[SG]: Paradigm Incorporated #4: Lumbering Justice

[Brism Wanor]

FC CONTINUITY ADVISORY: This is still taking place on 19 July. Ha, you
thought the Spandex Babe trial was bad, I've been at this for six months,
and I've not gotten to midnight yet. Hahaha, just you wait, I'll make
every second its own posting, I'll stretch one day out for three years,
I'll beat every author who's ever been detained or delayed in their plots,
I'll--
FC Cryolink established to AUTHOR: Cut it out
AUTHOR: Sorry.
FC: Begin story
AUTHOR: Acknowledged


                          Paradigm Incorporated
                          #4: Lumbering Justice
                               Brism Wanor

     M.L. Harper was a mystery writer of the old school. Her early plots
were full of hard-bitten, hard-drinking gumshoes, who got hit on the head
from behind, drank too much, smoked a lot, and, inevitably, fell in love
with the girl on page twenty, only to watch her die in the final shootout.
If the girl didn't die, she was already married, or was in love with the
man who'd been wrongly convicted, or was the murderer, and had played
everyone for a sap from the word "go". In the last case, the PI had to
either turn the girl over to the arms of blind justice, or kill her while
trying to preserve his own life.
     More recently, on her daughter's suggestion, Mrs. Harper had created
her best-known, and most popular detective, Laura Rubenfield, who was an
ex-cop, dismissed for obscure reasons, either involving the old boys'
network, or the fact that she was just too damned good. As a rule, she
also drank too much, smoked, and was occasionally hit on the head. She
didn't fall in love with the girl on page twenty, though there was often
an interesting guy by about page thirty-five or so, and there was still,
invariably, a shootout.
     As a rule, police in an M.L. Harper novel were the dupes of the
criminal. They prevented the PI from getting a look at the murder scene.
They harassed the innocent. They protected the guilty. They were the
guilty. They tried to convict the wrong man. They acted on a creed of
"guilty until proving guilty". They lost clues, and ignored anything that
didn't fit their preconceptions. All this was done while snarling "This is
police business! Get out!"
     In short, police were a hindrance to the pursuit of justice, and the
last people you wanted involved in crime prevention or punishment.
     Jessa, whose first clear memory of the boys in blue involved the
inordinately long chase of a certain white Bronco, was a very receptive
audience to such a depiction.
     All of which explained why, when Paradigm asked her to guard the
felled villains while he called the police, Jessa gave him the most
intense "you've got to be kidding" expression of her young life.
     Paradigm's only response was a raised eyebrow, and a thoughtful
expression. The expression remained on his face as he hurried downstairs.
     Still listening to Paradigm's footsteps, Jessa checked over their
prisoners, then returned to her thoughts.
     Her knowledge of comic books wasn't nearly as complete as she might
have wished, but she knew the spirit well enough. In comics, as in crime
fiction, cops were idiots. Underfoot, suspicious, and prone to releasing
mad scientists because "there isn't enough evidence", never mind that said
mad scientist had broadcast his demands to the entire city. She only knew
of a few comic book characters who had good working relations with the
cops, and that was because the cops were lazy and cowardly, quite happy
for the hero to take all the risks. Usually, though, the cops considered
the hero little better than a criminal himself, and spent more time
slandering said hero, and pursuing said hero, than preventing real
criminals from committing real crimes. Most heroes, she knew, became
heroes because no one else, i.e., the police, were doing *their* jobs.
     No, Jessa didn't want to deal with cops, not today, not ever.

     "OK, Mr. P., what is it this time?"
     "Shaw?" Paradigm blinked at the large man climbing out of the small
car. "They dragged you out of bed for this?"
     "Bed," Shaw grumbled, "when do I get to sleep?"
     "Well, Detective--"
     "Captain."
     "Really?" Paradigm's lips twitched. "When was this?"
     "Well, this Monday, officially."
     "In that case, precongratulations, Pre-Captain Shaw."
     Snorting in amusement, Shaw asked, "where's the body?"
     "No bodies this time, Pre-Captain. At least, no dead ones."
     "OK, then, what is the situation?"
     "One master criminal, two henchmen, a bunch of infected poodles, and
a lab for brewing up said infection."
     "You've been in the lab?"
     "No, just glanced in, didn't touch anything."
     "I kinda' figured you wouldn't. What infection?"
     "Viral, creates mind-controlling saliva. Make sure your handlers wear
gloves."
     "Cure?"
     "No idea, yet."
     "Witnesses?"
     "Myself, and one other."
     "Where?"
     "Guarding the three criminals, last time I saw her."
     "Her?" Shaw's eyebrows crawled into his hair. "You have a partner
now?"
     "Not *really*."
     "Oh.....kaaaay," Shaw muttered as he went over to talk to the
arriving investigators.

