 |
|
|
Post By The Hooded Hood tries to catch up with the triple-sized penultimate chapter Sun May 14, 2006 at 06:48:37 pm EDT |
Subject
#272: Untold Tales of the Siege of the Lair Mansion: Take Them Down Hard | |
|
|
Next In Thread >> | |
| #272: Untold Tales of the Siege of the Lair Mansion: Take Them Down Hard Previously: The Freedom and Patriotism Act and other international legislation requiring all superhumans to register and receive a “Patriot Brand” mind-override device is now law. The Lair Legion has refused to submit, so now they must be brought down. Behind the scenes, the worlds-conquering Parody Master who has provided the Obedience Brand technology continues to prepare for his attack on Earth. Amongst his demands are that seven powerful Earth women are presented to him as brides, including Dancer and Liu Xi Xian, and that he be given the alien Markab crystals as tribute. This story takes place after The Quest for Naari, Part 1 and Part 2 by Visionary. An older relevant tie in is Dreamcatcher in the Dreamtime by CSFB! Cast Summary: The Lair Legion: Sir Mumphrey Wilton (leader), Lisa Waltz, Yo, Donar, Hatman (Jay Boaz), CrazySugarFreakBoy! (Dreamcatcher Foxglove), Trickshot (Carl Bastion), Dancer (Sarah Shepherdson), the Manga Shoggoth, the Librarian (Lee Bookman), Al B. Harper, Yuki Shiro, ManMan (Joe Pepper), Citizen V (Baroness Zemo) At the Mansion: Knifey, Princess Uhunalura, Ebony of Nubilia, Liu Xi Xian Other Allies: Miss Framlicker, Amy Aston (Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises); D.D., A.L.F.RED (Lunar Pubic Library); Contessa Natalia Romanza Strange Visitors: Prince Kiivan of Caph, Ohanna of Raael, Deeela, Sayaana, Philaana, Noona, Odoona, Losiira, Luuma, and Kaara; refugees from the alien world of Caph IX Sir John de Jaboz, Princess Lileblanche of Elsinore, visitors from the parallel Earths of Swordrealm and Esperine Cleone Swanmay (from Faerie), Lara Night (from a distant other reality) Members of the Public: Reverend Mac Fleetwood, Katarina Allen, Bernice Teshmaker, Mr Papadapopolis And a few surprises. Most of these characters are described in Who's Who in the Parodyverse. Locations are detailed in Where's Where in the Parodyverse. Previous chapters are found on The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom. This storyline begins with UT#251.  “Good morning, Paradopolis, and welcome to a balmy breezy day. Temperatures are around 81 degrees, air quality is good, and it’s a great day for lazing around. Top of the news is the implementation of the Freedom and Patriotism Act, Special Resolution 1066, so if you’re a metahuman who hasn’t signed up then beware because they’re coming to get you. Members of the public who are aware of unregistered supertypes are encouraged to call the authorities toll free. And of course the big question on everyone’s lips is whether the Lair Legion are going to cave and sign up. News at the top of every hour here on WPOZ. And now here’s Don McLean and American Pie… It really was a beautiful Sunday morning. The sun reflected up off the waters of the Atlantic, sending ripples of light over the arches of the long causeway bridge that connected Parody Island with mainland Parodopolis. From the shore it was actually possible to see the big old house that was headquarters to the Lair Legion, the world’s greatest, and currently most controversial, superhero team. As of midnight the Freedom and Patriotism Act had required anybody with metahuman abilities, arcane technology, or occult powers to register with the US government. Similar legislation had been implemented in other nations around the globe. Most of the laws also required that those registered receive a Patriot Brand, a techno-organic mark that enabled duly authorised personnel to give undeniable commands to the recipient. The Lair Legion had publicly and loudly refused to submit to such branding, and had become the mainstay of the resistance to such measures. Parody Island wasn’t large. It was a crescent-shaped granite rock not even a mile along its longest axis, with a bay on its north-eastern side. Sometimes it had a lighthouse on its jagged southern peninsula, but not today. In fact at 5.04am EST there was no sign of life on the island at all. “The Lair Legion are all safely tucked in their beds,” Edward Gramayre was assured. Nobody knew how old the representative of the mysterious conspiracy cabal the Shadow Cabinet really was, but he’d also presided over the shutdown of superheroes sixty years earlier after the second world war. He sat at the end of the committee table, chain smoking and trying to hide his gloating that the Legion were finally going to fall. “Did they drink their sedatives like good boys and girls?” he purred. “Yes. Except the Shoggoth, of course. But he absorbed the mug.” “And the others?” “Visionary and the Librarian are still at the Dullard’s Corner safehouse with the Caphan refugees and Sir John and Princess Lileblanche. NTU-150’s still finishing off the anti-detection baffles on the site at Willingham. He’s been working all night. But it’s all a bit confused.” “How so?” “Leadership is a mess. Sir Mumphrey is back in charge, except that he’s barely capable of making a decision. Since that… what you did to his daughter and son-in-law, and then what happened to his grand-daughter, he’s not himself. He’s like… well, an old man. Hatman’s trying hard to keep things going but Mumphrey keeps slamming him down like he’s feeling threatened. Nothing was getting done even before the team drank their sleepy potions.” “And the mansion defences?” “Compromised, of course. The EMP transmitters are all in place. When you trigger them they’ll take down all the electronic security around the Lair Mansion. And the device Ms Ulz Hagen designed is attached right on the side of Hallie primary database, so that’ll be the end of her.” “Excellent,” Gramayre declared. “You have done well. You have delivered the Lair Legion to their doom.” “Thanks,” answered Sarah Shepherdson, the Probability Dancer before she cut the comm-link. “There’ll never be a better time to come and take on the Legion than now.” “What were they?” Lara Night asked in distaste as the beings she’d just electrocuted dissolved into foul-smelling ooze then disappeared. “Barrow wights,” answered Cleone Swanmay, wrinkling her nose. “They don’t like light and energy.” She glanced down at the floor. “And they’re really hard to scrub up.” Lara glanced around the Plumbers and Clock-Repairers Shop that was home to Xander the Improbable when he hadn’t been turned to the service of the Parody Master by an Obedience Brand. “They were waiting here for you?” “Yes. I imagine the Parody Master wants the part of Xander that he left safe with me before he was captured.” The beautiful swan-woman shook her head sadly. “It looks as if the Parody Master has managed to recruit some of the Mythlands creatures to his side.” Lara was a visitor from another reality. “The Mythlands is some kind of dimension where all the imaginary creatures come from here in the Parodyverse, right?” “That depends who you ask,” Cleone replied. “Tea?” She pottered with the kettle as she went on explaining. “The Mythlands accrues around living worlds with sentients, just as electromagnetic fields appear around planets with molten iron cores. It’s another aspect of life here, the place shaped by human beliefs and imaginations, full of ripples and echoes of things people have dreamed and hoped and feared. Its where the gods make their homes, and all kinds of other things people once believed.” “Like you?” probed Lara. She was starting to like the gentle woman she’d been ask to protect. There was a centre of calm about Cleone that brought peace to wherever she went. “You were born in Faerie, weren’t you?” “Faerie’s not quite the Mythlands,” Cleone explained. “They’re joined, but the Fey weren’t made by human belief. They just found a good place to live there, and dressed accordingly.” Lara noticed that Cleone’s hand trembled a little as she poured the kettle. “Sorry, did I upset you by asking? I know that you had to leave your home…” “I fell,” the swanmay explained. “I’m exiled.” She sighed and attempted a little smile. “That’s why I’ll really miss the Caphans when they go to Lemuria again. I grew up with eleven sisters. Now I’m alone.” And