 |
|
|
Post By The Hooded Hood says Ho Ho Ho (but takes 10,000 words to do it) Sun Dec 24, 2006 at 06:15:05 am EST |
Subject
#299: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: The Staging Zone, or The Last Party On Earth | |
|
|
Next In Thread >> | |
| #299: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: The Staging Zone, or The Last Party On Earth Previously: Earth is besieged by the countless armies of the Parody Master. Only a weakening energy barrier cobbled from diverted Celestian energies hold him back from conquering the world as he has so many other planets and planes. But his march of conquest has been thwarted recently. Key lieutenants have been destroyed or have deserted. Many assets have been lost in failed assaults in Faerie, the Mythlands, Hell, and elsewhere. Other forces have been scattered far and wide across the Parodyverse. For the first time there is a chink in the Parody Master’s armour – and that vulnerability must be exploited. After time apart fighting the Parody War on many fronts almost all of Earth’s defenders are now returned. Yo has brought with him/her reinforcements from the parallel worlds of Swordrealm and Esperine led by Sir John de Jaboz and Princess Lileblanche of Elsinore and including a captured and reconditioned dimensional dreadnaught vessel. Al B. has returned his son Cody, Amazing Guy, Dan Drury, and Liu Xi Xian from Comic-Book Limbo. Donar is reunited with his long-lost Queen Annj. The time for defence is over. The time for attack has come. But first our heroes have one last night on Earth before battle tomorrow… Continuity Note: This story takes place after CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s wedding and the events of JJJ’s Samantha Featherstone tie-ins #1 #2 and Baroness #47. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Nothing had been announced, but somehow everybody knew. Soon - probably tomorrow - was the big push, the moment when Earth stopped being a besieged fortress barely surviving the assaults of the Parody Master and his offworld armies and struck back. All the signs were there. For three weeks now Off-Central Park had become a forest of olive-green tents as more and more soldiers from across the world were bivouacked. Parked around the perimeter of the great green space at the heart of Paradopolis were well over two thousand tanks. Hovering over the bay was the city-sized warship seized from the enemy, renamed, and now drafted into service by the combined Earth defence force. In the last five days it had been joined by some two hundred naval vessels including three aircraft carriers and their fleets. Citizens of the Big Banana pointed to the strange new giant mechanised arch constructions going up and knew that the war was entering a different phase. Some people were optimistic. Never before had so many nations put aside their differences and united in a single military cause. Some couldn’t imagine any force in the universe capable of withstanding such concerted military might. Others whispered gloomily that it was a last ditch attempt, a final desperate act before the strange force barrier that had held the Parody Master from the solar system fizzled out. But everybody knew that the big push was coming. The party wasn’t really planned – although it might have been provoked, given the influence of that vibrant young waitress with the cloud of raven hair and the laser smile. Mostly it just happened, a celebration of life even under the shadow of death, a chance to farewell the troops, a shout of defiance at the dark. Small local get togethers overspilled and linked up. Family barbeques became street parties, then block parties. By the time the sun vanished over the western suburbs the whole of Paradopolis was one giant event. Nobody knew who would be alive this time tomorrow, or if their world would be enslaved. Tonight they celebrated their heroes and their hope, as people will. “…huge security violations, potential for sabotage, opportunities to desert,” Special Agent Herbert P. Garrick continued to list his concerns as he had been doing for ten minutes now. “And how do you expect us to stop it?” government liaison officer Amber St Clare demanded. “Enforce a curfew? Ban assemblies of more than three people? Arrest the entire population?” “Let ‘em party,” Sir Mumphrey Wilton snorted. “Good grief, man, weren’t you ever young? Let ‘em party, and we’ll deal with the consequences. Let ‘em desert if that’s what they want. Volunteers with something to fight for, that’s what we’ll need tomorrow. Let ‘em have their last night of joy before the trenches.” “There’s not a person in uniform out there who won’t get laid tonight if that’s what they’re wanting,” Lisa grinned. She didn’t make it clear if that was a personal guarantee. “We’ve set up guards on the sensitive equipment,” Hatman assured Garrick. “We’re monitoring the likely sabotage spots. And its not as if any spies the Parody Master has amongst us aren’t already aware of our troop build-up. We just have to hope that the Celestian barrier prevents them communicating what they know to their Master.” Asil looked up from the communications console. “We’re ready for live link with the world leaders,” she announced. She hurried over and straightened Sir Mumphrey Wilton’s tie then activated the monitor bank. Thirty screens in the monitor room lit up, each showing a different capital city across the planet. “I’ll be brief then,” Sir Mumphrey declared. “We’ve called Operation Roman Candle for tomorrow, 1400 GMT.” “1400 Zulu Time,” Garrick corrected him. “Greenwich Mean Time,” Asil corrected Garrick, hoping to offset Mumph. “God’s Mean Time,” the eccentric Englishman, former keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity, rumbled. “So anyhow…” Hatman prompted quickly. “At 1340 we’ll begin spinning up the Celestian barrier penetration generators,” Mumphrey went on. “We’ll co-ordinate opening the actual transit portals from a central secret location, then troops in Paradopolis, Arachknight City, London, Valencia, St Petersburg, Delhi, Riyadh, and Durban will all enter their gates at the same time. Carrier groups will send in their air forces. Metahuman assets will be the ground spearhead. Armoured divisions will provide ground support. We’ll have some last minute deployments for you all when we get additional intelligence that’s pending. Then it’s just a question of everybody doin’ their duty, what?” “Do,” Amber muttered to herself off camera, “or die.” Yo led Lee Bookman across the long bridge between Parody Isle and the mainland, to where crowds of cheering people were dancing to oldies played from a boombox. “This really isn’t my sort of thing,” the Librarian shuddered. “Yo is not to be making of you to dance,” the pure thought being assured him. “but Yo is to be wanting of being sure that cute-Lee is to be seeing of some things is not to be in books.” “There’ll be books written about this,” the Librarian assured his companion as they pushed their way through the happy mob. “There’ll be whole chapters devoted to this… spontaneous… event.” “Is just people being people,” Yo told him. “Is wonderful!” S/he waved her arms around to encompass the city. “Is to be people loving each other, loving to be to life. Is easier to be saying to each other ‘come to party’ or ‘drink of this’ than is to say they are afraid they will not see that person again or to say take care tomorrow or to say whatever happens I will be always loving you. So they are to be dancing – and that is how they are saying of all other things.” Lee was reminded again that Yo was simple but never stupid. