SG: The League #6 (B of B)

[Whistling in the Dark]

[THIS IS THE SECOND PART. THE FIRST PART DIDN'T HAVE THIS SENTENCE AT
THE FRONT OF IT, YOU SEE.]

      It was a hallway meeting, of course. And it was entirely
coincidence. If you asked either one of them, they'd have absolutely
insisted upon that fact.
      Given certain anomalies in both Alice "Ms." Mercury's
background and Susan "Carillon" Liddell's background, the likelihood
of anything in either of their lives being *entirely* coincidental
are negligible, mind. But it's not impossible that however Susan
tangled the skein of destiny would conflict enough with the
admittedly supernatural luck Alice had as part of her background to
let a pure coincidence slip through. It would take significant study
to know, of course, and I don't really have that kind of free time,
so let's continue, shall we?
      Suffice it to say, Alice rounded the corner on a B tower
hallway on one end at the same time Susan rounded the far end of the
hallway. Within a second they became aware of each other, both
slowing slightly with the recognition. And almost certainly both
considered turning around and going the other way.
      But in the end they both picked up speed, shifting to make the
encounter at least somewhat by choice.
      "Hello, Alice," Susan said warmly.
      "Hey Susan," Alice said, as pleasantly as she could. "I like
the purple sweat suit."
      "Yeah, they're still working on uniforms and the like." She
looked Alice up and down. "Hey, I like your uniform."
      Alice glanced down. Her uniform was one of the newer ones --
green and yellow, as many of Alice's uniforms were, with
interlocking yellow patterns forming a shield design on her chest
and similar patterns going down each arm and her outer legs, leading
to distinctive yellow and green buccaneer boots. It was a very
'superhero' costume -- one of the perks of being the Academy
associate head and the director of the 'physical and active defense'
program they ran. Alice could still live in costumes and codenames.
"Thanks. I still wear the lightning bolt suit sometimes, but this is
seriously comfortable. I... guess you guys are going to get
something a lot like this one."
      "Oh, I expect we are. Though different colors and not quite the
same pattern."
      "The pattern's got some kind of... it has something to do with
the defenses, so it won't be too far off. I dunno -- you should ask
Mandy. She's been evolving uniforms since the old ALU
'kevlar/polymer bond' days."
      "Oh sure, sure. We've been talking about the defensive
capabilities of the new uniforms. I'm... going to be wearing
something of a variant, mind. I mean, my own abilities won't
necessarily work in concert with the uniform well, so...."
      Alice frowned slightly. "It's a uniform," she said. "You wear
it. End of story."
      "It's not quite that simple, Alice."
      "It's exactly that simple. You wear it. It's clothing."
      "Well, understand that I have a different way of... seeing the
world, sometimes, and the wrong clothing can--"
      "It's a *uniform,* Susan. Look, I clearly can't stop you from
being part of this cockamamy scheme, but the least you can do--"
      "Scheme, Alice? We're going to reclaim Boston from chaos and
pain. You don't think that's worthy?"
      "If you were really going to do that? Maybe, though I don't
like the idea of you making yourself the focus of every nutjob and
gang banger in the city! But you and I both know the real purpose of
Lochaber--"
      "The *real* purpose of Lochaber is to reclaim Boston from chaos
and pain," Susan said, a slight edge in her voice. "That includes
the chaotic efforts of vigilantes."
      "Oh, I didn't realize you disliked 'vigilantes' so much, what
since you've apparently *been* one  for the last *five years*
without telling me!"
      "I don't like causing you unnecessary pain or worry," Susan
said. "It's not my fault you still think I'm ten years old."
