Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

He paused half a moment to make sure the others were following along.  "All right.  Zebra and Proteus scouted the neighboring homes.  They're just like this -- complete in detail, looking like they were just abruptly abandoned.  

He began to pace in front of the gas fireplace there in the family room.  Kid Castle had started cannibalizing parts from the TV remote.  Victor hadn't asked what he was building, as it was more important that he was throwing himself into something. "Based on the contents of the bill basket, the name of this burg is Alosta, California.  Copper has maps of it, which seem to match the street layout we've seen.  It's not clear if this is a remarkably detailed simulacrum, an actual neighborhood which has been depopulated, or what.  From what we can tell, though, aside from some possible blips on Copper's sensors, we're alone here."

Proteus hopped into the room from the back yard, skirting the glass.  "Somebody is out front."

Zebra snickered.

Tommy commented, while still focusing on his work, "Somebody's got a good sense of irony."

Victor waved off the comments.  "How many?  Description.  Anyone you recognize?"

Proteus shook his canine head.  "I could not get close enough to smell him, and I did not recognize him.  He was walking down the street, looking at a piece of paper and checking out addresses."

"ANY BETS AS TO WHICH HOUSE HE'S HEADED TO?"

Zebra snickered again.

"All right," Victor said, "let's go greet our --"

The doorbell rang.

"-- visitor."  He waved Proteus back into the yard, and motioned for Zebra to follow.  He gestured for Iris and Copper to follow him into the entry hall.  

Kid didn't even look up.  He had a micro-welder out, and was doing something delicate with whatever he was building.

The doorbell rang again.

Victor stepped up to the left-hand side of the double doors, murmured, "Ready," for those listening on the comm system, and opened the door, even as Zebra and Proteus arrived from either side of the house.

The front porch was an alcove, with the eaves of the house overhanging it deeply.  The figure there was thus in shadow, silhouetted by the odd light from outside.  But it was clear he was still, briefly, surprised by having folks appear both in front of him and behind him.

He was of medium height, but powerfully built, male, white, and apparently human, with close-cropped dark curly hair, slightly graying at the temples, and a five o'clock shadow.  His eyes were very dark in color.  He was wearing a heavy brown leather jacket, sleeves pushed up from well-tanned forearms.  Under the jacket he had on a white t-shirt, with jeans and heavy black boots completing the ensemble.

His right hand was outstretched, clearly to knock, but he was standing shock still, appraising the situation.

"Hey, we caught the Fonz," Zebra quipped, skidding to a halt behind him.

"Welcome, friend," Victor said, ignoring her.  "We were beginning to think we were alone here."

The man blinked, then his eyes narrowed.  "Victor?"

"Do I know you?"

The man glanced back at Proteus -- who had assumed the form of a very large Bengal tiger -- and Zebra, then past Victor at the armored form of Copper and at Iris, who was leaning against the doorway into the family room.  He looked back at Victor.  "Green One-Two-Five Theta White."

Victor hesitated, then replied, "That's a fairly old code, friend."

"But still on the books."

"Last time anyone shared the books with me," Victor replied.  "Okay, that helps establish your bona fides -- to some degree.  Why don't you come in and explain what's going on here."  He nodded to Proteus, who loped off, back on patrol.

The visitor hesitated, then smiled.  "With such a gracious invitation, how could I refuse?"

*     *     *

They were settled down in the living room this time, which was decorated with well-preserved but quite dated furniture -- a couch in earth tones that actually were coming back into style again, two satiny-green chairs, coffee table with the appropriate knick-knacks, piano with a large print of Beethoven over it, and a cluster of house plants by the large corner windows.

The visitor had taken one of the green chairs, Victor the other.  Iris had plopped down on the sofa, which she had to herself, as Zebra paced back and forth in front of the curtained windows.  Copper stood off at the edge of the adjoining dining room, impassive.

The Kid was still in the family room, tinkering.

"So you know me," Victor started.  "And you probably know these others."