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to make a few first person observations for the Library archive,” he conceded. That brought Yo to his/her next point. “Is strange, cute-Lee. Is how you are frowning every time you are mentioning of your Library today.” The Librarian shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. Things are still a little bit difficult because of all the data from the Central Repository we have crammed into our buffers. Far more than the Lunar Public Library was designed to maintain. But my staff are doing a wonderful job finding storage for it.” His face saddened. “The last of the Avawarriors whose wiped minds we’d been using as temporary storage died yesterday, but we retrieved the data lodged in his brain before he passed away.” “Is to be bothering you?” Yo probed. “That you are having to wipe away brains of so many baddies to defend of Library and to hold information until you can be finding of better places?” “It bothers me, yes,” Lee admitted. “But I did my duty. I did what was required.” A stream of soldiers and civilians congaed past. “So what else is to be bothering of you, cute-Lee?” The Librarian didn’t know how to reply. He had only vague unsettled feelings. Senior Auditor Blay-Kee was fitting in too well at the beleaguered Library. A.L.F.RED was being too helpful. D.D. seemed so distracted all the time. Something just felt wrong – but it all seemed to be going fine. “I think I’m just spooking at ghosts,” he finally answered. In a way he was right. He’d already killed the Supreme Interference that now ran the Moon Public Library once. Al B. Harper linked together the last two cables, checked them, hammered them with the butt of his slide rule, then leaned back in satisfaction as the computer screen fizzed to life. “There,” he proclaimed to his audience. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Dan Drury, Sir John de Jaboz, and General MacTaggart looked blankly at the scrolling numbers and the spiking graphs. CrazySugarFreakBoy! leaned forward and tapped the glass. “Cool!” he said. “Looks like the Klingons are attacking the Enterprise again!” “No,” Miss Framlicker told him sharply, cutting him off before he could start singing Captain Kirk’s fighting music. “It’s showing the rate of decay of the Celestian barrier. It’s roughly 50% as strong as it was the day that you tossed Goldeneyed into the dimensional doorway and made him the living projector for the Space Robot defences around the Lair Mansion. And these models predict that within four weeks it’ll be at 35%.” “So what are we talkin’ about, Doc?” Drury demanded. The Head of SPUD was still glowering at Amy Ashton who’d confiscated his cigar as he’d entered the EEE building. “Right now we’re having to impose electromagnetic blackouts whenever the conditions are such that certain frequencies might weaken the barrier and allow the Parody Master dimensional transit capabilities through the shield,” Al lectured. “On average everywhere in the world is blacked out about 25% of the time. Four weeks from now that’ll have to be 60%.” “That’s going to gut our industrial base,” MacTaggart frowned. “And cripple our war machine.” “Eight weeks from now,” Miss F joined in, “it’ll have to be all the time. The barrier will be at 20% or less. And after that…” “The barrier will fail?” Sir John de Jaboz guessed. Al B. nodded. “The spectrum of energies that will breach our protection will widen. We’ll be vulnerable during thunderstorms.” “We can patrol the storms,” MacTaggart suggested. “Fighter jets…” “You can’t patrol under the ground where the continents rubbing together create pizzo-electric charges,” Al warned. “Or thunderstorms on the other planets in the solar system,” Amy added practically. “Or the sun’s plasma discharges. Or human brain activity.” “So we gotta finish this thing by then,” Drury understood, “or it’s game over.” “And that’s assuming Bry can keep going that long,” CSFB! added, sober now. “The poor guy’s getting worse.” “So it all comes down to this big push,” General MacTaggart conceded. “Could be,” Al B. agreed. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to get these macrokinetic variform conduit codexers into alignment or we’ll never be ready to co-ordinate eight multi-node dimensional jumps tomorrow.” “But feel free to take a kitten with you when you go if you like,” Miss Framlicker added sweetly. “Are we sure we want to do this?” Visionary asked Hallie. “If not now, when?” the Lair Legion’s resident artificial intelligence asked him. “Well, I’d have thought the ideal time was when I was a hologram as well,” Vizh suggested. “Before Dr Moo cooked up my new body.” “Just like the old one,” sighed Hallie. “No, the time is now. Before the Legion go off on their highest-risk mission tomorrow. It’s now or never.” “Well,” Vizh said gently, “if you’re sure this is what you want.” “It is. Let’s do it.” “Okay,” Jamie Baustista interrupted. “We’re ready.” Vizh and Hallie looked round at the millionaire industrialist in his red and gold battle armour. For a moment they’d forgotten he was there. “Here’s my bit of the code,” Vizh declared, reeling off the numbers he’d been forced to memorise a long time ago. He’d cheated and had them engraved on his bowling trophy. Enty typed in the next section of the release code at the dedicated terminal. That in turn unlocked another remote database in another part of the world. “Got that one too now,” Hallie reported, concentrating. “I’m adding it to the files we got from the Lisa, Yo, and Donar codes. Just one left now.” “And then the Movie Gun can be reintegrated,” Visionary declared. That was what the great debate was about. The terrible artefact that could turn virtual to reality had been disassembled long ago – ever since “The Nats Incident” – but now it was to be remade by the one being with the power to remake it. NTU-150 was stood by the Virtual Integrator he’d built to recreate bodies for the surviving interned robots who’d been trapped in HALLIE’s hologram emitter drones since the attack on her database three months ago. It had taken that long to restore the victims of the attack that had destroyed so many other captured robots, That same device could rebuild the most dangerous piece of technology ever designed by mad archvillain Baron Helmut Zemo. “We need it,” Hallie insisted. “With the Gun we can peel off dozens of versions of the Lair Legion to fight for us – hundreds. I can transform war movies to armies, space fleets to, well, space fleets. It’s the perfect force multiplier.” “And desperately dangerous,” Vizh pointed out. “Especially when you went on national TV a few weeks ago and announced that you had the capacity to take over the planet anyway.” “I was trying to defuse a dangerous situation with those rogue robots,” Hallie argued. “I was having to think fast under pressure. I forgot they were still broadcasting.” “You could have been a bit more diplomatic, Hallie,” NTU-150 admitted. “But if I didn’t trust you with the Movie Gun I wouldn’t be typing in the final release codes now.” And he did so. Hallie pulled the last of the encrypted data from the last hidden cache. “Now I’ve got it all I can decrypt it and remake the Movie Gun. It shouldn’t take me long. I’ll just… Oh!” “Oh, what?” Vizh demanded, moving forward anxiously as the AI paled. “Hallie?” “This isn’t the data I filed away in here!” the computer sentience warned them urgently. “This isn’t the Movie Gun file. The data on the Movie Gun… it’s gone!” Citizen Z allowed the revellers to carry her along chaired on their shoulders through the streets. When they got near the Paradopolis Variety Theatre she struggled down and said her farewells to the adoring masses. “That was an unusual experience,” Silicone Sally said to the disguised Baroness Zemo. In fact Silicone Sally was the disguise, being currently morphed as Beth’s Citizen Z costume. “I could get pretty used to being adored.” “They weren’t adoring you,” the Baroness snapped. “They were adoring the wonderful heroic legionnaire Citizen Z.” “They were adoring your latex-class backside,” Sally suggested. “Plenty of hands to hold us in the air right there.