      "You were 'ten years old' until you were twenty-one! Forgive me
for worrying about you!"
      "I got over that *seven years ago,* Alice. Seven years. I'll
forgive you a lot but you have to forgive me too."
      "For what?"
      "Growing up."
      Alice stared at Susan for a long moment.
      Susan looked back, defiantly.
      "I would like to have had the chance to back in 2003," Alice
said softly. "You know, right about when you started lying to me?"
      Susan looked away. "I never lied. I simply... didn't mention
parts of my life to you."
      "Don't. If there's one thing I understand *better* than you,
it's the con game. Or so I thought." Alice pursed her lips. "I've
got things."
      "So do I," Susan said.
      "Good. Good luck, Susan. Don't get killed doing this." Alice
started... well, stomping off.
      Susan watched her sister go. "I don't plan to," she
half-whispered, then turned and walked in the other direction.
      Alice stomped her way to the elevator, riding down to the Lobby
level. The Academy was C tower, as it always had been, but Alice
diverted to the A Tower elevators instead, riding up to the upper
floors, where the good suites for live-in personnel were found. A-16
was the floor two from the top. Only three people -- technically --
lived on this floor. One person lived on A-17, by comparison, and no
one lived on A-18.
      Alice was one of the three residents of A-16. Well, four
residents, but one was... relatively easy to overlook on a census.
She walked into her broad living room -- the one with the
exceptional view of Boston and the Prudential Center -- a view now
broken up by gigantic walls sealing off Kenmore Square, Fenway and
the Boston University area. Just another Boston Ghetto since the
coming of the Lickmi.
      There was a bluegrass sting from a Fender Stratocaster, which
then settled back into a background rhythm. It didn't startle Alice,
who was relatively used to rock and jazz spontaneously playing in
her living room. She glanced over to the upright piano against the
wall. On top of the piano, a cricket was strumming a tiny electric
guitar.
      "Hey," Buddy said. "You've looked better."
      "Yeah, well, I've felt better," Alice said, walking over to the
upright piano. She sat down and began to play a bluesy piece that
fit the music. "I just saw Susan in the hall."
      "Ouch. Tense," Buddy said, shifting his music to match Alice's,
even as he quieted his Amp down with his tiny foot pedal. Not that
it mattered -- Alice could hear Buddy's voice telepathically even
when they were in the middle of tearing the roof off the joint. One
more change from the day they met in a Texas jail cell.
      "Yeah, well. No one says I have to agree with all my sister's
choices," Alice muttered, her hands roaming the keyboard expertly.
"Hey, how'd your session work go?"
      "Not so bad," Buddy said. "They don't like sending the helo
into Boston proper, but Miss Mandy has a way of talking businessmen
into things. It's nice to be able to head over to New York without
worrying about being stepped on."
      "Someday you should do a tour," Alice said. "Didn't they say
your band was pretty popular back in your own altiverse?"
      "Well, sure. But humans aren't so big on going to a huge
concert hall and trying to make a cricket out up on stage, y'know?"
      "Humans can be shallow like that."
      "You said it." Buddy slid into a new riffline. "So are you and
Susan gonna be okay?"
      Alice sighed. "How should I know, Buddy?"
      "Seems to me you're one of only two people who could know. But
then, we had a different way of handling this kind of thing back
home."
      "Pheromones?"
      "Huh? No, family counseling was covered under national health
care."
      "Your homeworld was strange and UnAmerican, Buddy."
      The cricket shook his head mournfully. "Tell me about it," he
said, and moved into the next bridge.

