[ASH] ASH #89 - Kheper's Path Part I: Sunset
Dave Van Domelen
dvandom at haven.eyrie.org
Sat May 31 15:32:55 PDT 2008
The cover shows the Sun setting over the roof of the Cloisters in
Manhattan. A number of figures with bowed heads stand in silhouette flanking
the orb of the Sun.
//|| //^^\\ || || .|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED PRESENTS
// || \\ || || --X---------------------------------------------
//======================= '|` ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES #89
// || \\ || || Kheper's Path I: Sunset
// || \\__// || || Copyright 2008 by Dave Van Domelen
___________________________________________________________________________
ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES ROLL CALL
CODENAME REAL NAME POWERS ASSIGNMENT
-------- --------- ------ ----------
Solar Max Jonathan Zachary Spacetime Control AMERICA
"JakZak" Taylor
Meteor Sarah Grant-Taylor Superspeed AMERICA
Scorch Scott Handleman Pyrokinetic CANADA
Green Knight Salvatore Napier Strength, Regeneration MEXICO
Fury Arin Kelsey Concussion Blasts MEXICO
Contact Aaron Zander Psi, Mind-over-Body DIPLOMATIC
Breaker Christina Li Telekinesis DIPLOMATIC
Essay Sara Ana Henderson Gadgeteer VENUS
Peregryn Howard Henderson Jr. Elemental Mage VENUS
Beacon George Sylvester Living Light VENUS
Geode Unknown Living Crystal VENUS
Lightfoot Tom Dodson Velocity Control TRANSIT
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[June 13, 2026 - Manhattan Autonomous Sector]
One of the most basic rules of security is to avoid getting into any
patterns, so that your enemies can't lay in wait. Rex Umbrae had known this
since he was fresh from the modpod. Nevertheless, whenever his duties
allowed it, every morning he would stop at the Gang War Memorial where the
World Building had once stood. As a touch of irony and acknowledgement of
the one who had helped unwillingly secure his control over the city, Umbrae
had ordered that the memorial to the dead be an eternal flame.
As he lit a stick of incense, Umbrae reflexively glanced at the one
sniper position his people always left open...a marginal location, the sort
of thing that might be accidentally overlooked in a security sweep. As far
as his preternaturally sharp vision could tell, though, it was unoccupied.
He placed the incense in one of the many holders provided at the base of
the memorial and sampled the wind. The incense, a unique blend he had
commissioned, didn't mask any of the scents that signaled danger. But he
picked up nothing unfamiliar, only the usual smells of the city and of his
security detail, which was keeping a respectful distance.
There.
A faint eddy in the smoke that shouldn't have been there, downwind where
he couldn't smell anything.
Umbrae stood and bowed to the flame, momentarily closing his eyes in
respect for the dead. Just because he had been responsible for many of those
dead didn't mean he had no respect for them, after all.
The lethal strike to his kidney was converted to a faint tap as Umbrae
sidestepped at the last possible instant, hearing the slight rush of air that
must perforce accompany any killing blow.
"Welcome to Questions Period," Umbrae chuckled, pulling off his suit
coat and draping it over one arm. "It's been so long since anyone took
advantage of this part of my schedule, I was starting to wonder if I needed
to advertise it better. So, is your invisibility an inborn power, or a new
device that my systems here haven't been adjusted to deactivate?"
No response, so the attacker was competent. But not smart...he was
still there. Not that escape would be easy, "Questions Period" was meant to
be easy to get into and very hard to get out of, a trap with Umbrae himself
as both bait and jaws.
He feinted with his suitcoat, moving as if to try to use it to cover his
unseen opponent, then hurled a spread of coins with his other hand. He
supposed he could use some of those clever gadgets that his Hangmen employed,
but what would the challenge be? He would deal with Questions Period using
whatever he happened to have on hand.
One of the coins bounced, and Umbrae was on the assassin in the blink of
an eye, his massive bulk moving with the speed of the tiger whose genes had
been part of his "recipie".
The invisible became visible, a man limned in shimmering bronze energy
who simply slid past Umbrae's fist.
"Taograth," Umbrae said, recovering his footing after the lunge. "I
don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of meeting socially...you were
shipped off to the Cavity before I arrived here. [Taograth was aprehended in
Warden #6 - Ed.] And killed in a prison riot, from what I heard."