The stranger nodded.  "By reputation only.  Though --"  He looked over at Zebra and Copper.  "Is the Gambler here, too?"

"No, just we lucky kids who won an all-expenses paid trip to New York," Sh'heyla said, sourly.  

The stranger nodded again, without looking either disappointed or pleased.  "My name's Drake."  He didn't go on.

"Is that a first name or a last name?" Iris asked, after a moment.

He smiled.  "I'm more interested in discussing what we're doing here."

"That seems reasonable," Victor said, pleasantly.  "Go ahead."

Drake hesitated, then said, "You aren't going to explain it to me?"

"WE WERE HOPING THAT WAS GOING TO BE YOUR PART OF THIS CONVERSATION," suggested Copper.

"Oh, swell," said Zebra.  She stomped out through the dining room to the kitchen.

Drake reached into his jacket.  There was a slight whir and a click, and he froze.  Turning slightly, he saw Copper had one arm extended toward him, and two weaponry barrels had slid out of either side of said arm, aimed at Drake.  "SLOWLY."

Victor frowned slightly.  Iris was hunched up, ready to move.  Zebra reappeared at the other end of the living room, clearly having heard the sound, too.  She licked her lips.

Drake slowly pulled an envelope out of his jacket.  "When I suddenly appeared here, at the top of the street, this was in my hand."  He slowly turned his back on Copper, showed it to Victor.  

Victor reached out a gloved hand, and Drake, with visible reluctance, handed the envelope over.

It was made out of a heavy linen paper.  There was a single line, written in gold ink with a flowing script.

2015 Cumberland Road

Which, not coincidentally, was the address of the house they were in.

Victor nodded to Copper, who lowered his hand, as the guns slipped back into his gauntlet.  Drake looked annoyed, but that didn't bother Victor over-much.  

On the back side of the envelop was a blue wax seal.  The embossing was of a triangle with a nine-pointed figure inside of it, something like a star-burst, or a circle of droplets with the heavy ends meeting in the middle.

He carefully tore off the seal, tossed it over to Copper, who caught it with a quickness that his size belied.  

There was no gum on the envelope, so removing the seal opened it.  Inside was a small card.  Handwritten in the same script, but in black ink, was:

He read through it twice, then handed it over to Iris.  Zebra, still standing there, intercepted it.  She scanned it quickly, then handed it on, snorting.  "Is he kidding?"

Iris frowned.  "It's like some sort of puzzle.  And a trap."  She teked the letter over to Copper.

"I DISAGREE ABOUT THE TRAP.  THE THREAT IS CLEARLY STATED.  MORE LIKE A CHALLENGE.  SOME FOLKS GET THEIR KICKS THAT WAY."  Copper held up the seal.  "I DON'T RECOGNIZE THE SYMBOL, AND I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING ON FILE ABOUT IT."

"Ahem."  Drake cleared his throat.  "Do I get to read it, or do I get to be kept in suspense a while longer?"

"Read it?" Sh'heyla said, one eyebrow arched.  "You wrote the damned thing."

"NOT LIKELY," Copper noted.  "IT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS ACTUALLY WRITTEN BY MACHINE -- INHUMANLY PRECISE AND CONSISTENT IN THE LETTERING, THOUGH IT WAS INDEED DONE WITH PEN AND INK."

Drake smiled at Zebra.  She snorted.  "I'm sure the Fonz here can work a machine."

Drake looked at Victor.  "I did not write that.  I don't even know what it says.  I thought you folks brought me here at first.  All I'm interested in now is getting back to my -- own business."

Victor gazed at Drake, trying to read him.  It was difficult.  There was something much more to the man than there appeared.  Still, he at least sounded sincere.  He glanced over at Copper and nodded.  The armored figure handed the note over.

Drake read through it.  After a moment, he said, "Interesting about the church."

Victor nodded.  "Usually the main landmark in a town, at least back east.  Easy to spot and find."

