WEST PACIFIC SUPERS:
Rising Tide
by K.M. Johnson-Weider
Published by Blue Moon Aurora, LLC
Copyright © 2011 K.M. Johnson-Weider
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover art by Eric J. Carter
Cover layout by Andy Kerr
Smashwords Edition March 2012
Original: July 2011
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to everyone who provided early reader feedback (Darcie Chan, Waylon Jennings, Gene Johnson, and Ron Johnson) and an extra special thanks to Terry Johnson for her unremitting enthusiasm for reading every draft and providing much-appreciated encouragement and feedback throughout the process. Finally, we must thank the core group of players whose enthusiasm for the West Pacific Supers setting over the years gave us the confidence to write this book: Alton, crazy_monkey, hippokrene, Lightknight, Shylocke, and wordartist179.
West Pacific Supers takes place in a world very similar to ours. While many of the locations and business names may be familiar, this is entirely a work of fiction and real products, corporate names, and locations are used solely as a literary device. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. The actions depicted are not real and are not based on real events. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For more
information about West Pacific Supers and future
releases:
www.westpacificsupers.com
www.bluemoonaurora.com
Any
fool can handle a crisis; it’s the day-to-day living that gets you
down.
Anton Chekov
Chapter 1
11:22 p.m.,
Thursday, March 21st,
2013
1050 Progress Street, Industrial Island
West Pacific, CA
“I really need to retire,” said Mr. Awesome as he did a quick sprint from the dark alley and jumped over the security fence. It was a textbook landing on the other side, not surprising as it was a maneuver he must have done hundreds of times before. However, a sharp pain stabbed his left knee as he landed; his knee had never healed properly from that fight with Dr. Duality three years ago. He tried to ignore the pain as he moved quickly across the empty parking lot to the nearest building; twenty years ago he could outrun any car on the highway, but nowadays it had to be rush hour for him to catch a speeding vehicle. Still, he was fast enough to close small distances quickly and escape detection, especially at night.
“Mr. A, you’ve got at least five more years before you’re too old for fieldwork,” said Dr. Annie Sterling, West Pacific Super’s operations director, in his earpiece. She was monitoring the situation from headquarters miles away across the bay in West Pacific proper.
“Tell that to my knee,” said Mr. Awesome as he stopped to catch his breath while remaining hidden along the wall beside a dumpster.
“I asked about your knee during last Thursday’s training session,” said Dr. Sterling crossly.
“It was fine then,” lied Mr. Awesome.
“Liar. Tomorrow you’ll need a full physical and x-rays, and right now we abort the mission – turn around and get out of there,” said Dr. Sterling with an exasperated sigh. “You know better than to hide injuries, the last thing we need is you on Injured Reserve at the start of the Season.”
“Annie, I’m fine and this is the only night I have open for the next two weeks, so we can’t reschedule,” said Mr. Awesome who began looking around for a way into the factory. It was a rather sprawling building, three stories high, and all the windows and doors looked fairly secure. The only good news was that the lack of lights gave plenty of darkness to hide in, though it could also be hiding surprises and Mr. Awesome didn’t like surprises.
“Fine, but you’re too old for this if you don’t pay attention to your body. You need to pace yourself and you know that,” chided Dr. Sterling.
“Is the lecture done so we can continue the mission?” asked Mr. Awesome.
“Yes, the lecture is done. Anyway, this factory was built in ‘81 just after Industrial Island was constructed. It produced heavy machinery for offshore mining operations until the company that built it went out of business in ‘85. It was leased and partially used by Abracadabra Toys as an assembly warehouse till ‘97 when they moved to their new factory on the mainland. For the last 16 years this place has been traded back and forth between real estate developers while rusting and collecting dust.”
“Who owns it now?”
“Prime Properties Consolidated, a local development group, but not one I have any information on,” said Dr. Sterling. “Remember – it may look abandoned but there were five cars in the north parking lot, which means at least five people and maybe a lot more if they’re environmentally conscious or cheap and car pool.”
“Yeah, I know, stealth, stealth, stealth. Alright, I’m going to take the ladder on the south wall and head up to the roof,” said Mr. Awesome as he jogged a short distance to the ladder. As he climbed, he mentally reviewed the situation.
He was on Industrial Island, an artificial island off the coast of West Pacific City that had been built to house experimental technology research in the ‘80s. The goal was to reverse engineer various alien technologies scavenged after the Vanghel Invasion in 1973, but three decades later there really wasn’t much to show for it. Of course, the government had pulled out funding in the ‘90s. Since then the properties on the island had been leased to various corporations to serve as factories, research facilities, and warehouses, and there was even a small amusement park on the north end. All that was left of the glory days was the tidal power generators in the Pacific, hundreds of high-tech watermills that produced power by the ebb and flow of the tides, and the integrated desalinization/fission power plant, which probably should be closed down but still provided most of the power to West Pacific. Nowadays, Industrial Island was a shadow of its former self, a graveyard of broken dreams and lost fortunes, like this abandoned factory.
The team had gotten a vague anonymous tip on its hotline that there was unusual activity here connected to the recent theft of penta-, pente-, panda-, guacamolezene or something that was some experimental explosive developed by West Pacific Laboratories. The formula and prototype compounds had been stolen in a very slick operation. The anonymous tip was their first real lead on the theft, but that in itself was a warning sign. There were three possibilities with anonymous tips. First, someone involved had developed a conscience. Second, it was a tip from a citizen, possibly a vigilante who had stumbled upon the clue. Third, it was a setup. Considering how slick the theft had been, the odds were on option three.
It was said that superheroes don’t break the law, but right now he was trespassing and preparing to break and enter. It was risky. He was team leader and if he was caught then it would be all over the headlines and embarrass the team. Of course, he had been caught before in similar situations and like all things it eventually would blow over. All it took was one real crisis where you saved the day and the public would forgive past transgressions, but until the real crisis came, there would be a media firestorm. He still remembered the time he had been caught breaking into the mayor’s office. And then there had been Polarity’s DUI fiasco. The superazzi were bad enough without handing them some stupid mistake to exploit.
