Masks Seventeen: Part Seven

by

Rodford Edmiston

Template was on her way out of the administration building when the school's primary sex-ed teacher matched course with her.

"Hey," said Binary, who was in transition from female to male. Hir voice cracked. "*AHEM* Excuse me. Will you be back before tomorrow? I'm supposed to give a presentation at the Venus Plus X symposium in San Francisco ten AM, their time."

"I should be back well before nightfall today," said Template, confidently. "They just want to tell me something which - for whatever reason - they didn't feel comfortable telling me over coms. Even with the new security measures."

"Thanks," said Binary, with a relieved smile.

Template was mildly amused to note that hir manner was still more feminine than masculine despite currently being what most women would consider a hunk. Sometimes it took a while for hir mind to catch up to hir body, or vice-versa.

"I'm giving a talk on serial hermaphroditism and it's pretty important to me."

"I definitely understand," said Template, straight-faced. Binary was not one of the few other school employees who knew Template was similarly bi-gendered.

Template called traffic control and got clearance as she walked to the takeoff pad. She sighed a bit at the thought that there were now not only "lanes" for flyers - marked by a combination of high-visibility paint on pavement and buildings and narrow-angle visibility holograms - but multiple designated landing and launching pads in some areas. Those pads in busier locations were actually one-way, restricted to just arrivals or departures.

Soon she was flying high and fast, on her way to the Appalachian base of the Bureau of Extraordinary Measures. She had been glad to hear that their new operational center had escaped attention during the Shilmek attack. However, she hadn't been there before and wasn't certain exactly where it was. It definitely wasn't in any civilian GPS directory. She was supposed to meet the contact in an isolated area; presumably he or she would take Template to the actual facility. She absently admired the late Summer foliage as she flew over the forest canopy. Soon, the leaves would begin changing...

As she descended though the leaves and branches there she saw a familiar man waiting for her.

"Director Reese, himself," said Template, as she settled silently into the leaf mold on the forest floor. "Well, if the Bureau of Extraordinary Measures has something to tell me which is so important and so urgent for you to handle it personally, we better get moving."

"Actually I can just tell you, right here," said Director Reese. "We don't have access to your secure communications network and we don't trust government or public channels for this. Your flight speed means you can scoot over here, get our briefing, and get back quickly. What I have to say doesn't require a huge data dump or anything; just a spoken transfer of information."

Template figured he also might not want to reveal exactly where the new center was. Given the group's need for secrecy she had no problem with that.

"What is this about, then?"

"Several groups are taking advantage of the Shilmek War," said Reese, earnestly. "Most of them to further their existing plots and schemes, some motivated specifically by the situation. Much of what they're doing isn't even illegal. One of those situations with the greatest potential for disaster is the current government in Great Britain."

"I knew the Structural Party was pretty fascist," said Template, nodding thoughtfully. "I didn't know they were causing that much trouble."

"More National Socialist in style than fascist. They have trained enforcers, thugs who have kept out of the public eye so far and are used to intimidate and punish. They're getting bolder, too. They're also targeting supers."

"Well, there's not much we in the States can do about that. I'm sure the Walrus and the other influential supers in Britain are aware of what's going on."

"Yes, but they're strictly constrained by laws old and new, and becoming moreso every day," said Reese, emphatically. "The Structural Party does not like supers. You're too independent, you see. Or at least that's justification given in the party line. Most of their reason is a conviction that real Britons don't need supers. While trumpeting a history full of them, all the way back to at least the Roman occupation."

"Claiming they don't now need and never have needed supers is something many politicians and members of the very wealthy and influential elite do in pretty much every nation," said Template, dryly.

"Many of these measures to regulate supers are being attempted or actually undertaken largely because they were so useful against the Shilmek. That worried people. One effort at the UN is trying to repeal the international treaty prohibiting the use of supers in combat. That is causing much of the backlash.

"I just hope the British... Well, the leader of the Structural Party is the sort who thinks long term. Once in power he won't be in a rush to make the nation over in his own image. He'll consolidate, pace himself, take his time. Partly with the awareness that by going slowly he'll make what he does more acceptable to the voters. However, people are already complaining about him, and some there are already calling for another election. He doesn't have enough control yet to prevent this, and won't for a long while, so they have a good chance of succeeding. However, someone less patient in control of the Structural Party could respond to such pressures with a crackdown and spark a civil war... or worse."