Zebra laughed.  "You've never spent much time out here in sunny California, then.  Out here they look like everything from cathedrals to ugly strip malls, and they build 'em wherever they can.  Silly."  She withheld her opinion of human religious beliefs.

"You think it's meant to be, like, a way to desecrate the church," Iris asked, looking slightly troubled, "having some sort of super-hero battle there?"

"PERHAPS IT'S SOME SORT OF RELIGIOUS FRINGE GROUP BEHIND THIS," Copper suggested.  

"The note doesn't say what 'it' is that's on the altar," Victor noted.  "It might be all some sort of metaphor for -- salvation?  Religious, in the case of the church, a more literal saving for us?

"Which St. Thomas is it?" Iris suddenly asked.  "Maybe that's significant."

"The note doesn't say," said Drake, leaning back in the padded green chair.  Its back wasn't very high, so he slouched down to get comfortable.  "The traditional Thomas, the apostle, was also most famously known as Doubting Thomas, who claimed he would not believe that Jesus had come back from the grave until he touched him."

"'UNLESS I SEE THE HOLES THAT THE NAILS MADE IN HIS HANDS AND CAN PUT MY FINGER INTO THE HOLES THEY MADE, AND UNLESS I CAN PUT MY HAND INTO HIS SIDE, I REFUSE TO BELIEVE.'  JOHN 20, VERSE 25."

They all turned to look at Copper.  "HEY, I HAVE IT ON-LINE HERE IN TWELVE DIFFERENT TRANSLATIONS.  SO?"

"Another test," Victor noted, rubbing the side of his nose with one finger, absently.  "The note read likes a test, and the church is named after an apostle who set up a test for God."

"I always kind of thought Thomas got the raw end of that deal," Iris said.  "I mean, here everyone's going on about seeing Jesus, and he missed out, and everyone rags on him because he won't believe it.  Question authority, and all that stuff."

"Myth," Zebra chimed in.  She'd read the entire Bible once she realized she had to fit in with this culture.  "Any deity worth the name would have struck down such an unbeliever."

"NOT NECESSARILY.  JESUS DRAWS THE MESSAGE THAT IT'S ONE THING TO SEE AND BELIEVE, BUT ANOTHER TO NOT SEE AND STILL BELIEVE.  IT BECOMES A PARABLE ABOUT FAITH FOR THOSE WHO WEREN'T AROUND THEN."

Zebra snorted dismissively.  "Like I said.  Parable.  Myth."

"Don't discount myth quite that quickly," Drake commented.

"Who asked you?" Zebra retorted.

"I hate to interrupt this fascinating discussion," Victor interrupted, "but I doubt the name of the church is significant.  What is significant is where it notes we'll be opposed and outnumbered.  We'll need to scout things out, learn the nature of the opposition, and then strike fast."

He got up.  "I think we can accept Drake as being on our side for this.  Welcome aboard.  Since there's food in the house, I suggest everyone grab a bite.  I'll organize up some teams, and a strategy for how we'll tackle this.  Copper, can you step outside with me?  I want to go over those street maps."  He quickly left through the dining room, passing Copper and beckoning him along with him.

Iris, Zebra, and Drake looked at each other.  "Well," said Drake, "that was decisive-sounding."

Zebra snorted, and left.  She turned in the entry hall, and headed out the front door.

"I'm gonna grab a soda," Iris said.  She got up and headed off toward the family room.

"Yeah, team," Drake said, sardonically, and got up to explore the house.

*     *     *

Copper was projecting the street maps he had onto the patio.  Victor was crouched down over them, running his finger along the images, which then Copper's on-board computers would then translate into the appropriate lines on the map.  "Three teams, then," Victor said.  "Something straightforward, and two flanking."

"SHOULD WE SPLIT UP THAT WAY?  IF WE'RE OUTNUMBERED, SHOULDN'T WE STICK TOGETHER?"

"Asks the man who wanted to fly over and see what was going on with those active radar signals?"  Victor grinned.  "No, you didn't know.  But as long as we have communication with each other, we can respond quickly to back up any team that runs into trouble.  Smaller teams can maneuver better, withdraw more easily if need be, and cover more territory.

