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Post By The Hooded Hood responds to the Untold Survey and the profusion of tie-ins with this extra anthology chapter. Fri Apr 21, 2006 at 04:17:52 pm EDT |
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#269: Untold Short Tales of the Lair Legion: Between the Lines, or Untold Consequences | |
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| #269: Untold Short Tales of the Lair Legion: Between the Lines, or Untold Consequences Previously: It’s two days to the deadline for compulsory registration and Obedience Branding of all superheroes and the campaign against the Lair Legion has become brutal. Mumphrey’s daughter and son in law have been tortured to death, his granddaughter Samantha Featherstone only recently rescued from their murderer. To defeat the villain Mumphrey had to relinquish his role as Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity (which has passed to hapless museum curator George Gedney) and a leader of the Lair Legion. CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s has retreated with his mostly catatonic Obedience Branded sister PsychoAcidPervGirl! and the rest of his family to the Spokane Reservation. He’s also taken with him his former lover Pelopia, Disciple of Logos, and their newborn daughter Iris. Visionary’s own newborn daughter Naari was thought dead, but Vizh has now discovered this was a hoax by his enemy Camellia of the Fey. And the gang wars in Paradopolis between the Lynchpin and Akiko Masamune are coming to a head. Meanwhile, the Legion struggles with change, including the induction of two new members, ManMan, wielder of the talking blade Knifey, and the mysterious Citizen Z. Al B. Harper has brought home the time-travelling Kinki the Conqueress, who Al’s grown-up son Cody recognises as his long-lost mother. Kinki has not endeared herself to the other women in Al’s life, such as Yuki Shiro, Amy Aston, and Miss Framlicker. Yes, it’s soap opera central here at in the Parodyverse, so let’s indulge one last time before we plunge into the final chapters of the SR 1066 arc… Note: One of the stories included here appeared separately a week or so back. You can skip that bit if you want; nothing’s changed. Relevant tie-ins include: (Daughter of) Dark Is the Night by the Manga Shoggoth Adventures in Parodyverse: Falling Star, part 4 by AnimeJason Al B Harper #12 and #13 by Al B. Harper ManMan in… Fried Chicken Fracas by “a lurker” Time Capsule of a Temporary Autonomous Zone by CrazySugarFreakBoy! Cast and locations are at Who's Who in the Parodyverse and Where's Where in the Parodyverse. Previous chapters are found on The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom.  Prologue: The first thing Samantha Featherstone saw when the timestop ended was her grandfather, covered in blood. “It’s not his,” approved Nanny Greenwood. “I see you got here in time, Mumphrey.” “This time,” said the eccentric Englishman, tightly. He’d not been able to save his daughter and son-in-law from being murdered by Commander Erskine Black. He’d not saved his sister from Black’s depredations long ago. But he had arrived in time to rescue his beloved grandchild from the horrors that had awaited her. Sam rushed forward and hugged him, despite the gore. She held him painfully tight and sobbed her heart out. Asil Ashling clinically picked up Mumphrey’s abandoned revolver and shot Commander Black three times in the head to keep him down. “It’s going to be alright now,” Mumphrey told Sam, holding her and weeping. “Somehow, I’ll see to it. You’ll be alright.” Nanny Greenwood looked down at the sad remains of the immortal Black. “You can always tell a blaggard by the state of his shoes,” she sniffed. “You must be Miss Ashling.” “Er, yes,” agreed Asil. She felt the need to check her own shoes under Nanny’s discerning stare. “I imagine Mumphrey instructed you not to come and interfere, but you came along anyhow?” “Yes,” admitted the girl. Nanny appraised her a moment longer. “Jolly good,” she judged at last. “You’ll do.” There was more noise from up the tunnels as the Detonator Hippos fought their rearguard retreat. “There’s an awfy lot o’ them there supervillains out there,” Argus MacHarridan warned. “I’m hoping you’re havin’ a clever way of us all retreating from here, missy?” “Yes,” agreed Asil. She pulled out the soda bottle from her jacket pocket and poured the Manga Shoggoth out onto the ground. “Could you arrange for us to be out of here, please?” she asked him. “Of course,” agreed the Shoggoth. “Would anyone object if I disposed of this Black person into a singularity as we headed past?” Help: A Tale of the Junior Lair Legion (and Friends) Donar finished dinner early, grabbed a couple of the creamiest of the cream buns off ManMan’s plate, and slipped out of the Lair Dining Mess. He had a mission to accomplish. Samantha Featherstone’s bedroom was on the top storey, one of the attic bedrooms with the quaint sloping walls and a lovely view out over the sea. Since Mumphrey had brought her to the Lair Mansion she’d mostly kept to her room. Donar knew what the girl had faced. It was a long time since he’d seen the ravaged villages and the slaughtered people of the age where he’d been worshipped, but he still got the same burning anger in his stomach over abused children. But it wasn’t anger Samantha needed now. It was reassurance, and possible cream buns. The door was slightly ajar when the hemigod got there, and somebody was already inside, talking to Sam. “I mean it,” Harlagaz Donarson told the girl. “By any vow you want me to take. I am going to make sure you are safe, small lady, and the only way anybody shall come to harm you now wilt be over mine dead body. And I doth not die easily. You have the word and the protection of the Oldmansonson.” “Really?” “Really. I wouldst not kid about something like this, small lady.” Donar slipped away again, feeling very proud. “Right,” said Samantha Featherstone with a sigh. “Look, why not get everybody in here all at once?” “What do you mean?” asked Kerry. “All the people who want to help me,” Sam said. “People have been really kind, but I’m starting to think that maybe there’s a rota or something. Just bring everybody in and let’s talk about what happened.” Kerry shrugged and called Samantha Bonnington, Kit Kipling, Cody Harper, Glitch, Ohanna of Raael, Ham-Boy, and Kid Produce into the room. It was pretty crowded. Glory wove her way through the heaving masses and laid a soft fuzzy nose on Sam’s lap. “So…” Cody began, nervously. Sam stroked Glory’s ears. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here today,” the girl began. “Sardines?” guessed Ham-Boy. The crowded room became more squashed as Harlagaz shouldered his way back in. “Sorry I art late,” he explained, “but someone hadst abandoned two cream cakes out on the landing for the nonce. Now they art vanquished.” “Sam’s just making an announcement,” Glitch shushed him. “Go on, Sam.” Samantha Featherstone shrugged. “Well, everybody’s been trying to make me feel better, and everybody’s been tiptoeing around me because… well, because of what happened. And everyone wants me to know that they’re there for me when I need it and that they’ll listen to whatever I have to tell them. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful…” “But it can be a bit overwhelming,” Fashion Accessory guessed. “A bit,” Sam admitted. “So I thought I should talk about it now, with you all, and then it’s done, okay?” “Whatever you want, Miss Featherstone,” Kit told her. “That’s what I want. So here it is.” Sam hugged Glory for strength and took a deep breath. “I got called from school by a bogus message. It was Erskine Black, setting a trap for me and my parents to get at my granddad Mumphrey. Black caught us all, and then he tortured my mum and dad to death in front of me. He tortured everyone in our house, in fact. And he made me watch.” Harlagaz’s fist balled so tight they turned white. “I tried to escape, and I managed to break the Creation Crystals that Black was using to stop grandfather, but he still killed my parents and kidnapped me.” “We’re so sorry,” Ham-Boy said. “We can’t imagine…” “You can,” Sam interrupted him. “Some of you can. Ohanna’s dad was murdered when she was my age. And all her family, and Kiivan’s too. Kid Produce’s mum and dad got Obedience Branded and turned against him. Cody never even had a mother and father when he was growing up in that orphanage, and neither did Danny.” “We don’t say the D word,” muttered Kerry. “All I’m saying is I’m not the only person who’s had horrible things happen to them. A lot of you have faced bad times too, but you survived them.” “That’s a very good attitude, Sam,” Glory wuffed. “Black was going to do bad things to me too,” Samantha went on. “You know what I mean. I was out-of-my-wits scared. But then Nanny came to help me, and she managed this time-stop thingie until grandfather got there, and then he smote Erskine Black as Saul smote the Girgasites and then some. I saw the bloodstains.” “Good,” muttered Ham-Boy. “So your House is avenged,” understood Ohanna. “Now the dead must be mourned.” “And they will be,” Sam promised. “I miss them all the time, although before I could go for weeks at school without thinking about them. I keep remembering what Black did to them. But Ebony says that in time those memories will fade and the important ones will stay, the ones that I’ll always treasure inside me. And Lara says that although I have every right to grieve I also have a responsibility to look after my grandfather now too, because I’m all he’s got. Well, except my cousin Whitney but she’s not here. And Asil, of course.” Kerry looked at the twelve-year old with concern. “But aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to burn the world down?” “Or frightened,” FA suggested. “That something might happen like that again?” “It will not,” declared Harlagaz; and somewhere in the distance was a rumble of thunder. Sam shifted uneasily. “Both those things,” she admitted. “Sometimes I just want to cry and cry, and sometimes I want to smash things. But mostly…” “Mostly?” prompted Cody. Sam looked around at the crowded room. “You know what I really want to do?” she asked them. “Find another cream cake?” ventured Kid Produce. “I’ve seen mind-numbing horrible evil,” Samantha Featherstone told them. “Things nobody should see, child or grown-up. I know what people can do to other people, and it can be horrible. I couldn’t cope with it.” “Who could?” shuddered FA. “Not me. Hatty maybe.” “I couldn’t cope with it now,” Sam clarified. “But someone has to stop people like Erskine Black. Someone has to stand up to them. Don’t we?” “Tis most important to smite them verily,” agreed Harlagaz. “It’s the duty of every human being to strive to help and protect others,” Kip asserted, looking like he was about to salute. “Our duty is to be useful, not according to our desires but according to our powers” yipped Glory, quoting Henri Amiel. “So what I’m going to do is this,” Sam told them. “I’m going to survive. I’m going to prosper. That’s what mum and dad would have wanted. And I’m going to learn.” Her young face took on a determined set. “I’m going to learn everything I can, because a day will come when somebody else will be where I was, helpless, afraid, praying to be rescued. And I will stand up and fight for that person, no matter how scary or powerful the enemy is.” “Whoa!” breathed Cody. “Not now,” Sam told them. “Not yet. I need to go back to school. I need to grow and mature. But I also have access to the finest collection of crimefighting expertise on the planet. Detectives, scientist, occultists, hand-to-hand fighters, stealth specialists, computer geniuses… You name it.” “We do have quite a lot of brilliant people. And also Ham-Boy,” added FA. Sam cracked a tiny smile. “You have to admit that’s one heck of an apprenticeship.” “Depends if you have Vizh as your teach,” Kerry muttered by reflex. Sam pointed round the room. “Some of you people will probably be running the Lair Legion by the time I’m grown up,” she suggested. Ham-Boy shook his head. “No way,” he declared, but a small flush of excitement rose in his cheeks. “Really?” “Like I’d be found dead geeking away in that bunch of feebs,” Kerry scorned. “It would be a privilege to serve,” Kit Kipling argued. “And completely Next Gen,” Glitch added. “Hacker Nine can be Wesley Crusher.” “All I’m saying,” Sam summarised, “is thank you for worrying about me, and for all the kind things. You can scale it down now. I’m going to school. I’m going to learn how to deal with people like Erskine Black. And then I’ll be back. So save a place for me.” “It will be a pleasure to work with you, Samantha Featherstone,” Glory barked. “You are totally insane, of course,” Fashion Accessory told the girl, “but insane with style.” “A life dedicated to batting injustice,” Kip noted, “There’s no finer way.” “I can think of no better way to honour your dead and bring renown to their house,” admitted Ohanna. “You and Batman have the same origin, kind of,” Kid Produce pointed out to the girl. “Who knows what the future holds?” Cody added. “Well, except my mom maybe. Who knows whether any of us will even survive the next two weeks when the Parody Master’s deadline runs out? But if we do, and if there’s a chance, we’d be proud to work with you to achieve something important, Sam.” “It wouldn’t totally suck,” concluded Kerry. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Sam agreed with them. “Now somebody go raid the kitchen for more cream buns, please.” II New Blood ManMan found Citizen Z down in the Mansion’s archives, revising. “Boy, you are dedicated!” he admired as he found the black-and-purple clad adventuress studying at two in the morning. “I don’t have superpowers,” CZ replied. “So I have to have other edges to be one ahead of the team.” Joe Pepper blanched. “Well I don’t have superpowers either. Except when I’m holding Knifey. Then I have a super-strong grip to hold Knifey.” “Yes, I know,” Citizen Z replied. “I’ve been checking your security dossier. Would you like to hear Fin Fang Foom’s assessment of your potential as a new member from back on the Legion world tour?” “Er, no, I don’t think so,” ManMan admitted nervously. “He says you would be valuable as a stabilising influence for Dancer and worth recruiting because Knifey brings a wealth of knowledge and experience with him that could benefit the team and probably keep you alive,” CV quoted, unbidden. “Well… that’s probably right. Except for the stabilising Dancer bit. Although I did once accidentally marry her.” “Who hasn’t?” asked Citizen Z. “Was that before or after you accidentally married her waitress friend Sarah Shepherdson? The records get a bit confused on that point.” “We all do,” ManMan explained. “Holy Wedlock was involved, and when he inadvertently married himself to Donar the timeline got a bit… skewed.” “Was that annulled?” Citizen Z asked with interest, “Because otherwise Donar’s missing Queen Annj is going to have a thing or two to say about it.” “I think there was a Bible Belt feedback that nullified the whole thing,” Joe struggled. “It was a strange time.” He gestured to the files. “Not everything about me is in those dossiers, you know.” Citizen Z looked down at the reports from the Dark Knight’s researches into the Elvis-impersonating knife-wielder. “You allegedly gained the proportional powers of a man after being coated with radioactive special burger sauce. Your archenemy is Thighmaster, tyrant of Borovia, to your mutual embarrassment. You courted the Hooded Hood’s daughter Troia but only made it with his alternate-reality daughter Kumari. You lived with your childhood sweetheart Stacy Gwen till she wised up, and recently you’ve been working as a building janitor and seeing a supervillainess called the Widget. Your great-grandmother carried Knifey in World War Two, and you got Knifey given to you by your dead father,” she summarised. “Hey, that’s private!” Another thought came to Joe Pepper. “How did you get access to my personnel file anyhow? Aren’t they supposed to be, I dunno… classified?” “The secure documents safe accepted my voice code,” lied Citizen