0

A Tara Short Story by S.K. Pepper

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:33 pm

IT’S NOT THE HEAT, IT’S THE HUMIDITY

by

S. K. Pepper

Tara rolled over and grunted as a stick dug into her back. “I thought I’d cleared this spot better,” she grumbled as she sat up. She stretched and looked around to see if there were any more sticks which could disturb her sleep. She had the nagging sense that something was wrong.

Suddenly, Tara realized that she didn’t see She-Cat who had been sleeping on the other side of the camp fire. In fact, now that she was looking more closely, she didn’t see any remnants of the camp fire either.

“Wha a a a t?!” Tara leapt to her feet. Something was definitely wrong! Unless, She-Cat was playing a practical joke on her. . . Either way, some investigation was called for.

The dawn’s light identified no footprints or other clues to reveal to Tara where she was or where She-Cat had gotten to.

“This doesn’t look like Jungle Island,” Tara muttered to herself as she jogged up a nearby path. Her eyes continually scanned the vegetation ahead and above her. She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. But, boy – someone was going to pay when she found out.

Tara came to an abrupt stop as a large head rose over the crest of the small his to her left. A brontosaurus! (Or whatever it was now called – her mind was so overwhelmed at the sight that it refused to call up the less familiar “correct” name). Her amazement at the sight of the long-necked dinosaur quickly turned to wariness. Had Dr. Rivits and his daughter, Roxanne, got hold of the Time Portal again?* She didn’t see them but that didn’t mean that they might not be nearby. She began to climb the hill with caution. From the higher vantage point, she hoped to better see the lay of the land.

* Ed. See FemForce Issues 1 & 2.

As she got to the top of the hill, Tara could see that she had reached what appeared to be a large plain on which about a dozen of the dinosaurs cavorted or ate plants. The dinosaur which she had first spotted — or which had first spotted her! — moved its head towards her as if to see what she was doing there. Tara realized that her human size made her vulnerable to being accidentally stepped on. Here, her ability to grow was an advantage.

The surprised dinosaur snorted as Tara grew another 10 feet until she could look it straight in the eye. It sniffed her cautiously then turned and began to chew on some nearby branches. Tara had just started to survey the area when she heard a loud crashing sound behind her. Whirling, she had just enough time to see three or four larger dinosaurs charging towards her before diving into a large clump of prickly bushes to escape being trampled. Her quick movement drew the attention of the dinosaurs which circled her and began sniffing her. Their hot breath tickled the now scratched and disheveled Tara. “This day is just getting better and better,” she sighed. To avoid any future problems with the dinosaurs, Tara grew larger until she was face-to-face with the 20 foot tall newcomers.

The playfulness of the dinosaurs was unexpected. It reminded her of children playing together at the park. This thought had no sooner crossed her mind than Tara felt the ground shake and heard a loud, trumpeting sound. The air above her head rippled and a thunderous crack ripped through the air. The mother dinosaur’s tail whipped back to take aim once more at the interloper who dared associate with her young.

Tara’s stunned gaze could barely take in the sheer enormity of the mother’s presence as she ran to evade that monstrous tail. The mother must be at least 30 feet high at the shoulder! This was no brontosaurus. This had to be a Titanosaur! Tara had heard that some dinosaurs nurtured their young in a communal environment but that was a fact that she had never anticipated witnessing first hand!

The mother’s frantic calls had roused the other mothers, who began to position themselves to attack. “Here’s on girl who is not going to enjoy play group this time,” she murmured as she grew taller to try to defend herself against the whipping tails. Her sudden and rapid growth startled the dinosaurs into temporary stillness. Could Tara find a way to make the massive 100 foot long dinosaurs stop attacking her while she quickly tried to escape from the nest?

Running and growing simultaneously was not as easy as she had hoped. The added size kept throwing off her stride. By the time that she had attained her full 50 foot size limit, Tara had reached the edge of the nest. A massive, angry head rose to meet her. “Uh-oh,” Tara gasped. The father dinosaur dwarfed the jungle girl. She had always found her ability to grow to be a mixed blessing. Now, she had a strong desire to grow taller than 50 feet.

Suddenly, she felt a smack across her cheek. She turned, looking for what had hit her.

“Wake up, Tara!” She-Cat was shaking her friend hard. “I don’t want to have to slap you again. Come on.”

“Wha a a a t?” Tara felt confused. The dinosaurs faded from view as she struggled to wake form the nightmare that had so completely engulfed her. Looking around, she saw the camp fire burning and heard the sounds of her own Jungle Island!

Tara gripped She-Cat’s hand. “I’m fine now,” she said.

“That’s a relief! Your ranting and raving was interfering with my beauty sleep.”

“What a nightmare.” Tara rose and stretched to clear the last vestiges of that dream away. “That’s the last time I stay up late after having your spicy ‘Trout Surprise.’”

“My excellent pan-fried fresh trout had nothing to do with your nightmare,” She-Cat responded. “Your mind was just too focused on your upcoming presentation at the World Ecological Summit in Egypt and that new paleontological find over there. You said that you’d hoped to have some time to see the dig site — your mind just took you there while you slept.”

Tara grinned. “Yeah, but you don’t think I’d let you off the hook so easily do you when you so rarely cook!” The two friends laughed and began to prepare breakfast. There was nothing like camping out under the stars to bring out the appetites for fresh fish cooking on a fire.

0

A Colt Adventure? by Don Secrease

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:35 pm | Tags: don secrease

THE SPILLED GUTS SYNDROME

A Colt Adventure?

by Don Secrease

There she is.

Not alone though. Two uniforms… and a plainclothes with her. She’d been inside that damn police station for hours… hauled in some two-toned skin goof.

Oh, yeah. I recognize him now. Saw him on that ‘Most Wanted’ show one time. Believe he’s known on the street as ‘Pinto’ Williams, some smalltime punk who lucked in on a coupla big mob jobs. Thinks he’s hot shit.

Heh! Heh! Too bad, punk. The little redhead got your number.

Oh! There goes Joe Plainclothes. That’s it. Now get rid of the other two.

Look at her. Gotta hand it to her, she is one helluva looker even if she does wear that stupid mask.

Funny. She looks smaller in real life. Heh.

Won’t be long now. That ass is goin’ to be mine. I’m here to give you a surprise, honey, a big, 4 gram surprise.

Okay, okay. Finally. What is it with these coppers anyway? They think all women melt over uniforms or what? Better you boys get turned down now. In a few minutes you won’t recognize her. This merc-pill’s gonna make salsa outta that face and confetti outta that long ass hair of hers.

Here we go.

Okay, Colt, baby, here’s to my bonus. Pact’s gonna be happy to shit gold bricks for your bounty….

OWWW!!?

What th’ fu..!!?? That hurt, goddammit! What the hell hit my rifle??!

Geez, look at that barrel! Something hit it… but what??

Fingers sting like hell. Damn! I think my goddamn pinkie’s broke. Didn’t hear a damn thing!

Silencer? Who? Who knows I’m even up here?

Anybody down below hear?.. Dammit, anyway! Colt’s gone! She can’t know I’m here.

Well, sheeit, I’ve got no target and, now, I think I am one! So much for tonight’s fun. I’m getting out of here while the… What’s that?! That a shadow moving by the rooftop door?

“I’m on your right, handsome.”

Who the hell– Too late! Whoever’s here just got the drop on me. Damn me for being so sloppy. Nobody could’ve gotten this close to me. Nobody!

“Shy, quiet kind, eh? Didn’t scare you sneaking up, did I? Now be a nice boy and set that big, juicy gun of yours down. That’s it.”

She’s got the drop on me so I’m doing as ordered.

Got just enough light to make the outlines of my guest. I can tell by the voice it’s female but, brother, no Nascar driver in the world can make these curves. Funny, can’t quite make out her face… Huh? She’s wearing some kind of mask! Another dame with a mask.

Just my luck.

“Nice outfit, handsome. Black leather, cool vest… interesting rifle. Special-made, no doubt. Got a name?”

I shrug. No way I’m giving her my real name. I recognize her mask now. This is not good.

“Steeljacket.”

“Steeljacket? Steeljacket… Nope, never heard of you, handsome.”

I shrug again, “No big deal. Just a code name the Pact assigns me whenever they hire me for a job.”

“Freelance. Not a Pact company man, huh? Hmm, yeah. I can see that.”

She keeps looking at me. Now I’m beginning to see her eyes. She wearing a full face mask but I can see her damn eyes. Somewhere, somehow, a tiny stream of light crosses that glossy, ivory mask and her eyes sparkle.

It’s not a good sparkle.

They shift from me to the police station below… now back to me… now she’s scanning the rooftop.

I try moving my little finger. Ouch! Dammit! Hurts like hell.

“Well… Steeljacket… Looks like we got ourselves a problem.”

She’s not telling me anything new.

“What problem? Just trying to do a job. What about you? What’re you doing up here?”

She’s not answering. Gotta admit she’s freaking me out a little. That mask of hers is bugging me. I know I’ve seen her… No, no, read about her. She’s Dollface… a real loony-bin.

“Maybe the same reason you’re here, handsome… maybe not.”

I don’t like this. Rifle’s useless… finger’s broke.

“Got a contract too, lady? Or is this one of those personal vendettas?”

“But I don’t even know you.” She’s cackling with laughter even as she’s saying this. She think she’s a damn comedienne or something? What’s so funny?

“I know you and Colt have this ongoing tug-of-war, but a job is..”

“You don’t know jack, Jack!”

She’s spitting mad. I hit a nerve here.

Dollface has got that nine millimeter not six feet from my head. No way I can make a grab for it. Gotta get my blade from my boot somehow. Be nice if she was a talker.

“So I don’t know jack. Why don’t you fill me in? Why is she so special to you?”

She sighs but doesn’t lower that cannon.

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

I move slightly. Partly to visibly make myself more comfortable, partly to get in a better position for some slight-of-hand.

“You’ve spoiled my shot, my target’s gone, and I got nothing better to do right now. So tell me ‘the half of it’.”

“You’re a nosy-Nelly, aren’t you, Jack? What? You get off hearing sad, sob stories from girls with big guns? There’s a lot to tell and I don’t think we’ve got the time for it.”

She’s waving that damn gun around. I’m getting a little nervous.

“Give me the condensed version, Doll. Tell me what makes Colt so special that you have to have her all to yourself.”

“At one time, I did… I did have her all to myself.”

Whoa! What the hell is she stammering on about?

“So you two are related or something? What’s the beef?”

She looks straight at me, levels the cannon between my eyes. Sweet Mary and Joseph, she’s gonna cap me right here, right now.

“Typical asshole of a man, aren’t you? Shouldn’t expect any more than that, though, should I? As a teenager, I was a runaway. Got caught up in the world of… you name it, I did it. For drugs… money… love.

“But I had one thing going for me, my looks. God, I was gorgeous! I hooked up with a guy who knew another guy who was a no-name photographer. He saw me and lights started going off in his greasy head. He took some artsy-fartsy shots of me and, all of a sudden, I’m the center of attention at posh digs and parties along with that photog slab of rancid meat. It was at one of these shitty parties he’s decided I owe him for being there and he and two of his ‘close’ friends push me out onto the vacant balcony.

“That’s when she arrived to save my ass. Not dressed up with her ivory pistols and mask or wearing that ridiculous slouch hat but in a smart business suit, kicking the shit out of these drunk, hoity-toity….”

“Bastards?” I’m offering. I imagine her smiling beneath that mask.

“Bastards. Thanks, Jack. Anyway, she takes me out of there. Drowns me in black coffee. Tells me her name is Valencia Kirk.”

Dollface knows Colt’s secret identity?! Why hasn’t she done something with this info?

“She was at the party as security for one of the other partygoers. You believe that? I mean, in her alter ego, that’s her job. Security. Kinda cool how she decided to dedicate both identities to helping others, huh?

“Anyway, she said she saw a lot of her in me when she was growing up. Rebellious, trouble-maker, well, as much as she can be having been an army brat. We hit it off right away. Told me she’d lost her husband a year or two earlier and how she felt like she wanted to end it. But life, she said, had too much to offer her….

“She took me in, cared for me like I was her long, lost sister. I watched her… got to know her because she was what I thought I’d want to be.

“She had a lot of dates… saw a lot of men. It was almost as if she was searching for another Kevin… another deep, true love. I watched her… that was a mistake.”

She’s into this now. She’s looking my direction but through me. My boot top seems miles away still. Any sudden movement and my ass is gone. Gotta keep her going.

“Mistake?”

“That was when I knew I’d… when I knew I cared for her more than anything on this Earth. Now I wanted to protect her. These men were strangers, they didn’t care for Val. They used her then moved on…. and she let them.

“I remember It was a Thursday night. Late May. Kinda cool for that time of the year, especially in Virginia. Val… she was restful, tired from work. I brought her some wine, thought we’d talk a little. I offered to rub her shoulders, ease the tension.

“Jack, it was like electricity charging through my body. It was like we were magnetized in some erotic waltz. I never felt like that… ever. Two people couldn’t get any closer that night. It was a life change for both of us. And we were happy together. I found a 9 to 5 and we were totally ga-ga! Of course we couldn’t admit this to anyone. The security company, her military family. They weren’t ready to accept this life style. But I was happy to be where I was, so what was one more secret? I knew, in time, things would change.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking but it was more than that. Hell, I didn’t even find it odd when she kept peculiar hours and, at times, would come home with the oddest bruises. All part of the security job. ‘Til, by accident, I discovered her secret compartment at the house. Saw the weapons, the outfit, computer printouts.

“I can see now why she’d hid this part of her life from me. But then… then I was too hurt, too angry to think. Was I just another one of her secrets? I confronted her, she confessed, I let it go. I knew she was in the right, wanting to safeguard me. I loved her even more. When I approached Val about being her partner, help her bring in the freaks like Moon, or the deadheads like Trail Blazer, she stopped me cold. Val said she didn’t want me hurt. I stewed for a while but then something happened that… that destroyed my life… our lives.”

Come on, baby, keep talking.

“A piece of crap came floating back into my life. My old photographer friend called me one day. Said he had something I’d be interested in seeing. Told him I’d meet him in a private place and, remembering what happened the last time, left a note for Val telling her where I was going. Also borrowed something of Val’s.

“It was just like I figured. He fed me this line about needing me back, his business was in the shitter, blah, blah, blah… When I… politely… refused his invitation, he weirded out. Started laughing at me, saying I had to come back or else he’d blab about Val and me. He showed me pictures of Val and me, he’d followed us for weeks getting as much personal stuff as he could. Then he got to the piece de resistance… Somehow he got a shot of Val changing into her Colt outfit. Threatened to ruin Val’s life in more ways than one. Shoved them in my face then slapped me… for good measure, I guess, I don’t know.

“That’s all it took, Jack. It was like the roof fell in on me. Couldn’t catch my breathe. Everything was moving in slow-motion. I hit him back, he laughed. I hit him again. He just stood there and laughed like hell, his nose bleeding. I pulled out the pistol I’d taken from Val’s stash and shot him. I shot him until the gun was empty… I shot him until my finger cramped from pulling the trigger so many times… Jesus, I shot him until Val appeared and ripped the gun from my shaking hand.

“I looked at her, expecting to see softness and understanding and approval. What I got was a whirlwind of Val and men in black and military types shuttling me here and there… one secret place to another. Eventually, Val saved me from further mindless interrogation and what seemed like debriefing. That’s where I met my old friend, General Gordon. He and Val’s dad were tight.

“So now Val and I were back together… or so I thought. She wanted nothing more to do with me. Whatever feelings she had for me ended that night. She did what she could to keep me from prison… ‘self-defense’ was what the police report read. But now that part of my life no longer existed.”

“She didn’t brainwash you or nothing? You still know her, y’know… secret identity.”

“Val knew I’d never say anything. Somehow it wasn’t that important… still isn’t. Besides, nowadays, how hard is it really to create a new identity, a new life for yourself? Look at us, Jack.”

It’s information I plan to use the minute I slit your throat, baby.

“What about all the times you’ve tried to off her? That’s a strange way of lovin’.”

“That’s funny. But if I really wanted Colt dead, she’d have died a long time ago. No, I don’t want that, handsome. What I want is some pain and suffering. I want her jumping through some hoops. Soon there’ll be a reckoning and when my love has been completely exhausted and there’s no more to give and I have her laying in front of me, my gun at her head… that’s when this mask comes off and she realizes she’s destroyed every bit of happiness we shared.”

“Colt doesn’t know it’s her ex-girlfriend behind that mask?” Almost got that damn knife.

“She doesn’t. Funny, isn’t it? Colt has no idea she’s responsible for her most… archest of enemies. That was cute, wasn’t it?”

There goes that creepy, freakin’ laugh again.

“Y’know, Jack, they say your first killing’s the hardest. But not mine. Mine was the easiest. And that’s what keeps making it so easy… I see that asshole photographer’s face in every target.”

“Except for Colt, huh?”

“Did your mother ever tell you ‘Don’t cry over spilled milk’? They say what’s done is done. You move on from there. Plan ahead. Only maybe it’s not that easy.”

Got it! Now, baby, it’s all over but the dying.

“Pull that knife, Jack, and I pull this trigger.”

Uh-oh.

“You really want me to break another finger? Maybe something worse? Go ahead, touch that cold steel.”

“You’ve convinced me, Dollface. No need to pull any trigger. Hands in the air, see?”

“You’re shaking, Jack.”

“It’s a little cold up here on this roof.” Gotta buy some more time. She ain’t tellin’ me all this and lettin’ me walk out of here.

“Awww. You wouldn’t be scared of l’il ol’ me now, would you, Jack?”

I’d be a fool not to be. “We’re here… alone… you got a gun aimed at my head. You can appreciate the predicament I’m in, can’t you? Why I thought I needed my own… um… defense.”

“Of course I can, Jack.” She reaches behind her and, from her belt, produces a small silver flask. “Fortification against the chilly nights.”

She tosses it to me with her free hand, the other never letting the pistol waver. “Can never tell when a girl will get the chance to entertain.”

“Hmm, still full, Doll. This your first stop?”

“Night’s young.”

I take a good long swig. Long enough to try and figure another plan for avoiding a bullet to the brain. I’m contemplating throwing the flask back at her, try to catch her off-guard. Still…with the ninety-five percent chance of her hitting anything attached to me…I don’t like the odds. I gently toss the flask back to her.

“Been fun, Jack… Sorry, Steeljacket, but it’s time to go our separate ways,” she’s saying as she backs away from me.

“You’re not going to shoot me!?!”

“Oh, this gun? Point it out of habit. Of course I’m not going to shoot you. I never shoot handsome hit men on the first date.”

First date. Sheesh, goddamn comedienne. She really is wacko!

She’s shrugging her shoulders.

“How could I shoot somebody I’ve just confessed to or… lied to? I can never remember if that story is real or did I read it in some soap opera magazine?…. .. …. ……… …..”

“Wha? Whad you say? … Yur.. too… far… ‘way….. Muh.. gu..un…”

Mus’ be gettin’ tired all uvasudden. Fingur stop hurtin’ anway… Dolll.. turn.. ‘roun..?

“Sorry, handsome. Didn’t hear me? I said, ‘I much prefer poisoning them’.”

Sh.. din..drin… fro.. flas..kk. Bi..t…tt..chhhh…….

….. …….. … ………… ……..

End

This story and the characters herein are copyright 2001 Don Secrease.

0

The Catman in: A Story by Jason Greenfield

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:38 pm | Tags: catman

The Catman in: The Case of the Unofficial Tontine.

From the Journals of The Deacon.

It was late in the summer of 1885 when I returned at last to the sedate confines of Holyoke City, that bastion of refined eastern seaboard civility, not thirty miles from the centre of Boston. After eight months abroad on the lecture circuit of Oxford University, taking in the great medical city of Edinburgh, the delights of London and of course within my own field –the cathedral cities of Coventry and Salisbury; I thrilled and exulted at the hustle and bustle of Americans out and about conducting their everyday business in an American City.

Of course there were vast similarities between Eastern Ivy League cities such as Holyoke and the cities and large towns of the United Kingdom, but back home there was a sense of barely repressed buoyancy beneath even the most dignified pillar of the Holyoke community that threatened to burst free at any moment, as opposed to the dry, calm, sometimes plodding pace to be found in English cities such as Oxford.

This air of excitement gripped me from the moment I stepped off of the gangplank onto American soil. I was seized with such an urge to be out “doing” that I had to mightily resist the temptation to unpack my long compiled ecclesiastical notes on the spot and dash off a chapter or two of my planned “Journal of the Modern Church: Its Differences Between Continents and Modern Practices Thereof,” which I”ll admit is a mouthful to say and I’d confess a recipe for curing the insomnia of the common man should he be put upon to crack open the first volume. Nethertheless, as a churchman interested in the arts of writing, philosophy, medicine, politics and the workings of the human mind, I fancied myself able to tell a fascinating factual tale which would both be useful and enjoyable to those in literati of like mind.

I digress, however. Let us skip forward to the second evening of my return to the United States and the point wherein the pertinent events of this narrative commence. Having suffered one uncomfortable night at my not yet prepared home, I left the business of dusting, warming and generally making my property liveable again to my valet Stuart and presented my credentials at my club; for it was there that I intended to spend a comfortable few days until my house was once again ready for occupancy.

The Tem Street Gentleman’s Club, so named for its founder, a Mr August Tem, dated to Revolutionary times and traced its origin to the Republican movement in Holyoke of the 1770s. These days it was a fine traditional establishment catering mainly to gentlemen of high professional standing and the occasional gentleman of means but no regular occupation. It was one of the latter types I chanced upon in the billiards room … an old friend in fact. Captain David Merryweather and I had shared lodgings for a four-year period until I had purchased my property a year ago.

Spying me, a look of delight crossed his usually stoic darkly handsome features. “Deacon!” he cried, “My lord, its good to see you again!” At this point an aside to note that although my name IS Nathaniel Deacon, it is much of a standing joke that due to my past, firmer affiliation with the Church and the coincidence of my name; among friends and professional colleagues I am often referred to as “The Deacon.”

Now, a word about my good friend Captain Merryweather. As previously noted I had first made his acquaintance in the year 1880 shortly after his retirement from the service, although he was still only in his late twenties. Merryweather and I had both applied for the same set of rooms and on meeting had taken an instant liking for each other and thus decided to share for companionship and to defray expenses.

He presented a fine figure of a man, standing well over six-foot in height, his build an impressive reminder of his service days that he had kept up. In looks he possessed the dark wavy hair and Byronic features that would set many a society lady to blush in his presence, yet he remained distant and aloof to the charms of the cream of Holyoke society. It was several months into our acquaintance, when our friendship had begun to grow, that Merryweather first began to mention the dark days he had spent in Burma and even longer before he imparted the full tragic tale of his lost love the Princess Afzula.

Altogether the Captain was a fascinating man. He had been born in Europe of mixed parentage – his mother a quarter Hungarian-American gypsy and his father an English soldier who had died during his childhood in Burma. Merryweather, possessed of dual nationality, had returned at the age of seven to America with his mother to rejoin his maternal grandfather’s travelling circus. His mother had learned the arts of animal training from adepts in Burma and young David had spent his early years surrounded by magnificent great cats with whom he had developed a suprising affinity. Then a few years later his mother had died under circumstances Merryweather has never disclosed to me and he withdrew even further from the company of men, preferring to associate mainly with the favoured tiger of his mother called Roxanne.

At the age of 18 his life took another drastic turn when, on the urging of his grandfather, young David enlisted in the United States Cavalry and rose to the rank of Captain over the following eight years. During that time he travelled the length and breadth of the country, fought in the Indian wars, joined army intelligence and discovered his fascination with the art of detection. Finally, he could stand no more of the white man’s treatment towards the Indians and, refusing to condone what he termed “the inhuman persecution” of that race of native Americans he had come to admire so much, he resigned his commission.

Seeking adventure and his past, Merryweather, now a man of means through judicious investment of his salary began to travel the world ending up in Burma. His exploits with the race of Burmese mystics known as the Cat People, his discoveries of his past and the tragic end of the Princess that he loved, I shall not impart in this narrative. All the years I have chronicled his exploits, Merryweather has been glad to add detail and give his blessing to my humble efforts but of those days, his reply is always the same. “Not yet Deacon, the pain is still too fresh in my memory. Some day the story will be told … but not this day!”

Now, I mention Merryweather’s exploits matter of factly. To my old readers who pick up my published accounts after a near year long absence (and I apologise for same), please bear with me as I explain to newer readers that which is known to you already. Namely that shortly after I met Captain David Merryweather, we became embroiled in the affair I then documented as “The Curious Account of the Yellow Hilted Dagger,” for Merryweather, my friends, although retired, was still a man of action and on settling in Holyoke City he soon established a reputation as an adventurer stroke consulting detective. It has been my privilege to chronicle the many adventures we have found ourselves involved in and by this account I resume my duties once more … but with a difference.

I have mentioned Merryweather’s wish that the story of Princess Afzula and those dark days in Burma be kept secret until the time arises when they may of a readiness be told. In the past I have been obliged to alter or omit certain details from my narrative – the names of the foreign diplomats in “The Case of the International Incident,” for example or the identity of the poor demented girl in “The Madhouse of Infamy.” It was also necessary to alter the identity of the relatives of the “Deranged Boston Poisoner,” lest those innocents suffer unjust retribution. Nor would the gentlemen of the board of a certain reputable bank be appreciative should they be made to look foolish by revealing them as victims of “The Swindling Ghoul.”

However as my older readers know, I have always plainly stated that certain names and events have been altered to protect the innocent and those who would not allow permission to have their part in certain adventures known in print. In all these narratives a glaring fact has been omitted. Although, to be fair, my writings are made up of my own first hand experience and notes of the accounts of others, including Merryweather, and it was he who kept one major fact even from myself, his best friend until a year ago. Yes, I have known of this fact during the two narratives prior to this one, but have not been at liberty to reveal my knowledge until now.

In the past I have referred to an urban legend … a legend that kept cropping up through half gabbled confessions of an underworld informer, tavern gossip … the whisper on the air itself when facts are revealed as half truth, rumour, gossip and innuendo, but no man seems to know from whence these whispers originate.

This urban legend I speak of is in fact solid truth. The legend I speak of is the tale of the fearsome nocturnal avenger known as the Catman and at last I can reveal he exists … for when Captain David Merryweather and the Deacon have exhausted all possible avenues in our explorations of the lower reaches of the criminal underworld, even after we have been forced to resort to physical means and failed … hours later Merryweather would return as the Catman and as the Catman he WOULD get the answers he sought. For all Holyoke’s criminal fraternity has one thing in common … They all fear the Catman!

So there we sat, two old friends catching up on old times. Once settled in the smoking room in two comfortable armchairs, brandy glasses within easy reach, Merryweather lit up one of his favoured cheroots while I puffed contentedly on my old Meerschaum; he turned to me and said “Your timing is quite fortuitous Deacon, for I am about to embark upon what I fancy will be an interesting diversion and your assistance would be most welcome.”

I leaned forward. “I should be delighted old man. What may I ask is the nature of the case?”

Merryweather snapped open his pocket watch and glanced at the face “In precisely 60 seconds I am to meet with Colonel Preston Danforth in this very room. The Colonel knew my father in his army days and contacted me recently to implore my aid in a matter he claimed related to an incident occurring during their service days in India. It’s my hope that I will learn more about my father as a result and so I have agreed to hear the gentleman out.”

The Colonel Imparts a Strange Tale.

Three minor events occurred simultaneously. The old grandfather clock struck the hour; Merryweather snapped his watch fob shut and the door opened to reveal a distinguished grey haired man in his early sixties. It was obvious at a glance, despite the gentleman’s civilian dress, that he had until recently been an active military man – his stance and bearing displayed such as did his no nonsense stare and analytical eyes. My own eyes were drawn to his impressive handlebar moustache, thicker and greyer than my own … a strange thing to observe at such a time, but such is the way of the human mind on occasion.

Merryweather rose to greet our visitor and once introductions were exchanged and Colonel Danforth was seated, my friend bade him begin his tale and we listened without interruption as the story unfolded.