|” Beth von Zemo shrugged. “I could get used to being worshipped,” she admitted. “Once I have conquered this planet I’ll look into it.” “Is that why we’ve crept off rather than take advantage of those hunky military types scouting the street party for hotties? Can’t we take over the world tomorrow and party tonight?” “We won’t take over the world tomorrow,” the Baroness denied. “We won’t take it over until the Parody Master is safely out of the way, and preferably the Hooded Hood as well. I estimate four to twelve weeks.” “So we could go chase marines,” Sally enthused. “The fleet is in.” “We need to meet with my grandfather,” Beth insisted. “It’s a good thing I kept a key to this rambling old ruin.” “You’re referring to the Paradopolis Variety Theatre,” Silicone Sally checked. “Not Otto?” “Don’t insult my relatives if you want to avoid my wrath, not even the senile unalive ones,” the Baroness warned. “I’m meeting Otto to let him know that I’ve had HAGGIE download the Movie Gun files. It was easy while poor Hallie’s database was all ruined and she was confined to her teeny little Holographic Display Emitter. Just five minutes alone with each relevant Legionnaire and a short-term hypno-ray to get the codes.” “Plus that bunny counting game with Yo,” Sally added. “Never mention that again,” the Baroness shuddered. “Once HAGGIE breaks through Hallie’s encryption – a matter of five or six weeks at the most, she assures me, I will possess the means to achieve all my objectives.” “Can I keep Hatman as a personal slave?” Sally requested. “I’d feed him and walk him. And exercise him regularly. Really regularly.” “Hatman has to die for this to work,” Beth pointed out. “Him and Wilton. You know what I’ll have to…” She never finished the sentence. Something huge and heavy slammed into her and pressed her to the floor. A subvocal growl shook her to the core. Sally reacted fast, ballooning up at the attacker, forming silicone spikes that failed to penetrate the beast’s skin. The monster ignored the attack, raised Citizen Z high, then slammed her down like a rag doll, knocking all the breath from her. “Where is she?” a tiny desolate whisper came from the horror’s throat. Even that tiny sound was enough to knock the fight out of Silicone Sally. It was like icicles nailed into her soul. “Where is Laurie Leyton?” “L-leyton?” the Baroness stammered through chattering teeth. “Do I kn-know a Leyton?” Again she was crashed to the ground. “Tell me or die” whispered the troll Wangmundo. “Last chance” “Hey!” The cry came from a passing reveller. “Hey, help! Over here! There’s a monster attacking one of the Lair Legion!” “Better run,” Beth advised Wangmundo. “There’s a mob coming for you.” Wangmundo’s massive teeth loomed above her face. For a moment she thought he would bite her head off. Than he loped away and climbed up the gothic exterior of the variety theatre with practiced ease. “After him,” Elizabeth von Zemo told the mob, “Hunt him down! Bring him to justice!” But she didn’t rise herself; she felt too weak. “What was that thing?” Sally moaned, trying to hold herself together so she didn’t drip off her employer. “We’re surrounded by people,” Beth warned her, “so shut up. As for what that was… it’s my new fur coat.” The bubbling pool of seething green stuff fizzed again, then splashed into as fountain as a human shape tumbled out of it. ManMan rushed forward and grabbed Amazing Guy before he toppled back into the vortexpool. “They’re right behind me,” AG warned, clinging to Joe Pepper so as not to fall down. The Abyssal Greye peered into the bubbling mass. “Oh dear,” he said. “he’s right. They’re coming.” The Manga Shoggoth oozed out of his bandages and slithered into the vast cauldron. They are not welcome he declared, forgetting to use human speech at all and dropping into the dimensional rift to discourage the Avawarriors pursuing the protector of the Parodyverse. Xander strolled over to the rice-paper evocations that had opened the chymeric portal and ate them. The green pool exploded in a rainbow spray, but its contents evaporated before they even hit the walls. “Ouch,” complained the Shoggoth, reforming himself from the fragments of goo he’d left lodged with his priestess Ebony. “You didn’t need to do that. I could have convinced the forces of the Parody Master to stay at home.” “There were a couple of Singularity Riders right after me,” Amazing Guy warned, shivering now as Ebony wrapped a blanket round him. “Even you couldn’t deal with that, Shoggoth.” “Well, not yet,” Xander noted obscurely. “Anyhow, I was feeling hungry. It took so long to set up this ritual that I missed tea.” “It is no easy thing to open an arcane gateway to the conceptual realm,” Jury, former Shaper of Worlds, noted, “If it was defended by its usual guardians it could not be done. As it was, breaching the Celestian barrier was a challenge.” “Hard from the inside, impossible from the outside,” conceded the Sorcerer Supreme of the Parodyverse. “But important if we are to know what we need to do.” “Did you get the intel?” ManMan asked Amazing Guy. “What did you see?” The Abyssal Greye gestured to his fellow Scholar-Ghouls to come in and start clearing up their workspace. The whole venture had been conducted from an ancient chamber beneath Gothametropolis’ All Saints cemetery, part of the complex where the ancient academic undead had long undertaken their studies in two senses of the work undertake. Amazing Guy reached into his star-filled cloak and pulled out Fleabot. The micro-robot had been designed for espionage and infiltration. “How much did we get?” AG asked. “Enough,” judged Fleabot. “The Parody Master is still camped out with an army on that checkerboard plane that goes on forever.” “The conceptual realm often takes that aspect,” Jury advised them. “It is the place where the great offices that regulate the Parodyverse lodge – or did before the Parody Master usurped them.” Fleabot snorted. “Yeah well, the PM’s also finding it handy for the shops and movie theatres. He’s got gateways running from there to almost all the planets he’s conquered, for easy troop movements. And he’s opening up ways to some of the other dimensions and alternate realities so he can get on with conquering them too.” “But what about the Infinity Forge?” demanded Xander the Improbable “It’s there,” Amazing Guy confirmed. “Great big furnace thing, maybe six storeys high. I could feel the heat from miles off. I could sense it as soon as I went onto the plane. He’s burning cosmic artefacts in it – and cosmic beings.” “That’s why the Parody Master is so powerful this time,” Jury confirmed. “Not only has he subsumed the power and imperatives of the Resolution Prophecy, but he is drawing on the power of all which the furnace destroys.” “Cause he wasn’t powerful enough before,” complained ManMan. “Not always,” said Knifey with some satisfaction. “Did you sense how he had created it?” Ebony asked Amazing Guy. “Will destroying it destroy him?” “The One Ring Scenario?” ManMan checked. “It’ll hurt him, that’s for sure,” AG judged. “I don’t know how he built it but he’s depending on it a lot – to power his dimensional dreadnaughts, to boost his armies, to maintain control over half a million worlds.” “So Sir Mumphrey was right,” the Abyssal nodded. “That is the target to take out.” “If things go according to plan,” bubbled the Shoggoth, “then our main assault against the Parody Master’s armies will be no more than a diversion while the Lair Legion goes after the Forge. Thereafter we will need to engage the Parody Master while he is weakened and take him down for good.” “It is a desperate endeavour,” Jury judged. “The cost will be high.” “It is the last hope,” replied Ebony. “One fall, no substitutions.” “No referee,” added Knifey. The cowled crime-czar looked down at the proffered cup. “The Hooded Hood does not do egg-nog,” he declaimed in his authoritarian Latvian accent. “Diet coke?” suggested CrazySugarFreakBoy. “Fanta? Root beer? Sarsaparilla? Diet Coke, Fanta, root beer and sarsaparilla all mixed up together with a little umbrella?” “I think not.” The archvillain looked across at the leader and deputy leader of the Lair Legion. “I presume that Flapjack betrayed my presence observing these revels to you,” he surmised. “We acted on information received,” Hatman admitted. “I’m surprised to find you at a street party, Hood.” The Hooded Hood looked around at the crowded Parody Plaza. “How else could you seek me out tonight?” he asked. “Boy, he’s still got it,” CSFB! admitted. “You’ve still got it, Hoodsie. By the way, thanks for those arrangements you made about my wedding guest list, the additions and the subtractions.” “Am I not… the Hooded Hood?” “Well I hope so,” Hatman interrupted irritably, “because that’s who I need to see. As you seem to already know.” “Indeed. Proceed.” Jay Boaz took a breath. “We’re going up against the Parody Master tomorrow. You’ve got to know that already, since Jury’s shacking up with you at Herringcarp Asylum. From her we found out about the conceptual plane where the PM’s set up his Infinity Forge.” “And you seek to seize the Forge and use its puissant might against your enemies,” the Hood suggested. “To destroy it so it can’t be used again,” Hatman corrected him. The