"YOU'RE THE BOSS."

Victor nodded.  "Thanks.  I think your team mate realizes that, too."

"SHEILA'S A FUNNY ONE.  SHE'LL SASS YOU UP ONE SIDE AND DOWN THE OTHER, BUT IN A CRISIS SITUATION, SHE'LL OBEY ORDERS -- IF Y0U'RE THERE TO BACK THEM UP."

Victor muttered something that sounded like "alpha male," but didn't go into more detail.  Instead, he got up, stretched, then walked over to a large, healthy-looking sugar maple growing in one corner of the back yard, over by an equally-robust bougainvillea.  "Copper, I need you to lead one of the teams," he said.  "The one with Drake on it."

"YOU TRUST HIS STORY?"

"Within limits.  The passcode he gave was valid -- thirty years ago, and in other circumstances that don't exactly make me happy to hear it again."  He didn't elaborate.  He had always done his best for his country, but his country had, on more than one occasion, disappointed him.  "It's never been rescinded or broken, as far as I know, but that's a long time ago, which raises the issue of how he comes to know of it."

"ADD TO THAT THE GENERAL CIRCUMSTANCES ..."

"Exactly.  I'd take him with me, but --"  He paused again, then reached down and picked up one of the prickly seed balls lying under the tree, rolled it in his hand.  "I need to stay clear enough to coordinate everything.  Keeping an eye on Drake, even half an eye, wouldn't help there.  And there's something about him ..."

"YES.  HE CHECKS OUT AS NORMAL HUMAN ON MY SCANS, BUT THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT HIM I DON'T TRUST."

"Exactly.  But whatever it is, I'm sure you and Proteus will be able to knock him down if he steps out of line.  And he'll be useful, I suspect, if things heat up."

"AGREED.  I STILL DON'T TRUST HIM, THOUGH."

"Well, for what it's worth, I doubt the others do, either."

*     *     *

"It reminds me of my mother's house," Iris said.  She'd followed Drake into the back of the house, to the master bedroom.  A large ceiling fan hung over a turquoise-colored bedspread.  The furniture was inexpensive, pine, of mixed heritages.  There was a large painting of a young woman in an old-fashioned hairstyle, playing the cello, hanging over the bed.  A desk with various papers.  A low-boy near the sliding glass windows to the back, a high-boy over by the dressing area, where mirrored closet doors pointed the way to the master bath.

Drake shook his head.  "Nice painting, though. The rest ..."  He shrugged, then turned to the younger woman.  "So ... Wild Iris."

She smiled.  "So ... Drake."

"You looked older in that spread in Us."

"Make-up.  Hate it."

"Hmmmm."

She hopped onto the queen-sized bed.  "So, any ideas why you were nabbed here separate from us?"

He shook his head.  "I'd like to know myself.  I don't appreciate folks fucking with me."

Iris laughed.  

He frowned at her, then grinned.  He had very white teeth.  "That is -- in some ways."  He took a step toward her.

She stood, put her hands flat on his chest.  She started slightly.  "Silk."

"Nothing but the best.  Life's too short -- or long -- for anything else."

She gave him another look.  "This jacket.  I've never seen leather like this."  She ran her left hand along his right arm.  

"Probably not," he replied, not elaborating. 

"And your eyes.  I thought they were blue, but now they look green.  Though they're so dark, it's hard to tell."

"Hmmmm." He said.  "Maybe you need to look closer."

"Mmmm," she murmured in agreement, raising her mouth --"

"Threk, why don't you two get a room?" said Zebra from the doorway.  "Oh, wait, you already have one."  She snorted.  "Victor wants everyone.  And you know how we all obey Victor's orders."  She snorted again, though this time it had an amused note to it.

Iris dropped her head against Drake's chest.  "I haven't known her very long, but I'm already growing to hate her."

"Hm," he replied.  "Yeah.  I've known her even less time, and I have to agree."