“Gentlemen, I am not a man given to idle fancy. No, indeed I am too pragmatic in my dealings to give much credence to myth, legend and old wives tales. I am a down to earth type who prefers to deal in reality and cold, hard scientific fact. Yet with my own eyes I have witnessed … I can only describe them as unexplainable incidents. In the years since I have endeavoured to either find rational explanations for my experiences or to put them from my mind. I had been rather successful, for the most part, at the latter for some years … until recently.”

He paused to light a cigar “I shall start at the beginning. The year was ‘49 and I was 26 years old and lately arrived in India as a special Attaché/Observer to the British army based in Peshawar. My position was part of a program specially designed to cement closer ties between the United States and the United Kingdom and was mostly of a political nature. I was one of the few military men involved, already a Lieutenant and a veteran of the Mexican wars. My special status entitled me to see service within the British Indian Army and during that time I became fast friends with a man only a few years younger than myself; your father Sgt. James Merryweather. This, of course, was a good few years before your birth David. Your father later gained his commission and was transferred from India to Burma.”

Merryweather nodded slightly. He sat, hands clasped with the fingertips resting against his nose, listening intently.

The Colonel continued, “Some months after my arrival I chanced to become involved in an action taking place to quell a local uprising. A Company of troops commanded by Major John Helnitt was attacked as we marched through a heavily wooded region on our way back from settling a dispute between two minor warlords. The ambush took us completely by surprise and so well planned had it been that the tribesmen managed to split our force in twain, almost wiping out the smaller section. Meanwhile the rest of the Company were obliged to retreat somewhat before digging in to defend itself just beyond the jungle at the edge of the mountainous region.”

“A small group of us, with myself as the most senior officer present, was forced deeper into the woodland, harried by scattered groups of tribesmen as we went. At last we outdistanced them but by then we were hopelessly lost ourselves in the heart of the jungle. Three days passed and men died of their wounds or of fever brought on by exposure. Our medical officer, surgeon lieutenant Malcolm Macomb, fought against this but in vain. Every one of the poor wretches to catch the fever succumbed.”

“At last we came to the foot of a great mountain within the dense undergrowth – five pitiful survivors more dead than alive. Your father was one David, along with myself, Macomb and two private soldiers Delaney and Randall. There we came, exhausted and with the fever upon us and at that spot we collapsed.”

The Lost Civilisation of Kolobad.

“So it appeared that we had at last come to the end, but when next I awoke it was to a cool breeze and soft cushions instead of hard jungle floor. A woman of extraordinary beauty was mopping my brow with a cool sponge and when I struggled to sit up she admonished me gently, seeming unperturbed at my sudden awakening.”

“As she spoke soothingly I realised I could understand her although it was plain she wasn’t speaking any language I had ever heard … rather it was as if her thoughts entered my head. Yet she spoke aloud and on one level I understood, but on another it was as if a second, strange tongue were overlaid. In any case I soon learned to block this second layer of speech out and it was as if she spoke perfect English.”

“Her name was Helenia and her features a strange mix of Indian and Caucasian with what I fancied gave her an almost Mediterranean appearance despite her blonde hair. Helenia took me to the others and we found out that we were high up in the mountain having been discovered at its foot by inhabitants of the lost city they called Kolobad.”

“When we were well enough, Helenia took us to be introduced to Appollus, the man we took to be the ruler of Kolobad (although later it appeared that a benign Council of Guidance administered a city of equals) and we attended a feast in our honour where we witnessed many marvels. The people of Kolobad claimed to be descended from a colony of ancient Greeks who had arrived in this region during the time of Alexander.”

“They claimed to have conquered hunger, want and illness and to have spent the last few centuries advancing in the fields of Philosophy and the Arts, until they had developed a spiritual society devoted to peace and the expansion of the human brain. Thus, they claimed they had turned to the study of the powers of the mind. In later years I convinced myself that much of what we saw was the result of a mass hypnosis of some kind, but…”

He shook his head “In the weeks we were with them, James and myself spent much time discussing philosophy with Appollus and Helenia, although I must confess I was more an observer than an active participant. Surgeon Lt Macomb … Malcolm, was most interested in studying the medical advances made by the people of Kolobad while Larry Delaney and Adam Randall seemed content just to enjoy the company of the innocent young maids who would lavish food, wine and attention on them as they relaxed by the fountains in the elaborate city gardens.”

“Then, one day during a discussion about the history of the city, Appollus claimed to have conquered death … he himself, he asserted was nearly two centuries old although appearing a man of thirty. Malcolm was intrigued and asked by what means the people of Kolobad had achieved this miracle and so Appollus took us to a chamber within the building we referred to as ‘The Palace’ and showed us an elixir contained in a golden jar. By drinking of the elixir a man could be prepared for the ceremony of immortality our host told us. Macomb was fascinated, but as James discreetly pointed out to me later, our two private soldiers seemed more interested in the vast treasure chamber in which the elixir jar was stored. It was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of riches, full to the brim with gold, diamonds, precious stones each of which was enough to make a man rich.”

“That night James and I spoke again. We sensed trouble in the offing and indeed the other three were nowhere to be found. James shared his concerns with Helenia with whom he had grown quite close.” Merryweather’s eyebrows raised momentarily.

“We bade her lead us to the jewel chamber and found the other three as we’d expected had likewise gained entry. Delaney and Randall were filling their packs with loot while Macomb searched for the elixir jar, which had vanished from its previous position. I ordered them to desist but to no avail and a scuffle broke out. Delaney back handed Helenia and your father grappled with him while Randall pulled out his revolver to cover me.”

“Before we could do each other harm, the room suddenly filled with guards led by Appollus, who told an unbelieving Macomb that the elixir was nothing without the mystical ceremony of ‘Becoming.’ The Council leader had suspected treachery but allowed Macomb the opportunity to redeem or condemn himself … allowed us all I should say, as we were each tarred with the same brush. Despite Helenia’s pleas we were to be expelled from Kolobad that very night.”

“James addressed him with sadness in his voice for he had come to love this city and I suspect Helenia. ‘Will we never be allowed to return?’ he asked, and Appollus relented slightly ‘Only one may return,’ he told us ‘When 30 years or more have passed, the way will be open for the last among you and restored youth, immortality and riches will be his.’ He handed us each a piece of paper kept in a leather wallet. Each piece had markings on one fifth of the paper. He then warned us that should we attempt to kill each other to gain the other segments, our way back would be lost forever. We were then blindfolded and led to the bottom of the mountain.”

“We found ourselves in the exact same spot we had arrived at and our guards had vanished. Try as we might to find an entrance, none could be found. Nor indeed did the sheer face seem climbable in any way. Therefore we set out to the south and having been well supplied eventually found our way out of the jungle and home. We each resolved to say nothing of this affair to anyone and parted company.”

“For my part I was prepared to write off our adventure. Yes, we had encountered a mysterious lost race, but of tricksters and charlatans I believed. True, they were prosperous and seemed advanced in the healing arts, but what of their absurd claims to mysticism and immortality and the uncanny powers of the mind they had demonstrated? Mere illusion and trickery I felt. Levitation? I scoffed at it… the movement of matter by pure thought? Absurd. As for the projection of thoughts into another’s head. Why it was nonsensical. The Kolobadians were the worst kind of false gurus and fakers, using hypnosis and sleight of hand to fool us for reasons of their own. Perhaps so we would keep quiet rather than appear fools.”

“I thought no more of it until a day months later when once again we skirmished with rebels and Private Delaney perished by gunshot. That night I happened upon the leather wallet in my bureau and saw that now two fifths of the map were covered … still unreadable but covered. I sought out your father and he agreed to fetch his own map. Two fifths were covered! Amongst Delaney’s effects we found his leather wallet. Within, the map had crumbled to fragments.”

“A decade later I received the sad news from Burma that my old friend Lt Merryweather had died in action. Filled with foreboding but a morbid curiosity, I checked my leather wallet. Three fifths were covered and I can only presume such was the case with Macomb and Randall. Repulsed, I threw the accursed thing on the fireplace, but it refused to burn! So, soon after, on my long awaited recall to America, I left the wallet in my rooms and boarded ship for home. Two days out to sea I found the wallet sitting on my desk in my cabin. Several times more I tried to rid myself of it, only to have it return wherever I went.”

“Five years ago I settled in Holyoke with my ward Katherine, my only living relative since the death of her mother, my elder sister. It was about that time I received word of Macomb’s death at sea and sure enough the map was now covered by a fourth segment. So only Randall remained. Did he still harbour desires for wealth and immortality? As for myself I was content to age gracefully and enjoy my retirement, spending time with my dear niece.”

“Then a month ago I noticed the map was complete. Inquiries informed me that Adam Randall had passed away quietly after a long illness. I was the surviving member of our unofficial tontine, though I felt no need to collect; but then some strange events took place. First of all my house was ransacked although nothing was taken. Shortly afterwards I was accosted in the street by two hoodlums who searched my person. One roughly demanded I give them the map, but the map has been kept these last few years in a safety deposit box at my bank, where, thankfully, it had consented to remain. Then came the letters threatening my safety and that of my niece unless I surrender the ‘Kolobad Map’… couched in those exact terms and THAT gentlemen is my entire story.”

Note to my readers: Originally this was intended to be a two part story, but due to time constraints and reader requests, I’ve decided to break with tradition and present this “two part” story in three parts (Parts one, part 2.1 and 2.2) in order to get more of the story out quicker than I’d otherwise be able to. I hope you enjoy it.

Part 2.1 of The Case of The Unofficial Tontine

Merryweather remained seated for a moment saying nothing; his fingertips still clasped together beneath his chin. Finally he spoke, addressing his comments to me. “I have of course heard the gist of the Colonel’s tale in his letter. I wanted you to hear it too, Deacon, and, of course, the smallest of details I needed to hear myself. With the facts and personalities in my position, I’ve already begun several thought tracks with the hopes of finding a solution.”

“Then you believe me, Sir?” The colonel asked.

“I believe that you believe in everything that you have detailed colonel. You are, as you have stated, either the victim of prolonged trickery or these occurrences are exactly as they claim to be. I discount neither possibility. Indeed, I am personally aware that, to use an old quote ‘There is more to heaven and Earth than in your philosophy, Horatio.’ I am no stranger to the supernatural.”

“Then you believe these forces are in play here, Merryweather?” I asked

“I’d hesitate to jump to a snap conclusion,” my friend answered.

“But surely the length of time…the changing face of the maps. Years passed between these incidents.”

The colonel nodded his agreement, but Merryweather merely inclined his head and smiled slightly. “Consider, Deacon,” he began, “the initial incidents all took place nearly 40 years ago. Perhaps as the colonel conjectured, they could all be explained by a form of mass hypnosis. There then followed separate related happenings concerning the maps. The first mere months later, the second a decade after, then again five years ago and culminating with the final map alteration a month ago. All of which coincided with the death of one of the unofficial Kolobad Tontine. Supernatural or again hypnosis?”

I shook my head in disbelief .”Over the course of 40 years! Do you propose someone mesmerised Colonel Danforth in each instance?”

“Preposterous,” chipped in the Colonel, but with an element of doubt in his voice. “and what of the returning map?” he queried with greater confidence.

“A trifle,” said Merryweather “A mesmeric post hypnotic suggestion preventing you the ridding yourself of the thing. You went to throw it away, but in fact you only thought you did.”

A look of enlightenment crossed the military man’s face “All trickery, but who…”

Now Merryweather looked Colonel Preston Danforth Square in the eyes “I never said it was definitely trickery. I merely endeavoured to explain things in the most rational manner but I”ll admit there are holes in the whole thing that I cannot rationally explain and if you’ll forgive my continual reliance on quotations, I should like to quote from a contemporary of mine when I say ‘When all other possibilities are investigated and discarded, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ However gentlemen, I must state that the mystery of Kolobad and its maps are of secondary importance. Whoever has been behind these threats to the Colonel certainly believes in the authenticity of the Kolobad map and it is this unknown personage we should direct our efforts towards discovering. Colonel, I should like to see the map itself and the letters. When is it convenient for Deacon and myself to call?”

“Why, tomorrow should be fine my boy. What time would suit?”

“The afternoon sir. Shall we say four o’clock? I am a late riser, due to keeping nocturnal hours.” Merryweather glanced at his pocket watch “Ah ten o’clock. Deacon be so good as to summon Collins and ask him to prepare a late supper for three. You’ll stay, of course, Colonel Danforth. The Halibut in béarnaise sauce is not to be missed and The Tem serves an impeccable Chardonnay to accompany the dish.”

We Call On The Colonel for Tea

The following afternoon I met Merryweather on the corner of Bridge Street and we proceeded to Quinlain heights for our appointment with our esteemed client, although client is perhaps the wrong word to use. Merryweather has a case by case policy for dispensing his services in the field of detection. He accepts cases if he has an interest and would often refer a high paying routine case to the police while engaging a penniless client with a challenging mystery. I’ve personally never seen Merryweather pocket a red cent out of any fees he might be awarded, although he would often deduct expenses from a high commission and donate the bulk to charity or a worthy cause. On other occasions when he has accepted low commission, as in the case of the ‘Nine Cent Adventure,’ Merryweather would unfailing reach into his own deep pockets to supply any expenditure that might be wrought during a case.

The Danforth residence proved to be an impressive 12 bedroom Georgian situated in the centre of Quinlain Heights. Although only halfway up the hill in a prestigious part of suburban Holyoke, the occupants of the house were still afforded a marvellous view of Holyoke Bay and the city beyond. What magnificent sunsets might be seen from one of the benches in the nearby park!

Merryweather adjusted his cravat, slightly uncomfortable in the warm sun, but impeccably dressed as always; raised his catshead cane to the dark oak door and tapped twice firmly upon the wood. Within moments we were ushered into the cool fastness of the darkened hallway, a sharp contrast to the brightness of the sun from a moment before.

Colonel Preston Danforth emerged from a nearby room and greeted us “David, Mr Deacon. Good of you to come. Please come through to my study.”

We entered and were soon seated and enjoying afternoon tea as Merryweather studied the Kolobad map, retrieved by the Colonel that morning on my friend’s instructions. Presently Merryweather set aside his eyepiece (an old and valued tool, more commonly used by those in the diamond trade) and addressed us. “Detail, consistency and materials tell me nothing apart from the fact that this is a perfectly ordinary papyrus map of a type originated in ancient Egypt – the making of which is still known today, but, of course, an outmoded form. The ink base is a much advanced type – carbon based and I should date the age of this particular map at around 40 years. A precise estimate is of course impossible without access to the proper tools within my laboratory. The detail contained on the face should allow us, in conjunction with maps of the region to track the precise location of the lost city should we endeavour to do so. All in all, setting aside the fact that the map leads to a lost civilisation, it is unremarkable and exactly as I suspected. Gentleman let us turn our attention to other avenues.”

It was then that we heard a sound behind us and a young woman entered the room. We all stood as she glanced around at us with interest before addressing the Colonel “Please excuse me Uncle,” she began “Some telegrams have arrived for your guests. They were marked urgent, so I thought I’d better bring them up at once.”

The Colonel chuckled. “My dear, you know perfectly well Bettling could have performed that task, but now that you’re here allow me to introduce my guests, which I’m sure was your very reason for coming.”

The young lady blushed prettily for a moment and lowered her eyes in a most becoming way as the Colonel stated my name. “… and Captain David Merryweather,” our host was concluding as his niece chanced to look up. I fancied I saw my friend start slightly as his dark brown eyes met her blue ones. The impression lasted only a second, for Merryweather abruptly straightened and bowed slightly as Colonel Danforth said “Gentlemen, my niece Katherine Conn.”

“Miss Conn,” Merryweather addressed her, taking her hand and again locking eyes with the young lady for a few seconds before she shyly glanced away.

This time there was no mistaking it. For Merryweather this was a display of emotion on an unprecedented scale.

The young lady in question was undoubtedly a beauty. Aged around 20 years old, she was diminutive and slender, her auburn hair worn neatly pinned up. Her attire one supposed the height of fashionable chic but at the same time simplistically elegant and worn without the added adornments that made many a fashionable lady of my acquaintance seem merely pretentious. Of course, we invited her to stay and Merryweather was kind enough to repeat his earlier observations for the lady’s benefit as she listened most intently and with intelligent understanding of his points.

“Last night,” my friend continued “I left the Tem at a late…or rather early hour and travelled to an inn downtown.”

This was news to me as the Colonel and I had been in his company until half past eleven!

“As you could guess by the hour and the location, this…establishment was not a reputable one, but I was sure I would find one Thomas “Hooks” Varney on the premises. I was correct.” Blank faces all around. “Mr Varney,” Merryweather added “is distinguished by two very obvious features and while I have personal knowledge of at least three gentlemen of the lower criminal fraternity possessed of hooks instead of a right hand, only one also possesses a purple irised glass eye in his left socket.”

The colonel’s own eyes lit up. “Of course! One of the thugs that accosted me.” And I remembered that the retired military man had furnished us with a full description at dinner last night. Miss Conn smiled at Merryweather, her expression bright. “You knew how to find this man based only on my uncle’s description?”

Merryweather inclined his head slightly. “My activities within the field of private detection require a certain knowledge of the denizens of the city’s underworld, Miss Conn. I try to keep my files complete.”

“Oh, how clever! But Captain…”A small concerned gasp escaped her lips. “Do you mean to say you bearded this…criminal within his own den of ruffians?”

“It was necessary Miss Conn and ultimately quite fruitful in providing a lead.”

“I should not like to think of you endangered on our behalf sir.”

“Nonsense my dear,” the Colonel interjected. “Captain Merryweather is quite capable of looking after himself, am I right young man?”

Merryweather allowed himself a slight wry smile “You are, sir. Please don’t concern yourself Miss Conn. With my military training and experience in such matters, I was never in any danger.”

“Oh, but I am concerned dear captain Merryweather,” The young lady retorted. “After all sir, it was our family that they threatened and we who embroiled you in the affair.”

“A commission I gladly accepted.”

I could hold my tongue no longer “Confound it man, you should’ve at least taken me with you. What if the affair had turned violent?”

A pause… “You are right ,of course, old man. Fortunately I was able to handle the matter with a minimum of disruption.”

“And your findings?” prompted Danforth.

“Mr Varney proved most helpful. As I suspected his part in the incident was that of a hired hand. His recruitment and payment were handled by the large bald gentleman who accompanied him – one Tobias Jenks. Jenks was close mouthed on the subject of their purpose and the identity of their employer, but Varney obviously knew that they were after a map, even if he did not know what type of map and why. One thing he did know was that Jenks wasn’t just another hireling but a regular employee of our mystery figure. Tavern gossip and other informative sources leads me to believe that there is an as yet unidentified figure uniting various criminal elements within the city’s underworld. I believe this person to be Jenks’ employer.”

“What do I have to do with this…this gangleader?” spluttered the Colonel

“What indeed,” mused Merryweather, before turning his attention back to our host. “Not a mere gang leader, Colonel. I fear we are dealing with a felon of a higher order. For one, nobody, even among the tavern crowds, seem to have any idea of his identity or his location. Unusual for a gang boss – but our friend seems to have been active for at least six months, operating in shadow and mystery, assembling a chain of command so that each level of the hierarchy orders and reports to the levels below and above, with none certain who reports to our crime lord.”

“What’s our next move?” Colonel Preston Danforth wanted to know.

Merryweather stood. “The connection between this crime lord and he who seeks to possess your map are virtually certain in my mind Colonel. I have suspicions, which I will share with you and Miss Conn presently. First, there are facts to be corroborated and more inquiries to be made.”

“Can you tell us nothing more, Captain Merryweather?” pressed Miss Conn.

“Only that I pursue two avenues, Miss Conn. I await the replies to telegrams sent this morning and I must now track Mr. Jenks and his elusive employer.”

“WE must,” I added firmly.

“Of course, old friend,” Merryweather smiled. “I wouldn”t have it any other way.”

“Then God go with you both,” cried the young lady, echoed by her uncle.

We gathered our coats and hats and bade them farewell.

“Where to first?” I asked as we strode down the street.

Merryweather answered without breaking stride “To Peccary, of course.”

Part 2.2. We visit our old adversary Mr Peccary. Merryweather closes the net. Our foes make themselves known and the affair concludes. To be concluded in next weeks “Holyoke Picture Dispatches” from the journal of the Deacon.

Part 2.2

An interview with Mr Peccary.

The account that follows has been entirely reconstructed from talks with Merryweather following the conclusion of the affair. My friend and I had journeyed from the house in Quinlain Heights to the very heart of Commercial Holyoke where, travelling through the always crowded Americo Lane, we entered Black’s Department Store by the tea shop entrance on the south western face of the building.

A few steps took us into Ladies Haberdashery in the store proper and on through Millinery, Perfumes and past the small florists concession to the quieter realms of the Gentlemen’s Clothing department. Locating the manager of this section, Merryweather took the fellow aside and presented his card, which was promptly sent upstairs to the owner by way of a gangly youth in the store’s employ.

Presently the youth returned to inform us that Mr Peccary would see Captain Merryweather in his offices on the 5th floor at once. I however was obliged to wait downstairs and at Merryweather’s suggestion took afternoon tea in the Tea Room.

Before I commence this part of the narrative, a word or two concerning the background of the man we had come to visit. Older readers will no doubt be familiar with the name of Peccary – Merryweather’s oldest, most insidious foe … a master of intrigue and deception; a man whose podgy fingers could be found in every slice of every pie that made up the darker business dealings of the Holyoke underworld … and yet Peccary’s public reputation was impeccable. Honoured member of the Chamber of Commerce, leading businessman and citizen of our town. He played golf with the Mayor, belonged to all of the most dully upstanding of the cities’ clubs and committees and was held in high esteem by the highest of the morally righteous. For years, on and off Peccary and Merryweather had secretly contended in a series of machiavellian intrigues and always to a state of deadlock. My friend had foiled the grand machinations of Mr Peccary more often than not, but always the fat man had wriggled off the hook without so much as a hint of scandal attached to his name. This then was the man Merryweather now turned to!

Peccary

Mr Peccary was seated behind a large oak desk as Merryweather entered the office. A man of impressive bulk, he was nonetheless surprisingly swift when he chose to move, which this time he did not. Mr Peccary remained behind his desk, shifting only to flick the ash from his cigar into an ornate ashtray

“Ah, my feline friend,’ he said at last, a minute or so after the door had closed leaving the two of them alone in the large office “To what do I owe the honour of your visit?” Peccary inquired as he indicated that his guest should be seated and continued to speak, not giving Merryweather a chance to answer the initial question.

“It has been some time if memory serves. Well over a year,” Merryweather’s corpulent host stated as he offered my friend a well stacked cigar box.

Merryweather inclined his head slightly, taking a cigar and slipping the band from the thick tobacco, and replied “14 months to be exact, although I did run into a mutual acquaintance some eight months ago. I gather you had asked him to pass on a message.”

The folds of flesh in Peccary’s neck wobbled slightly as he leaned forward to clip and light the end of Merryweather’s cigar “Ah yes. My Italian friend, Count Udonatti. I believe he failed to deliver my point.”

Merryweather sat back, cross legged and blew out a plume of smoke with a wry smile. “He certainly tried.”

“Indeed … and what became of our friend?”

“Deported. Duelling is still illegal in this country!”

“He challenged your honour, Captain? What may I ask was the dispute?”

“The Count contended that I had cheated at a hand of baccarat and demanded instant satisfaction. Fortunately I too had a cane … though mine was solid wood and did not conceal a blade.”

Peccary shrugged, “You know these European Noblemen and their honour.”

“Yes … quite, but I haven’t come here to discuss old enmities.”

“Indeed?” Mr Peccary poured two tumblers of port from a crystal decanter “What HAVE you come here to discuss?”

Merryweather accepted his glass and swirled it round thoughtfully for a moment before turning to a chess board set to one side of Peccary’s desk. Studying it, he moved one emerald knight forward in front of the emerald pawns “I’ve been hearing rumours,” he began as he leant his cats head cane on the desk so that the cats head rested gently against the side of the chess set as if its eyes were scanning the middle of the board.

Peccary waited, saying nothing.

Merryweather picked up the crystalline ruby figure of the opposing forces central pawn and moved it one place forward “Rumours of a new player. No one seems to know quite who he is though.” He moved the emerald knight to the centre of the board.

Peccary clasped his hands together “There’s always someone new. A businessman such as myself tends to attract competitors. Such is the way of … commerce and indeed more so with my political dabblings.”

Merryweather still hadn’t taken his eyes from the board. He now pushed the ruby pawn forward. “True and a good businessman or politician can always curtail the advances of small players … known opponents and the like.” Reaching over, Merryweather advanced the emerald knight to take the pawn.

Peccary’s eyes flicked to the gap in the ruby back line a second before Merryweather proceeded to sweep the red queen forward to take the emerald knight.

“An apt metaphor Captain. Your suggestion is I take it that should I encounter a bigger player …” He picked up the red queen and examined it briefly before returning it to its place “An opponent with unfamiliar moves,” he continued, picking up the discarded emerald knight, “This presupposes I cannot anticipate …” Moving the queen back into place, he replaced the red pawn on its old spot and put the emerald knight back to ruby king five “… an obvious lure.” Peccary pushed the emerald pawn in front of his king forward and said”… but suppose I refuse to be baited and instead choose to develop other avenues of attack?”

Merryweather’s right hand moved to his cane “Suppose you do? Suppose you play a more tactical game, developing supported pawn advances, probe your opponents’ defences with your knights and bring forth your other pieces in readiness for an assault at your own pace. Sooner or later a confrontation will inevitably take place and even the best of players will lose assets before a win.”

“I see … and a defensive game would just delay the confrontation?”

“Precisely. Your opponent can only grow stronger given time to prepare as well. OR he might just force a confrontation before you are ready.”

“Your knowledge of chess is most diverting Captain. You have a solution to this scenario I take it?”

“Yes. Don’t play the game.” Slowly and deliberately Merryweather lowered his cane into the middle of the chess board, separating the emerald crystal figurines from the ruby. The eyes of the cat faced the red king and queen.

Peccary studied the board for a minute, his balding head lowered. Then he looked up into the eyes of the man seated opposite him “Suppose there was such an individual … an individual whose interests may someday clash with mine. Suppose such a person existed …” the big man let the end of the thought dangle.

Merryweather leaned closer “I believe this individual does exist and I believe I am very close to knowing all I need to know about him. The last piece of knowledge I lack is a name … an alias.”

Mr Peccary smiled “Ah and then the cat will prowl. Very well. As you know Captain, in the pursuit of my … legitimate business I am obliged to broker knowledge in ah order to serve the interests of this fair city. To that end I employ all manner of … information collectors … hard facts, hearsay, rumour and the like. The great majority of tidbits that my agents report to me are generally useless shreds of no importance to my political and business aspirations. However they make for amusing diversions … and one fragment that sticks to the subconscious could well, now that I choose to recall it, be the nom de guerre of our individual. The name sir is … Macabre!”

The Net Closes.

While Merryweather was conducting his extraordinary interview with Mr Peccary, I was seated by the window of Black’s Tea Room consuming another round of scones and a fifth cup of tea. A slight tapping beside me aroused my attention and I was surprised to see a young urchin staring in at me, his grubby hands smearing the window pane. I hastened outside to talk to the young scrub … for I had recognised him as Monk, a scrawny underfed 13 year old sometimes employed by Merryweather in various capacities such as messenger or even spy.

“Beggin yer pardon Mr Deacon, sir,” he addressed me, pulling his ragged cap off “… but the Cap’n sez I was to give youse these telegrams at once sir. Dead urgent e sez they was an I’ve been awaitin down the exchange all morning sir.”

“Well don’t just stand there boy. Let me see them,” I cried.

Young Monk continued to hold the sheaf of telegrams to his chest. “Cap’n’s eyes only sir. E sez youse was to wait fer im.”

“Confound it you young wretch. If they’re so urgent, I must open them at once, Merryweather or no.”

Stubbornly the wretched snipe refused to part with them, but fortunately at that moment Merryweather reappeared and took matters in hand. Glancing rapidly through the telegrams he flipped a half dollar at the wide eyed boy “Good work young Paulie. Don’t spend it all on gin and come by Saturday. I may have more work for you.”

