Story 1: The Origin of the Legion!

Page 1: Everyone

The midday sun shines down on Median City - the city having accelerated from its nighttime position closer to the edge of the world's habitable zone to the brighter light in the perpetual westward sunset. In the bright happy sunshine people are scattered across the docks of the UPs capital city. The towering buildings of the city to the south, the north the endless waves of the ocean, full of pleasure craft on this warm, placid day, and above an equal number of brightly colored smallships and gliders dancing in the clear blue sky.

In this small slice of paradise comes chaos, as one smallship suddenly banks out of control, clipping a glider and sending both spiraling towards the Meridian City docks. Towards the crowds of people! Towards DESTRUCTION! It is in this split second crucible that five unassuming youths are first tempered. It is in this moment that they become something more....

[BR: We open with two quarter page panels on the top of the page showing the docks before and after the crash – calm and shock - with a small overlapping panel between them showing the actual impact of the smallship wing with the glider’s tail. The tail crumples while the wing catches fire and then explodes, sending chunks of the wing towards the docks far faster than the struggling planes.]

We have a series of panels across the bottom half of the page: one large panel showing an overview of the docks and five smaller ones overlapping that each showing the initial reactions of the soon to be Legionnaires.]

JINNJAHL:

Jinnjahl is sketching, of course -- different models of gliders, mostly .

The tentacles on her feet spring out of her sandals, and her "hair" comes undone and springs out in all directions. (This is not useful, it's an expression of fear mixed with an attempt to reorient -- the equivalent of turning white with her eyes darting all around.)

“Okay, okay, don't panic. Do Something Right Now, try to figure out the Best Thing To Do while doing Something Right Now.”

DOLAR:

Dolar is taking a walk along the docks – the Ang-Spektar who serves as prefect in her dormitory recommended recreational walks to all the first-year trainees to meet a triple goal: getting acclimated to the slightly higher gravity of Median City, internalizing the city’s layout, and becoming accustomed to greeting people without automatically falling into the formally precise bows and hand gestures used in Metaxian clan interactions.

The boom of metal striking metal makes her start and swivel around. “By all the gods and their hammers! They’re flying like rocks. What if…they had…bigger wings?”

Bracing her legs in a half-squat, she sweeps her arms up and out in the Lovelorn Crane gesture

PATIN:

Patin, dressed in white and yellow, is carrying an armload of packages partially blocking her view ("retail therapy is a panecea for all woes," her mother used to say, "it gives you time to think; gets your mind off the problem, and at worst, you now own something new"), and so doesn't notice the crash at first, mistaking the crash for an industrial noise like she might expect to hear from the loading bays near home, until she has her own crash, colliding with a Metaxian who has stopped walking suddenly and started doing dance/martial arts forms instead.

ODE:

Ode Voxis is sitting atop a crate on the docks, strumming a guitar, or at least, that's what it was sold to him as, supposedly exported all the way from Terra. That's as may be, but it has a lovely sound to it.

When he hears the discordant sounds of the colliding ships and the panicked sounds of people screaming he stops playing, takes in the chaos, and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts as he's been taught .

GORVO:

Gorvo is messing about in boats. He and a grad-school friend have taken a much needed break from their studies and are planning on spending the afternoon sailing about Median City harbour. Their boat, painted a merry yellow, lies bobbing by the jetty as Gorvo and Hannis load a picnic basket aboard.

'Crashing stars!' cries Gorvo as he looks up from tying the basket down to see the plummeting smallships careen across the bright sky.

Page 2: Everyone

JINNJAHL AND ODE:

She flips her sketchbook back to family sketches from a few days ago, picks out one of Uncle Lardonn (an uncle with above-average level-headed and above-average telepathy), touches the sketch, and *pushes *.

There’s a shimmer in the air as the mature Slan steps impossibly out of the paper, standing next to his young niece. “And where are we today, Little One?” Jinnjahl points up and says, "Tell people how to help each other get away instead of get *in* each other's way ."