The Chinese paranormal sketched a slight bow. "Feigning death is a
trivial exercise for one of the Onyx Eye. And there were so many truly dead
in the wake of that event [Seen in CSV #11-12 - Ed.] that eventually the
corpses were left alone and I was able to escape."
"What brings you here with my death on your mind?" Umbrae asked, with
the tone one might use when running into a casual acquaintance in line at the
coffee shop.
"I saw a chance to restore my honor and my position within the Onyx
Eye. When I reveal to Barrukh that I have saved him from your latest round
of 'cleaning house,' it will surely put me back in his high favor," Taograth
explained. "With the city so complacently in the palm of your hand, it is
clear from this morning's events that you have decided to close that hand
into a fist once more."
The morning's events? Ah.
"I don't suppose protesting my innocence would matter?" Umbrae shrugged,
a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"It would not save your life, no," Taograth sneered openly, heedless of
the security team that was staying back, and not caring why that might be.
"Well, it was your life I was thinking of. Warden defeated you when he
was still finding himself. He's never bested me in combat. And before you
tell me how you've been training since your last encounter and have improved
your skills...don't bother. Come, let us have an airing of grievances!"
With that, Rex leapt like a tiger, twisting in mid-air to anticipate his
target's evasion, and then blocked a counter-strike on his forearm. The
bronze aura that flared brightly around Taograth's fist lent it supernatural
force, and Umbrae was hurled sideways by the blow, landing less gracefully
than he'd have liked.
"This is where you grudgingly admit that I have gotten more powerful,"
Taograth snarled.
"Depends on the script," Umbrae countered. "It could be where I point
out that you haven't gotten as powerful as you think."
"You've gotten soft, oh King of Shadows," Taograth lashed out with a
series of blows that appeared to fall short, but that hammered at Umbrae with
the force of the Onyx Eye warrior's deflection screen. "Ruling for so long
with no serious challengers. Hellhound has never demonstrated the courage
needed to beard you in your lair, and Warden walks the world outside this
so-called 'Autonomous Zone.'"
"You're right that I have had no serious challengers. And I'm not sure
you qualify, but it *is* more exhiliating to once again face someone who
genuinely wants me dead, and not just a sparring partner who fears my
displeasure should he be too successful," Umbrae countered, showing little
sign of injury and responding with a legsweep that forced Taograth to cease
his latest attack and leap.
"Well, I hope you have managed to get your blood flowing to your
satisfaction, then," Taograth taunted, slamming down with an aura-ablaze foot
and shattering the marble pavingstone next to Umbrae's hurriedly-withdrawn
leg. "Because soon it will be flowing to *my* satisfaction!"
"I doubt that," Umbrae backpedaled, carefully eyeing his opponent.
"Besides, hasn't it even occurred to you to wonder why my security detail
hangs back?"
"No doubt your overweening ego. If they actually need to save you from
me, it means the end of your ability to hold the city together," Taograth
advanced into the shadows cast by one of the buildings still standing around
the plaza.
"Of course," Umbrae smiled as he ducked a kick aimed at his head and
confirmed a hypothesis that he'd been forming. "But also, my ego demands
good camera angles for the fight from the cybernetic eyes of my guard detail.
It's a pity I won't be able to use this particular trap again, but at least I
drew in someone worth springing it on."
With that, he sidestepped a blazing right fist and drove his own massive
right hand into Taograth's gut, striking the solar plexus nerve cluster and
forcing Taograth to exhale in surprise and shock.
The bronze aura dimmed, flickering as Taograth fought to retain
consciousness, but the pause was enough.
Rex Umbrae took the man's neck in his hands and started to squeeze.
Slowly. "You fell prey to a classic blunder. You grew too enamored of your
new power, and forgot the virtues of the old. By focusing your deflection
field on your hands or feet you do gain impressive striking power, but you
weaken your defenses elsewhere. And now, of course, you're in my grasp. You
cannot 'squirt' away because your head is too large to fit between my hands.
I'm not exerting enough force to trigger a reaction from your field. And
since I haven't let you recover your breath from that nerve strike, the way
you're batting feebly at my arms is more pathetic than anything else. And
now you're dead," he added, twisting savagely once the bronze aura faded
completely.
Taograth's corpse fell to the shattered marble, the head at an angle no
contortionist could achieve.
