart of criminals,” Messenger suggested, confident in his own black over black ensemble, complete with shabby trenchcoat. “Yeah, and it’s washable,” sniped back Trickshot. “Boys, boys…” Lisa said. “Yeah, I know,” Trickshot breathed. “Ratchet it back. It’s just this guy…” “No, keep going,” the first lady of the Lair Legion assured him. “I’m not Dancer. I haven’t a problem with you two beating the crap out of each other. Go ahead. I’m bored too.” That took all the fun out of it. “Okay, I’m in,” Fleabot announced. “Manifest lists, the lot. The last squad were assigned to ZOXXON Oil…” “Montiver Hole’s unpleasant little operation,” frowned Lisa. “Right. And they were delivered to some place in Argentina.” “Which might be where those warheads and that nuclear stuff got smuggled,” Trickshot concluded. “That’s where they’re makin’ HERPES transnuclear weapon!” “If it’s for HERPES,” breathed Messenger. “Is there more, Fleabot?” “Well, I’m picking up a major code red alarm right here on the base,” the miniature robot answered. “Seems like there’s intruders in the computer cor… oh crap!” Then the door blew open and the Captor sent his best students in to eliminate the intruders. “At last!” grinned Trickshot. “All I’m sayin’” Flajack explained helpfully, “Is that if you’re depressed an’ need hot rampant sex ta cheep you up, I’m willin’ ta make time ta help you.” “Thank you,” Princess Uhunalura of the Abhumans told the Lair Legion’s hunchbacked major domo hurriedly. “But I don’t think I’m quite that upset yet.” “Well, Nats did leave ya at the alter ta shack up with a demon temptress,” Flapjack pointed out. “That’s got ta be pretty upsetting.” “Not that upsetting though, thank you.” “I’m just saying, when you feel like an enormous hump…” “You can go now, Flapjack. Really.” “It’s not like I didn’t hear you sobbing from all the way down the hallway,” the butler confessed. Uhuna looked puzzled, but her green eyes were dry. “I wasn’t sobbing.” Flapjack’s face lost its usual ugly leer and he went pale. “Marie…” he whispered. “Aw crap!” “One thing I have noticed about you, Wilton,” Count Fokker gloated. “A weakness, really. You become very attached to your women. So if anything terrible happens to them, you suffer.” He leered down at Asil. “I shall make you watch what we do to this fraulein.” Asil caught the glance from Sir Mumphrey and used her power to assume whatever age she wished to be to become around thirteen. She shrunk in Fokker’s grasp so the Luger was no longer pointing at her temple, then rammed an elbow back into the villain’s gonads. A moment later and she was a lithe eighteen again, with her knee rising up to meet the Nazi’s descending chin. Mumphrey snatched up the abandoned weapon and fired into the submarine’s control surfaces. The whole squidship yawed. “Alert!” shouted the HERPES deck commander. “Prisoner escape!” Another series of small explosions blew out more of the computers on the command deck. Mumphrey grabbed Asil’s hand and the two of them moved towards the nearest doorway. It opened to reveal four battle-armoured guards. Mumphrey took the first two and Asil the others. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” the Lisa-clone demanded as they slid down the ladder towards the squidship’s engineering deck. But her own eyes shone as well. “Good to be getting’ out a bit,” Mumph admitted. “One gets a bit frowsty, shut in that Lair mansion office all the time. Best to smite a few of the ungodly on occasion. Stop the arteries cloggin’, what?” Asil spun round and high-kicked a HERPES stormtrooper into a weapons cabinet. “What’s the plan?” she demanded. “Well, we’re headin’ towards the engineering deck,” Mumphrey pointed out. “Lots of potential for sabotage there, so Fokker will be sendin’ his goons to protect it.” “And so?” “And so I thought we might make for the galley. Although I don’t suppose a bounder like Fokker will have any decent tea in.” “Another sign of his caddery,” Asil suggested. “Absolutely. This way, m’dear.” Mumphrey dropped another HERPES footsoldier with a powerhouse right to the nose and helped Asil step over his slumped body. “Get them!” shrieked Count Fokker, in perhaps slightly higher tones than usual. “After them! Catch them alive! I want them alive so I can kill them myself!” “Oik,” agreed Asil. The grey timber wolf and the sleek silver wolf-bitch loped down the slope to the stream bed, and sniffed at the churned up mud. The water crossing was marked with a series of tracks, including the distinctive furrow of heavy treaded tyres. The grey wolf twitched and suddenly Hatman was squatting there, Timberwolves cap in hand. His companion shimmered