Z. “I take that to mean that we’re allowed access. Or at least I am.” She put down the dossier and regarded her fellow probationer. “The file doesn’t mention the Elvis pyjamas though,” she noted. “Nice choice of night attire.” “So can I read your file?” ManMan shot back. “Does it say who you really are, and how you came from nowhere, and why you should be let into the Lair Legion and trusted with all its secrets?” “My identity remains a secret to protect someone I love,” CZ told him with absolute accuracy. “But I supplied Hatman with a DNA sample he could authenticate to demonstrate my reliability.” “Everyone’s speculating,” ManMan warned her. “Most popular theory says that you’re Cobra.” “How interesting. Do you see me carrying a sacred banana gun or sink plunger?” “You’ve shown all kinds of Cobby-like abilities,” Manny persisted. “You can sneak places and open doors and do big physical acrobatics stuff, and we all know Cobra was trained from infancy on some magic island to be their ritual kung-fu assassin in the outer world. Cobra disappeared with the Abandoned Legion about the time of the Technopolis War, before the warrants sworn out for them could be acted upon. Most people don’t believe it was really Cobra who got killed by Dark Knight’s mysterious enemies a few months back. So…?” “So it’s a good theory,” agreed Citizen Z. And that was all she said. The awkward silence was broken by Hatman appearing in the archive room. “Well,” noted the capped crusader, “I’m impressed with the dedication you two are showing about preparing yourselves for the Lair Legion.” “Oh, Joe wasn’t here to study,” Citizen Z clarified helpfully. “He just slipped in here to avoid Yuki Shiro as he tried to make a run for the Lair Kitchen fridge. Isn’t that right, Joe?” “Well,” agreed ManMan unhappily, “Kinda, yeah.” He glanced darkly at Citizen Z. “But I learned all kinds of useful stuff while I was here.” “You two had better call it a night,” suggested Hatman. “Big day tomorrow, starting at six a.m. with the warehouse raids. One of the biggest days in Legion history. So get some sleep.” ManMan nodded and headed off; except that he turned towards the Lair Kitchen when he was out of sight. “Goodnight then, Jay,” Citizen Z told the capped crusader. “I take it there’s no sleep for the acting glorious leader on the night before battle?” “I just wanted to get things clear in my head,” Jay Boaz replied. “No room for screw-ups tomorrow.” CZ stifled the comments that flooded to her tongue. “Are you holding up?” Hatman asked as she made to leave. “Is it different being a member of the LL rather than just a friend?” CZ paused to consider. “I’m getting a very different experience. New insights. Surprises. It’s fascinating. I should have done this a long time ago.” Hatman smiled. “It’s great, isn’t it? Best job in the world, even now with all that’s happening. A chance to make a difference.” “I intend to use every opportunity, Jay,” promised Citizen Z. “I intend to make a difference. Good night.” “Good night, Laurie,” Hatman told her. “You’ve made a great new start.” The door to ManMan’s room was slightly open and Glory’s hearing was very acute, so she heard Knifey calling and padded across to the dresser. “Ah, Glory,” the talking blade recognised. “Thanks. Do you think you could deliver me to Joe, only he’s sneaked off and left me behind.” The mutt of might shifted her black-and-white head and lowered her ears a little. “No,” she replied. “I do not think I can.” She didn’t question how Knifey could understand her. He was magic. “Why not? Are you busy?” wondered the blade. “It is not that,” the dog replied. “You are not very kind to Joe Pepper.” “Not kind?” Knifey asked. “Why do you say that?” “You call him names,” Glory accused. “And you insult him and embarrass him. You are mean to him.” “Me?” said Knifey. “You,” Glory answered. “It is not nice. Joe is a good person. He does not deserve to be made fun of.” “Oh, Glory,” the knife explained, “I think you’re missing the whole point of the relationship Joe and I have.” He thought a bit more, “Do you tell Kerry off when she’s making fun of Visionary?” “Sometimes,” admitted the dog. “But mostly I can tell by her smells that she doesn’t really dislike Vizh. It is her way of showing she cares about him. Her body language and heartbeat and odours tell a very different story to her words.” “Well there you go,” declared Knifey. “Except I don’t have body language or heartbeat or odours for you to pick up on to read the subtext.” “That is true,” agreed the mutt of might doubtfully. “I’m not really mean to Joe. I tease him sometimes, and I try to motivate him because he’s got a helluva potential if only he’d knuckle down and develop it. And also because it can be a little boring sometimes being a sentient object tucked in someone’s pants. But Joe’s my best friend.” “Really?” “Really.” The weapon paused. “Come closer. I’ll whisper you a secret. But in absolute confidence, Glory. I mean it.” The dog pushed her muzzle up against the ancient weapon. “I promise,” she told him. Knifey whispered. “Okay then. Look, I can’t move without a partner to carry me. Not usually. I’m a blade, and a blade is a tool that somebody has to use. So for a long time I’ve picked people who can help me do… what it is I do. Heroes. I’ve been the weapon of heroes.” “For how long?” wondered Glory. “A while.” “You never talk about them. You must have seen and done some amazing things in history.” “I try to keep a low profile.” Glory pushed further. “They say… I heard Samantha telling Kerry that you dated Cressida the Wonder Worm. And Desert Rose’s talking scimitar.” “Nah,” Knifey said dismissively. “That’s just locker room gossip. Sharee wasn’t my date, she was my wielder, back before she became a talking blade. And Cressida wasn’t a worm back when we…” He paused, remembering that Glory was still quite young. “I just try and keep a low profile, that’s all,” he concluded. The mutt of might was fascinated. “But why? You have so much to tell, so much to teach.” “Yeah, that’s what Cressie said,” remembered Knifey; and somehow the blade conveyed a happy grin. Then his metaphorical expression changed. “But I have duties. And enemies. So… a low profile, okay?” “Joe said the Parody Master wanted to throw you in that Infinity Furnace of his, to melt you down to steal your power.” “He does. You ever notice that whenever the Parody Master manifests he has an old scar down his left cheek?” the weapon asked. “Like I said, enemies. But back to the point: Joe.” “He is a good man,” Glory asserted. “A good soul.” “Of course he is, kid. Why would I pick him otherwise? Out of all the humans on this planet, out of all the races in the universe, why would I pick him if he wasn’t a hero?” “Well, his great-grandmother…” “Penny was great, a real trouper. I’ve had some wonderful wielders in my time, and I loved ‘em all and I miss every one of them. But Glory, Joe’s special. He might be the best of them all, and that’s saying something.” “ManMan?” “Yeah. Listen, you want to know the most heroic thing Joe ever did?” “Yes please. Was it the time he took on a whole planet of Dark Thugos’ Techno-Zombies? Or the time he stopped the Skunk invasion? Or maybe when he battled Mefrothto, Prince of Fibs? Or when he stabbed the Hooded Hood?” “Nah. Joe was eleven. The school bullies were beating up some weedy new kid, some poor weed screaming in the schoolyard as the older boys kicked crap out of him. And Joe told them to stop.” “Joe stopped them?” “No. Joe got crap kicked out of him too. Was off school for two weeks.” “That was pretty brave,” allowed Glory. “Yeah,” Knifey agreed. “But when he got back he saw those same bullies on the same new kid again. And he went in to try and stop them again. Knowing what they’d do to him, he went in again. And again. And again.” “Oh.” “And that was the bravest thing Joe ever did, and it’s why he’s a worthy hero to wield me. Because whenever I make jokes about Joe’s weight or his love life or his general uselessness, I also know he’s the man who will never back down from bullies, and will never give up, and will always