He nods, the image version of him much more complaint than the actual one ever was, and reaches out with his mind. “So much panic…” he whispers.

Everything seems bright and clear to Ode, but it is obvious that others are not so calm. He starts playing again, trying to get the crowd's attention, singing to them about the quickest way to clear the area, focusing his mind on becoming a beacon of calm, like the old abbot .

The music washes over the crowd, calming the panic of about 60% of the people there, who start moving away as best they can. JinnJahl feels her own anxiety drain off, and her uncle stands straighter “There… calmer.”

At his telepathic utterance the remaining panicked members of the crowd become directed, and everyone starts pulling everyone else in an orderly fashion for places of safety.

Everyone except the young Wynathian with his strange instrument….

[BR: Five panels across the top of the page: one small one showing Jinnjahl’s sketchbook, the sketch of her uncle and her hand on it overlapping the one of his appearance, her request and is reply, one of Ode doing the singing, one of the combined effect on the crowd with a smaller overlap panel of Ode standing out alone on the dockside crates.]

PATIN AND DOLAR:

Patin, surprised, drops her boxes, only avoiding a nasty fall by turning it into a practiced roll that she ends standing. "You!" she says, pointing at the Metaxian, "You'll pay for these!"

One of Dolar’s eyebrows quirks upward, although she doesn’t break her gaze on the smallship. “My apologies for interrupting your progress. But you are putting yourself in danger if you continue. And I can help only one of these ships — the glider has no metal."

"But...they'll be killed!" Patin says. She immediately sprints for where one or both of the planes is going to crash, leaping over the panicked crowd at one point by jumping onto a disk floating in mid-air and leaping off that.

Dolar's other eyebrow rises to match the first, but she keeps working to grab and reshape the wing and (with small graceful finger flicks) redirect any metal debris.

As Patin moves she considers and discards one plan after another. She recognizes the design and coloration of the glider: it’s the sort used by Faeruni, a humanoid race that stands only 9 inches tall at most and are capable of independent gliding on extendable wings. If they’re not ejecting it means either they’re stunned or the damage to the glider has prevented the hatch eject from functioning.

"Useless. Useless! If only I had more range! Bigger disks! If only I wasn't such a failure! Wait--yes, the water!" As she approaches the water, a strange sight begins materializing in front of her--tiny waterfalls rising from--or rather, falling toward but never hitting--the ocean, each moving faster and more violently the previous one.

Once the water flow is a torrent it suddenly reverses direction and the slender girl leaps onto it, one of those strange disks forming under her feet to hurl her and it into the air towards the glider. With an agile spin she leaps from that platform as well, making a three point landing on the roof of the glider. Where she slips once and immediately begins holding on for dear life.

She can just barely make out through the canopy that the two passengers on the glider, both the diminutive Faeruni, are staring forward in shock and horror, one pressing madly on to the canopy controls to no effect.

Dolar resumes her stance, trying to take hold of the metal in the hull the plummeting smallship and stretching its damaged wing to provide more lift . The remnants of the wing shed their flaming debris into the harbor under Dolar’s forms, and the remaining metal of the wings ripples like water to create a short term substitute. Dolar feels the pilot madly and skillfully try to control the descent now that he has a chance of doing so.

[BR: same panel design – three across, two small overlaps – opening with Patin’s indignant tirade and ending with Dolar’s stance in the foreground of the small panel of a deep shot, with the smallship seen in the distance, the wing rippling under her power. This is overlapping the shot of Patin landing on the glider and clinging to it.]

GORVO AND ODE:

Gorvo scrabbles quickly from the boat to the quayside, tossing the painter to his friend. 'C'mon! We've got to help,' he calls over his shoulder as he sprints towards the docks, the double blue lines of his glittering force field forming about him as he goes.