Hood raised one eyebrow. “As you wish,” he shrugged. “Point is,” CSFB! chipped in, “we could sure use a Superman-Luthor-style team up against the nastier but less classy villain. We could use you on our side tomorrow, Hoodsie.” “In a nutshell, yes,” conceded Hatman. “The PM wants to hurt you as badly as he wants to hurt us. We have a mutual enemy. We’re willing to consider an alliance.” “I offered you all the chance to fight with me against the Parody Master when this conflict began,” the archvillain reminded them. “You elected to serve Sir Mumphrey Wilton instead of… the Hooded Hood.” “We chose the right man for the job,” Jay responded hotly. “Question is whether you can get over your wounded ego and join the team or whether you’re going to let your petulance and power-hunger threaten everything.” The Hood regarded the capped crusader with an interested stare. “You may yet grow into your role,” he conceded, “and become a worthy adversary. But first you must suffer much pain and loss to temper you.” “Is that a yes or a no?” Hatman demanded. “C’mon, Ioldobaoth,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove urged him. “Kiivan and Ohanna think you can play the good guy when you want to.” “Ohanna and Kiivan are children, and pawns to my purpose,” intoned the cowled crime czar. “But they are correct in saying that when I want to I can play the hero.” He turned to Hatman. “I decline your attempt to avoid the consequences of your choices, Mr Boaz. Tomorrow the Hooded Hood will merely be a spectator. But you have my best wishes for your foolhardy and noble endeavour. I would expect nothing less of heroes.” Hatman jabbed a finger into the Hood’s chest. “First we take down the Parody Master. Then we come for you,” he promised. Then the capped crusader stalked off. “Disappointed, Dreamcatcher?” the Hooded Hood asked CrazySugarFreakBoy! “Did you expect this encounter to end any differently?” “I hoped you’d join up,” CSFB! shrugged. “I thought it’d end with more than just you saying ‘no’.” “Our conversation isn’t over yet,” the Hood pointed out. “We need to discuss the wedding.” “It was great!” CSFB! grinned. “You should see the videos. Both the ones for all ages and the ones my mom’s old buddies made when we…” “Not your wedding,” the Hood interrupted. “Zdenka Zarazoza’s wedding.” “Rabid Wolf?” CrazySugarFreakBoy! knew that Jay Boaz was besotted with the Candian superheroine Earth-goddess, but it had been many months since he’d heard from her. Candia’s borders were now closed. “She was offered an annulment of her marriage to Captain Mud. That was only arranged by the state party that runs her country for PR reasons anyhow.” “And tomorrow it will be finalised,” the Hood revealed. “Then Zvesti Zdrugo can wed the Party Chairman as arranged and he will truly rule the land.” Dream did a second take. “Hold it. Are you saying Zdenka’s being made to marry someone else? Tomorrow, while we’re fighting the Parody Master?” “Indeed. I felt it was unwise to mention this to Mr Boaz. After all, he will have much on his mind tomorrow. Any distraction could prove fatal for him and for your cause.” “But he has to know!” protested CSFB! “If he does nothing, it’ll destroy him!” “Then tell him,” the Hood challenged. “And live with the consequences of your choices. Decide between dooming the Earth and betraying your best friend.” The archvillain turned away. “And that is how our encounter ends, Dreamcatcher. Good evening.” The attackers came at Samantha Featherstone from two sides, trying to pin her with their superior weight and strength. She blocked the first with a classic forearm pass then slid under the grasping arms and used her opponent’s weight to hurl him into the other. She tumbled with them, jabbing out with a nerve cluster punch to disable an arm then using a straight shove to thrust the heel of her hand at the other assailant’s face. The other assailant caught the thrust an inch from his nose. “Not bad,” he admired. “Not bad at all, kid.” “You know there are very few people on this planet I let call me kid,” Samantha pointed out as she climbed off the combat mat. “But Uncle Tricky’s one’a them, right?” grinned Carl Bastion. He pulled his quiver back on and retrieved his bow. Yuki went from laying sprawled on her back to being on her feet with one easy flip. Nerve cluster punches couldn’t disable her robot body. “That wasn’t bad, Samantha,” she admitted. “I was limiting myself to human strength and reflex levels and you coped admirably. But you still hold back too much. Don’t be afraid to hurt people who are trying to hurt you.” “It won’t be a problem if the time ever comes,” the thirteen-year old assured her. Sir Mumphrey Wilton’s grand-daughter had survived traumatic times; the torture and death of her parents before her eyes was the worst. But she also had access to the finest training any aspiring criminologist could hope for. “You been practicing your other stuff?” Trickshot asked. “Every day,” Samantha promised. “I can disassemble a lock blindfold now. I can hack past most conventional firewalls. And Inspector Gallowglass let me sit in at the police academy courses for profiling and forensic diagnostics.” “And your grandfather?” Yuki checked. “Thinks I’m doing well in my year end exams,” Samantha grinned. “He doesn’t need to know the rest.” “But you remember your promise,” Trickshot prompted. “I remember,” Samantha told him solemnly. “I won’t go running off to do superhero stuff half-trained and get myself killed. I know I’m not ready yet. Not for years.” Her face became deadly serious. “But I will be.” “You’re not bothered by the legal battle going on for your guardianship?” Yuki checked. “Mumphrey damn near tore that publisher a new one.” “Mr Jerkson should have known better than to write things like that on a day when Australia reclaimed the Ashes,” Samantha admitted. “But really it doesn’t bother me. However it works out, I’ll be fine.” She didn’t mention that her Uncle Guthrie would be easy to fool and manipulate and her Uncle Roger would be easy to blackmail and intimidate; she’d prepared dossiers on them both. “And this custody thing?” Yuki checked. “Lisa summonsing you out of England isn’t going to make the courts too happy, is it?” “And we care what a bunch’a white-wigged leeches say now, do we?” Tricky grumbled. “Mumph should’a just gone over there and…” He remembered young ears were in the room. “…told ‘em off.” He finished lamely. “I expect grandfather will have thought of something,” Samantha assured him. “In the meantime if you want to look into who is paying Mr Ballard’s legal fees, Yuki, that would be an interesting exercise.” “Oooh,” Yuki answered, a slow smile spreading across her face, “you have been paying attention.” Trickshot tossed Sam a towel. “Well, I’m off,” he announced. “Big party night like this wouldn’t be complete without ol’ Br’er Trickshot. I’ve got a hot date waitin’ fer me.” “But which one?” Yuki challenged. That wiped the smile off the irritating archer’s face. “I should be getting on too,” the cyborg P.I. admitted. “There’s things I need to sort out before tomorrow. Will you be okay until your Grandfather’s free?” “Sure,” Samantha agreed. “I’m going to shower then I want to visit Marie and Goldeneyed. I’ll be fine. Then I’ll wait in granddad’s office.” Yuki nodded and padded away. Samantha allowed herself a little smile. After all, Sir Mumphrey Wilton’s office was where the good stuff was. The party was at its liveliest in Parody Plaza, where the revellers were making use of the ornamental fountains to keep cool. Over on the corner the proprietor of the Bean and Donut Coffee Bar had laid vast trestles on his forecourt and was doing a blistering trade in kebabs and beverages. Anybody in uniform ate free. Con Johnstantine slid through the seething mass of dancing partygoers without being impeded and cut into the queue to accost the waitress who was working the cappuccino machine. “Shep, what the hell are you doing here waitressing?” he demanded. “It’s my job,” the Probability Dancer answered. “You wouldn’t know about gainful employment, Con, but basically I offer my labour in exchange for financial remuneration.” “I mean doing this, here, now,” the trenchcoated troublemaker amplified. “Well now is when people want their kebabs,” Sarah Shepherdson pointed out reasonably. “Take care with