Panting slightly from the exertion and trying to suppress an unseemly
grin, Umbrae retrieved his suitcoat and pulled out the blackcel in one of the
pockets. "Anatole? Questions Period went well, please send my condolences
to Master Barrukh. I'm sure he'll be secretly relieved. Oh, and I think we
actually need to care a little more about the identity of the old Anchor's
killer. Please get on that. Extend that invitation we discussed, too. I
think we might be able to flush a few more out before Marx's killer is
found...."
* * * *
[March 26, 2026 - Falcon Bay, Venus]
Kim Bell watched the sleek "flying saucer" take to the skies once more.
Some of the wedding guests were going back to Earth, and a new batch of
colonists had arrived. And, from the scuttlebutt she was hearing, some of
the previously-evacuated Montrealers had come back. Word was that not
everyone felt comfortable back on Earth. Maybe it was a fringe effect of the
curse on the Viaus, maybe it was just psychological. A few more therapists
were probably among the new arrivals, in any case.
Cindy gurgled in her papoose on Kim's back. She was getting a little
big for that, being about sixteen months old. Unfortunately, Kim still
didn't have any good ideas for how to deal with the inevitable suggestions
that she be put into the small daycare center in one of the protective
bunkers. Once she was separated from Cindy, aka Innocenza the Anchor, heir
to the Archangeli line...well, it wouldn't be pretty. Literally.
"Miss Bell?" came a voice from behind. Kim turned, perhaps a little too
quickly, to look. Cindy giggled.
"Yes?" The woman had short dark hair with a red streak in it that
suggested the whole affair was a dye job.
"Is there somewhere private we can talk?" the woman asked in a way that
set Kim's old Manhattan instincts on edge. Her posture said "cop". But if
she were working for the government, and knew who Kim really was, she'd have
brought backup. Unless the backup was hidden just out of sight.
"Sure, follow me," Kim tried to sound calm but slightly befuddled, like
she expected an innocent citizen would. Her workshop was private enough, and
would give her the home field advantage if it came to that.
After a short walk, they were in one of the prefab buildings that served
as a repair-slash-fabrication shop for the new colony. Kim carefully stood
where several lethal implements would be within arm's reach of her. "Okay,
talk."
The woman held out a small velvet box she'd palmed at some point. "My
name's Jo Ridley." Opening the box, she showed the ring inside to Kim.
"Ross misses you, and thinks you should come home."
It was rhe ring Ross "Hooks" Hoekstra had given her when he'd asked her
to marry him.
Made with a diamond he'd taken from a case that had been handcuffed to
him on one wild night in Manhattan two years ago.
A night engineered with Kim's help by the man who then shot her and left
her for dead.
The man who had left her pregnant with his child.
The man who had tempted a worthless stinking BUG with promises of
beauty, who had helped her confirm that she'd sell out her best friends, that
she was still the useless piece of shit-eating filth her father had always
called her before...before he'd stopped.
Rebus the Anchor, who stripped illusion and exposed reality, and who had
stripped away the true reality of Gimble's existence for a night, replacing
it with an illusion that Ross had fallen in love with.
Kim Bell, known to most as Gimble, and born Macy Graves, sank to her
knees and just couldn't stop crying.
* * * *
[June 13, 2026 - Manhattan Autonomous Sector]
A year ago, even with its relatively insulated position on the extreme
north side, the Cloisters Casino wouldn't have had enough business to really
be considered "disrupted" by a crime scene investigation, Aaron reflected.
Now, however, Umbrae's Manhattan had become something like pre-Castro
Cuba...a cachet of danger and a whiff of illegality to bring in the
well-heeled tourists. And a lot of those heels wanted to be planted in front
of the tables of the Cloisters, or even just walk the attractive grounds of
Fort Tryon Park, a piece of Manhattan that really didn't look like what
people thought Manhattan was.
"Ah, Detective Kelly," Aaron called out as he approached the police
cordon on Park Drive. "Good to see a familiar face...I'd worried that the
NYPD had reached one hundred percent turnover."
John Kelly Jr. peered suspiciously at Aaron. "I'm afraid you have me at
a disadvantage...Contact, right?" he gestured at the "dress uniform" Aaron
was wearing. It was a little less conspicuous than his fighting togs, while
still marking him pretty clearly as a member of ASH.