"Great," said Template, expression sour. "So we have a bad guy who needs to stay in power for a while to keep things from going straight to Hell."

"Pretty much."

They spoke for another half hour, Reese briefing Template on multiple situations around the world, most of them not even involving supers. Some of his warnings were simply vague notices of strange happenings. A few of those sounded oddly familiar.

"There's something going on with us, too," said Template, frowning at one bit of news. "We're having a problem with incursions of extra-planar creatures on the island, probably due to something Pine's old zero point generator is doing."

"Strange," said Reese, now frowning in turn. "I don't see how this fits with anything we're seeing, but..."

"The creatures fit the classical descriptions of - and probably are - minor demons."

Reese's mouth hung open, his eyes widening as he digested this.

"Shit," he said, finally, the first time Template had ever heard the very proper man swear. "That fits. Oh, God, that fits."

* * *

Melanie entered the police station with the calm assurance of the innocent. Not to mention the confidence of someone who could lift a bucket truck. This quickly changed, when the two detectives who were ostensibly supposed to take her statement on the theft of her medication instead began accusing her of giving them to Cooley.

"I didn't give her my medications," said Melanie, angrily, after trying for several minutes to be polite. "She stole them! Just ask the others in my dorm! She's been stealing or trying to steal stuff from everybody!"

"Then why are you the only one saying this?"

"Did you even ask?" said Melanie, tone icy. "Ask the House Mother. I know several people complained to her about Coolie's 'borrowing.'"

"We're asking you!" snapped the mousey one.

"And I'm telling you!"

They went back and forth about this for several minutes, until Melanie simply stopped talking.

"Young lady, are you refusing to cooperate?"

"I'm cooperating. You aren't. I've said all I have to say on the matter. I'm going."

She stood and started for the door.

"Hey!" yelled the mousey one, getting in her way. "We're not finished!"

"Am I under arrest?"

"We're not finished!"

Melanie looked at the older detective. Who sighed.

"No."

"Then I'm leaving."

She stared at the mousey detective until he reluctantly moved out of her way.

* * *

"Yeah, that's strange," said Vic, later, after Melanie related what happened. Something occurred to her. "Did they make any trouble about you being a super?"

"Uh, no," said Melanie, surprised as she realized this. "I don't think it ever came up. I mean, I was in normal mode, so it wasn't obvious. Now that I think about it, neither they nor I mentioned that the medication was for supers only."

"I bet they don't know," said Alex, snickering. "The prescription bottle doesn't say anything about the stuff being for supers only, just that it's strong. I don't think it ever came up when the cops were asking around here."

"It's possible this wasn't about you being a super," said Vic, with a shrug. She had plenty of experience with police harassing her over being a super, and what Melanie had related didn't follow that pattern. "Frankly, some cops - fortunately not all that many - are actually trained to pressure people they don't even suspect of doing anything wrong, in the hopes of making them nervous enough to confess to something. Even if it's something they didn't do."

"That's crazy!" said Melanie.

"Yeah, and illegal. Lots of convictions have been overturned and city, state and even federal governments made to look bad - and pay huge sums in lawsuits - because of this. Yet some LEOs keep doing it, no matter how many lawsuits, changes of administration or reorganizations happen. Some simply don't know any other way to interrogate someone, even to get a statement from a victim. It's not by any measure the rule, but it's unfortunately also not rare."

"That may explain part of what she went through," said Alex, thoughtfully, "but there's something else going on, there, too."

"I was thinking I might need to talk to an attorney," said Melanie, decision made. "Now I'm definitely going to."

"I can give you a list, from the Bureau," said Vic.

* * *

When a report of some sort of small animal causing trouble in the boys' dorm came in, on a hunch Lori Savage sent both a vermin hunting team and one of the school's few supernatural instructors. This proved to be a smart move. Neither the hunt nor the kill took long, but the participants had a distinct feeling that there was more and worse to come.

"What the Hell was that?!" said Stubens - the student in whose room the hunt ended - in a shrill voice, when the short skirmish was over.

"Some sort of minor demon, imp or hobb," said Ettienne, nudging the small, smoking corpse with a toe as he warily eyed it.

"Demon?!" said Stubens, voice going even higher.

"A minor one," said Ettienne, distractedly. They hadn't been able to get a good look at it while it was alive, and now it resembled a roasted rabbit more than anything demonic. "Subject to ordinary physical forces, fortunately."