Unfortunately, an anonymous tip with no corroboration would never convince a magistrate to issue a warrant and pursuing a warrant might tip off those involved if they were well connected. The pandaguacomolezene was dangerous, very volatile and in the wrong hands disastrous, so every lead had to be tracked down. So he had to do it like the vigilantes did, which meant sneaking into this abandoned factory and snooping around. He could have asked Seawolf or Starfish to check it out as the factory was on the coast, but both of them were in poor moods at the moment. It was the pre-Season and that meant excessive publicity events, including the dreaded annual Costume Launch, and the Super Draft. White Knight was even busier; Meltdown didn’t have a stealthy bone in his radioactive body, and the glory hound Keystone was sitting out over contract renegotiations. Everyone was tied up at the moment, except for the old man, but if he got caught or messed up then it would be bad, very bad, for the team. This was why he was dressed in an all-black jumpsuit instead of the team’s red and blue costume. He looked more like a ninja than a superhero, though a ninja with a paunch he thought ruefully.
“You know,” Mr. Awesome panted as he reached the roof, “the team really needs a flier.”
“There aren’t any good fliers in the Super Draft this year,” said Dr. Sterling. “Speaking of which, have you made a final decision on the team’s draft pick?”
“I know Seawolf really wants Danny Chase, and Hodges did sort of tell her she could choose, but we don’t need another water-orientated super – we’re becoming West Pacific Swimmers,” Mr. Awesome said. “We definitely don’t need a wizard no matter what Meltdown thinks. The moment you add magic to a team you start drawing in more magical crises. Remember how things were with Circe on the team?”
“Preaching to the choir, Mr. A. Alright, there should be a few skylights and ventilation ports that can either give you ingress or a view inside. But who do you want from the Super Draft?”
“I just want a kid who doesn’t have a DUI on their record and can handle breaking and entering so I can focus on my golf game,” chuckled Mr. Awesome as he moved to one of the skylights and looked in.
“You don’t play golf, but I like Cosmic Kid – he’s like a young version of you, just smarter and better looking,” said Dr. Sterling.
“Yeah, but the word is that he hasn’t rebounded from that scuffle with Seneschal X and we don’t want to recruit a kid who is going to be in therapy more than in the field,” said Mr. Awesome examining the skylight. “I’m seeing nothing here; the window is painted over.”
“Then it’s probably going to be dark in there,” said Dr. Sterling. “Did you bring the MOSED?”
“The what?” asked Mr. Awesome, struggling to find the powered screwdriver on his utility belt.
“The multi-spectrum optical enhancement device!”
“Oh, you mean the night goggles,” said Mr. Awesome. “No, they make me nauseous.”
“They aren’t night goggles,” said Dr. Sterling indignantly. “That’s like calling a HoloBerry a phone.”
Mr. Awesome grunted; he was holding a flashlight in his mouth to free his hands to work the screwdriver on the bolts holding the skylight window in place.
“If Cosmic Kid hadn’t suffered some trauma after his fight with Seneschal X, I would be more worried about him,” said Dr. Sterling. “He’s done very well with Teen Ultimate and I think he should be at the top of our list.”
“Sure, but Tampa Bay is picking him at #3 so we don’t even have a chance at him, do we?” asked Mr. Awesome, stashing the flashlight and unscrewing the remaining bolts as quietly as possible.
“Well, maybe Tampa Bay will get cold feet and go with Flash Freeze,” said Dr. Sterling.
“Annie, is there anything I should know about?” asked Mr. Awesome as he paused from opening the skylight.
“Nope,” said Dr. Sterling quietly.
“Liar, what did you do?” snapped Mr. Awesome.
“Let’s say,” said Dr. Sterling cautiously, “hypothetically of course, that someone started a petition and made sure it gained a lot of signatures, and even generated emails from concerned citizens in Tampa Bay, about Cosmic Kid being an atheist, vigilante-hating, homosexual who was severely traumatized from his recent skirmish with Seneschal X.”
“Annie, that’s horrible!”
“Yes, but not illegal,” said Dr. Sterling.
“It’s libel. Libel is illegal.”
“He is an atheist and has criticized vigilantes, he could be gay, and he likely is traumatized from his encounter with Seneschal X,” said Dr. Sterling. “So it is true, more or less.”
“Annie, that’s harsh. He’s only 19 and that’s poor form in regards to Tampa Bay. You shouldn’t manipulate fellow superhero teams, even ones with pompous morons like Corsair in charge.”
“If Tampa Bay takes online petitions and emails seriously they deserve to be manipulated. Honestly, within a week I could have a million signatures condemning the breathing of oxygen. Any moron with a modem can click on a petition, but Tampa Bay has idiots in PR who honestly are freaking out about this.”
“How do you know that?”
“I hacked their email system. They aren’t going to pick Cosmic Kid,” said Dr. Sterling.
“Damn it, Annie, that is illegal, really illegal!” snapped Mr. Awesome.
“Hey, quiet down there Mr. A! Breaking and entering is illegal as well and look what we’re doing tonight. It’s all relative, shades of grey and all that.”
He sighed. It was pointless to argue with her. “Annie, no more manipulation of Cosmic Kid or Tampa Bay.”
“Fine, the wheels are already turning anyway. We can have whoever we want in the Super Draft.”
“You need to stop doing this stuff; one of these days you’ll get caught.”
“Okay, Mr. A., I’ll be a good girl from now on.”
“Liar. Let’s get this mission done,” he said as he lifted the skylight. “I’m entering the building.”
He lowered himself through the tight opening, swung, and dropped awkwardly down 15 feet onto a metal walkway, making a loud clank as he hit. He pulled himself up and sprinted across the walkway to an area of deeper darkness.
“Damn, Mr. A. you’re making a lot of noise,” said Dr. Sterling. “I told you to use the stealth suit.”