Lara realised that Mumphrey had assigned her to look after Cleone in more ways than purely protecting her from barrow wights. “Where shall I put my things?” she asked. “Right,” declared Amy Aston. “We’ve set up the relays, triggered the automatic systems, initiated the holograms. Now I need a bottle of beer and a hot shower.” “Okay,” Al B. Harper agreed. “You’re not involved, Harper,” Amy clarified. “I thought you enjoyed your kneecaps.” “Okay. I was just calling to check that the board was green and to thank you and Miss F for the work. After this I want you to use Defence Protocol Nine and basically shift the Firehouse way out of the way for the next forty-eight hours. We know bad things are coming and we need to keep the hostage count down, so I’ll be happier if you and Miss F and Cody are all safe in some transdimensional holding pattern.” “Cody?” asked Amy Aston. “Cody who?” “Situation report?” demanded Edward Gramayre. General Rott looked up from the operations wall that was covered with diagrams of Parody Island and the Lair Mansion. “Combat elements are ready to go,” he reported. “The four-phase attack plan is in place.” “Summarise please, General,” Gramayre ordered. Rott didn’t like being ordered around by the elitist interferer from the Shadow Cabinet. He slapped his baton onto the attack plan. “Phase one, the stealth attempt,” he answered curtly. “Dancer, having been fitted with a Patriot Brand, debilitates most if not all of her team-mates and compromises security. A force of Sentinoids goes in and secures the site and personnel. At the same time other forces ambush those elements who have already transferred to the Legion’s fall-back hideouts.” “And if that fails?” “Phase two, the psychological attempt. We attack using those Patriot Branded forces that might be considered to have some positive relationship with the Lair Legion – the Globetrotting Gangbusters, some of the FMRC, Giant Robot Six, the Widget and suchlike. Then the entire assault element break off and threaten to suicide if the Legion do not immediately stand down.” “It’s not just a threat,” Gramayre clarified. “I will happily give the order.” “Sir. Phase three, if that fails, is to make a gross physical attack on the site. We have warships and aircraft ready to carpet bomb the entire island into rubble. We have a tank division moving in from Gothametropolis as we speak. Even with the SPUD helicarrier still out of commission we have enough firepower to destroy that whole rock in less than ten minutes.” Edward Gramayre considered this. “And assuming the ingenious heroes are still undeterred by betrayal and poison, by the deaths of their friends and allies, and by four megatons of ordinance, what then?” “Sir, then we send in the Machine Shop to establish a beachhead. And then we send in the Terminus Team, some four hundred plus Branded super-criminals who have no reason not to want to slaughter the Lair Legion anyway.” Gramayre lit up a cigarette. “Sounds like a plan, General. Commence.” “Goodbye,” Sir John de Jaboz said, bowing low to Ohanna of Raael and nodding formally to Prince Kiivan, Emir of Caph. “We are ready to return to our world now.” “Worlds,” corrected Princess Lileblanche. “Swordrealm does not rule Esperine, whatever your father and his council of cronies may believe.” “I can see that you have much to debate,” Kiivan answered diplomatically. “When are you departing?” Ohanna added quickly to prevent any new bickering breaking out. “You said, I think, that you were travelling to the island home of Lord NTU-150, where a portal had been opened back to your homelands?” “We’re flying out there right now,” Lileblanche answered, recognising the Caphan girl’s diplomacy for what it was. “We’re travelling with Sir NTU and his techniciansmiths to try and revive the Parody Master’s dreadnaught into our service. It would be a powerful asset in the coming war.” “Except that the Parody Master has dozens,” Kiivan pointed out. “But our hearts are pure,” Sir John pointed out. “And so we shall triumph.” “He’s not joking, by the way,” sighed the Princess. “He really believes that.” “What of you?” the Knight Improbablar asked the Emir of All Caph. “You too have journeys to undertake?” “My master has summoned us again,” answered Ohanna. “We have learned much on Earth, but our sojourn here is finished. We have other places to go and yet more skills to learn.” “But one day Caph shall be free,” vowed Kiivan, his eyes cold and narrow. The four young people parted, not knowing if they would ever meet again. Such is the nature of wartime departures. Kiivan and Ohanna watched the otherdimensional visitors enter a LairJet and fly away. “Are you prepared?” the Hooded Hood asked the two young Caphans as they turned away. Kiivan’s face became more solemn yet. His hand caught Ohanna’s. “We are ready.” “You cannot be ready for what comes next,” the cowled crime czar told him. “Only prepared.” And his green eyes flashed. “Goodbye,” Losiira told the Legionnaires who had come to see the eight Caphan slave girls off. The portal to Lemuria was soon to close, sealing the lost continent from the ravages of the looming Parody War. Already Kid Produce’s Obedience Branded parents had been carried though into the care of the Manga Shoggoth’s Sh’Ron aspect. “And please take care,” Kaara of Jaaxa added. “All of you. We will be holding vigil for your safety while you struggle to save us all.” “And please take notes,” Luuma added. “We’ll need them for the songs of victory afterwards.” Trickshot looked at the jewelled necklaces in his hand. They were said to be worth more than many small planets. “I still don’t see why the Parody Master wanted Dancer ta get these things off you and give ‘em to him. Sure, they’re pretty but…” “The Markabian crystals hold memories,” Ebony of Nubilia explained. The priestess of the Manga Shoggoth had elected to remain on Earth and battle in the coming conflict. “They focus thought. They hold within them the last moments of the race of Markab, a remarkable historical treasurehouse.” “Is there some way the Parody Master could use that memory or that focussing of thoughts for his march of conquest?” speculated ManMan. “We should examine them and find out,” agreed Citizen Z. “We are happy to entrust them to you,” Deela agreed. “May they prove to have some useful purpose in your conflict with the great tyrant.” “Yo is to be wondering how Slimy Slaver Lovetoading came to be having of cute-jewels anyhow,” Yo noted, admitting the rich glistening gems in their elegant gold and mirthril settings. “Is probably he was up to no gooding.” “It’s clear he didn’t know what they were,” Ebony judged. “He knew they were phenomenally valuable, of course, which is why he displayed them on his most valuable slaves.” “Perhaps you should ask the Hooded Hood?” suggested Sayaaana. “It was he who gave them to the Lovetoad in exchange for our company for the night.” “What?” pretty much everybody else present reacted to the Caphans. Long before the Lair Legion adopted Parody Island as their base the house and caves beneath it had been significant. At the dawn of mankind the Celestian Space Robots had chosen the site as the resting place for their dreaming brother and his cosmic cube. Other forces were attracted by the power hidden there, including the elder god Shabba’Dhabba’Dhu who coiled in his eternal sleep (until the stars are right) beneath what is now the city of Paradopolis. Saints, sinners, martyrs and madman had visited the island, and many had left their mark. One of them had left a door, deep underground, a portal into the stranger sub-realms of the Parodyverse, the backstage of creation. Liu Xi Xian has discovered it once – or it had discovered her. Now she had found it again; and she had found it open. “Marie?” Liu Xi ventured. The young Asian elementalist had followed the trail of the Lair Mansion’s resident banshee. “Sorry, no,” a confident male voice told her. “Only me.” Liu Xi saw the handsome leather-clad man leaning casually in the doorway to eternity. