Story 9: Trials and Ideas
The 8 page back up appears in Action Comics #34.
Page 1: Miss Anima, Diskette
The page design for this issue is a little bit unusual, as we have a left-hand column of text running ¾ of the page, and then panels in the other space. ON this page, the opening panels are silent, showing the dialogue of what’s happening in the panels. First 9 panels (3 per row, 3 rows) show Officer Siobhan Erin, but her appearance alternates subtly between panels – earrings are different, hair is different – but her position is identical in pairs of panels – hand placement, facial expression, all of it. The 9th panel is black with white text of “End Recording”
Interrogator: Officer Erin, please give us your understanding of the situation at the time of the shooting.
Erin: Hardo Senn, calling himself Monster Boy, had taken control of several dangerous clusters of native Fauna. He had already, we thought, killed several of the Legion of Super-Heroes, he was directly threatning the life of Ms. Patin Felos, aka Diskette, um, and was credibly threatening the city of New Metropolis if left unchecked.
Interrogator: I see. And the specific circumstances?
Erin: Diskette and one/another of Miss Anima’s animations had cornered Senn, um, on the edge of the Gamera’s shell. Diskette had managed to wound him, hopefully stun him, by teleporting partially through his Tellagi force field. It looked promising that incapacitating and capturing Senn was viable.
Investigator: But…?
Erin: Senn managed to summon another ocean predator that suddenly consumed, in one gulp, Tom Greenland…
Investigator: Who?
Erin: Miss Anima’s um/other animation.
Investigatr: Thank you. Please continue.
Erin: Against that sort of area attack the wounded and tired Diskette would have been extremely vulnerable. She wouldn’t have had time to subdue Senn before the second attack. It was logical that disrupting his footing would either give her an opening, um, or send Senn over the edge.
Investigator: And given what happened would you have still taken the shot?
Erin: Absolutely. Senn was a clear and present threat to a civilian at that moment, armed with lethal weaponry, who had ignored attempts to de-escalate the situation.
Investigatory: Thank you, officer Erin. That will be all.
The final row of panels is of Sergeant Zendak, Miss Anima, Diskette and Solicter Greyn (here to look ater the Legion’s interests).
Zendak: These two videos were shot simultaneously, with Erin and Miss Anima’s animation of Erin in two separate rooms. Their responses to the questions are identical, save for the animation acknowledging that she’s… It is?... They are?”
"I prefer she," Miss Anima says, very quietly, and then adds, "you'd have to ask the animated Erin what she prefers, of course. I use the same terms I'd use for the, um, source person, to remind myself that she may be a temporary person, but while she's here she's a person."
"I think," Diskette says, "that the Sergeant was reaching for how to refer to both Erins at once, not questioning the gender of the duplicate."
Jinnjahl blinks. (That's not the way she heard it, but she doesn't want to get into an argument on the subject with the sergeant here.)
“An animation. It’s clear that your creation took the steps that the actual Officer Erin would have taken could, say, Diskette have teleported her to the scene.
"The Legion may have more questions," Miss Anima says, "I don't know if you have more questions ...? But this interview answers *my* questions."
"That's probably true," Diskette says, "and I think it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. But I don't think it's entirely generally true. The pilot -- Tom Greenland -- I could be wrong, but I don't think his original would be still alive if he acted like the image does. That image seems to act...like a real person, I guess, but really recklessly."
“Sergeant,” Greyn cuts in, “are you indicating that there is no need to charges against Miss Anima aka Jinnjahl?”
Zendak nods. “That’s right, at least not from the SPs perspective. We wouldn’t bring Officer Erin up on disciplinary charges based on these events, so we won’t be making any recommendations to our counterparts at Justice.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. May we have the room for a moment.”
As Zendak gives the soliciter a moment with his young clients, Miss Anima speaks up. “The Legion needs to at least have an inquiry about Hardo Senn's fate.”
Diskette nods. "you're right; we do. We don't want to give anyone the question that we take a death--even a presumed death--lightly."
"I'm not sure who would be good to make the case against me, when he'd *just* been trying to kill all of us, but then, I'm the last person to make that call, so I don't really need to worry about that part." Jinnjahl sighs a little, since she does need to worry about the results, or at least, she can't help it.
Greyn calls up a copy of the charter on his very, very small tablet (remember he stands under a foot tall), then projects it into the air. "well, Ode as chairperson is disallowed as prosecutor as he is overseeing the event and the tie-breaking vote. Otherwise all that's required is the mindset to produce an aggressive and defensible case to the other Legionnaires to see about advancing to a larger trail. Unless someone volunteers Ode will have to select for the role.
"I also shouldn't be making the case," Diskette says, "As much as that suits my idiom, I'm the one Erin was trying to save at the time, so I can hardly be assumed to be unbiased. I mean, I'd do it, I just don't think it's a great idea. Maybe Metal Lass? She's good at protocol and wasn't directly involved in that brawl. We'll have to see."