“The stealth suit is uncomfortable as hell,” muttered Mr. Awesome.
She sighed but didn’t press the point. “Okay, you’re moving towards the administrative offices, but let’s check the secondary assembly area first. Go down to the main floor.”
Mr. Awesome paused to listen for anyone in the vicinity, before heading down a nearby metal staircase as quietly as possible. His left knee was acting up again and he grimaced from the pain. He shook it off and looked around a largely empty room that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “Nothing here.”
“Alright, there should be doors to the north and a hallway that will lead to the main assembly area,” said Dr. Sterling.
He nodded and headed for the doors, which weren’t locked, and soon was walking down a dark hallway. He stopped as he saw light coming through the cracks of the door that led into the main assembly area. “Annie, I think we’ve got something,” he whispered. “I’m going to check it out.”
He moved up to the door and slowly opened it enough to peer through. His view was limited but he saw a pile of silver cylinders each about a yard long and a foot wide and a table in front of them where two men were working on an opened cylinder. He couldn’t see what they were doing, but he kept the door opened just a crack and brought up his micro-camcorder to copy some images to transmit back to HQ. After a few seconds of footage he quietly closed the door and backed away.
“Any idea what that was all about?” he whispered.
“I need a better look… go back and take the first door to your right and go straight down the hall to the second hallway to the right. Then to your left will be a staircase and we can go up and see if we can get a look from above.”
“What’s going on here?” asked Mr. Awesome. “Do you think those cylinders were explosives?”
“If they’re producing the PGZ for those cylinders they would have enough explosive power to level the city – it’s sort of overkill, it would be easier to make a nuclear warhead than synthesize that much PGZ.”
“What do we have on the cars in the north parking lot?” asked Mr. Awesome who suspected they had stumbled upon something big, really big.
“One is a rental, the others are locals, and I’m working up profiles on the owners, but none of them are setting off any flags,” said Dr. Sterling. “We still don’t know if the PGZ is even here, but regardless something is up.”
“$50 says it’s the Infinite Circle,” said Mr. Awesome as he finally reached the staircase, quietly opened the door, and headed up the stairs.
“I’ll take that and $50 more says it’s a wannabe supervillain,” said Dr. Sterling.
“The WPL heist was professional, not wannabes.”
“Put enough monkeys in a room with typewriters and eventually you’ll get a Shakespearean sonnet,” said Dr. Sterling.
“I don’t know about that, but I do know you’d get a lot of monkey poop.” Mr. Awesome reached the top floor and quietly opened the door to the large assembly room. He was in utter darkness and below could see several tables and hundreds of the metal cylinders. A score or so with red danger stickers were piled up very neatly by the loading doors. Four people were working at the tables and there wasn’t any talking – probably not a positive work environment. He pulled out his micro-camcorder and began recording from the new vantage point; he decided to not even whisper anything to Annie until he withdrew from the area.
“Lots of new equipment, they might well be synthesizing PGZ and fitting it into the cylinders as warheads, but they’re using manufactured components,” said Dr. Sterling. “You’re right this isn’t a wannabe, this is someone with cash and resources. If this is PGZ, these guys are looking to blow up a city or a mountain.”
Mr. Awesome nodded, took some more footage, and then headed back to the staircase. He quietly opened the door and started walking down the stairs as he mentally went over the next part of the plan. The team had reasonable suspicion now and could charge into the place with the WPPD. It would probably take them an hour or two to get everything properly organized and they’d have to be careful; he wasn’t an expert but he suspected these guys had already assembled enough PGZ cylinders to take out the factory and probably the surrounding block.
“The expense of synthesizing pentaglycerine is staggering,” said Dr. Sterling. “The cost of producing this stuff would be out of the range of most terrorist groups and supervillains. Honestly, I think…wait…ambient noise…Mr. A – someone is in the stairwell!”
Mr. Awesome reacted instinctively, leaping back against the wall away from the railing. It was just in time; gunshots went off from below and bullets ricocheted around the stairwell and railing. Then the lights flashed on in the stairwell and likely across the entire factory complex. He turned and ran up the staircase towards the third floor door.
A noise from behind made him glance back to see an older woman, her gray hair tightly wound in a bun, wearing a black jumpsuit and wielding two semi-automatic pistols. She was running quickly up the stairs after him and shooting at him as she went. He ran to the third floor door and slammed through. As he had feared, most of the area was lit up now, though a lot of lights were inoperative. Still there was more light than he liked. At least everyone down below was in a state of confusion, which was good. He threw himself behind the door and waited.
The door was kicked open and the old woman came running on the walkway. Mr. Awesome grabbed her, swinging her into the nearby wall with a hard thud. The impact caused her to drop one of her pistols and give a muffled cry, but she recovered quickly and swung her left arm up, breaking his grip, and then kicking him in the chest. He could tell by her strength and speed that she was a mutant, which was a relief as he didn’t need to hold back. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem like the type to hold back against him either.
She swung her right hand still holding a pistol at him, opening fire. The bullets hit him in the chest. His super density and ultimesh vest absorbed most of the impacts as he instinctively knocked the pistol from her hand and watched it fly down towards the factory floor.
“Damn, you may be old, but you’re spry,” said Mr. Awesome as he failed to block another of her kicks. This one hit him in the shoulder; he took it without too much discomfort, he was nearly as dense as concrete. “You’ve got to tell me what vitamins you’re using.”
She said nothing and was quicker than he was as he tried to grab or hit her. He was counting on her to make the predictable move. Sure enough, she dived for the pistol she had dropped on the ground. As she grabbed it, he drove his foot into her chest, lifting her off the ground and hurling her thirty feet across the walkway where she smashed into the railing with a loud crash. He turned and ran back to the stairs, taking them three steps at a time on the way down. He heard the door slam open above, but didn’t bother to look back as the old lady opened fire. One bullet hit his back and another hit his arm, and that one broke skin.
“Damn it, Mr. A. how many are shooting at you?” Dr. Sterling exclaimed.