*     *     *

They were all back in the living room, including Proteus -- in his "normal" human form -- and Kid Castle.  The latter was speaking.  

"I didn't have much time, but I've whipped up a few goodies here -- they'll add some firepower.  And I usually carry some things with me, too.  You're welcome to them."

"Keep 'em," Victor said.  He was standing at the windows, which were still curtained, looking back at the rest of the group.  "You'll need 'em.  You're on one of the teams going out.  You and Zebra."

"I protest!" Sh'heyla spoke up, angrily.

"No way, that's stupid," Tommy echoed.

"I agree with him," Sh'helya added.

"Quiet!" Victor cut in.  "We don't have enough people available to be able to afford to leave anyone behind.  You've got the experience, Tommy, and you just said you've got the firepower.  You've got your power, too, if it comes to that."

"I'm in a wheelchair."

"He's a cripple."

So was FDR, Victor thought, but decided this was not the time for a debate. "That's my decision.  You'll be on the southern approach, along here."  He gestured to the map Copper was projecting on the wall over the piano.  "Zebra, you can push him without affecting your speed unduly.  Tommy, you also know how the Big Heroes work, so you'll be a necessary liaison for Zebra as well."

Zebra and Kid Castle glared at each other.  Tommy abruptly turned his chair, and wheeled away, back to the den.  Zebra glowered at Victor, then headed after Tommy.

Victor continued, as if he hadn't noticed.  "Iris, you're with me.  We'll come in from the north, along this street.  If things get difficult, we can slip into this neighborhood here, and either pull back, or circle around to tackle the place from the west.

"Copper, you'll be leading Drake and Proteus up the middle.  There's this high school across the street which you'll have to cross.  That's minimal cover, but the best sight lines to avoid ambush, too."  

Copper nodded.  Proteus was quiet.

"Who says I need to be on a team?" Drake asked.  "I can follow a map."

Victor looked to Drake.  "I want you to keep close to the others.  We don't have any extra communicators, so if you lose them, you've lost touch."

Drake hunched his shoulders, let them drop.  "I get along quite well not being in touch, Victor."

"Maybe so.  But if we find a way out of here, and can't get hold of you ..."  Victor let that trail off.  Drake nodded, getting the message.

"We leave for positions in fifteen, people.  Get with your teams, get things straight, and get ready to go."

Victor motioned for Iris to follow him, and he once again exited out through the dining room.

*     *     *

Silence had reigned in the living room for a good minute.  Proteus was watching Drake and Copper.  Drake was busy slouching on the couch and looking at a plaster relief of some saint or another up on the wall.  Copper was standing impassively over by the windows -- asleep, watching, or busy playing solitaire on an on-board screen so far as anyone could tell from outside the armor.

In fact, Adrian was considering how to deal with the necessary, but rather still alarming "honor" Victor had given him.  It occurred to him, not for the first time, that having an impassive sculpted face and loud, booming, mechanical voice might lead others to think that he was a lot more confident than he actually was.  Sometimes that came in handy.  Sometimes not.

"Parenthetically," Drake noted, breaking the silence, "I don't care for 'teammates' pointing guns at me."

"PARENTHETICALLY," Copper replied, just as dryly, "I DON'T CARE FOR 'TEAMMATES' ACTING LIKE HORSE'S ASSES."

Drake got up from the couch, carefully stepped around the coffee table with its array of glass and porcelain knick-knacks.  He walked up to Copper.  He was a good two feet shorter than the armored behemoth, but he calmly looked up at his "face."  "You want me to knock you on yours right now, or should we take this outside?"

Copper chuckled.  "OKAY.  NOW WE'VE ESTABLISHED YOU HAVE STRENGTH AND EGO IN EXTRA-JUMBO-SIZE.  WHAT OTHER VITALS SHOULD WE KNOW ABOUT IF WE'RE ABOUT TO GO INTO BATTLE TOGETHER?"