The dirty urchin bit the coin, grinned and said “Thank yer Cap’n sir,” before running off into the crowd.

We Brave The Hasen District.

Following our brief encounter with young Paulie, Merryweather hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take us to the Tem where we were to meet the Colonel. Again he refused to enlighten me as to his recent findings and infuriatingly would only say “All shall soon be revealed Deacon,” and capped his pronunciation with the most unbecoming of knowing smiles.

On our return to the club, Beard the day porter conducted us to the Gun Room (A rule of the club was that gentlemen should check all firearms at the entrance. The gentleman would receive a receipt on surrendering his weapon to the care of the day or night porter, who would place it in a cabinet in the Gun Room. Access to the room was permitted in the company of either the steward or one of the club porters and viewings were allowed between the hours of six and seven thirty pm on Tuesdays as the Tem did not only keep weapons for its members, but boasted a fine collection of antique and contemporary firearms).

It was while we were selecting our weaponry – for Merryweather had over the years donated a large quantity of pieces that were available to him at any time; that Colonel Preston Danforth finally arrived in a state of some agitation.

Sensing something was amiss, my friend enjoined the elder gentleman to speak without preamble. The brief tale he told rapidly extinguished the light anticipatory look that Merryweather had, had about him for the last few hours.

“Trickery, Sir!” roared the Colonel, waving a note wildly in the air “As I mentioned when last we parted, I had an engagement with my physician that I could not avoid. The appointment itself lasted under an hour but as I was leaving a young ruffian barged into me and I felt him lift my wallet from my coat. I gave chase and caught up to him just as a policeman blocked his path. My wallet was returned and I was obliged to accompany the constable to the station across town to swear out a complaint.”

“When we arrived he showed me to a waiting room and left to process the prisoner. On his prompt return I was interviewed in the waiting room and asked to sign my name to documents which he purported to be a form asserting my willingness to press charges. All in all I was delayed a full two hours and shortly after taking my leave I became suspicious of the manner in which the officer had processed my complaint. I returned and spoke to the duty officer and was informed that no Constable Manton existed within the precinct – nor was any pick pocket charged within the last few hours!”

“On my return home I was informed that a young woman had called for Katherine not twenty minutes before and my niece had left with her in a hurry shortly thereafter and LOOK gentlemen – Katherine left the note behind. It bears my signature but is not from me!”

All colour drained from Merryweather’s face as he turned to me “Curse my over confidence. Macabre has Miss Conn, Deacon. I daresay we have been under observation both at the Colonel’s house and when I visited Peccary. This note purports to be from Colonel Danforth, exhorting his niece to meet us urgently at an address in the Hasen District. An address plainly marked and left for us to discover. Macabre wants us to know he holds the girl and where to find her so we can exchange the map for Miss Conn’s safety!”

As if to punctuate the point, at that moment a note was delivered into Merryweather’s hands. It simply said “Bring the map.” M.

After choosing our firearms we set off at once to first secure the map and then travel by hansom cab to the edges of the infamous Hasen District – It was to Holyoke what Whitechapel was to London. We were accompanied by the Colonel and the stalwart James Beard, who had offered his assistance and was gratefully accepted. It should be noted that Beard was another of Captain David Merryweather’s old associates and no stranger to his nocturnal activities.

As we neared the address Merryweather grew more and more tense. A girl’s life was at stake and he took that fact extremely seriously.

Macabre

The address we had been given turned out to be the entrance to a building which appeared to house some sort of drinking establishment. A closer inspection revealed that the large noisy frontage concealed access to back rooms and the presence of rouged women and gentlemen in states of either agitation or a partial stupor, revealed that the building catered to opium addicts as well as those addicted to the temptations of the flesh.

Three of us entered and stood looking around at the bacchanal like merriment occurring within. The occupants a mixture of thrill seeking gentlemen and the lower orders – a den of iniquity with a music hall atmosphere.

At once a young lady approached us. She was attired as a slattern but with an accent and bearing that marked her as a cut above the low women around us. A fallen woman from the educated classes, no doubt acting as a hostess was my assumption. We followed her up the stairs at the back of the bar to a quiet antechamber where she turned to us “Colonel Danforth, Mr Deacon and Captain Merryweather.” She stated and we could no longer doubt we were anywhere but in the right place.

“Where is my niece?” spluttered the enraged Colonel taking a step forward, prompting me to place a restraining hand on his arm.

Without a word the woman opened a far door and picking up a lantern stepped through into a darkened corridor and beckoned us to follow. We did so as a drunk staggered out of a nearby room off the corridor, bent double as in the act of regurgitation. She led us along the corridor to the far end and through a door which opened into a suite of rooms where two men awaited us. Just beyond the main sitting room we glimpsed the stricken figure of Katherine lying on a bed within guarded by an old crone who was seated by the bed.

“Fiends!!” cried Colonel Preston Danforth “If you’ve harmed one hair on her head, I’ll …”

“You’ll do nothing Colonel,” the thinner of the men broke in “Your niece is in perfect health and sleeping of a dose of chloroform. If you remain quiet and don’t misbehave, she will remain unharmed. Do we understand each other?”

The Colonel nodded, “Macabre I presume?” The dark haired man returned the nod, “The map please. Place it carefully on the table.”

The Colonel moved to comply, ever aware of the eyes of the two other men upon him. The second he recognised as the large bald thug who had accosted him.

The dark haired man smiled “Now, who do we have here? The Colonel of course and you gentlemen must be Captain Merryweather and the Deacon. How does it feel to have been outsmarted and outwitted at every turn? He stared directly at my companion who answered.

“I don’t know. Why not ask the man with the gun to your head?”

There was a click of a pistol cocking and a dark cloaked figure stepped forward. The masked man’s voice was low, “Not a movement and you, old woman, keep your hands where my associates can see them or your boss will require a new forehead.”

“The Catman!!” exclaimed Tobias Jenks. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Through a carelessly unlocked upper floor window. I was able to follow while your pretty friend thought I was throwing up in the hallway.”

“Dash it,” I cried looking round for the woman “She’s gone! At least we have Macabre though.”

“Not quite!” The lady in question was aiming a pistol at my head from the cover of a small closet door I had failed to notice “Now Mr Catman, if you please, drop the pistol before I drop the Deacon.” She covered the few steps and I felt her gun on the back of my head.

Merryweather however, didn’t falter “Madame if you pull that trigger I’ll pull mine and then turn this gun on you. We might both die in the exchange or we might both leap aside. Either way the Colonel and Captain Merryweather,” he looked at Beard, his stand in “… would easily take care of Mr Jenks, leaving two perhaps three of us to oppose you should you have survived and I can guarantee you’ll not leave this room alive.”

“You’re forgetting old Agnes who will surely kill the girl.”

“Old Agnes can be assured of hastily following Miss Conn to the afterworld if she does anything other than sit peacefully until the outcome.”

“It appears we have a standoff,” the girl stated.

Ever aware of the gun to my head, I nevertheless spoke “She’ll dare nothing while we have Macabre.”

My friend smiled grimly “I believed I would find a Dr Macabre here tonight but this fellow is too young to be him … is that not so Miss Macabre or do you prefer Miss Madeleine Macomb?”

If the Colonel’s face was anything to go by, my duplicate expression was one of sheer shock, surprise and to use a bastardisation of my own coinage – agogness.

I felt rather than saw my captor smile. “That is so Captain Merryweather … Yes, I know a secret about you as well.” I heard the gun click and a shot rang out deafening me. Surprised to find myself still alive I again virtually instantaneously felt the gun barrel at my head. This time it was hot against my skin. Merryweather’s hostage lay dead – a bullet had passed directly through his skull!

Miss Macomb or Macabre was speaking again “That’s much better Captain. I would have hated to reveal your secret to Peccary’s spy. I’m almost certain the big man knows but it wouldn’t be knowledge he’d care to share amongst his lower ranks. Please put the gun down Captain. You have nobody to threaten but Mr Jenks and although he is a loyal, trusted member of my organisation, be under no misapprehension that I value his life enough to capitulate. Ah I see Mr Jenks has already acted in his own self interest and is even now covering you with his own pistol!”

Merryweather inclined his head slightly “Congratulations Madame. You have the upper hand.”

“Captain, I have the only hand,” Miss Macabre replied.

“I must confess I am not used to being outmanoeuvred thus and while I would be prepared to take a bullet in the chest myself, you can be assured I will do nothing while you threaten my friend.”

His eyes had flicked briefly to mine during this speech and I fancied I had heard a slight inflection in his tone as he spoke “prepared”. My friend had given me a coded message in plain English and now the outcome was in my hands. I decided to act and several things occurred at once.

Miss Macabre was taken unawares, her attention being firmly riveted on the masked figure before her; when I abruptly dropped to the floor and kicked backwards with both my legs to knock her off balance. Two shots rang out and I saw the Catman crumple – but already Beard was racing forwards to strike Jenks firmly in the jaw whilst the Colonel leaped over me to snatch the female mastermind’s pistol from her grip as she struggled to rise.

Jenks was a big man and seemingly impervious to Beard’s valiant efforts but the stalwart porter soon received aid when Merryweather rose up, seemingly unaffected by the blast to his chest. Between the pair of them the large thug was felled like a stricken oak. For my own part I was still sprawled on the floor witness to our sudden reversal, for not only had Beard and Merryweather triumphed, but Colonel Preston Danforth had secured Madeline Macomb’s pistol and was covering her.

Then barely a second later the lights went out, there was a huge crash and I felt someone brush past me. When order and lighting were restored, the situation stood as follows:

Merryweather and Beard stood over the prone form of the fallen Jenks – the Colonel was down and the female architect of the whole business was gone … as was the Kolobad map, vanished from the upturned table.

Merryweather immediately raced into the next room and emerged with a half conscious Katherine “Thank God she is unharmed,” he assured himself and her anxious uncle “but Macabre is gone … and he has taken his daughter and the map with him!”

“HIS daughter?” I asked non comprehendingly. “Yes Deacon … Dr Macabre has escaped,” Merryweather announced, holding up a grotesque, frighteningly realistic rubber mask – the face and hair of the old woman Agnes!

Epilogue. Dinner at the house in Quinlain Heights.

That evening we returned for a very late supper at the Danforth residence. The Colonel himself presided with Miss Con acting as hostess between exchanging adoring glances with my good friend and man of the hour, Captain David Merryweather. James Beard and myself made up the rest of the party.

“What I don’t understand my boy,” the retired military man was saying “Is how you knew Malcolm Macomb was behind the whole plot to relieve me of my map? How the deuce could he have been when all four of my fellow tontines had to be dead to fulfil the supernatural requirements needed to produce the complete map!?”

Merryweather took a sip from his glass of Madeira before answering “Colonel, I had asked you for a full account of your story. From that I devised a short list of exactly who stood to benefit from the Kolobad map. It then fell to me to cross names from that list until I found the most likely suspect. To that end I sent out telegrams designed to discern information about each of the principals and their immediate family. It was apparent from the start that the secret of the Kolobad map, by its nature was a closely kept one and unlikely that it would have been made known to any outsiders.”

“The first of the tontine to perish, mere months later, was Lawrence Delaney, an orphaned private soldier in his early twenties. Delaney died without family or issue. A decade or so later my own father died of a tropical disease, leaving me his only child. Five years ago the death of Dr Malcolm Macomb was reported at sea. He left behind one daughter, a fifteen year old named Madeline who had not seen her father since she was an infant. Madeline’s mother had died in childbirth and the girl had been raised by nuns. This left only the Colonel and his niece and the recently deceased Adam Randall. Randall had become a successful businessman but had never married.”

“Could he have fathered a child in secret?” Beard asked.

“My inquiries tell me otherwise,” Merryweather replied “Randall shared a house with a … gentleman companion. He did however have a brother and a sister. The brother was a banker’s clerk with a wife and three adult children. My sources lead me to suspect that in no way had Randall divulged any information to his family, nor would they be inclined to give such matters any credence. All in all, simple, respectable middle class people. The sister incidentally is a vicar’s wife most noted for her charitable works.”

I glanced quickly over at Miss Conn. Merryweather could be tactless at times, especially when outlining the details of a case, but fortunately the young lady seemed to have totally overlooked the “gentleman companion” remark.

Merryweather continued, “Having met Miss Conn, I could not suspect her of any duplicity towards her uncle and so I returned to Madeline Macomb. It seemed unlikely given the circumstances that she should be aware of the secret of Kolobad or that she would have the resources of a criminal leader … unless she had joined her father at a point AFTER his supposed death. That Macomb had died; I cannot dispute for his death was vital to the maps completion. However he need not remain dead!”

At these words the Colonel, Beard and myself began to ask the same question that was on all our minds. Merryweather waited patiently until he had all our attention and explained

“I had gathered from the Colonel’s story and other questions I had put to him that Dr. Malcolm Macomb had a deep interest in the spiritual, fanned by his time in Kolobad and his desire for the secret of immortality. Further inquiries told me that Macomb had spent time travelling in India and Tibet where I deduced he picked up a fabled ancient yogic secret. The possessor of this knowledge could then slow his heart beat to the point of death occurring and then subsequently revive from this state. In my readings on the subject, I discovered claims that an adept can remain in such a state for anything from thirty seconds to five minutes. Macomb knew his gamble had paid off when his own map crumbled to dust within his leather pouch, just as Delaney’s and my father’s had done!”

“Astounding!” I exclaimed.

“Indeed, Deacon. Macomb was then free to fake his death, return to England to be secretly reunited with Madeline, and wait for one of the two remaining holders of the map to die. Then the Macombs travelled here to Holyoke, started a criminal organisation within the city – and, incidentally, I believe they had already built a powerful criminal syndicate elsewhere before relocating. Therefore with the map complete, they were able to start their plan to coerce Colonel Danforth to relinquish it to them.”

“Yes!” I cried “… and at that point WE became involved and you deduced the underworld connection due to the presence of Varney, a known felon!”

“Precisely. However the Macombs had secrecy and a large network of spies going for them. No one in their organisation knew the identity of ‘Macabre’ except their top men and even they believed Madeline was in charge.”

Beard interjected at this point, “Somehow they discovered you were the Catman.”

“True. I had been careless and underestimated the opposition. Peccary’s spy – the Macabre stand in, threw me and I was completely unaware that Dr Macabre was present disguised as the old woman. I was slightly more prepared in my choice of a protective vest and fortunately Deacon picked up on my signal to act and we were able to salvage victory.”

“If only we had prevented the loss of the map,” I lamented.

Merryweather smiled and reached into his pocket “A fake old fellow!” he declared “but I daresay it will take Dr. and Miss Macabre a few months to discover that.”

Miss Conn smiled “Then they’ll be wandering around India looking for a needle in a haystack! How poetic such a fate is, if we can’t bring them to justice.”

My friend raised his glass and smiled wryly “An inconvenience richly deserved my dear Katherine, but I daresay we haven’t heard the last of them.”

I raised my own glass “A toast then. To the Catman, his return engagement with the diabolical Dr Macabre, and the eventual imprisonment of the fiend!”

… and so the affair concluded. But what then of Macabre and his daughter Madeline? Merryweather’s remarks were indeed prescient for they did return to contend with us once more, but as for the outcome … I shall leave you dear reader with Merryweather’s own words:

“THAT is a tale for another day.” Adieu

Story Notes.

The Catman was published in Catman Comics but debuted in Crash Comics from a different publisher. Altogether Catman appeared under three publishing banners, all of which are mentioned in homage. In order of appearance in the story:

Holyoke City was named for Catman’s major publisher “Holyoke.”

The Tem St Gentleman’s club is named for “Tem Publishing” the initial company name for the Holyoke line when Catman appeared in Crash.

Major John Helnitt was named for “Helnitt” the company name in initial issues of Catman before the Holyoke name became the staple. It was not unusual for comic companies to have several names such as Nedor/Better/Standard or Timely/Atlas/Marvel depending on sub divisions or name changes or characters moving companies.

The Deacon – A Golden Age Holyoke character who occupied a berth as a back up strip in Catman Comics. The Deacon and the Catman once shared a crossover story which established the pair as old friends. The first name Nathaniel is my own invention and his appearance in this story marks his first post Golden Age story.

The Case of the 9 Cent Adventure – Had a little fun with this reference. Do I really need to explain it to comics fans!

Quinlain Heights is named for Charles Quinlan, one of the premier artists on Catman. I simply added an I for my homage.

Katherine Conn is Katie Conn, aka the Kitten, Catman’s partner and later wife.

Mr Peccary – The first of Catman’s two arch enemies. Artistically he was said to have been modelled on the actor Sidney Greenstreet. I have adhered my description to the original.

Americo Lane – Named for Americomics the long version of AC Comics.

Blacks Department Store – Named for AC publisher and founder Bill Black.

Paulie Monk – Named for Paul Monsky, the founder of the Femfans page and the gent who asked me to write the story which would develop into the Unofficial Tontine. The character of Paulie also follows my loose Sherlock Holmes/Watson story analogy and is of course meant to resemble a Baker Street boy.

James Beard – A thinly veiled disguise for up and coming DC writer Jim Beard, a fellow poster and sometime correspondent of mine from the DCBoards. Jim has worked on a few JSA and Hawkman projects with more to come I’m sure.

The Hasen District – Named for Irwin Hasen, Golden Age great and the creator of Catman.

Miss Macabre – Madeline Macomb, daughter of Dr Macabre.

Dr Macabre – Malcolm Macomb, the later and most unrelenting of Catman’s two arch enemies. Both Macabre’s can occasionally be seen in the pages of AC’s Femforce.

0

“With a Bullet” by Femfan1

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:42 pm | Tags: femfan1

by Femfan1 from story concepts by P. O’Donnel

A gloved hand reached up to knock on the massive oaken door. A courtesy. She had been under constant video surveillance since her vehicle had entered the front drive. Upon her arrival, the steel security gate had swung open allowing her access to the walled compound of the estate. She was expected. Indeed, her presence had been requested.

Before she could rap her knuckles against the wood, the door clicked open and she was confronted by a large man in an ill-fitting suit. His unbuttoned jacket did little to conceal the bulge of the automatic weapon beneath.

Disappointment registered on his face as his eyes gave her the once over. With a gesture, he ushered her inside, closing the door behind her.

“Please, follow me.”

The Weapons Mistress took in the floorplan of the rooms as she casually obeyed the instruction. To the side, rooms led to more rooms, interconnected, while the entrance foyer shifted into a narrower hallway at the center of the dual staircase between which they now travelled. At the back of the hallway, a left turn brought them into a study where two more men talked. The larger of the two gentlemen was dressed much like her guide and was roughly the same height, although a little puffier. The seated man, dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, was almost certainly her host. Their conversation broke off as she entered the room.

“Ahhh, Colt! Thank you, for coming!” The man rising to his feet extended his hand in welcome. “I’m Jim Courtwright.”

“Hello, Mr. Courtwright.” Colt nodded to her host and acknowledged his companion, as well.

“Forgive me, this is my head of security, Bill Mueller.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. What can I do for you, Mr. Courtwright? You seemed to be in quite a hurry to see me.”

“Mmm… right to it. Yes, that’s for the best. Wilson, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment. Close the door behind you, please.”

Her guide exited the room and the door shut.

“Would you like to have a seat?”

“Thank you.” Colt moved toward the offered chair but, feigning distraction, detoured to the antique flintlock pistol displayed on the wall. “I take it you’re an afficionado of firearms, Mr. Courtwright?”

“Uhm, yes, yes, I am. Well, antiques, actually. Not just firearms, either. Furnishings, sculptures…” Breaking off his thought, he lifted a piece of paper from his desk and extended it towards her. “This is why I’ve asked to meet with you.”

Colt took the piece of paper, blank except for a short note printed in standard type.

“Enjoy tomorrow because the next sunset will be the last time you live to see daylight.”

An agitated Courtwright held up a handful of similar papers. “These came before. I hadn’t taken them very seriously. Because of my wealth, the threat of kidnaping for ransom is always present. I’ve even had threats on my life before as a result of ill feelings after business deals. Mueller here has been handling my security for many years and I have the utmost confidence in his abilities. No threat has ever come close to being carried out.”

The big man’s eyes seemed to be staring a hole in the floor. Colt handed the threatening note back to Courtwright.

“I initially hired Bill because he had the reputation as one of the best security men in the business. He’s proven his abilities and I’ve trusted him with my life. However, while one of the best, he’s not ‘the best’ in the business. From all I understand, that title belongs to you, and present circumstances require that I be protected by the best.”

“What makes the most recent threat of any more concern than the others, Mr. Courtwright?” Colt studied Mueller’s attempts to hide his discomfort at the perceived injury to his reputation by his employer.

“The fact that it was waiting on my pillow when I went to bed last night. That’s a breach of security that’s unprecedented. What’s worse, nobody can tell me how it happened so I can’t be certain it won’t happen again.”

“So, you want to hire me to find out how security was breached.”

“Yes, for a start. I also want to live to see tomorrow morning and I want whoever’s making these threats caught. If you’re as good as I hear you are, and given the rather specific nature of the most recent threat, I believe we’re talking about one night’s work. Needless to say, I’ll pay handsomely for your services.”

Colt considered the offer. She wished she had more background on her potential client. The quick background check she had completed this morning before agreeing to meet with him had revealed only that he had no criminal record or known criminal associates. Her more detailed check conducted on the plane ride here had disclosed that much of his wealth had been inherited, although he had invested wisely and had added to the family fortune. A rare mention in the society pages. An even rarer mention in the financial section. He seemed nervous, eager to have her accept his offer. Natural under the circumstances.

“My normal rate for investigation is $1000 a day, plus expenses. I don’t generally act as a bodyguard, although under the circumstances keeping you alive is part of the deal. In that regard, I wouldn’t want there to be any friction with Mr. Mueller and his associates. I’d appreciate his assistance, but I’d be working for you.”

“$1000?” Courtwright reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of bills. Peeling two from the top, he handed them to Colt. “This being Friday, I went to the bank and withdrew some money so that I’d have cash for a down payment in the event you agreed to help me. It appears my idea of the value of my life is quite a bit higher than your ‘normal’ rate. Strange, I find myself wishing you’d asked for more, although I suppose I’ll get your best effort no matter what I pay.”

Colt took the bills and slipped them into her jacket pocket. “I’ll need a rundown of everything that’s happened so far. A layout of the estate and the buildings on it, and the security measures in place.”

“Of course! Bill, take care of it.”

Mueller nodded his head in assent. “Yes, sir! Colt if you’ll come with me we can head over to the main security room and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Colt followed Mueller out of the study and down a staircase. The security chief seemed to be handling the incursion into his area of responsibility well. He swiped a passcard through a reader and a metal door opened into a room full of video monitors. Sitting down at a table, he pushed a folder in her direction. “Here’s a copy of the file. Everything we’ve got on this case.”

The Weapons Mistress surveyed the contents. “Mm-hmm. Tell me about the estate.”

“About 25 acres. Roughly rectangular. It’s walled on 3 sides. Stone. You saw. About 8 feet high. The top has broken glass cemented onto it and a 3 foot barbed-wire extension tilted out. There are motion sensors on the inside perimeter set about 4 feet high and 10 feet wide. The fourth side is a cliff face that looks out on the ocean. There’s a 12 foot high electrified fence that’s turned on at night. There’s also a security gate that leads to steps down to the beach. Three of my people patrol the grounds randomly every night, coding in their arrival at checkpoints they’re required to reach at least once every hour. We also have electronic video surveillance of the grounds. The cameras pan automatically but can also be manually operated from this room. There are no blindspots within 100 yards of the main house.”

“What about the other buildings?”

“A guest house, a 6-car garage, an outdoor kitchen, a shower when you come up from the beach. We’ve swept the structures and all are empty. Video surveillance around each.”

“How about surveillance inside the main house?”

“None. Mr. Courtwright doesn’t want it. Instead, he’s got live-in security. Myself, Wilson, Jones, de Souza, and Ames. Those are my people. We’ve all worked together at least 10 years. They’re professionals. I just don’t know how this guy got into the house!”

“Guy?”

“Man, woman, who knows. My gut says it’s a guy!”

“Mmm…Okay, theories on how the threat got into his room?”

“He was at a charity function last night. People knew that he’d be attending and that it would run late. Three of us were with him, so only two people were left to watch the grounds. One outside and one in this room. Neither saw or heard anything suspicious.”

“What about other staff?”

“A cook, a butler, and a maid. They had left for the day before we headed out to the charity event on Thursday evening. This morning he called them all and gave them today and the rest of the weekend off. Fewer people for us to keep track of inside the house.”

“Okay, I’d like to meet the rest of your people.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

With efficiency, Colt was introduced to Candace Jones, Patricia de Souza and Ronald Ames, and re-introduced to Phil Wilson. All four seemed fiercely loyal to Mueller but she didn’t sense great irritation that she had been employed. The Weapons Mistress found it odd that they weren’t more ticked off that she was there. It would only be natural for them to be annoyed by the thought that their employer had found their services deficient.

By the time she had inspected the length of the grounds and all of the structures, it was dusk. Colt returned with Mueller to the main house where both once again met with Mr. Courtwright.

The Weapons Mistress wasted no time, “Let Mr. Mueller and his people handle things on their end, business as usual. I’d like to put a wire on you so that we can communicate directly at any time. I’m aware of your feelings about your privacy b…”

“Nonsense! These are extraordinary circumstances. You want me to wear a wire, I’ll wear a wire!”

“Good. That’s sensible.” Colt pulled a small transmitter/receiver from a pouch on her belt and inserted it inside Courtwright’s ear. One of her own earrings received transmissions on the same frequency. “Okay, everyone can carry on as usual. I’ll be around.”

With that pronouncement, the Weapons Mistress turned on her heels and walked toward the steps leading to the main security room, leaving Courtwright to ponder what exactly she would be doing to protect him. After a moment’s hesitation, Mueller followed.

“You’ll be around?” A grin flashed across Mueller’s face.

“Yeah. I want to see those floorplans again and I’m going to want access to every room in the house.”

Mueller slid his access card through the door lock and they entered the security room. “Sure, I’ll tell my people not to get in your way.”

The bank of video monitors panned the grounds. “Well, the sun’s set. 9 hours ‘till dawn. Time to get to work.” Colt strode out of the security room with plans in hand, leaving Mueller to oversee his own people. Something about the “security” didn’t seem right to her, but she didn’t sense that any of them were behind Courtwright’s troubles. The first question to answer was how somebody got into the house to leave the note. Even with only two security people present last night, the other measures should ordinarily have been sufficient to keep unwanted intruders from accessing the grounds. Perhaps a highly skilled thief? Not usually the type to commit murder. Although not out of the question. Dollface leapt to mind! Still, what dealings would Courtwright have had with her?

Another possibility was an inside job. Her earlier walk-through of the house hadn’t measured up. Now, as she paced the formal living room, it was clear that the dimensions did not correspond with the floorplan. Secret passageways wouldn’t be uncommon in a house of this vintage. If the occupants knew of them, why wasn’t she told, and, if they didn’t, who might?

In her ear, she listened to Courtwright as he prepared for bed. The sound of the TV turning on caught her attention. Reaching into her belt, she activated her transmitter, “Mr. Courtwright, please turn off the TV, the noise might mask something I need to hear.”

“But, how’m I going to fall asleep?”

“Read a book, count sheep, no TV, no radio.”

The TV turned off and she could hear him rummaging around. The sound of his body climbing back into bed was followed by the flipping of pages and muttering. It would seem he’d chosen reading a book. Colt returned the transmitter to her belt and continued examining the living room. If there was a secret passageway, she placed it between this room and the study. She surveyed the fixtures. None appeared to be original to the room. At the rear of the room, two thin lines of dust at the baseboard of the inset bookcase. Typical, but where’s the release catch? Extracting a small aerosol bottle from a pouch on her boot, she sprayed the woodwork of the cabinet. The oily residue of fingerprints concentrated in one area led her to closer inspection and, when she pushed with her own thumb in the same spot, the bookcase slid forward noiselessly to reveal the passageway between the walls that she had suspected.