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I’m the chap who’s been sent to collect you and Dancer and bring you to your future husband before it all gets too gory for words,” came the reply. “Hello, Liu Xi Xian. I’m the Doomherald.” The tanks rumbled up to the Sheldon Bay Bridge and had to stop. The bridge was occupied. “Captain Turner!” called Colonel Jensen from his command car. “Clear those people from our way and keep the column rolling.” “Yes sir!” called the captain and gestured for some of the infantry men to move forward. A hail of stones and bottles drove them away from the impromptu barrier of debris and rubbish that had been erected to block the way onto the bridge. “Hold it, that’s enough,” called out Reverend Mac Fleetwood to the assembled crowd. “This is a peaceful protest.” “Sir, you and these people are blocking the US Army,” Captain Turner pointed out. “That is a federal crime, and we’re in a state of emergency. Get the hell out of here before we start shooting you.” “Young man, there are three thousand people on and around this bridge, and we’re here exercising our right to assemble,” answered the reverend. “We’re making a peaceful protest using our freedom of speech.” “You might have heard about it,” Bernice Teshmaker, journalist, told the soldiers. “There was this little document called the Constitution.” Captain Turner wasn’t having it. “SR 1066 gives us the right to…” “To take away our heroes?” interrupted Mr Papadapopolis. There was angry agreement from the crowd. “To treat our heroes as if they were criminals?” “They are criminals if they don’t obey the law as set down in the Freedom and Patriotism…” “Bullshit!” shouted Big Thick Eddie. “You know how many times those people have saved our asses? How many times they’ve saved yours?” “Where were you when Paradopolis got stolen to another planet?” demanded an angry young woman behind the barricade. “Or when Galactivac came for us?” “Or when the demons invaded?” shouted an old man wearing his campaign ribbons. “Or when Hell’s Bathroom burned?” “The Lair Legion was here,” Mr Papadapopolis went on. “When Technopolis try to nuke Paradopolis. When Purveyors of Peril take over. When Balefire do his big blackout.” “We’re not afraid of the Lair Legion,” Mac Fleetwood went on. “They’re not the clear and present danger. They’re champions.” “They are our champions,” Mr Papadaopolis shouted. “Yeah,” agreed Big Thick Eddie. “And we are not going to allow them to be taken away,” declared Katarina Allen. “They have stood up for us so many times. Now we stand up for them.” “You’re not wanted in Paradopolis,” Mr P told the soldiers. “Go away.” “Talk to me,” Al B. Harper demanded. “Tell me what’s happening! Where’s Cody? Where’s my son?” Donar looked up at the conversation between the agitated archscientist and the Manga Shoggoth. “Tis a question all fathers must ask, seemingly. Tis probable that he hath slopethed off to dally with a toothsome mortal wench in defiance of thine orders and wilt need whopping upsideth of his head for the nonce.” “It’s not that,” Al snapped. “I’m talking about Cody, not Harlagaz. And he’s not just disappeared. Nobody outside the Mansion remembers him. Even Amy and Miss F don’t remember him!” “Excuse me a moment,” the Shoggoth bubbled, and seemed to twist his head a little sideways through more dimensions that were usually available for neck rotation. “Hmmm.” Donar caught on to Al’s growing panic. “Mayhap yon boy is with his mother?” he asked. “Kinki has gone. She tried to kill Amy and Miss F – not that everybody doesn’t want to kill Miss Framlicker sooner or later, but this attempt involved ray guns and stuff – and she got hurled across the timespace vortex. Guess she didn’t realise Miss F could whip up an inverse transductive modulation bubble with contralinear temporal properties that easily. But now Cody has gone as well. If she’s taken him…” “You need not fear that,” the Shoggoth said in his most reassuring tones (not very reassuring at all). “It is simply that Cody has never been conceived and therefore does not exist.” “I art sure he was sneaking mine chips but yesterday,” puzzled Donar. “Not conceived?” Al caught on. “You mean Kinki left before I could… before she became pregnant, returned to the future, gave birth to Cody, and dumped him in that orphanage that now claims he was never there!” “Yes,” agreed the loathsome elder beast. “So you need not worry. Cody is not lost. He simply never existed.” “Not worry…!” “Your memories of him and those of the other Mansion residents are merely a side-effect of the Celestial defences that protect this island from temporal alteration.” “But Cody’s still been wiped out!” protested Al. “My son’s been eradicated from history.” “Twill be Gaz’s fate also if he doth not stop pursuing yon mortal wenches,” muttered Donar darkly. But Al wasn’t taking this standing up. “I’ll find her!” he vowed. “I’ll find Kinki and impregnate her if it’s the last thing I do! Hold on, Cody. Your father is coming for you!” “Let’s get this straight,” Trickshot declared in disbelief. “You’re saying that sleazy no-good cowled crime-czar came ta the guy who’d enslaved you an’ paid these jewels ta him for a night of nasty with you girls?” “He only desired to be with Deela, Saayana, and Philaana,” sniffed Noona. “Many men enjoy a b’rakh conjunction with sto’vakh variations when triplets are involved. And these three of our sisterhood are the most valuable amongst us.” “I can see we have shocked you again,” Philaana ventured, looking at the Legionnaires gathered for farewell. “Without Miiri to interpret for us we often stumble over the differences in custom between your society and ours. But when the Hooded Hood came to Frammistat Eight for the triplets…” “I’ll tell this,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! interrupted with a smirk. “’Cause I bet I know what happened. Ol’ Hoodily turned up and made his bid for the Caphs. The Slimy Slaver Lovetoad wasn’t above making a little – or a huge amount – of profit from his property, so he took the deal. So the Hood got his night with the triplets and the Lovetoad got the Markab jewels. But when Hoody met with Deeela, Saayana, and Philaana, he was a perfect gentleman, am I right? Am I?” “He did not wish to b’rakh,” admitted Deeela. “He said that instead he wished to hear stories of our homeworld, and to understand our culture and history.” “A pleasure slave must be adept in conversation and well informed on all topics,” Saayana added. “She must be a delight for the mind as well as the body. So all night we spoke with the Hooded Hood about our lost home.” “For one so evil he was most restrained,” Philaana judged. “He said we deserved one night of respite from our torments.” “And then later th’ Hood went and started the counter-revolution there with Prince Kiivan, an’ recruited Kaara’s boyfriend Warlord Vaahir for the resistance,” Trickshot added. “I’m so smelling a Hooded Hood plot here.” “He also suggested that the Lovetoad take us with him on his pleasure yacht to the Transworlds Challenge,” Deeela ventured. “A lucky chance, since it led to our rescue from vile servitude to an unworthy master.” “Do the words lucky chance and Hooded Hood go together in the same sentence?” asked ManMan suspiciously. “Yo is thinking not,” answered the pure thought being. S/he examined the Markabian crystals more carefully. “Yo is thinking is to be time for showing these to cute-Al B.” Liu Xi unleashed elemental fury on the Doomherald of the Parody Master. “Refreshing,” he commented. “Come on, Liu Xi. Do you really think I’d come and see you if I hadn’t already taken the precaution of protecting myself against your powers?” Liu Xi caused the walls to slam together on him, sheets of bedrock moving with continental force. The Doomherald pushed them apart. “I’ve been empowered by the Parody Master to bring you to him,” the unruffled herald explained. “You and the Probability Dancer. So you can imagine I’m pretty juiced up right now. I don’t know if I could blow apart the whole planet, but I could wreck a fair-sized moon.” Liu Xi turned and dropped down through dimensions into the chaotic and dangerous torrents of causality that flooded beneath the Lair Mansion. “Ah,” the Doomherald noted. “The chase scene. Good stuff.” And he followed. “Situation report, Mr Boaz.” Hatman looked out of the Chairman’s study window towards the long bridge to mainland Paradopolis. “State troopers have moved to block the causeway. We’re getting electronic scrambling blocking our conventional comms systems out of here. And Rex Regent is heading towards