that, Colin, it’s hot. And take this extra cup, okay? See that young women in the green top looking kind of miserable over by the phone box? Why don’t you see if she needs a hot drink?” “I’m… I’m not that good at t-talking to girls, Sarah,” the spotty youth receiving the hot chocolates worried. “You talk to me fine, Col. And she looks like she could do with somebody to talk to. Why not give it a try? You’re not going to turn your back on a damsel in distress?” Con watched the nervous young man wind his way to the telephone booth. “That’s why you have to be here?” he sniffed. “So spotty Colins can pull?” “They’re going to be deliriously happy together,” Dancer assured him. “Louise just got dumped by that prick of a boyfriend of hers and she needs something nice to happen. Colin and hot chocolate will be two nice things.” “Shep, you’re one of the most powerful beings on the planet and tomorrow morning you’re going to be fighting for your life against the most powerful menace in the universe. Is this really how you want to spend your last night?” Dancer watched as Colin shyly offered the cup to Louise, followed by a paper tissue. A little way beyond that Mr Czanowski was speaking with his son again. By the Twin Parody Tower Joan and Kenneth had decided to give things one more try. “It really is,” she smiled. “What’s the point of being one of the most powerful beings on the planet otherwise?” “It’s a big party,” Johnstantine pointed out. “You could interfere a lot more if you were dancing.” “Oooh. Tempting. Next you’ll be giving me an apple.” “It’s not an apple I want to give you, Shep,” Con promised her. “Hey, Mr Papadapopolis. I’m kidnapping your number one waitress and taking her to dance, okay?” The old Greek café owner looked up from slicing a joint of lamb. “You take good care of her,” he warned. “Sarah is too good. She lets young men take advantage of her generous nature. You take proper care of her.” He waved a serrated carving knife in the air. “Respect.” “Come on,” Con said, steering Sarah by the arm towards the music. “I’m taking my life into my hands saying this, of course, but let’s dance.” “Are you going to be okay?” Lisa checked as she helped the Shoggoth ease AG down onto his guest bed in the Lair Mansion. The Finnish Ambassador had been bumped to a portacabin to make room for the protector of the Parodyverse. “I’ll be just fine, thanks,” AG assured the first lady of the Lair Legion. “You know how those Doomwraiths can suck the energy right out of you. I’ll be okay after a good night’s rest.” The Shoggoth regarded the luxury four-poster in the hospitality suite. “Humans would sleep much better if they would just ooze into a bucket,” he opined. “I think I’ll stick to the traditional method, thanks,” Amazing Guy told the loathsome elder being. Lisa hung back as the Shoggoth left the room. “Er, I’m married,” AG mentioned cautiously. “Relax,” the amorous advocatrix assured him. “My intentions aren’t dishonourable. Well, not with you. Later on, though…” “What then?” asked the protector of the Parodyverse. “It’s just… you seem different, AG. Since we saw you before you disappeared.” “Ah,” AG nodded. “Right. Well spotted. I am a little bit different, ever since the Crisis.” “I thought so,” Lisa proclaimed. “At first I thought you were just worried because your family had been snatched by the Parody Master.” “The Parody Master doesn’t have them,” Amazing Guy assured her. “He attacked my town – where I live with my wife and kids – while I wasn’t there. He shifted the whole place to Comic-Book Limbo like he did with Wakandybar and the rest. Except my town is already… a bit displaced. It moves about anyway. So it appeared in Limbo displaced too, safe from the Hero Feeders but impossible for me to reach.” He sighed. “My family’s safe for now… but I can’t reach them. The only way to get them back is to defeat the Parody Master first.” “Sounds like a plan,” agreed Lisa. “And the rest?” “The rest,” Amazing Guy sighed. “During the Crisis some stuff happened. I needed to protect my kin. So I went to the Hooded Hood…” “That wasn’t a good move, AG.” “It was all I could do. I arranged for him to retcon me a new identity. Well, it was more complicated than that, but the upshot is I’m the same person but I’ve always been someone different, and so’s my family.” “But you’re still the Amazing Guy we know and trust, our honorary member?” Lisa checked. “Scout’s honour,” AG promised. “Get some rest,” Lisa advised him. “Then tomorrow kick the crap out of the Parody Master and get your family back.” Lisa closed the door then. From the landing window she could see the lights of the party over on the mainland, but instead of heading to the door she turned away to her room. Tomorrow was the big battle. Tonight she wanted to write a letter to her son Christopher. As the evening grew long the parties grew noisier and livelier. Donar and Annj threaded their was through the celebrating masses towards the flat where the Queen of Ausgard had lived in forgetfulness as Marion Nightshade. “Tis not a good idea,” Donar Oldmanson worried. “But it’s happening,” Annj told him. “Live with it.” “Thou dost not have thy goddessly might on Middlinggard,” the hemigod of thunder reminded his wife. “Tis the curse of the Celestians. None of our kin may holdeth their power outside the Mythlands.” “Except you, because your mother was a personification of Earth,” Annj footnoted. “Yes, I know all that. I’m still coming with you tomorrow to fight as your shield maiden.” Donar shook his head. “I wilt forbid it.” “Then I wilt ignore your forbidding,” Annj answered. “Do you think I will hide away like a coward seeking a straw death when my man strides out to face impossible odds like a warrior born? Should weakness stay me from doing right?” Donar realised that tomorrow’s battle was going to be easier than this one. He stood a slim chance of winning tomorrow’s battle. “Exactly,” Annj said, reading his face. “I’m coming with you and that’s the end of it. If nothing else I can steer the goats. I can do a lot of damage with a well-aimed goat.” “Tis sooth,” conceded Donar. “Thou canst.” The tall blonde linked her arm round his. “Well then, let’s enjoy our last night in this wonderful city,” she suggested. “If the Oldman hadn’t sent me to Earth as a mortal to hide Ausgard in me when the Parody Master sought it then I’d never have learned to appreciate Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.” Donar looked wonderingly at his Queen. “Hast I told thee that I doth love thee more than all the firmament?” Annj thought about it. “Not sure,” she answered with a little smile. “Perhaps you’d better take me up to my apartment and remind me somehow?” Goldeneyed spent most of his time these days cramped down into a half-ball. The pain was a little bit less that way. He looked up though as Flapjack decended into the subterranean room where the dimension-manipulating hero hung in a cosmic doorway that maintained the Celestian barrier. “Why are you wearing my old superhero costume?” G-Eyed asked as he observed the hunchback garbed in the wrinkled ill-fitting black skinsuit. If the Legion’s disgusting major domo had been two feet taller, a little thinner, and less misshapen it might only have fitted badly. “Well, you said it had bad associations for you so you’d never be wearing it again,” Flapjack reminded him. “Well, certainly not now,” Bry Katz agreed. “But why…” “You know how much prime stuff is out there panting for superheroes tonight?” the hunchback leered. “Course, you’re stuck down here, but I figured you wouldn’t mind me getting some since you’re busy.” “You decided I’d want you to steal my costume and score with some war-sentimental chippie who thinks you’re me?” Flapjack nodded happily. “And you didn’t think that might kind of rub it in that I’ve been lodged in this painful dimensional rift projecting the Celestian forcefield through these Markab Crystals for almost half a year, desperately lonely and quietly going insane?” Flapjack shrugged. “Well, I thought about it,” he confessed. “But then I decided it was more important for me to get some.” He snorted then. “Aw, I can’t keep this up! I brought someone to see you, Master Katz. I drove over to the hospital and talked to Dr Whitfield. He says she’s fit to come out.” Bry looked up with amazement as Flapjack wheeled Bethany