Extracting a small flashlight, she entered the darkness, following a collection of footprints left in the dust. Her path took her to the edge of a staircase leading both down into the darkness and up toward the second floor. She had an idea where the passage up came out, Courtwright’s bedroom, but what of the one going down?

Suddenly, in her ear, she heard the sound of Courtwright stirring. “Wha..? You! How’d you get in here? Wait! Colt! Colt, where are you!?! No! Nmph!” The sound of Courtwright’s muffled voice echoed in the Weapons Mistress’s ear as she bounded up the steps of the interior staircase. Then, two muffled shots and silence!

Colt had reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner in the passageway when she saw that the secret entrance to Courtwright’s room was ajar. Her Clippers already in her hands, she proceeded cautiously. Whoever had been in Courtwright’s room hadn’t exited this way and she had to assume was still in there. Sliding out of the passage into the moonlit room, she found no one. Moving quietly and ever alert, she checked the bedroom door and found it locked. A quick glance under the bed and up at the ceiling revealed nothing. The closet was empty, as was the bathroom, and the window latched shut. Could there be another exit to a different passageway?

She approached Courtwright’s bed. His body, sprawled out beneath the covers, was motionless. A bullet-riddled pillow covered his face. “Damn!” A note pinned to the other side of the pillow caught her attention. Leaning over, so as not to disturb the scene, she grasped the corner of the message and peered at it in the low light.

“Good night, Colt?” A flash of light from below blinded her as smoke billowed up into her mouth and nostrils! Coughing from the noxious fumes, she stepped back, her mind reeling! In a daze she stumbled back toward the bed, grabbing the now destroyed pillow and tossing it aside to reveal the shattered head of a mannequin.

She was vaguely aware that the lights had come on in the room as she fell forward, queasy, her head swimming in an ocean of swirling colors. Her body slumped upon the bed, but rubbery legs were unable to support her and she slid down until her momentum left her toppling backwards onto the floor. Lashes fluttered over glazed eyes before heavy lids shut and she sank into unconsciousness.

Part 2

“Unhh…”

Conscious thoughts drifted into her dream and the Weapons Mistress realized she was awakening. Her body ached. The sensation of liquid on her lips suggested blood. Odd, she didn’t remember taking a beating.

“Uhh…”

She forced her eyes open for the briefest of moments before the first glare of light slammed them shut again. Trying again, she managed a view through fluttering eyelashes but the gauzy haze revealed nothing. Blinking her eyelids open, she gave her pupils some time to adjust. Through still cloudy vision she realized somebody was right in her face, peering at her.

“Ohh…”

Shutting her eyes briefly, she tried to clear her head. It seemed even her teeth hurt. Determined, she opened her eyes again to return the stare of…

“Mmm…”

Her own reflection. As her vision, and her wits, returned, it occurred to her that she was laying face down. The bloody lip she had imagined, only drool escaping from the side of her mouth. She rolled herself over on to her back and wiped her mouth dry with her forearm. The stiffness in her arms and legs, and the crick in the back of her neck, signaled she had been motionless in her previous position for some time. Colt felt bruising on her chin and cheek. Whoever had left her in here hadn’t been worried about her hurting herself as she hit the floor. She shivered. The room was inordinately cold. She looked up at the ceiling a good 30 feet away. Most likely plexiglass, the light bathing the room originating on the other side. The walls, stainless steel.

“Urrr…”

Colt sits and contemplates her situation!Her bearings established, she moved herself into a sitting position. Her costume had been removed. That would at least partially explain why she felt she was freezing. She had been left in a bra and panties. She didn’t need to check to know that her earrings had been removed, as well. Colt noted ruefully that even her fingernails had been trimmed.

She contemplated the undergarments that clearly were not the ones she had previously been wearing. The black lace bra was at least two sizes to small and so constricting that she wondered if it might be affecting her circulation. The matching thong panties fit only slightly better. Her captor had been thorough. He had taken no chance that she had secreted a weapon in any article of her clothing. Indeed, it was a smart move on his part, she had used the underwire in her bra to escape predicaments before. Still, why not leave her naked?

“Hmmm…”

Most likely, there was some kind of tracking device attached to the clothing. She made a mental note to ditch the provided outfit when she came up with a plan for escape. In the meantime, what little coverage it provided was welcome.

Standing, she looked around the room. It was approximately 8 feet by 8 feet, with no windows. The floor and walls were stainless steel as she had initially surmised. The door was recessed perfectly and, from a distance, its’ location was barely noticeable.

Knitting her brow, she considered the events that had brought her to this room. Clearly, the plot against Courtwright had been a ruse to lure her into a trap. Why her? Perhaps more importantly, why him? Was he the mastermind or acting as a pawn for someone else? Her last memory before awaking was looking up through glazed eyes at his face. If he was behind this, he obviously had some plan for her or he wouldn’t have kept her alive when he had her completely at his mercy. She’d find out soon enough what he had in mind. Meanwhile, she moved about the room trying to generate some body heat to ward off the cold.

***

“Ahh, our Weapons Mistress is awake, is she?”

Courtwright strode into the observation room where Mueller observed the closed-circuit feed from the camera hidden in the lights above Colt’s cell.

“Yes, sir. She’s up and about.”

“Taking her capture well?”

“Very calm.”

“Good. You’ve got the air conditioning cranked up, right?”

“Per instruction. She’s been moving around, trying to warm herself up. When I zoom in, you can see the goosebumps, though.”

“Now, Bill, why would you need to zoom in?” Courtwright laughed and slapped his security chief on the shoulder. “I think it’s time to make it a little colder in there. Crank up the air conditioning. Maybe you won’t need to zoom in to see the goosebumps.”

“Yes, sir. Tell me something…”

“You want to know why she’s not nekkid, Bill?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So does she. One more thing for her to think about. Don’t forget to lower the temperature in there. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

***

A shivering Valencia Kirk stopped to assess her condition. By her count, based upon the steady walking pace she had maintained and the number of steps she had taken, approximately 2 hours had passed. Despite her efforts, she knew her body temperature had fallen. The blue lips and pallid skin of the reflection on the wall told her she was slowly freezing. If she didn’t produce more body heat, it wouldn’t be long before she sank into unconsciousness. The drawback was that to produce more kinetic energy she had to exert more effort. She could only keep up a high enough level for so long and then, tired and sweaty, the cold would do her in twice as fast. Still, better to try something than to slide slowly into oblivion.

Continuing to keep track of her steps, she picked up the pace. Jogging in a circle around the room, she felt some warmth return to her limbs. To take her mind off the cold, she let her mind wander to her encounters with James Courtwright as she tried to deduce the motivation for imprisoning her.

***

Mueller glanced up at the clock. 6 hours since she had first awakened. He’d passed up every opportunity to go on break. The sight of the diminutive hardbody bouncing around the room as her ill-fitting ensemble struggled to contain her flesh had been exhilarating! Oddly, that sensation paled in comparison to the more fascinating recent hours as he had watched her pace slow.

A weary and cold Colt struggles for survival!The bounce in her step had gone and more leaden legs trudged forward. Occasional bursts of energy quickly subsided and the glistening sweat on her skin had gradually taken on the look of frost. Every step seemed more difficult than the last as her strength inexorably diminished, and now, her legs failing her, she stumbled against the wall, leaning heavily against the steel, unable to stand on wobbly legs without assistance. Her fingers struggled to unsecure the bra constricting her heaving chest but, to no avail, as weariness and extreme cold hampered her dexterity. Finally, she slid down the wall to the floor, balling up to try and contain some warmth.

Mueller pressed the intercom button. “Mr. Courtwright, the cold’s got her.”

After a long pause, the panel squawked back, “About time. Turn off the air conditioning and bring the heating coils online.”

Mueller did as instructed and signaled his man at the door to take over for him while he took a break. He wondered if James Courtwright had considered the prospect that the heroine might strip for them of her own volition when the decision was made to dress her in clothing that allowed her to retain the barest measure of her dignity. If so, the deviousness was impressive.

***

The cold chills that wracked Valencia Kirk’s body had imperceptibly been diminishing for the better part of an hour when she sensed warmth replacing the chill in her bones. So, the plan wasn’t for her to freeze to death, at least not yet. As her body temperature slowly returned to normal, she took advantage of the opportunity to relax. Stretching out on the floor, she closed her eyes and reflected on the purpose behind her torture. She had been taken to the brink of death and then spared. Why? Was it as simple as a sadistic impulse to keep her alive so that she could act as a further victim, or was there more to it? Perhaps, a test? Of stamina? Or will?

One thing was for certain, she wasn’t done. Heat would be the next hurdle. She could feel the steel below her back getting hotter. Then, the room went completely dark and she heard a sound from somewhere overhead before the metallic ringing of an object hitting the floor reverberated around the room. When the lights returned seconds later, she raised herself up onto her haunches and looked to see what had joined her in her cell. A bar of chocolate? She walked over and picked it up.

“Hmmm.”

An energy bar. Unwrapped. Drugged? She tossed it in the corner. No need to find out. Any benefit it could give would be temporary and was outweighed by the risk. Besides, it had already provided her with confirmation of what had previously only been speculation. There was access to the room through the ceiling and, most likely, cameras up above recording her every move. Of course, that knowledge and a nickel wouldn’t buy her a dime candy.

The room had become uncomfortably warm as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Temperature extremes. She’d been right. It seemed part of the agenda was to wear her down physically and mentally. She decided the plan wasn’t for her to die in this room and that whatever happened here was leading up to something else. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and watched the chocolate covering of the energy bar melt onto the floor.

***

Colt gets the hotfoot!Ames watched as beads of perspiration falling from the Weapons Mistress’s body turned to steam upon hitting the steel floor of her cell. That was more like it! The hotfoot provided by raising the temperature had lifted her from the doldrums of heat exhaustion and sent her knees thrusting into the air as she tried to avoid burning the soles of her feet. As expected, Ames was enjoying the show, salivating over the jiggling flesh on the monitor, when Mueller returned.

“Ron, what the hell?”

“She needed a little wake-up, boss!”

“Dammit! Courtwright wants her softened up, not cooked! Knock it off!”

“Okay. Okay. Here, I’m turning the setting back to where it was before. Are you happy now? Jeez, I just wanted to have a little fun!”

“You better hope that this little stunt of yours doesn’t get back to Courtwright. He’ll have your head. Get outta here, you’re back on perimeter duty.”

“Aww, come on, Bill! She’s not hurt. Look! She’s fine!”

“Yeah, no thanks to you. I hope the show was worth it, Ron, because I’m not letting you behind these controls again.”

“Damn, Bill,” Ames got up to leave the control room. “Well,” he turned and winked at his boss, “It was worth it.”

Mueller watched him go and, as the door shut, he chuckled to himself. “I’ll bet it was.”

***

An exhausted Valencia Kirk, breathing heavily, staggered across the floor. Every breath caused her to wince from the pain in her lungs. The metal had cooled enough that she was in no danger of burning her feet but the temperature in the room still had the feel of a sauna. Weary, she dropped to her knees and tried to compose herself. When the floor had heated to burning temperatures, she’d wondered if she’d been wrong about the plan not being for her to die in this room. Now, as the heat had again become more bearable before she suffered any serious injury, she was more convinced than ever that she had been right.

Lifting her head, she looked up at the lights and smiled.

“I’m still here.”

Part 3

The lights had gone out but the stifling heat remained and there was a heavy dampness in the air that could not be accounted for solely by the steam rising from her own sweat. The humidity in the room filled her lungs and made it difficult for her to breathe. An additional torment? The scent, not eucalyptus, but familiar. Of course! Val dropped to the floor and kept her breathing shallow. Gas!

Despite her quick reaction, she was already feeling light-headed. Indeed, she realized that there was little she could do to prevent herself from feeling whatever effect was intended. Once the room was saturated, staying low would be little help as the fumes would gradually sink all the way to the floor. She felt her mind tiring and her breathing grew heavy. With a start she realized the lights had come back on but the room was engulfed in fog. Had she heard a door opening? Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and forced them behind her back as a knee pressed between her shoulder blades kept her stationary on the floor. Once her wrists had been safely shackled together, she was roughly hoisted to her feet to be escorted from the room. In truth, despite her efforts to walk on her own might, her rubbery legs left her handlers to do most of the work as she was unceremoniously dragged into a hallway.

Free from the noxious air, her mind began to clear and she recognized Jones and Wilson as they took off their gas masks. She tried to rise to her feet but stumbling legs still refused to follow her mental command and she again found herself half-dragged, half-carried by the pair through a haze of corridors until, with a suddenness, she was on the grounds of the estate squinting against the late afternoon sunshine.

The fresh air and natural light aided her in shaking off the effects of the sleeping gas and, by the time the trio reached their evident destination, Val was again alert and fit. Courtwright stood with the rest of his bodyguards before her.

“Hey, there, Colt, I hope you’ve been enjoying the accommodations!” Courtwright had a wide grin on his face from the knowing sarcasm, cocksure that he was in control.

Val took a long look at her “host.” He was decked out like some gunfighter in a spaghetti western with a longcoat, double-gunbelts, and two six-shooters. She pursed her lips as if giving the question consideration. “Not particularly.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that.” Courtwright retained the grin, but his annoyance at the nature of her reaction was visible in his eyes. He had expected false bravado from a proud heroine. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here?”

“Actually, I’m more interested in determining how I’m going to leave.”

There was a little bit more of the attitude he expected, although still not what he had imagined. Courtwright had to admit she was a cool one. “Oh, it all ties in. You may recall, when you first arrived, noticing my interest in firearms. At the time, modesty precluded me from admitting that my interest runs quite deep. In fact, more than an interest, it’s a passion!”

With lightning speed, Courtwright drew a sidearm and a bullet crashed through a wooden stake planted in the ground 25 feet away as the gun’s report and the pistol sliding back into its holster happened almost simultaneously. “A passion that led to my taking up shooting at a tender age.” He whirled and fired his other weapon, obliterating a different stake 30 feet away. As he casually slid the .45 back into its holster, it was difficult to recall the gun having been drawn.

“As a young buck, I showed some promise.” Both guns blazed as stakes in two separate directions 35 feet away shattered and with a twirling flourish each pistol was re-holstered. “Since then, it’s been practice, practice, practice!” Before she could blink, Val was staring down the barrel of an old Smith and Wesson.

Courtwright winked, and put the gun away. “To make a long story short, I’ve developed a reputation in some circles as the fastest gun alive. I’ve met some others who’ve made the same claim. We meet at privately sponsored contests, here and there, around the world. So far, I’m the only one who can still claim to be the fastest. Or alive, for that matter.”

“Yeah, you sure killed those wooden stakes dead.” Val nodded appreciatively as if she was serious.

Courtwright’s eyes darkened. “Make no mistake, the mortality of the target is of no concern to me. Indeed, that’s why I was approached about you. You’ve made some enemies and it seems that at least some of your enemies are the kind of people who have knowledge of my extracurricular activity.”

Placid blue eyes returned his gaze. As Courtwright’s pause failed to elicit a response, he continued, “Not interested in who? Well, probably best, as I’m not at liberty to divulge that information just yet. Anyway, I was approached by these as yet unnamed individuals and asked if I’d have any interest in engaging you in a gunfight. Colt? The Weapons Mistress? says I! She’s got a reputation as a crack shot. Some might even say she’s the fastest gun alive! Of course, I’d be interested in a duel. If the price is right. But, how? She’d never agree to such a thing!”

Val let him talk. Not only was information valuable, but the insights into his character might be exploited. It was evident that he enjoyed being in control of the situation. He wanted her to know how good he was and to remind her that he had power. Partly, she surmised, out of ego, but buried deep she sensed that, like many arrogant people, he had self-doubt.

“Funny thing is, Colt, the price was right. So right that it had to happen whether you would agree or not. I suppose your enemies knew that would be the case when they approached me. You see, any price would have been right if it was enough to make it happen. Once they put the thought in my head, I had to know how it would turn out. They paid me handsomely and left the arrangements to me and you walked into my trap like a doe to a brook.

“Still, despite my disappointment at how little opposition you’ve been so far, I’d like to be as fair as possible. That’s why I’ve arranged for this little demonstration. So, you can see exactly what you’re going to be facing.”

Courtwright shed his long coat and turned. A set of sequenced lights, like those found at the start of a drag race, was set up 50 feet away. The two vertical columns of lights, going from red at the top, through 4 rows of amber, to green at the bottom, were unlit. “Ames, show Colt here how fast the sequence goes from red to green.”

Ames pressed a button on a remote and the lights cycled in less than a second. Giving her a toothy smile, Ames pressed the button again and again green appeared a split second after red.

“Thanks, Ron. Whenever you’re ready.” Courtwright stood feet shoulder width apart, hands at the ready near the butt of his guns.

Val saw the red light and then the green, without a hint of amber crossing her vision, as blazing pistols and shattering glass echoed in her ears.

Courtwright slipped the empty cartridge out of both revolvers and re-loaded. “Of course, you could do that, right?”

“Don’t know. I’d be happy to try.” Val smiled.

“Yeah, not going to happen today.” Firing behind his back, Courtwright blasted the head off a mannequin set up 40 feet away. “Not going to happen tomorrow, either.” Another report from his weapon and a bullet burned through twine holding up a wooden target. A third found the bullseye before the target hit the ground.

“Fast and accurate. That’s some of the best shooting I’ve ever seen.” Val’s comment elicited the reaction she expected. He wanted her to show fear, through word or gesture, to assure himself that he was in control. Her matter of fact attitude worried him. She could sense that Courtwright was becoming more and more irritated that she wasn’t seemingly impressed enough with his ability or the precariousness of her situation. He had already spent so much time trying to make sure that she wasn’t physically or mentally at the top of her game when he faced her that he had already revealed his own doubts as to whether he was able to best her if she was at full strength. Sowing new seeds of doubt in his mind could only work to her advantage.

“You stupid fool! I’m not looking for your unbiased opinion. I’m going to kill you tomorrow! Gun you down like a dog! Don’t you realize that?!?” Courtwright’s face began to turn red. “Come on, let’s show her where she’s going to die.”

The group marched toward the side of the estate overlooking the ocean. Val strolled confidently as she was led first down one side of a divided stone staircase and then down the main staircase to a field bordered on the other end by the cliff overlooking the beach below. She kept her posture straight and a look of bemusement on her face as she knew that everyone was watching her. Some, like Courtwright, were looking for signs of weakness or fear. Others were hoping to gain some insight into whether she would survive their employer’s murderous intentions, at least long enough to be done in by someone else among the group. Still others simply took pleasure in watching her body move in the sheer fabric of the tight bra and panties in which she remained clad.

With the setting sun behind them, Courtwright said, “Tomorrow, at noon, you’ll be brought here to face me in mortal combat.” Waving a hand toward the ocean, he continued, “You’ll stand over there and I’ll descend down this staircase to meet you on the field of battle. I’ve made a pact with your acquaintances to record the event for posterity so that they may view your demise despite being unable to attend out of what I believe to be an overabundance of caution. I’m sure the video will prove to be an international sensation in underworld circles.”

Val rolled her eyes. “Oh, please!”

Courtwright shot her a glance with piercing eyes before allowing a quirky smile to play across his lips. “Come on, I’m the villain of the piece. A little melodrama is to be expected isn’t it?”

His bodyguards chuckled at the change of pace. Wilson chided her, “Come on sweet cheeks, where’s your sense of humor?” The follow-up pinch of her butt prompted such a startled reaction in Val that the chuckles turned to guffaws.

Val eyed Wilson up and down. “I’ll remember that.”

De Souza shook her head sadly. “Not for long, honey.”

“Okay, okay, we’re done here.” Mueller motioned for Wilson and Jones to escort Colt back to the mansion.

As the big man stepped toward her side, Val waited until his lead foot was about to plant and then set herself up for a kick that drove her heel down into the side of his knee just as he shifted his weight forward onto that leg. The effect was instantaneous as Wilson crumpled to the ground, howling, and clutching his knee.

“You %!#%*! Oh, spit! This freakin’ hurts! Ohhh! I’ll kill you!” Wilson reached for the gun in his shoulder holster only to come up short as he saw the barrel of Courtwright’s revolver inches away from his forehead.

“Now, Phil, that’s my job. I’d hate to lose you.” Courtwright stared the big man down. With little other choice, Wilson gritted his teeth and decided to examine his injury rather than follow through with his impulse.

Val looked at De Souza. “I guess I had long enough.”

Standing at Colt’s shoulder, Jones said, “Just barely,” even as she jammed a hypodermic needle into Colt’s glute.

Colt winced. She hadn’t seen that coming. She felt her body tense up. Soon she was unable to move her limbs as the toxin affected her nervous system. In seconds, she was stiff as a board and about to fall over when Jones caught her under her arms.

Courtwright walked over to the helpless heroine. “You’re supposed to be good. Look at you. Pathetic! I was going to make it fairly quick tomorrow, give you an honorable death, but you don’t deserve it! Maybe I should gut-shoot you and let you bleed out. That would be appropriate ‘cause you’re gutless! You were easy to capture, you’re ineffectual at escape. Look at you, you can’t even stand up to me. Get her out of here!”

Mueller ordered Ames to help Jones carry Colt’s rigid body back to her cell. The involuntary convulsions wracking the body of the Weapons Mistress made the task more difficult but soon she was again face down on the stainless steel floor of her home for the last day. Ames removed the shackles binding her wrists together. “Don’t worry, Sugar, the poison wears off in about an hour. You’ll be up jogging around again in no time. Let me just say, it’s been a pleasure getting to see you in person. I’m a big fan. It’s a shame Courtwright’s gonna kill you tomorrow.”

Val lay motionless on the floor. She knew that the toxin wasn’t responsible for the tightness she was feeling in her chest. Despite Courtwright’s own self-doubt, no amount of mind games would change the fact that he was faster than her. Much faster, even before his ploys to wear her down. After sleep deprivation, temperature extremes, poison, and sleeping gas, there was no chance that she could beat him on the draw. When noon rolled around, she was going to die. The tightness she was feeling in her chest was fear!

Part 4

The cycle had again turned cold, but Valencia Kirk paid no attention. With knowledge of her abductor’s plan, came the understanding that Courtwright would make certain that she survived any of his attempts to wear her down. He wanted her uncomfortable, depleted, ill, but not dead. At least, not yet. Even as he added a mist of water to increase the chill, she sat relaxed in a meditative state, re-playing his shooting exhibition in her mind. Many times in the past hours, she’d realized her heart was racing and she’d had to force herself to calm down. She understood and accepted that she was afraid, but she couldn’t allow her anxiety and desperation to overcome her instinct for survival. Val was certain that the events of the last 2 days had revealed a way to escape her predicament. All she had to do was visualize it.

Of course, even if she figured out how to best Courtwright, there would still be Mueller and his associates to tackle. They were all armed professionals who were unlikely to embrace the idea of going to jail. Luckily, Wilson had provided her with an opportunity to reduce the odds against her without his injury appearing to have been done for that purpose. Finally, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep. She needed to be as rested as possible come morning.

Val awoke to find herself being carried down a hallway by De Souza and Jones. Her wrists were again cuffed behind her back. They entered a locker room and Val spied her costume, neatly folded, on a long table. De Souza saw that their burden was alert.

“Candy, she’s awake.”

Jones nodded in understanding and allowed Colt’s legs to drop to the floor. The Weapons Mistress unsteadily wavered on still rubbery limbs. De Souza unhooked Colt’s bra in the back and easily tore the sheer fabric straps around her shoulders, allowing the garment to drop to the floor. Then, she grabbed the lace at each of Colt’s hips and ripped the panties away from the heroine’s body. The Weapons Mistress raised an eyebrow and De Souza smirked before pushing Colt toward another door.

“Time to get you cleaned up for your funeral!”

The feel of warm water splashing against Val’s skin soothed bones and muscles sore from over 30 hours of combined confinement. De Souza enthusiastically applied fragrant soap to Colt’s body while Jones kneaded shampoo through the trademark long red hair of the Weapons Mistress. Val enjoyed the massaging effect of their fingers pressing into her flesh. By the time the last of the sweat and grime had been washed from her body, she felt relaxed and invigorated.

As Jones turned off the shower, De Souza squeezed the excess water from Colt’s hair. With stunning quickness, Val slammed the back of her skull into De Souza’s forehead, sending the wiry blonde reeling. Before Jones could react, Colt leaped into the air and caught her with a straight kick to the chest that slammed her into the wall.

Val made a break for the door and her gear, but as she crashed into the adjoining room she tripped over an extended leg and skidded futilely across the floor. A knee between her shoulder blades stopped her floundering attempts to regain her footing.

“Grab her legs.”

Mueller and Ames hoisted the Weapons Mistress into the air and dropped her down hard on the table as she squirmed unsuccessfully in an attempt to break free of their grips.

“Now that wasn’t very nice of you! The ladies were just following Mr. Courtwright’s orders to have you looking fit and healthy for the showdown.”

Jones burst through the door from the shower room. “Aaargh! I swear, I’m going to lay a whippin’ on that…”

“Forget it, Candice! Everything’s under control. How’s De Souza?”

“She’s out cold, Bill! Probably got a concussion! As far as I’m concerned, we should just do her now. She’s dangerous! We’re takin’ a big chance here!”

“Yeah, maybe, but you know as well as I do that Courtwright’s a helluva lot more dangerous. Look, Patty’ll be fine. She’s tough. Go get some smellin’ salts and wake her ass up, that’s all.”

Mueller pressed down hard on the back of Colt’s neck and grabbed a towel from the table with his free hand while Ames maintained an iron grip on her ankles. He chuckled as he began to dry off her back.

“I’ll tell you what, Colt. It’s a good thing you only have another hour to live or that girl would kill you!”

Once he had finished toweling off her rear, Mueller and Ames flipped the Weapons Mistress over. Pressing his forearm against her throat, Mueller smiled as Colt tried in vain to draw air into her lungs while he worked the cotton fabric against her chest and abdomen. Her body jerked violently as she slowly asphyxiated, but Mueller abruptly removed the pressure against her throat and shifted it to her chest as he went to work drying off her legs. Finally, he dried her hair as best as he could and wiped off her face while Jones returned and went into the shower room to revive De Souza.

“There you go, almost done.” Mueller tossed her costume pants down towards her legs. “Now, Ron here is going to help you put your clothes on.” He had gone over her garments with a fine-tooth comb and was fairly certain that he’d removed all her hidden gadgets. Still, just in case, he had taken the precaution of putting all of her clothes in the microwave for 30 seconds, long enough to disable any electronic signal device he may have missed. “The boss wants you in costume when he guns you down and then we’ll do the big reveal at the end so that his employers can confirm your identity.”

Colt noticed that the pile of clothes didn’t include her underwear. Probably not integral to Courtwright’s plan and, therefore, subject to scavenging by his vultures as souvenirs. She suspected her earrings had likely been taken as trophies by Courtwright himself.

Mueller covered Colt’s face with the towel and pulled it down tight around her head, once again limiting her ability to breathe. “The longer it takes Ron here to get your pants on, the worse off you’re going to be when you face Courtwright, so I suggest you don’t struggle.”

Ames released one of her ankles and slid a legging over her foot as the Weapons Mistress began to kick violently. “Oh, good, it looks like this is going to take awhile. I was going to go slow and enjoy myself, anyway.”

As Colt wriggled in her attempts to get free of Mueller’s restraint, Ames carefully worked her pants up onto her legs, avoiding her kicks as she blindly lashed out at him. Once he had reached the top of her thighs, he paused and drank in the scene before yanking the elastic fabric up over her hips. Then, the two men rolled the helpless heroine onto her stomach and Mueller extracted a key from his shirt pocket and unlocked her handcuffs. The weight of the two men forcing her body against the table kept her from being able to wiggle free and they slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket before her wrists were re-handcuffed. Finally, Ames grabbed each foot in turn and put on her socks and boots before she was pulled off of the table and onto her feet.

Mueller moved in front of the Weapons Mistress, stepping squarely on her toes, while Ames held her from behind. Colt stared at him defiantly, her chest heaving from the exertion of the last few minutes. Mueller pulled the jacket up over her shoulders and buttoned it closed in the front, his eyes never leaving her chest. Ames yanked her hair back into a ponytail and placed her mask onto her head, tying it tight in the back. Then, with a patronizing tap, her hat was placed on her head.