He glances back over his shoulder at the second noise, the wing exploding, and sees the shrapnel heading straight towards that insane Wynathian in the line of fire with a guitar. With a wrenching effort he projects his personal force field across the space between them, forming a barrier between the young man and his flaming, metallic death .

The impact produces a resounding boom across the docks, but when the smoke clears the young man is still there, unharmed.

Ode takes in the situation, realizing simultaneously that he was in grave danger and that someone just saved him.

"Whoa!"

[BR: no surprise, same design, with the shocked look on Gorvo’s face in the first panel and the final panel being a close up of Ode’s hippie-like exclamation.]

Page 3: Everyone

JINNJAHL AND DOLAR:

Jinnjahl has been moving with the crowd, frantically trying to think of anything useful in her sketchpad.

• • Someone's trying to help the gilder, I have no clue what he/she/it is doing! Uncle's busy and I can't ask he/she/it, if only I were a telepath. There isn't time to draw anything - wait; yes,*that's* simple enough, I can at least try. The glider needs help more but I can't think what to do for it!**

She dashes to not quite the edge of the square and flips to an empty black page while she's running. Three simple yellow lines, perfectly straight using a red pencil as a ruler, then a jagged red line at the end, with a red circle making a black dot out of the page.

She kneels, places it on the ground, and *pushes*, trying to make it big enough. Not a proper runway, but better than nothing, and a note to any stray parts of the crowd to stay the heck away. The paper shimmers and Jinnjahl feels the fatigue of using her power in such rapid succession, but she knows from past experience she can try again if she needs to. This is the broadest physical space she has ever tried for an image, certainly with so little preparation . The image unfolds in reality, stretching out paper thin across the quickly vacating docks, no more than a single layer of paint on the ground. The distant beacon is a skeleton of wires and plastic, fragile enough that a small breeze would blow it over, but it pulses out a broadcast to the smallship and spins a weak red light to the crowd. If this works at all, she immediately flees, having invited the pilot to land the not-quite-out-of-control smallship right next to her .

[BR: this is a single panel in the upper left corner of the page, followed by another small overlap panel of Jinnjahl’s sketching, and then a long panel across the rest of the top row to show the length of the runway being unfolded. Dolar’s position right next to it is highlighted with another overlap panel that in this case is much more of an outline, just to call her out on the page]

GORVO AND ODE:

Panting from the effort of extending his forcefield to protect the strange Wynathian, Gorvo is unprepared for the sudden appearance of an impromptu runway nearby. 'You've got to get out of here!' he calls to the musician. 'We're sitting duckoids!'

Gorvo runs towards Ode, trying to keep a forcefield umbrella in place to protect them both against any falling debris.

Ode blinks. "Right." He moves toward Gorvo. If he can, once they're safe, he'll try the blended harmonic he learned, or at least, his part of it. If not, he'll improvise, or at least try not to get in the way of the other rescuers.

Gorvo, closest, feels the harmony in Ode's song first, and immediately snaps to awareness of what everyone else present is doing and what he can contribute - the incoming smallship approaching the impossible runway that it may, or may not, hit, and on which is may, or may not, stop in time, along with the glider rapidly descending to the unforgiving ocean, likely some fifty feet from his and Odo's shielded position.

Any panic he might feel from this is washed away by the music. There are the needs, there is the moment, and when the time comes to act on one or the other he is ready.

Dolar and Jinnjahl likewise feel the power of the harmony in them, watching the crowd disperse with cool efficiency under the combined powers of Jinnjahl's uncle and the strange youth's music, and their own place in the song is clear .

[BR: Same design as above, with the first panel being Gorvo running to/reaching Ode, the overlap being a focus on Ode singing and the final panel being a long shot of the whole docks, with a series of pull out panels of Gorvo, Dolar and Jinnjahl’s faces set in some level of steely determination, meditative calm or studied anticipation. In Jinnjal’s case we see she has already leaped for cover behind a sturdy building.]