Page 2: Robot Boy, Mr. Music, Future Boy
This page has a similar layout – the column of text, the rows of images next to it. (Ideally this issue would be penciled by Kevin Maguire circa his run on Justice League in the 80’s for the focus on facial expressions in conversation.) The characters in this scene are the team’s two Wynathains – Ode and Tok– and Adom. The topic is the place that Clark Kent/Superman holds in the cultural, religious and spiritual realms of Wynathian culture.
On the civil religion of Superman
The three Legionnaires are roaming the city, while around them a public festival is going on - the usually small Clarksday celebrations that allow Wynathians to celebrate their races good fortune in the past, commitment to helping others in need and hope for good fortunate in the future is several times larger this year with the near miss with the Gamera being at the top of everyone’s mind.
The focus of the panels are the team members faces (or displays of lights and gears for Robot Boy) but there’s plenty going on around them in the panels. There are street vendors and buskers and families and tchotchkes and even one or two flags for sale with the Legion emblem on them
Tok is excitedly bouncing from stall to stall, his cargo jumpsuit filled with an improbable number of tchotchkes and toys, and he's just picked up a dozen bright green candy rings. "You've got to try this, Ode," he says, "they're a holiday tradition! 'Kryptonite' rings are sweet, but also super-sour, and the golden center just brings out the Clarksday cheer!"
Adom studies the scene as he follows his companions through the milling crowd, unsure of what to make of the quaint celebration. His own people observed a handful of holidays, but the associated customs tended to be quite a bit less jovial ... indeed, one might even call them severe. He is particularly fascinated by vendors hawking exotic festival foods. "Curiosity. What is a Krypto-Dog and why should one wish to be sure to 'get 'em while they are still hot?'"
"It's..." Ode is slightly distracted by the momentos of the team. "It's... a kind of food from Clark's homeworld, Earth. A modified version. And... they taste better warm. Not hot, but once it's not hot it... gets cold pretty fast."
"Confusion", Adom replies. "I still do not understand what this 'Clark' means to you. There is awe when his name is spoken. Yet this does not appear to be worship. He is not your god?"
"No, of course not," Future Boy replies. "Clark was real -- he was a super-hero, maybe the first super-hero, on Earth; the last of his species. He saved Wynath once, back millenia ago, and inspired us to study, advance, and spread throughout the galaxy. So, once we found Earth--found out about his history and the cultures that inspired him, we remade Soupsday--the holiday we celebrated to commemorate our still being alive, into Clarksday, bringing in the traditions that inspired him, so we'd always remember why we're still here. Oh, a Seidrel! Hold on, I have to get this for little Tolly. You know, this looks like an ordinary top, but due to the power that Clark puts into it (and a little Wynathian engineering), one spin lasts eight full days if you don't stop it first."
"Intrigue. The first super-hero. So one could say the first Legionnaire. Curiosity. How and when did he save the planet?"
"This was back in the old days, when Wynathians were just on our home planet; we hadn't made it to space yet, though we knew it was possible, but there were so many things to do, plus a lot of people were convinced that it was the End Times." Tok snags a couple of cookies from a vendor and passes one to Ode, keeping one shaped like a sun for himself.
"Well, they were almost right. One day, without much warning, the sun winked out in the middle of the day. Gone, just like that." Tok takes a big bite of his cookie. "There was a lot of panic at the time, but a guy in blue and red flew out of the sky and told people what had happened--that a creature called a Sun-eater had, well." he takes another bite. "Eaten the sun; truth in advertising, I guess, and we were doomed.
“But, he also said that we shouldn't panic, that he was Superman, a hero from another world, and that he'd fix it--that he had to, because last time he visited, it was a thousand years in the future and we were fine. And he did. We had astronomers watching closely by that point; it's not like they had much to do with the surface quickly cooling and people were rioting in the streets, the ones who weren't watching Channel Superman, anyway, and they saw the whole thing--how he beat up the Sun-eater, forced it to spit what was left of our sun and flee the system, then hit it with rays from his eyes and flew around it until it ignited again. It was a bit smaller and darker than it had been, though, which I guess explains why he vanished, moving faster than almost anything, and returned a few weeks later trailing a second small star -- that's why Wynath has two suns now. He flew off after assuring us that it was all fixed -- something about a disaster brewing half a galaxy away, but...how could you forget something like that?"
Lights flash behind Adom's face visor and a series of clacks and high-pitched thrums emanate from his cranial unit as he attempts to reconcile this reply with his understanding of the laws that govern physical reality. He quickly abandons the effort for fear of crashing his neural network, simply accepting the truth of his teammate's explanation as stated. "Fascination... Legionnaire designate Clark-Superman can travel through time. His first visit from the Wynathian perspective is not the first from his own. When he returns his younger self will have no memory of the Wynathian historical encounter. Interesting paradox."
"Curiosity. When is Clark-Superman anticipated to return? Are the circumstances known?"
"I... think he was quiet about the details," says Ode, still staring at a flag with the Legion emblem. "Or maybe people were too worried about surviving one more year, let along a thousand, to ask. Though... maybe he told someone, and whoever it was kept quiet... in case of... of..." He shrugs. "But I don't know what he's going to think of --" The musician gestures around him. "All of this. I mean, even these --" He motions to the flags. "These are... It just feels weird looking at these."