do the right thing in the end no matter how much it costs him. And do you know what we call a person like that, Glory?” “We call him a hero,” yapped the wonder-dog. “We call him an idiot,” said Knifey. “But that’s just to stop him getting a swelled head. Because yes, Joe Pepper is a hero. He’s my hero, which is why I get to tease him. He could be a great hero, which is why I have to push him. And I love the guy as much as a father could love his son, and sometimes he makes me want to slap him and other times he makes me so proud I could burst. But that’s our secret, okay, Glory? Not a word to Joe.” “I promise,” agreed the super-powered sheepdog. She gently picked a knife that could kill gods up in her jaws and padded from the room. “I will be proud to take you to ManMan,” she told him. Citizen Z got to the top floor landing and activated the remote control in her belt. The hidden doorway slid open, revealing the dimensionally-folded and shielded laboratory hidden there years ago by Baron Heinrich Zemo. Never discovered by the Legion and forgotten even by the Baron, the research suite contained the sum fruits of his criminal genius. It made a handy headquarters. It was also secure from the security scanners and general Flapjack eavesdropping of the rest of the building. Baroness Elizabeth von Zemo peeled off the Citizen V mask, deactivated the holography that made the face beneath resemble Laurie Leyton, and gave a sigh of relief. “You can come off now,” she told her jumpsuit. Silicone Sally Rezilyant peeled away from her employer, leaving a plain black body sheath covering the disguised villainess. The morphing plastic mercenary shifted back to her own zaftig form with obvious relief. “I don’t usually get this close to my boss,” Sally complained. “Not without dinner and a club and a generous bonus first anyhow.” “Don’t go there,” the Baroness told her. “I need you wrapped round me to enable Citizen Z to do the amazing physical things she does, and to augment the scan shields that protect my identity. You need me to keep feeding you the serum that prevents your newly-heightened levels of plasticity from condemning you to a life as a blob of goo that could only date the Manga Shoggoth.” “Eew,” Sally shuddered. “Although come to think of it, he does have some advantages when it comes to…” “Don’t go there either,” snapped Beth von Zemo. “Go get some rest while I process the latest Legion data and plan my next move.” “I could certainly use some time in this shape before I forget it,” Silicone Sally admitted. On the grounds that she didn’t want to be disintegrated she didn’t add that holding the Baroness into a shape that resembled lithe acrobatic Lisette was a major challenge. The Baroness spun up the HAGGIE mainframe and punched in her instructions. Sally found the least dangerous looking of the chairs and sofas dotted around the workspace and dropped into it. “I’ve got to admit,” the silicone supervillain admitted, “it’s kind of a blast seeing the Lair Legion so close up and knowing they don’t have a clue who they’re dealing with. Though it’s a shame Josh Clement quit. He was cute.” “I couldn’t have pulled this off if De Brown Streak was there,” the Baroness adjudged. “He was close enough to me for a while that he might spot a mannerism, some body language. If he was still around I’d have had to kill him. Now, I mean, as opposed to eventually when I have the leisure time.” “Didn’t you and Harlagaz do the horizontal as well?” Sally checked. “Does he strike you as Mister Sensitivity?” Beth scorned. “Anyhow, here we are hidden in plain sight, and in just a short while I’ve gained access to the S.P.U.D. mainframe, the B.A.L.D. database, most of the Legion’s secret files, and to my uncle’s cave of wonders. Give me a few more weeks and I’ll be unstoppable.” “And what then?” asked Sally. “Ruling the world?” Beth considered this. “Maybe. Maybe first I’ll take a stab at leading the Legion, should anything tragic happen to Hatman. But right now I need to check in with our silent partner, then grab a shower. You tend to make me sweat, Sally.” “Tell me about it,” complained the silicone woman. The Baroness let that one go and turned to the mirror on the far wall of the laboratory. “Things are moving along nicely,” she told it. “The plan’s working out.” “Excellent,” replied the Hooded Hood. III: The Path Not Taken “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Dancer asked sympathetically as she found Yuki tuning her motor-cycle in the Lair Garage. “I can never sleep the night before action,” the cyborg P.I. admitted. “Which is most nights,” she confessed. “Not having an organic body limits the fatigue poisons that demand rest anyhow. I usually get by on three or four hours.” “So you’re thinking about our big day tomorrow, when Vizh pays his call on Camellia and all hell breaks loose.” “Sure. What else?” Dancer looked at the purple-haired girl. “Nothing to do with Al B and Kinki, then?” she asked. “Of course not. I wish him every happiness with the smug self-satisfied bimbo bitch,” Yuki spat. “All men are slime,” Shep agreed. “But I’d have put Al on the shallow end of the slime pond, really. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. He thought you were just friends with benefits, not exclusive. I mean really thought it, not just said it when you happened to bump into the guy in a nightclub with some prepubescent Taiwanese trollop who’s a size four or something and his hand down… er, never mind. Different story.” “I thought we were just casual too,” Yuki agreed, “until he turned up with trampoline woman. Then things… didn’t turn out as I expected.” “Hey, you’re made of steel but you’re still allowed a soft creamy centre,” Dancer assured her. “So what now? You and Kinki in a duel to the death?” “Flapjack suggested nude mud wrestling,” the cyborg noted. “Shortly before he inexplicably got shut in the tumble dryer.” “I saw Amy trying to get him out. It seemed to consist of hitting the drum he was in many times with a spanner.” “Good.” “It’s not that I don’t want to rip off that genetically-sculpted face of hers,” Yuki clarified, “except that I get the feeling she’s provoking me and I’m not about to let her push my buttons. ‘Primitive cyborg lacking the proper programming for a competent sexbot’, indeed. At least I’m smart enough to know how to do up a zipper.” “So,” Shep persisted. “Where does that leave you and Al?” “I don’t know,” Yuki admitted. “He saved my life when he put me in this shell, and again when he fixed it after my brief encounter with She-Who-Shall-Be-Asskicked. I guess maybe I confused gratitude for something else. But I think I’ll leave him to his future-femme fatale. He deserves it.” “It doesn’t seem the most stable of relationships to me. Didn’t she want him to help her conquer the universe or something?” “Well, from what I hear they must have some kind of future together since it turns out Cody’s their son,” sniffed Yuki. “All hail emperor Al the First.” “Al could only conquer the universe if somebody remembered to feed him from time to time,” pointed out Dancer. She gestured to the door. “C’mon. You need to get out and mingle. Trickshot’s got his poker school going. He does it all the time when people can’t sleep before the big missions. Last I heard he was trying to explain the rules of Texas Hold’em to the Manga Shoggoth and his brains were about to ooze out of his ears.” Yuki considered this. “I could use some pocket money,” she decided. “Yo doesn’t allow us to play for money,” Dancer admitted as they left the garage. “But if you like jelly beans this could be your night.” “So this is Al’s power base,” Kinki the Conqueress sniffed, looking round the Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises firehouse. “I thought it would be more impressive.” “This is my power base,” answered Miss Framlicker coldly, “and we only get out the impressive stuff when there’s somebody we think worth impressing.” “I could show you what we can do with a high-pressure fire hose though, if you like,” offered Amy Aston. “Ah yes, the menial help,” Kinki said, feigning to just