DOLAR AND PATIN:

[BR: the repeating panel composition is broken with this final third of the page, a series of smaller overlapping panels cut between Dolar, the smallship, Patin and the glider.]

Dolar can see as well as feel the smallship approaching, the daring pilot doing his best to aim for the sudden runway but likely not being able to do so alone. **He needs to lose speed**, Dollar thinks. *His nose... needs… to go… UP.* Shifting her stance into The Flower Seeks The Sun, she guides the nose of the smallship up with one hand while pushing its tail downward with the other.

After a few moments, Patin redistributes some of her weight to the underside of the craft rather than the top [via an upside down disk], and also opens up a disc in front of her to the glider's interior so she can speak/see a bit more clearly. "What are you doing," Patin shouts, "your ship is going to crash! Why haven't you ejected?"

"The mechanism is jammed. How are you doing this?" The elfin features on the tiny face are panicked, but he feels the opportunity of the wind whipping out of the chamber past Patin's face, and unlatches his harness to leap out the newly acquired window.

"It's...it's a gift. We have to get her out of there--Now!" Patin looks, but through the limited window of the portal, doesn't see a mechanism she can easily manipulate in time.

Alas his companion is still frozen in panic, and the small man's pulling on her shoulder is not snapping her out of it. "Move, darling! You have to move!" The sea, all consuming, now fills the window before them....

So instead, another portal appears, Patin's hand improbably comes out of the air, and deftly undoes the companion's harness. "Come on!" She waits long enough for the Faeruni to get free, then leaps off the glider. Some disks appear at her hands and feet as she tries something to stop herself from falling, but it's clearly not working, and she plummets toward the blue water. "Well, that's it, I'm going to die," she thinks. "at least I wasn't -completely- useless ."

Page 4: Everyone

[BR: SPLASH PAGE! Well, crash page anyway. We see the smallship just clear the edge of the dock, its landing gear snapping off before it slides across the impromptu runway, Dolar leaping out of the way. Patin and the two Faeruni are clear of the glider due to an acrobatic leap into open space, with the sea beneath them, but the glider’s crash into the water threatens everyone as the shattering ceramic and slashing water threaten to batter or swamp them. Instead the whole is contained within the glittering double blue lines of Gorvo’s force field, preventing any injury to the acrobatic youth, the rescued gliders or anyone on the surrounding ships.

Patin even feels herself and her charges being held briefly by a second force field to give her a moment of stability. It’s only a few seconds before that smaller, single line field buckles under her weight, but it’s enough to clear her head from the explosion and let her get her feet under her .

Page 5: Everyone (aftermath)

[BR: It is a few moments later, back to a more staid six panel layout for the page.]

The docks are once again populated with emergency personnel, media drones and several Science Police officers. The witnesses to the event are being held back by simple gravity drones – floating a few feet off the ground, spaced every 10 feet or so with a weak repellor field between them to let people know it isn’t safe to approach.

The five future Legionnaires are inside the barricade, as are the three passengers in the plane. The smallship pilot is standing inside what a Metaxian would consider Doloar’s personal space (but he’s a barbarian and she likely expects no less), pointing out her and JinnJahl while gesticulating excitedly to one of the Science Police officers.

“It was amazing. Like something out of one of the Superboy holos I watched as a kid!” he thrusts up his arm like he’s about to take off flying. “Never seen the like! Fearless!”

“I got that the first time, Mr. Brande,” the SP says, but with an equally happy smile. He turns to the two girls, “Can you share your side of the story, ladies?”