our front door to talk with us.” Sir Mumphrey snorted. “Young Visionary and his people got off alright?” “They left in the night, sir. And the Shoggoth and the Shoggoth have sealed the way to Lemuria. The Juniors got to Badripoor but we haven’t penetrated the jammer chaff to get a situation update on them yet. All the civilians have been evacuated from the Island.” He looked over at the leader of the Lair Legion. “Samantha…?” “My grand-daughter has also gone to a place of safety,” the old man replied. “With Nanny Greenwood.” “Ah. Right then. So the only people we have on the island are the combatants.” “Jolly good. Well, since we’re all supposed to be knocked out by Dancer’s cocoa we’d best not answer the doorbell, had we?” “No reply from the Lair Mansion. Satellite scanning shows that the defensive grid has gone down.” “Initiate phase one.” “Listen up!” Colonel Jenson shouted into his bullhorn. “I’ve got my orders and I’ve got a job to do. In one minute these tanks are coming across that bridge, and if you’re under them then that’s your choice. But one way or another, we are coming across.” “Since when did the US Army become the ones that drove tanks over protestors?” demanded Bernice Teshmaker. Mac Fleetwood climbed in front of the barricade and sat down, cross-legged. The lead tank revved its motor. Katarina Allen and Big Thick Eddie climbed forward and sat down beside Mac. “Is this smart?” she asked the preacher. “I’m doing it, ain’t I?” Big Thick Eddie pointed out. “Of course it’s not smart.” “Sometimes the right thing isn’t the smart thing,” Mac Fleetwood said. “Is true,” Mr Papadapopolis agreed, awkwardly squatting down beside them. “Here, take of coffee from thermos. Is good. I make.” More citizens were climbing the barricades now, sitting down beside the others. Hundreds, thousands of ordinary people were drawing a line. “Where are the police?” demanded Colonel Jenson. “Why the hell aren’t they clearing these idiots off the street?” “Sir, the Police Commissioner gave them a license for a parade,” Captain Turner reported. The best equipped army in the world stood and looked nonplussed as the people they’d signed up to protect jeered and booed them. “Get that clergyman out of there,” Jenson commanded. “Drag his ass over here.” The two troopers had problems getting Reverend Fleetwood to go anywhere he didn’t want to go. “Seven years as combat chaplain in the Marine Corps, you jarheads,” he told them. “We shall not be moved.” That was enough to start the singing. And that was enough for Colonel Jenson. “Captain Turner, start the convoy. Drive forward.” “Sir?” “You heard me. They’ve been warned. Drive on. Drive over them.” Captain Turner stood to attention. “Sir, no sir.” Jenson turned to him dangerously. “What did you just say, boy?” “Sir, no sir. That is an illegal order sir, and I cannot obey it.” The Colonel turned to the next man in line. “Captain DeSoto, arrest Captain Turner and move the column forward.” DeSoto looked nervously at Jenson. “No sir.” And the third officer did the same. Captain Turner moved forward. “Sir, I am relieving you off command pending investigation of your issuance of illegal orders at this time, sir.” “Now that is what I call military discipline,” approved Kat Allen. “The first quality of an officer,” Mac told her, “is integrity.” There was a scuffle by the command car, and then a worried-looking Captain DeSoto saluted Captain Turner. “What do we do now?” he asked. “With the tanks and stuff? And the mission?” Turner looked over at the crowd of anxious, waiting Paradopolitans, and at his own battalion of pale-faced troopers. “Set a guard,” he said at last. “Nobody crosses this bridge. That’s what we do.” “Sir, yes sir!” “I send back for more coffee,” said Mr Papadapopolis. The Sentinoids rose up from the waters around Parody Island, giant metal machines designed to contain or destroy mutates and other superhumans. Twenty feet high, the robots were programmed to analyse and then reconfigure themselves against forms of attack. The squad that invaded the island today were occupied by human operators to give them an additional edge. They formed up on the shores, a hundred, two hundred, five hundred titanium steel battle machines. And then they started forward. “Have them break into the Mansion through the walls,” General Rott ordered. “Four incursion points, just like we modelled it.” “Donar and CrazySugarFreakBoy! are to be sanctioned on the spot,” Edward Gramayre instructed. The Sentinoids moved to the inner security perimeter around the Mansion. Then things started to happen. The Mansion defences powered up. Concealed pits slid open for the newly-emplaced EMP cannons to rise up. All radio contact was shut off. Then the Mansions defences began to take the Sentinoids down. The first wave fell to the electromagnetic tightbeams that fried their processor units, leaving men trapped inside giant metal statues. As the Sentinoids adapted to that Yuki Shiro switched the systems to sonics. Another two score of the machines literally rattled to bits. Then came the short-range energy packets, the dimensional mines, the virus transmissions. The Legion had taken quite a bit of time studying Sentinoid designs and even more working out how to break them.” “I don’t know where you got the design intel from,” Yuki told Mr Epitome, “but it was worth every penny.” “My sources don’t do it for money,” the man of might replied as he watched the equivalent of the annual Medicare budget go down in pieces on the Lair Lawn. “I’m sending in the Mansion nanobots now,” Yuki reported. “They’re usually supposed to keep the place clean, but right now I’ve set them to dissolve circuit boards. They should be able to bring down the last few Sentinoids.” “Good,” growled Mr Epitome. He stared down at the Operations Room monitor screens. “Next?” he challenged them. Liu Xi Xian was doing quite well until she found herself cornered against one of the great shearing walls of energy that formed the Mansion’s mystical defences. In the level of reality she’d squirmed down to her senses interpreted the forces as rolling rivers of bubbling lava and as jagged black-glass cliffs. The sudden crackles of discharging lightning were actually the signals the defensive program left by the Space Robots sent to maintain the sanctuary they had established. The Doomherald dropped down from the cliff-shelf above, panting hard and grinning broadly. “Wow, you’re a fast determined one, aren’t you? I’d use the word ‘feisty’ but then I’d have to go kill myself for being all cliché and villainy.” “Get away from me,” the elementalist told him, “or I will hurl myself into the power stream.” The Doomherald halted his approach. “Don’t do that,” he advised her. “The forces in there would shred your essence forever.” “And what would the Parody Master do if I became his bride?” challenged Liu Xi. “Good point,” conceded the Doomherald. “He does have a habit of being stern with his wives. There is a modicum of torture indoctrination and pain training before they proclaim themselves happy and eternally loving of him.” “As you did with my friend Annar,” accused the girl. “Ah, the Skunk princess? Yes, that was a bad one,” winced the Doomherald. “Look, I don’t have to like what the boss does to you. I just have to take you to him so he can do it. It’s nothing personal. You seem like a nice kid.” “Then why do it? Why serve him?” “The attack and escape plans haven’t worked, so now you’re trying to talk your way free,” the Doomherald realised. “Oh, I like you. I serve the PM because he’s going to rule everything one day, and I like to be on the winning side. Because he makes me insanely powerful, and I like that too. Because it’s usually fun. Because he’d rend me to a smear or agony for all eternity if I didn’t do his bidding, and he owns me body and soul. All the usual reasons.” Liu Xi glanced at the steaming river of slowly-flowing energies that roiled just beneath the shelf where she balanced. “I won’t go to him,” she promised. “Well, there are two things you need to know,” the Doomherald told her. “The first is that when his brides deny him, the Parody Master has a habit of taking it out on their species. Is your future worth a billion human deaths? That’s what your suicide would cause.” “No. That’s what the Parody Master would cause, not