"Anticipation. It will be an honor for self-designate Adom to meet him. Solemnity. I will convey your admiration if Clark-Superman does not arrive during your brief soft-kin lifespans." Adom picks up a small red cape, a remnant of a festival costume lost at some point by a passing child and drapes it around his shoulders. He does not fully understand the purpose of such apparel but feels it important to conform to local social norms, however incomprehensible.
"Realization. You used designate Superman when recounting his exploit. Why do you also use designate Clark? Is he a hybrid being like Adom and Proty?"
"Ah, no, it -- "Clark" is his name, and "Superman" his... Well, like "Mr. Music" is my league name."
Ode adjusts Adom's cape so it hangs better.
Ode's thought balloon has Adom wearing the cape, taking center stage in a Welcome Back Clarke concert for Superman, using Ode's idea of what the latest in music technology will be in a couple of centuries.
Tok has been thinking quietly as they walked, somewhat uncharacteristically. "You said that Clark could travel in time," he says. "Maybe he can, but...what if the reason he hasn't shown up yet is that in his past; in our future, he didn't travel in time to us; how would he know to do so? What if we travelled in time to him?
"It's been over a thousand years, and he said about a thousand years, but Superman hasn't shown up. What if Clark's waiting for us to invent time travel?"
Page 3: Metal Lass, Bubble Boy
Having checked the navigation charts for New Metropolis our young heroes have made way for Peek Island, some hours ahead of the capital city’s path through Charkesh’s endless oceans. There they can safely test Future Boys jet packs without concern for an accident over the city, while still being close enough for assistance should things go wrong.
Tok bar tasked the pair with full field tests since they could, in a pinch, support one another with their powers should one of the packs malfunction. Lacking either Robot Boys invulnerability or Diskettes agility the pair could give he devices their fairest rest for the “average” user.
[BR this work: isolated island, room for possible weirdness, picnic lunch?]
[MC: All good by me. I assume the pair take public transport to reach the island.]
As the air-cab flits away, the two youngsters are left standing on the shoreline of Peek Island. Gorvo carefully puts down the jet-pack he lifted from the cab.
"Right, here we are, Dolar. Picnic first, or jet-pack testing? We should probably find an open patch of ground for the test flights, first, though. Don't want to land in the ocean if the pack switches off suddenly. I've had my fill of sub-aquatic adventures for the moment."
“We are likely to do our best work with full stomachs,” Dolar says. “Site first, then food, then flight.”
Her thought balloon reads **He remains charming and funny. How could I have been so wrong about what that meant?**
As she bends to pick up her jet pack, her hands flicker through the form for remaining firm in the face of great emotion, before it is hidden by the equipment. She picks up the picnic basket, squares her shoulders, and walks toward the interior of the island.
Gorvo checks his jetpack and hurries after Dolar. He chats enthusiastically about flying and the wildlife on the island. It's clear that he's pleased to be out in the open and to have the chance to shake off any lingering effects of his recent traumatic encounter with the Gamera.
"It's strange to me, Dolar, to be out and about in the open like this and not have to really worry about the wildlife. At home on Tallag, pretty much everything will eat you given half a chance. Parents never let their kids wander off unsupervised. At least not before they've passed their outdoor competency tests."
"What's it like on your world? Do you have wild beasts to worry about? Are the skies beautiful?" He gestures up at the sky above the trees by the shoreline, marveling at the colour. "At home it's mostly blue and grey clouds."
“Metax’s sun is redder than this one, so our sky is more gray-blue than this world's. And the land is drier. The river valleys where I grew up are green and filled with plants, but much of rest of the continent is covered in sand.” Dolar gestures at the ground, and her expression softens as her thoughts turn inward. “It is the sands of Metax that are truly beautiful. Over millennia, burrowing animals have called the minerals they needed to nurture their young to their nests, which has stained the sands in layers of color."
“I expect you would find our animals very dull. Very few of them would try to eat you."
Gorvo grins. "I could live with dull once in a while. If I never get swallowed by megafauna again I'm fine with it."
"Metax sounds beautiful. I know your people aren't wildly keen on visitors, but I'd love to see the sands of Metax one day."
The weather for the day is flat calm - perfect day to attempt flying - though there is still the risk of a storm later. Fortunately, the ocean horizon would give a long warning before that could happen.
Once decided on a suitable jetpack proving grounds, the two young Legionnaires unpack their picnic before settling down to eat. Gorvo demonstrates the Tallag 'bubble-chair', where he forms two simple, flexible force bubbles to sit on.
"Your seat, Metal Lass," he says as he gestures with a flourish to the translucent mushroom chair. "Let us save dirtying our uniforms for the landing practice later. What picnic delights have you brought?"
Gorvo's contribution to the picnic supplies tends towards large foil bags of incredibly spicy chips and a slab or two of chocolate.
Dolar opens her pack and starts pulling out nested boxes containing fresh fruits, square sandwiches made with different flavored pastes, a grain salad with dried figs and tiny fish, and thermoses of cold soup.
“I thought bringing a variety of different dishes would be wise,” she says. “I’ve seen you eat.”