Jinnjahl hesitates, then says, "With apologies for contradicting my elder, I was not fearless; I was terrified. I couldn't think of the right thing to do, I couldn't think of a way to help the airships -" she nods at Dolar - "and I was afraid I was going to get trampled. But I got indoctrinated young that fighting panic is no excuse for muddy thinking, so I tried to find a way to help. I'm not a telepath the way most Slan are, so I couldn't try to communicate with the crowd directly; my mental energies wound up directed at, of all things, image animation. I'd drawn some pictures of my family lately, though, so I asked my uncle to help." She flips through her sketchbook to the image she'd pulled and indicates her uncle to the SP officers. He's a mature Slan, average-sized, looking faintly amused by something.

"Uncle Lardonn can broadcast and be heard over the noise, but he's not an empath, and people were panicking, until the guy with the guitar there -" she nods at the other grouping - "did something with his music, which calmed down most people and sure made *me* feel better. And I think the music made most people look for ways to help each other? They were pretty cooperative once the panic ended, anyway, and with everyone working together the square got mostly cleared really fast."

"By then the smallship was flying instead of spinning out of control -" she nods at Dolar - "and I thought it might be able to land if it had a place to land." She flips to the other end of the sketchbook, where there are several sheets of black and grey paper and a few assorted colored papers, as she continues, "A few quick lines can represent a runway, so I drew them, put it down where landing on the runway would mean avoiding the buildings, and pushed it out." She turns the sketchbook around to display an extremely basic sketch with utterly straight lines. "Then I hoped the pilot -" she nods at Mr. Brande - "would manage to get the smallship down safely, and sprinted to put a building between me and the runway in case he failed." She shrugs slightly. "That's when I placed the communicator call to report an emergency."

She observes, "That sounds a lot calmer and more coherent in the telling than it felt at the time. But I can honestly say that I'm glad I was there ... with the others; if I'd been alone -" she tilts her head and looks around the square - "I'd've probably wound up hiding from the crowd and explosions somewhere in the information booth there."

“Truly, there was no time to consider alternatives,” Dolar adds. “Two aircraft were falling, and I could feel metal in only one of them.” She shrugs. “My people can shape metal, and the only thing I could think to do was rebuild his broken wing. It would be thinner and more fragile than the original, but I hoped it would give him more lift.” Turning to Jinnijahl, Dolar bows in the manner that signifies respect to an outsider. “After the landing strip appeared, and the pilot had turned the ship toward it, I was able to push its nose in the air to help it slow for a landing.” She takes a subtle step away from the too-close and too-excited pilot, moving closer to the Slan with whom she now shares a working obligation, however unintentionally.

"I could not help the glider, but the girl over there” -she points at the other group- "leaped up pools of water to reach it. What happened after that, I cannot say — I was simply too busy to watch.”

"She got out the passengers and they all jumped free, then someone broke their fall and broke glider's fall," Jinnjahl contributed, "I didn't see who. I would guess one of the group over there did something, since it wasn't you and it wasn't me and no one else has come forward?" She nods at the three youngsters in the other grouping.

When the SP turns his attention back to the passengers, Dolar leans toward the Slan and murmurs so that only Jinnijahl can hear. “Those packages on the ground belong to the other girl, and I am obliged to collect them and bring them to her. If you have the time, I would appreciate your help as I complete my duty ."

"Of course," Jinnjahl murmurs. "It would be good to speak to you, and perhaps to her, if circumstances permit this while we do so."

Another SP is taking to Ode, Patin and Gorvo, while the two Faeruni are perched nearby. They are draped in itty bitty blankets and the woman is sipping a teeny cup of something hot and soothing.

“She, they, absolutely saved us,” the man says, “I’m not sure how, but they really did. There was no way we were getting out of that glider in time, and even if we had…” he shudders to think of the shrapnel.

The SP – his name tag reads “Zendak” – pauses, picking his words carefully, ‘And, um, did you intend to press charges against… Mr. Brande, Solicitor Greyn?” It’s hard to read the features on his small face, but Greyn does pause a second, weighing things before answering. “Not unless your report indicates this was something other than an accident. I am of course reserving that right and will expect to see the complete report of this event.” “Of course. And you three, can you tell me your side of the story.”