to become the russet-haired Zdenka Zarazoza, as elegant in human form as she was in any of the animal shapes she wore. “These should not be here,” she said, considering the tyre tracks. “I thought most of Candia didn’t use motorised transport,” Hatman admitted. “We don’t,” Rabid Wolf replied. “Petroleum oils are reserved for official business and high party members only. So why was heavy off-road vehicle here, nine miles from the uranium mine, and who authorised it?” “This could be the pick-up point,” Hatman agreed. “Think we can track where the truck went?” Zdenka shook her head. “Not on the ground, by scent. This is old trail. We only managed to find this tiny clue because the mud froze here and preserved the imprints. But maybe we could see more from in the air?” “Good call,” Jay agreed. He pulled his Eagles cap from his belt and dragged it on. “I suppose I could be an eagle for you, Jay Boaz,” Zvesti Zdrugo smiled. “But then we can’t converse,” Hatman pointed out. He reached for the woman and lifted her into his arms. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you.” “I guess you will,” she agreed, wrapping her arms round his neck. “I have not flown in this form before, and not by another’s power. It will be interesting.” She snuggled in to Jay’s embrace and she felt absolutely right there. “Very interesting,” Hatman agreed. And he soared. Sir Mumphrey and Asil were cornered in the galley. HERPES stormtroopers secured the exits, training their particle weapons to bring down the fugitives if they attempted to flee. Count Wolfgang Fokker himself arrived to supervise the capture. “Wilton is tricky,” he warned, “but we are the masters now!” Inside the barricaded galley, Mumphrey poured his cup of tea into the sluice. “Sorry, m’dear,” he told Asil, “but slop is slop.” The bulkhead door began to glow cherry red. “What now?” Asil asked. “Is it time?” Mumphrey seemed to sniff the air. “I do believe it is. It’ll be, what, twelve hours since our capture. That’s how far I had the Chronometer shift itself when Crosshairs took us into custody. So…” He held out his hands. After a few moments his temporal pocketwatch phased in, fob-chain and all. “Jolly good,” he rumbled. “So do we go fight them now?” suggested Asil. “I’m sure Fokker will have worked out after all these years that I have some kind of method of doin’ trickery with time,” Mumphrey pointed out. “He’ll probably have got his tech-chaps to come up with some kind of warning, maybe even a suppression field or something. Best not to count on time-stops and whatnot to get us out of this one.” Asil tried to keep up with the cunning mind of her mentor. “That website you directed the HERPES-techhie to… It wasn’t…?” “One of Hallie’s IP addresses? Absolutely. Should have raised all the flags she needed. I imagine she’s pulled in young Zelnitz by now to trace where the enquiry came from, and then Harper’s used his scanning equipment to locate this hidden squidship.” “Al B. doesn’t have equipment to track remote internet conn…” Asil began. “Well, he didn’t have until today,” she corrected herself. “So what happens now?” Mumphrey twisted the brass studs on his Chronometer. “Now, we just quietly accelerate the whole ship at fast-forward through time until…” There was a clang as something very powerful smashed through a distant bulkhead. “Until the Lair Legion line up,” Asil grinned happily. She loved her job. The abandoned fairground on Flanagan Island was a desolate place of fading paintwork and rusting rides, secured behind a high chain link fence separating it from the desolate dunes. To the south the former funfair was overshadowed by the massive steel and concrete bulk of the Safe Metahuman Penitentiary. Yuki jumped the fence easily and made her way past rotting wooden stalls and low timber buildings that had once been ghost trains and halls of mirrors. She ghosted by the rotting carousel towards the creaking frame of the big wheel. Her contact was waiting in the lee of the ticket office. “I came,” the cyborg P.I. announced herself. She’d changed her hair colour and done what she could to alter her appearance. The Machine Shop were well aware of Yuki Shiro’s usual look. “You’re the young lady who wants to play in the big leagues are you?” Political Machine answered. Only a diagnostic scan revealed the handsome man in the conservative business suit to be anything other than a successful lobbyist. His steel frame and polycarbon flesh were as well disguised as Yuki’s were. “Yes, I’m a player,” the young woman answered. “I’m looking for the Machine Shop.” “You found us,” Political answered. “Come with me.” The ticket booth