Part Five

Vic's manager at the local office the Bureau of Special Resources maintained in Detroit was Bruno Drake. Though their office was tiny, in both physical size and number of personnel assigned to it, Drake took his job very seriously. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, with short, grey hair and a conservative manner. This included his way of dressing; he was very fond of bowties, for example. Vic found that as a manager he was a good boss who cared about and for those under him.

"How's the new apartment doing?" he said, as Vic came in for a debriefing about a recent encounter between the martial artist and a new costumed crime fighter in the Detroit area.

"Well, except for addicts who keep ringing or knocking and then demanding to speak with 'Joey,' and several other tenants mad at us 'cause we won't share our private WiFi's password, and a manager who not only won't do anything to help with either problem but who is being investigated by the local police for possibly taking payoffs from Joey to look the other way, it's doing fine."

"Good lord," said Drake, looking distressed and shaking his head. "I knew you had been through a lot of crap since moving into that place, including being swatted - the local police told me about that - but not that things were so bad."

He sighed, and leaned back a bit.

"Don't be afraid to talk to me about these problems; I might even be able to help. However, the reason I asked you in was to get your report on that new costumed crimefighter you were sent to evaluate this morning."

"That woman is crazy," said Vic, flatly. "I got on the scene in time for the cleanup, and she actually had stopped the robbery with a minimum of collateral damage. The responding police actually praised her performance. However! She was wearing a very thin, glove leather costume and had lots of tattoos. I know that because the costume had multiple cutouts, so she was showing a lot of skin. So I can tell you that she's probably caucasian. She also obviously had nothing on under the leather, and I didn't need my sense of perception to know this. Also, the costume had nipple piercings on the outside, which I think actually went through her nipples and may have helped hold the costume in place."

"Neither flamboyant costumes nor exhibitionism are
new," said Drake, calmly. "They aren't restricted to women, either. The Silk Titan of the late Thirties had a costume so sheer he got arrested several times. Neither are they - necessarily - signs of insanity. Impracticality in some cases, yes. Poor taste, yes. Poor judgement, definitely. Though with powers the impracticality aspect may be more apparent than real."

"Well, her speech and actions were also... off. I mean, she talked more spacey than Sharma of the Assembly. Oh, and she never gave me a name, either birth or mask. I don't have a good idea of her age or her abilities, either, though she's definitely at least a low-level physical super."

"Again, that spaciness could all be an act, a presentation," said Drake. He frowned. "Though, yes, I will put out a notice, for both our people and the local police, to watch for her and report her activities. Besides the concerns you expressed, her actions do occasionally indicate that she's a loose canon and possibly a danger to the public. Though the problem may simply be that she needs some training and experience. Just keep an eye out for her."

* * *

Of course people - governmental, super and other -kept track of who bought the assets of the Wold family and their associates. I even kept track of those involved, including the contractors I hired for work at that park I now owned.

When the Five died, I took action, cashing out just about everything I had and borrowing an uncomfortable amount to buy a big part of the Wold family business. (Well, big for me. By their standards it was a minor amount, but still more than they wanted in non-family hands.) Without Louis Carstairs to oversee things, the financial empire he had been in charge of for such a short time continued on in its operations through a combination of sheer inertia and desperate efforts by his underlings to recover from his depredations. Mostly the inertia. The family tried to regain control, and did manage to recover to an extent. This effort allowed me to make a deal. That's how I wound up with what I actually wanted: Complete and sole ownership of the old office building and the land around it. The family and their financial managers saw those as less important than the assets I traded for them.

Later, as the family's financial woes continued, they sold the biggest chunk of the business to a financial conglomerate. That company, in turn, sold pieces to pay some of the outrageous debts Carstairs had accrued in those last, mad days when he thought he and his four partners were going to rule the world. Even the new parent company eventually failed and declared bankruptcy, taking with it most of what the family had built over centuries. A few components continued on, too resilient to be dragged down with the rest, or simply too isolated from it.

I definitely noticed when billionaire Hiram Fosworth then purchased most of what was left. He also earlier tried to obtain the business park with the old office building, but I had beaten him to that and the land around it by several days. He wasn't the only one who wanted those, either. Even after I sold the property to Dr. Gaunt - for a price which allowed me to pay off my own acquisition debts and also turn a tidy profit - both he and I continued to get offers. I can imagine - but won't - Gaunt's response to those attempts.

I then quickly grabbed that property back after the office building disappeared (Gaunt leaving it in much the same limbo Carstairs had, for the roughly the same reasons) getting it at a bargain price due to the strange happenings connected with that event. For the next couple of years, people - including some acting in Fosworth's name - kept making offers of varying legality, trying to "persuade" me to part with the property. Finally, after the thirteen mystics cleansed the place most of the offers - including those on behalf of Fosworth - suddenly stopped. Which meant I had a good idea of what these people wanted it for.

I am still fighting off multiple attempts to acquire the land, from many different sources. Some of these attempts are surprisingly clumsy. Most are less so. A few have been surprisingly sophisticated. All have been unsuccessful. I have felt the need to inform certain individuals and agencies of some of these attempts, and most of those investigations have resulted in - at the very least - close examination of those behind the attempts. That ended those particular efforts. However, the attempts continue, regardless.