Snagging a pink-and-green filled sandwich, she continues “It’s not that we dislike visitors, you know. It’s that outsiders are often inadvertently offensive.” She looks up at Gorvo, her body shifting into a form denoting the telling of earnest truths. “It’s not just that they don’t understand how our obligations within the clans bind our actions. Our postural language describes the emotional context of the words we speak. We can learn to still our bodies, or to use formal stances to mute the display of emotion, but among friends on Metax it is not really possible to hide what you feel.” She looks away quickly, her gaze fixed on the open sea. “It avoids misunderstandings."
Gorvo looks at Dolar intently, as though seeing her anew. "You've always seems very in control of yourself, Dolar. I never realised how much your posture expresses your thoughts. You must find the rest of us very sloppy and confusing. I bet we send all sort of unintentional signals."
He pauses. Then slowly, trying to choose the right words. "Um, I hope I haven't said anything too stupid or offensive in the past in my ignorance, Metal Lass." Then brightening, "is there any basic postural signs you could teach me? I'd love to be able to say, 'you're doing great' or 'well done!' in Metaxian. Watching you in action with the Legion, it seems like those would be the most useful, at to start with."
Dolar carefully shakes her head in a gesture that Gorvo can clearly interpret. “The forms don’t send secret messages to other individuals, silly! They provide context.” A blush flashes across her cheeks. “For instance, right now, I am in the form used to let others know that I am speaking truth. And now,” - she shifts position - I am showing that the subject we are discussing is easy to misunderstand.”
“The closest form to what you suggest would be this.” - she shifts again - “It denotes pride in the accomplishments of your companions.”
Gorvo clumsily mimics Dolar's form as best he can. "Does this mean you have to be aware of, and control, your posture all the time? Just to avoid sending incoherent signals or confusing context? Can you ever just let go, like dancing and move unconstrained?”
“We incorporate forms into all our movement - dance too,” Dolar laughs. “Think of them like your force field. We start learning to use them when we’re small, and it’s second nature by the time we’re grown.” She leans forward, shifting into a form denoting polite curiosity. “Do you have to drop your force fields when you have a big dance party? Or is everybody bouncing off one another?”
Gorvo looks a little shocked at the suggestion. "Oh no, Tallagi only lower their force bubbles with family and closest friends. It makes doctor's visits a bit difficult, especially when we're too young to follow instructions reliably. Dancing is more of a vigorous workout than something done in pairs. More mosh pit than minute waltz, I'd say."
"We can draw our fields in pretty tightly to our bodies; it's only polite on public transport, for example, to minimize one's bubble. It can be a bit like a bowling ball and skittles otherwise, when the driver slams on the brakes."
Gorvo muses further. "Do you have public transport on your homeworld? Metaxian don't seem to be big on close physical proximity. Squished like sardines would put a real strain on the forms."
"Tallagians don't really have to worry about inadvertent contact. It's more the risk of two bubbles repelling each other and throwing people about the place."
Dolar responds, “We do have public transit, and believe it or not, there’s a form for that, too.” She stands, and shifts into a position that radiates disinterested nonchalance. “This denotes regret for any temporary inconvenience I might cause for you or your clan during the time that we travel together,” she intones before a grin spreads across her face. “I’ve never thought about how that must look to strangers — dozens of Metaxians standing quietly in the exact same attitude between stops. It’s no wonder that the sophonts that visit us think we’re unfriendly.”
She shrugs, which looks surprisingly uncontrolled on the young Metaxian. “Young hotheads insisting on ritual combat to repay inadvertent insults probably don't help either. That's why I’m here learning how to translate between our culture and the rest of the UP’s. My clan considers my work with the Legion a bit of icing on that particular cake.”
She looks toward Gorvo, raising an eyebrow. “That reminds me, Darvish seemed quite upset about your well-being after you escaped the Gamara. Did you happen to tell her that we’re flying completely untried experimental jet-packs today?"
Gorvo echoes Dolar's shrug. "It must have slipped my mind. She's been like a mother-hen since the Gamara incident. I wish she'd stop treating me like a kid, and, I don't know..."
He blushes slightly. "Anyway, I didn't think Darvish needed another excuse to fuss and worry. I'm sure these jet-packs are perfectly safe."
**He really cares for her. > Dolar thinks. **And if I *really* care about him, I should try to increase his happiness.**
Dolar sits down by Gorvo, and lays her hand on the surface of his field, her body still and her expression serious. “Gorvo,” she says, “you really should tell her how you feel."
Gorvo blinks and blushes, his forcefield turning a deeper blue. "To be honest Dolar, I don't know how I feel. But it's good to have someone to talk to about it."
He assumes a copy of a Metaxian pose, roughly drawn but earnestly meant. "Joyful sitting amongst friends," he says. "At least, that's about as close as I can manage."
Pages 4-5: Proty and the the Strange Badger Dog Thing That Lives in the Ship
One afternoon, while the Legionnaires are all out and about, Proty is guarding the base. Proty is a good boy.
Proty is able to hear a strange hum, unlike other hums the nearly completely refurbished ship has made in Protys memory.