opened to show a modern elevator to take them under the fair. Yuki shrugged and got in. “You think it never occurred to us that superheroes would try to infiltrate this facility?” the Captor demanded of Lisa, Trickshot, and Messenger. “That we would make no preparations?” “Anti-teleportation jamming field to stop Lisa summonsing help, major force screens to keep any rescue party getting in, dozens of trained goons with high-tech weapons to wipe out the intruders,” sniffed Fleabot. “The standard package.” “Nothing standard here,” the man in the khaki hunting gear replied. “I am the Captor, and I have been defeating superheroes most of my adult life.” “But the baggy shorts were a mistake,” Trickshot advised him. “Trickshot,” recognised Apollo the Archer. “I’ve dreamed of the moment when I pin your ass to the wall.” “Ain’t gonna happen with arrows or any other way, twinkie,” Carl Bastion assured him. “But I will take that fancy bow of yours and ram it up…” “Don’t talk to them!” HuntingJustice DeathMarrow cried, pulling two massive shattercannons from nowhere. “Kill them!” “Why can’t I ever fight anybody classy?” Lisa complained as she once again avoided the spray of fire from her adversary’s weapons. “Why is it always tuff chicks with airbags?” “I’d normally offer ta swop,” Trickshot said, ducking low and selling half a dozen henchman trainees to the wall with a glue arrow, “but I really need ta kick this Apollo guy so far he’ll be able ta taste his nuts in his throat.” The Captor watched as Apollo and HJDM went in to engage the heroes, supported by heavily armed henchmen on all sides. “I’m not trapped in here with you,” Messenger said, lifting his guns. “You’re trapped in here with me.” “Foul felons! Prepare to meet thy plastic surgeons!” thundered Donar, leading the charge down the squidship corridor, ignoring the heavy cannon-fire that exploded around him. “This is the main HERPES squid-ship, centre of their operations,” Mr Epitome noted with mounting excitement. “We’ve been after this for years. This is the mother-lode!” “And there’s the mother-%$£*^£!” CrazySugarFreakBoy! noticed, bouncing across the combat as he saw Count Fokker retreating. “Hey, Fokkie, hold still. I’ll always want to remember you like this!” “Cute-Dancer” Yo called out as s/he downed a heavy assault squad of HERPES troopers. “Are you to be doing okay to be holding back of waters from spilling through hole we are making?” “I’ll be fine as long as I can continue this improbable air pocket, the Probability Dancer answered, twisting to avoid attackers while concentrating on the rift the LairSub had left in the side of the Squidship. “Anyway, I’ve got DBS running interference for me.” Josh Clement streaked back from the squidship’s galley and handed Sarah Shepherdson the sandwich she’d asked for. “Low calorie dressing and everything,” he promised. “Oh, by the way, Mumph and Asil are on their way up. Mumphrey says he wants to thrash Fokker personally, within an inch of his life.” The head of HERPES laughed as CSFB! bounced off his personal forcefield. “That old fool? As if he could ever catch Wolfgang Fokker!” he thumbed his teleportation device to take him to his back-up headquarters and to trigger the self-destruct charges on the Squidship. He didn’t vanish. “That teleportation escape thing was getting very annoying,” Al B. Harper pointed out, holding his transient vector neutralisation packet. Sir Mumphrey Wilton shifted Fokker’s force field harness five minutes into the future and expressed his views on Nazism in general and Fokker in particular with significant satisfaction. “Secure those sensitive files,” Mr Epitome commanded Hallie. “We’ll need to sort through them later.” “You secure them then,” the Legion’s A.I. told the paragon of power. “I’m busy helping out people with manners.” “What? What did I say?” Donar wasn’t happy either. “Where art the rest of yon felons. Mine smiting quota doth remain unfilled?” “We’re working on the Ausgard thing, really we are,” Dancer assured him. “With the info Mumph’s got off Jury now we’re that much closer to finding where the Parody Master took your country and Queen Annj.” “We’ll need to check what Fokker got off Vincento,” Mumphrey reasoned. “Get an idea what that von Zemo woman might have. And perhaps what’s happening with this missin’ uranium shipment, what? Hallie, m’dear, would you mind downloadin’ their database and having a bit of a look, please?” “Of course, Sir Mumphrey,” the A.I. replied, with a significant look at Epitome. “I’d be pleased to help.” “The ship…” Fokker moaned from the floor, clutching his nose, “Self destruct sequence…” “Yeah,” said