The pair was finished dressing her when Jones and De Souza finally emerged from the shower room. De Souza had a glazed look in her eyes but was walking and seemed to know where she was and what had happened to her. The two women exchanged their wet clothes for dry garments and assisted Ames in holding Colt while Mueller walked over to a cabinet at the far end of the room and removed Colt’s gunbelt from within. He grinned in triumph as he saw the covetous look in the eyes of the Weapons Mistress and wrapped the belt around his own waist.

“Barely fits! I guess I’ll have to have it lengthened.” Mueller thrilled at the look of dejection on Colt’s face. “Things not exactly working out the way you want, huh? I guess maybe you’re not the smartest person in the room, after all.”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. “Who is? Ames?”

“Hunh!” Mueller checked his watch. “Okay, folks, time to head out.”

With De Souza leading, Jones and Ames holding Colt’s arms, and Mueller bringing up the rear, the group moved through the maze of passageways and staircases until they exited the mansion. The ocean water glistened as they walked across the grounds until Colt stood with her back at the fence guarding the cliff. Before her, in the distance, were the steps that she had walked down yesterday. Wilson sat at a table off to the left, elevating his injured leg on a folding chair and talking on a cellphone. On the right, at the middle of the field, was a bank of electronic equipment. Colt noticed several stationary video cameras mounted around the field. Apparently, Courtwright wanted every angle covered. Ames and Jones walked toward the video console and Jones began testing to make sure everything was ready to record while Ames retrieved a hand-held video camera and took up a position just off toward Colt’s right. De Souza moved off to her left and toward Wilson, while Mueller remained by her side.

“There’s no place to run, Colt. So don’t even think about it.” Mueller pulled a vintage Colt .45 out of his shoulder holster and popped out the empty cylinder. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I promise it shoots straight. If you beat him on the draw, the gun won’t fail you. You deserve that much of a chance.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Mueller placed a single bullet into the cylinder and slid the apparatus back into the revolver making sure that the firing pin would strike the loaded chamber on the next pull. “If you miss, it’ll already be too late.”

“Sure.”

Drawing her waistband away from her skin, Mueller nestled the gun against her belly. “You’re not used to pulling from an open holster anyway.”

“This way’s just as fast.”

Mueller glanced at the Weapons Mistress, her breasts moving up and down with each heavy breath. Removing the handcuff key from his pocket, he moved behind her and put his Glock to her head. “I’m going to unshackle one of your wrists. Put your hands in front of you and cuff your wrists together again or I’ve been authorized by Mr. Courtwright to blow your head off.”

Colt paused and then slowly did as she was told. When the handcuffs clicked back into place, Mueller exhaled, put his gun away, and moved off to her side. “It’s almost over, just a little longer.”

As noon approached, all eyes turned towards the top of the stairs as Courtwright appeared. Dressed in his finest gunslinging garb, he looked like an outlaw in an old western movie. However, the quick-draw guns and gun-belt he sported were decidedly modern. Courtwright began to descend the stairs with a deliberate pace and Mueller knew from his employer’s walk that the tiny heroine would bleed out in the most slow and painful way that Courtwright could engineer. He almost felt sorry for her. She didn’t really deserve to die that way.

“Mueller, I’m sorry but I don’t think I want to die today.”

Mueller felt the bullet rip through the right side of his abdomen before the sound of the shot echoed in his ears. Dropping the gun in her hand, Colt reached out and unlatched her belt from his waist, pulling it off of him as he fell backward. She flung the gunbelt to the ground before her and knelt down as a bullet whizzed by her head.

Courtwright had watched as the Weapons Mistress twisted her body in Mueller’s direction and, while he hadn’t heard the shot, he knew immediately that she was trying to rob him of his moment of glory. Leaping down the steps in twos and threes, he had drawn his guns and was firing shots on the run even as he tried to decrease the distance to his target.

Colt efficiently and methodically pulled her Clipper from it’s holster, ignoring the bullets pounding into the dirt around her. Grabbing a special bullet from a pouch, she inserted it into the gun’s chamber and sighted Courtwright from a kneeling position. He was still about 75 feet away but he was bringing himself under control to take more careful aim as he continued to volley shots with both guns. She felt the sting of a bullet grazing her shoulder just before she fired. Another bullet whizzed past her ear and a final one sliced through her shirt sleeve before she saw his body contort and he fell forward like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Quickly popping a cartridge into the Clipper, Colt fired a knockout bomb toward Candice Jones and the video console. In succession, she emptied the cartridge at Wilson, De Souza, and Ames. The group of bodyguards had been so sure of the outcome that only Jones had reacted quickly enough to get off a shot when things went screwy. Colt’s hat fluttered to the ground pierced by Jones’ bullet.

As the smoke cleared, all was quiet. Colt thanked the decision of her overconfident captors to give the able-bodied Jones and Ames video duties instead of having the already hampered Wilson and De Souza handling the chores. The extra distraction, coupled with the disbelieving surprise of all, probably accounted for the bare margin by which she had escaped mortal injury.

“I can’t believe you shot me! You don’t believe in using deadly force!”

Colt looked over at the fallen Mueller. “I believe in it as a last resort. You should have left me a choice.”

Mueller struggled to sit up, holding his wound as blood poured over his fingers. Disbelieving, he looked at Colt wordlessly.

Colt surveyed the motionless bodies littering the field. “Just apply direct pressure and I’ll get you an ambulance.” Turning back toward Mueller, she saw him reaching for his Glock. Swinging her gunbelt around, she knocked the weapon out of his hands before he could pull the trigger. “That was stupid! Take a look around; you kill me, who’s going to keep you from bleeding to death?”

“I ain’t going to jail. Rather die.”

Colt stood before him. “Too bad.”

A vicious kick to the jaw sent Mueller into dreamland like his comrades. A conscious enemy to keep an eye on was a problem she didn’t need right now. Colt reached into his pocket and pulled out the handcuff key. Once her hands were free, she put on her gunbelt and retrieved her hat. Mueller was searched for more weapons and those that were found were confiscated. She then cautiously proceeded to Ames, Jones, De Souza, and Wilson, collecting a cache of firearms and knives.

Finally, she approached Courtwright with care. She was definitely in his range now and, while both his guns had slipped from his grasp when he fell, she didn’t want to learn that he had been playing ‘possum. Reaching him, she kicked both guns away and rolled him over onto his back. His eyes were wide open in shock and drool was coming from his mouth. She pulled the dart out of his chest. “The same nerve toxin you used on me yesterday after that demonstration you gave. I notice you didn’t give me any exhibition of your ability to shoot targets from a great distance. I wonder why you left that out?”

Colt stripped off his clothes, leaving him in his underwear. “Just checking you for other weapons. You can’t be too careful, y’know.” She looked around the field and chuckled at the video cameras. “Not exactly the scene you were hoping to record, is it? I imagine that you’re going to have some people very upset with you. Prison walls probably won’t be able to keep you safe. Of course, that’s not my problem.”

Walking away from the immobilized Courtwright, the Weapons Mistress slipped the cell phone out of the unconscious Wilson’s jacket and pressed 3 digits. Her six tormenters were all out of commission. Each, in their own way, had tried to humiliate her and gratify themselves, but she had the last word. “Hello, there’s been a kidnaping and attempted murder at the Courtwright estate. One of the perpetrators has been shot and is seriously wounded. Send the police and an ambulance!”

The End

0

“The Shroud of Night” by Silvano and Femfan1

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:46 pm | Tags: femfan1, silvano

0

“Strange New World” by Fred Wong

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:48 pm

Part I

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, BATTLEZONE!” yelled out Ms. Victory as she soared to the sky to intercept the hi-tech mercenary Battlezone as he rocketed away with a small cache of stolen semi-conductors and computer hardware. Following his jet stream, Ms. Victory quickly narrowed the gap as she prepared to deliver a well-placed punch to knock him back towards the ground below.

“In yer dreams, babe,” muttered Battlezone as he released a salvo of concussion grenades that struck Ms. Victory, exploding on impact as she fell from the sky and landed hard on the ground with her ears still ringing from the blast.

“Buh-bye!” Ms. Victory got up and dusted herself off as fellow FemForce members Stardust, Tara, and Synn arrived.

“You okay?” asked Tara.

“Yes, just got a little sucker-punched by him,” answered Ms. Victory. “He’s not far. We can still catch him.”

“You have a plan, I assume?” said Stardust.

“Always,” said Ms. Victory with a smile. “Stardust, you and I will continue the pursuit to keep him distracted. We’ll get him to circle around so Tara and Synn can close the gap.”

“Sounds good to me,” replied Tara.

“Cool beans,” giggled the bubbly Synn as she hovered alongside Tara as she ran down the street.

Ms. Victory and Stardust took to the sky after Battlezone, who continued to prove to be an easy target to pursue his trailing jet stream.

“Get his attention before he hits the afterburners,” said Ms. Victory.

“I’m on it,” answered Stardust as she released an energy blast that hit Battlezone. Although the blast bounced harmless off his high-powered armor suit, it was enough for him to release his getaway wasn’t going to be easy.

“Goody-goody, two more playmates,” cackled Battlezone as he swung around into the hover position with his jet boots, firing two mini-missiles at Stardust and Ms. Victory. Stardust fired another energy blast of her, intercepting the missile and destroying it instantly.

“GOTCHA!” yelled Ms. Victory as she evaded the mini-missile and caught it mid-flight and threw it back at Battlezone. “RIGHT BACK AT YOU!”

“ARRRRRRGH!!!!” bellowed Battlezone as the mini-missile struck him in the chest, damaging a sizeable chunk of his super armor. Battlezone reduced his speed and descended back towards the ground, where Tara and Synn were getting into position.

Stardust followed up the pursuit with a rapid barrage of energy bolts, striking Battlezone to further deplete his defenses as he finally touched down on the ground, as Tara activated her power and increased her size into a giantess with Synn hovering near her.

“Whoa, where’d you two come from?” said Battlezone to Tara and Synn.

“You’re in no position to ask questions, little man,” replied Tara, now a little over 25 feet tall.

“Yup,” agreed Synn playfully.

“It’s over, Battlezone, surrender,” ordered Ms. Victory as she and Stardust hovered overhead, “This is your last chance.”

“Yours, too,” replied Battlezone as he quickly unhooked what appeared to be a large metallic cylinder attached to the back of his armor and mounted it onto his forearm. “This little spar with you is just the opportunity I was looking for to field my new quantum cannon…goodbye, ladies.”

“SHIELD…FAST!!!” yelled out Ms. Victory as Battlezone opened fire with his quantum cannon, surging a massive blast of energy blast forth that seemed to rip the very fabric of reality. Stardust activated a large energy shield in front of herself and Ms. Victory in the air, while Synn covered herself and Tara with a protective aura as the cannon itself exploded from the energy released, engulfing all of them in a roaring explosion that shattered windows for blocks around the blast radius.

Moments later, Battlezone awoke lying on the ground in only his boxer shorts, as his power armor was blown off his body and was nothing but charred metal scattered about as he slowly emerged unharmed.

“DON’T MOVE!!!!!” yelled four policemen who arrived on the scene and pointed their weapons at Battlezone. Unarmed, powerless, and practically naked, Battlezone raised his hands and surrendered.

“What just happened here?” demanded a police officer as he handcuffed Battlezone.

Battlezone scanned around, seeing no sign of Ms. Victory, Stardust, Tara, or Synn.

“I…I don’t know…” muttered Battlezone in disbelief.

* * *

Elsewhere, Ms. Victory stirred and awoke, finding herself in an urban alleyway along with Tara, who groggily awoke as well.

“Where are we? This doesn’t look like the area we fought Battlezone,” commented Tara.

“I’m not sure,” replied Ms. Victory as they emerged from the alleyway onto a busy city sidewalk where regular people and commuters were passing back and forth. They drew several stares from their striking appearance and flamboyant costumes, occasionally getting a remark here and there.

“The comic convention’s the other way, at the hall near the downtown Civic arena, Miss,” commented one bystander.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” replied Ms. Victory awkwardly.

“We need to get to someplace quiet,” suggested Tara. “I think I see a small park nearby.”

“A few minutes later Ms. Victory and Tara were underneath some trees at a small city park, away from the usual fare of joggers, bike riders, dog walkers, and others enjoying the park.

“This place looks familiar, but it’s not Florida…a city in the northeastern United States maybe?” commented Tara.

“Maybe, but it’s odd on how no one recognized us, though,” replied Ms. Victory. “Most thought we were two ordinary people in costumes.”

“How’d we even get here? We’re hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from where we were,” added Tara.

Without warning they heard an unusual whistling sound coming from the sky that grew louder and louder, until finally its source impacting into a grassy plot in the park that sent people fleeing in panic. As the dirt cloud settled a heavily armored figure emerged from the hole with bronze colored technological armor, with an evil, older looking man’s visage within the helmet.

“It’ll take more than that to stop me, Galaxy Ranger,” boasted the armored man.

“Hold on, I’m just getting warmed up,” replied his opponent as she flew overhead.

Ms. Victory and Tara quickly assessed the situation, as the woman in the air dressed in a blue and white battlesuit engaged in combat against him.

“Perhaps some property damage would be in order,” said the armored man as he released a small salvo of mini-missiles, blowing up a fire hydrant, a small metal playground, and a nearby hotdog stand. Children screamed in terror as they fled the carnage, as the flying woman flew by a group of people and activated a laser shield, absorbing the blast of the last mini-missile.

The woman then deactivated her laser shield and fired a laser blast at the villain, which seemed to have no effect on him.

“Fool!” roared the armored assailant. “You may have gotten a few early shots but I’ve now calibrated my armor to absorb your laser beams. The more you shoot, the stronger I get! Looks like your bosses’re going to need a replacement for this space sector, Galaxy Ranger!”

“It’s not over, Doctor Destructo,” replied the Galaxy Ranger as she powered up another laser blast and shot at the ground underneath his feet, knocking him off balance and onto his back. The Galaxy Ranger grabbed some residual metal from the damaged playground and flew hard onto the prone Doctor Destructo as he recovered his bearing, pinning him down with the shredded metal frame.

Doctor Destructo grinned as he easily shoved the metal off of him and threw the Galaxy Ranger back before springing back onto his feet. Doctor Destructo then fired two more mini-missiles at her, striking her and knocking her onto the ground from the explosions.

“The energy I absorbed from you doubled my speed and tripled my strength,” boasted Doctor Destructo as his armor reconfigured on his right arm, revealing what appeared to be a small blaster cannon, “And charged my power cells to finish you in one final shot.”

Before Doctor Destructo could fire, the remnants of the hot dog stand he destroyed earlier flew in the air and slammed into him. Knocked to the ground, Doctor Destructo cast off the metal and discarded frankfurters to see a woman dressed in star-spangled costume fly into him to deliver a devastating punch straight into his belly. Rivets and circuits popped from the impact, as overloaded systems shorted out to prevent him from mounting an attack.

“Who…who’re you?!” said Doctor Destructo.

“The name’s Ms. Victory, Mister Spam-in-can,” answered Ms. Victory sternly as Tara revived the Galaxy Ranger. “Now let’s peel the tin, shall we?”

Using her super strength, Ms. Victory peeled away the front breastplate of Doctor Destructo’s armor, followed by ripping apart the armor on his shoulders and arms to expose his bare flesh. Upon closer inspection, Ms. Victory noticed that much of the power armor was wired directly into his body, like a life support system.

“Hold on a second, I’ll take it from here, friend,” said the Galaxy Ranger as she approached the prostrate Doctor Destructo and concentrated her laser beam, cutting apart the remainder of his armor suit that concealed other technological weaponry while still keeping his life support systems intact. Police and SWAT soon arrived with an armored prisoner truck, where they collected Doctor Destructo and took him away for arrest processing.

“Whoever you are, thanks,” said the Galaxy Ranger, gratefully as she extended her hand in friendship. “I’m a Galaxy Ranger. You?”

“I’m Ms. Victory,” replied Ms. Victory.

“Tara Fremont,” said Tara. “Pardon my asking, but where are we?”

“Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, why?” asked the Galaxy Ranger.

“We’re not from around here,” explained Ms. Victory. “We’re based out of Florida. Maybe you’ve heard of us. We’re the Federal Emergency Mission Force; FemForce for short.”

The Galaxy Ranger had a perplexed look as she replied, “Sorry, I can’t say I have. The U.S. federal government doesn’t support superhero groups, but I don’t think you’re lying, either. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about you two.”

“Well, we feel kind of out of place, ourselves,” admitted Tara.

“I’ll take you back to my place,” replied the Galaxy Ranger as she took to the sky with Ms. Victory carrying Tara. “It’s not far.”

“Thanks,” replied Ms. Victory as the lingering thought prevailed in her mind, “Where are Stardust and Synn?”

* * *

“What a fun place this is!” commented Synn as she and Stardust awoke in what appeared to be a toy warehouse. “Oh, I would love to buy one of those, three of that, two of those…”

“Synn, aren’t you concerned as to how we arrived here?” asked Stardust as she surveyed around, seeing boxes upon boxes of various toys. “We have no idea how long we’ve been in this place or where Ms. Victory and Tara are. And didn’t it occur as odd to you that we have encountered no one in this packed warehouse? No employees, janitors, or even a security guard?”

“Company holiday?” replied Synn innocently as she picked up a large teddy bear mounted on a display stand and gave it a hug. “This is so adorable!”

“Nap time…” said the teddy bear with sweet sounding voice as it opened its mouth, revealing a small metal tube and shot out a pink gas that Synn inhaled. Seconds later Synn collapsed on the floor fast asleep.

“SYNN!” cried out Stardust as she ran over to help her, when suddenly a small army of toys came to life and began advancing upon her. Stardust immediately fired a stream of energy bolts along a wide area, blowing them apart.

“What manner of place is this?” said Stardust as she destroyed another group of toys.

“CATCH!” called out a voice as a series of green, blue, red, and gray balls hurtled out of the shadows towards Stardust. Stardust immediately responded by shooting them apart as they neared her, blasting the green, blue, and red balls. The gray balls struck Stardust in the chest and exploded into a swirling mass of sticky gray bindings that ensnared her, pinning Stardust’s arms at her sides and legs together as she collapsed onto the floor unable to break free. Despite her paranormal strength and aura of star energy, Stardust was unable to break or burn herself out.

“What…IS…this?” cursed Stardust as she strained against them.

“Curious,” said a voice emerging from the shadows. “I’ve been studying you on the monitors since you appeared and still can’t tell who you are. I’ve never seen either of you before.”

“Who are you?” grunted Stardust.

“You’ll know soon enough,” answered the man as he sprayed a stream of sleeping gas into her face.

* * *

Elsewhere, the Galaxy Ranger had led Ms. Victory and Tara into the secret passageway that teleported them into her home, a medium sized three-bedroom apartment in Shadyside, a suburb of the Pittsburgh metro area. Ms. Victory and Tara were sitting on her living room sofa, as the Galaxy Ranger, now dressed in regular clothes, returned from down the hall with a small basket of clothes in hand.

“Here, you might need these for a while,” commented the Galaxy Ranger as she presented them with some ordinary clothing. “I told my neighbors you’re friends of mine from out of town whose luggage got lost at the airport. They’re about your height, so the clothes’ll fit you better than mine.”

“Thanks, again, Galaxy Ranger,” said Ms. Victory.

“Sorry, call me Oriana. Oriana Hedgeman,” said the Galaxy Ranger. “What’s your real name, if it’s okay for me to ask?”

“Jennifer Wayne Burke,” said Ms. Victory before she skimmed for some items to change into.

“No fancy name for me, what you see is what you get,” teased Tara. “Is it okay if I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, first door on the left,” said the Galaxy Ranger. “So let me get this straight. You were fighting a villain who used this experimental weapon on you and your teammates, and somehow it caused a chain reaction that catapulted you from Florida to Pennsylvania?”

“Something like that,” replied Ms. Victory. “Once we find Stardust and Synn, we can head back to our headquarters to get to the bottom of everything. Although I’m a little surprised that I’ve never heard of you or that villain you were fighting, Doctor Destructo, was it?”

“Really?” said the Galaxy Ranger, still a bit perplexed about how little either of them knew of each other. “I’ve been the Galaxy Ranger for this sector for about three years now, and Doctor Destructo’s been on a high profile crime spree for almost three weeks until today. It was national news, since he hit Seattle, Chicago, and even New York City before arriving here.”

Meanwhile, Tara had just finished up in the bathroom and was washing her hands, and caught a quick glimpse of a travel magazine near the washbasin. Tara checked the issue date, which read “January 2004” but when she saw the cover photo her eyes lit up in shock. Tara immediately grabbed it and went back into the living room, nearly stark white in complexion.

“Tara, what’s wrong?” asked Ms. Victory.

“Jen, we’re not only in the wrong state, we’re in the wrong world,” said Tara nervously.

“What are you talking about?” replied Ms. Victory with a puzzled look. “What gave you that idea?”

Tara held up the magazine cover to Jen and said, “The Twin Towers are still standing.”

* * *

Synn awoke and found herself in what appeared to be a luxurious hotel room, emerging from a large and soft bed dressed in a nightie and observed the hard oak furniture and paintings decorating the room, along with a large plasma screen television mounted on the wall. The door opened, with a well-dressed man entering and pushing a small cart.

“Room service. Sorry we’re late,” said the man politely.

“Room service? I didn’t order room service. I don’t even remember how I got here,” said Synn.

“Oh, I’m sorry. They didn’t tell you everything, did they?” said the waiter.

“Tell me what?” asked Synn.

“You were in a surfing accident on the beach earlier,” explained the waiter. “The lifeguards rescued you and the paramedics treated you for a head injury. Your friends brought you back here and then ordered room service for you. Hungry?”

The waiter removed the tray covers, revealing a plate of freshly made french toast decorated with strawberries, fresh cantaloupe, bacon, orange juice, and milk. Synn couldn’t remember the last time she ate as her stomach made a loud gurgling sound after smelling the food’s aroma.

“Um…a little,” said Synn, a little embarrassed by her stomach. “Well, I hope you feel better,” said the waiter pleasantly.

“Thank. Um…I…can’t find my purse or wallet to give you a tip…sorry!” apologized Synn.

“Don’t worry, Miss, it’s already been taken care of,” said the waiter as he left the room.

Synn hungrily ate the food, still confused on what was going on, as she still felt strangely disoriented. She remembered fighting Battlezone, then blacking out, and then arriving in a toy warehouse, blacking out again, and now here in a hotel room. Synn then turned on the plasma television, seeing an animated cartoon show of “Wacky Waldo, Master of Science.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen this before,” said Synn as she attentively began watching the show.

* * *

“How’s our guest?” asked a portly man dressed in a business suit, observing Synn through a two-way mirror.

“Who? The space cadet babe with the platinum blonde hair? She bought the story hook, line, and sinker, boss,” said the henchman as he changed out of the waiter outfit.

“Outstanding,” cackled the man as he rubbed his hands near his chest. “I, the Grand Toyman, now have two more action figures in his collection, lovely ones, too, I might add.”

“What about the other one, boss?” said the henchman.

“Take a look for yourself,” commented the Grand Toyman as he gestured to the opposite side, where in the other two-way mirror Stardust was still cocooned in the tight bindings straining to escape in a padded room with various sensors mounted on the walls.

“I’ve never seen her before. But with those looks, she’s an extraterrestrial, that’s for sure,” said the henchman.

“LET ME GO THIS INSTANT!!!!” roared Stardust as she thrashed about the room. “Oh yes, she’s a feisty one, all right,” said the Grand Toyman. “Her power’s off the charts. Look at these readings.”

“Impressive. She looks strong, boss,” added the henchman as he skimmed through the notes.

“Quite. But the binding materials are dissipating the heat energy she’s using to try to escape and are keeping her under wraps,” said the Grand Toyman. “Once I find to way to harness that energy, I’ll be unstoppable.”

* * *

At the same time the Galaxy Ranger was taking Ms. Victory and Tara towards Oakland, a large section of the Pittsburgh metro area. Dressed in civilian attire, the three superheroines arrived at the physics research wing of Wean Hall on the Carnegie Mellon University campus.

“Oriana, what a lovely surprise,” greeted Kyle Lachlan, a physics professor and researcher. “What brings you here in the darkest hole of the CMU campus?”

“Kyle, this is Jen, and this is Tara,” introduced Oriana. “Remember that hypothesis you spent about six months developing in quantum physics about dimensional warping?”

“Yes, what about it?” asked Kyle.

“It’s more like a theory, now,” alluded Oriana as Jen and Tara began to explain in full detail of what they encountered.

* * *

“Okay, kids,” said Wacky Waldo, Wizard of Science, “Now we’re going to talk about turning lead into gold like they tried to do in medieval times. Do you have your science kit?”

“Science kit? Hmmm…okay!” replied Synn as she used her matter manipulation power to conjure up a home science kit that mimicked the one portrayed on the television. “Right here, Wacky Waldo!”

“That’s great!” said Waldo. “Now, let’s add chemical A to chemical B and voila, lead to gold!”

“Hmmm…chemical A plus chemical B…here we go…!” said Synn playfully as used her powers once again, literally turning a piece of lead the size of the tissue box to pure gold.

From the two-way mirror the Grand Toyman nearly wet himself out of excitement.

“Holy-moley!!!!! That ditzy blonde’s got powers beyond belief!!!!” realized the Grand Toyman. “All I got to do is keep her happy with pizza and cartoons and she’s gonna make me rich, rich, rich!!!!!”

* * *

Back at Wean Hall, Professor Kyle Lachlan conducted his preliminary tests on Ms. Victory followed by Tara. As he tested Tara, Ms. Victory spoke to the Galaxy Ranger in private.

“Thanks again for everything, Oriana,” said Ms. Victory. “How’d you get these connections?”

“I work in this area,” replied the Galaxy Ranger. “In my secret identity I’m a graduate student in biology and genetics. How about you?”

“I really don’t have a life outside of this,” conceded Ms. Victory. “It’s a long story. Does Kyle know?”

“About what I really do? Yes, he’s one of only two other regular people who know the truth,” said Oriana. “That’s why I brought you two here.”

“Well, I think I see a pattern,” commented Kyle as he printed out his findings.

“How’s that?” asked Ms. Victory.

“The two of you seem to be containing an excessive amount of some kind of electromagnetic energy I’ve never encountered before,” explained Kyle. “But you each seem to have absorbed it and it somehow brought you here to our dimension.”

“That makes sense,” added Tara. “Stardust activated an energy shield and Synn created a protective aura just as Battlezone fired that weapon; it’s like a chain reaction.”

“So if we siphon the excess energy off, does that mean they get sent back? Like an overcharged electron returning back to its original valence in an atom?’ asked the Galaxy Ranger.

“Possibly, but I’ve no idea how to siphon it off,” admitted Kyle reluctantly. “Or if I could, if it would even work.”

“I’m open for suggestions,” added Tara. “Anyone here know where we can buy some ruby slippers?”

* * *

“RRRRRRAAAAAARRRRGGHHHHH!!!!” roared Stardust as she finally broke free of her bindings after straining against them for hours. Nearly exhausted, Stardust staggered about before regaining her bearings, firing an energy blast to blow apart the door.

“Aw man, the boss ain’t gonna like this!” thought the henchman as he sounded the alarm.

Stardust left the room and went to an adjacent room, where she found Synn playfully watching cartoons on a giant sized television. In the room with her was a large pile of gold bars she converted from lead along with a trashcan filled with a discarded pizza box and empty soda pop cans.

“Oh, hi, Stardust!” said Synn.

“Glad to see you enjoying yourself, Synn,” commented Stardust sternly as she wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’m not even going to ask what happened, but we need to leave now.”

“Okey-dokey,” said Synn as she changed her nightie into her costume.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said a voice from behind.

Stardust immediately turned around and assumed a defensive stance as she replied, “Who said that?”

“I am the Grand Toyman,” said the portly Grand Toyman, dressed in his oversized novelty suit. “The platinum haired ditz’s gonna make me rich, and you’re going to make me powerful.”