-+Hey, dummy,+- Paul mentally bopped Aaron on the forehead. -+He's one
of mine, remember?+-
"Oh, sorry, Detective," Aaron willed himself to blush just the right
amount. "We haven't met in this body. I have Paul Mahler's memories, it's
kind of complicated. But I remember working with you on the Warden case a
few years ago."
"Right, I see," Kelly radiated a brief wave of "creeped out" that Aaron
couldn't quite block out. "Is that the dodge you're using to get around the
treaty, then?" he asked. "You're here as Mahler?"
Aaron shook his head. "Actually, I already had permission to be on the
island at MetaPsych for unrelated business, but they got a call from Mr.
Mabuse officially requesting assistance on this case," he gestured at the
taped-off stairway leading down into the offices of the casino. No need to
mention that he hadn't been asked for by name, but it hadn't been hard to
convince Mabuse to let him take the job. He owed Marx for stopping him from
crossing all the way over the line a few years ago. [ASH #17 - Ed.] Least
he could do was help find the person who'd finally managed to kill Marx when
mad gods and supervillains had failed. "One thing Umbrae lacks is a reliable
telepath, and the fact he actually wants one on the case suggests he's either
innocent of this one, or playing an exceptionally complex game."
"Fine. But stay back when I tell you to, and no mind-reading unless
asked, got it?" Kelly frowned. Aaron caught a flash of a familiar face,
Andrea Roguelin of MetaPsych. She'd taken over on the Warden case after
Paul's death, and it was no secret that she and Kelly were a couple. Kelly
was probably wondering why she hadn't been called in, but she'd clearly
taught him enough about "leakage" that Aaron didn't have to wall himself off
entirely to avoid getting more than that flash.
"No worries. I'm no forensic pathologist or anything, and I have no
intention of blundering in like a bull in a china shop and messing up the
chain of evidence. Still, I'm pretty good at putting clues together,
hopefully I can help beyond just playing lie detector," Aaron smiled. "So,
what can you tell me so far?"
"It's a messy hit," Kelly gestured for Aaron to duck under the police
tape. "Some kind of bomb. Very compact, pretty clean, but leaving a faint
radiation signature. Our preliminary guess is antimatter."
Aaron arched an eyebrow as he stood up on the other side of the tape and
followed Kelly down the stairs into the basement. "That sounds pretty
exotic...I'd think it'd narrow the suspects list down a bit."
"You might think that, yeah," Kelly led Aaron into the office section.
"But between all the Pranir with contacts here and the fact that one of the
Jolly Molecules...that's one of the local posergangs...has been making and
selling antimatter mines, it's not really that hard to get your hands on
antimatter in this town."
Aaron nodded. The paragangs of the city came in two flavors. There
were the deadly serious types like the Snow Leopards or the New York Macoute,
ones that either grew out of existing normal gangs or that were founded by
vicious killers. And then there were the posergangs, or thrillgangs, ones
founded by paranorms or wannabes who were attracted by the social aspects.
The Rust Brothers were probably the best-known posergang, with their bargain
basement cybernetics and lame attempts to be like the Cybernostra, but there
were plenty of others. And even posergangs could be dangerous...especially
if they had people who could make antimatter!
"Anyway, the mine was on the small side, so the room itself is
structurally intact, and there was enough body left to make a positive ID.
He might have stepped or sat on a small mine that couldn't take out his
entire body," Kelly frowned. He was clearly sick and tired of finding out
about new and bizarre ways you could kill someone. "It's also possible he
was just farther from the mine and someone else set it off, with that someone
else being totally discorporated. We'll know once we've finished analyzing
the residue on the walls," he gestured at an open door, through which a scent
of cooked meat and burned wood wafted. Inside, hazmat-suited technicians
took samples and consulted handcomps.
"Was the door closed when the explosion happened?" Aaron asked, noting
its unusually thick construction.
Kelly nodded. "If you're asking if this was a locked room murder, yes
and no. The door was closed and locked, and the room itself is shielded from
electromagnetics except for specific frequencies on scramble...he was pretty
paranoid about electronic snooping. So no remote control. On the other
hand, the killer probably didn't need one."
Aaron furrowed his brow for a moment, then his face lit up in
realization. "Right! Just create an antimatter bomb where the only thing
that keeps the antimatter contained is a Violation effect. As soon as an
Anchor gets close enough, a perfectly normal and natural explosion happens."
