Story 4: Cultured Disharmony

Pages 1-2 top tier: At Diskette’s Suite/Office

The under panel - crossing two pages - is a panoramic view of Diskette's hotel suite. The conversation and action will run from the desk at the far left to the door in the middle (when Greyn shows up) to the couches and sitting area at the far right. The action starts with Diskette at her desk, which is surrounded by holographic entries from law book, business journals, spreadsheets, text documents and whatever else might seem relevant. Diskette is behind the desk; Miss Anima is next to it.

Law book, business journals, spreadsheets, text documents, some sample constitutions from clubs and professional organizations, and the founding document/statement of our world's Justice Alliance.

[BR: Open discussion for frazzled Diskette and prepared Miss Anima. Diskette has made her Business roll for the financial aspects of the club - since she has the Business career this is not a shock - but is at sea on the legal complexities of what she's trying to do. It's up to Josh whether she realizes that or now.]

[JK: Let’s find out! Mind, there's one part that blurs the lines, which is creating bylaws--the internal rules of the organization. I'm guessing she's not awful at that part, it -is- one of the basic parts of setting up a corporation, including protecting from internal and external takeover. It's the whole extra-legal private rescue/vigilante force that really gets problematic and outside her skillset]

[EB: Miss Anima hasn't attempted to roll law; instead, her efforts have been devoted to making notes on a huge sheet of paper labeled "GOALS (possible tactics)." So, for example, "Avoiding adults taking charge" is a goal, whereas "(maximum age of membership?)" is a tactic. Diskette has been offered a pencil to make her own notes on the paper, and Miss Anima also has a computer document with fuller notes of whatever she and her teammates have discussed previously. (She has attempted to summarize and avoid repetition on the piece of paper, but not the computer notes.) And given the setup, the sheet of paper is currently attached to the side of the desk. She's perfectly comfortable with it there.]

"All right," Diskette says, "I've got our corporate documents sorted about as well as I can make them; we're going to be a non-profit membership organization, with rules that require that we consent to any new member joining, and handle members being unable to participate as gracefully as I can. For the moment, we don't know what kinds of recruits we're going to get, if any, so I'm giving the founders a substantial amount of power, but we'll be able to appoint new executive-level members over time, and eventually, once there are enough regular members, they'll be able to override the board if they have enough of a majority, so we won't be tempted to be tyrants.

"Easy. Assuming I don't end up running into regulations that force us to incorporate differently. We even should be fine for funding for about a year; I've arranged for a donation from Patin in exchange for being able to publicize it, and we also got offers for some smaller donations from organizations that like the work we've already done that should help keep us afloat.

"But all that rests on our legal status, and I don't know that anyone would be able to set that up sanely. We're a private organization--a social club, a non-profit charity, a safety and rescue emergency organization, and at some point, we'll also need the ability to assume limited police powers--like with Dragon Girl--and take on private commissions without assuming undue liability, like with the creatures.

"There are laws for all those types of organizations, but they're not usually combined this way, so all the laws contradict one another. It's an impossible tangle! The only organizations that were like this were centuries ago, and the laws were different now; of course, some of them have been combined at some time on some planets, but there are dozens of ways to combine them, and it's hard to know which one is right. I guess we'll have to just pick one interpretation and hope we're not wrong."

Miss Anima pulls out one of her tiny notepads and jots a few notes as Diskette speaks, sitting comfortably on the floor in front of her wish list with the pad on one knee. When Diskette is done, she looks up from her position on the floor. "You've written something that would work for a business, but you're not sure how it interacts with law that isn't corporate-related? And nothing like what we want already exists, so there's no existing organization to use as a legal model?"

"Diskette - Palin - this is why people hire specialists."

"I already said," Diskette says, frowning , "this isn't something people have done before, at least not that I know of. There -are- no specialists in this."

"A specialist in law," Miss Anima says evenly, and then adds in a more relaxed tone, "Maybe a specialist in the legalities of charities. Solicitor Greyn has already offered to help -- and if he can't do it himself, I'm sure he could give us a half-dozen names who'd be among the couple-dozen people with the closest to the appropriate legal specialties."