"What would have happened if it weren't?" said Alice Truesdale, the house mother for the boys' dorm. She was obviously - and understandably - worried.

"That's why we brought Ettienne," said the head of the vermin squad, turning a thumb towards the white-haired healer. "Good thing, too. This thing evaded or escaped all the traps, and would probably have gotten away clean without him."

Later, the capture team had a quick meeting with Eve, Lori and Template to relate what they had found. After which the three women sat in Eve's office in silence for several long minutes.

"Okay, that's it," said Template, finally. "We're shutting down the zero-point generator. We can do without a few things until the geothermal plant comes on line in - uh... - about three days."

"What is taking so long with that thing?" said Lori, petulantly.

"Mainly waiting on the stainless steel pipes," said Template, with an aggravated sigh. "The water involved is highly mineralized and very acidic."

"You should have used regular pipe and replaced that when you got the stainless," said Lori, sourly.

"We evaluated that, and the cost of installing the pipe twice was just too high!"

"Stop," said Eve, not using her mental powers on the two but applying sheer force of personality developed over a millennium and a half to cut the argument off at the knees. "I agreed with the techs, so the ultimate responsibility is mine."

She looked back and forth between them.

"There is more than fatigue and frustration at work, here. I believe there is some sort of influence being produced by these creatures, or perhaps radiating from whatever crack in reality they are using to enter our world. This might even be contributing to our problems with some of the students."

"Have the magicians found where that entrance is, yet?" said Lori.

"Mages, please," said Eve, firmly. "'Magicians' are entertainers. The answer is yes; it's somewhere in the old Pine base. Probably in some nook or ventilation duct near the generator."

"That may be why these things have been small," said Template, suddenly thoughtful. She winced. "I'll have to warn the techs working in that area to not open or enter anything like that before we get that generator shut down."

"Go do that as soon as you leave here," said Eve, nodding. "Lori, you instruct your people about the power cut. I'll tell everyone else."

Part Eight

"We successfully shut down the zero-point reactor!" said Template, exasperated, at an emergency meeting two days later. "Why are the incursions increasing?!"

"Not just the incursions," said Dr. Othar Halvargardsen, who taught Earth Sciences and geology. "Seismic activity is increasing. The most worrying part of this is the harmonic tremors, which normally presage an eruption."

"That thing was running for nearly half a century," said Junker, tiredly. "Maybe... space needs time to heal."

"Now I'm wondering if the machinery keeping Der Schmale imprisoned may be contributing to the problem," said Template, ignoring his feeble attempt at a pun.

"Eh?" said Junker, surprised out of whatever fugue he had been in. "No. The whole point of that was to keep him contained. They dug a hole, threw him in and closed behind him. Then held it closed. The effect on the structure of space is very different."

"There is also the factor of other areas of the world experiencing incursions," said Eve, seriously. "This is not our problem alone."

"Whatever is causing this, demons - even small ones - are outside my job description," said Lori Savage, head of security. She shuddered. "We're doing what we can, but my people just aren't trained or equipped to even find these things and we don't have enough magi... mages to deal with them."

"We're calling in all the mystics we can," said Andrea Valentina, Head of Administration. "The problem is that we're not the only place having this problem."

"His Highness, the Prince of Speed is speaking with some of his relatives," said Eve. "As I am with some of mine. Between us we should be able to acquire some appropriately talented help."

* * *

Bernard Hickham was in many ways a simple and modest man, of simple and modest tastes. His London apartment had the minimum room needed for intimate meetings and the minimum amount of communications equipment for him to run his political empire. To run the British Empire he used equipment at the party headquarters. Just now, he had the news on the telly while he read racing forms. Until something caught his attention...

"This afternoon terrorists set off a bomb at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park killing two and injuring dozens," said the presenter.

"What?! Terrorists?!" said Hickham, taking notice and sitting up to see better. He needed a moment to connect the words to one of his schemes, but when he did... "They were True Britons! Patriots to the core!"

"What was that, dear?" called his wife, from the kitchen. He ignored her.

"Their target was actually the super heroes who responded to the emergency."

"At least that stupid bitch got that part right!"

"What?!" came the outraged cry.

"Not you, dearest."

"As the heroes set to work helping the victims of the bombing, fifty disguised men attacked the heroes, who had to fight for their lives."

"You mean they resisted arrest!"

