"A little song, a little dance,
A little horsey to leap and prance."
"Therk a'ha'hash thek!" Sh'heyla cursed fate, this
life, and, particularly the crappy morning she'd had.
This was not particularly unusual, since most days found Sh'heyla in a bad
mood. Those who knew her well -- or, more correctly, those who had to
spend much time around her -- usually considered her short-tempered,
aggravating, sour-mooded, and generally obnoxious and dislikable, not to mention
prone to acting out on her ill temper.
It was a credit to her level of intelligence, her recognition of her own
self-interest, and a willpower that placed her in the 90th percentile of her own
people that she was, by and large, considered to be a hero.
If only they knew, she thought to herself, sourly, as she waited for that
damned Boy Scout, Copper, to bother showing up for their shuttle flight to New
York.
* * *
The morning had begun innocuously enough, as such things
went. Despite the added insulation on her quarters at the Magnificent Six
HQ, the sounds of traffic, shouting, and general urban brouhaha had leaked
through sufficiently to awaken her, as it usually did.
She started, eyes wide, scanning the room from the corner where
she crouched. Her bed was, as usual, unslept in. What sane being
would recline, undefended and insensate, in the middle of the room?
Thus, the day commenced with one strike against it. She
quickly freshened up, strapped on the ridiculous garments the local culture
required, and headed for the kitchen.
The Mag Six were headquartered in one of the city's nicer
apartment buildings. Contrary to what some fiction writers might guess,
that did not make the site a target for various villains. Indeed, even
petty crime in the building (and the nearby neighborhood) was unusually low for
the overall area.
The apartment building rose ten stories high, near the
Lake. The Mag Six occupied the top four stories, with gym and storage
facilities on 7; reception, kitchen, and "living" areas on 8; bedrooms
and guest quarters on 9; and various launch facilities on 10, opening to the
roof. Only Sh'heyla, Pixie and the Gambler actually lived there, though
there were occasional guests, but Ace was usually there most of the day, and
Insecto and Copper dropped in often enough that the place was usually buzzing
with some sort of activity, even when the group was not operating as a group per
se.
It was still relatively early, though. Cigar smoke, or the
stale odor thereof, oozed out from under the Gambler's door, even though
Sh'heyla had nearly come to blows with him last week over the stench. Her
senses were particularly acute, and burning foliage made her instinctively
uneasy. As she trotted past, hooves thumping against the shag carpet, she
almost hoped Ace would schedule a group training session before she left --
she'd dearly love to have a legitimate reason to give that cheroot-smoking
popinjay a serious thumping.
Around the corner, past Pixie's closed door -- The little
pest could use a room a quarter of the size, and she knows it, so why by Tr'heek
did she rate the largest room on this level? -- and down the stairs.
Pictures hung on the wall there, of past and present members of the team.
Of a sudden, Sh'heyla stopped, looking at hers, trying, for a moment, to see
herself through the eyes of one of the others.
Medium in height, praise the Prime. Sexually dimorphic
in the appropriate ways, so female, despite these damned constricting wrappings
that cover what needn't be and failed to ornament what ought ...
Face -- close enough to the others to not be too
disturbing. Longer, more (do not use that word) -- well, nostrils
and mouth moved lower, eyes slightly more offset to the sides, ears larger and
more sensitive --
Coloration of fur in stripes of black and white -- quite
attractive, from what I recall of how the others used to react. A tall
crest of mane, trailing down the back, long and luxurious, certainly to be proud
of, tapering to a long tail.
Lower extremities jointed the way any self-respecting being
ought to be, hooved as the People are. Upper extremities close enough in
physiognomy to not draw attention here, ending in hands with quite effective
hooving along the outer edges -- allowing for the gripping that any tool-user
would need, along with a built-in weapon as any warrior would be proud to own.
She was satisfied enough. She was who she was -- but could
also pass for what she chose to seem. A "mutant" of human
stock. That was an appropriate cover, safe within the bounds of local
provincialism. Certainly a better cover than to admit to this primitive
populace that she was not even terrestrial, not even human.
* * *
The pod had done its job, delivering her to this backwater world, whilst
deceiving those who pursued into thinking she had been destroyed by them.
She stood upon the world known as Earth, and considered what to do next.
She could hide. But the aborigines were nearly everywhere.
Anyplace she went, she was likely to be discovered.
She could reveal herself. While star travel to and from this place
was as yet irregular at best, there were other visitors here. But if word
got back to those who sought her death, she would still be easy prey.
So she would take a middle course. A herd would provide the best
protection. There were beings of power here, most of them of local
stock. She would join them, claiming to be of their race, one of the
genetic outliers that were, more and more, appearing in their population.
She would garner their trust, their acceptance, become one with their herd, so
that when the others came, she would have allies that would protect her.
It would not be easy. The People followed cycles of life and living
that were very different from the aborigines. Their ways were not hers --
but she had to make herself as one of them. Her life depended on it -- her
life, and the lives of many, many others.
She did have two advantages, she discovered as she reviewed the local
records in one of their libraries.
First, she was stronger, arguably smarter, and much, much faster than the
aboriginal norm. That meant she could align herself with one of their
warrior groups.
Second, Tr'heek in his aspect as the Ironist had given her an identity
here that few other races could hope for. Hooves, stripes, even her basic
facial structure, all allowed her to take on a "code name" that the
aborigines would find disarmingly charming.
And so Sh'heyla had become the "metahuman" hero known as Zebra.
* * *
Down to the kitchen, and the third aggravation of the day ...