“Never,” replied Stardust bitterly.

“Never say never. Just say, not yet,” threatened the Grand Toyman as two oversized robots came crashing through the wall. Stardust immediately fired a volley of energy blasts to cover her and Synn’s withdrawal from the room.

“We need to get out, fast,” said Stardust as she desperately held off the robots.

“Just a sec,” replied Synn as she used her powers to turn the wall into tissue paper. A robot struck Stardust with a well-placed punch, knocking her clear through the transformed wall into the warehouse floor below. Synn flew after her teammate and helped her up, as an army of small, medium, and large toys sprang to life and began advancing on them.

“Uh-oh…” muttered Synn.

* * *

“Any luck?” asked Tara on her wrist communicator to Miss Victory as she trailed behind in the Galaxy Ranger’s car while Ms. Victory and the Galaxy Ranger flew overhead.

“Nothing. I’m not picking up any signals from their devices. They probably shorted out like ours when we jumped dimensions,” said Ms. Victory. “Lucky we were able to score some repair parts at Kyle’s lab.”

“Let’s try the Strip District,” suggested the Galaxy Ranger. “Lots of warehouses and vacant lots. Maybe they ended up there.”

“Lead on,” said Ms. Victory.

Moments later they arrived at the bustling Strip District just outside of downtown Pittsburgh as a steady stream of tractor-trailer trucks and big rigs pulled in and out, delivering countless merchandise to distribution warehouses with customers galore on the streets and shops.

Passing by a newly renovated warehouse, Tara stopped the car at a traffic light and scanned around, then suddenly saw Stardust and Synn coming out of its windows and landing hard onto the ground nearly unconscious.

“Jen, Oriana, this is Tara,” said Tara as she pulled off the road and parked the car. “I’ve found Stardust and Synn, and they’re not alone!”

“We’ll be right there,” said Ms. Victory as she and the Galaxy Ranger increased their speed to close in on Tara’s position.

“Now, playtime’s over, and time to get back inside,” said the Grand Toyman maniacally as he emerged from the warehouse doors piloting a giant mechanized robot, bearing four legs and four arms, two of which bore fists and the other two bore machine guns. “Or do I need to play rough?”

“You called it, buster,” said Ms. Victory as she first swooped down and delivered a hard punch, knocking the giant robot suit off balance and tried to rip off one of its arms.

“Naughty, naughty. Grand Toyman must punish,” said the Grand Toyman as the two machine gun arms opened fire on Ms. Victory at point blank range, blasting her off with a hail of steel. While not piercing her flesh, the hard bullet impacts kept her stunned.

“Now for the coup de grace,” said the Grand Toyman as the chest of the robot suit opened up to a massive cannon as it prepared to deploy. Without warning a stream of searing laser struck into the bore of the cannon, detonating the ammunition inside as the robot suit exploded. As the smoke cleared, the Grand Toyman fell out of his canopy covered with black soot as his massive robot suit collapsed like a deck of cards into heaps of scorched junk metal.

“Indeed,” said the Galaxy Ranger with a smile of satisfaction, pulling her fist back to blow the smoke off of her wrist laser.

* * *

“How’re your teammates?” asked the Galaxy Ranger as the police cordoned off the area and paramedics treated Stardust and Synn. Ms. Victory was giving her statement to the police as Tara and the Galaxy Ranger remained away from the public spectacle created from everything.

“Not bad. Just a few cuts and bruises. They’ll heal quickly enough,” said Tara. “So who was that guy?”

“The Grand Toyman, a petty supervillain trying to make it big,” explained the Galaxy Ranger. “He was spotted in Orlando last year robbing kids with his remote controlled toys; who would’ve guessed he moved his operations to here? I’m glad you all were here to help catch him.”

“Thanks, but where does that leave us, now?” said Tara.

“I really don’t know,” conceded the Galaxy Ranger. “None of you have any money, so I suppose you four can crash at my place tonight and get a fresh start in the morning on how to get home.”

“SLUMBER PARTY! SLUMBER PARTY! SLUMBER PARTY!” giggled Synn cheerfully as she walked towards them, overhearing the tail end of Tara and the Galaxy Ranger’s conversation.

“What’s with her?” asked the Galaxy Ranger.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” said Tara.

Part II

“Make yourselves at home,” offered Galaxy Ranger as she opened the door to her apartment to allow Ms. Victory, Stardust, Tara, and Synn inside. “I should have dinner ready in about an hour or so.”

“Thanks, but we shouldn’t impose, Oriana,” said Ms. Victory. “Can’t we at least help out?”

“I kind of like being in control of my kitchen,” replied Oriana, a little embarrassed.

“Nice place you have,” complemented Synn as she flopped on the living room sofa. “It’s been a very, very long day,”

“Tell me about it,” replied Tara as she stretched out before sitting down. “How are you feeling, Stardust?”

“My head still hurts,” muttered Stardust. “Would an aspirin help? It’s acetyl salicylic acid,” said Galaxy Ranger.

“Yes, it would be fine. Why the chemical name, may I ask?” commented Stardust.

“I wasn’t sure how the chemicals here are Earth would react to your alien chemistry, Stardust,” replied Galaxy Ranger as she handed her two aspirin and a glass of water. “Which planet are you originally from?”

“Thank you. I’m the top scientist from the planet Rur. Have you been there?” asked Stardust.

“No, sorry. I’ve been to Aldeberan Seven and Typhorus One, though,” replied Galaxy Ranger. “Either of those planets sound familiar to you?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” answered Stardust. “I guess we’ll have to compare star charts some time!”

“I suppose so,” said Galaxy Ranger pleasantly as she starting boiling a large pot of water.

Galaxy Ranger prepared a large pan of lasagna for the dinner meal along with a large salad and Italian bread to go with it. She figured it’d fill them up well enough while not breaking her food budget. About three hours later the five heroines consumed the dinner meal and loaded up the dishwasher for the night before relaxing in the living room.

“That was wonderful. Thank you,” said Ms. Victory as Synn let out a couple hiccups.

“You’re welcome,” replied Galaxy Ranger. “I have enough blankets and pillows for everyone, but am not sure who’s going to sleep where. I only have one guest bed in the spare bedroom. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Stardust was hurt the most in today’s little scuffle, I’d say she gets the spare bed,” suggested Tara.

“I do not need preferential treatment,” stated Stardust.

“Tara’s right, Stardust,” added Synn. “You need rest.”

“Yes, I saw first hand how much beauty sleep you received at the hospitality of that villain,” replied Stardust.

“Okay, I know where this is going…” muttered Galaxy Ranger, who knew all too well that despite their amazing powers, they were still strongly emotional women prone to bickering now and then when given the opportunity. “I have a plan.”

Galaxy Ranger went to the kitchen and returned with four pieces of dried spaghetti. “Okay, you know the drill. Take one. Small stick gets the spare bed,” said Galaxy Ranger.

“You’re kidding,” replied Ms. Victory. “We’re drawing straws?”

“And, your problem is…?” joked Galaxy Ranger.

“Not at all,” said Ms. Victory as they each drew a piece of dried spaghetti, with Tara getting the spare bed.

“Clever thinking, Oriana,” said Ms. Victory pleasantly.

“Thanks, but get used to this method. It’s how we’re deciding who uses the bathroom first tomorrow,” replied Galaxy Ranger.

Ms. Victory, Synn, Tara, and Stardust burst out in laughter.

* * *

It was around 11:45 PM and Tara was fast asleep on the spare bed in the guest bedroom, while Ms. Victory and Synn slept on the floor in other room used as a study room in some borrowed sleeping bags Galaxy Ranger got from her neighbors down the hall. Stardust elected to sleep on the living room couch, but was still wide awake as Galaxy Ranger entered in long sleeve workout shirt and pair of boxer shorts, finding her watching some late night talk shows.

“Anything good?” said Galaxy Ranger.

“Strange, we have the identical television personalities in our universe, but there I never watched them. Now that we’re here, I was relieved to see them on these channels,” commented Stardust. “Why is that?”

“It’s probably because they’re familiar and remind you that you haven’t gone insane, Stardust,” suggested the Galaxy Ranger.

“I suppose so,” agreed Stardust. “Oh, my name’s Mara.”

“Mine’s Oriana,” said Galaxy Ranger. “So you can’t sleep, either, can you?”

“I am still wondering how we got here and how we are to return home,” conceded Stardust. “And yourself?”

“Tara snores like a buzz saw and Synn talks in cartoon voices in her sleep. I don’t know how Ms. Victory can sleep at all,” replied Galaxy Ranger.

“Jennifer stuffs cotton in her ears and then wraps a towel over her head. It works for her,” responded Stardust.

“Well, staying up all night isn’t going to help either of us,” commented Oriana as she heated up some milk and poured them into two mugs with some chocolate syrup. “This always helped me when I was a stressed out undergrad.”

“Thank you,” said Stardust as the two drank their warm milk cocoa. Within 30 minutes, Stardust was asleep on the couch and Galaxy Ranger was asleep in her bed also, although with a pillow over her head as Tara snored and Synn giggled aloud.

The next morning Galaxy Ranger pulled out five pieces of dried spaghetti to determine who would get the bathroom first. Synn drew the shortest straw and was the first one inside showering up as Galaxy Ranger started preparing breakfast.

“What exactly is a Galaxy Ranger, Oriana?” asked Stardust.

“It’s kind of like an interplanetary cop,” explained Galaxy Ranger as she began beating the eggs. “We’re each assigned a sector to patrol and round up alien criminals who seem to pop up on Earth a lot.”

“Why’s that?” asked Tara.

“I don’t know. Maybe the shopping?” commented Galaxy Ranger humorously. “My predecessor could probably give you a more thorough explanation about the whole organization; I try to stay away from all the bureaucracy involved.”

“Could your superiors help us? Their technology is clearly more advanced than what’s here on Earth,” suggested Stardust.

“Possibly, but only as a last resort,” said Galaxy Ranger. “It’s primarily a law enforcement group, not a lost and found service. I’d prefer to show them that we’ve exhausted our options here before going to them for assistance.”

“Sounds fair enough,” said Ms. Victory as Synn came out from the hallway in a bathrobe. “Where to, this morning?”

“I was thinking about taking Stardust with me to meet with Kyle again at Wean Hall. He has some prototype devices on quantum theory that she might be able to advance with her expertise,” suggested Galaxy Ranger. “I don’t see a reason to take the rest of you along, you can relax here or hang out in the city. Everything’s in walking distance and I can leave you a little cash if you need bus fare or to grab a bite to eat here and there.”

“I like this woman,” whispered the starry eyed Synn. “She’s paying us to hang out.”

“Shhh…!” muttered Tara.

“Are you sure?” said Ms. Victory skeptically. “Wouldn’t it be better if we came with you?”

“The two of us entering would be less conspicuous,” explained the Galaxy Ranger. “Having you four coming with me at the same time, even in regular clothes, would create quite a stir of curiosity that we don’t need.”

“I’m not following,” replied Ms. Victory.

“Think Baywatch meets Revenge of the Nerds,” suggested Galaxy Ranger.

“Ohhhhh….” said Ms. Victory in an epiphany.

* * *

About three hours later all five heroines were finished cleaning up in the bathroom, changed into regular civilian clothes, and eaten breakfast. As Galaxy Ranger took Stardust to Wean Hall on Carnegie Mellon University, Tara decided to go to the arboretum in Schenley Park outside the campus area while Ms. Victory and Synn hopped on a bus line to the Allegheny Center planetarium located near the heart of downtown Pittsburgh.

Upon entering the planetarium as it opened, the eager and wide eyed Synn first walked up to one of the child activity units illustrating the operation of the lunar lander as Ms. Victory paid the entrance fee for the two of them.

“Oooh, what does THIS button do?” giggled Synn.

“It’s going to be a long day,” thought Ms. Victory. “Nightveil’s so much better at keeping an eye on Synn than I am.”

* * *

Elsewhere Tara was among the first to enter the arboretum, a welcome change from the wintry weather she was dealing with while in Pittsburgh. Lush tropical trees and flowers from around the world filled the robust complex, making Tara a little homesick as a bald man wearing glasses greeted her.

“Hello, first time at the arboretum?” said the man as he handed her a tour guide pamphlet.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Tara as she took a good, hard look at him, as he looked strangely familiar. Tara then scanned his nametag, which read, “Dr. Heinrich Rittmeist.”

“Could it be him? The Nazi scientist behind Lady Panzer and Lady Luger?” realized Tara. “Or is this just a coincidence on this world?”

“This can’t be her! It’s impossible. A wild coincidence, it must be!” thought Dr. Rittmeist. “Still, there’s a way to find out.”

“How would you like a free tour? I’m one of researchers here,” offered Dr. Rittmeist.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose…” replied Tara.

“Not at all. You look like a nature lover yourself, Miss…” said Dr. Rittmeist.

“Fremont. Tara Fremont.” answered Tara.

“Tara Fremont of the accursed FemForce! How could they have tracked me here?! It’s impossible! This is a coincidence, it has to be!” thought Dr. Rittmeist.

“Shall we go?” offered Dr. Rittmeist.

“Lead on,” said Tara pleasantly.

For the first twenty minutes Dr. Rittmeist gave her a guided overview of the arboretum, slowly gaining a basic trust before leading her into his private laboratory, a secluded section that was newly added to it over the past two years.

“How long have you been in Pittsburgh, Miss Fremont?” asked Dr. Rittmeist.

“Oh, I’m just visiting,” replied Tara. “I reside in Florida, actually. How about you?”

“Ah, Florida’s a beautiful state in a beautiful country,” replied Dr. Rittmeist. “I’ve been here about two years, give or take a month or two.”

“What kind of plants are these?” asked Tara. “I’ve never seen them before.”

Painting of Tara by Marcus Boas“Ah yes, they’re a special breed. They emit a most fragrant scent that lasts quite a while; I’ve been trying to develop it as a substitute for using animal materiel like ambergris in the production of perfume,” explained Dr. Rittmeist. “Why don’t you sample it?”

“Okay,” agreed Tara as she walked over to it, when suddenly vines ensnared her wrists and ankles at first before ripping off her clothes within seconds, revealing her green camouflaged bikini and knife strapped to her leg.

“WHAT THE….!” yelled Tara.

“So, it IS you. Tara of FemForce!!!!” realized Dr. Rittmeist. “I don’t know how you tracked me across the dimensions, but my carnivorous plant will finish you once and for all!”

“YOU!!!” shouted Tara, realizing that it really was Dr. Rittmeist, formerly of the infamous Third Reich who oversaw the creation of Lady Panzer and other super powered muscle fighting for the Nazis. Using his own version of the V-45 formula, he’s been able to stave off the effects of aging to an extent, and somehow transported himself from their home dimension into this one. “ALL THIS TIME…!!!! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!!!”

“No, simply disappeared,” replied Dr. Rittmeist sinisterly. “I’m sure in some other dimension Elvis is having a grand old time.”

“AAARRRGHHH!!!” yelled out Tara as the vines tightened their grip around her. Tara managed to grab her knife, but with her wrist ensnared she could cut herself free.

“It’ll be over soon enough,” cackled Dr. Rittmeist. “How’d you do it?” grunted Tara. “How’d you get from our world to this one?”

“A lucky accident, really,” conceded Dr. Rittmeist. “I was trying to develop a quantum energy bomb to annihilate you all in one fell swoop but the prototype went off prematurely and created a dimensional rift that warped space and time itself, it seems. I ended up here. A lucky event, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah…great…” muttered Tara. “I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

Tara bit down on the vines, piercing its vegetated flesh with her teeth to free her wrist. Tara immediately impaled the plant as she rammed the knife backwards, driving it deep into its core as she pulled it out and stabbed again. Mortally wounded, the carnivorous plant released its grip on Tara as it flailed wildly while Dr. Rittmeist ran to grab one of his weapons.

“OH NO, YOU DON’T!!!” yelled Tara as she jumped off the plant and delivered a hard kick into the back of Dr. Rittmeist, knocking him to the floor out cold.

Tara activated her communicator to Ms. Victory and Stardust. “Meet me at the arboretum. We’re going home,” said Tara sternly.

* * *

An hour later Ms. Victory, Stardust, Synn, Tara, and Galaxy Ranger had Dr. Rittmeist in custody and were reviewing the design schematics he recorded on his desktop computer. Coincidentally, he had another prototype of the quantum bomb constructed in his private lab that was inactive.

“It won’t work. It has no power source,” blurted out Dr. Rittmeist. “I wasn’t able to steal something to power it up without getting caught.”

“Which was why you worked at the arboretum, to try and steal some of the experimental energy sources they’ve been working at the universities in town,” deduced Galaxy Ranger.

“Yes, very clever,” muttered Dr. Rittmeist.

“Quantum theory is based on photon energy, right?” said Tara.

“Yes, that’s what Kyle told me,” agreed Galaxy Ranger.

“Yes, that’s true,” added Stardust.

“Can’t you two charge it up?” suggested Tara. “The Galaxy Ranger’s lasers and Stardust’s star energy just might be enough to start the chain reaction to get us home.

“It also could blow everyone to kingdom come,” commented Galaxy Ranger. “True, but Synn can create a shield so if the worst happens, it’ll only affect us,” said Ms. Victory. “It just might be our only way home.”

“It’s up to you,” said Galaxy Ranger.

“I’m for it,” said Tara.

“Me too,” said Synn.

“I, as well,” said Stardust.

“And you know how I feel,” stated Ms. Victory. “Let’s do it.”

Synn created a defensive field around them as Stardust and Galaxy Ranger began charging the quantum bomb with their star and laser blasts, feeding a steady stream at a low level. Slowly, they increased more and more power as the quantum bomb began activating with a short countdown.

“No time for long goodbyes, Oriana, get out of here or you’re coming with us,” said Ms. Victory.

“Good luck,” said Galaxy Ranger as she gave them a quick hug and flew out of the lab through a temporary hole in the shield Synn created and watched overhead as a large glowing orb engulfed them within Synn’s shield before imploding in on itself. Galaxy Ranger descended and surveyed the area, finding no sign of them.

“God speed,” whispered Galaxy Ranger.

* * *

Ms. Victory, Stardust, Tara, Synn, and Dr. Rittmeist blacked out from the implosion of quantum energy and awoke on a rooftop with the hot sun beating down on them. Ms. Victory was the first to awake, seeing everyone sprawled and out cold. Ms. Victory walked to the edge of the roof and scanned around the immediate area, finding several large billboards posted.

The first read, “HIDALGO, ONLY ON CHANNEL 10”

“No way,” said Ms. Victory as a smile started to form on her face.

The second read, “USE STELLA STARGAZE COSMETICS AND BE THE TRENDSETTER!”

“No way,” added Ms. Victory as the smile started to grow.

The third read, “SEE RAYDA IN ACTION WOMAN RETURNS, OPENING FEB 4TH! ONLY IN THEATRES!”

“Way,” said Ms. Victory with a beaming grin. “We’re home.”

THE END

0

Dinner on the Town by Fred Wong

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:50 pm

Ms. Victory, Stardust, Tara, and Synn were glad to be home. When they told fellow members Nightveil, Colt, She-Cat, and Rayda about the whole thing their friends almost couldn’t believe their eyes, but when they saw Dr. Heinrich Rittmeist in custody, all doubts disappeared.

“So you were in that parallel universe all that time, and you didn’t get any of us a souvenir?” teased Colt.

Synn shrugged as she said, “I would’ve, but Ms. Victory was being such a tightwad. We were at this planetarium, and she didn’t want to buy a single thing at the gift shop!”

“Well, I felt bad,” replied Ms. Victory. “It wasn’t our money, it was what Galaxy Ranger lent us while she and Stardust were trying to find us a way home. It didn’t feel right spending every penny she gave us.”

“You did the right thing, Jen,” added Tara. “Synn’s just razzing you because you’re so straight laced sometimes.”

“Galaxy Ranger sounded like a nice person, and a tough heroine,” commented Nightveil. “I’m sure we could’ve use someone like her to shore up our ranks.”

“Yes, she was very intelligent, intense, and possessed a considerable balance of speed, strength, and firepower,” said Stardust. “And she accomplished the impossible.”

“How’s that?” asked She-Cat.

“She got all of us to share the same bathroom in a neat and organized manner,” stated Stardust.

“No way,” replied She-Cat in disbelief. “You’ve GOT to be kidding me.”

“No, she really did. Sincerely!” insisted Synn. “She made us draw straws.”

“Cute,” said Rayda as she and the rest got a chuckle.

“Overall, though, in our timeline you were only gone for a few hours after your skirmish with Battlezone,” said Nightveil. “How long were you in that parallel world?”

“About a day, I think,” answered Ms. Victory. “So many things there were identical to ours, and yet, so many things were different.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re all back, and having Rittmeist in custody is an added bonus,” said Colt.

* * *

The rest of the day was some private time for the respective FemForce members. She-Cat worked out in the headquarters gym, Ms. Victory went with Nightveil for some shopping at some arcane and supernatural themed stores as a change of pace, Rayda headed out to meet with her agent, Colt practiced firing on the weapons range, Synn relaxed in her room watching soap operas, and Stardust was practicing in the FemForce danger room.

It was about 4 PM when She-Cat passed by the danger room, seeing Stardust successfully complete a combat scenario. She-Cat was wiping off the sweat with a towel and popped her head inside as Stardust landed.

“Hey, Dusty, what’re you doing for dinner?” asked She-Cat.

“I had not thought that far ahead, why?” replied Stardust.

“Why don’t you come with me to that new Italian place that opened up, Salvatore’s?” offered She-Cat. “It’s not far from here.”

“There are dozens of places like that in town. Why that one in particular?” asked Stardust.

“Well, it’s got culture, yeah, that’s it, it’s really chic and the food’s really good there, too,” explained She-Cat.

“How would you know? It has just opened and from the tone of your voice, it implies that you have never been there before,” reminded Stardust politely.

“Ah, shoot, ya got me, Dusty,” said She-Cat with a giggle. “I got a promo offer that says that if I bring a friend I get 50% off my meal at Salvatore’s.”

“That sounds more like it,” said Stardust with a smile. “I’ll meet you in the headquarters lobby in an hour.”

* * *

At about 5 PM She-Cat and Stardust were dressed to impress enroute to Salvatore’s in She-Cat’s car, a high-powered, sanguine red Dodge Stealth as she zoomed down the expressway at a high speed.

“Jessica, please drive defensively,” said Stardust as she held onto the armrest tightly.

“You know, Dusty, the best defense is a good offense,” replied She-Cat as she hit the accelerator again to pass a couple more cars. “YEEEEEEHAAAAAAA!!!!”

“I knew I should’ve insisted more on driving…” thought Stardust.

Minutes later, She-Cat and Stardust pulled into the parking lot of Salvatore’s, where the valets greeted them and opened the car doors for Stardust and She-Cat.

“Here ya go, kid,” said She-Cat as she tossed him the keys, her fiery eyes flashing directly into his. “Don’t even think about joy-riding in my wheels, get me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the valet as he momentarily quivered.

Both were a bit surprised at the outward appearance of Salvatore’s, which really was a high class restaurant that made She-Cat feel a little bit of the bum’s rush as they opened the front door and unrolled the red carpet for them.

“Good evening,” greeted the headwaiter. “Welcome to Salvatore’s. How many in your party?”

“Two,” answered She-Cat.

“Right this way. A table on the balcony, perhaps?”

“Um…sure,” replied Stardust as the head waiter led them up the grand concourse to a second tier array of tables, allowing them to overlook the entire restaurant and observe the beautiful paintings and Italian art decorating the restaurant, including the ceiling itself.

“Enjoy your dining experience,” said the headwaiter pleasantly as he handed them the menu and wine list. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”

“What do you think?” said She-Cat.

“Extremely high class,” commented Stardust as she observed the various art decorations. “I just hope the food matches the ambience.”

As another waiter passed by their table, Stardust briefly motioned her over for a question.

“Excuse me, those art pieces you have on display in this restaurant, are they the originals or replicas?” asked Stardust.

“Those are the originals, ma’am. But don’t worry, they’re all wired into an alarm system, so they won’t get stolen,” explained the waiter.

“Interesting.” said Stardust.

* * *

“You sure you can bring all that stuff out at once, Tom? That’s a big load of pasta,” said Chris, one of the waiters as Tom mounted several plates of Italian dishes onto his tray and raised them up on his shoulder.

“Yeah, no problem. I brought out twice this amount earlier this week for the lunch crowd,” replied Tom confidently as he walked out onto the restaurant floor with the oversized tray filled with exotic pasta dishes.

“Aw, nuts!” commented a customer at a nearby table as he accidentally spilled his glass goblet of ice water. The majority of the water spilled on the table and soaked the tablecloth as a few ice cubes rolled onto the floor.

“No problem, sir. We’ll move you and your family to a new table,” said another waiter as he helped the customer and his family move while another began policing up the small mess.

As Tom passed by the table, he avoided the family as they walked to another table, the other two waiters, but slipped on the ice cubes.

“OH NO…..!!!!” cried out Tom as he lost his balance and fell forward, as the massive tray of Italian pasta dishes flew across and landed en masse onto one of the artifact pieces kept on display in the restaurant, a bronze mask. The bronze mask began to glow with a strange green light, as the pasta noodles, sauce, and meats began coalescing into a body as arms, legs, and torso of pasta of all shapes and sizes formed.

“AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!” shrieked Tom in terror as he fled into the kitchen. “IT’S ALIVE!!! IT’S ALIVE!!!”

“Dusty, do you see what I see?” muttered She-Cat in partial disbelief as she noticed the man-sized pasta monster taking shape.

“I see it, but I do not believe it,” replied Stardust.

“BRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!” roared the pasta monster.

“Okay, now I believe it,” said Stardust.

“I’ll get him outside into the parking lot. You finish him off,” said She-Cat.

“Understood,” answered Stardust as the two got up from their table. She-Cat removed her high heels and ripped her skirt partially, allowing her legs free range of motion as Stardust simply went out the fire escape and took to the air as the restaurant employees and customers fled out the other emergency exits.

“OUT YOU GO!” yelled out She-Cat as she picked up a table and charged the pasta monster, pressing the wide area surface against him as she shoved, and forced him out of the restaurant doors to the outside parking lot, where Stardust was overhead.

“NOW, DUSTY! NAIL ‘EM!” said She-Cat as Stardust fired an energy blast straight into the pasta monster. Instead of blowing it up, though, her star energy somehow supercharged it as it grew from about a 4 feet tall to a staggering 20 feet tall!

“BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!” bellowed the pasta monster.

“Oh dear,” muttered Stardust embarrassingly.

“@@**!^^%$$$##!!!!!!” cursed She-Cat over the turn of events.

“RRRRAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!” roared the giant pasta monster as it grabbed She-Cat, ensnaring her with its sinewy body of noodles.

“HEY! LEMME GO, YOU OVERSIZED BLOB OF LINGUINI!!!!” protested She-Cat.

“SHE-CAT!!!!” yelled out Stardust as she instinctively fired another energy blast at the giant pasta monster, foolishly forgetting what the effect was momentarily as the creature grew even more, and was now 30 feet tall!

“WILL YA STOP FEEDIN’ HIM, DUSTY??!!!!” screamed She-Cat as she clawed away as the pasta, freeing her hands.

“Sorry!” said Stardust. “We need to find its power source! The artifact!”

“Ugh…this ain’t gonna be pretty…” muttered She-Cat as she slipped out of the giant pasta monster’s grip and dove into its chest cavity, scrapping, cutting, even eating her way through to try and find the artifact.

“HO-HO-HO!!!!” bellowed the pasta monster as it engulfed She-Cat.

“NO!!!!” yelled out Stardust as she powerlessly hovered over the lumbering giant pasta monster, knowing all too well her powers would only make it larger.

Just then She-Cat lunged out of the massive pasta monster’s torso, clutching the magic artifact that started the whole mess to begin with as she fell downward and was caught by Stardust. Separated from the artifact, the giant pasta monster shrunk and collapsed into a messy pile of sauce and wet noodles.

“Thanks, Dusty,” said She-Cat with a measure of mischief as the two heroines began shaking off the messy globs of pasta and sauce from their bodies. “So, what do you think?”