"Exactly. Which makes the Jollies the most likely supplier. They're
not on my list for people who might be behind the whole thing, but I've got
people out looking for some Jollies to talk to about who might have bought
from them," Kelly nodded. And by "people" he almost definitely meant that
Umbrae's Hangmen enforcers were on the job. Normal cops rarely went to a
paragang, even a posergang, and strongly requested their presence.
"Who *is* on your list?" Aaron asked.
Kelly sighed. "I don't have time to go through it all," he frowned, and
Aaron nodded. A man like Devlin Marx had more enemies than friends, and even
had enemies who could have pulled this off despite no longer being on this
plane of existence. It would certainly fit Rebus's profile to have put some
sort of long-term assassination plans in place just for the mental exercise.
"However, I'm going to leave the diplomatic issues to Mabuse and concentrate
on the locals who might have had the usual three...opportunity, means and
motive."
"In other words, people right here, to start with," a slender man limped
up to the two. "Ben Whitman," he introduced himself, extending a hand to
Aaron, who shook it. "I'm in the unfortunate position of inheriting most of
this from Devlin."
"Aaron Zander. Were you present at the blast?" Aaron asked, his eyes
flicking down to the foot Whitman was favoring.
"Nah, that's just his lead foot," Kelly shook his head. There didn't
seem to be much love lost between the two men. "His mustering out present
from the Jollies." [As seen in STRAFE #12 - Ed.]
"Actually, the Detective is a bit behind on the news," Whitman grinned
weakly. "I finally got a transplant, but I'm still building up the
calluses. Rapid-grown clone tissue doesn't have any, after all. Anyway, I'm
a suspect because I didn't get killed yet, and because I'm in charge of not
just the Cloisters but also the rest of Marx's personal empire. And while
it's a lot smaller than it might have been a few years ago, I'm not sure I'll
ever know where it all is...he was burned pretty badly by his last protege,
and he didn't tell *anyone* everything this time around. I kinda hope his
will clears things up a little, but I doubt it."
-+Given that Marx's previous protege was Rebus, understandable,+- Paul
noted.
"Jessa Dumont is another person I'd like to talk to," Kelly said,
looking from Aaron to Ben and back. "It's been an open secret for a while
now that he's been funnelling money into her chain of free clinics, and a
less open secret that there's been other dealings between the two. All of
which could either be a motive for murder, or a reason to expect to find her
DNA in that mess," he jerked a thumb towards the open door. "Either way, she
never reported to work this morning at any of the clinics, nor is she
answering her public number."
"She's not answering her blackcel either," Whitman shook his head,
referring to the ultra-secure style of portable communications device often
carried by those with reason to be paranoid. "I doubt she was caught in the
explosion, though, if only because she *does* always carry her blackcel, and
those things are pretty durable. This half of the Cloisters would be sliding
down the cliffside before a blackcel would have been completely destroyed by
an explosion. And they did find Devlin's 'cel, right?"
Kelly didn't comment. "I can get you the rest of the list on your
handcomp later," he said to Aaron. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to
submit to telepathic reading, *Mister* Whitman?"
"This is where I'd love to be able to say, 'Go ahead, I have nothing to
hide,' Detective. But I've got plenty to hide, just not related to Devlin's
death. I'd want some legal assurances that Mr. Zander wouldn't just go
fishing around."
Aaron nodded, pulling out his handcomp. "I'll beam you the standard
paperwork MetaPsych's worked up for this sort of thing, you can have your
lawyers look at it and we can schedule a time. If that's satisfactory,
Detective?" he turned back to Kelly, who nodded. "Oh, and if you don't mind
me asking, where did you get the cloned foot?"
Whitman chuckled. "Wondering if I've been taking advantage of Jessa's
old organlegger contacts, eh?"
Aaron didn't say anything, but that was *exactly* what he'd been
thinking. Or, perhaps, using one of the "squabs" that Khadam had been
growing as sacrificial victims for Glyph's more potent magics. He'd heard
that it had taken a dozen of those to power the spell that had hurled the
future Santari ship's citykiller beam back upon itself. [Seen in ASH #82 -
Ed.] And he knew that organleggers had taken to trying to clone Universal
Donors as a way to get around the Santari problem of tissue rejection. Any
of these options would have given a blackmailer leverage on Whitman.