     Climbing the stairs a few minutes later, Shaw asked, "By the way,
where's the car?"
     "In the shop. Why?"
     "Ellis's a big car buff."
     "Ellis?"
     "Yeah, Peter Ellis, partner in crime, or preventing it, anyway."
     Paradigm blinked. "What happened to Thomas?"
     Shaw blew out a breath of exasperation. "They've promoted her too,
and sent her down to Columbus."
     "Oh? Might I ask why?"
     Shaw grimaced. "Someone upstairs suddenly realised that this city has
nationally known hospitals, and internationally known universities. They
also realised that  hospitals and universities are breeding grounds for
superguys, and supercrooks, too."
     "True," Paradigm agreed. "Also, unusually perceptive."
     "The Ecclesiast sort of taught them that."
     "Indeed," Paradigm rumbled.
     "So, they decided they need to form a new department, dedicated to
dealing with supercrooks, and, since *I* have loads of experience with
that sort of thing--" He smirked at Paradigm.
     Paradigm smirked back, and finished the Captain's thought, "--they
put you in charge of the new department."
     "Right, and sent Thomas down to Columbus to take charge there."
     "Well, congratulations again. Ahh, here we have the criminals of the
hour."

     For Jessa, the last five minutes had been an eye-opening experience.
Well, more like ear-opening, although that sounded messy, and the true
statement, mind-opening, was even worse. So, it had been eye-opening, and
to Hell(TM) with honesty in metaphors.
     First, there had been Paradigm's conversation with the as-yet unseen
Shaw. The fact that both men seemed to have a lot of respect for the other
was... unusual.
     Second, she had listened as the rest of the police arrived, and
conferred with Shaw. They had been professional, yes, but also...
friendly. Her concept of the police as the bumbling, blundering, boys in
blue was being slowly replaced with the strange image of ordinary people
doing a job. People like Shaw, who appreciated Paradigm's help...
     ...And hers? Well, she'd find out. Here they came now.
     "Ahh, here we have the criminals of the hour," Paradigm declared
grandly, as he swept into the room, followed by a scarecrow. Well, no, not
really. Said scarecrow was dressed in a police uniform, not old rags, but
he looked more suited to standing in a field, mounted on a pole, than
standing in this warehouse. Long, broom thin legs, up to a short torso,
and long, long, long arms. Oh, yeah, there was also a head, straw-topped,
with a rather narrow, intelligent face on the front.
     <Bet he gives the uniform makers fits,> Jessa mused to herself.
     "Right," said the scarecrow, "what am I looking at, here?"
     "Leader: Victor Viola. Wanted by Interpol, among others. General
looney, would-be mad scientist/supervillain type. Plays at being
eccentric, rich Swede, but grew up in New York City.
     "Right hand man: Fredreich Thuddmann, nigh-invulnerable, likes to be
the man behind the scenes. Skilled chemist, driver, and marksman. Has a
glass jaw, otherwise, we'd have had a lot more problems.
     "Professional thug: Jefferson Davis Robert Lee Becks. Ex-U.S.
soldier, ex-southerner, ex-military guinea pig for some sort of
super-strength serum. Bright as a brick, and just as charming.
     "Fellow crime fighter... Excuse me, miss, I don't think I caught your
name."
     Paradigm, who had been pointing to each person in turn as he named
them, now stood, one hand indicating a slightly bemused Jessa.
     "Umm," she remarked, "I'm, uh, my name is..."
     "Hold it," Shaw snapped. "Do you want to be giving your name out?"
     Jessa blinked. That was a good point.
     <Name, I need a hero name. I knew I'd forgotten something. I never
gave my character a heroic identity. Well, Author, any bright ideas. No,
of course not, you're me, and you didn't think about it either.
     <Hmm, I'm sort of the generic super-hero. Super-sight, super-hearing,
super-scent, super-strength, and so on. Sort of the generic hero.
     <Generic Girl? Nah, there's already one of those.
     <Mighty Girl? No way.
     <Super--Forget it!
     <Sense ... Hmm, why bother calling myself ?-Girl, or ?-Woman, that's
obvious. I kind of like Paradigm, it doesn't say anything about him, just
his power.
     <So, something based on my powers. Strength, speed, every hero's got
those. My senses? Well, Mighty Guy, and the dog could probably match me,
and I know Superguy outstrips me by miles...
     <Still...
     <Senses. Something there. Yes, I think so. From an old computer game.
     <Chris Angelini's going to kill me.>
     "Call me... Sensa," she suggested.
     The two men nodded.
     Paradigm cleared his throat, and began again, gesturing grandly at
Jessa. "Fellow crime fighter: Sensa. I don't know much about her, other
than she's quick on the uptake, and has a fantastic right cross, judging
from the way she flattened Becks. From the name, I'd guess some form of
sensory powers, right?"
     Jessa nodded.
     "Telepathy? Empathy? ESP? MTV?"
     "No, just the normal five," she replied, "at least, so far."
     "What is your involvement in this?" Shaw asked.
     Shrugging, she replied, "Just passing through."
     "So, how'd you know there was a problem?" Shaw questioned.
     Tapping an ear, she replied, "I overheard their plans."
     "From where?" This from Paradigm.
     "Umm, end of the street, toward town." Jessa bit her lip, trying
desperately not to break in to the Dragnet theme.
     "OK, and how'd you get involved?" This to Paradigm.
     Paradigm sighed. "Junior Squared."
     "Really? What's the connection?"
     "Viola's virus. To make it, he had to get a lot of equipment. He
stole some of it locally, from companies belonging to Junior."
     Shaw was nodding. "And they complained to him, and he bitched out
Junior Squared, and Squared dragged you into this."
     "Yep."
     Shaw frowned. "Why wasn't I told about this?"
     "I don't know, Pre-Captain. I can guess, though."
     "Go ahead," Shaw said, sounding amused, "your guesses are usually
good."
     "Well, a lot of Junior's companies work in areas they'd rather keep
quiet, so they wouldn't report thefts to the police."
     Shaw grimaced.
     "Second, until Monday, there's no Supercrime department of the
police, at least, officially."
     "And lastly," Shaw prompted.
     "I didn't know any supervillains were involved, until..."
     "Until?" Shaw's eyebrow twitched.
     Paradigm made a face. "Until Becks there hit me on the head with a
very large brick."
     Shaw snorted.
     "It's not funny," protested the hero, rubbing the back of his head
theatrically.
     Ignoring the grousing Paradigm, Shaw said to Jessa, "You might want
to stick with him, Miss Sensa. It might save him headaches."
     Jessa laughed. "I'll consider it."
     "Meantime..." Shaw walked out to the stairs, and called for several
of his officers.
     Returning, he issued a quick series of orders, then said to the two
heroes, "Can I trust you two to be down at the station bright and early
Monday morning, to give a statement?"
     "I'll be there," Paradigm promised.
     Jessa considered, then realised that, apart from the odd TV program,
she'd never seen the inside of a police station. "OK, I'll be there."
     "Good. Then, scram, the pair of you. I've got enough to worry about
without superweirdness."
     Paradigm bowed himself out of the room, doffing, dropping, and
juggling an invisible cap.
     Jessa merely waved, before leaving. Shaw was very weird, for a
policeman, but she liked him.
     <Of course I like him,> she thought with a smirk, <I'm the one who
created him, or should that be, the same me created both of us.>
     Hurrying after Paradigm, she called out, "Excuse me."
     "Yes?"
     "Do you know where there's a good hotel around here?"
     "Well, you're best bet's in toward the city."
     "I kind of figured that."
     They were approaching a very strange car, which Jessa guessed,
probably belonged to the hero beside her. Well, the car was ordinary
enough, a slightly beat-up Ford. It was what was written on the car that
was strange. Many people put bumper stickers, or decals on their cars, but
this... This was madness!