Meanwhile, the strange badger dog thing that lives in the ship, who for the moment we will call Ree for the noise it makes, hears the hum as well. Ree’s memory of the ship is much longer than Protys, but this is new in its memory as well. It’s definately coming from the lower decks. Definately.
"Reeeeeee?" The badger dog thing sniffs the air, then heads for the lower deck. Might be food?
Rees claws scrabble along the metal of the decks in their paw sheaths, eating up the distance down the corridors and stairs to follow the noise. Deep near the glowhum of the warp drive the hum is loudest, but it’s source is concealed behind the drives pulsing solidity.
(It’s behind the warp drive from your position which stands as a column in the room. Wait or advance? Advance silent or loud?)
Proty hovers in place, uncertain about what to do. Should he investigate the noise or remain where he was ordered to "Stay"? He wants to be a good boy, but, not as good at reasoning as his other-half-higher-self-big-brain-Adom, he is unsure which choice is the "good boy" choice. In the end, his insatiable curiosity makes the decision for him. Antenna wagging furiously, he zips through the ship, scanners on overdrive, searching for the source of the sound.
Proty zips into the engine room seconds after Ree does, coming in through a different entrance. He can see a glow of both visible and ultrviolet light coming from just around the warp core and can easily position himself to learn more.
Ree zips after Proty. Stealth? What's that?
Ree scrabbles for a minute and picks up speed to round the corner where Proty is, then executes a fairly efficient if ungaily high speed turn with legs flying everywhere for a minute to see what Proty is looking at.
The pair see a meter-wide square tower of light -brighter at the bottom, more diffuse higher up, just brushing the ceiling of the room. Inside the light tower they can make out shapes moving on the floor - some small and possibly organic, others larger and blockier. The hum is clearly coming from the light-pillar, and both of them can sense the static electricity coming from the strange construct: proty with his sensors, Ree with how its hair is standing on end.
Proty glides closer, sensors "sniffing" the strange column. He emits a series of high pitched squeals directed at the shapes within the column, the robotic equivalent of a small dog's yapping.
[CI: The squeals sound something like the feedback you get when you use a microphone too close to a speaker.]
Proty can confirm that the column is giving off UV as well as visible light and might well be some sort of force field. Whatever it is, it limits Proty's scans of the interior, but there's no doubt now that the smaller moving shapes are life forms, similar in construction to the soft-kin around them these days, but much much smaller. The sound of Proty's yapping has alerted the creatures to his presence, and they are scrambling around in new patterns.
"Reeeeee?" The badger dog tries to bound over and sniff the new life.
Ree gets an electric shock as his nose pushes against the field. Not enough to do real damage, but enough to send any dumb beast scampering away. Ree also noticed that his nose was pushing into the field, which was resisting. With a concerted effort, the badger dog thing could probably push through the field (though it might have to leave gouges in the deck plate to get enough purchase and might take some real damage from the shock.
The things inside are panicking a little more, and some of the structures are moving around, as if on wheels or treads, and seem to be made otherwise of boxes with cylinders sticking out. Ree is able to see there is a circular construction on the floor in the center of the pillar - like the lip around an ornamental fountain. The floor in the center of the circle is... rippling?
Proty, watching as this happens, can sense the field straining under the dog-badger-thing's pressure, and that clears up some of the resolution on his scanners. Definitely humanoid but tiny, standing about 2-3 centimeters tall. surviving with an oxygen/nitrogen exchange in their lungs so likely iron-based blood. Surprisingly slow metabolisms for creatures that size. He can also see the the force field is being generated by four cube structures at the four corners of the pillar - he might be able to effect those with anti-gravity with some effort, but trying to break the force field at the corners would be more difficult than where the badger-dog thing is pushing through at the middle of one side.
Proty freezes midair, torn equally between his curiosity about the tiny figures and his curiosity about his furry little companion. The latter seems harmless enough and, for the moment, seems to share a common goal. Proty opts to satisfy his curiosity regarding the smaller beings first, activating his gravitic repellor beam to exert additional pressure on the field at the same point at which the badger-thing is attempting to push through.
[LP: As Ree isn't expecting this, I'm fine if the badger dog thing suddenly topples through it and lands with a thump.]
After a few seconds of the gravetic repellor playing over the force field there's a pop of a circuit breaker in one of the cubes and two faces of the force field go down. This sends Ree stumbling forward, unable to stop himself from scattering a bunch of the tiny humanoids like ninepins. Several of the Tinys rush forward to grab their stunned comrades, lifting pulling and carrying them with military precision away from the impact zone.
One of the treaded boxes with cylinders on it rolls into a new position as one of the Tinys leaps atop it, strikes a commanding pose and points at Ree. There's a beam of light from the cylinder that strikes Ree on the shoulder, eliciting a searing pain as a wound not unlike a boil or open sore opens at the strike zone.
Another trio of Tinys leap into some triangular wedges, which blast off the ground and are aiming to rocket toward Proty's position.
Ree... falls, maybe, or perhaps lunges at the wedges. It's ambiguous whether the creature is deliberately attacking them or just thrashing about in its wounded state.
The wedges scatter under the 'assault' with two of them losing control and slamming into the ground. The scene is absolutely a scaled down fighter jets va Kaiju moment on the page.