"I was an idiot," Patin says, "so wrapped up in myself that I didn't even see what was going on until after I'd crashed into metal-girl there doing her thing. And then I jumped into things with half a plan and no exit strategy. If it hadn't been for bubble-boy there, I'd have been killed. I could save them, but I couldn't have saved myself. And the worst part is, I'd do it all over again, except for the bit with dropping my shopping all over the street--what happened to it? Did anything survive?"

Ode strums absently as he speaks. "I just wanted to make sure everyone calmed down. Panic's dangerous. Although... I guess being too calm can be dangerous." He looks at Gorvo. "Thanks. I'm Ode." He holds out his hand .

Gorvo makes a fist and moves as if to bump knuckles (easier to bump forcefields than interleave fingers in Tallag). "I'm Gorvo Van of Tallag. You're really something with that guitar! Do you perform concerts? You could really get a crowd up and moving."

Ode fist bumps Gorvo. "You think? We could start a band?"

Gorvo looks to Officer Zendak. "This guy Ode is amazing. He really kept the crowd calm and helped them get to safety. All I did was throw up a couple of forcefields. Nothing special."

"I didn't--" he says, in reaction to Gorvo's praise, but stops as Solicitor Greyn looks up.

Solicitor Greyn looks up sharply at that, saying "Never sell saving lives short, young man. And never undersell your own capabilities. The five of you," he gestures to the other two girls with his coffee cup, "did something extraordinary today. No shame in being proud of that." Gorvo grins broadly, happy but unused to praise from an adult. "Thank you, sir!"

"Yes, sir," he says, in response to Greyn.

[Back to panels with those other two girls.] The young SP - her name tag reads Erin - closes up her electronic pad "I think I have everything we need from you ladies, but if you could confer with Officer Zendak over there?" She gestures towards the other knot of teens and survivors with the older SP. Jinnjahl makes eye contact with Dolar, then nods to the packages, attempting to inquire if Dolar wishes to deal with that matter now or later. At this, Dolar’s eyebrows quirk upwards, and her face breaks into a wide grin as she turns and bows to Jinnjahl. “I am An Dolar of Metax, and I greet my work-mate in tasks great and small.”

Jinnjahl bows in return - a generic bow, not attempting even an approximate imitation of Dolar's bow because she doesn't even know what to imitate and what not to. "I am, in conversational form, Jinnjahl Berola of Slan, and I am pleased to share introductions and a small chore with a workmate with whom I have shared such grand synergy just minutes ago."

The two alien girls start collecting packages as the SP leads the smallship passengers away.

"If you'll come with me, Mr. Brand we just need some paperwork thumbed off on."

Ode’s thought balloon says, "A band?" His next thought balloon has a picture of all five playing various instruments, probably all Terran ones, which likely has little, if any, relation to what instruments they might be willing to play.

His thought is interrupted by a speech balloon, as Dolar and Jinnjahl arrive and offer armloads of packages to Patin. "Excuse us, but we thought you would like to have these back."

"Oh!" Patin seems surprised. "Yes, thank you. Actually, if you wouldn't mind carrying those a little further, I have a suite reserved at the Astorian; we could all repair there and celebrate our serendipitous victory."

**The Astorian**, thinks Gorvo. **That sure beats the grad school refectory. I wonder if they have ice cream...**

"That sounds wonderful, Patin. Thanks!"

Page 6-7: Everyone

Patin leads the group, talking animatedly, now only carrying two bags while leaving Gorvo and Jinnjahl to carry the rest –Gorvo by way of a floating force field bubble. "You're going to love where I'm staying; it's a bit cozy, of course, since we're just setting up, but since we're just a small party, it should just make it intimate. Excuse me..." She flags down a servant remote as it passes, "Could you have a tea platter for 8 sent up to the Felos suite? Yes, I know, there are only 5 of us, but we've worked up quite an appetite, saving the planes near the dock, oh, and could you add….."