* * * * * *

      Roger and Cairi walked down Washington Street, going off of
Boylston and heading towards Chinatown. There had been thirty years
of cleanup efforts that had made the neighborhood a beautiful and
vibrant community. The Lickmi invasion and the separating of Boston
into ghettoized communities had led to a reversion in less than two
years. The neighborhood was once more known universally as the
Combat Zone, and even two undercover superheroes felt uncomfortable
walking the streets. Both were in trenchcoats with jeans and
sneakers showing. Roger's hair was currently a darker red, his skin
a bit pale -- but then, when one was the walking dead, it was lucky
he had skin in the first place. Cairi's hair was a kind of coppery
blond right now, her face a bit round in a cute way. Her own
appearance could be mutable too, though it was something of a sore
subject with her.
      Up above, a set of eyes watched them walking, looking down from
the third story of a brownstone. The man was frowning as he watched,
hidden from view. He'd gotten word of what they were doing -- of who
they were going to see. It seemed prudent to follow, just in case.
      Besides, the Combat Zone could be trouble, even for two members
of the League.
      "God, it's depressing down here," Cairi said, looking across
the street to where a pack of five Net.Trolls were injecting pure
forum into their veins. "We need to spend a week doing nothing but
cleaning the area."
      "Where would we put everyone?" Roger asked, shaking his head.
"When the social infrastructure collapsed, the nicer neighborhoods
couldn't do much but push undesirables out. The Zone, Roxbury,
Dorchester -- they're all pushed to the limit. Where do you think
most of the gang members and factions do their recruiting?"
      "I know, I know." Cairi shook her head. "I have a hard time
believing someone out there *wanted* to turn Boston into this."
      "I've always had a hard time believing in evil," Roger said.
"But damn if it doesn't keep showing up."
      There was the muffled sound of an explosion, followed by a
thunderclap, and a woman screamed.
      "As if on cue," Cairi said, running for the alleyway near to
where they heard the sound.
      "I'm nothing if not dramatic," Roger said, throwing open his
coat and releasing a halo of purple fireflies that surrounded the
pair, shifting their clothing -- Roger's coat becoming a rich
crimson with shades of purple, yellow trimmed, his clothes beneath
becoming formal, if predominantly yellow and crimson as well, a red
domino mask forming into place. Cairi's coat seemed to melt away,
her clothes forming a red-gold reflective jumpsuit. Her hair and
face seemed to blur and smolder, her skin fading into a potential of
almost music as her true fiery form emerged, wings of divine fire
sweeping behind her.
      They broke through into one of the many lots full of wreckage
in this neighborhood -- piles of industrial and building waste and
debris from another building fire turned into a collapse and
gutting, and that in turn made the lot into an informal gathering
place. A good number of homeless gravitated to the abandoned lot,
looking for firewood, for easily constructed shelter, maybe even for
something valuable in the debris. Unfortunately, that just meant
they got caught between two of the most combative and angry gangs in
Boston -- factions that took every meeting as a chance to get out
bad blood by spilling it. Factions that would never back down. This
was holy war, and the innocent people caught between them were just
acceptable losses.
      "You so full of shit!" one of the lieutenants of the Net.Trolls
shouted as he threw a huge chunk of concrete at his enemies. His
skin was almost green, thanks to bad acne and hideous forum abuse.
"No one *watch* Firefly, so Fox *cancel* Firefly! No one go to
Serenity, so no Serenity sequel!"
      "You take that back, you filthy mouth breather!" a particularly
powerful Confen Blaster shouted back, metal and magic and Elvis knew
what kind of mutagens giving him power to live out his fantasy life
and defend the true way of fandom, letting a cascade of electrical
power burst from his fingertips as he heaved his brown coated
overweight body into a semblance of flight. "Fox aired Firefly out
of order, they screwed with the advertising and the timeslot -- it's
Futurama all over again!"
      "At least Futurama sometimes funny!" another Net.Troll shouted,
spraying bullets from a submachinegun. "Firefly just dumbass fake
western. Whedon not even know difference between solar system and
galaxy!"
      "Typical literalist!" another Confen -- this one less senior in
the gang, meaning he had to use a submachinegun of his own to make
his point stick. "You're mistaking Mal's way of speaking for
Whedon's understanding of what a star system is!"
      In between the Net.Trolls and the Confen, a pack of homeless
tried desperately to not get shot, burnt, crushed or electrocuted.
It was clear neither side could care less about them, unless one of
them was stupid enough to weigh in on one side or the other -- or