me. It’s his choice to kill, as it is mine to die.” “They’re still dead. And secondly, you can’t jump anyhow. While we’ve been speaking I’ve been slowly shifting my will around you, so I think you’ll find now that you can’t move anyhow.” Liu Xi tried to shift. She tried to jump to her death. She couldn’t move. “They’re proceeding more cautiously now,” Hatman noticed. “They still don’t know whether the Sentinoids were taken down by automatic defences that Dancer didn’t neutralise or if we’re awake and actively resisting, so they’re playing it safe.” “My mobile’s buzzing as if it was coming up to Friday night,” Dancer noted. “I think they want to know what’s going on.” “Don’t answer,” Sir Mumphrey told her. “Let’s keep the blighters guessin’ a while longer.” “They’re really jamming hard,” Trickshot reported. “I kin hardly punch a signal through those transdimensional cable conduits whatsits whut th’ Shoggoth and Al installed. But I’m still in contact with Talia out at the Dullard’s Corner site. She tells me the bad guys are goin’ in…” Biohazard was a Technopolitan science villain that had been left behind after the failed war of invasion. In his own world he was the product of genetic engineering gone mad, an amalgam of man, sentient sludge, and ecological disaster. In his own world he had wiped out the entire population of South America. Now he worked for the US government, and his job was to destroy everybody he found in the hidden basement beneath where Visionary had once had his Condo. Intelligence suggested that this was mostly Legion support staff and family members, but it was known that Visionary and the Librarian were also on the site. Brick Outhouse burst down the reinforced door to let the flowing black humanoid trickle into the stronghold. As he had been ordered, the Outhouse stayed behind while the military forces outside sealed the entrance again with quick-drying polymer resin. Biohazard had a habit of being enthusiastic. Brick Outhouse was an acceptable casualty. In fact he was already dying, and so were most of the members of the toxic weapons deployment division. Biohazard heard the voices ahead of him. “Humans!” he called out, his voice liquid and rasping. “I’m here to kill you.” Visionary and the Librarian turned round to look at him. “I don’t believe it,” Visionary said. “That’s Biohazard. Who’d be insane enough to let that thing loose for any reason?” “Look, they send the Bloodreaper after the Hooded Hood,” Lee Bookman pointed out. “How much more proof do you want of their complete lack of morals or of good sense?” “Point,” conceded Vizh. Biohazard was hoping for a little more panic. He released dioxins into the atmosphere and turned up the acidity of the air just enough to start searing flesh and eyeballs. “That’s nasty,” admitted Visionary. “If I was Visionary that would really sting.” “Yes,” agreed the Librarian. “I was feeling a little guilty about having to do this, but now I’ve seen who and what they’re trying to use against innocent people I know what to do,” “What are you talking about?” demanded Biohazard, reaching out to rake the humans with sludge-covered claws. The attack passed right through them, though he snagged the Holographic Emitter Drone that was projecting Visionary. The possibly fake man winked out. “Sorry about that, D.D.,” the Librarian apologised to the Moon Public Library’s resident artificial intelligence. “I’ll explain to Hallie that you didn’t break her equipment deliberately.” “What’s going on?” roared the fearsome science villain as his confusion mounted. “You’re not real!” “Oh, I’m real,” Lee Bookman said gravely. “Just not in that bunker with you. Or, as we in the Legion like to call it, that trap. I’m getting rid of you by remote control from my study in the Sea of Imagination on the moon. Just so you know.” Biohazard realised he was in danger. He felt strange. He turned to run. “And this is a dimensional transfer to where you won’t cause any more trouble,” the Librarian went on, brushing his fingers over the control characters of the volume open in front of him. “Goodbye. It’s not been nice meeting you.” Biohazard howled insanely as the entire secret base activated its dimensional projection equipment and dropped away from the prime reality altogether. Lee Bookman turned the page in the tome before him and transferred his attention to the group penetrating the Willingham base. “Now who do we have breaking in there, and where do they need sending?” he mused. “They’re not asleep,” General Rott thundered, his face puce as he realised that they’d been tricked. “Somehow that Dancer has overcome her Patriot Brand!” “Nobody can overcome a Patriot Brand,” pointed out Dr Farmer. “They’re supposed to be backed by the will of the Parody Master, and he’s one of the fundamental forces of the Parodyverse. It would take a force that was equal or greater than him to shatter them.” “Well one way or another Dancer was giving us bad information,” Rott argued. “We’ve lost the Sentinoids, we’ve lost some key agents when they attacked those so-called secret bases. The Legion aren’t helpless. They’re prepared.” Edward Gramayre seemed a little put out. “No matter. It will be more satisfying to make an example of them this way. Send in the hostages.” It was an eclectic bunch of people who shuffled together over the causeway bridge. The reformed heroes of the Globetrotting Gangbusters came first, then other metahumans like the Widget, and Granny Fang. Then came the friends and acquaintances of the Legion, the people they’d known at school, their parents neighbours. Close to a hundred people strode towards the Mansion. And each one of them had an explosive device locked to their chest. “Legion,” called out Dr Farmer’s voice over the tannoys built into the explosives harnesses. “You have five minutes to stand down, or these people begin to destroy your building by detonating themselves beside its walls.” “Hrumphh,” snorted Sir Mumphrey Wilton, his face whitening with fury. “Cads and bounders, blaggards… Mr Boaz, invite the Shoggoth to activate his chymeric portal, if you please.” The nine-dimensional sigil was hidden under the turf. To mortal eyes it was a bright glowing circle that made people sick to look too hard. It was the result of nine weeks of careful preparation by the fragment of elder being that was exiled to the Legion. He activated it now, and it curled up like a paper napkin, folding in around the Obedience Branded hostages. Even as the first of them were reaching for the detonator buttons on their chest units the sigil swallowed them whole. The whole portal twisted in until it had consumed all the attackers and then itself. The destination point was the Shoggoth’s ice-caverns in the Antarctic, where the captives could be held in stasis outside reality until their situation was resolved. “What next?” seethed CrazySugarFreakBoy! “They use our friends against us. They try to kick down the door and arrest us on jumped up charged by laws they specially passed for the purpose. Torture, murder, and mind control! This is George Orwell happening right here, right now!” “Yes,” agreed Mr Epitome, white and thin lipped. It was a bad day when Dreamcatcher Foxglove and Dominic Clancy agreed with each other. “They’ve overcome phase two,” warned Rott. “Initiate phase three. Carpet bombing. Make sure nothing bigger than a pebble is left on that godforsaken rock!” “What are those planes doing?” demanded Kat Allen, a note of panic creeping into her voice. “They’re heading towards Lair Island,” Mac Fleetwood observed. “But they’re too low to drop their payloads.” “They’re not going to drop their payloads,” Bernice Reschmaker swallowed with a sick realisation. “It’s a suicide run.” “The automated defences can’t handle this!” Al B. Harper shouted. “We’ve deflected the missiles blown them out of the skies, but those are manned aircraft now and they’re coming right at us!” “Destroy them, Mr Harper,” barked Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “But there are men…” “Destroy them!” Citizen Z leaned over the control desk, punched in the override, and launched the countermissiles. “Surface to air ordinance is launched,” she reported. The Mansion shook with near air detonations. Al B. looked sick. “More incoming,” Yuki warned. “Spread of missiles from the ships