"In a way, I am," Whitman admitted. "But not in the bad way. It turns
out that one of the Pranir biotech firms has decided that there's good PR
value in being able to truthfully say they can provide 'cruelty free'
transplants, so they've been working on the UD-cloning issue. But rather
than steal samples, they're licensing genomes from Udes like me. In exchange
to the non-exclusive right to use my Universal Donor genes in their research
and market the results if they can get 'em to graft to a Santari, I got a new
foot, and a few other considerations. Jessa's been working with these people
as partial atonement for her own part in the organlegging industry."
"Well, good for her," Kelly deadpanned. "You know the routine,
Whitman. Don't leave town, make sure your lawyer registers at the precinct,
don't annoy the Hangmen..."
"I know," Whitman nodded, a bit sadly. "The usual drill. I may have
been a crooked cop, but I wasn't an incompetent one."
* * * *
The Upper East Side had probably fallen the farthest during the "Decay
NY" years, but only because it'd had the farthest to fall. When the people
with money and means abandoned the city for a time, it tore the heart out of
the "Silk Stocking District". Things were rapidly improving under Umbrae,
with the retro cachet attracting the new elite, but parts of the neighborhood
were still on the iffy side.
Particularly, the side facing Central Park up in the 90s had yet to be
fully reclaimed from the days when the park was paragang neutral ground, and
a number of the weaker paragangs still hung out there, away from the hothouse
conditions of the south end of the island but still far from the "tourist-
friendly" north end. A lot of posturing and posing, but not a lot of real
action.
Hence, when the usual morning calm was interrupted by the roar of an
Ihimaera Utilitarian and the sinister whine of a Magnum Spartan, people sat
up and took notice.
Maddie Chin, aka Hellhound, could live with that, as long as people
didn't notice too much. Her Spartan was a whisper-silent electric fuel cell
machine with a lot of aftermarket improvements, so as soon as the immediate
ruckus was done with it would be nearly impossible for anyone to hear where
she went over the echoing cacophony of her prey's "Ute".
"I got an aluminum engine and carbonfibre frame, 'Hound!" the Jolly
Molecule shouted. He probably did so only to hear his own voice, but the
filters in Maddie's helmet let her pick him out over the noise of the Jolly's
engine. "Magnetics won't work on me! And I've got eddy current suppressors
built in too!"
And if "Roger Boom" had been facing Beth Willot, the "EMerald" member of
the Hellhound team, that might have made a difference. Beth's duties as a
Marshal kept her from being as active as Hellhound lately, even though she
was just across the river in Jersey City. But enough road ragers had paid
attention while being thrashed that word had gotten out about Hellhound
having magnetic powers. Leave it to the tech-pirate Jolly Molecules to do
something about it.
Maddie had no powers at all, but that didn't make her any less
dangerous. In fact, today it probably made her more dangerous, since Roger
clearly thought he had her number.
Boom took a sharp right on 92nd, barely keeping his over-modified Ute
from skidding, but the Spartan was made for maneuverability and Hellhound
gained several meters on him as he fought to bring his beast under control.
Now things got dangerous.
Roger Boom, born Roger Langridge, was a gadget guy. No intrinsic powers
like some of the other Jollies, but he could build supertech. And he liked
to build weapons. MAN, did he like to build weapons. His prices were cheap
because he really only needed enough money to let him build MORE weapons, and
the next time a gang war erupted he'd probably be indirectly responsible for
a third of the body count. So far, though, his only actual victims had been
people showing up at one of Jessa's clinics with self-inflicted injuries, as
Roger's gear was also cheap because he got sloppy a lot. So he'd never been
all that high on the list Maddie, Jessa and Beth maintained of People Who
Needed Taking Down.
Roger Boom pulled out a small object and started to toss it over his
shoulder. Maddie responded by pulling out a throwing coin and hurling it at
Boom's wrist, making him drop the thing instead. She wasn't as good with the
coins as Warden, but she'd practiced a lot. They were far from effective
weapons for stopping a person unless you could amplify their pain response,
but they were handy for disarming someone.
The object fell to the pavement and exploded violently, shredding the
rear of the Ute and throwing Roger Boom into the air at about fifty meters
per second...not necessarily "terminal" velocity, but definitely lethal if
he'd forgotten to build himself a forcefield or something along those lines.