A moving, silent shot of the set in a high-tech elevator, which starts at the edge of the previous panel, but then runs down to the bottom of the page, as Patin's rooms are apparently on the lower floors (for security), not the upper ones (for natural views), cutting across the right edge all the panels on page 6.

"See?" Patin says, leading the group into a reception room that's clearly larger than it need to be, a view window running all along the back wall, "isn't it darling?"

She throws her bags at a large amorphous couch on one side of the room, then sinks into a soft chair resembling a bahouse chair aside from being comfortable. "That was -amazing-."

"It was *wonderful*," Jinnjahl agrees. "Scary wonderful, but *really* wonderful. I couldn't have done anything alone - I'd've been hiding out from the stampede in the information booth in another minute or two if Ode hadn't calmed people down - but we were all there helping and I got to be part of - of - of turning what was about to be a disaster and we'll never know how *big* a disaster it almost was into just a really scary few minutes. Oh, and some property damage, but a lot less property damage than if we hadn't helped."

She shuts her mouth firmly before she *really* starts babbling, and looks at Ode and Dolar and Gorvo.

Gorvo chimes in. 'It was epic! We saved lives! And you jumped up on a plane... on water jets! And there was a magic runway and cool music, and...' He runs out of breath for a moment and pauses. 'Um. It was pretty cool, right? Imagine what we could do together with some practice.' Dolar adds, “I was sent here to learn to work with other races. Most of my formal training will be with adults, but it would be pleasant to practice with age-mates.”

She pauses, “Besides, since we succeeded together in a great enterprise, we are now joined by ties of saak — it is hard to explain, but we are not-the-same-as, but as-like a family."

"Like a choir," says Ode. "Or a band." His face brightens. "We could start a band!"

Jinnjahl looks thoughtful. "I've never played an instrument, but *some* form of cooperative effort on a regular basis may -" several strands of "hair" come out of her braids and twist, then wave as she finds a phrase - "may make it easier for us to work together when - if and when - the unplanned happens too rapidly to plan before we act." The "hair" rapidly starts moving by itself, into a fresh braid. She adds, "How do bands work without a telepathic channel between the musicians? I know that they *do*, but *how*?"

"Well, with the Brotherhood of Cosmic Harmony, we practice," says Ode. "And we sing together, and learn the music, and... it's almost like telepathy. At least, that's what it sounds like when the Abbot explains it."

"I hate to be negative," Patin says, "But I don't think this is going to work. I mean, we're, what – a musician -- or maybe a musican monk? An artist, albeit one with some useful talents, a Metaxian, and bubble boy -- er, Gorvo, sorry, but your force fields really do feel like bubbles, and thanks for saving my life.

"What I meant to say is that we all have talents--but we got lucky here. Dolar's and Gorvo's and Jinnjahl's talents were really useful, but the situation was perfect for this, and if Ode hasn't been playing, you would have had to deal with the crowd as well as the planes. Ode's an amazing musician, but some situations, you need an amazing musician--and sometimes you don't. And I've got a unique talent, sure--but it's not one I'd want to regularly take into dangerous situations; I tried here, because someone needed to do something, and if Gorvo wasn't around I'd have died. We were lucky here, but if we keep trying to find disasters and using our talents to help out, some day we won't be lucky."

'That's where the team-work comes in!' Gorvo replies excitedly. 'With practice we get better. OK, maybe we're not a band, but as a team we can make a difference. Think about Superman, he had amazing powers, did great things, and worked with all sorts of people to save lives and keep people safe .' 'Umm, not that I'm Superman, or anything close. But we can make a difference.'

Jinnjahl looks from Patin to Gorvo and back again. "Patin," she says seriously, "you're correct that not all disasters are suited for our abilities, but that doesn't disturb me; if a disaster happens in front of us we need to try to help if we can, and if a disaster happens across town we only go there if we think we're useful. We aren't about to replace the Science Police! We don't need to be able to help always to make this worthwhile, we only need to be able to help sometime."