notice Amy as she spoke. “I don’t require anything fetching or doing for me just now.” “Oh, I know what you require…” Amy began. “Was there a special reason you interrupted our important work,” Miss Framlicker interjected. “Only here at EEE we have valuable things to do with our time.” “I merely decided to inspect the operation which seems so dear to my lover’s heart,” Kinki answered loftily. “And to meet the women he has discarded, of course.” “Discarded?” Amy Aston asked dangerously. “I’ve never even carded with Al, as it happens.” “No,” agreed Kinki. “As I understand it, he saw you naked then decided it was better not to pursue a relationship with you. Very wise. I mean, maybe if you scrubbed some of the layers off grease off and bathed for a week or two to get rid of the odours of sweat and alcohol you might be attractive to some of the less sophisticated males of this era, but otherwise…” Amy went for Kinki with a number three wrench. She felt the conqueress needed adjusting. Kinki froze her on the spot with her omni-transistor beam. “Denim overalls and engine grease,” the blonde from the future sneered. “Really, what was she thinking?” “She was probably thinking that you’re a nasty spoiled brat in need of a much-deserved smacking,” Miss Framlicker suggested. “Let her go.” “Or what?” snickered Kinki. “You’ll administrate me? Set your secret army of fluffy toys on me? Write a stiffly worded letter of complaint with your next invoice? Try and trade some more on ancient sex with my lover Al to coat-tail his genius and obscure your own inadequacies?” Miss F tilted her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “Not bad,” she judged, “but I’ve been psyched by the best. You have a pretty limited repertoire, really. And I’m betting you can’t take what you give, you desperate wannabee man-latching trying-too-hard skanky second-rate pink-sock-envying faux-blonde intellectually inadequate artifically-chested time trollop!” Kinki paled, then reddened in fury. “You dare speak to me like that, chattel? To me?” “I can use shorter syllables if it would help,” Miss Framlicker shot back. “Let Amy free or I will take you down. Al’s not here to save you from me, and I’m not a soft touch like him. Is that simple enough to percolate past the peroxide cloud?” Kinki lifted the omni-transistor gun. “I was going to have to eliminate you eventually anyway, you road-bump on Al’s pathway to power and dominion. But now I’m turning my ray to extra-painful and spreading you out across time.” “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Miss Framlicker warned. “Mind you, if I was you I’d also invest in a bra and sensible shoes. And perhaps take deportment lessons.” “I doubt that Al will even notice that you’re gone,” Kinki replied, and fired. The ray bounced off the inversion field around the EEE administrator and washed right back onto Kinki. She squeaked in surprise before she was hurled out of the timespace continuum and unceremoniously dropped into the dimensional vortex at a time and place to be announced. Amy moved again, hefting the wrench. “Where did she go?” she asked, blinking in puzzlement. “It was inevitable that she would vanish up her own backside sooner or later,” replied Miss F with a satisfied air. People tended to forget that she was a scientific genius too, and really Kinki’s technology was only a couple of hundred years ahead of contemporary science anyhow. “What did you do?” Amy asked. “I did Al a big favour,” replied Miss Framlicker. “I got rid of something unpleasant he’d trekked into the place.” It was twenty-four hours or more later when somebody realised that Cody Harper wasn’t in the Mansion any more, and that the orphanage that he’d grown up in had no record of him ever being there. In fact outside of Parody Island nobody remembered him at all. IV: True Confessions of Sea Monkey Sex, and other revelations “Excuse me for a second,” said Banjoooo, King of the Sea Monkeys. He leaned away from the dinner table and vomited over the floor of the Badripoor Grand Dining Chamber. “I didn’t think my home-made pizza was that bad,” Beverly Campbell said in a hurt tone of voice. “I made it just like mom used to make it. I’d ring her up and check except for that whole her and pa pretending I was never born thing.” “Your pizza seems fine to me,” spiffy announced, helping himself to the last slice. There weren’t many privileges came with being the supreme ruler of a rogue Pacific rim nation state – at least not when he ruled it – but scarfing the last piece of pie was one of the very few. “Perhaps your parents will be more well disposed to you again now that the mutate suppression wave has denied you your powers?” suggested the Idiom. The four of them were sitting at one corner of the 164-place dining table in a gilt-covered room roughly the size of a baseball field. In the candlelight you could hardly see the scorch marks. “It just means I get the worst of both worlds,” complained Bev. “Sucky parents and no superpowers. I was just getting into the whole fighting for truth and justice thing and then…” “It wasn’t my fault,” spiffy cut in hastily. “Really. I heard it was Visionary’s fault.” “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Banjooo cut in, sitting upright and wiping his face with a napkin. “Thanks for asking.” “I assumed you were just allergic to pineapple,” Leticia Gahagan shrugged. “Or maybe you’ve got weed-control strain from growing all those seaweeds that are choking up the American warships outside the bay?” “Yes,” agreed Banjooo quickly. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the reason. Yes.” “That’s not the reason?” spiffy detected. He looked across at his old friend. “What’s really wrong?” “Nothing.” “What is it?” “Nothing. I’m fine.” “Apart from the projectile vomiting.” “That’s perfectly natural for a sea monkey.” spiffy frowned. “I’ve never seen a sea monkey vomit before. Except that one time that Starseed made guacamole.” Banjoooo shuddered reminiscently. “Look, the thing is… And I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you this…” “Yes?” “You won’t freak?” “Past experience suggests a fifty-fifty chance.” “It’s morning sickness, okay. I’m going to be a father.” Bev glanced over at the Idiom. “Psychosomatic pregnancy symptoms?” she asked. “Hey, so you and Elyse…” spiffy worked out. “Congratulations, Banjster!” “It’s not psychosomatic,” the King of the Sea Monkeys frowned. “It’s… well never mind. Sea Monkey reproductive cycles are very embarrassing. And private.” “Why else would we want to know about them?” asked Leticia. “Really, you can’t just tell us you’re spawning and leave it at that,” agreed Bev. “How’s the mother? When’s the date? Is it a boy or a girl?” “Or are you pregnant?” speculated spiffy with a big grin. “That’s it, isn’t it? Sea monkey fathers have the children. Elyse has knocked you up!” “It’s not like that!” shouted Banjooo, flushing a deeper greeny-pink. “Like I said, it’s complicated.” “And a cross-species mating is more complicated still, I guess,” noted Bev. “No, not really,” Banjooo sighed. “All our mating is cross-species. Sea monkeys aren’t fertile with other sea-monkeys. We were artificially created by the Abhumans as soldiers for their ancient war with the Deviates, and we weren’t meant to be a viable species on our own. Then the Abhumans got themselves locked in stasis in that Negativity bubble, so we had to make our own arrangements.” “Such as dating humans,” suggested spiffy. “Mostly, yes,” conceded Banjoooo with dignity. “They have some of the genetic codes that we need to spawn a viable next generation of sea monkeys.” He gestured to himself. “Only the ruler is fertile, of course. That’s how we know who the King is. That and the amazing super-powers.” “Or Queen,” the Idiom added. “There was that special feature on that exiled Princess of the Sea Monkeys, Uuuukulele?” “We don’t talk about her,” snapped Banjoooo. “She’s exiled.” “What did she do?” asked Bev, intrigued. “We don’t talk about that either. But when she popped up again I knew she must have sensed that Elyse and I were reaching the culmination of