Tough. It's mine. I'm keeping it.

* * *

The Assembly were only one of the several super teams engaging in quiet desperation as they prepared to deal with the alien creature. However, some groups had a more direct connection than others to the past of this threat. Once the military briefing for their team was over, the Intrepids got busy. Some were busy thinking. Or perhaps brooding.

"You seem to have a problem with Kid Dynamo," said Solange, when she found the Black Mask in the main break room of the team's artificial mountain base.

"He's a narcissist," said the Black Mask, sourly. "That's why he told me all that personal history. To get the information on the alien we may have to listen to a lot of other, irrelevant stuff. He considers telling his life story to be far more important than stopping the creature."

"He could have changed," said Solange, gently. "That was years ago, after all. Lots of people change for the better with time."

He was well aware, of course, that she was referring at least in part to herself.

"For the safety of the world, let's hope so."

"Has there been any progress in contacting him?"

"We - the team collectively and I privately - have sent messages to Hiram Fosworth. There have been no replies."

He sighed, stretched, and sat up straight.

"Frankly, I doubt we will need his help, or that it will be useful if he ever deigns to provide it. He gave what he considered a full and thorough report at the time. Whatever his other failings, he liked to talk about what he had done."

"Well, Runner is due to be here soon," said Solange, turning back the way she had come in, looking over her shoulder at him. "They'll announce her arrival over the PA, but I thought I'd give you a heads-up."

"Thank you," said the Night Master.

She thought he smiled at her, but as always his face was difficult to see, in the shadows under his wide-brimmed hat.

* * *

Dr. Fenrisa (Runner) Freysdottir was visiting relatives in Central Kentucky when the call went out for help with the alien creature. Several teams and individuals thought to contact her, as an expert on psionics. She was making the rounds in response, now, doing what she could to provide pertinent information. The Intrepids were second on her list. She was currently sitting in a chair the team kept on hand just for her. This piece of furniture allowed the little furry genius to sit at a level similar to that of the humans present at the meeting room table.

"The good news is that the telepathic domination dampers we installed around the world after the Five Great Powers were beaten will greatly reduce this thing's range," said Dr. Freysdottir, in her high, clear voice. With her long hair, pointed ears, thick coat and slight muzzle she looked like a midget werewolf. Those she spoke to knew that she also had one of the most developed brains on the planet, as well as many centuries of experience. "The bad news is that our best evaluations show it can still control almost any creature close enough for it to see well."

"Do your people have any additional information on this thing or anything like it?" said Bowman. "Or the crashed spacecraft?"

"Sorry, no. The crash was in a very isolated area. As far as we can find out, there wasn't anyone in the area at that time. At least, not anyone who reported anything."

"We need resistors to help with this thing," said Bowman. "Can you or any of your kin participate?"

"Yes, and we will. However, I suggest a multi-level, combined approach. Natural resistors. Powerful psis to help defend non-resistors. An area-denial device also active, just in case. Individual psi-defense generators for everyone, just in case. This is an unknown, so the more prepared we are the better."

"Working against that approach is time," said Bowman. "There are many lives at stake. Also, the families are understandably beginning to raise a fuss. They haven't been told what's going on, but that something is going on is obvious."

"Yes. I suggest we send an initial party - with powerful psis and available resistors - out immediately, with other resources sent there as they become available."

Bowman nodded. This entire meeting was going out over the secure 3D videoconferencing network most large teams were part of these days. The previous team Runner had briefed simply hadn't had the necessary equipment.

"The Greenland Coast Guard is about to deploy drones which will apply the microprobes," said Bowman. "That should give us more information."

One logistical problem which this situation had brought home was that none of the hoppers available to the teams planning to help were intended to land on water. None of the teams even had a single supersonic aircraft which was amphibious. The fastest way to get a US team to the drifting ships was to take a hopper to an airbase in Greenland and a helicopter from there. This was already being arranged. Before that, however, a small team gathered from among resistor volunteers in Europe would go in.

Some supers had volunteered to fly or teleport or otherwise go there on their own, but that had been vetoed; none of the volunteers were known resistors. Of course, one additional reason for speed which no-one stated openly was a concern that some individual non-resistor might decide to act on their own anyway. Which would give the creature a superhuman servant.

"I think that's all for now," said Bowman. "We..."

"Alert!" came the call over the base intercom. "Unscheduled inbound helicopter approaching!"

"With that, I think I better get out of the way," said Fen, rising. "I'll meet you in the hangar later."

"I think the rest of us better get in the way," said Rapscallion, as the team members also stood.

* * *

Unlike the previous helicopter arrival of the military liaison, this approach was unannounced. It was met with radio warnings and a scramble by base security. The Intrepids couldn't just shoot it out of the air, however. As it approached the helipad beside the parking lot at the foot of the artificial mountain, it was surrounded by armed security flyers. As well, the pad itself was quickly surrounded by obviously armed security team members. The vehicle was physically blocked from setting down... until the pilot radioed - a note of irritation in his voice - that he was carrying Hiram Fosworth.