Elvis help him, have a different point of view entirely. One
homeless man covered his head with his arms and screamed as a
Net.Troll lost hold of a chunk of masonry he was throwing, six
hundred pounds of it heading straight for him--
      Parvenu rose above, a golden field swarming over the hapless
innocents, the chunk of masonry bouncing off. "I'm sorry," he
announced, his voice enhanced by his magic. "There are rules to
these discussions and you're all clearly over the line. Besides,
everyone knows Whedon just wanted the freedom to tell the story in
the comics, like Buffy Season Eight!"
      "Oh, *don't* even *start,*" Incandescence said, rising like an
angelic pyre into the air, raining fiery bursts down both the Confen
and the Net.Trolls.
      "The League!" one of the Confen shouted.
      "Mods *bad!*" a Net.Troll shouted.
      "Get 'em!" both groups shouted, turning to fire bullets,
lightning, fire, and whatever else they had against the pair.
      "Why do they always *team up* when they see us?" Parvenu asked,
wincing as his magical wards took a buffeting from small arms fire,
lightning, and chunks of rock. He redoubled his efforts, shielding
the bystanders as they fled the area.
      "The enemy of my enemy and all that," Incandescence said,
sweeping down like a missile, slamming into the ground in the middle
of the Net.Trolls and exploding like a bomb, throwing the sweaty
forum addicts to all sides. "Besides, that way they don't get
confused while they're shooting."
      "Just-- *ow!* --once I'd like them to get confused," Parvenu
said, landing heavily as his wards began to fail. Spinning, he threw
a series of seeds from one hand, which seemed to shimmer and melt,
forming a series of vines that burst from the rubble, snagging six
of the Confen and hauling them painfully to the ground.
      "Dumb Phoenix knockoff not so scary!" one of the big Net.Trolls
shouted, slamming his fist into Incandescence's midsection, blasting
her back ten feet and causing her flames to waver.
      "Idiotic scab picker," a Confed shouted to the Net.Troll. This
one was blue skinned thanks to paint, and wore a pretty bad Iceman
cosplay costume which unfortunately reflected itself in the ice
power he had somehow augmented into himself. "She's clearly doing
Firehawk -- and not very well!" He blasted at her with cold and ice
bursts, causing the heroine to wince in pain and be driven back --
the ice couldn't really *hurt* her divine fire, but the pain wasn't
any picnic.
      There were two dull 'thumps,' and a hail of what looked like
turkey eggs sailed over the battlefield. Landing expertly mixed
between the Confen and the Net.Trolls, half exploded into concussive
blasts that threw the nitpickers and socially maladjusted off their
feet, while the others exploded into clouds of tear gas, leading
them to choke and try to claw their eyes out.  Even as the
Net.Trolls tried to shake the nastiness off, the lead Net.Troll
screamed as a trash can lid flew out of the shadows, slamming into
his head, rebounding off, smashing a second in the face, and
flipping up into the air where it was intercepted by a leaping form.
The attacker finished a roll in the air, landing hard right between
the two groups, where he slowly rose.
      "Holy--" one of the Confen said, breathlessly.
      "SHIT!" a Net.Troll finished, barely able to stand.
      "TRASHMAN!" both groups shouted, converging on the Civil
Servant of the Night out of rage and terror combined.
      Trashman waited a long moment, before springing, using his
Millite Trash Can to reflect gunshots off, twisting in the air to
avoid lightning blasts and a cold shock and spinning to land in
front of where Incandescence and Parvenu were managing to regroup.
"Trashman," Parvenu said, grinning. "I shoulda known you'd be here!
Let's show these--"
      "Don't you two have an appointment to get to?" Trashman said,
his voice ice as he deflected another hail of bullets. He hurled a
bedspring, expertly intercepting one of the Net.Trolls and flinging
him into the air, the coils recoiling to hold him fast.
      "Wh-- that can wait," Incandescence shouted, throwing her hand
out and letting a long cone of fire sweep over the Confen. "These
idiots--"
      "There's *always* some pack of idiots on the street," Trashman
said, diving to once side to avoid another lightning strike. He came
up, hurling his lid again, tagging a Confen in the stomach, bringing
the criminal down. "I thought you two wanted to find out *why.* If I
was wrong then by all means--"
      "We're going," Parvenu said. "But are you sure you can handle
these--"
      Trashman snorted, running forward, straight into the Confen,
who responded by shrieking, three of them bolting before he got to
them. "These punks? They *wish* I needed help."
      "Come on," Incandescence said. "We got the bystanders clear.
Let him clean up the trash. It's what he does."
      "Yeah," Parvenu said, watching as the dumpster detective laid
out two more with a split kick. "I just don't get why he has to do
it alone."