Mr. Awesome pulled out his micro-camcorder and aimed it back up the stairwell. “Sending picture – apparently Sunrise Ultimate Security Nursing Home lost one of its inmates!”
The woman took a couple more shots, reloaded, and then starting jumping down the stairs, clearing a dozen steps at a time. He shook his head as he reached the first floor and slammed out of the stairwell. There were two guys with guns waiting for him. They were too close to the door so he reached one of them before they could do more than fire wildly in his direction. He grabbed the nearest gunmen and swung the man around as a makeshift battering ram into the second gunmen, crashing them both against the wall. He then took off down the hallway, pulling a flashbang off his utility belt. The moment he heard the stairwell door kick open, he turned and threw it. The old lady had hesitated leaving the stairwell - she must have expected an ambush - so she stepped out just as the flashbang hit the ground and went off with a deafening bang and flash. She retreated back into the stairwell.
Mr. Awesome picked up his speed and exited through a side door. Once he was outside he ran for the nearest gate and climbed the fence. There was no further pursuit; he had escaped.
“Any idea who Miss Daisy was?” said Mr. Awesome, jogging down the street for the team boat anchored at the public dock a half mile away. He knew he wasn’t seriously injured, but he would be sore and stiff for a week till he healed up and Patricia would give him hell, not to mention Abigail. They would be right of course; he had been lucky the old lady wasn’t using heavier munitions. He was too old for this, he thought again, as he felt his knee act up once more. He had ignored it as much as he could during the excitement but he knew that there were good odds he was going on Injured Reserve after his physical tomorrow.
“You won’t believe this, but she’s a former pro: Erica Wilkie,” said Dr. Sterling. “She used to be Jane Error with the Southern League in the ‘70s, Victorian-style costume accessorized with guns. She had an on-again off-again problem with drugs, and eventually the Southern League cut her loose. In the ‘80s she went vigilante as Lady Vengeance, lost a trademark battle with the original Lady Vengeance’s estate, and then went as mad as Mr. Rochester’s first wife. She was caught by Ms. Omega after she killed three teenage gang members in DC, and she spent 15 years in prison. After she got out, she went corporate.”
“Corporate? You don’t hire someone like that unless you’re expecting problems,” said Mr. Awesome as he approached the boat.
“True, but it’s good to see you aren’t the only senior citizen in the Industry. Like I keep telling you, you don’t need to retire quite yet,” said Dr. Sterling.
“Age and treachery, age and treachery,” muttered Mr. Awesome as he started up the boat. “Contact the WPPD. We need to storm that place within the hour before they can clear it out.”
Chapter 2
8:29 p.m.,
Friday, March 22nd,
2013
242 Oceanside Avenue
West Pacific, CA
Dr. Noah Brandeis wasn’t supposed to be mingling, but the temptation had been too great to resist. His boss, Ian Roache, was hosting a fundraiser for Governor Fields who was up for reelection in 2014. The Who’s Who of West Pacific had turned out and Dr. Brandeis wasn’t about to miss this opportunity to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. He felt confident in his new Italian suit and reminded himself to thank Ian for ordering him to get it. He was now a mover and shaker, albeit a secret one, and he had to look the part. Of course, Pam suspected he was having an affair. It was the new clothes and how he was often gone for days at a time – she had told him as much. He had followed Ian’s advice to buy her jewelry and that seemed to have allayed her suspicions, but she did know he was up to something. He would have told her about the Plan, but he suspected she would either call the police or tell her sister and then everyone would know.
Ian’s house was probably one of the most impressive mansions in West Pacific, though Dr. Brandeis admitted to himself that he hadn’t been in enough mansions to be able to make a truly informed opinion on the matter. However, the house had 17,000 square feet spread over two stories with a home theater (where Dr. Brandeis had first presented the Plan, upon Ian’s request, three years ago), a beautiful wood-paneled library, and enough rooms that Dr. Brandeis regularly got lost when he visited, though he did have a notoriously poor sense of direction. His favorite aspects of the house were the infinity pool, which looked like it stretched all the way to the horizon when seen from the house, the solarium with two-story windows that offered an incredible view of the ocean, especially at sunset, and the domotics. The house was completely automated with little cleaning robots and a fairly sophisticated computer system to manage climate control; in fact, Dr. Brandeis was logged into the system and when he entered a room the house’s computer would adjust the temperature to his preferences. If the house survived the Plan, Ian had offered to sell it to him, which was something he was strongly considering. Pam would love the house, though of course she would clutter it up. He enjoyed the Zen-like simplicity of Ian’s decorating.
The mansion was a perfect backdrop for the fundraiser, with the moon hanging over the Pacific through the solarium windows and all the famous people mingling about. Over at the buffet table, he had actually shared a few words with Anastasia McKenzie of Sarah’s Serenade, not that he had been that witty, but he didn’t think he had sounded like a fool. He and Pam watched Serenade every Wednesday at 9 p.m. He had thought about getting an autograph for Pam, but guys in Italian suits didn’t ask for autographs. Then he had exchanged pleasantries with some baseball player named Jeffords who seemed as out of place as he was, nice guy, but Dr. Brandeis wasn’t really into sports. Of course, Ian did own the Samurais, so he was trying to learn the basics; Ian talked about baseball almost as much as he talked about the Plan. Dr. Brandeis had also met Congresswoman Winthrop, who, while a Republican, was a friend of Governor Fields; then he had met Mayor Bainbridge, who, while a Democrat, supposedly hated Governor Fields. Politics made no sense to Dr. Brandeis. More accurately he didn’t care about politics; all politicians were corrupt. He couldn’t even remember the last time he and Pam actually voted.