Proty gains some altitude as the last wedge approaches, and deftly evades the thin beams of energy coming from it. it is clear that the Tiny's are hostile. Proty turns a gravetic beam on the bulk of the camp, tossing the tiny's around and upending some of their materials. His calculations were correct in the mass of the Tiny's is small enough that such a buffeting merely stuns them. Proty knew he would not be a “good boy” if he seriously harmed these miniature sophants.
The gravity beams dislodging of some of their materials also apparently disrupted the rippling energy field in the circle of technology. This causes the Tinys to panic and one races over and throws what must be to them “The Giant Switch”, which Ree can barely make out. There’s a change in the overall hum of the technology and suddenly all of the Tinys and their gear are sucked back towards the rippling circle and then into it.
In less time then it takes to tell, they are gone. The only thing left behind is the metal circle and the rippling space inside it.
Protys sensors are going nuts about this sudden change and the circle-portal is clearly unstable. But Ree can’t know this aside from Protys beeped warning.
Ree thuds, now standing on all limbs, and moves toward the circle, sniffing.
However, Proty's beeps annoy the creature, and it turns and growls a warning or complaint at the noise. "Reeeeeee!”
With that moments delay Rees nose or paws are spared a painful singing as some three quarters of the metal ring combusts with magnesium fire. Only the section where one of the outlying pieces was damaged by Protys gravity beam is still intact.
The strange pairing of the badger-dog-creature and the remote probe are left in an otherwise empty room with a tiny metal shard and some scorch marks.
The scene ends end with a shot of them sort of exchanging a wtf-was-that glance, insofar as a small robot and a badger-dog-creature can.
Pages 6-7: All Legionnaires, the Trial of Miss Anima!
Story 9 Page 6 Metatextual discussion
The scene opens with the secondary meeting rooms of the Legion’s starship base having been hastily if impressively converted into a formal appearing courtroom similar to those used on 20th Century Earth through the combined efforts of Future Boy and Robot Boy. Mr. Music is seated in the Judge’s seat since as Chair of the Legion the charter gives him formal oversight of the event along with the tie-breaking vote if needed. Metal Lass sits at the prosecutor’s table in the form of acknowledging protocol. The other Legionnaires save Miss Anima and Robot Boy are in an audience section – there is no jury box as every Legionnaire save the defendant and Chair have an initial vote in the outcome.
Mr. Music is wearing somber finery, saving a brilliant red guitar strap that has been converted into a formal sash for the ceremony and will, over the years, become the official marker of the chair overseeing a Legionnaire’s trial. “Bring in the defendant.”
Robot Boy, acting as bailiff for the event, leads Miss Anima into the room where she sits on the defense side. In theory she could have another Legionnaire acting as her defense counsel, but she has waived this – she did help write this section of the charter, after all.
“Bailiff read the complaint,” Mr. Music says, succeeding in getting a sense of gravitas in his voice.
Pistons whir behind Adom’s faceplate as he speaks, “Neutral Statement: Legionnaire Miss Anima aka Jinnjhal is accused of using her powers to kill another sapient. To wit, her Animation of Science Police Officer Siobhan Erin knowingly and willfully discharged her firearm in a fashion that caused Monster Boy aka Hardo Senn to lose foot and fall to his death in the ocean of Charekesh.”
Mr. Music continues, “By the terms of the Legion charter such incidents must be investigated to determine if there was a misuse of powers or a deliberate attempt to kill, both of which are terms for expulsion.” He pauses to check his notes, “As Miss Anima has not admitted guilt or resigned there is an assumed plea of ‘Not Guilty’. Metal Lass, will you elaborate on the case?”
There is a slight scrape of the chair as Metal Lass stands and assumes the form of one doing a regretful but necessary duty. “At the end of the conflict with Monster Boy, Diskette was engaging him at the edge of the Gamera’s shell, assisted by two of Miss Anima’s animations – Officer Erin and Pilot Tom Greenland, a Terran polit and self-proclaimed ‘daredevil’. I would like to ask the only continually sapient witness to these events to describe them.”
“Proceed,” Says Mr. Music, grateful for all the courtroom scenes in the Terran crime novels that form his literary passion to tell him what to do. He has a brief daydream of the all the Legion in barrister’s robes of their costume colors, with white wigs over their heads. Gorvo’s wig is floating over his force field.
Adopting the form of challenging interrogation “Diskette, can you please describe the relevant events for the Legion?”
Diskette stands, opening with “It’s not as if everyone hasn’t heard this before….” And then explains once again the events at the ocean’s edge.
Metal Lass briefly takes the form of gratitude to a friend before returning to the form of challenging interrogation, “Thank you. There are two points where I require clarification. First, in your opinion was Pilot Greenland acting in a controlled fashion?”
A soft chuckle escapes Diskette’s mouth at that before she answers, “Well, I wouldn’t have done what he was doing, but I’m not him. He’s a Terran.”
“Confusion: Can some fellow Legionnaire provide context?” Robot Boy asks.