in the bay, and I think perhaps a couple of subs.” “Launch the remote attack drones to try and take down the vessels,” Hatman called. “Non-lethal mode,” he emphasised. “More manned aircraft approaching,” Yuki warned. “Do we…?” “I’m on it,” CV told her. “Look, these people must have been Branded or something. They’re going to die anyway. The only question is whether they take us with them.” “Harsh but true,” agreed Knifey. “Damn them for putting us in this situation,” Trickshot fumed, his face pale and furious. “Damn them!” “That last spread hasn’t been fully contained!” warned Yuki. “Three missiles impact in four, three, two…” Dancer twirled and the targeting mechanisms of the artillery failed, sending them spiralling away into the atmosphere. “It is immensely dangerous using this kind of military force this near to a major population centre,” Mr Epitome judged. “It is only a matter of time before there’s an accident and something hits Paradopolis.” “Right,” agreed Lisa. “And that’s just not going to happen.” She glanced at Mumphrey. “Very well,” agreed the leader of the Lair Legion. “Go out there and stop it.” “We have visual on targets leaving the Mansion,” reported Dr Farmer, watching the monitor feeds closely. “Epitome, Trickshot, Yo, and Donar in the air, engaging the combat aircraft. Dancer doing something to screw up targeting systems I think. Hatman moving very very fast like some kind of missile. He’s in the water.” “A torpedo,” General Rott surmised. “He’s got a Torpedoes hat. Warn the subs to prepare for…” There was an explosion underwater as the engine compartment of on of the vessels was breached. “The carrier, sir!” a command technician shouted, his face crumpling in horror. “Some kind of jelly thing is just… sucking it under!” “Shoggoth attack!” Vicki Farmer recognised. “I didn’t know it could get that big.” “Sir, we’re getting reports of the pilots in the aircraft vanishing from their cockpits!” “Lisa is summonsing them,” Dr Farmer guessed. “Clever clever clever.” “It doesn’t matter,” said Edward Cromlyn. “Doesn’t matter!” exploded Thunderclap Rott. “Hatman has just neutralised our second sub and the elec-int of the whole carrier group has gone down and there’s a giant snotball eating our ships!” “And the Lair Legion are flushed from their Mansion, scattered. And they’re still playing by the rules, trying to minimise casualties. That’s their weakness. They’ve made a mistake.” The representative of the Shadow Cabinet sat back with a satisfied smile. “Send in the Machine Shop.” “This seems wrong,” Lara Night told Cleone as they sipped tea in Xander’s crowded little kitchen. Patent Victorian coffee-makers crowded side by side with ceremonial Tang dynasty sugar basins and faded Mousketeer cocoa mugs. “The city is in turmoil and there’s some kind of war happening over the Lair Mansion. And we’re just sitting here.” “Not just sitting here,” the swanmay pointed out. “There are also the Jaffa cakes.” “But we could be helping the Legion.” Cleone shook her head. “You said you’d been sent to this reality to observe and then to act when the moment was right. This isn’t the moment.” “The Lair Legion might be dying.” “It’s a diversion. All of this, the whole SR 1066 plot, it a diversion. A test. Before a general commits his troops to the battlefield he tests his opponent’s resources. What they can do, how they will react, what reserves they have hidden away. That’s what the Parody Master is doing with this Obedience Brand thing.” “This… is just the prologue?” Lara worried. “So I believe,” Cleone replied. “Perhaps we’re going to need another packet of Jaffa cakes?” “Look on the bright side,” the Doomherald told Liu Xi. “You’ll be perfectly happy as a bride of the Parody Master. Once you’ve been convinced through unimaginable pain, humiliation, and torture.” “I will not submit,” Liu Xi warned him, struggling against the lock he’s somehow put on her flesh. Her mind was racing. How had the Doomherald gained access through the door beneath the Mansion? Why had Marie brought her to him? How had she survived the deep telluric currents washing around the lower dimensions of Parody Island to get so near to the source of its power? “Of course you’ll submit, Liu Xi. They all do. And you have a wonderful submissive streak in you that will give the Reconditioners something to work on.” “I won’t. I won’t.” The Doomherald chuckled. “Come on, let’s get you out of here so I can get back in time to save the Probability Dancer from dying with her friends.” As he touched Liu Xi she felt something snap inside her. And then she knew why the door had been opened, and why Marie Murcheson had led her to it, and why she’d been allowed to plunge this deep into the island’s Celestian defences. And then she did what she was supposed to do. There were several different theories about the origins of the modern urban humanoid robots. Some said they were an experiment gone awry from the laboratory of Doctor Weed Wrichards. Others pointed to the sexbot creations of the self-proclaimed Professor Pervo. A few argued that the race was initiated by the killer robot Ultizon. Some favoured an offworld or otherdimensional origin. A few of the androids themselves believed they were made directly by God. For a generation now there had been sentient robots living amongst humanity. Some had even bred, creating children from their own programming, cog of their cog. Many lived quiet, anonymous, productive lives amongst the rest of humanity. But just as humans have their criminals, so did the Robo-Americans. Master Machine was a top-of-the-range device with murderous tendencies and he had gathered to him a pack of like-minded robots who believed that the manifest destiny of their species was to be the rulers of the world. Each of these followers had been rebuilt, endowed with far greater capabilities to some mysterious master blueprint. So the Machine Shop was born, a confederation of mercenaries with a secret agenda to replace mankind. The government had offered the Machine Shop citizenship and amnesty in exchange for enforcing SR 1066. They’d promised full legal and voting rights for Robo-Americans. Of course Edward Gramayre had no intention of honouring those promises, but likewise the Machine Shop had no intention of leaving any human alive on the face of the planet. And now the Machine Shop went in to slaughter the Lair Legion. “Carefully,” Master Machine warned them from his hidden bunker. “Watch for the devices that took down the Sentinoids. “Diagnostic Machine, locate their defences. Ghost in the Machine, Answering Machine, X-Ray Machine, neutralise them. Fax Machine, don’t try to project people inside the Mansion walls, they’re protected. Teleport Mean Machine, Weighing Machine, and Slot Machine right up to the house and let them break in the old-fashioned way.” “Our pleasure,” growled Mean Machine, grinding his gears in anticipation. “Fitness, Flying, Speed, Sex, Kidney, you’re on the Legionnaires in the air. None are natural flyers. Bring them down. Adding, Ice, Smoke, take the people on the ground. Slot Machine will neutralise the Dancer’s powers. Wind, Threshing, Games, take Hatman.” “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill a Legionnaire,” Fitness Machine replied. “Let’s go, team.” “Sex Machine, take down CrazySugarFreakBoy! Mystery Machine, you have the Shoggoth. Dream Machine, Political Machine, Karaoke Machine, use illusions, sonics, subliminals, anything that will keep the humans off-balance. Kidney Machine, watch for Yuki Shiro. If possible I want her alive to work on myself.” “Gotcha,” grinned Sex. “We’re gone.” “As soon as the wall is breached, I want Time Machine to get Coffee, ATM, and Media down into the Legion’s operating room. I want those systems compromised. Maximum casualties.” “Understood,” agreed Time Machine in a precise, clipped voice. And the Machine Shop rumbled forward. “It’s not too late to send me down there, you know,” A.L.F.RED, the robot major domo of the Lunar Public Library offered. “I could take a few names, send a few bots back for factory recall.” “We’re not supposed to interfere,” Lee Bookman reminded the excitable battle machine. He caught D.D.’s look. “Well, not interfere any more than we have.” “But we have to do something else,” D.D. pointed out. “The Lair Legion is so