"A lawyer? At this point? That...actually, yes, that would help. To be honest, I've never had to hire a lawyer before--either we already had them on staff, or I knew the details better than a local lawyer would and we just pulled them in late in the process to cross-check against local laws." Diskette taps her data-tab through the holographic clutter, and her workspace fades, leaving Miss Anima's paper work behind. "OK, Annie, call on the Law-man."

Later

"Good morning, Miss Jinnjahl, Miss Felos," the tiny solicitor flutters into the room, remaining at eye level with the two young women. "I understand you have an interesting conundrum."

"Yes," Patin responds, "I know what we want for a corporate structure, but not how that interacts with local or interplanetary law--if there are any recent organizations like ours, I can't find them. And we'll probably need a neutral party to help with the bylaws; I'm reasonably comfortable with my draft there, but I want to make sure everyone else is comfortable as well. I know my ideas don't always match Miss Jinnjahl's".

"I have a list of things we want, which may not all be doable. I have my friends' lists as well ... though I suspect Patin may have forgotten some things that the way she expects to have things set up would give her automatically, and I ... don't think all of the other three have, um, really sat down and thought about the future hard enough to come up with everything they're going to want when they do sit and think about how things will work."

She shrugs. "I'm sure I haven't come up with everything either ... and again, not everything we *know* we want may be possible. Which is okay. Things don't have to be perfect. I just don't want to have things be less good than they could be because we sat around and waited while other people decided that they were adult and in charge and we weren't and told us that if we wanted to keep helping out as a team, we had to do it *this* way or *that* way, or whatever."

The little solicitor nods, clearly absorbing all of this. “I believe I understand. Let me try to make the legal aspects easier. First, you must understand that the law, built as it is on precedent, does not appreciate innovation. Like water it will try to follow a path that it has cut before, even if that is not the most obvious.”

He settles on the back of one of the chairs. “For example, in ancient Earth history the Justice Alliance legally became a sovereign nation*. Impossible for a group of a dozen beings, but they were capable of acting – defensively, offensively and if need be economically via their superior technology – with the power of a decent sized country. The law had no idea how to deal with individuals who could do that. But it did know how to deal with countries who could do that, so the Justice Alliance became, as far as the law was concerned, a country.

“Your organization is in the same space. It is something never tried before. So we convince the law, in advance, that you are something that has been tried before, and the law will nod sagely and accept this, because carving out something wholly new is too much work.” He stops “You are, therefore a fraternal service organization.”

Jinnjahl says promptly but thoughtfully, "Well, the *name* fits."

A pause, and she opens her mouth and shuts it again wordlessly. She opens her mouth again to ask where they go from there, and shuts it wordlessly a second time, as Palin may want to say something - having had more thoughts on the legal structure than Jinnjahl did -- and anyway, all she was going to do was invite the solicitor to expand on what that leads to, and she's quite sure he'll get there eventually.

"It does," Patin says, "and the rest should work fine; I was setting it up as a cross between a corporation and a club in any case, and the Felos Group is similarly liminal, since we govern a planet. But the Devil's in the details, of course."

[This next panel is an overlay of computer images of the events described.]

“After the first Khund war two centuries ago there was a significant demobilization within the United Planets – drafted sentients across all cultures had worked, fought and bled together and were now returning to civilian life. Many of these wanted a way to stay in touch with their friends in the military, to keep the comradery and sense of service without all of the actual danger and discipline. Taking a page from Earth culture they formed ‘clubs’ based on ‘ancient orders’ – Earth’s Masons, Wynathian Superman Societies, Rhyodyne Harvest Cycles – for symbols and ‘secret handshakes and lost lore.’ To earn public respectability they collected funds to found hospitals, volunteered as emergency relief in disaster areas and otherwise made use of the experiences the war gave them in logistics and courage to improve the United Planets, in between their drinking and sporting excursions. The whole fad died out in 50 years once that generation moved on. But laws were adapted to deal with them.”

"And those laws haven't changed too fundamentally? That was Palin's problem, the laws had changed radically since the examples she found."