Hellhound spurred her Spartan on and managed to get under Boom in the
second or so before his slightly angled course would smash him into the
corner of a building. Flexing her right hand in her gauntlet, she triggered
the compressed CO2 canister that launched a small pellet at the Jolly
Molecule. It burst on impact, expanding into a ball of foam in less than an
eyeblink. One of the nicer pieces of technology Marx had sent her way under
the table...pure normaltech, developed back in the TwenCen.
The foam ball bounced off a street post and rolled through an
intersection, wobbling like a partially deflated rugby ball. The specs said
the person encased in the stuff could still breathe, and it'd decay under
ultraviolet light after an hour or so.
Maddie shot out a grappling line which stabbed into the foam and locked,
then started dragging Roger Boom's faintly protesting cocoon to the nearest
precinct house.
She wasn't sure why Marx had chosen today to strongly suggest Hellhound
deal with Roger Boom, but Maddie figured that Jessa would probably know. The
telepath hadn't answered her blackcel before Maddie went out, but that wasn't
too unusual...the best communciations encryption in the world is useless if
you use it where anyone can eavesdrop with a directional microphone or just
good ears, and Maddie got Jessa's voice mail nine times out of ten. In fact,
if Jessa was trying to call back it'd be phone tag, since Maddie had turned
her own blackcel off to avoid distraction while rounding up the Jolly
Molecule.
A few minutes later, the paraganger dropped off on the steps of the new
84th Street precinct and tagged with the datacube of evidence Marx had sent,
Maddie took her Spartan into one of the tunnels that let Hellhound seem to
appear and disappear like magic.
"Jimmy, you free to talk?" she said, her helmet's built-in blackcel
automatically dialing her boyfriend and relaying the message once he picked
up. The phrase meant she was calling on Hellhound business, and a reply of
"Sure" meant he was somewhere that wasn't secure, so she should keep
Hellhound out of the conversation, stick to boyfriend/girlfriend stuff.
"Maddie, it's trouble," was the reply. Either Jimmy was in a secure
location, or things were bad enough he didn't care.
"What's up? I just dropped off the guy Marx sicced me on."
"Marx is up. Or down. I mean, Devlin Marx has been murdered. And from
what Beth has managed to feed my way while you were out playing tag with the
Jollies, it looks like Jessa's either dead too, or a prime suspect."
"Oh, shit," was all Maddie could think to say in response.
=============================================================================
Next Issue:
Word starts to spread of the death of the old Anchor, and fingers are
pointing in every conceivable direction, and a few that may have been
inconceiveable! Be here for Kheper's Path II: Jaws of Apophis!
=============================================================================
Author's Notes:
I'll explain the arc title at the end of the arc. :)
The "wild night" referred to in the Kim Bell scene was Warden #13-14,
the flow of the scene didn't feel right with an editor's footnote in it right
there.
Here's Hellhound at long last, riding her '26 Magnum Spartan:
http://www.eyrie.org/~dvandom/ASH/gallery/hellhound.JPG The Spartan uses a
Sbarro hubless wheel design, which makes it immune to "throw something in the
wheel and make the bike flip" tricks, useful for someone planning on getting
into fights.
The Jolly Molecules were first mentioned in STRAFE #12, and this is the
first time they got a named member. Marc Singer tells me that Jenny Hader
(first seen in Warden #1) was intended to be a member, but it never got
mentioned in a story. It's possible that the Jollies that Jenny belonged to
collapsed when she left, being more poser-ish than most posergangs, but they
reformed later on when the paraganger density started to ramp up again. In
any case, their gang symbol is a skull and crossed electron orbitals, like
mixing the Jolly Roger with the "atomic power" symbol.
Finally, in case you missed the news, ASH now has a Fourth Heroic Age
character wiki, http://ash.wikidot.com/main (with a few pre-FourthAge
characters, a couple of places and things as well). It's pretty bare-bones,
meant mainly to keep track of the basics and avoid needlessly making up new
characters when there's existing ones that work fine (which, of course, is
why I ended up making several new characters up for this arc anyway, sigh).
But feel free to play around with it, at the least if you're wondering about
a character you can find their first appearances and a few bits of info.
============================================================================
For all the back issues, plus additional background information, art,
and more, go to http://www.eyrie.org/~dvandom/ASH !
To discuss this issue or any others, either just hit "followup" to this
post, or check out our Yahoo discussion group, which can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ash_stories/ !
There's also a LiveJournal interest group for ASH, check it out at
http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=academy+of+super-heroes
============================================================================
More information about the racc
mailing list