Al B. “That was another bit that was getting overdone.” CSFB! and DBS exchanged a high five. “We are so cool!” the wired wonder grinned. Yuki hadn’t really expected to be taken to the Machine Shop’s headquarters this quickly. She’d thought there’d be more screening, more runaround. “You’re bold,” Master Machine told her. “I like that.” “You’re the only game in town for a robot who wants a bit of adventure,” Yuki told them. “That’s true,” Diagnostic Machine agreed. “Shame you’re not a robot.” “What?” Yuki suddenly realised she was in her enemies’ lair and he cover was looking rather blown. “Yuki Shiro, cyborg,” Diagnostic went on. “You’re deliberately obscured your specs to fool us but I’m very good.” Better than Yuki had expected, anyway. “And what if I still want to join you?” “Then you’d better have sent your resignation in to the Lair Legion,” Master machine suggested. “Ah. So you know about that too?” “We have some very good sources,” Mystery Machine said, speaking from the shadows above. “It was a good masquerade,” Media Machine congratulated Yuki, his TV screens flickering appreciatively as he recorded her final moments. “It might have worked if we hadn’t been forewarned.” “Forewarned? By who?” Yuki was still after information. “Like we’re going to tell you,” snorted Fitness Machine. Yuki braced for attack. “So what now?” she demanded. “Now?” Mean Machine grated, shifting forwards. “I have a list…” Lisa’s whip cracked across the assault weapons being brandished at her, its dimensional properties searing open a livid temporary portal to the Negativity Zone. Black searing energy dots bubbled out to overwhelm the students that charged towards her. Meanwhile Lisa span around and caught a stiletto heel into the nozzle of one of HuntingJustice DeathMarrow’s shattercannons just as it fired. The explosion hurled advocatrix and mercenary alike across the room, but only Lisa and HJDM rose afterwards. “Now you die!” HuntignJustice DeathMarrow vowed, conjuring up a massive two-handed particle ripper. “Sure,” Lisa retorted, snapping the weapon in half with her whip. “And then you’re going to rule the world, Pinky.” She vaulted in and smacked the villainess across the face. “Grow up, honey. I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m very very good at it.” “Keep her fighting,” Apollo encouraged HJDM as he fired a quarrel to intercept Trickshot’s latest arrow and replied with a spray of explosive darts to keep his prey off-balance. “I’ll just take down this talentless pretender and then I’ll save you.” Trickshot slithered low to avoid the combat-armoured battle troopers, tagged the lead one with an EMP arrow, then caught one of the darts and returned it to sender. “You’re not bad,” the archer grudgingly admitted. “But me, I’m magic.” Apollo jerked his body sideways and avoided Trickshot’s latest arrow with contemptuous ease. “I’m a demigod, you cretin!” he boasted. “My father was Degenerus. Immortal blood fills my veins…” The arrow he’d dodged hit the delicate control console behind him, exploding the stanchion that kept the overhead grating in place. Apollo vanished under a pile of roofing. “Oh yeah, there’s some of that immortal blood now,” Trickshot noted. “Sucker!” The Captor released six dice-sized containment drones. They took diamond formation around the Legion’s arrogant archer then released their hypersonic barrage. Trickshot was pounded into unconsciousness and hit the floor hard. Messenger fought free from the close combat specialists that were dogpiling him and launched a razor letter at the Captor. The villain caught it and cleaned a fingernail with it. Lisa barrelled into HuntingJustice DeathMarrow and looped her whip around the villainess’ throat. “I could just use this lash’s properties to take your head off right now,” the first lady of the Lair Legion warned. “You might want to think about surrendering before I forget I’m supposed to be one of the good guys.” The Captor saw Lisa render HJDM unconscious. He flicked a neural dart into the amorous advocatrix’s perfect buttock and watched her slump over her defeated foe. “I love tableaux art,” the Captor smirked. Messenger snapped the neck of the soldier in front of him, and that also broke the morale of the few remaining henchman that were between him and the Captor. “Run!” one of them cried. “He’s insane! He’s going to kill us all!” “Yes,” agreed the postman, hurling aside his empty guns and striding towards the Captor. “I took you down in training yesterday,” the hunter pointed out. “This time I’m going to break your spine.” “Yesterday I wasn’t trying,” Messenger told him. “Yesterday I wasn’t cheating,” the