outnumbered, and the force lined against them is so… Wait a moment.” She twitched her head on one side as if listening, and her face became grave. “Lee, it’s a call from IOL headquarters. Supervisor Garth.” “Put it on speaker,” the Librarian said. The loud angry voice of Lee Bookman’s superior in the Intergalactic Order of Librarians boomed round the study. “Bookman, you’ve delayed long enough. I have no idea what happened to Blay-Kee but I’m giving you a direct order now. Get into that absurd Galactibus contraption of yours, and set out right now for a meeting with the Governors. You are summoned on pain of execution. Get moving!” D.D. looked sympathetically at Lee. “Well?” The Librarian shook his head. “I’ve just run out of options.” The house shook as Popcorn Machine blew holes in the front wall. Demolition Machine followed through, punching holes in the reinforced infrastructure, heading for support columns to bring the whole edifice down. Mr Epitome rose up from beneath the rubble, picked the massive robot up by its treads, and smashed it into Popcorn Machine. “You’re trespassing,” he told them. “And you’re dead,” Death Machine told the paragon of power, slicing his life-neutralising scythe at the hero’s neck. “Not today,” Yuki replied, catching the shaft of the weapon and squeezing until it shattered inside her fist. The cyborg P.I. was protected from the scythe’s effect and she punched her other hand right through Death Machine’s skull-casing. “Yes, pretty much today,” argued Vending Machine, stunning Yuki with a barrage of exploding canisters. “Except the Master Machine wants your brain intact.” “Usually its not our brains they’re after,” Citizen Z pointed out, coring Vending with a deft sword-thrust. “Men, eh?” she asked, reversing her blow to shut Karaoke Machine up. “There are an awful lot of these things, aren’t there?” ManMan worried as Knifey slashed through Coffee Machine and ATM. “Hey, am I rich now?” “Rich and dead,” Sewing Machine told him, spraying him with a couple of hundred needles. “Stitch that.” Lisa’s dimensional whip lashed through Sewing and sliced apart Media and Answering as well. “Hands off the newbie,” she warned. “We don’t like our probationary members getting killed. It looks bad.” “PR as a survival tool,” noted Knifey. Copy Machine surged forward, supplicating himself into ten, twenty, thirty versions of himself to overwhelm the resistance. “I’m trying the over-ride I used to stop them last time,” Al B. told Sir Mumphrey Wilton, “but it’s not working. They’ve upgraded. And they’re taking down our remote systems one by one. Automated defences are at 20% now, scanners at 40.” “Some of our people are hurt,” worried Princess Uhunalura of the Abhumans. “Hatman was knocked from the skies by Wind Machine. He took down the ones attacking him but Threshing Machine cut him before it was demolished. Trickshot crashed his hoverbike when he rammed Flying Machine. And Donar’s just disappeared under a pile of Machines. I can’t even see him any more.” She looked at Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “I need to get out there, start dealing with our wounded.” “Stay put, m’dear,” the eccentric Englishman ordered. “The combat will get nastier yet.” A bolt of lightning from the suddenly thunderous heavens arced down into the metallic dogpile by the front door. As Speed Machine, Kidney Machine, Weighing Machine and X-Ray Machine were all staggering, Donar rose up wrathfully and laid about him with Mjalcolm. “Ho, fell robots, let the demolition begin for the nonce!” “I summons Fitness Machine!” called Lisa, then neatly lopped off the svelte android’s head. “Bitch,” the first lady of the Lair Legion told her. The Manga Shoggoth oozed up around Ghost in the Machine. “But I’m insubstantial!” objected the hologrammatic robot. “Yes,” agreed the Shoggoth. “I’ll probably want another one half an hour later.” “Tag,” called Time Machine, locking the elder being in time and pace for just a moment. “And you’re out,” replied Mystery Machine, stabling the frozen Shoggoth and disrupting his molecular structure into a million fragments. “What did you do to our Shoggoth?” Dancer demanded angrily, improbably kicking Mystery Machine’s head off. “Yes, Slot Machine, I know you’re interfering with the probabilities. What are the chances I could use that to enhance my powers, do you think?” “I’m getting alerts from the remaining external warning systems,” Al B. called to Mumphrey. “There’s more intruders on their way. Metahumans, if I can trust these readings. The bad guys are getting reinforcements.” “How many reinforcements?” asked Uhuna worriedly. “A lot of reinforcements,” Al warned. “Call it two hundred for starters? Three hundred?” “Force wall, Mr Harper,” barked Mumphrey. “Can’t be doing with all of them at once. The Legion can beat our own weight in opponents because we’re the best but we have to keep them coming in equal numbers.” “The Machine Shop outnumber the Legion about four to one,” Uhuna pointed out. “Force field activated,” Al B. called. “Uh-oh.” “Uh-oh?” growled Sir Mumphrey. “One of the superhumans out there must have a way of scrambling force fields. Every time it forms up it goes back down.” “Well of course it does,” came a cackling, triumphant voice over the comm-system. “Now you face the Terminus Troop, under the brilliant command of your oldest, greatest foe… Peter von Doom!” “The Machine Shop has them on the ropes,” General Rott adjudged. “Their automatic defences are down, and von Doom’s stopped their last line of force field protection. Send in everybody. Finish this!” Citizen Z looked around the battlefield and wondered if now was a good time to bow out; except there was nowhere to run. The Machine Shop was closing in, despite the Legion taking down many of their number. Only the heroes’ teamwork was keeping the deadly killing machines at bay. “Word from Harper,” called Epitome. “We have new incoming. The Branded supervillains.” “Yo is thinking we are falling back to main hall of Mansion,” the pure thought being called out. “Yuki, be carrying of cute-Hatty. Cute-Trickshot, cute-CSFB!, be holding them back until we are setting up new defensive zone!” “Does that mean I get to smooch Sex Machine again?” asked CSFB!, “Only she kisses great. I wonder if she’d like to meet April and me socially sometime?” “Hey, robots, how’s it feel ta get your asses handed to you by a guy usin’ a bow an’ arrows?” called Trickshot, disabling Smoke Machine with a foam arrow. Mean Machine broke up from the ground beneath their feet and fired his bolt gun right into both the heroes before they could react. The Terminus Team swarmed forward, but suddenly they were denied access to the island by a shimmering bowl of sheer force. “Hey, I thought you already took this thing down!” objected Anvil Man. He punched the wall at full force, and the backlash pounded him to a landing around fifteen miles away. “This isn’t Harper’s force field,” Peter von Doom worried. “Well, it is, but it’s not just that. It’s something new. Something’s empowering it.” “I can’t shift through it,” Dimensionweaver objected. “I’ve never encountered a barrier like this. What the hell is it?” “Get out!” shrieked Liu Xi at the Doomherald. The Doomherald was invested with power to rupture planets. The force arrayed against him had once created galaxies. The emissary of the Parody Master withstood the overwhelming pressure for almost five seconds before being swept away and hurled around a quarter of a universe away from the Lair Mansion. “Better,” Liu Xi said. Then the energies she’d tapped into started to burn through her body and sear her mind and she crumpled like a rag doll. The Celestian defences continued to maintain the force bubble round the Lair Mansion though. Nothing could pass that wall. Nothing at all. The battle of the Lair Mansion suddenly went pitch black. Not even light was penetrating the dome now surrounding the island. “Be rescuing of CSFB and Tricky!” Yo called to Mr Epitome. The man of might surged forward, but Time Machine was working against him. Yuki grabbed Dancer and hurled her at the chronal-manipulating robot. But it was too late. Political Machine had already pressed the Obedience Brand to CrazySugarFreakBoy’s forehead. “What is this?” demanded Master Machine, turning angrily to Industrial