* * * * * *

      Mandy clicked on her microphone. "Ordinal, prep for assist on
Parvenu and Incandescence. They're got engagement with the
Net.Trolls and Confen -- big group of them. Sending coordinates.
Hazard, when you clear those Scullers be ready for emergency
backup."
      "Understood," Ordinal's calm voice responded. "Should I move to
assist before then?"
      "Gimme -- *ow!* Oh, you Prep School son of a bitch, I'm gonna
*feed* you that bullhorn -- give me three minutes and I'm clear!"
Hazard shouted as a response.
      "Don't engage yet," Mandy said. "I'm monitoring their
situation."
      "So why do Reflects and Capacitor hate each other so much?"
Kirby set the expertly pulled latte where Mandy could get it.
      "I doubt I should tell you," Mandy said. "You're only ten."
      "Oh. So it's sex?"
      Mandy paused from her mission status screen, and looked at
Kirby.
      Kirby shrugged. "Look, blame society. I'm all for just playing
with LEGOs but all the shows--"
      "There are days I think we should have let the Grey Lupine
win," Mandy said, turning back. "Capacitor's kind of a hedonist."
      "A what?"
      "I thought you knew everything."
      "Yeah, well, when you tell me what a hedonist is I will."
      "A hedonist really, really likes to feel good. He likes
surrounding himself with all the best, and just enjoying himself
instead of working hard."
      "Oh." Kirby paused. "And that's bad?"
      "Maria thinks so."
      "So what is she?"
      Mandy saw a flashing red icon, and tapped the touchscreen to
pull it up and check the report out. "A Catholic."
      "Ohhhh."
      "It goes deeper, but it comes down to they don't see life the
same way, and for whatever reason they push each other's buttons
like no one's business."
      "So that's all there is to it?"
      "Not even close." Mandy grins. "There's stuff from their time
in school that feeds into it, too. And Reflects was... there was a
problem with her old team, and she left them under a cloud, and most
of them were students at the Academy. When Reflects left, she went
to the Academy full time for a few months. Most of the full time
students were really close to the Mob members, and... Capacitor made
it pretty clear he was on their side."
      "Oh."
      "Which, weirdly, led to Reflects and Hazard becoming good
friends. Incandescence was already a close friend of Fleck's, and
she forgave her pretty fast, so the three became something of a
clique. And then the war hit, and after the war Reflec*tion* joined
the A.L.U. , which didn't endear Capacitor to her any further."
      "Why not?"
      "Because Reflection and his sister both made it in, and he
didn't."
      "Ohhhh." Kirby frowned. "Life is complicated."
      "You got that right, kid." She clicked on her microphone.
"Ordinal and Hazard, cancel assist. Looks like Trashman's gone in."
      "What a shock," Ordinal said, amused.
      "Dude! Ord, port me over! Trashy and I keep missing each
other!"
      "Negative," Mandy said. "Iceweaver's going to hook up with you
at Fanieul Hall. Ensemble's on the march, and they're playing Sousa.
Ordinal -- coordinates on the way."