The food was great, he had no idea what a lot of it was but it was delicious. Well not all of it, some of it was pretty foul, but he was sure it was expensive. The only downside was that everything was on sticks and there were no chairs in the designated mingling areas; apparently, this had to do with some new lobbying rule passed by the State legislature. The various politicians in attendance weren’t allowed to eat proper food as that would be an illegal bribe or something. Ian had explained this all to the team yesterday afternoon; it was highly ironic that they were determined to follow campaign finance laws given what they were planning on doing in a few months. Erica had actually cracked a smile when Ian riffed on the ludicrousness of it all. Erica was some retired supervillain or something; she was a stone cold killer, but she was a fan of classic rock so there was that to talk about. She was handling security this evening, which was one reason Dr. Brandeis was relatively relaxed. It was somehow reassuring to have the psycho killers on your side.
“Dr. Noel Brandeis, right?” asked a man with dark features in a navy suit who looked really familiar, though Dr. Brandeis couldn’t place him.
“Ah, Noah, actually, but yes… I’m Dr. Noah Brandeis,” Dr. Brandeis stammered. He really hadn’t expected to be recognized.
“I’m Geoff Linden, you might remember me as Geode, we met at the Tucson Gem & Mineral Exposition back in 2007,” said Geode.
Dr. Brandeis looked blank as he tried to collect his thoughts. Geode was a superhero – that meant he was radioactive and should be avoided! Not that he was literally radioactive like the superhero Meltdown, but Ian had warned him that superheroes were clever and had to be avoided. Then again… maybe Geode was radioactive; Dr. Brandeis couldn’t remember what his powers were or where he worked – what was he doing in West Pacific? The city had more than enough superheroes as it was.
“So what do you think about that?” asked Geode.
“What?” asked Dr. Brandeis who realized Geode had been talking to him; he hated when this happened. “Ah, well, it is a complicated issue as you know.”
“Yes, that it is, but the study was very promising. Though you are right, it is probably too optimistic,” said Geode thoughtfully.
“Well, you know how studies and reports go, researchers can’t help but be overly optimistic,” said Dr. Brandeis wondering what the hell they were discussing.
“True, and given your presentation six years ago you do seem like you were ahead of the curve on this one,” said Geode.
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” quipped Dr. Brandeis. Self-deprecating always worked, but what the hell had he talked about in 2007? Earthquakes… natural gas… asteroids wiping out the dinosaurs… he really needed to keep better notes. What if it had been about the Plan? Was Geode talking about the Plan? He had given that lecture lots of times at various events – damn it! Was there a study of importance to the Plan he didn’t know about? What if Geode had psychic powers? He could be reading his mind!
“Dr. Brandeis, are you okay?” asked Geode.
“Yes, I’m fine, of course. So why are you in West Pacific?” asked Dr. Brandeis. He needed to think about something else, like, like… sex! Yes, sex with Pam, no, that wouldn’t work, use your surroundings, adapt! Imagine Anastasia MacKenzie naked, she is right over there as a prop.
“Noah, are you okay?” asked Geode with a worried tone.
Oh, crap. He had been talking to him again, hadn’t he? Where did Anastasia go? He had lost her in the crowd, he had to say something. “Ah, I’m fine, just a little upset stomach. I’m lactose intolerant; bowels go all a-blended sometimes with dairy.”
“Oh, right, well, good luck with that, I hope you feel better,” said Geode who moved away from Dr. Brandeis, shaking his head slightly.
Dr. Brandeis quickly moved out of the living room and headed for the stairs up to the second floor and the command center, which was Ian’s study. His heart was racing. Had he just jeopardized the entire mission, was Ian going to be upset – was he going to have Erica kill him? Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea to have stone cold killers around and he slowed as he climbed the stairs, trying to buy himself a little time.
Jorge met him at the top of the stairs: Doctor, is there a problem? Jorge was their psychic, he couldn’t speak – or, more accurately, Dr. Brandeis had never heard him speak. Dr. Brandeis just mentally reviewed his conversation with Geode and how he had babbled and endangered the mission; it was like confession done by download. Jorge nodded and rolled his eyes: It’s alright; Geode is not a psychic. I’ll see if he is suspicious, though I doubt it. Dr. Brandeis was relieved; he wanted to hug Jorge, because he wasn’t going to be killed by Erica, who really wasn’t that psychotic anyway and probably wouldn’t have killed him since they got along fairly well. Jorge shook his head and headed for the party. Dr. Brandeis sighed and opened the door to the command center. He was done mingling for the night.
***
He was surprised when he entered the study and saw Erica for the first time that day. She was, as always, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit – she pulled it off despite being like 70 or something - but now she had bruises on her face and her nose looked a little off. He stared and couldn’t keep himself from asking, “what happened to you?”
She smiled dangerously. “We had a problem last night.”
Ian walked in and joined the conversation. “Yes, it appears West Pacific Supers stumbled on our operation at the factory last night and Erica has been working to cover our tracks today.”
“What? Are they coming here?” blurted out Dr. Brandeis who imagined being pummeled by a superhero and then sent to prison for the rest of his life. No amount of money was worth that.
“Hopefully not,” said Ian smugly. “Erica managed to herd most of our people off Industrial Island to Avalon One and start a fire to cover our tracks, but the WPPD arrived shortly thereafter and I suspect there will be clues to be found.”
“How did they find us?” asked Dr. Brandeis. He knew Ian claimed they were covered from psychic and magic divinations but that didn’t make him confident. He had seen a program on the Super Channel last month on how law enforcement and superhero teams could track down nearly anyone. He suspected that ever since the WPL break-in they were living on borrowed time.
“Brian and Oscar are unaccounted for. Brian called in sick the last two days and Oscar took off running during our evacuation,” said Erica. “I suspect one of them tipped someone off.”
“Jesus, they could identify me! They know me as Dr. B!” said Dr. Brandeis. “I’ve been to the factory! My DNA is all over the place!”
“Perhaps and I suspect I’ve been ID’ed as well,” said Erica.
“What are we going to do? We have to abort the Plan!” whimpered Dr. Brandeis.
“No,” said Ian dismissively, “this possibility was factored in and those working in the factory were never informed about the full Plan.”
“Sure, but they knew we were building deep sea charges and who knows what else they might have figured out – there was a lot of evidence there,” protested Dr. Brandeis.