Machine. “What’s going on. I’ve lost all contact with the Shop!” “I have no idea,” worried the huge manufacturing robot. “Something’s blocking the signal. All signals. Whatever it is, everybody on Parody Island is completely cut off.” CrazySugarFreakBoy! reached up, looped his go-go yo-yo round Political Machine’s neck, and sliced the robot’s head off. “Take that, Cylon Commander!” Political Machine tumbled with a surprised expression. As his head spun on the ground his hologram countenance fell away, showing his true Nixon-face. “But they just Obedience Branded him!” Uhuna objected, turning to Al B., Ebony, and Sir Mumphrey Wilton. She pointed to the crackly monitor that was now showing infra-red pictures of CSFB! and Trickshot being hauled back by Mr Epitome. “He was Branded!” “No signal,” Ebony of Nubilia answered. “This barrier is keeping out everything. It’s stopping the Brand making contact with the Parody Master. It’s jammed!” “Good show,” murmured Sir Mumphrey. “Now tell our chaps to finish off these Machine Shop rotters, Mr Harper, and let’s get on, what?” “Lair Legion,” shouted Yuki Shiro, “Line Up!” She went straight for Mean Machine, avoided his weapons, and ripped out his motor unit. “Neoneospiffy,” accused Trickshot, limping in to take down Sex Machine with a fast setting epoxy resin arrow. “I think we should keep her for a hatstand,” he suggested. “Can the banter, take down the enemy,” Mr Epitome advised, demonstrating on Adding Machine. “I like some banter as I battle my killer robots,” Dancer admitted as she short-circuited Ice Machine with a sports drink. “It stops it from getting boring. Could be at least have a little banterette?” “Keep them clustered,” Hatman called out. He trampled Time Machine using his St Catherine Stompers hat. “We need these guys down before they cause any more damage!” Media Machine tried to rally the remaining Machine Shop. “Master Machine! Come in, please. Where are you? We’re getting junked in here! Master Machine? Master Machine!” “Is to be time to be shutting of you down,” Yo told the robots. “So what in Sam Hill is going on?” demanded Thunderclap Rott. “Things are going great then suddenly a big white bubble appears round the island and we’re locked outside?” “We have a preliminary report from the FMRC survey team,” Dr Farmer answered. “They’re detecting cosmic energies in the bubble. Celestian energies.” “So the Legion has woken up some of their island’s old defences, have they?” mused Edward Gramayre. “Interesting.” “Interesting my ass!” shouted Rott. “How are we supposed to get the terminus Team in there now?” “According to the FMRC surveys it’s a transitory phenomenon,” Farmer went on. She caught the general’s expression and translated. “It means it won’t last for long. Already the dome is becoming opaque. Soon we’ll be able to see inside. Then it’ll transmit sound and other vibrations. Then it’ll fade altogether and allow matter to pass though.” “How long?” demanded the general. “Not long,” Dr Farmer assured him. “Twelve, fourteen hours, maybe?” “Set up siege positions again,” Rott commanded. “Prepare the assault units. This time I don’t want any screw ups.” “It’s an active Obedience Brand,” Uhuna confirmed as she examined the scar on CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s forehead. “It’s just not been programmed yet.” “But when it does, I die,” Dream summarised. “Dr Moo’s process was designed to stop any of us being suborned by the Brand,” Al B. admitted. “When it tries to command us, the chemical treatments she gave us will short out our brains instead.” “So it might not work on you,” Mr Epitome pointed out to the wired wonder. “Actually it might not,” Al B. suggested. “Moo didn’t have time to test it on the more extreme physiologies amongst us.” “So I either die or become like my sister,” CSFB! concluded. “I’d rather die.” “How quickly is the dome attenuating?” asked Citizen Z. “Around another twelve hours,” Al replied. Uhuna swallowed. “I… This Brand isn’t really active yet. I could transfer it to me,” she offered. “That way…” “No way,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! told her. “It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it. Nobody else dies.” He looked serious for a moment. “I was warned this moment was coming. I knew the risks.” He looked up and grinned. “Twelve hours to live and April’s three time zones away. I guess I’d better go find some my Spidey collection and some porn!” “How much does it hurt?” Dancer asked. “I’m fine,” said Hatman, limping out of the infirmary. “Good as new.” “Me too,” winced Trickshot, his chest and leg swathed in bandages where the rivets had pierced him. “Just a scratch.” “Tis not even a scratch,” Donar promised, his face and cheat a mass of scars and blisters. “I hath had worse than this playething chequers in Ausgard.” “It hurts like hell,” ManMan complained, his face a mass of bruises and his arms and back covered in needle punctures. “That’s my hero,” snickered Knifey. “Has anyone seen Liu Xi?” asked Yuki. “I can’t find her anywhere in the mansion and the auto-trackers are down. I thought she’d given up hiding.” “We could use all the help we can get,” Jay Boaz admitted. “How’s the Shoggoth?” “Ebony gathered up the big pieces and put them in a bucket,” Dancer answered. “I think they’re oozing together.” “We have less than twelve hours to prepare to fight… well, basically every super-villain on the planet,” Hatman noted. Donar picked up Mjalcolm and stroked it fondly. “Yeah, verily,” he agreed happily. “Mumphrey, how much of this did you foresee?” Lisa Waltz asked the leader of the Lair Legion. “Back months ago, when we were planning this. How much of this did you know would happen?” “Most of it,” admitted the eccentric Englishman. “Not the specifics, of course. Didn’t think they could get my family. But the general outline, yes.” “And we still did this?” “Right thing to do, Miss Waltz. Enough said.” “And tomorrow?” “Last chance for mankind. We always knew it would be a long shot. Better than no shot at all.” “The last stand of the Lair Legion,” Lisa said. “The last stand of freedom, truth, and justice,” answered Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “This is your last chance,” Rex Regent told Hatman and Yo through the thinning Celestian barrier. “Before it finishes the hard way.” “Our last chance to do what?” asked the capped crusader. He didn’t like Regent. “To buckle under and become slaves under the control of technology provided by the Parody Master? To collaborate in making this world another of that tyrant’s conquests, trusting in his mercy and forbearance to preserve the future of the human race.” “To live until tomorrow,” Regent answered. “Look, you’ve done a wonderful job. Nobody could have done it better. But now it’s over. I’ve seen what’s lined up against you. What we’ve already thrown against you is nothing. You know you can’t win this. “Yo is thinking that we can,” the pure thought being answered him. “Yo is thinking is to be better to be right and losing than to be wrong and winning, but Yo is thinking is to be many times of Lair Legion facing of impossibilities and here is still Legion, yes? Yo-friends are to be very best.” The Zorro-impersonator leaned forward against the barrier and smiled at Rex. “Why is not you change to be on good side, yes?” Rex Regent found himself half smiling back. “I wish,” he told him/her. “I have to take back an answer.” “The answer is no,” Hatman replied. “No to tyranny, no to surrender, no to the Parody Master. You say there’s no way of winning? I say you can’t win unless you try. That’s your answer.” “Then that’s your end. I tried. Goodbye.” The sun set on the Lair Mansion, and the night fell. In our concluding chapter: Will CrazySugarFreakBoy! die with the dawn? Whose side will Citizen Z choose to take? Will the Librarian report to his Governors? Can Yuki find Liu Xi? What is the fate of bottled Badripoor? How can the battered, exhausted Lair Legion take on a literal army of supervillains? All this plus the “missing scene” from Untold Tales #238 coming soon in Untold Revolutionary Tales of the Lair Legion: Of the People, By the People, For the People. Tie-In: What To Say by Hatman 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. |
| Echo™ v3.0 alpha © 2003-2006 Powermad Software |
|
|