our courtship cycle. She’ll be wanting to take over when I’m gone.” “Gone?” spiffy stopped being amused and started looking worried. “What do you mean, gone?” “Oh, very well,” sighed Banjoooo. “A quick summary of the life cycle of the sea monkeys. But if I hear any snickering…” “I promise we’ll only laugh at you behind your back,” said the Idiom. “Go on.” Banjoooo rubbed the tines of the bone-ridge crown that grew out of his forehead. “Well, when the time is right, the King of the Sea Monkeys goes on this quest,” he began. “Or the Queen,” prompted Leticia. “Or Queen,” conceded Banjoooo, “except we don’t have one, just a jumped up pretender, alright? So the King goes on a quest to find a suitable mate.” “Are there dating agencies that cover that kind of thing?” wondered Bev. “Then come the twelve tasks,” the sea monkey continued, “They’re different each time, but the King instinctively knows what they are and has to fulfil them.” “What if he doesn’t?” wondered spiffy. “What if he fails? Or even dies?” “Then a genetic trigger brings forward another ruler to try again, from one of the unhatched eggs left in the repository,” explained Banjooo. “Anyway, these tasks are designed to bring the King and his chosen true love closer together. And then, when they love each other very much…” “Does this involve cabbage patches?” asked Bev. “No,” Banjooo told her scornfully. “Of course not. That’s silly.” “Does the human woman bear eggs then?” the Idiom asked with some distaste. “No,” answered Banjoooo emphatically. “It’s just… well…” Everybody leaned forward. “Yes?” asked spiffy. “Alright, dammit!” exploded the sea monkey. “They come in the post, okay? Nobody knows how, but we receive these little packets you have to mix together, and the next generation of sea monkeys forms from them.” “Wow,” spiffy admired. “You’re right. That was stupid!” “I hate my origin,” muttered the giant brine shrimp. “And then you get morning sickness,” Bev concluded. “Not so much,” Banjoooo told them. “The thing is, as the eggs grow and move towards hatching the side-effects of the King mating with a human woman become more pronounced.” “Side effects?” spiffy prompted. Banjoooo threw up his hands. “I’m becoming human!” he explained. “I’m doing my best not to, but over the next few months I’ll stop being King of the Sea Monkeys at all and become one of you boring homo sapiens.” He shrugged resignedly. “It’s the only way I can really be with Elyse, so I guess it’s worth it. And one of my sons will be spawned as the new King.” The Idiom persisted with her interrogation. “And where does Uuuukulele come into this?” “She doesn’t,” Banjoooo said firmly. “She was a mistake. A genetic glitch. That’s all.” “What do you mean?” asked Bev. Banjoooo snorted. “spiff, you remember that time we were all supposed to be dead, until the Hooded Hood switched things round and Lisa pulled us back? Years ago now.” spiffy shuddered. “Actually no,” he admitted, “given that I was dead at the time and trapped in Hell, Nebraska.” Bev shook her head. “We never used to have these kinds of conversations back home,” she observed. “If pa was here now we’d see his head explode.” “I can have him shipped in,” spiffy offered. “Point is,” went on Banjoooo, “that the LL deaths got retconned to have never happened, but somehow the genetic trigger that set off my successor was wrongly, um, triggered. And that’s why Uuuukulele came about. But instead of taking her place as a menial retainer because she was just an accident and definitely not needed in any way whatsoever, she has to get all political and stuff. So I banished her.” “And what happens when you’re mortal?” asked Leticia, “When you’re no longer the Sea Monkey King? What stops her from being the next ruler?” “My son the King,” answered Banjoooo fiercely. “In, kind of, sixteen to twenty years time. I’m thinking of calling him Trombooon. Meanwhile, we have a problem.” “I’d say you do,” agreed the Idiom. “It’s just a good thing Princess Uuuukulele is a long way off from here. Across Badripoor bay on the carrier USS Jarvis, Princess Uuuukulele looked out over the choking mass of weed at the city sprawled out around the bay. “Well?” asked Harmanda Barriere, “can you shift it?” “Of course I could shift it,” the petite amphibian replied petulantly. “I happen to be Princess of the Sea Monkeys, you know! But just because I can doesn’t mean I will.” “Your highness, the Unites States has been very supportive of you and your cause,” the large black woman who was head of the Special Protocols Against Metahumans pointed out. “We gave you diplomatic status, political refuge, a base to prepare your case to oust Banjoooo and bring the Sea Monkey nation into alignment with US interests. Don’t stiff us now.” “I don’t really like this stuff you’re doing with Patriot Brands.” “None of us like it, princess. We just do it, because that’s what’s needed to get the job done. Do you have what’s needed to get the job done?” “Of course I do,” Uuuukulele answered haughtily. “Er, what is the job?” “Clear us a pathway through that weed crap,” General Rott urged. “All we need is to be able to get one nuclear sub through that stuff, under the force-field that Idiom woman has put up around the city. Then it’s game over for the mad tyrant spiffy and his gang of butchers.” The princess of the sea monkeys considered this. “Okay,” she agreed eventually. “But afterwards you give me an embassy, right? A nice one.” “Of course,” Barriere agreed. “Top of the range. Now can you get us in there and deal with Banjooo if he causes trouble?” “Of course I can,” promised Uuuukulele. “He’s yesterday’s sea monkey.” She dived into the water and began to make good her oath. V: CrazySugarFreakBoy! and the Word of Doom! Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove awoke from a complicated dream and reached out for April Alice Apple. She wasn’t there. As usual, he sprang to instant wakefulness, remembering with eidetic clarity the revels of last night; the communal party on the Reservation, the spontaneous karaoke, the home-made tribal dances, his mother’s cabaret, and copious amounts of home-brewed liquor. It had been a good evening. But now he could feel the tension in the air. He leaped from his bedroll and pulled on his neon green and fluorescent orange silly suit, then bounded in giant leaps out of his tent and off to see what was happening. There was trouble down at the wire mesh fence that marked the edge of the Native American treaty territory. There were more police trucks and army vehicles than there’d been before, and a line of official black cars. There was a ram-tank ready to take down the fence, and a line of designer-suited lawyers ready to prove it was legal. Yesterday had been great, a win for the little people. Aryan Ideal had gone down like a co-ed freshman at her first frat party. Today the empire struck back. CrazySugarFreakBoy! moved rapidly towards the line to try and stop the fighting. He could already see riot cops moving over bloody fallen protestors, plastic shields and batons in hand. The party was over. Now came the cleaner’s bill. Somewhere in that seething mass was Louis Laughing Fox, CSFB!’s father, and maybe other people he knew and cared about. Dream blurred forward, ready to take on the entire armed services of the United States of America if necessary. And then he realised that everybody had stopped. Everybody was just standing quietly, protest placards, riot batons, home-made weapons limp in their hands. Everybody was listening. “What the?” CSFB! asked, sliding to a halt in the natural clearing that had formed between refugees and military. “Anybody want to give me a clue as to what’s going on here? Not that I’m against the not-busting-heads option, but…” “They stopped fighting,” said the man in the plain grey suit, “and listened to the Voice of Reason.” CrazySugarFreakBoy! recognised his adversary at once. The neat conservative suit, the Shades of Grey sunglasses that somehow prevented anyone looking at that unremarkable face, the calm reasoned tones that demanded attention and obedience: “The Word of Order!” the wired