“Yes, which is why Erica is working to track down Oscar and Brian,” said Ian. “We will move all our operations to Avalon One and lock things down. You will tell your wife you are going to Argentina for a new project.”
“We shouldn’t have stolen the PGZ, it was too flashy,” commented Erica.
Ian shook his head. “It served two purposes: it gave us a needed material for the Plan and we were able to sell the formula to China for capital.”
“West Pacific Supers isn’t a bad team,” said Erica. “They’ll run this down eventually.”
“Then we need to activate our contingencies,” Ian agreed.
They were so calm, it was ridiculous. Dr. Brandeis was worried, downright terrified, and he couldn’t help wondering why he had ever agreed to do this. But it had all been his idea. Decades ago he had submitted his first thesis for his Ph.D. in geology at the University of Florida; it was brilliant. There was an exposed area of the earth’s mantle in the Atlantic Ocean between the Cape Verde Islands and the Caribbean Sea. He postulated using explosive charges to increase the viscosity of the mantle and then use a harmonic induction wave to shape the flow of material to create a new volcanic island. He had called the island Atlantis, which was probably his big mistake. He had to do another thesis after the dean had said that they studied science, not science fiction. The man had no vision. Of course, another problem had been the harmonic induction wave itself, which he had based on reports of Vanghel technology, like the weapon that wiped out Rome during the Invasion. Still, despite the narrow-minded faculty of the geology department, Dr. Brandeis had continued working on the Plan ever since. He’d even published a fiction book titled Rising Tide that had detailed his theory. The book did poorly; the idea of a swashbuckling geologist saving the world was just a little ahead of its time. However, Ian had read the book. Ian wasn’t a scientist; he was a businessman but a businessman with vision. Ian felt the Plan was feasible.
NASA and the UN Space Defence Force were developing a quantum harmonic resonance array, or QHRA. It was a reconstruction of the Vanghel super cannons that would be able to blast a hole through the Earth’s crust, especially at a weak fault point softened up with PGZ explosives. Ian’s team had picked a point off the coast of northern California and had a deep sea oil rig, Avalon One, stationed out there setting things up. Once they exposed the mantle, they would reconfigure the QHRA to provide an induction wave to shape and direct the lava flow and prevent it from cooling. Within 24 hours, the beginning of a new oceanic island would emerge from the Pacific Ocean, an island that would eventually grow to the size of Iceland. It would be a miracle of science and create a very valuable piece of real estate.
There were of course a few minor problems with the Plan. First they had to steal the QHRA, which was only possible because Ian was the chairman of the board of the company currently assembling it and therefore had access to information and facilities they otherwise wouldn’t be able to easily get. Also the Plan would likely serve as a catalyst for significant tectonic activity, a euphemism for earthquakes or possibly even a tsunami. There was no way around this: it would cause a bit of collateral damage to the coast of California. They also needed a sufficient power source for the QHRA and a large number of potent deep sea charges. Then of course they needed to be able to blame someone else for the whole thing; they’d picked Dr. Wraith for that. He was some undead evil mastermind who hadn’t pulled off a heist in decades but he was a classic supervillain and the perfect scapegoat. And finally there were a lot of kinks involving securing ownership over the newly created property, which was where Governor Fields came into the equation. Ian was optimistic that all of these challenges could be overcome, but the truth was that Dr. Brandeis had begun to think the Plan wouldn’t actually work and the odds seemed even worse now that the factory had been compromised.
“I bet this was on the news,” said Dr. Brandeis, who felt a little guilty that he didn’t read the paper or watch the news, but it was usually just depressing anyway.
“Yes, there was a blurb and the Governor is aware of what happened,” said Ian.
“She’s probably ballistic!” said Dr. Brandeis.
“True. We need to deal with that,” Ian said; he had hardly stopped speaking when Governor Fields herself walked in. She was a severe-looking woman who Dr. Brandeis was afraid of because he suspected she was completely insane, though to be governor of California that was probably a necessity.
She frowned at all of them. “I’m not happy.”
“We have taken precautions and should be able to complete the Plan well before anyone figures out what we are up to,” said Ian.
“Yes, we are still quite on schedule,” lied Dr. Brandeis.
“I doubt it,” said the Governor. “Gentlemen, the Republic of California is in desperate need for this to work. It is the first step to constitutional reform and bringing this great State out of its economic troubles. This is a risk worth taking for all of us, but mistakes like this make things more difficult.”
“We have contingencies in place,” Ian assured her. Thankfully he didn’t go on to explain exactly what those contingencies were; Dr. Brandeis knew that they involved recruiting supervillains to operate in West Pacific to keep West Pacific Supers and the WPPD occupied. The Governor might be power-hungry, but even she was unlikely to sign off on that idea.
It was best not to give her a chance to ask questions. “We’re working to get ahead of schedule,” Dr. Brandeis lied again.
“Perhaps you can provide some assistance on this matter, as well as tie up West Pacific Supers and the WPPD,” said Ian.
“That’s the entire issue, isn’t it?” snapped the Governor. “Due to the damn ballot initiatives forced on California by the mindless electorate I can’t even blow my nose without running afoul of some god damn moronic restriction. The whole point of the Plan is to create an opportunity for reform.”
“That is true,” said Ian in his sympathetic voice. “Maybe you could involve West Pacific Supers in some program to save whales or talk to elementary students.”
“Alright,” the Governor said with another frown. “I’ll see what I can do to distract your local supers and police. But the Plan must continue moving forward. I need this to happen well before the primary.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Brandeis. “In a month I think we’ll have a more positive report on the status of things.”
“You’d better,” said the Governor. “I’m giving you three months to execute the Plan. After this fiasco we can’t wait any longer than that. This is a fixed deadline and the results for noncompliance will be severe.”
“I understand, Governor,” said Ian. Governor Fields nodded, glared at Dr. Brandeis, and then left the room with Ian following, leaving Erica and Dr. Brandeis alone in the study.