Shellett into the chamber. “Beth!” “Hello Bry,” she said shyly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to come.” “Want you to… why wouldn’t I want to see you, Beth? Ever since you got so badly hurt I’ve been going insane! I’ve demanded updates on your condition about six times a day! I considered letting this Celestian barrier drop just so I could come to see you.” “Probably best you didn’t,” Beth considered. “I’m sorry I let you all down, Bryan.” “Let us down!” G-Eyed strained to reach out from the web of energies that bound him to the doorway. “Wheel her over here, Flapjack. I need to convince her that she was innocent of whatever happened that day. I’ll find the one that did it, but it wasn’t Beth.” The look of doubt on Beth’s slowly-healing face suggested that the internal scars might take longer to go away than the external ones. Everyone was calling her physical recovery miraculous, but Ms Pfeffercorn still felt that Beth had many lengthy and expensive therapy sessions ahead of her. “I’ll leave you two kids alone, then,” Flapjack told them. “I’ve got me some grateful young women to assist.” Bry and Beth didn’t even hear him go. “This is a good party,” ManMan admitted. “Can you believe that the Deputy Mayor wanted to do a big civic event with speeches and presentations and stuff?” “There’s a rumour that Mumphrey threatened to shoot him if he tried. I can believe that,” Knifey answered. “So where do you want to go, last night before the big fight?” “Well, we could visit Aunt April,” suggested Joe Pepper. “Or follow Trickshot – for humanitarian reasons, of course - to see what the Contessa does to him when she finds out about that singing superheroing woman.” The Elvis impersonator stepped back to the wall as Big Thick Eddie rumbled past at the head of a conga line. “But what do you really want to do?” Knifey challenged his wielder. “Are you going to try and talk to the Widget again?” “She made it very clear that she never wanted to see me any more after that thing with Exemplary.” “So you’re going to call her, right?” “Yeah.” “Sergeant MacHarridan, ten-hutt!!” The Detonator Hippo came to parade attention with immediate precision by pure reflex before he even recognised the voice. “Angus?” he asked, not turning his massive neck because of military discipline. “Fall out,” Captain MacHarridan commanded, “and say hello to yuir big brother.” Argus turned round then and caught his C.O. in a big bear hug. “I heard the lads were coming tae Paradopolis for the big push tomorrow. I couldn’a come to the bash because I’ve the guarding o’ this place.” “And right an’ proper it is that you’d be takin’ that veera seriously,” Angus MacHarridan agreed. “Which is why I came to be looking for ye instead. And I brought a dram.” Detonator Hippos found that alcohol improved their fighting prowess and magnified their detonations. Drinking on duty wasn’t prohibited; it was almost mandatory. Argus accepted the malt Scotch with religious awe. “So how’s the posting?” the Captain asked his little brother. “Tis verra fine serving with Sir Mumphrey again,” Argus reported. “And Missie Yuki and Missie Dancer are just splendid. There’s a little squeaky fella they call Bad News Herb that keeps trying to pipe at me but generally I just ignore him.” “There was that security breach in the computer banks.” Argus looked downcast. “I hold myself tae blame for that, Angus. It was a verra bad business. I’ve tried tae make up for it. But there’s so many people and strange beasties. You wouldn’ae believe the number of cat people alone we’ve had aboot the place.” “There’s some strange beasties around the noo,” the senior Detonator Hippo admitted. “I saw a pink lopsided coney bouncing off a sentry box outside. Unless it was tryin’ tae date it. And I saw it before we started the drink.” Sergeant MacHarridan got to what was on his mind. “Will ah be able tae come with ye the morrow and fight the Parody Master, Angus?” “Y’re on sentry duty here, Argus. If the attack goes badly then ye’ll hae tae defend this place with yuir life.” “You’re only trying tae cheer me up,” Argus told his brother. “Ah well…” He lifted his glass again, “Here’s tae loud wars and hippos that fight them!” Liu Xi looked up in alarm as somebody entered the attic space she’d used her void-shaping powers to create in the roof of the Lair Mansion. “I thought I’d hidden the door,” she said as she recognised her visitor. “Well I am Xander the Improbable’s familiar,” answered Cleone Swanmay. “Finding things that people don’t want found is a big part of his job description.” The young elementalist looked up with tear-stained eyes. “Did he send you to check up on me, then?” “I came because I thought I’d better,” the faerie maiden replied. “I have the gift of seeing people’s hearts.” A surge of guilt then a chill of fear ran through Liu Xi Xian. “You can,” she remembered. “And yours is in rather more jagged little pieces than last time I saw you,” Cleone went on. “I was grabbed by the Parody Master and escaped into Comic-Book Limbo. It was… hard.” “And we’re all very happy to see you safe home again. I take it you’ve been able to stabilise your new body now?” Liu Xi flexed her fingers. “Once I was back on Earth and could call upon some of the elements of my original flesh I was fine. I’m recovering now.” “Your body’s recovering,” Cleone allowed, “What about your spirit?” “I’m just fine,” Liu Xi told her. “F-fine.” “Something’s hurt you,” the swanmay sensed. “Or someone. And there’s… a stain.” “Get away from me. This is an intrusion!” the elementalist cried. “There’s a terrible festering wound inside you,” Cleone responded. “It has to be cleaned.” “It can’t be. There’s no cure. There’s no going back from what I did. Some mistakes are forever.” “You’re in pain. Let me hold you.” “I don’t d-deserve…” The swanmay shook her head, setting her knee-length silver hair swinging like a cloak. “Liu Xi, if we only got what we deserved in this life we would be the most wretched of creatures, without hope or future. Let me hold you. Let me comfort you.” “You shouldn’t…” “If what you receive is undeserved then keep it and pass it on when the time comes to another who is undeserving. That’s the secret of grace.” “I can’t… You don’t know…” Cleone knelt down beside Liu Xi Xian and hugged her until the girl’s sobbing ceased. Sir Mumphrey Wilton returned to the Monitor Room where Dan Drury was leafing through the mission readiness reports. “Just finished briefing young Gedney on what he’ll need to do tomorrow regarding time-co-ordinating the various invasions,” the eccentric Englishman reported. “Tricky job, but I think he’s up to it.” “Why not just take your pocketwatch back and do it yourself?” the director of SPUD asked. “Doesn’t work that way. Besides, the young chap has the right stuff. He’ll do.” The leader of the combined Earth defence force looked at the one-eyed soldier. “What about you?” “What about me?” Drury asked. “Everyone else has forgotten about the time differences,” Mumph suggested. “I recall that from your perspective, less than a month ago you were being tortured and abused in a government interrogation camp. When the whole site got sent to Comic-Book Limbo you were in stasis with all your hurts until young Amazin’ Guy thawed you out.” “I’ll be okay,” Drury said, his throat raw. “I’m back now.” “And you insist on accompanying the ground troops tomorrow?” “I’m a combat soldier, Mumph. I’d be no good to you stuck in the Operations Room next door or playin’ politics with diplomats. Give me a ragged shirt and a machine gun and a bunch’a guys to lead to death or glory and we’ll whoop our way to hell and back.” Sir Mumphrey Wilton considered this. “I’m giving you command of the ground assault element,” he decided. “Can’t think of a finer soldier to do it.” “It’ll be a heavy butcher’s bill,” Drury warned. “We’re fighting for everything we hold dear,” Mumphrey replied. “You sure you can trust me?” Drury checked. “Not to crack, I mean, after…” “With my life. With the future of the world. Enough said.” The two of them sat in silence then for a while and smoked their cigars. Princess Lileblanche of Elsinore stood at the threshold of the battered building and wondered if she should enter. “You can come in,” a voice told her. She turned and saw a youngish man in the raiment of one of this world’s clerics. He wore