Future Boy responds “Terrans are, well, they’re super pursuit predators. Nice enough people but really tough, stronger than normal, heal fast, run fast. As a result, they engage in risky behavior – ingesting toxins because they like the flavor, developing blood sports. Lots of crazy stuff.”
Diskette nods, “Exactly.” She glances over at the still silent Jinnjahl, then continues “Miss Anima told me that she doesn’t like asking animations to do things the original wouldn’t do. Greenland was a daredevil and risk taker all of his life, so she feels comfortable bringing his animation into high-risk situations.”
“Curiosity: Where is the real Mr. Greenland?”
Miss Anima quietly responds, “He’s on Charekesh. He needs to visit the institute regularly for corrections to his prothesis. I provide the institute with animations of him to study to perfect the integration of his prosthetics into his nervous system. He was a small trader pilot and professional risk taker before his accident, trusting his Terran stamina. He’s, the real him, is still a very boisterous man.”
Metal Lass, in the stance of someone caught in a honor required task, “He was very useful when we needed to rescue someone in the Hotel Diplomatique. But is it possible his animation is more unpredictable than the existing Mr. Greenland?”
Jinnjahl’ s face shows honest confusion, “I don’t know.”
“In preparation for this task I have explored his record,” Metal Lass continues, turning to Diskette, “and while he was a risk taker the actual Mr. Greenland make his living, and survived his accident, by taking highly calculated risks where he knew the variables. Diskette, does that strike you as an accurate description of his behavior on the Gamara.”
“No,” Diskette says, before quickly adding, “But I’m hardly a psychologist. Or an empath. Or even a terribly good judge of human behavior some days.”
This uncommon self-deprecating jab got a chuckle from the Legion, but Ode can see how quickly Patin shifted the discussion away from a valid, if uncomfortable, point against Miss Anima’s abilities. Years of dealing with her family’s scorn have sharpened some skills….
Metal Lass continues her questioning, her pose shifting to that of deep regret at necessary action, “Two, given that Monster Boy* was clearly fatigued, unsettled and wounded, and that you had found a way to circumvent his force field, do you feel you could have apprehended him without killing him had the animation of Officer Erin not acted?”
[*BR Yes, it is absolutely Legion Protocol to refer to individuals who have adopted nom de costume by that name as primary in formal events; “call people what they want to be called” is an official line in the charter.]
Diskette shoots back, “This is ridiculous. The Science Police already said they would have cleared Erin!”
Mr. Music interrupts, “That’s not relevant - It _wasn’t_ the real Erin. It was an extension of Miss Anima’s power. It also doesn’t answer the question.”
Metal Lass’ stance changes to one hating herself for having to press an unpleasant task. Across the room Bubble Boy winces, having learned more to read his teammates silent language of intent **This is killing her,** he thinks. **Blast you, Hardo Senn for putting us through this. And blast me for not taking on the interrogator job.**
Metal lass presses, “Could you have apprehended Monster Boy without the animation’s actions?”
“There was a sea serpent. It just ate Greenland!” Diskette barks back, trapped between her need to excel and her loyalty to Jinnjahl.
Metal Lass’s posture is that of someone having to execute a clan-mate “Yes or No?”
“He was a psychopath!”
“Answer the question!” Gorvo barks from his seat, unable to keep silent on Dolar’s behalf. Patin shoots him a look full of her own anger and self-pity.
“Yes,” she admits. “Yes, I had the initiative, I was inside his field. I had him.”
Metal Lass slumps slightly as well, before taking the stance of having completed a deeply unpleasant task. “Thank you.” She turns to Mr. Music on the bench, “As Diskette was the only witness to the events, I have no further avenues of investigation to pursue.”
Mr. Music nods. “Miss Anima, do you wish to question Diskette, or have any comments for the defense”
Miss Anima stands up, “No questions for Diskette. As for my defense, I can only reiterate what we learned with the Science Police – that Officer Erin and Officer Erin’s animation responded identically when questioned. I must believe that my animation acted as a trained law enforcement officer would have in those circumstances. However, neither she nor Mr. Greenland’s animation act as if they are bound by the Legion’s charter, whereas I am. I don’t know how much control I have over my animations and am deeply uncomfortable with trying to exert such control. Monster Boy dominated those for whom he should have been responsible and that’s what brought us here. All I can say is that I will continue to use my power as judiciously as I can to aid the Legion in our activities and am unlikely to allow a sapient animation to act outside of my observation in the future. I believe that’s the best I can do. I will abide by the decision of my peers in accordance with the Legion Charter.”
As she sits Mr. Music nods “There will be a one-hour delay for people to contemplate their votes.”
An hour later everyone files back into the room, and Robot Boy again leads Miss Anima to her seat. She doesn’t bother to sit down as Mr. Music is already standing to reveal the verdict. “Miss Anima, as Chair of the Legion it is my duty to pronounce the outcome. By a majority of the votes it was found that you did NOT engage in a misuse of power or deliberate action to cause the death of Monster Boy. You are fully reinstated as a Legion member in good standing.”
Everyone in the room deflates a little now that it’s over, but spirits are high that their first such tests didn’t lead to expelling a founding member. Mr. Music stands. "And I have already arranged for a celebration of that over at the Kitt-Katt!"