                      Heisenberg may have been here.

               God rolls a six, Einstein wins Nobel Prize.

                Wanted: Shroedinger's cat, dead and alive.

                      Pauli half-spins in his grave.

                            Speeding and lost.

                        Only one me per universe.

     There were a great many more such signs, but Jessa didn't bother
reading them, they made no sense. What fascinated her was the design wound
in, and around, the words. It was... eye-bending. Every time she managed
to see a small part of it, it turned out to be made up of smaller versions
of that part. And those parts were made up of...
     "Are you all right?"
     Jessa yelped in surprise. "I... I... I was... The car!"
     "Yeah, bit gaudy, isn't it?" Paradigm sighed. "I think I got a little
carried away."
     "No, it's. What is that?" She pointed at the design.
     "Oh, the fractal. Mathematical concept used in computer modelling. In
theory, you can create one that can be repeated to create itself, on up
the scale. That's one of them. A sort of... infinite regress fractal."
     "It does repeat," Jessa murmurred, "All the way down. It hurts to
look at it."
     "Really?" Curiousity coloured Paradigm's tone. "I know it's infinite,
because it's supposed to be. You can *see* it?"
     "Yes."
     "Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating." Paradigm opened the driver's
door, started to climb in. "Maybe we can discuss it Monday."
     "Right... Monday. See you then," the girl replied, still half lost in
the fractal.
     "Oh, and Sensa, you might want to wear a mask."
     Fumbling, and confused, Jessa blurted the first thought which came to
her. "You don't."
     "True, but no one can recognise me anyway. It's a side-effect of my
power."
     She turned to study him, disbelief written in every line of her face.
"You're kidding."
     "No. Here, I'll prove it. What colour are my eyes?"
     Jessa looked at Paradigm as if he were mad. "Blue," she said,
finally.
     "Are you sure about that?"
     "Yes."
     "They haven't changed?"
     "Nope, they were blue when we met, and they're blue now. Oh, and
you're hair's brown, in case you were wondering."
     Paradigm pushed open the passenger door, and held it, studying her
closely.
     "Get in, we have a lot to discuss."


                      DO THEY HAVE A LOT TO DISCUSS?
                              WILL WE CARE?
           WILL IT BE ANOTHER SIX MONTHS BEFORE I WRITE AGAIN?

Only one way to find out...


                                 SUPERGUy


-----------------------------------------------
Brism Wanor, Lord Dougl, Keeper of the Eighth Echo
brism at earthlink.net

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