Drake stared at him for a moment, then let his face drop into a smile.  He chuckled.  "Let's just say that those little pop guns would more likely have torn up the room something fierce rather than me."

"OKAY.  ANYTHING ELSE?"

"Nothing that's likely to come into play during this soiree.  I'll try not to surprise you too much."

"TRY NOT TO SURPRISE ME AT ALL, DRAKE."  The levity was gone from Copper's voice, and from Adrian's.  "COPS DON'T LIKE SURPRISES. AT ALL.  AND YOU MIGHT JUST DISCOVER THAT 'THOSE LITTLE POP GUNS' WERE THE LEAST YOU HAD TO WORRY ABOUT."

Proteus got up from the green chair he was sitting in, setting his glass of club soda on an embroidered coaster.  "This is very different behavior from that of Big Heroes adventures I have been on, but I am adaptable."  He looked from Copper to Drake and back again.  "Which of you should I be trying to behave stronger and more ballsy than?  I do not wish to offend either of you by standing up to the wrong one."

Drake looked at Copper.  Copper looked at Drake.  They both broke into laughter.

Proteus watched the two of them, a confused look on his face.  Inwardly, of course, he was smiling.

*     *     *

"Your boss is a stupid man," Sh'heyla said to Tommy.  She'd followed him through the family room -- when she'd appeared, he'd turned and wheeled out into the backyard, where she had him "cornered."

"You've got that right.  And he's not my boss.  I'm quitting."

"I don't blame you.  I've no desire to nursemaid you."

Tommy bristled.  "I do not need a nursemaid. Even if I were coming, I could hold my own."

Sh'heyla snorted.  "You?  The lame are the first to be brought down, unless they are put down first.  You are a danger, not an asset."

He glared at her, then reached out with his power.  He'd tried it since -- the accident.  He knew it still worked.  He just hadn't used it with another living being since then.  He hardly trusted himself with it, let alone endangering another life.  But Zebra was asking for it.

There was that familiar wrenching, that sense of flying toward the other -- and he was falling, no longer held up by the chair.  But he was ready for that -- Zebra had been unprepared, and even with her reflexes, being off-balance on his wheelchair was sending her toppling -- 

-- and then he switched them back.  Again, he was ready, and simply found himself slumped in his wheelchair.  The two abrupt changes sent Zebra stumbling down to all fours, and when she looked up, Kid Castle was pointing what she vaguely recognized as something that looked like a TV remote, but which shouldn't be glowing at one end like that.

"I wouldn't try to bat it away -- it's got quite a charge built up on it, and I suspect your hooves, including the material on the back of your hands, is conductive."

Zebra glared at him, then suddenly leapt back, out of range, and to her feet.  He could see her weighing her options, and he abruptly hoped she didn't feel the immediate need to one-up him.

Her ears flickered, and she nodded.  "Point taken.  You can defend yourself.  You probably have a bunch of techno-threk like Copper does.  But your mobility is compromised.

She leapt over him then, a sudden motion that this time had him flatfooted, expecting a dash to either side.  And then she was behind him, and he could feel a hand grabbing the back of his neck. "And if I were the foe, you would be dead.  Or maybe you have another trick?"

She sighed, and whirled the wheelchair around so that he was facing her, dancing back so that if he wanted to use the TV remote on her, she was outside of easy reach.  "Victor is right.  He's a threk-head, but this time he is right.  We are too few, they are likely too many, and the herd is stronger than those who run alone."  Which is why I'm here, she thought, but did not voice that observation.

He glared at her, and slipped the remote into one pocket of the chair.  "What does that mean, anyway?  'Threk.'  You keep saying it."

Sh'heyla was briefly taken aback.  "It means -- well, it means 'shit.'"  Kind of.  I don't need to go into all the other gastronomic glosses on it.

"Then why don't you just say shit?  I mean, what language is that?"

"Uh -- the people I was raised among.  It was kind of a local slang term."  Tommy looked unconvinced, and she quickly changed the subject.  "Why the chair?"