“The encounter at this restaurant is a persuasive argument for the low-carbohydrate diet Earthlings have been raving about,” replied Stardust sternly. “I will leave it at that.”

* * *

It was about 9 PM back at FemForce Headquarters when She-Cat and Stardust closed things out at Salvatore’s and cleaned themselves up. Both were in bathrobes in the lounge when Colt sauntered by, catching their latest escapade on a news special report.

“Well, at least you didn’t destroy anything this time,” teased Colt.

“Funny, runt,” replied She-Cat.

“Was the place any good?” asked Colt.

“I really do not know,” answered Stardust. “The monster appeared just as our meal arrived, so we never had a chance to eat it between fighting and cleaning up. The aroma was enticing, though.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get another chance,” said She-Cat.

“How’s that?” asked Colt.

“I do not understand, either,” said Stardust.

“Well, it turns out our little run-in brought some big-name publicity for the place, so much so the owners gave us free dinners at Salvatore’s and guaranteed reservations for a year,” explained She-Cat.

Colt threw her arms up and laughed as she said, “Why am I not surprised…?”

The End

0

Power Run Amok by Fred Wong

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:51 pm | Tags: fred wong

After a long hiatus, Colt was glad to be back with FemForce again. Following years of working solo for the majority of her career and after briefly serving as the team’s leader, Colt finally realized that there was a certain quality of being on this team that she missed when she left all those months ago.

Loading up a fresh cache of ammunition, Colt warmed up her motorcycle to do a routine patrol and cruise around the area. Unknown to her, overhead several dozen feet was a small camera probe that was following her every move after she left headquarters.

“Well, there she is. Our first test subject,” commented Greg as he observed the monitor screen. “Colt, the Weapons Mistress, according to this file I found from hacking into the Pentagon’s information database.”

“Hmmm…not bad. She’ll do for a start,” added Peter as he propped his feet up on the computer console. “Who do you think can take her? Any bets?”

“How about Dreamslayer? He’s big, nasty, mean, and oozing with power,” suggested Bobby before taking a bite into some pizza.

“No way, that’s overkill!” interrupted Greg. “How about a villain WITHOUT supernatural powers?”

“Okay, okay, okay…how about Professor Gizmo? Colt’s got weapons, he’s got weapons, fair enough?” said Peter.

“Yeah, Gizmo! Gizmo! Gizmo!” cheered Bobby.

“Professor Gizmo it is!” said Greg and he typed in the commands into the keyboard, hacking into the master control system of Dr. Jimenez’s time and dimensional travel device as it remains locked away and under heavy guard in a secret location at a government research facility. The massive time triangle device momentarily activated to release a stream of energy before deactivating, avoiding detection by any monitoring sensors.

“Here we go…” said Greg excitedly.

* * *

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” cried out a man’s voice from an old, deserted building.

“Who could that be? A homeless guy?” thought Colt as she pulled her motorcycle over and cautiously entered the old building.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” called out Colt. “I’m here to help.”

Colt by Marat MychaelsWithout warning, a laser beam darted by Colt as she dodged the small burst of energy that knocked off her hat. In a flash Colt drew her machine pistol and automatic pistol, ready for anything.

“Who’s there? Show yourself,” ordered Colt. “You can either make this easy, or make this hard. Your choice.”

“Hello, little Colt, it’s nice to see you,” said the evil Professor Gizmo as he emerged from the shadows holding a remote control box. “Say hello to Mr. Chuckles!”

“CRUSH….KILL….DESTROY!!!!” resonated the 7 foot tall robot known as Mr. Chuckles as it thundered down the old room and delivered a body block into Colt before she could open fire, knocking her clear out of the building through an old boarded up window.

Colt quickly got up and opened fire with her automatic pistol and machine pistol! The bullets fell harmlessly to the ground after impacting Mr. Chuckles’ chassis.

“Surprised?” said Professor Gizmo. “Mr. Chuckles is protected by a special magnetic field that renders your armor piercing bullets useless.”

Colt aimed her pistol at Professor Gizmo’s remote control device, firing one shot that blasted it into pieces on impact. Without the device to feed Mr. Chuckles energy and guidance, the once fearsome robot slumped down and deactivated like a hump of hi-tech refuse.

Colt re-entered the old building, with her pistol pointed squarely at Professor Gizmo.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” said Colt sternly. Before Colt could do anything else, Professor Gizmo disappeared in a flash of light, along with his robot.

“What on earth?” thought Colt as she put her weapons back in their holsters and recovered her hat. Colt cautiously searched the immediate area, finding nothing as she returned to her cycle to call in a report.

* * *

“Man, Professor Gizmo STINKS!” cursed Bobby as he observed the fight from the monitor screen. “I told you we should’ve gotten Dreamslayer.”

“Relax, Bobby,” replied Greg. “It’s still early; who do you want next? And no, you cannot pick Dreamslayer.”

“Fine,” muttered Bobby as he pouted. “How about Omegakhron…no wait, how about Candyman?”

“Why not both?” suggested Peter.

“I like how this guy thinks,” said Greg as he again hacked into the research facility’s computer systems to access Dr. Jimenez’s time and dimensional device to summon the villains of their choice, teleporting them from wherever they are to the present time.

* * *

“That’s all I know, Nightveil,” said Colt as she finished out her status report to headquarters.

“I’ll be at your location shortly to help check things out,” replied Nightveil. “The last time villains were popping in and out in teleportation vortexes, the Black Shroud was involved. I’ll try to raise Tara for some backup, too.”

“Roger. I’ll be standing by,” replied Colt as she reloaded her weapons. As Colt finished putting fresh ammunition magazines in, a fragrant aroma filled the air, a stark contrast to the smell of old wood, brick, and garbage in that dilapidated part of town.

Colt turned around and saw none other than the deranged robot creation of her nemesis Professor Montague Moon: Candyman. The insane Candyman robot standing before her with its bright pink and white metallic chassis and red laced armor enhancements, a crazed metallic version of the Gingerbread man from fairy tales.

“Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee…” giggled Candyman as it fired a volley of globs of sticky pink bubble gum at Colt. Colt immediately dodged out of the way behind an old car parked nearby as the pink orbs struck her motorcycle, covering it with a pink, rubbery glop.

Colt gritted her teeth in frustration, having just cleaned her motorcycle that morning, as she sprang on the other side of the car and opened fire with her machine pistol, shooting apart Candyman’s knees with four well placed bursts of armor piercing bullets. The robot collapsed on its back and floundered like a disoriented turtle as Colt cautiously walked over to it.

“Who’s behind this? Professor Moon? Is he working with Professor Gizmo now?” questioned Colt. “ANSWER ME!”

Candyman then disappeared before Colt’s eyes when suddenly a giant net landed on top of her, entangling her as she fell onto the ground. Colt looked up and saw a heavily armored man in technological armor descending down towards her: Omegakhron, a super powered mercenary even more powerful than Battlezone.

“Target neutralized,” said Omegakhron.

“Think again,” replied Colt as she crawled out of the net and opened fire with her pistol and machine pistol, as a hail of bullets struck Omegakhron squarely in the chest.

“Damage, minimal. Countermeasures initiated.” responded Omegakhron as he fired a series of laser blasts at Colt. Colt dodged behind an old brick wall as lasers riddled against it before she returned fire with another massive barrage, with the bullets inflicting negligible damage. Omegakhron fired another volley of lasers, slowly reducing the brick wall she was hiding behind for cover to dust.

“I’m way outgunned,” thought Colt as she quickly reloaded her pistol with a magazine of high-explosive rounds. “Here goes everything…”

Colt swung around the side and opened fire, with the first three bullets striking Omegakhron squarely in the chest as sparks and small explosions erupted on his metallic chassis, visibly damaging the seemingly impregnable defense. Colt fired the remaining three bullets in the magazine at Omegakhron’s weapon systems, blowing apart his laser blaster.

“No more Mister Nice Guy,” said Omegakhron as he lunged at Colt knocking her across the street as she slammed against the wall. Omegakhron picked up her pistol and machine gun pistol, crushing it as he followed up with another hard punch, knocking the wind out her.

“Effort was worthy, but your resistance proved futile,” replied Omegakhron. “Victory is mine.”

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” yelled Nightveil as she fired a magic blast at Omegakhron, shattering a sizeable chunk of the back of his armor. Sparks flew as Nightveil caught him off guard and off balance. Nightveil released a rapid barrage of magic blasts that overloaded his defenses, forcing him away from Colt. The blasts pinned him against a wall as he held his arms in front of his face in a desperate attempt to deflect them.

“Now, for the finishing touch…” said Nightveil as she cast a final spell, teleporting Omegakhron out of his armor to the outside. Omegakhron’s eyes opened wide with shock as he appeared on the city street in his regular clothes and no longer piloting his formidable armor suit.

“Now, let’s start with the beginning,” stated Nightveil when in a flash Omegakhron and Candyman both disappeared, as if plucked out of reality and vanishing away.

“What the…?” blurted out Nightveil as she helped up Colt. Nightveil walked Colt back to Colt’s motorcycle, finding it covered in slimy, pink bubblegum. “Are you okay?”

“A couple nasty bruises and a few small cuts; not bad,” replied Colt as she peeled away some of the bubble gum glop to access her first aid kit. Colt applied some antiseptic spray and Band-Aids to her wounds. “Thanks for backing me up.”

“No problem. This is strange; I’m not detecting any residual magic here…however they came and went, it wasn’t from magic,” said Nightveil as she completed a mystic scan of the immediate area.

“No non-supernatural villain we’ve encountered can teleport like that,” said Colt as she opened her compartment to retrieve her spare machine pistol. “A new enemy, perhaps?”

“I’m not sure,” said Nightveil. “Tara’s on her way over in the jump ship, and maybe we’ll get some more insight from the equipment we have on board.”

“How long will it take?” asked Colt.

“About twenty minutes, I think,” responded Nightveil.

Colt subtlely gestured to her bubblegum covered motorcycle as she said, “Think you can do something about that?”

“Done.” replied Nightveil with a smile as she cast a spell to dissolve the bubblegum substance.

* * *

Meanwhile, Greg, Peter, and Bobby watched in disappointment as two more villains they summoned from hacking into Dr. Jimenez’s time and dimensional travel device were beaten soundly, forcing them to pluck and send them back where they came from initially.

“Those guys STUNK!” muttered Bobby. “Nightveil’s there, NOW can we bring in Dreamslayer?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” added Peter. “It would be kind of neat to see Dreamslayer go at it against the two of them at once.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s do it,” agreed Greg finally as he inputted the commands, transporting Dreamslayer into the deserted city street where Nightveil and Colt awaited the arrival of Tara.

Back at the city street Nightveil momentarily grew dizzy.

“Nightveil, what’s wrong?” asked Colt.

“Something weird just happened to me,” said Nightveil as she regained her composure. “Like someone just walked on my grave or something…”

Colt and Nightveil caught wind of the smell of burnt brimstone as they both turned around, seeing down the street the supernatural overlord known as Dreamslayer, a hideous melding of super science and sorcery as he hovered before them in golden colored cybernetic armor and coruscating energy where a face would be. Dreamslayer crackled with scarlet energy emanating from him like an unholy aura of dark powers.

“Dreamslayer…” gasped Nightveil.

“Who?” muttered Colt as she drew her weapons.

“The Green Lama and Dr. Weir told me about him; a supernatural force of destruction they banished years ago…” explained Nightveil, visibly concerned.

“I see raw power stirring within you, little one,” said Dreamslayer with an evil grin as he gazed straight at Nightveil. “Your Cloak of Darkness would be a great addition to my dominion.”

“Not going to happen, bucko,” barked Colt as she opened fire with a burst of armor piercing bullets that bounced harmless off of Dreamslayer’s cybernetic armor.

“Amusing,” said Dreamslayer. “For your attempt at humor, I shall give you the serene peace of oblivion…”

The wind picked up and the sky turned a blood red as Dreamslayer released a deadly stream of scarlet lightning at Colt. Nightveil summoned forth a mystic shield that surrounded them both as the bolt struck. The force of the blast knocked Nightveil back a couple of feet, as the mystic shield flickered, diminishing in power.

“Get more backup, I’ll hold him off,” ordered Nightveil as she fired a blast of magic energy at Dreamslayer that impacted him, having minimal effect.

“Child, your magic is so elementary to me,” replied Dreamslayer wickedly. “You do not need the Cloak of Darkness. Give it to me and I will spare your life.”

“Fat chance, fat head!” said Nightveil defiantly as she cast another spell, entangling Dreamslayer in a whirlwind of magical energy chains to pin him down as she rained shards of mystic energy onto him.

“Tara, this is Colt,” said Colt on her communicator. “We got a situation here. Radio Stardust, Rayda, and Ms. Victory…we’re going to need some more firepower on this one.”

“You got it,” said Tara.

“BAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” roared Dreamslayer as he broke free of the mystic energy chains and slowly advanced towards Nightveil as she took to the air. Dreamslayer hurtled another scarlet lightning bolt at Nightveil as she reactivated her defenses. Nightveil’s mystic shield barely held, as she continued casting every spell she knew at Dreamslayer with minimal effect on slowing him down. Colt opened fire again with her high explosive bullets, again having no effect.

“How’d they defeat him the first time?” yelled Colt as she fired again, seeing the bullets bounce harmlessly off.

“They didn’t…! They barely teleported him back to the netherworld!” answered Nightveil as she weathered another devastating blast from Dreamslayer. “I don’t remember them saying anything about him having power armor, either!”

“Can’t you whip another spell to do the same?!” said Colt.

“It’s not that simple…it takes time to create a spell powerful enough to move such an unwilling entity from one dimension to another!” replied Nightveil as she dodged another lightning bolt.

“Swell…” muttered Colt as she reloaded.

“Enough,” replied Dreamslayer as he cast a spell of his own! Two giant demon hands sprang out from the road surface and grabbed Colt and Nightveil, holding them tight in their grasp.

“ARRRRGHHHH!!!!” screamed Colt.

“CAN’T….BREATHE!” gasped Nightveil as the hand squeezed the air out of her, making it easy for Dreamslayer to cast a final spell on Nightveil. Heavily drained mentally from Dreamslayer’s onslaught, Nightveil quickly succumbed to his sleep spell as she slumped out cold in the demon hand’s grip.

“Bravo…bravo…” said a woman’s voice from the distance.

“Show yourself,” ordered Dreamslayer as, from the shadows, Nightveil’s longtime nemesis, Alizarin Crimson, emerged.

“And you are?” said Dreamslayer.

“Alizarin Crimson, great one,” said Alizarin Crimson.

* * *

“NO WAY! NO WAY!!!!” cheered Bobby as he watched the giant monitor screen. “WHERE’D SHE COME FROM?”

“I don’t know,” said Greg. “I didn’t summon here.”

“Who cares? She’s there now, this is getting even better!” said Peter.

* * *

“I can read your thoughts; they are an open book to me,” stated Dreamslayer. “You want the Cloak of Darkness for yourself, and seek to trick me into giving it to you. I will not.”

“Very well, then,” threatened Alizarin Crimson. “I will take what you will not give.”

Alizarin Crimson summoned her arcane magic and released a massive bolt of magical energy that struck Dreamslayer directly as a small explosion erupted blasting dirt and broken macadam into the air. As the cloud of dust and burnt carbon cleared Dreamslayer remained hovering, unfazed from one of Alizarin Crimson’s most powerful attacks.

“It…it cannot be!” said Alizarin Crimson in disbelief.

“It can. It will,” replied Dreamslayer as he unleashed a flurry of ebony black energy blasts that pummeled Alizarin Crimson. Her magic force field only lasted mere seconds as she was soon brought to her knees from him.

“What…are…you?” said Alizarin Crimson weakly.

“I am power incarnate, I am Dreamslayer…” said Dreamslayer.

* * *

“OH MY GAWD! OH MY GAWD! DID YOU SEE THAT???” yelled Bobby. “Dreamslayer took down Colt, Nightveil, AND Alizarin Crimson!!! That is just SO cool!”

“Grandpa Brady wasn’t kidding when he told us that Dreamslayer’s the most powerful villain that ever walked the Earth!” said Peter. “But I think we’d better send him back.”

“Bobby?” asked Greg.

“Actually, yeah, Peter’s right,” agreed Bobby reluctantly. “He’s gonna blow up the world at this rate!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll send him back,” said Greg as he typed in the commands. Moments later and as unexpectedly as he arrived, Dreamslayer was gone! With him gone, the spells he cast dissipated as the giant demonic hands disappeared, releasing Colt and Nightveil from its grip.

Alizarin Crimson recovered as well, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor as she quickly activated a teleportation spell to slip away.

“Another time, Nightveil…another time…” said Alizarin Crimson as she disappeared.

“WHAT is going on here?” said a frustrated Colt. “One second we’re on our way to buying the farm from Dreamslayer and now he’s gone? What gives???”

“I have no idea…” said Nightveil as she got up and began dusting herself off. “Where’s Tara?”

* * *

“That was just so cool, Greg!” exclaimed Peter. “Who do we summon next? Chromo? Killer Clown? Professor Moon? Valkyra?”

“Does it matter? The sky’s the limit!” said Greg.

“Ahem,” said a voice behind them. Greg, Peter, and Bobby turned around, finding Tara, Rayda, and Ms. Victory standing behind them.

“Uh-oh……” muttered Greg, Peter, and Bobby.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ms. Victory, Tara, and Rayda to dismantle Greg, Peter, and Bobby’s computers and take them into custody, turning in their hardware for study since they were able to access a top secret location and its assets through a remote location. Back at FemForce Headquarters, Ms. Victory debriefed everyone on the day’s unusual events.

“You mean to tell me that whole mess in that old industrial park in town was concocted by three zit-faced teenage fanboys????” said She-Cat.

“I’m afraid so,” said Ms. Victory.

“How’d you track them?” asked Colt.

“It was easy,” explained Tara. “When I was flying towards you in the jump ship I was picking up these unusual energy signatures from this residential area immediately followed by some type of distortion where you were. Since you and Nightveil were dealing with what was coming out of that distortion, I radioed Ms. Victory and Rayda and we triangulated the energy residue to where they were; like tracing a phone call.”

“@**@^%$$ punks…” cursed She-Cat quietly.

“Punks or not, those three were able to hack into a heavily guarded installation and use one of the most powerful inventions on the planet,” stated Nightveil. “And summon one of the most fearsome entities ever known.”

“Maybe we ought to give them a job and put them on the payroll,” suggested Colt sarcastically. “We can take it out of General Gordon’s salary.”

Everyone laughed.

The End

0

The Bet by Fred Wong

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:52 pm | Tags: fred wong

Author’s Note: This story’s inspired by and dedicated to the babysitter perils my friends Helen and Marcy dealt with in high school and college, respectively.

“Thanks again for having us over for dinner, Laura,” thanked Rayda as she and Colt entered her modest house not far from FemForce headquarters. “This is my first time over, how about you, Val?”

“First time here also,” said Colt. “The last time was at Laura’s family estate, wasn’t it? A mansion?”

“Yes, very old money looking,” commented Nightveil as she brought out a small tray of hors d’ouvres. “Way too large for one person to live in alone. This is much cozier.”

“Yes, there’s a certain charm to it,” said Rayda with a smile. “I wouldn’t expect it from the world’s most powerful sorceress.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Nightveil as opened the bottle of white wine. “Half of the fan letters I’ve received ask if I live in some Gothic castle or a house of Gingerbread.”

“Are you serious?” said Colt with a laugh. “I can understand the castle but a Gingerbread house? What, do they think you try to cook little boys and girls into stew in your off-time when you’re not fighting Alizarin Crimson?”

Nightveil shrugged as Rayda laughed before sampling some hors d’ouvres.

“Dinner’ll be ready in about 40 minutes,” said Nightveil. “It’s still roasting in the oven. Why don’t you put on some music? I just got a new collection of CDs.”

“Okay,” said Rayda as she previewed Nightveil’s CD collection, a bit surprised on what she saw, as they were all big band orchestra music or jazz performers like Elle Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, and Louie Armstrong.

“Is there a problem, Dyna?” asked Nightveil.

“No, not at all,” replied Rayda as she put in a Duke Ellington CD. “Classic jazz is fine, but I was wondering if you had any music made in the last 20 years, perhaps?”

“What do you mean?” commented Nightveil with an awkward smile. “Are you implying that I’m out of touch?”

“Hold on, hold on,” interrupted Colt. “Dyna, Nightveil was originally the Blue Bulleteer during World War II and got teleported into another dimension to train in the mystic arts. She didn’t return until much later.”

“That explains a lot about the tastes,” said Rayda.

“You didn’t answer my question,” teased Nightveil. “Do you think I’m out of touch with the modern world?”

“Um…kinda, yes,” replied Rayda awkwardly. “I mean, the way you decorate your home, the way you dress when not in costume, and the music…it’s like I’m visiting my grandparents. One time, when they asked one of the other grandchildren what he was saving his allowance money for, he told them it was for a Sony Playstation, and they thought he wanted a jungle gym.”

“I am fully aware of all the latest gadgets today’s children are into,” asserted Nightveil humorously. “I’m just not willing to succumb to every fad that comes out, that’s all.”

“I still have my doubts,” joked Rayda.

* * *

About an hour and a half later Nightveil, Rayda, and Colt had finished the majority of their meal and were shooting the breeze at the dining room table with another round of wine while enjoying their dessert.

“I tell you what,” suggested Rayda. “You want to prove to me that you’re still with it, right? Well, I’ve got a wager for you. You interested?”

“Depends,” said Nightveil as she took another sip of her wine. “What is it?”

“I’m chaperoning a birthday party for my baby cousin Jimmy who’s turning eight this weekend,” explained Rayda. “If you help out and successfully keep them in line, then you win. Let’s say, I wash your car any time you want for a month.”

“And if I lose?” said Nightveil.

“I get you to dress you in the latest fashions for a month,” replied Rayda.

“Easy enough,” chuckled Nightveil confidently.

“Wait a second, I’m not through yet,” added Rayda. “No powers. No magic spells. No showing up in costume to dazzle the kids with lure of meeting Nightveil; just plain ol’ Laura Wright. Still willing to wager?”

“Of course,” asserted Nightveil humorously. “But who’ll be the judge of this contest?”

“I guess that’d be me,” commented Colt. “I didn’t have anything special planned this weekend, anyhow.”

“So, we have a deal?” said Rayda.

“Yep, consider it done.” said Nightveil with a confident smile as they shook hands to seal the deal.

* * *

The weekend of truth soon arrived, as Rayda and Colt picked up Nightveil and took her to Rayda’s sister’s home. The party wasn’t to start for about an hour, giving them time to freshen up and finish setting up. Rayda and Colt were dressed fairly casually, with a comfortable mock turtleneck longsleeve shirt and jeans while Nightveil was in a light spring dress

“What’d you bring?” asked Rayda, a little surprised to see Nightveil ride with them with a large paper bag.

“Oh, just some party games, like pin the tail on the donkey, a small pinata, and some others,” explained Nightveil, noticing strange looks from Rayda and Colt.

“Laura, no one really plays pin the tail of the donkey anymore,” said Colt, “But then again, I was kind of a tomboy growing up, and played football at my parties.”

“I just bought these yesterday at the party store in town,” replied Nightveil.

“Where? Don’s Party Store?” asked Rayda.

“Yes, I think so,” answered Nightveil. “Why?”

“Most of what he sells is clearance party supplies from years ago,” explained Rayda. “Look at the copyright on it…1970.”

“Well, what do you have planned then?” asked Nightveil as she put the items back in the bag.

“Follow me,” said Rayda.

“Don’t get too down, Laura, we might use them later,” suggested Colt as Rayda led them to the main living room, where three large big screen televisions were on display.

“What are those for? You’re showing movies for the party?” asked Nightveil.

“Hardly,” said Rayda as she pulled out some black boxes. “I rented these three televisions along with three sets of the hottest new video game system; we’re having a video game tournament.”

“You’re kidding,” said Colt in disbelief.

“Not at all. I got the idea from another birthday party I helped out in a couple of months ago,” commented Rayda. “For that one the family rented the whole video arcade for the afternoon, which cost them an arm and a leg. This cost a third of what they paid.”

“Aren’t the newest games for that system tailored towards teens?” asked Nightveil. “They’re awfully violent and graphic.”

“Got it covered,” said Rayda. “My sister and I picked out a cool racing car game and tested it out. It’s called Daytona 5000 and they can use either modern or futuristic racing cars. Just cool cars and lots of speed.”

Nightveil picked up the controller, a bit perplexed by the number of buttons.

“Isn’t this kind of advanced for an eight year old?” asked Nightveil. “Wouldn’t a simpler video game system like an Atari be easier?”

Rayda looked up confused and said, “What’s an Atari?”

* * *

An hour later the kids arrived, and including the guest of honor, Jimmy, the total was twelve little boys as they exchanged high-fives and placed their gifts on the main table. Nightveil and Jimmy’s Mom, Sheila, were in the kitchen were finished heating up some pizza rolls and placed them on the tray, while Colt and Rayda were still connecting all the video game systems together and setting up the tournament rules.

“The natives are getting restless,” joked Rayda, overhearing Jimmy and his friends running around, laughing and screaming while impersonating their favorite television superheroes.

“I still need to clean up some things here,” said Sheila. “Laura, why don’t you entertain the kids until Dyna and Val finish up in the living room. There’re plenty of toys in the rec room.”

“Okay,” agreed Laura as she herded the kids into the rec room.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Laura,” greeted Nightveil.

“Hello, Miss Laura,” replied the kids in unison.

“Would you like to play a game?” offered Nightveil.

“Sure!” said Todd happily, one of Jimmy’s friends.

“What game, then?” asked Nightveil.

Todd and Jimmy’s other friend Kyle whispered a suggestion into Jimmy’s ear, as Jimmy nodded yes as he said, “How about the Perils of Penelope?”

“Um, okay…” replied Nightveil. “I’ve never heard of that game before.”

“That’s okay, we’ll teach you how,” said Kyle.

* * *

About ten minutes passed as Rayda and Colt had everything set up while all the food for the party was ready to go. Rayda had written down how the tournament was to go, so everyone had a chance to play plenty of times throughout the day.

“Well, it’s all set up,” commented Rayda. “Let’s reel them in.”

As Sheila got out some more napkins and small paper plates, Rayda and Colt went to the recreation to check on Nightveil and start the video racing game tournament. When they arrived, Rayda and Colt wound Nightveil tied to a chair with an excessive amount of rope and gagged with a cloth!

“What’ll it be, Penelope? The buzzsaw or the bomb?” teased Kyle in a funny voice, using an old tablecloth as a cloak.

“MMPH!” protested Nightveil.

“What on earth….?” said Colt in disbelief.

“Oh my,” added Rayda, trying hard not to laugh. “I wouldn’t expect this to happen to the world’s most powerful sorceress!”

“What do we do?” asked Colt.

“I’ll take care of it,” assured Rayda.

“Okay, Hooded Claw…” called out Rayda. “Let’s fast forward from damsel in distress land to the racing pit, shall we? Are any of you ready to race?”

“YEAH!” cheered the kids.

“All righty then, let’s go!” replied Rayda, imitating Donald Duck’s voice. The kids put the toys back on the shelf and followed Rayda to the living room to start the tournament. Colt remained behind in the recreation room and started to untie Nightveil, removing the gag first.

“Are you okay?” asked Colt as she began untying the knots.

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M OKAY????” blurted out Nightveil. “I CAN’T BELIEVE THOSE LITTLE HEATHENS DID THIS TO ME!!! I’M GOING TO PUT THOSE BRATS ON MY KNEES AND…NO, WAIT! I’M GOING TO WASH OUT THEIR MOUTHS WITH SOAP!!!!”

“Easy, Laura, easy…” replied Colt. “You really can’t spank or punish other people’s kids nowadays…”

“I know, I know…” answered Nightveil as she took a couple of deep breaths and calmed down. “I just can’t believe this happened. I mean, I’ve gone toe to toe against the Black Shroud and just got tricked into being tied up by a bunch of seven year olds!”