"Two supers and three more innocent bystanders died in the resulting battle, in spite of desperate efforts by the heroes to guide the fight to a safer location. Over twenty of the terrorists..."

"Structural Party volunteers! Heroes of the nation!"

Margaret came into the den, wiping her hands on a dish towel, scowling, to see what was going on.

"...and eighteen more were captured, with the rest fleeing. Here is an excerpt from the after-action press conference, where the super team's speaker, Golden Lion, related what happened. The full press conference will be aired later."

"Where's our side, then? Why are you only talking to them?!"

The video and audio switched to Lion.

"The leader of the terrorists made it clear that we had to fight it out right there. When we tried draw them to an unoccupied area of the Park the leader ordered his men to attack the civilians who hadn't managed to escape."

"Liar! Liar! Liar!"

Hickham jumped to his feet, shouting. Then, suddenly, he gasped and swayed. He quickly sat back down, shaking his head until the dizziness passed and his breath was caught.

"Damn," he muttered, weakly.

"Dear?" said Margaret, hurrying to him, suddenly concerned.

"I'm all right," he said, forcing a smile and patting her hand. "Just got to remember I'm not a young man any more. Need to mind my temper."

"I'll get you something," she said, hurrying away.

* * *

I was not in a good mood. I don't like fighting. I especially don't like fighting demons.

"Is that the last of them?" I asked, quietly.

"For now," said Dr. Freysdottir, also quietly.

She sighed and straightened, looking around. Bizarrely, the battle had been almost silent, with most of the noise my hard breathing. Given that it was literally the middle of the night there wasn't much noise from the mundane facilities around us, either. With me using the knife Fen had given me and her one of her own, we had made quick work of each of the minor imps. The problem was there had been a lot of them.

I straightened, too, and looked at the strange, blocky building in the distance. Even during the day it seemed ominous. At night I had no trouble believing there was something both supernatural and sinister happening in there.

"So, what is he trying to do?"

"Summon a powerful demon to serve him and grant him power," said Fen, with a shrug. "Same old same old."

"We're done," said the pale fellow who was one of several supernatural types and mystics we had protected while they worked. The Bookkeeper gave us a very toothy smile. "If he completes his work, this will disrupt the dimensional rift, likely destroying that which he summons. As well as everything close around, most probably."

I nodded tiredly, and Fen congratulated the misfit team. Technically, I hadn't violated my agreement with Gaunt. I was just standing around, watching them work, when the creatures attacked me and I defended myself. My honor was satisfied. Though I doubted Gaunt would agree with my evaluation of the situation.

"Were they trying to stop us, or simply attracted by our working?" asked an apparently young woman who had stopped aging some time around when Roosevelt first became Commander in Chief. Theodore Roosevelt, that is.

"The latter, I believe," said a short, pudgy man. He smiled and dusted his hands. "Yes, we were successful and learned some important things about what Gaunt plans. However, I believe we should absent ourselves before he notices the activity and loss of his watchdogs and decides to act against us himself."

"An excellent idea," said Fen.

We hurried over the ridge and down the other side, towards our assortment of vehicles.

* * *

"Template, you were confused as to why the incursions were not only continuing but growing worse," said Dr. Piano, as he and a couple of additional mystics met with her, Eve, Lori Savage and a few others in the old Pine base's security center. "We believe there is some sort of collaborator on the island. Someone - probably only one person but possibly more - who is aiding whatever Great Beast it is which is trying to force its way onto this plane."

"Damn..." said Template, stunned.

Others reacted similarly, Eve in what sounded like Greek.

"All right," said Lori, recovering quickly. "Finding someone doing something wrong is in my field of expertise. Just give me an idea of what they might be doing."

Dr. Piano - with an occasional interjection from the other mystics - described the sorts of preparations and actions which might be involved.

"I'll spread the word," said Lori, nodding. "My God... I thought most of this stuff was only in old horror movies. A pentagram!"

"Pentacle, sorcerer's circle, etc." said Dr. Piano. "I will note that as the series of castings progress both those and the results will become more noticeable."

"Just how noticeable can these incursions get?" said Junker, worried.

"The island would be scoured clean of all life by a combination of a volcanic eruption and a flood of demons."

* * *

Most of the Usual Suspects had just settled down to eating lunch the next day when Candy came hurrying up.