He blinked in surprise, then angrily turned and wheeled off, this time toward the firepit, which clearly was rarely used, since there were plastic pots with tomato plants sitting on its edge.  

In the open, there was was no question of who was fastest.  She was there before him.  She pulled a ripe tomato off, sniffed it, then took a deep bite out of it.  "No, I'm serious.  You build gadgets like -- that other thing."  She gestured at where he'd slipped the remote.  "Why not a powered chair?  Why not cybernetic legs?  You're a cripple.  Why do you stay one?"

He turned away from her again, but there she was again, popping the rest of the tomato into her mouth.  He felt a slight gag reflex -- I always hated those things.  Cooked?  Great.  Sauce?  Wonderful, heavenly.  Raw?  Slimy seeds?  The odor?  It is to vomit -- and let it distract him.  "Fine.  You think you're stronger in the 'herd'?" he asked her, trying not to let bitterness into his voice.  "Fine.  I'll go with you.  Save your ass if I have to.  But that doesn't give you any right to answers to questions --"

She made some sort of noise he couldn't describe, but which was clearly one of disagreement and scorn.  "I've every right, cripple.  We have trust each other on the team, yes?  Copper, Gambler, Pixie, Ace -- each of them, I trust to watch out for me, as they trust me to watch out for them.  If one of them were sick, disabled, injured, they would be weak, distracted, unable to watch out for me.  I couldn't trust them.

"You, I don't know from Adam.  You have fancy tricks, but I know two things about you.  One -- Victor thinks you're worth having on the team.  His rep's good -- but that's enough.  The other thing I know is that you're a crip.  And that, as far as I can see, you've left yourself that way.  You've left yourself weak, unable to defend your friends, your partners.  So how can I trust you to watch out for me?"

He sputtered at her.  "Look, I didn't ask to be this way.  It was an accident.  I was saving people!"

"Yeah.  But now you won't save yourself.  Why?  If I don't know that, I can't know you'll 'save my ass,' as you say."

She put her hands on her hips, and looked down at him, her dark eyes glinting.  "So it is a right I have, or maybe a right I demand.  But your pretending it's not important doesn't make it that way -- in fact, it makes it even more important."

He was staring at her now, a buzzing in his head he'd once identified in some psych texts he'd been reviewing as "dissociation," a mental or emotional pulling back from a situation too distressing to deal with.  

No.  I won't back down in front of her.  She's rude, mean, nasty -- and right.  Even if she's right, or wrong, I won't back down.

If only I knew the answer.

*     *     *

Victor was with Wild Iris in the garage.  There was space for two cars, and that's what was there -- an old, boxy, metallic beige station wagon, and a metallic blue Toyota Camry.  Both were spotless.  Somebody clearly loved their cars.

Iris was up on the hood of the station wagon, cross-legged.  Victor was pacing back and forth, lost in thought.  She sighed, heavily.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, then held up hand.  "Don't answer that.  I know the answer.  I was just going over the plan.  Too many unknowns, but that's nothing new."  

Once more, Iris was reminded of how old Victor was -- how many times he'd dealt with similar life-or-death situations.  And he was still alive.  It would be creepy, if it weren't so -- cool.

Cool or not, though, he could be boring.  Just like now, when he's --

"Understand?" he was asking.  

She realized she'd zoned out for a moment.  "Uh.  No, can you, like, explain it again."

He sighed.  Sometimes he sounded like her mom.  "Okay, and this time pay attention."  Yeah, just like her mom.

"Your flight power is useful, and we'll be relying on it.  Hopefully the opposition won't know about it -- since you've been keeping it a secret until now."  He threw her a look, and she tried not to look contrite.  "Of course, if they were monitoring us earlier, they saw you using it, but that can't be helped.  We'll use it to get from here to the staging point, then go in on foot.  If things heat up, save it for its surprise value, or to escape if matters call for it.  But do not -- until you've had more of a chance to train -- try to combine it with other use of your psycho-kinesis.  We can't afford for you to make yourself a casualty.  Use it just for mobility.  Understood?"