“This isn’t going to work,” muttered Dr. Brandeis.
“Probably not, but that’s why I always get paid up front,” said Erica.
“Most of my cut is performance-based; you know, how many acres we raise from the sea.” Dr. Brandeis felt miserable. “West Pacific Supers is going to track us down, aren’t they?”
“Most likely but not for the next few weeks,” said Erica. “They have the Super Draft and pre-Season activities to tie them up for a while. Barring a lucky break, my guess is that they’ll probably foil the Plan in under a month.”
“So shouldn’t we abort the Plan?” asked Dr. Brandeis.
“Why?” Erica looked amused. “Noah, it’s not the heist but the build up to the heist that’s where the fun is to be had. Enjoy the ride and have an escape plan. I know you’ve been paid a good amount of money upfront and if you’re smart you have that squirreled away. Plus we could always be the ones to get a lucky break.”
“You’re awfully positive about all this,” said Dr. Brandeis glumly.
Erica gave him a wicked smile. “The game has finally begun! The supers are on the hunt –this is when things get exciting.”
Dr. Brandeis just shook his head. There was no doubt about it – he was surrounded by lunatics.
Chapter 3
11:27 a.m.,
Sunday, March 24th,
2013
Hyatt Regency Milwaukee
Milwaukee, WI
There were three kinds of people in the world: normal humans, normal-looking mutants, and obvious mutants. Seawolf, veteran team member of West Pacific Supers and clearly an obvious mutant, was having a bad fur day.
She stood in the bathroom of the suite she was sharing with Gabrielle Fox, the team’s public affairs director, and tried to untangle the brush stuck in her neck fur. She had forgotten to pack her own brush and had to borrow Gabrielle’s and now the damn thing was stuck. If she pulled too hard, she’d end up with a bare patch, but if she didn’t hurry up, Gabrielle was going to get even more upset than she already was.
This lunch was the only scheduled activity for the week that Seawolf had been looking forward to, but now she found herself dreading it. The only reason she’d even agreed to be part of the West Pacific Supers contingent to the Super Draft was because being in Milwaukee was preferable to being back home getting ready for the publicity-fest that was the upcoming Costume Launch. She’d been through enough of those in her 13 years on the team to know that some of the worst Costume Launches were during years in which you had a new public affairs director trying to make her mark, like Gabrielle. Gabrielle had been with the team in some staff PR capacity for a couple of years now, but once she’d finally finished her MBA night classes, she’d been promoted. This new Costume Launch was her baby - from the new European costume designer to the state-of-the-art ultimesh weave. Seawolf had heard every dull detail three times over during the flight from West Pacific to Milwaukee, complete with a nonstop display of photos on Gabrielle’s HoloBerry.
“If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to be late.” Gabrielle, a normal human with the sort of effortless beauty that Seawolf found downright maddening, walked into the bathroom wearing a pale blue dress that hugged her every curve and perfectly accompanied her silky black hair and smooth caramel-colored skin.
“It’s stuck,” Seawolf said, gesturing at the brush.
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Pull it out – break it if you have to; I’ll buy a new one. You need to speed things up. The sponsor lunch begins in 43 minutes and I sure as hell am not going to arrive late and miss the chance to snag a seat next to the Moirai Media rep.”
“I can take my own cab,” Seawolf protested.
“We’re sharing one so that you get there on time. Danny has the opening ceremonies tonight, which means a ton of interviews this afternoon, so you can’t take forever. And why are you wearing your old team costume?”
“Because you said I couldn’t wear the new one.”
“Not until the new one’s officially unveiled, true. But this is a casual lunch. Why wear a costume at all? It’s not like you have a secret identity.”
“For casual I wear wetsuits,” snapped Seawolf. “Or would you have preferred me in lycra shorts and a rash guard top?”
“Waverider may be your primary sponsor, but it’s taking brand loyalty a bit far to only wear swimwear.”
“I’ve only worn swimwear for the last 20 years. Waverider just pays me to do it.”
“Whatever.” Gabrielle’s HoloBerry rang and she stalked out of the bathroom, calling back as she left, “hurry up!”
Seawolf yanked, pulling out the brush and a chunk of fur with it. She peered into the mirror, trying to assess the damage and make an honest appraisal of herself. Her face and neck looked normal except for the fact that they were covered with grey fur, her ears were wolf-like, and her teeth were a bit more pointed than most people’s. Pale green scales took over where the fur left off and her fingers were noticeably webbed. Her eyes were an almost pretty shade of blue-green, but that was because they were blue underneath and green when the second membrane covered them, which was certainly not normal. She sighed. Even on a good fur day, she still looked like a freak.
She pressed some fur down to cover the small bald spot on her neck, straightened her costume, and reluctantly walked out into the living room, where Gabrielle was talking on the phone while strapping on a pair of ivory heels that accentuated her long, slender legs. Seawolf grumbled to herself as she sat down and began shoving her own webbed feet into a pair of large black boots. They had been specially made for her since she simply could not wear normal shoes. She preferred to go barefoot whenever she could but that wasn’t an option here. A real restaurant wouldn’t let her in without shoes, not to mention that early spring in Wisconsin was ridiculously cold.
“I don’t see why you’re making me do this,” she muttered to Gabrielle when she hung up.
“Do what? Take Danny Chase out to lunch? Because you’re the one who wants the team to hire her and because you’re the one that she specifically requested! Jesus, Seawolf, stop making a capital case out of this. It’s just lunch, for Christ’s sake.”
Seawolf glared at her. “You could at least try to be pleasant,” she growled.
Gabrielle laughed. “Yeah, you’re one to talk. You bitched the whole way here from California. Seriously, I’m organizing all the last minute details for the Costume Launch from halfway across the country and you’re freaking out over having lunch with a super teen?”
“A Costume Launch is the worst sort of publicity event – all fluff and no substance,” Seawolf said peevishly.