She takes a breath. "You are also correct that this is risky. Gorvo is correct that teamwork will reduce the risk, but that only makes things LESS risky, not not risky. The risk concerns me in a way only being useful sometimes does not, but I think it's worth accepting the risk as long as we do some planning. Of course, that's easy for me to say -- what I can do doesn't make it useful for me to charge headlong into danger the way yours did earlier today. You went right up to an out-of-control glider because you could get there and maybe help, and you had to stay there while you *did* help. I had to stand next to the runway when I *made* it because I need to touch what I'm making, but once it grew there was no reason I needed to stay next to it, and I sprinted like a scared Slan. Which I was. But oh, it was worth it.”

“It seems to me,” says Dolar, “that although each of us have many skills, in this emergency we drew on a talent that is rare in others. Patin, what if we found other age-mates in New Meridian who have their own unique talents, and created ways to make these talents work together?"

"You're...this is mad. But then, I'm a girl who jumped off a plane, so who am I to judge?" At this point, the tea and snacks Patin ordered has arrived, and she pauses to bring it in. "Eat up! If we're going to figure out how this is going to work, we have a long day ahead of us."

Page 8: Asides

WHITE RAPTOR

We have five panels across the top half of the page. The first is the whole top of the page showing whole New Meridian, now in the deeper twilight of its ‘night’ cycle having dipped back in the habitable zone to the darker edge. We can see the glittering mirrors of the city, and the advertising neon-colored holos of the various clubs and restaurants in the second ring the city, as well as the central skyscrapers housing the government and business interests in the center, the dimmer lights of the residential zones on the West/Trailing edge and light industry, oceanography and fishing places in the city’s East/Leading edge. If you look carefully there is an individual winged figure flying in this scene.

The next three panels are that figure alighting among the spires of the city center. He’s all in white, with clearly biological avian wings, but his outfit is covered with white polymer/ceramic plates. He lays his hand on the window and there’s a series of high tech beeps and boops followed by a click as the window unlocks. There’s a panel of seeing his shadow in the office he’s just opened, his armor glowing slightly to light the room, and then a final panel of the open window with him flying away, holding several files in his arms.

THE COSMOS CLUB

The bottom half of the page has a similar layout, but in this case the overall panel is the interior of a crowded nightclub, where people are grooving the night away to the smooth sounds of a live band. If you look you see a figure being ushered into a back room by a burly looking bouncer. There are then four panels across the bottom where that figure, a Wynathian woman, is now inside the room of an another Wynathian of obvious criminal import – sitting behind a big old status desk, sporting long hair and brocade jacket, stroking a large eyed reptilian/avian pet on his lap. He is flanked by two similarly featured individuals (likely litter-mates) who are clearly thug types, both wearing mirrored glasses. There is a curtain behind them, closed in the first of the four overlay panels.

“R.J. Brande still lives, Detona, and worse Greyn is now involved. You assured me of the subtlety and efficacy of your explosives,” the sitting man says. “Those events were entirely outside my control, Mr. Liel,” the woman says “I won’t be blamed for them.”

Mr. Liel raises his hand and the curtain behind him starts to slide across. We see something bulbous in the shadows past the curtain. “Hush. You will carry any blame I lay at your feet, Detona.”

A close up shot of Detona as she goes from looking definitely at Liel to staring past him, to whatever was behind the curtain, in pure blind panic. Her eyes are wide open, pupils dilated, sweat on her brow and you can see the muscles in her neck tighten as they tries unsuccessfully to look away. “I…I…” Back to Liel, all smiles, with the panel cut to not be able to see what’s past him. “I hope the explosives you’ve set to divert my… shipment will prove more reliable. Or there will be consequences.”

CONTINUED IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF ACTION COMICS!