She nodded, then grinned.  "The ankle's doing much better."

He smiled at her.  "Good.  Check the bathrooms before we leave, and see if they've got an Ace bandage or something else to bind it with.  Can't have you be crippled by walking to whatever battle we're bound for."

At his use of the word "crippled," her face fell, and before he could say anything further, she was hopping off the car, muttering something about looking for the bandage, and was off into the house.

She's still torn up about Tommy.  Hell, we all are, but she's taking it even harder.  And he's taking it hard that she's taking it's hard.  And it's nothing I seem to be able to do anything about, especially with my own -- problems.  He sighed.  I was created to be a warrior, not a therapist, dammit.

*     *     *

"Okay.  Let me see if I can explain it.  I -- don't know if I even understand it myself."  Tommy wasn't looking at her.  On one level, he didn't even know why he was opening up to Zebra -- especially her.  But she was right.  And, in some ways, maybe it was easier to talk to a stranger about it than one of his comrades.  

"I don't know.  Maybe it's that I'm afraid of what I might become.  I've seen -- other folks who've gone for the cyborg route.  They seem to lose something, their humanity.  They don't just repair, they improve, add more parts, even replace parts that aren't -- missing or broken."

"'He's more machine than man, twisted and evil.'" said Zebra in a passable Alec Guiness imitation.

Tommy stared at her.

"What?  I've seen Return of the Jedi a few times," she said defensively.   And thought it was a great slapstick comedy, she silently added to herself.  "Go on.  Other people haven't known the difference between taking needed medicine and becoming a drug addict.  Why else?"

He tried to pick his train of thought back up after the interruption.  "Okay.  So why should I get something that nobody else gets?  Not everyone who's lost their legs gets them replaced with robotics, or gets a cool thought-controlled hover-chair with all the bells and whistles.  Why should I get it?"

"Because you can get it," Zebra said, relentlessly.  "Why else?"

"Okay.  Well maybe there's also that it was my fault.  I blew it.  I misjudged.  Why do I deserve to get --"

"Hold on."  She stepped back around him.  "I thought you said it was an accident.  That you were being a 'hero.'"

"Well -- I was.  But I made a mistake."

"And for that mistake, you should be a cripple for the rest of your life?"

"No!  I mean -- well --"

"Threk.  I'm not a therapist, Tommy."  She said the name distastefully, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom.  "You're being stupid and self-pitying and unfair to yourself and the others in your herd who depend on you -- and your herd is your family, your friends, your team, and the people in your city."  She shrugged, oddly.  "I don't care about that.  I know now how much I can count on you.  It's not much, but at least I can work with it."

"Wait a second, I didn't -- I mean, I haven't even agreed to --"

She made another noise.  "Of course you will.  Even you aren't that big a coward."  

And then she was gone, her hooves a rapid handful of clicks across the cement, as she re-entered the house.

And he knew, sitting there, that she was correct.  He wasn't enough of a coward to stay behind when he was needed.  As for the rest ... well, he'd have to think about it.  If he survived.

*     *     *

They were assembled at the base of the steep driveway that led up to "their" house.  It was still the same time of day, as far as they could see -- the quality and quantity of light did not seem to change with time.  All was as well-lit as on a cloudy afternoon, indirectly, with a faint violet pall to the whole scene.

Victor looked at the others.  Copper, Drake and Proteus were all at the ready.  They were even making a few jokes, which both worried and reassured him.  Zebra and Kid Castle were there.  A minor miracle in and of itself.  And Iris was by his side, waiting his command.

He had no idea what they were headed into.  Or why.  But the time for talk was over, and the time for action was at hand.  And if that sounds too much like a cliché from an old movie, he thought, consider who's thinking it.

Aloud, he said merely, "Okay, people.  Stay in touch.  Be careful.  And be victorious."

And with that, they moved out.

This page and its contents, except as otherwise noted, are
Copyright © 2001 David C. Hill