“Whatever,” Gabrielle said, rolling her eyes, but she sounded annoyed. “Just because you don’t appreciate the new design… ”
“Why even change things in the first place? There’s nothing wrong with the old costume!”
Gabrielle stared at her for a moment. “You are so – so, oh I don’t know – quaint? Anyway, you know you’re meeting her at the Taj Mahal, right? According to Superlative, Danny loves Indian food. What? What’s wrong now?”
“I hate spicy food! I have superior senses. Strong spices screw them up. You should know that.”
“It’s one meal,” said Gabrielle dismissively. “In the interest of making a good impression on someone who might be your future team member, you can handle one meal. God, I thought you liked Danny Chase. You’ve been her strongest supporter in every Super Draft meeting we’ve had over the last four months! I thought you’d be thrilled to meet her in person.”
“It’s not that,” said Seawolf. Her unhappiness had nothing to do with Danny Chase. She had spoken several times with Danny and the girl had been eager and respectful. Seawolf was genuinely excited about having her on the team. But meeting her like this – in an Indian restaurant in the heart of Milwaukee? There was no way she could explain how stressed she got at the thought of going out to eat. Putting herself on display in a public forum was one thing if heroics were concerned, but going to a restaurant was just hell. There would be the inevitable stares and whispered comments and the most heroic thing she could do was to finish her meal without throwing up. She felt like throwing up now.
“Anyway,” Gabrielle continued, snapping her purse shut and standing up, “it’s too late to change the reservations now. Come on. We’re running behind. Have I mentioned that the sponsors luncheon begins in less than 30 minutes?”
“So what?” snarled Seawolf. “I’m a superhero, not a public relations lackey.”
Gabrielle stopped dead and stared at Seawolf with venom in her eyes. “Perhaps you need remedial lessons in superhero economics,” she said through gritted teeth. “Last year, the Governing Board approved a $159.2 million budget for the team, but the team then went on to pull in $172 million from endorsements, merchandising, paid public appearances, and other PR events, all arranged by the team’s ‘public relations lackeys’. You know those little things that make your job easier – let’s say for instance like ultimesh to keep you safe, and HoloBerrys to keep you connected, and airplanes to get you around, and an operations director to tell you what to do, and a training staff to keep you in shape, and a big shiny headquarters building to have a nice office in? SPONSORS AND PUBLIC RELATIONS LACKEYS MAKE ALL THAT HAPPEN! So shut up and get moving.”
Seawolf stomped out after Gabrielle, feeling even more freakish than usual in the wake of her glamorous companion. “We could have met her in the team box,” she suggested when they got in the elevator.
“Get over it already! You want to meet our potential draft pick in the team box? What would you feed her - chips and cheese dip? You might as well accept the fact that you’re going. Believe me, you’re not the only one suffering. Last night at the mix-and-mingle that bastard from Super Carnage Inc. thought he could paw all over me just because his company produces West Coast v. East Coast. I tell you, if it weren’t for the fact that they’ve got the most successful line of superhero video games in the country, I would’ve… ” Gabrielle’s HoloBerry rang. She picked it up and launched into an angry discussion about the team lineup for the Costume Launch. “And one more thing,” she yelled as the elevator stopped to admit some hapless hotel guests, “you tell Keystone that he needs to be at the Launch or he can kiss his renegotiation goodbye!”
Seawolf frowned, trying to ignore the small child gripping her mother’s hand and gaping up in openmouthed wonder. Gabrielle was notoriously short-tempered, but this trip she had been particularly on edge. Admittedly, there was a lot to stress her at the moment. There was the Super Draft itself and associated publicity events and if the Costume Launch back home was a flop, everyone would blame Gabrielle, and the press here would have a field day. But the real problem was that one of her team mates, Keystone, had recently announced that he intended to sit out all publicity events and possibly even the Season if the team didn’t agree to his contract renegotiation demands. That threw Gabrielle’s perfectly orchestrated Costume Launch into jeopardy and made her even more unbearable.
“Finally,” said Gabrielle as the elevator doors opened at the lobby. She strode off ahead of the cringing family and Seawolf struggled to keep up, already wincing from the discomfort of the boots. She hated wearing shoes.
“Now remember,” Gabrielle told her when they got into the taxi, “play up the team but don’t oversell our financial status. We want her to be excited to come on board but not rake us over the coals when it comes to salary.”
Seawolf nodded and started to say something but Gabrielle cut her off. “Though if Keystone really does sit out the Season, Neo-Mermaid is not our best pick. Sure, the NMX power armor packs a pretty punch, but it’s water-based and… ”
“The team voted for Neo-Mermaid,” Seawolf said testily. “The whole reason that I’m taking Danny out to lunch is because we’re going to bring her on the team.”
“The team technically voted for her, but Mr. Awesome, who is, after all, the team leader, voted against her, Dr. Sterling, who, might I remind you, is the operations director, stated her disapproval, and Dr. Hodges abstained. Plus White Knight voted against her, and he certainly knows power armor. So in my opinion, it’s still something of an open issue.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Seawolf was starting to get angry. “The vote was four-to-two among the team members and Dr. Hodges stated his approval for whoever I picked.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “True, but still. Mr. Awesome and Dr. Sterling made a pretty good case for why we need to bring on someone with some speed. Thank God though we didn’t go the wizard route that Meltdown was pushing for.” She shuddered. “At least Danny’ll be a strong PR asset. Teen Orlando knows how to train their kids to handle the superazzi and fans. I won’t need to do much work there. And she brings over a good set of sponsors, which helps the team out financially.”
Seawolf rolled her eyes. The fact that Gabrielle could deride Danny’s super abilities in one breath and then praise her publicity credentials in the next struck her as having totally misplaced priorities.
“And another thing,” Gabrielle continued. “See if you can get a straight answer about the origin of her power armor suit. The Orlando Sparkle puts out this fairy tale crap about how when Danny was young, she saved the life of some dolphin and then a mermaid showed up to give her the NMX as a reward. Do they even have dolphins in Alabama?”