* * * * * *

      Roger, back in his civvies, ambled to a stop. "Okay, this is
the place."
      Cairi looked up at the bombed out building. It was an apartment
building, clearly, but lived in the nebulous zone between
crackhouse, flophouse, whorehouse, and greenhouse -- the latter
evident from the clear 'botanical gardens' that were set up behind
glass on the upper floors facing the one direction that got sun --
clearly both growing vegetables and recreational plants in equal
measure. "Your big mysterious contact lives here?"
      "He finds it comfortable. Also, there's ready access to drugs
and a Kappy's Liquors less than six blocks away."
      "This guy sounds better and better all the time."
      "You don't know the half of it." Roger waved his hand in front
of the security door, which unlocked and opened without his touching
it. A second wave on the inner door got them inside the burned out
hallways. Cairi tried not to think about the smell, her pert nose
wrinkling. "This guy once threatened the whole world?"
      "He did more than that. You'll know when--"
      "Yeah yeah. When I see him you'll know. Is there anything you
*can* tell me?"
      Roger stopped in the hall. Cairi got about six feet farther
down before she realized he'd stopped moving. She turned to look,
and saw he had a thoughtful expression on his face.
      "Roger?"
      "Three things, really," he said. "First off, he really was that
dangerous, and there's a good reason everyone else hates him. Second
off, I don't hate him, even after everything with Dani, and you know
I'd gladly sacrifice my unliving soul for her. I hate who he was,
and I hate what he did, but he's...."
      "He's what?"
      "The third thing is this. Sometimes... sometimes, when you're a
given person, and you're pushed all the way to the extreme of that
person, you break. That person dies, and the person you become is as
far away from who you were that you're someone else, and the only
rational thing to do is accept who you are isn't who you were."
      "That was remarkably circular," Cairi said.
      "Maybe so. Maybe so."
      Cairi frowned, walking with Roger again. They went up one
flight of stairs, and made their way down an off-white hall, with a
brown and gold carpet that was remarkably ugly and even more
remarkably cigarette burned. The paint on the walls was cracked and
peeling, with molding on the top that looked ten years past when it
should have been gutted and replaced. They walked up to a door with
a brass '23' tacked haphazardly on it.
      *Doctor Unorthodox,* Cairi suddenly thought. *It has to be
Doctor Unorthodox.* He fit what she knew -- a madman who threatened
the old Adjusted League, who did horrible things to his daughter
Trudy, who had helped in the cloning and synthesis of Dani...
someone who everyone could hate without reservation, but maybe Roger
saw something new. Cairi half-smiled -- she despised Doctor
Unorthodox on general principle, but it was nice to figure the
mystery out before it was spelled out to her.
      Roger pounded on the door.
      There was no answer.
      Roger pounded again.
      "I have more guns than Waco, Texas and I'm pretty damn sure I
know where you're standing!" a gruff voice shouted through the door.
"I haven't had sex in three years and the cable's out, so I have
nothing to live for and nothing to lose, you parasites!"
      "It's Roger!" Roger shouted. "We need to talk!"
      There was a pause.
      "This isn't a damn trip, is it? You're not really some kind of
bug creature with a pistol and Grit: The Nation's Newspaper?"
      "I'm real this time!" Roger shouted. "Let us in, already!"
      There were the sounds of multiple locks and chains being
undone, and then the door was thrown open. A stale air reeking of
gin, body odor, cigarettes, marijuana and what Cairi thought was
cumin hit her nostrils, and a man well past his prime lurched into
view. He did indeed wear a blue, yellow and red Hawaiian shirt, with
a fishing cap perched on a mostly shaven head, though a few locks of
mostly white crept out here or there. He wore aviator sunglasses
that hid his eyes almost entirely from view, and he had a cigarette
perched in a cigarette holder and a face with the lines of too much
living etched into it. "Jesus," he said. "Come inside already and
tell the cute one to take off her clothes. There's no clothes in
this damn apartment unless I approve them."
      Roger half-smiled. "Forget it."
      "Well, come in anyway. It's beer o'clock and I don't like to be
late." The man stopped, turning to look at Cairi. "You coming, sweet
tits, or is this a hallway rendezvous?"
      Cairi didn't speak, she just stared. She stared at the man,
stared into the blackness of his sunglasses, eyes wide and mouth
opened, as she realized she was staring at the very disgraced, very
fugitive and *very* former Special Special Agent Richard Less, of
the now defunct Mega Intelligence Bureau.


HOLY CRAP -- RICHARD LESS?

WHAT HAPPENED TO *HIM?*

FOR THAT MATTER, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MEGA INTELLIGENCE BUREAU?

WHY DID MARIA GO BACK TO 'REFLECTS' IF SHE HAS SUCH BAD ASSOCIATIONS
WITH IT?

WILL CAPACITOR AND REFLECTS KILL EACH OTHER?

WILL KIRBY GET A CODENAME?

WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH TRASHMAN?

CAN YOU EVEN BUY GRIT: THE NATION'S NEWSPAPER ANY MORE?


The answers to so many questions in life can still and eternally be
found in Superguy, because that's what Superguy is for, God Damn It.