Captor smirked. He thumbed the stud for his flashstrobe pin. The cycle of flickering would cause temporary epilepsy in anyone who saw it; and ten seconds was enough to eliminate the interfering postman once and for all. Messenger caught his hand and snapped his wrist. The device hadn’t worked. “Everyone forgets the robot flea,” Fleabot complained, from the Captor’s utility belt. “Micro-gadgets. Pah. Kiddie stuff!” “Aagh!” the Captor cried as Messenger smashed two of his ribs. “Alright, I surrender.” “Good,” said Messenger, and kept on going. The smugglers lay where they had fallen, their corpses frozen on the churned tundra, the radiation burns evident on their pale hard skin. “An accident,” sniffed Dr Roentgen, examining the bodies. “Or murder, I suppose. These dissidents must have bribed the camp guards to let them through the perimeter with the stolen uranium, but they did not know how to handle the processed materials and so ended their own lives.” Hatman, the Shoggoth, and Amber St Clare looked around the clearing with Roentgen, Zvesti Zdrugo, and Vladimir Borin, but Hatman was less convinced. “If they died through carelessness, where’s the material they were carrying?” he pointed out. “And what happened to the truck whose track marks Rabid Wolf and I followed?” “A truck?” Comrade Borin frowned. “These traitors had access to one of the people’s trucks?” “Yes, Comrade Political Officer,” Zdenka told him. “It seems our Lair Legion allies were correct in believing that Candian uranium has been stolen by regressive elements beyond our borders. And they have done it with the help of someone in authority.” “This is all supposition,” Dr Roentgen snorted. “All we know for sure is that these bunglers got themselves killed, through radiation poisoning. If they had contacts then whoever was supposed to meet them may have arrived, found them dead, and taken the shipment away anyhow. It would have saved them making payment.” “Or,” Amber reasoned, “they treacherously murdered these poor men to avoid having to pay them.” “Or having them talk,” Hatman concluded. He pulled off his deerstalker hat. “These people were certainly murdered. The clues are unmistakable.” “What clues, Jay?” asked Rabid Wolf. “Well, they died when exposed to a massive radiation source, right? So if that was the stolen uranium isotopes, then they had to be uncovered to do this. Unshielded. But assuming the isotopes were somehow exposed, how did the people who took them away cover them up again?” “Radiation suits?” Borin suggested. “Bulky and impossible to conceal,” commented Amber. “The thieves would have had to know something was wrong if the guys in the truck turned up wearing an outfit like Dr Roentgen’s. And why go to all the trouble of dressing up like that so they could use radiation to kill these men? Why not a bullet, or a knife?” The Manga Shoggoth was examining the bodies too. “These radiation wounds are linear,” he noted. “As if the particle stream was directed.” He turned his bandaged head towards Dr Roentgen. “As if they were blasted by a projected discharge.” “Exactly,” Hatman said. “Zdenka, does your superhero team have access to vehicles? Some kind of special priority that can commandeer equipment like that if you have to?” “I have such authority,” Dr Roentgen told them. “If you have an accusation to make, make it.” “Did you steal this uranium?” Comrade Borin demanded. “And if so, why?” “I didn’t steal it, because I own it,” the living nuclear furnace replied. “All radiation is mine, and the ore that bears it. I traded some paltry amounts with the outsiders in exchange for blueprints of equipment from decadent city-state of Technopolis, equipment I needed for my grand work.” “Nutjob alert,” Hatman called to the Shoggoth, reaching for his nuclear workers hood. “Grand work?” demanded Zvesti Zdrugo. “What grand work? Roentgen, you traitor, what have you done?” “It does not concern you, little bitch,” Dr Roentgen said. And then the mushroom cloud rose into the skies as he detonated around the heroes. Next time: Yuki vs the Machine Shop; Candia’s nuclear holocaust; the Lair Legion vs ZOXXON Oil; the Manga Shoggoth vs the Manga Shoggoth; a recipe to make transmundium; the Librarian and Visionary in the Safe, Beth von Zemo’s interrupted tiramisu, and the Hooded Hood’s bigger picture. Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Waiting for the Big Bang, coming fairly soon. Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2005 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2005 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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