“Well, there IS a difference,” commented Colt as she removed some more rope. “The seven year olds are smarter…”

* * *

About an hour later the party was well under way with Rayda and Jimmy’s Mom Sheila were running the video game tournament as the kids rotated in and out for snacks. Inside the kitchen Nightveil and Colt were serving food and cleaning up the occasional spill that occurred.

“What’s the matter, Laura?” asked Colt.

“I’m just grimacing about Dyna winning our bet,” pouted Nightveil. “She’s going to try and dress me up like Britney Spears or someone worse.”

“The party’s barely started, Laura, you’re doing fine,” assured Colt. “I’m the judge in this, after all.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at her and look at me!” replied Nightveil. “Dyna has them eating out of her hands and me, well, you SAW what happened to me! Tied up like a some damsel in distress in the silent movies.”

“Well, the mischievous whim of trying to tie up the babysitter is in all little boys,” pointed out Colt, hiding her smile.

“You say that as if you know from experience,” replied Nightveil skeptically.

“Like I said, Laura, I was a tomboy growing up,” reminded Colt. “I played the same games the boys down the street played; I’ll leave it at that.”

* * *

Meanwhile, outside the once clear skies over Florida turned cloudy as a thunderstorm quickly loomed in overhead. Within another half hour a steady rain was coming down, followed by flashing lightning and booming thunder. As the weather took a turn for the worse, another flash of lightning struck and impacted the local power grid, as power failed within a several block radius.

“Uh-oh…” muttered Rayda.

“Aw, man, the power’s out!” muttered Kyle along with the other kids attending the party.

“Now what do we do?” asked Todd.

“I want to go home…” whispered Eric.

Nightveil’s eyes lit up instantly as she came out and put up the donkey poster on the wall as she said, “Well, you all did okay on the video games, but I think it’s time you all get a real test of dexterity. Pin the tail on the donkey.”

“What’re you talking about, Miss Laura? Pin the tail on the donkey’s the easiest game in the world,” insisted Jason, a party guest.

“Great, then you’ll go first and show us how easy it is,” replied Laura as she covered his eyes with a blindfold and then spun him around clockwise, then counterclockwise, and then maneuvered him around the room a bit before spinning him around a few more times.

“Now, no help from the outsiders, got it?” ordered Nightveil and Colt flashed the “Shhh” signal with her finger over her mouth.

Jason stumbled about, extremely disoriented as he cast the tail. Upon removing the blindfold. everyone laughed in the fact that Jason missed the donkey’s body by at least four whole feet.

“Not as easy, is it?” giggled Nightveil.

“Here, let me give it shot!” insisted Kyle.

“No, me!” blurted out Eric.

“One moment, one moment. You’ll all get a chance,” stated Nightveil politely as she blindfolded Jimmy next.

* * *

About two hours later the power was restored as the party drew to a close, as young Jimmy blew out the candles and opened his gifts with his friends by candlelight that gave the room a magical aura. Not long after the cake was served it was time to go, as parents soon arrived to pick up their kids. As the last of the party guests left, Nightveil, Rayda, and Colt helped clean up while Sheila and Jimmy were saying goodbye.

“Fun party,” commented Colt. “I think the kids had a blast.”

“So, have you reached a decision?” asked Rayda as she wiped off some dishes.

“Well, I haven’t really given it much thought yet,” admitted Colt.

“Rayda won,” muttered Nightveil. “I was the one who got tied up by them and had to get rescued. Dyna corralled them up and had control the entire time with the high-tech toys she got.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Laura,” admitted Rayda. “I really didn’t know what to do when the power went out and those party games you ran were a real hit. That pinata was amazing; there’s something to be said about that old-fashioned style of yours.”

“Well, I believe you’ve already settled it then,” said Colt with a smile.

“What do you mean? Who won?” asked Rayda.

“You both did,” answered Colt. “Both of you had your hiccups, but you pretty much had things under control the entire time. You don’t see Sheila complaining, do you?”

Laura smiled as she said to Rayda, “Dyna, I’d like my interior vacuumed also after you wash my car tomorrow, please.”

Rayda smiled also as she fired back, “Sure, and you can drive us straight to the mall afterwards; Express Internationale and The Limited are having storewide sales.”

The End

0

Redemption by Fred Wong

Posted: December 10, 2009 at 8:54 pm | Tags: fred wong

Ms. Victory was among the most powerful beings on the planet, possessing paranormal strength and invulnerability on an epic scale. No bullet ever pierced her skin; no knife ever cut her flesh. Behind the mask, though, she was still Jennifer Wayne Burke, a woman, like everyone else, with a heart, like everyone else, and with feelings, like everyone else.

Ms. Victory tossed and turned all night, restless in her bed as she awoke breathing heavily with a cold sweat again and again. It was 3 AM, and nothing worked. Warm milk, sleeping pills, and soothing music did nothing for her as she restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning. Ms. Victory’s heart raced, as she wanted to scream but cried on her pillow.

It was a little after 5 AM when Ms. Victory finally got out of bed, barely sleeping more than fifteen continuous minutes at a time the night before, evident in her visibly bloodshot eyes. This was the day she dreaded more than anything other in the world, and was already sick to her stomach before the sunrise.

It was her son Jason’s birthday.

It was a little over a year since he died that fateful day. At the time her own mother, Joan Wayne, was corrupted into being the villainess Rad, with Jennifer leading the FemForce to restore her back to her true form. In the ensuing battle a stray piece of rubble fell, killing the young Jason Burke. It was a tragedy that wasn’t her fault, but was something that still haunted Jennifer Wayne Burke.

Jennifer took a long, hard look at the arrangement of photos she had framed on her wall as the first morning’s light trickled inside and shone on the display. Her son Jason was a good kid who always tried to give more than he took, and had more dreams than stars in the evening sky. Jason was everything Jennifer wanted in a son, the embodiment of her love, hope, and faith. It all came to a halt on that tragic day.

Jennifer still missed his smile in the morning. Whether he was two or nine, Jason always awoke with a smile on his face, rain or shine, snow or sleet. Regardless of how rough a time Jennifer had at work the day before, seeing Jason shining smile revitalized her. There was something special about him that made people around him want to become better, a unique trait that made its way to his little league team, going from 2 wins and 10 losses to 9 and 3 and in the championship game the following season. Jennifer remembered that game and more importantly, what happened afterwards. She remembered walking back with him to the car; he was covered in dust and was feeling down in the dumps after losing 4 to 3 in the final inning of play. Even though he went 3 for 3 that day and made a spectacular catch to prevent a run from scoring, Jason was still down since the team lost but didn’t blame anyone at all or make excuses like some of his teammates did; Jennifer was never more proud of him than that moment.

It really didn’t seem all that long ago he was still in diapers, or when she was chasing him as a toddler around the house for bath time, or his championship little league game. Jennifer missed those simpler days, and wished she could have them again, if only to remind her of how special those times were.

But wishes weren’t reality, as Jennifer reflected somberly as she showered and then changed into a simple long sleeve blouse and jeans. Breakfast was quick, some toast and orange juice as she headed out the door, barely saying a word to fellow members She-Cat and Stardust as she passed them abruptly in the main entranceway.

“What’s gotten into her?” blurted out She-Cat. “Does she have a stick up her…oh, wait…”

“I know. I had almost forgotten, too,” commented Stardust. “We threw a surprise party for him in this same building two years ago.”

It took Ms. Victory a little over an hour to reach the cemetery where her son was buried. Ms. Victory parked her car and walked to his well kept gravesite, placing a birthday card, a small U.S. flag, and a happy birthday balloon around his grave.

“Hello, Jason,” said Ms. Victory quietly. “Happy Birthday.”

Ms. Victory wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. “Your cousin Bobby’s due to rotate back home from Enduring Freedom soon…not sure where the Army’ll send him next. Hurry up and wait some more, I suppose. Your cousin Samantha is halfway through freshman year in high school, and will make honor roll. Not much else has happened in the family since I was last here.”

She thought back to Jason seeing his cousin Bobby after he finished Army basic and advanced individual training, decked out in his formal green Class A uniform. Bobby was a brand new Private First Class with a shiny Expert marksmanship badge and the Army Service Ribbon on his chest, and remembered how Jason looked up to him and wanted to be like him rather than some conceited professional baseball player on television.

“I miss you, Jason,” said Ms. Victory. “I miss your smile. I miss your imagination. I miss having you there to cheer me up. Your father and I loved you so much…I’ve never been the same without you.”

“Are you expecting him to say something?” said a voice.

“WHO SAID THAT?” exclaimed Ms. Victory as she immediately sprang to her feet, seeing nothing around at first.

“ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!” asserted Ms. Victory.

“Just an old friend to say hello,” said Alizarin Crimson, emerging from behind a small stone monument. “Nice to see you again with your little boy pushing up the daisies.”

“HIS NAME WAS JASON!!!!!” roared Ms. Victory as she delivered a devastating punch that hit Alizarin so quickly that she couldn’t raise a force field in time, sending her flying across the cemetery as she slammed hard onto the ground.

“My, my…aren’t we a little miffed this morning,” teased Alizarin as she dusted herself off and activated her magical force field. Ms. Victory pressed her attack, delivering another two punches that were absorbed by the field.

“Are you going to cry now, Ms. Victory? Are you?” mocked Alizarin as she fired a magic blast at Ms. Victory, knocking her to the ground. “You should thank me; in a few moments you’ll be joining your dead little brat.”

“RAAAAAGHHHH!” screamed Ms. Victory as she grabbed a hold of the magical force field, shredding the mystical energy apart with her bare hands. Ms. Victory grabbed Alizarin and piledrivered her into the ground, picked her up again, then slammed her hard on the ground a second time before straddling over her to pin her down. Ms. Victory’s hands reached around Alizarin’s throat, as fear echoed in the bruised and bloodied Alizarin’s eyes.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shatter your spine,” said Ms. Victory bitterly.

Another magic blast surged out of nowhere and struck Ms. Victory in the back, knocking her off of Alizarin as the evil sorceress Gorgana emerged. Alizarin Crimson was not alone, and had come with backup.

“The Fear Force is back,” cackled Gorgana. “And we’re taking out the FemForce, starting with you.”

“You want some? Come get some,” retorted Ms. Victory as she dodged Gorgana’s magic blast and delivered a well-placed kick, sending her reeling. Alizarin was still too weak to stand, let alone cast a spell as Ms. Victory tracked her down and delivered another hard kick.

“Where’re the rest of you?” replied Ms. Victory bitterly. “You picked the wrong day and the wrong woman to mess with.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Right, Valkyra?” commented Darkfire.

“Ya, Darkfire,” added Valkyra as she slammed into Ms. Victory with a shoulder tackle. Darkfire fired a psionic blast from her helmet at Ms. Victory, striking her down as Valkyra continued pummeling her. Ms. Victory, outnumbered four to one, could only hold up her arms in defense to shield herself from the onslaught.

“POUR IT ON!” yelled Alizarin as she and Gorgana bombarded Ms. Victory with a deadly volley of magic blasts. “WE HAVE HER NOW!”

Seraph by Fed Wong“ENOUGH!!!!” echoed a voice from the sky above. Gorgana, Alizarin Crimson, Valkyra, and Darkfire looked up, seeing what appeared to be a winged warrior in futuristic armor hovering above them.

“Who’s he?” asked Darkfire.

“Who cares, just shoot him up and let God sort the mess out,” replied Alizarin as she blasted him with a spell. Surprisingly, the spell had no effect.

“My turn,” replied the winged warrior as he hurtled a spear of lightning at Alizarin Crimson, shattering her mystical defenses. Darkfire attempted to fire a psionic blast from her helmet, but was struck with a shard of lightning first. Darkfire’s helmet shattered in two, leaving her powerless.

“BAH! I WILL FIX THIS!” roared Valkyra as she leaped into the air and grabbed him, bearhugging him around his waist in an attempt to drag him down on the ground. The winged warrior flew higher and higher into the sky as Valkyra punched his kidneys again and again, but had no visible effect on him.

“I said, enough,” said the winged warrior sternly as he touched Valkyra, searing her with a flame that forced her to let him go. Valkyra fell several dozen feet before impacting on the ground below, knocking herself out.

The severely beaten, bruised, and bloodied Alizarin crawled over to Gorgana. By themselves, they were too weak to summon a spell, but together they had enough strength remaining to create a dimensional portal through which to escape. The winged warrior threw another lightning spear that missed as the four villainesses disappeared.

Ms. Victory got back to her feet and began dusting herself off, as she sustained a few cuts and perhaps some bruised ribs. Her blouse was covered with dirt and grime, and was soaked in sweat.

“Are you all right?” asked the winged warrior.

“Yes, thanks,” responded Ms. Victory. “I’m Jennifer Burke. Who are you?”

“I am Seraph,” said Seraph. “I am sorry that I allowed them to escape, for they will strike again once their regain their power. Do you need medical assistance?”

“No, I’ll be all right,” replied Ms. Victory. “I guess I’m tougher than I thought.”

“Good. I am sure that I will be seeing you soon,” said Seraph cryptically as he took to the air and flew away.

“Wait! I….I…” added Ms. Victory as Seraph disappeared from sight.

* * *

Hours later Ms. Victory had cleaned up, bandaged, and had finished her debriefing with the other FemForce members. It was only a few weeks since they defeated Fear Force and imprisoned their leader, Proxima, but even leaderless they remained a deadly threat.

“I wonder who’s calling the shots with Proxima still locked up in prison,” commented Rayda. “Alizarin Crimson maybe?”

“She’s too individualistic,” said Nightveil, who had fought her on many occasions and knew her powers and tactics inside and out. “Based on what you told us, there was no direction or teamwork in their attack. They all sorted of piled on you.”

“I’ll say,” said Ms. Victory. “I think I was beaten within an inch of my life.”

“Proxima’s ruthless as they come, but she is well educated in the science, and art, of war,” added Stardust. “I never would have guessed she was so vital to that group’s ability to function as a unit.”

“Well, who ELSE do you know is strong enough to stomach Gorgana’s ugly face and be willing to shave Valkyra’s back on a regular basis? Not me, that’s for sure,” replied She-Cat sarcastically.

“Well, hygiene and appearance notwithstanding, I’d like to know a little more about this ‘Seraph’ individual who helped Ms. Victory,” said Colt as she inputted the description Ms. Victory gave into her portable laptop computer. “There’s no record of him whatsoever in any database.”

“A new hero?” said Rayda.

“I don’t know,” said Ms. Victory. “He didn’t maneuver like some rookie, more like a seasoned veteran. He was so calm, and yet so forceful during the fight. I mean, he shrugged off shots from Alizarin Crimson and Valkyra like a gentle rain.”

“Was he cute?” asked She-Cat.

“I didn’t really get a good look at his face, but he did seem familiar in a strange way,” recalled Ms. Victory. “Are you sure he’s not listed anywhere? Somebody that powerful doesn’t go unnoticed.”

Colt checked again and shook her head ‘no’ as she replied, “No, nothing. The other heroes, and even ex-villains I came across, don’t fit the description at all.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” commented Nightveil.

* * *

At a seedy hotel room across town, Fear Force members Alizarin Crimson, Gorgana, Darkfire, and Valkyra were nursing their wounds with plenty of antiseptic spray and bandages. Darkfire was repairing her helmet, soddering the circuitry while also using Krazy glue to re-attach some components.

“What just happened this morning?” cursed Alizarin Crimson, wincing as she sprayed some antiseptic mist onto her scrapped and cut legs. “We had Ms. Victory right where we wanted her, like a babe to the slaughter, and came up empty handed.”

“Ya, we got our butts kicked,” replied Valkyra as she applied another ice pack onto her shoulder, which was her third as an ice pack was already on her knee and another on her lower back.

“It was because of that winged freak,” cackled Gorgana. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Nor have I,” added Alizarin Crimson. “But we will have our revenge on him soon enough.”

“WILL YOU THREE KEEP IT DOWN!!! I’M TRYING TO WORK, HERE!” yelled Darkfire as she accidentally Krazy glued her fingers together.

* * *

“How you holding up?” asked General Robert Strock.

“Excuse me?” replied Ms. Victory.

“I was asking how’re you holding up,” reiterated General Strock politely.

“Fine, I guess,” answered Ms. Victory.

“Do you have some time? A walk outside, perhaps?” offered General Strock.

“I suppose,” agreed Ms. Victory.

General Strock and Ms. Victory took a leisurely walk outside, with the warm sun and cool breeze blowing by them. The lush, green trees surrounding FemForce Headquarters had an aura of serenity amidst a world of growing instability as the two walked under the shade along the sidewalk.

“It never goes away, does it? The pain. The loss. It’s a like a hole in your chest that can’t be filled,” said General Strock. “I lost some close friends during Desert Storm, and have lost some more as Iraqi Freedom continues. I miss them still, and always think about them when I hear ‘Taps’ being played.”

“So what makes you keep going?” asked Ms. Victory.

“Pride, I think, or maybe arrogance,” described General Strock. “People always argue about not wanting soldiers dying for nothing, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. I didn’t follow politics about U.S. policy back then; I just led my men as best I could to keep them alive and strong on the battlefield. We didn’t bleed or lose our friends over oil, or for making the world safe for democracy; my men and I fought and died for each other against an enemy that wanted us dead. I believe that, because I choose to believe that. It’s about faith.”

“Faith…” said Ms. Victory. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a thing. I mean, I believe that Jason’s in heaven, but I just don’t understand why he had to die, or why did I fail him like that. I mean, I’m his mother…I brought him into this world and I couldn’t even protect him. What good am I to anyone?”

“Jen, no one blames you for what happened,” asserted General Strock. “No one. And you shouldn’t blame yourself. You’ve sacrificed more than anyone should endure, and through your strength we became stronger as well.”

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” admitted Ms. Victory quietly.

“I’m attending services at my church tomorrow,” suggested General Strock. “Why don’t you come along? It might bolster your spirits.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” replied Ms. Victory.

“Suit yourself, but the invitation’s still open,” said General Strock as the two continued walking.

* * *

Three days later an emergency alert resonated in FemForce Headquarters. Ms. Victory called in She-Cat, Nightveil, Stardust, and Colt. Rayda, Tara, and Synn were unavailable, committed to another case outside Florida.

“What’s up?” asked Colt as Ms. Victory powered up the tactical display, presenting a three dimensional computer schematic of a hotel building.

“We’ve received a tip from law enforcement in Tampa that the Fear Force has been hiding out here, in room 202, at this hotel,” explained Ms. Victory. “They’re quietly isolating the area and evacuating the guests using undercover police, leaving them open for us to take them down.”

“Ugh, that dump’s in the armpit of Tampa,” muttered She-Cat. “I’ll bet they feel right at home…”

“She-Cat, I want you on the ground with Colt,” ordered Ms. Victory. “If they make a break for it, intercept their escape route as we converge on them. Nightveil, you and Stardust fly overwatch above the hotel. They’ll be flushed out like roaches and be itching for a fight.”

“And where will you be positioned?” asked Nightveil.

“I’m doing the flushing,” stated Ms. Victory.

* * *

“There, it’s done,” said Darkfire as she finished the last of the repair on her helmet.

“It’s about time,” commented Alizarin. “I’m surprised you didn’t start using duct tape.”

“You have a problem?” threatened Darkfire.

“Yes, I do,” retorted Alizarin. “We’ve been cooped up in this smelly hotel lying low for over three days, eating cheap pizza and Chinese takeout. I want VENGEANCE! I want CONQUEST! I want it NOW!”

“Ya, time for hiding is over. Let us strike the FemForce and crush them like worms,” agreed Valkyra.

“And who put YOU in charge?” blurted out Darkfire. “It was YOUR idea to try to take out Ms. Victory first and got us into this mess to begin with! As for you, Valkyra, you can’t even remember to leave the $%^^%$@ toilet seat down!”

“I agree with Darkfire,” hissed Gorgana.

“Oh, and I suppose we’re supposed to follow an uncharismatic bore like you, Gorgana?” retorted Alizarin. “It’s no wonder she doesn’t want to leave, she’s right at home amidst all this filth! And as for you, Darkfire, I don’t know why we still allow you to remain; without that silly tinker toy on your head you’re about as strong as a used Kleenex!”

“Take that back…” said Darkfire sternly.

“Make me,” threatened Alizarin.

Without warning two gloved hands penetrated up from underneath the floor, grabbing hold of Darkfire’s ankles as they pulled through to the level below.

“HEEEEEEEEEELP!!!” screamed Darkfire as the dust clouds filled the room.

“THE FEMFORCE!” yelled Valkyra as she ripped apart a section of the floor below and jumped down. Standing in front of her was Ms. Victory, holding Darkfire’s helmet while Darkfire was pinned against the wall, wrapped up in extension cords and metal frame of the bed. Ms. Victory compressed her hands, crushing Darkfire’s helmet like a used soda pop can.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE GAWKING AT HER, YOU IMBECILE!!!” yelled Darkfire. “GET HER!!!”

“BRRRRAAAGH!!” yelled Valkyra as she charged Ms. Victory. Ms. Victory jumped out of the way and delivered a hard back hand punch followed up by a fierce uppercut, stunning Valkyra as she threw her out the window.

“Now, what?” cackled Gorgana.

“We run,” said Alizarin as the two sorceresses scurried out the door and jumped outside to the fire escape. Outside hovering the air before them was Nightveil and Stardust, who greeted them with a blinding volley of magic blasts and star bolts.

“HEY!!! COME BACK HERE!!! HELP ME!!!!” protested Darkfire.

As Nightveil and Stardust rained energy beams over Alizarin Crimson and Gorgana, the battle between Valkyra and Ms. Victory was reaching fever pitch. Valkyra ripped out a lamp post and connected with a wild swing, knocking Ms. Victory into a brick wall. Ms. Victory sprang back and delivered a spinning kick, forcing Valkyra back as she dropped the lamp post.

“It’s over, Valkyra, surrender,” ordered Ms. Victory.

“BAH! YOU AMERICANS TALK TOO MUCH!” bellowed Valkyra as she caught Ms. Victory off guard, tackling her onto the street and began choking her. Ms. Victory coughed and gasped as she kicked Valkyra off, then rolled to the side before returning to her feet.

Ms. Victory picked up a lead pipe as she replied, “C’mon, let’s go.”

“By all means, let’s…” said Valkyra with a grin as she picked up a tire iron.

Strength met strength as Ms. Victory and Valkyra delivered blow after blow against each other. Seconds later they discarded their makeshift weapon, as Ms. Victory slammed a garbage dumpster onto Valkyra. Valkyra lifted it off her body and threw it away, picking up an old car and hurtled it above Ms. Victory, striking the side of a building. The rubble from the dilapidated building and car instantly collapsed onto Ms. Victory, pinning her down as she strained to escape underneath the massive weight.

Valkyra, covered in dirt, blood, and garbage, sauntered over towards the helpless Ms. Victory, and picked up a long piece of twisted metal. Valkyra’s right eye was swollen eye as blood trickled down from her neck and mouth.

“I have waited so long for this moment,” said Valkyra.

“NNNRRRRRR!!!!” yelled Ms. Victory as she strained to push off the massive rubble.

“And now, the death blow…” boasted Valkyra as she raised the metal shard. Lightning then struck the metal, using it as a conductor as the stream of rampant electricity surged throughout Valkyra’s body. Valkyra’s screams echoed throughout the city street as the lightning flashed and swirled around her. As the electrical fury subsided, Valkyra dropped the metal, her face covered in black soot with her golden blonde hair singed down to her roots.

“Gott,” muttered Valkyra as she collapsed on the street unconscious.

Seraph descended from the sky above to the street below, removing the excess rubble as he pulled Ms. Victory free from it.

“S-Seraph…” said Ms. Victory as she slipped unconscious.

Meanwhile, back inside the hotel Darkfire managed to wiggle out of the improvised bonds Ms. Victory put her in earlier and snuck out through another fire escape with a small duffel bag. It was full of the remaining cash the Fear Force had, a little over $2000 in small bills.

“Those backstabbing **!!^@@ losers, leaving me trapped like that,” thought Darkfire as she ran down a dark, unlit alley. “If I can make to the other lot, I can steal a car and slip out from underneath their noses.”

“Ahem,” said a voice. Darkfire turned around and saw She-Cat and Colt standing nearby, with Colt’s machine pistol pointed squarely at her.

“And where do you think you’re going, bub?” asked She-Cat.

Darkfire dropped the bag and held her hands up.

“This isn’t a stickup, is it?” said Darkfire begrudgingly.

Within the few minutes the police moved into the area en masse, while Nightveil, Stardust, Colt, and She-Cat reconsolidated in the general location of where Ms. Victory and Valkyra fought. As the four members of Fear Force were being taken into police custody, the FemForce members searched around with the underlying thought, “Where’s Jen?” .

* * *

Ms. Victory stirred. She remembered seeing Seraph save her again and Valkyra collapsing, but everything after that seemed like a blur to her. Ms. Victory awoke and opened her eyes, finding herself at what looked like a small baseball field. Ms. Victory checked herself out, finding her costume ripped and dirty but oddly enough, she had no wounds and the light injuries she sustained three days earlier were completely gone. She looked around and saw a large bread roll that appeared to be half eaten.

“The bread of life can heal all mortal wounds,” stated Seraph. “You are healed, yes?”

“I…I believe so,” said Ms. Victory awkwardly. “Thank you for saving me, again.”

“You are welcome,” said Seraph formally.

Ms. Victory scanned around, a bit perplexed on her new surroundings.

“Why did you bring me here?” asked Ms. Victory.

“I haven’t been here in a long time, and wanted to see how much of it changed. I told Gabriel and Michael that I used to hit close to .600 here, but they didn’t believe me,” explained Seraph. “I guess it’s because we lost the championship game 4 to 3 at this same place.”

Ms. Victory was speechless. Seraph’s voice, once so formal, had softened, but not to just anyone’s, but to Jason’s.

“You…are you…?” gasped Ms. Victory.

“Yes,” said Seraph. “It’s me, Mom. I’m Jason.”

An aura of light shimmered around him, as Seraph’s once commanding form changed into that of her young son, Jason Burke.

Ms. Victory immediately hugged him as tears rolled down her eyes.

“H-how…?” asked Ms. Victory.

“I can’t explain how it all works, Mom,” said Jason. “So for the sake of time, let’s just call it a miracle.”

“Yes…yes!!!!” said Ms. Victory as she hugged him again. “Jason, I am so sorry for what happened…I am so sorry I failed you…”

“No, Mom, you didn’t. You never, ever failed me,” said Jason as he hugged back. “What happened…it was all part of a bigger plan…it just gets kind of hard to understand at times.”

“Are you staying?” asked Ms. Victory.

“You know I can’t,” said Jason, a little saddened over that reality. “But I’m always with you, Mom, just like you were always with me.”

“Thank you, Jason, I love you,” said Ms. Victory.

“I love you, too, Mom,” replied Jason as the two stood up. Jason again shimmered in an aura of light, transforming back to his warrior form as Seraph.

“So what’d you think of my moves? Pretty neat, huh, Mom?” asked Jason.

“Very impressive, Jason,” said Ms. Victory with a chuckle. “I think you can go ten rounds with Paragon, but I still don’t think you can beat Rayda at video games yet.”

“Well, that’s because she knows all the cheat codes and programs them in to give her guys a million lives,” replied Jason humorously as he briefly looked up to the night sky.

“I need to go, Mom, but I’m glad I had the chance to see you in person one more time,” said Jason as he hugged her one final time. Ms. Victory warmly embraced her son as he shimmered and bathed them in a globe of light before fading away and disappearing.

“I love you too, Jason,” said Ms. Victory. “And thank you.”

* * *

The next morning General Roberta Strock entered her sedan, dressed in a conservative spring dress as she put her Bible near the dashboard as she prepared to depart for church. After allowing the car to warm up for about a minute, General Strock backed out of her parking spot and started to slowly drive past FemForce Headquarters on her way out, and saw Ms. Victory standing along the curbside in a simple, conservative outfit. General Strock pulled up along the curb, and rolled down the car window.

“Room for one more?” asked Ms. Victory.

“Always,” said General Strock. “Hop in.”

THE END