wonder breathed. “Yes,” agreed Gideon Book, although Dreamcatcher Foxglove had no inkling that his patron was also the Agent of Chaos’ principal foe. “I thought it time we conversed, Dreamcatcher.” “I so knew you weren’t dead!” CSFB! grinned. “I told Pelopia when she was all mopey – well, not exactly mopey because that implies showing actual emotion and you kind of whupped that out of her at an early age, but you know what I mean – I told her you’d have pulled the old fake supervillain death trick and be off somewhere in your fortress of greyitude plotting to come back and conquer the universe!” “Your confidence in me is most gratifying. And now we will debate.” “Or,” offered CrazySugarFreakBoy! “I could just throw your evil supervillain ass in jail for all the bad things you’ve ever done.” “That would be an unfortunate thing to attempt,” suggested the Word. “Everybody present here would feel the need to protect and defend me, and many of them would be injured in the ensuing conflict.” CSFB! stopped in mid-surge. “Okay,” he conceded, “you win this round, Cobra Commander, but this thing isn’t over yet.” “It almost is,” the Word of Order told the young hero. “That’s why we need to talk.” “Whaddayou talkin’ bout Willis?” Dream asked suspiciously. He could see April and his mother in the crowd, ready to defend his archenemy, but no sign of Pelopia or Iris. “You had the prophetic dream, did you not?” the Word asked his foe. “The choice, to become one with Chaos or to die? Either way it ends your time as a mortal in your role as champion on Earth. You know that you will face that choice, and soon.” “I wasn’t giving it a high priority just now, what with all the crap that’s happening. Call me chaotic that way.” “Your error, and that of your ethos,” the Word suggested. “But I have come to offer you a third way.” “Does it involve me buying pamphlets?” CSFB! enquired. “Or drinking special Kool-Aid?” “It involves you accepting change and taking responsibilities. I did not approve of you inseminating my daughter Pelopia, although I recognised it was one outcome of the situations I allowed; but now I believe it to have been a manifestation of highest Order, because it places you at a crossroads.” “I’m going to be an active father to Iris Paintbrush Sunrise if that’s what you mean.” The Word shook his head. “How can you do that?” he asked, “when you are dead? Or transcended, which is as good as dead to this world?” “I… don’t know yet. But I’m working on it. You kept Iris hidden from me, you and Pelopia, but I know about her now and I’m not about to let her get moulded and deformed the way you did to your Disciple of Logos.” “There is a third way,” the Word repeated. “I have come to reclaim Pelopia, and with her the child Iris. I am taking them to safety, where Pelopia will not be prey to the Parody Master’s lusts unless it becomes completely necessary. But there is a place in my sanctuary for you too, Dreamcatcher.” “Whoa!” objected CSFB! “Back up, Ra’s al Ghul! Who says you’re taking Iris and Pelopia? They’re under my protection.” “Pelopia will choose, of her own free will; but you know what her choice will be,” replied the servant of Order. “And every child deserves the care of her mother.” He glanced around, “Would it help if I added a threat to these people assembled with us to clarify the situation?” “And you’re saying I get to vacation on Z’ha-dum with you?” CrazySugarFreakBoy! asked sceptically. “The Agent of Chaos?” “To couch this in terms you would understand,” suggested the Word, “I am offering you the chance to change alignment. To accept responsibility and to take up the role of father and husband. To create not destroy. To use your life productively in shaping the life of your infant. Even to protect her from an overzealous grandfather, if you will.” He leaned forward. “I am offering you a chance to survive and prosper, Dreamcatcher. Take it.” “Or?” “Or you will end, and everything you hope for will be lost.” It was a strange moment for CrazySugarFreakBoy! to face his destiny, there amongst the passive crowds of friends and enemies, all watching to see what he would choose. And there was nobody he could count on to advise him that was not under the sway of the Voice of Reason; maybe not even himself. “No,” he answered at last. “No to what?” enquired the Word of Order.” “No to everything. I don’t accept the premise of the question,” Dream decided. “I’m not into inescapable destinies, I’m into infinite possibilities. I’m going to tough it out. I’m going to sort out this Special Resolution 1066 mess, and then I’m going to sort out the Parody Master, and then I’m coming after you, Word. And if you try to take Iris from me we’ll be bumping you up the list. But however it works out, I’ll be doing it my way!” “I see,” answered the Word curtly. “Very well then. I will send someone to arrange measures for the interim safety of the child until your demise, and I will review her future again once your destiny is manifest.” He paused as he was about to go. “I’m sorry you didn’t choose my way, Dreamcatcher. It would have been better for both of us.” Then the grey man seemed to blur into the background until he was gone. The crowds seemed to come to their senses. Both sides shook their heads as if waking from a trance. Both sides quietly returned to their sides of the fence and behaved. “Iris!” called Meggan Foxxx, and set off at a run back towards the crèche. “Is that true?” April Apple asked Dream, her eyes wide and liquid, “What the Word said? That you’re going to leave? Or die?” “Nah,” CSFB! assured her. “There’s always another way.” And he swallowed hard. Lifetimes “You didn’t tell me!” raged Asil Ashling. “You found Mumphrey’s Chronometer of Infinity days ago on a parallel Earth, and you just hid it in your pocket and didn’t any anything to anyone!” George Gedney backed behind an exhibit of nineteenth century fishing tackle. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do.” “It was simple,” fumed the young Lisa-clone. “You just say ‘Asil, I’m very worried because I’ve found your employer’s temporal chronometer in another dimension. I know he’s been missing ever since his family was murdered and his grand-daughter was kidnapped by the vilest villain in creation, so I thought I’d better mention it!’” “But it’s not that simple,” George protested. “When you have this watch it’s… there a kind of sensitivity comes with it. I could tell it had come back to me from a few days in the future. I could tell it had come back to me, me specifically. And I knew that there were things I couldn’t say or do because they might screw up the timeline. You just get these insights with the Chronometer.” “Well pardon me for not being in the Keeper’s club,” Asil scorned. “But if you couldn’t share the information with a mere mortal like me you could at least have used the pocketwatch to do something about Mumphrey!” George backed further until the geological cabinets made it impossible for the museum curator to retreat any more. “I couldn’t,” George protested. “Mumphrey knew. He sent the watch away because all the traps were set for the Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity. The whole point of the exercise was to capture this instrument so the Parody Master could destroy it and take its power. I had to keep well clear, and I had to keep quiet.” Asil snorted. She hated that George had a reasonable excuse. She really wanted to tear somebody in half right now. “When are you giving it back?” she demanded. “Mumphrey’s escaped that trap now, no thanks to you. So give him his pocketwatch.” “I don’t think it works like that,” George Gedney apologised. “To avoid those cosmic snares Sir Mumphrey really needed to revoke his office. He can’t just reclaim it again.” “Mumphrey could resign,” Asil insisted. “So could you. Right now the Lair Legion needs Sir Mumphrey Wilton functioning on all cylinders, not some novice nobody from the dullest museum on Earth.” George looked hurt. “We have many fine exhibits…” Asil caught her breath. “Okay. I take back the dull part. And the nobody part. You might have noticed I’m