BR: the goal here is to capture some of the Teens as Adults over-formalism on serious matters that was part of the early Legion, hence the sash, bailiff and courtroom. With this as a framework do, we want to edit this in email or drop it on the wiki for people to edit directly if they want to make changes around the edges.
Page 8: Future Boy and Miss Anima
Framing on this scene is Tok revealing to Jinnjahl and whoever he wants to add he found some weird gearin one of the storage rooms (remnants of the attack foiled by Proty and the Strange Badger Dog Thing that Lives in the Base) sparked some ideas and now he thinks he can crack time travel. To do it, he’ll need the help of someone with a mastery of Negative Space Energy as a means to make the Einstein Rosen Bridge. This means restuiting Mans Wyla, currently comatose as the institute!
The panel zooms in on what's clearly the shard left over from pages 4-5. "Thanks for coming over," Tok says.
Next panel -- same scene, zoomed out Tok's monologue continues over the shard now clearly craded in a device made of metal and tok's plastic goo. "It's not that I couldn't have sent you video--but I'm still experimenting, and"
New panel, zoomed out again. clear profile of tok in science overalls--in context, he was in the prior too shots too, but the device was in the way. "it's a bit unstable. And this is kinda the thing you want to see for yourselves. Otherwise It might seem-"
POV is now shifted a bit to the right and zoomed out again, we can see Tok, and anyone else in the room (bubble Boy, Anima Lass, maybe Ree in the corner?), but the middle of the screen is dominated by the Device now reappearing, the shard now visible as a tiny portion of the larger device surrounding and powering it. "Impossible."
"Curiosity: Is science among soft kin always displayed with theatrics? I have learned of multi-disciplinary education, and the drama department is >in proximity to the science classrooms on the Meridian City University* campus."
[* Yes, it's New Metropolis, but the university predates the City's name change and you know how universities are with their history – until someone gives them a billion-credit grant for the naming rights it's not changing.]
The next panel is Tok, covered in text bubbles chaining down to either side. Like you do.
"Usually. More on vidscreen science channels than real life, since most science is done on tight teams where by the time you get to the good stuff everyone already knows the outlines.
"But we do have symposia, where people talk about their work--those pretty much are a combination of science and theater, particularly since they've banned slide presentations since the 22nd century, something about the "powerpoint wars" , whatever those are, so people who want to make a splash and don't have a budget just go for repeating their experiment on stage if they can.
"Sometimes a literal splash. I haven't gotten a chance to talk at a symposium, but I've been getting the odd invite since I joined our club, so maybe when things cool down I'll get the opportunity.
"But anyway, the little shard there is from the adventure your remote--Proty--recorded with the tiny invaders, with the badger-thing. You were right--they must have come through some kind of interdimensional portal."
"Because when I managed to make the shard ossilate at the right frequency, It did...what you saw. Separated from our timestream briefly, then snapped back. as if time briefly split into two--you got lucky: half the time, nothing seems to happen at all, except for a sudden energy drain at the end.
It's not time travel or extradimentional travel--not yet. But with the right parts, it could be!
"Specifically, we need to combine it with an Einstein-Rosen bridge--which means getting in-person help from someone who knows how to work with Negative Space energy. And the greatest expert on that is Mans Wyla.
"We need to wake him up."
"The Last Chance Institute has been trying - well, no, we haven't." Jinnjahl looks thoughtful and then guilty. "When we went prying, the Institute was being paid extra money to keep Mr. Wyla alive. Not *specifically* to keep him in his coma, but if they try something risky to break the coma and it doesn't work.... We haven't done anything about that since." She frowns. "I don't remember the details, since I didn't understand the medicine, but some of the wording made me think they had an approach, if not a treatment. And ....
"And we dug up enough to make the Institute's actions regarding Mr. Wyla ... sketchy, if not necessarily wrong. And haven't done anything about it, and I'm part of the Institute, and a key part of the group questioning Mr. Wyla. Though, um, it looked that that was the *smaller* part of what was going on."
Jinnjahl's "hair" curls uneasily as she reflects. "But I don't want to make the Institute the villain here. Including to Mr. Wyla. Though...."
She shrugs. "Well. Mr. Wyla's a very smart man. He's not a doctor, but I'm sure he's got some medical knowledge related to negative energy and therefore related to his accident. Why don't I ask his animation if he has any ideas for a medical treatment for him and let him see his files? I mean, I can admit I want something from him, but that's just why I was thinking about him. I *also* want to make things right. Ideally without admitting that they were more than accidentally wrong to begin with."
Robot Boy says "Affirmation: My protocols would require gaining consent from a sophant before engaging in such activity. Miss Anima's plan conforms with that, and therefore I am in agreement."
His head turns to Gorvo, "Interrogative: Teammate Bubble Boy, would you agree?"
Gorvo nods. "Yes, even I think it's a good idea to get some expert advice on negative space energy and time travel. If we messed it up who knows who or when might be affected. If we can do it without making Mr. Wyla's situation worse, of course."
"If we can, yes. But as for who knows who or when might be affected...well, I do," Future Boy says.
"I can see the future, you know."