"Found out what was going on with the cops trying to blame everybody but Cooley for her crimes," said Candy without preamble, as she set her tray down simultaneously with setting herself down. "She's the daughter of a politically active local businessman. Oh, and this is the third college she's been kicked out of for this kind of behavior. The school administration isn't too happy about this."

"I'm not happy about this!" said Melanie. She suddenly looked shocked. "Oh, God... I just realized. She's the daughter of Marvin Cooley."

"So?" said Vic.

"My dad's on the city zoning board, and he's had several run-ins with Marv. Great. I better call and let him know about this, before Marv accuses him of having me try to poison her."

"I think I followed that," said Alex, as Melanie rose from the lunch table and hurried away to make a private call.

* * *

Vic popped her head in Melanie's door that evening.

"Any progress with the police, now that you know about Cooley's dad?"

"A little," the other gal responded. "Y'know, after making vaguely threatening noises that hiring an attorney is an admission of guilt they became a lot more civil. Though they still seemed to be trying to blame me for Cooley getting those pills. The change meant 'letting' me agree that it was negligence instead of malice. They went back into threat mode when I refused that option, too. After I talked to that lawyer the Bureau recommended he did some checking and confirmed that this harassment is due to pressure from Cooley's father. They're really trying to get me to accept blame, even offering to drop all charges if I just admit I gave the pills to her."

"Ignoring that to get them she somehow opened a locked door and searched your room while you and your roommate were in class," said Vic. She cocked her head a bit to one side. "Still no signs this was due to you being a super?"

"Not that my lawyer can see," said Melanie, with a careless shrug. "We're not mentioning that, yet. We're also holding off accusing them of colluding with Cooley's father. If this does go to court we can claim the accusations are an excuse to attack the daughter of someone who has stood up to him."

She sighed, stretched a bit and shook her head.

"Y'know, maybe I've led a sheltered life, but until this I've never even thought that people might hold me being a super against me."

"Not really sheltered," said Vic, leaning against the door jam and folding her arms as she took on a thoughtful expression. "Most supers don't have a problem until something points out that they're super to the sort of people who cause trouble."

"Well, thank you for that list of attorneys from the Bureau," said Melanie, smiling. "Mr. Juliette is only a junior member of Lewis and Louis but he knows what he's doing. Not to mention being a gentleman and very handsome."

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that last," said Vic, airily. "Glad he's working out, good luck, and let me know if I can do anything else."

"Of course I will," said Melanie, for some reason amused.

* * *

Bowman hurried along the corridor, making his way through temporary shoring and work light stands to the dig site. This was deep in the basement rock, under the crater which was all that was left of the old Intrepids base. He could already feel the heat and smell the sulfur. In moments, he was in the large chamber which was intended to hold the lowest part of the new base.

"What's going on?" he asked the shift supervisor.

"This doesn't make sense! I mean, sure, we're deep, here, so some heat is expected, but this...!"

One quick look, smell and listen was all Bowman needed. The archer and inventor was neither mystic nor mage, but he'd seen enough supernatural stuff in his life as a costumed hero to recognize it.

"Everyone out," he shouted. "Now!"

He took a moment to shoot an arrow with a spy head into the far wall, then chased after the last of the fleeing workers. He made them barricade the opening as well as they could with the materials at hand, then evacuated the level.

* * *

"How is the investigation into the flying super who was shot down while on approach to the capital going?" said President Sievers, at a late afternoon briefing.

"It took a lot of work - including threats of expanding the prosecutions - but I finally got the bureaucrats to get off their asses and do their jobs," said Howers, with satisfaction. "The main benefit so far being the FAA and the Washington air defense folks getting together to agree on flight corridors for various functions. We're actually following the example of the Pine Island Academy. We'll publicize this, emphasizing the proper corridors for supers. Those corridors will be marked with visual cues, mostly rooftop lights. The proper type of flight inside the proper corridor will be closely monitored, but as long as the plane, drone, super or whatever stays where it belongs there will not be an automatic shoot-down."

"I hadn't realized there was an order for automatic shoot-downs before this," said Sievers, sourly. "Damn Thurlin and his paranoia! And damn the various bureaucrats who didn't think to inform me of it or question its necessity!"

"Do you want me to tell them to drop the automatic shoot-down completely?"

"Yes. Definitely. Something like that should always require a conscious decision by a responsible person."

"Good luck getting one of those to stay in the system here," said one of the aides, wryly.