a little bit upset.” George nodded. “We have a very good display of unusual planktons,” he offered. “Maybe later,” Asil offered. “Right now I’m more interested in getting Mumphrey his Chronometer back. He gifted it to you. Gift it back.” George took the pocketwatch out of his new stripy waistcoat and examined it. “I can’t,” he replied. “I could resign the office. I know I could. But I don’t have all the years of experience as a Keeper that Sir Mumphrey had. I couldn’t direct where the pocketwatch went next. It would find a new keeper of its own.” “Maybe it would go back to Mumphrey, where it’s happy?” “Maybe. Do you want to risk it?” Asil hissed through her teeth. “No, I guess not.” She turned back to glare at George. “I suppose we’re going to have to make do with you.” “I suppose we are,” the curator conceded. “Sorry.” He glanced over at the trim brunette. “I’d give it to you if I could. The pocketwatch, I mean.” “Right,” said Asil. She considered the reluctant Keeper before her: five foot ten of crumpled curator seemed a poor exchange for the eccentric Englishman who had wielded the instrument for a century and a quarter. “Sit down. If you’re going to keep hold of that thing for now you might as well at least know how to use it. Take it out. Now, you’ll see there are five studs, a winder, and those dials inside the fob…” Lisa Waltz found Sir Mumphrey Wilton in the Lair Library, staring at the fire crackling in the hearth. “Lisa,” the old man said, dragging himself up out of his armchair. He always stood when ladies entered the room. “Oh sit down,” the amorous advocatrix told him. “You look like you’re going to fall over if you don’t.” “It’s been a tiring few weeks.” “To say the least. But you can’t rest now.” Mumphrey looked much older than the spry sixty he’d seemed to be all the time he’d been with the Lair Legion. There were dark shadows under his eyes, his skin was sallow and wrinkled, and his hand shook a little as he sipped his brandy. “Why can’t I rest?” he asked. “I’m done.” “You’re not done,” Lisa insisted. “You have a duty.” Mumphrey flinched as if he’d been struck. “Duty demanded that I sacrifice my grand-daughter to a sadistic madman for the greater good,” he replied. “I’ve done my duty, and I’m done with it.” “You’re not,” the first lady of the Lair Legion insisted. “It wasn’t the pocketwatch that made you you. It wasn’t your cosmic office that made you valuable to the LL. And it’s not in your nature to give up and die, no matter how terribly Erskine Black wounded you.” Mumphrey stared into the fire. “Young Hatman is doing a sterling job leading the team,” he noted. “Yes, Jay’s ready for prime time,” agreed Lisa. “Three weeks from now we should hold an election, give him a chance to stand as full-on leader of the Lair Legion.” She moved closer and perched on the edge of Mumphrey’s Chesterfield. “But for three weeks we need you to lead us still.” “No,” replied the eccentric Englishman. “I’m broken. It would be dangerous.” Lisa caught his whiskers and pulled him found to face her. “Are you turning down a damsel in distress, Mumphrey Wilton?” she accused. “Are you turning your back on your regiment, ignoring the call to arms, putting yourself before the needs of people in trouble?” “Dash it all, Lisa, that’s…” Lisa pointed to the photograph over the mantle. The smiling faces of Jarvis, NTU-150, spiffy and herself grinned out at them. “I was there when all this started,” she declared, and there was a hint of pride in her voice. “At the very beginning, when we first decided to try and do something good. None of us knew how it would turn out, that it might come to this.” “You are indeed the first lady of the Lair Legion,” Mumphrey conceded. “Coming up to eight years on and Jarv is dead, Enty’s got a heart condition, spiffy’s ruling a rogue nation-state. And I’m still here, because I still think of this as my team, my creation, my boys and girls. I’d like to think that even if we’d known how hard it was going to be, what the cost was going to be, we’d still have done the right thing.” “I believe you would have.” “And I believe that if you’d known the toll this job was going to take on you, the terrible things that would happen, you would still have taken up the burden too,” Lisa argued. “So I’m calling you now. I don’t just summons men with my powers. I call them together for my Legion because that’s my… my destiny. And I demand that you take your place.” “Boaz is doing an excellent…” “Jay’s wonderful. He’s going to be a fine leader. But in the next two weeks we have the SR 1066 deadline for metahuman registration, then the Parody Master’s deadline for Earth’s surrender. It’ll be the hardest trials the Legion has ever faced. We need the most experienced hand at the wheel that we can get, and that’s you. We need the person who planned out our campaign to see it through to the crunch. I’ll talk to Jay. He’ll be okay about it. He’ll see the reasoning, that’s what’ll make him a great leader in his time too.” Mumphrey shook his head. “Mumph, I’m more sorry than I can say for your losses, but they’ll be nothing compared to what will happen if we get these next two weeks wrong. All I’m asking of you is three more weeks of service. One last sacrifice. Then, if any of us are still alive you can retire back to Wiltshire if you want and we’ll never bother you again. I promise. But first I insist you suck it up and give us three more weeks.” “You don’t know what you’re asking, Lisa.” “But I know who I’m asking it of.” “I don’t know that I can do it.” “I know you can.” “I’m afraid.” “But that’s not going to stop you doing the right thing, is it?” Mumphrey stared back at the fire for a moment, remembering many things. Then he pulled himself up and straightened his waistcoat. “No,” he promised. “It will not stop me fighting the good fight. One last sacrifice.” He stood up straight. “You have three weeks, Miss Waltz. Kindly invite the Lair Legion to line up in the Meeting Room. It’s time.” Epilogue 1: “Enough waiting,” Sir Mumphrey told the crowded assembly. “Less than forty-eight hours until the registration deadline, nine days till the Parody Master’s ultimatum is up. All the elements are in place, and the moment has come for action.” “About time too!” contributed Trickshot. “Visionary, you and your team will deal with Camellia of the Fey. Mr Boaz, you’re settling the Lynchpin. Shoggoth, you’re damping down this Underwar.” “When he says damping down…” Lisa began to clarify for the elder beast, “No, never mind. Do it your way.” “Is to be time of evacuating the Mansioning as well,” chipped in Yo. “Is to be two hundred more cute-metahuman and ex-mutate refugees to be sneaking out of the country to Badripooring.” “Glory will escort their plane, with the Juniors and friends,” Hatman assigned. “The Contessa will make the preparations for Operation Silversmith.” “Everybody been treated by Dr Moo against the Obedience Brand?” Mumphrey checked. “They can Brand us, but now we’ll die if they do,” Al B. confirmed. “They can’t control us or force us to tell what we know.” “Very well,” the eccentric Englishman nodded. “You all know what to do. You all know what’s at stake. You all have your parts to play. Now go out there and let the ungodly be smitten like the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah!” “Most verily,” agreed Donar. “Let the whomping commence for the nonce.” Epilogue 2: Hatman punched in the window of the Lynchpin of Crime’s Gothametropolis skyscraper office. “Harry Flask, you’re under arrest!” To be continued in Untold Tales of the Lair Legion #270: Robots vs Fairies vs Ninjas vs Zombies (although in fairness it does also include a barnstorming monkey, a Psychic Samurai, and a giant flying arm too). Follow ups to this chapter include Adventures in Parodyverse: A Sense of Loss by Jason Flayed to Black by the Manga Shoggoth Secrets Within Secrets by Killer Shrike Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2006 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2006 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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