casual clothes rather than ceremonial garments but he had a white rectangular tab on his collar denoting a holy man. Lileblanche was suspicious of priests. In her experience they often came associated with pyres and stakes. “I am not of your faith,” she answered. “But you’re still welcome to come in,” Mac Fleetwood told her, pointing to the crowded interior of the Zero Street Mission. “Everyone is welcome to come in.” The princess peered through the door. “There are many people here.” “It’s the night before the big battle. A lot of people are frightened. A lot of people have things to say to God.” During the day Fleetwood had conducted no less than seventeen weddings and eight baprisms. “I’m looking for a Knight Improbablar. Sir John de Jaboz. He’s…” “The one that looks a lot like Hatman? Yes, he’s here, kneeling with his sword by the altar. I asked him why he hadn’t picked somewhere grander like the Cathedral but he said that Jay had recommended this as a house of prayer.” Lileblanche had spotted the young warrior now. “He really is… sincere,” she was forced to admit to herself. “Whatever else he is – stupid, pigheaded, arrogant, self-righteous – he believes in what he does.” “That’s quite a commendation,” Mac noted. “I’d be happy with that kind of review myself.” He glanced at Sir John again. “Of course, he comes from good parents, if your universe’s versions of those people are anything like mine.” In the parallel world of the Swordrealms Sir John was fathered by that world’s Sir Jay on his lady Grace O’ Mercy. Lileblanche’s parentage wasn’t quite as clear yet. “You look a little familiar too,” Fleetwood noted. “Is this an inquisition?” the princess checked. “It’s human curiosity,” Mac smiled. “You must have it too. Come on in and satisfy it.” Still Lileblanche hesitated. “You’re quite safe,” the preacher assured her. “We don’t burn heretics until after midnight.” “Are you making fun of me?” “Would you shred me with your psionic powers if I did?” Lileblanche couldn’t help but smile back at the outrageous cheek of the cleric. He wasn’t like any priest she’d ever encountered. There was joy in him. She allowed herself to be led through the back of the crowded church into the cluttered vestry. “Our world must seem very strange to you,” Mac suggested. “It’s a shock. We thought the Swordrealms were different, but this place… But people are making us very welcome. I understand the girls of the city are making the Knights Improbablar very welcome.” “And yet Sir John is here,” Mac pointed out. “Preparing himself for battle.” “He is,” Lileblanche agreed. “Tomorrow we go to war beside Lord Visionary in the Bunny of Crossness. And from thence… who knows?” Reverend Fleetwood was adept at reading people and he’d noticed the frequent glances the princess cast to the alter behind the cheap wooden rail and the young man who knelt there holding his sword before him like a cross. “Who knows,” he agreed. “Why don’t you go and join Sir John for a little while? Perhaps he’d like some company in his vigil.” “I don’t even know why I came here,” Lileblanche said in a vexed tone. “Except to escape that St Clare woman’s endless attempts at pomp and ceremony. I don’t even like Jaboz. This isn’t my god.” “You’re welcome at his table anyhow,” Mac assured her. “I promise you he’ll know why you’re there.” Mac was swept away with other duties for a while. On a night like this there were all kinds of people seeking the consolation of faith. But when he finally got time to glance back up to the front of the church he saw princess and knight kneeling together watching for the dawn. “This is nice,” Vizh admitted as he strolled with Hallie through the celebrating crowds along the Sternway. “Even the blackout doesn’t seem to be bothering people.” The sirens had warned of the coming of the next electromagnetic vulnerability, signalling the shutdown of all unshielded generators across Paradopolis. The oil lamps and candles and braziers just added to the atmosphere. And now the music was live. “It’s what we’re fighting for,” Hallie suggested. “What you’re fighting for, anyway.” Vizh looked round at the AI. “Feeling not human again?” he guessed. “At least after being a hologram in a HED for a while I know what you have to cope with.” “It’s not a disability,” Hallie scowled. “No. No, not that. Just different. But we don’t ask about the accidents of a person’s birth…” “Yes, I’ve heard that one. Can we stay off robot rights for one night? Can we just enjoy the party?” Visionary checked his watch. “I don’t want to stay out too late. I want to tuck in Mags and Griff before they’re asleep. I imagine we’ll be off tomorrow before they’re up.” “They’ll be fine with Miiri. Just so long as you’re not saying goodbye goodbye to them,” Hallie warned him. “We didn’t go to all that trouble to get you a new body just for you to let the Parody Master wreck it.” “I’ll be aboard a Dimensional Dreadnaught,” Vizh pointed out. “It’s pretty hard to break one of those.” “We’ve taken out half a dozen by now,” the AI pointed out. “And we only have one versus the Parody Master’s zillion others.” “But none of them will have you as their computer, will they?” Hallie’s face clouded. “I wish I knew what had happened to the Movie Gun. There’s no way it could have been wiped by the attack on my mainframe.” “I thought we weren’t talking business tonight?” Vizh breathed deeply. “I’m just looking to enjoy my new body with you.” He paused as there was an uncomfortable silence when they both reconstrued his statement. “Er, what I mean…” They were interrupted by an attractive redhead sliding out of the crowd. She wore a tight black party dress that clung in all the right places. “Hey!” she called out, pointing, “I know you!” Vizh swallowed hard. “Those stories in the Trombone were all…” he began, backing away. “You’re Hallie!” the young woman continued, approaching the hologram. “I saw you on TV.” “I’m not going to take over the world,” Hallie said quickly, “and I didn’t intend the deaths of all those interned robots.” The woman’s face was serious now. “I believe you,” she said. “A lot of us do, whatever hate mail you might be getting to the contrary. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” “You’re a robot?” Vizh realised. “I mean a robo-American person.” “I’m a robot, yes. I’m Tandi. I'm a Sexbot 6800 with all the extra features.” “Er…” “Oh, I was rescued from all that by De Brown Streak,” she smiled dreamily. “Again and again and again.” “Josh did that a lot,” Hallie admitted. “He was very keen on rescuing young ladies. They were very keen on being rescued.” “He helped me make a life after Professor Pervo. Until this registration law I had a job at the make-up counter at Gimble’s. Of course, now I’m hiding from the authorities.” “Aren’t we the authorities?” Hallie checked. “You,” Tandi told the AI, “are the only bit of the authorities that I can trust. That a lot of us can trust.” She pushed back her perfect hair. “See, there’s some of us that would like to fight for our world against the Parody Master too. But not as slaves or zombies. As individuals and patriots. Because that’s what responsible people should do, fight for their freedoms and protect the helpless. We just don’t know how.” “Tandi,” Vizh beamed as he saw Hallie’s face, “you have come to the ideal person.” The music was getting slower and the dancing was getting closer. Yuki Shiro let go of a tank master-sergeant who was just grabby enough and slid over to the nearest table with alcohol on it. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Yuki asked in surprise as she encountered Asil Ashling. “I came with Ebony,” Mumphrey’s amanuensis explained. “Evidently it’s a very bad idea to let the Shoggoth lead a conga line. Ebony’s untangling things now.” Yuki shuddered. “Having a good party?” “It’s a bit noisy, but I like seeing all these people have a good time.” “Why don’t you dance with somebody?” Asil looked around. “I don’t know anybody.” “You think that’s stopping anybody else?” “I wouldn’t feel comfortable dancing with a stranger,” Asil confessed shyly. “Are you sure you’re Lisa’s clone?” “Nurture not nature. I’m happy just watching from here.” “So you’ll only dance with someone you know?” Yuki checked. “There’s nobody here I know. I saw Trickshot earlier but her seemed to be hiding from somebody. And I saw CSFB! and April. Um, I think they were dancing. It was hard to tell once they vanished under the trestle.” “So you want to dance but it has to be with somebody you know,” Yuki summarised. “Hello, George.” Asil whirled round to find the curator of the Willingham Folk Museum hovering behind her. “Asil was just saying…” Yuki provoked. “I heard,” George Gedney blushed. “Well then, I’ll leave you two to cope with Lady In Red,”Yuki told them. “The trestle’s over there if you need it.” Asil watched Yuki leap back into the dancing, turning away so George wouldn’t see the flush in her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were in Paradopolis,” she noted neutrally. “Sir Mumphrey called me in to help with tomorrow’s… deployments,” George explained. “I needed practice using the other instruments of the Keeper.” “The Fountain Pen of Causality, the Inverness Cape of Singularity, and the Cane of Destiny,” Asil reeled off. “I was there when Mumphrey used them to bring whole armies to the battlefield during the Technopolis War. It was quite a task.” “Well… we rehearsed,” George said nervously. “I should hope so.” George looked uncomfortable and blushed some more. He pulled at his white shirt collar and straightened his tweed jacket. “Um, Asil, I wondered if perhaps you would like to dance? With me, I mean. Together.” Asil froze. “I don’t know, George. That is… I’m not…” “You know I like you,” George babbled. “More than like you really, Asil. I just don’t know how to… I’m not too good at… I’ve never been able to explain…” “You don’t need to… I mean, it’s not necessary to…” “But it is necessary, damn it!” George exploded. “It is! Tomorrow we all march off to war and who knows what’ll happen then? Tonight’s the time. If I’m ever going to tell you then it’s tonight. Asil, I love you.” He stared at her defiantly. “There. I said it. I love you. I do.” Asil was very pale. “Oh,” she said. “What do you say to that?” George demanded of her. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. And she fled off into the crowd. Samantha Featherstone settled into Mumph’s big leather desk chair and picked up his telephone. She could count on the old man to have the one unmonitored direct line out of the Lair Mansion. She still tapped in the number that routed her call through half a dozen relay stations before going to its source. “Champagne,” said the electronically disguised voice at the other end. “Hi,” Samantha answered. “It’s Barbara Wayne, ID code 965-9922. I have some work for you. Take the money out of the Caymans account.” The freelance intelligence service at the other end had no idea it was a teenage girl commissioning the information. “Okay. What do you want, Ms Wayne?” “I’ve got a sequence of numbers. I need you to do a code analysis and give me the likely keys.” “Read them out.” It had taken Samantha Featherstone forty-five minutes to find the code. Mumphrey wouldn’t hide his secret files in a computer database; the eccentric Englishman didn’t really understand technology or trust it. He’d go for an old-style book encryption, and then only as back-up in case his memory failed. Even knowing what to look for it had been a while before Samantha had noted the out-of-order Wisden cricket almanacs on the bookshelf. Now the youngster reeled off the letters with the soft pencil dots beneath them on the folded down pages, along with circumstantial details like the page and paragraph numbers. Champagne sorted through the information and came back with likely suggestions. She was very good, which was why Samantha used her. Then it was just a matter of solving the number/letter substitutions on the folded down pages using the scores of W.G. Grace and shifting everything by the date of Lady Marjorie Wilton’s birthday and then by Samantha’s. “Thank you,” Samantha told Champagne. “Talk to you later.” The secret drawer was at the base of the antique writing desk that Mumphrey had brought with him when he’d become leader of the Lair Legion. The alphanumeric code opened the hidden compartment as smoothly as it had the day Phineas Quimby had designed it a century and a quarter ago. Inside was a more-than-state-of-the-art satellite communication unit. Samantha dismantled it, hard-soldered a bypass to the thumbprint and voice analysis circuits – almost missing the biofield analysis backup system that had been cleverly concealed – then activated the communicator. “Yes?” came the voice from the other end of the line. “Samantha Featherstone here. I’m not supposed to be on this line. I’m not supposed to know about this line. Or you.” “Yes.” “But I do. So I’m not stupid.” “Yes.” “Which isn’t bad for a thirteen year old. The Legion’s training me, even though a lot of them don’t know it. I’m a fast learner.” “Yes.” “But I need to know more. Things they don’t think I’m ready for yet. Things to give me the edge when I start my work. I have to be the best, the very best. So I need you to train me too.” She took a deep breath. “I’m applying for an internship, Dark Knight. Will you teach me what you know?” And there was a long pause at the other end of the line. At around two in the morning the party was dying down. Dancer and Johnstantine stood by the big bonfire at the edge of Off-Central Park and watched the revellers settling down under blankets in ones and twos. After a while somebody started singing and gradually everybody picked it up: “The long and winding road that leads to your door Will never disappear, I’ve seen that road before It always leads me here, leads me to your door…” “Whatever happens tomorrow,” Sarah said, her eyes shining in the firelight, “this was a good night. A good night for humanity.” “It was a great night,” Con agreed. “And we were able to help so many people, Con.” “Yeah. That was a highlight.” “And the dancing was wonderful.” “It wasn’t too hard on the eye.” Sarah smiled over at the irritating Englishman. “You can’t admit when you’re having a good time, can you?” She fluttered her eyelashes a little. “Is there any way I could make sure you have a good time?” “I think there is,” Johnstantine considered. “The wild and windy night that the rain washed away Has left a pool of tears crying for the day Why leave me standing here. Let me know the way...” “Want to whisper it in my ear?” Dancer asked. Con leaned forward. He could smell her hair. He could feel the smoothness of her cheek. “Marry me,” he said. “But still they lead me back to the long winding road You left me standing here, a long long time ago Don’t leave me waiting here. Lead me to your door...” The following morning was chill but clear. A large crowd gathered again around the perimeter of Off-Central Park. They were much quieter now, and not just because of the hangovers. The regiments formed up. The engines of the armoured vehicles seemed to echo across the city. Then came the deep hum of engines attached to Lara Night as they charged the dimensional gateways here and across the planet. The holes in space opened up with a lightning crackle. George Gedney thumbed his temporal pocketwatch and compressed time so that millions of troops could deploy in the seconds that Lara could maintain the gateways for. Soldiers marched forward. Hundreds of planes blurred overhead, a LairJet amongst them. The vast bulk of the The Bunny of Crossness vibrated and vanished. The skies seemed suddenly bleak and empty. “So you came to see them off after all,” Jury noted, moving over to stand beside the grey-mantled Hooded Hood. The wind whipped his cloak in the direction of the rift. “Are you going to help the Lair Legion after all?” The cowled crime czar shook his head. “I just wanted to see them all together like that, one last time,” he answered. And he said no more. Coming in Untold Tales #300: Will CSFB! tell Hatman about Zdenka? If so, what will Hatman do? If not, what will Hatman do when he finds out he wasn’t told? Whose side is Citizen Z really on? Who lives? Who dies? Who made life-changing choices last night? And who will win as the Lair Legion takes on the Parody Master face to face at last? More answers than anybody wants in UT#300: The Bloody Ground, coming next year. Meanwhile, a Merry Christmas to all our readers. Tie-in: Better Late Than Never #1 and #2 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. |
| Follow-Ups: |
|
| Echo™ v3.0 beta © 2003-2006 Powermad Software |
|
|