The helicopter was then escorted to the helipad by security fliers and the just-arrived Jet Jaguar. Those all landed in a circle around the vehicle. Ignoring the weapons pointed at her, a woman jumped out from the copilot's position, ran quickly around, opened the port side door and pulled out the folding steps. Fosworth and several aides climbed down and started walking towards the public entrance. Only to find themselves blocked by the entire active membership of the Intrepids.

"Hello, Hiram," said the Black Mask. He gestured at the aides. "They stay here. Just you."

The billionaire scowled, obviously unused to being told what to do, as well as doing without his assistants. The Black Mask cut any objections short with his next question.

"Do you really want them to hear what we will be talking about?"

"That is a very good point," said Fosworth. He sighed, and nodded to the men and women.

They reversed course and headed back to the helicopter. From what the others present could be see of the interior of the large flying machine before the door closed, they would not suffer during their wait.

The team members and their guest headed for the front entrance to the public offices of the Intrepids. These were in a nice, modern Greek Revival style building, which was situated with its back against a vertical flat area cut into the side of the artificial mountain. Once through the security there, the group proceeded to the tunnel into the mountain, and the actual base.

"Is all this really necessary?" said Fosworth, impatiently, as he was scanned in the security station just beyond the heavily armored door into the base proper. "This is the second such indignity you have subjected me to. I have done nothing to warrant such treatment."

"The first security scan was a simple detector gate at the entrance to the public area," said Bowman, who was all too familiar with someone important or self-important objecting to being checked. "This is much more detailed, since we're letting you into the area where we work and - in some cases - live."

"As for whether you deserve such treatment," said the Black Mask, in a firm tone, "that remains to be determined. You are neither a team member, a staff member nor a trusted ally. You get the same treatment as all visitors."

"I'm not just some visitor; I helped found this team!" Fosworth glared around at the others, before ending back at the Black Mask. "Or did he not tell you that?!"

"Of course he did," said Rapscallion, smirking. "A lot of other stuff about you, too. Which is one reason we're extra suspicious. Also, some of us have been members longer than you were. You've been gone a very long time. Enough time to change a... man."

"I don't like what you've done with the place," muttered Fosworth, as he was finally cleared and they walked to the elevator. "Too slick, too modern. What happened to the classic lines of..."

"The old base was completely destroyed by the Shilmek," said Solange, angrily. "Burned out, deep into the bedrock."

"Something you would have known, if you truly valued your time here," said the Black Mask, ominously.

"Or just kept up with the news," said Rapscallion.

The elevator arrived, they boarded, and started...

"Why are we going down?! The conference room is near the top!"

"Again, this is an entirely new base," said the Black Mask, in a tone of exaggerated patience. "In fact, while most of the construction is completed, we're still working to finish some parts, and adjusting others as we use them and see that we need something different."

Fosworth was obviously waiting for more information. None of the team members gave him any.

Once in the main meeting room Fosworth by habit went to the head of the table. A position normally taken by the chair, currently Bowman. Who sighed in an exaggerated manner and sat to Fosworth's right. At least the guest chair used by Runner had been replaced by a regular one while they were gone. Their guest didn't seem to notice that he had violated protocol. Or perhaps just didn't care.

"I understand that you are interested in learning about the alien creature I put into suspended animation in Greenland back in the early Sixties," he said, in a slightly bored tone, as if directing a routine board meeting.

"Very much so," said Bowman, nodding. "It has revived and taken over two ships. It currently seems to be in a digestive torpor."

"Yes, well, this is the time to deal with it, then. It's active influence is minimal while it's out like this, though you'll have to deal with those it has already controlled."

"We know all that," said Rapscallion, impatiently. "How long does the torpor last? What are it's weaknesses?"

"I have no idea about the first," said Fosworth, blandly. "I put it back on ice as soon as I realized it was asleep. As you should have done."

"We weren't even informed of the problem until an unknown interval after it went into torpor," said the Black Mask, with more tolerance that most of his teammates would have shown. "So, it could awaken at any time. What else can you tell us about it?"

"Well, it's quite large. About double the size of a Komodo dragon, which it looks a lot like, 'though it walks upright most of the time. That reminds me; it can run and crawl through narrow spaces on all fours pretty well. It also knows to restrict access to the area where it is resting. When I put it on ice I had to feed a fire hose into its burrow through a pretty narrow path it left in the debris it used to block the tunnel to the room where it holed up. The technician I was working with had already turned off the heat in that area, and that might have been enough, but with cold water pouring into a frigid room and freezing quickly, I knew it was encased in ice the way it had been when they found it."

"I thought they were able to dig around it and see it in the ice, afterwards," said Bowman.

"We did do that. It was in an underground room. After the ice froze - by that time there were some other Army men there - we dug the room out and peeled away the walls. There it was. We put more ice around it, filled the tunnel, and that was that."

"You just left it there," said Solange, tone accusing.

"As well as the alien spacecraft wreckage," said Bowman.

"Well, my part was over by then. I moved on, figuring the Army would deal competently with the aftermath. Not my fault if they didn't."