"Not much but It doesn't matter. The FSOs were wedged into prior laws. By announcing that's what you are - and by living the same trappings of reverence for a past era, mysteries and secret handshakes, distinctive garb and so on - you get to act with the same relative independence towards the general good."

"All right," Patin says, "that should all work. But it sounds like that means there are some unwritten rules we're going to need to abide by to make things fit and the law happy.

"So, what's the bad news?"

Greyn shrugs his itty-bitty shoulders, his wings glittering, “You’ll need concrete rules for membership that you will absolutely have to adhere to. Likewise, an iron clad code of conduct. While you will remain a private organization the old FSOs had enormous potential for insider trading and off books business dealing and so were under considerable scrutiny. Your group, Ms. Felos aside, doesn’t have that concern, but it is better if you voluntarily abide by the same rules.

"So, limitations on business dealings which mostly affect Patin, and she should talk to you and her family about them? Or are there implications there for the rest of us? And we need to write the membership rules very carefully because the label we're choosing means we can't have any give in them?"

"There shouldn't be significant concerns for her family business, or for any contributors, but she can go over the specifics with them. As for the membership rules, yes, you need to be very clear and stick to them.'

"Right, that shouldn't be too hard," Patin says, "We'll just have to be careful and get them right the first time."

[JK as ed.: Famous last words]

There is an unexpected buzzing from the lobby intercom. The hotel clerk chirps up “Ms. Patin, there’s someone here to see you, claims it’s urgent. Says his name is Future Boy.”

Jinnjahl says, "I think we probably need to see him," and then looks at Patin and says, "I did think we had a few weeks before we needed to plan for new members. But his timing is just too funny." She sits down on top of a side table.

"I don't trust it," Patin says, pulling up a video feed from the lobby, showing a male teenage Wynthian boy, who picks that moment to wave. "A kid calling himself Future Boy? Right as we're talking about sending out a call for new members--in the future? Just in time that if he's let in, he'll count as a founding member, not a new recruit? I don't trust it, and I don't trust him. But we have to talk to him anyway; whatever he says has a pretty good likelihood of being important, even if he's an enemy or working for an enemy. The point where we have to ignore some people because we don't have enough time to even talk to them comes later, after we send out the call for recruits--and that's -my- future prediction."

Jinnjahl shrugs. "We can't take him as a member today," she points out, "we don't have those firm rules we need, and if we try to finish coming up with them in a hurry we'll mess up. And we don't have the other three here anyway. But his timing is *just* *too* *funny*, and makes me think he can call himself Future Boy if he wants, without being any sillier than I am calling myself Miss Anima, or you are calling yourself Diskette."

"Let him in, please." Patin says into the intercom. "We can take him as a member any time we want to, as long as all five of us agree," Patin says in the period before he arrives, "after all, no rules means no rules. But I don't know that we want to yet; I've just agreed to talk to him, not invite him into our clubhouse. Although to be fair, we just did invite him into our clubhouse, technically speaking. And... here he is now. Center, one five nine, open the door," she says, and the front door to her suite, also known as the Legion's interim headquarters, slides open.

"Hi, I'm Tok Kallot, but you can call me Future Boy," the Wynthian boy says, "Diskette, Miss Anima, it's an honor to make your acquaintance. And... Oh, the Faerun on the glider--Solicitor Brande, right?"

The Faeruni bristles slightly at that. "Solicitor Greyn, Master Kallot. Mr. Brand was the one whose engine failure caused the incident. May you give honor to your kin," he adds the archaic, somewhat cold, Wynathian greeting.

"And you to yours," Tok says, "Apologies, I misspoke, Solicitor Greyn. And while I hate to add disagreement to accidental insult, I don't think Mr. Brand's engine caused the incident, except proximately. Based on the pattern of incidents that have followed the crash--and the dearth of similar events prior to it, as well as various other corroborating details, I give at least an 80% chance that there was intelligence behind the attack, not accident. Most likely an assassination attempt on Mr. Brand, since it was his engine that failed. That's where I get my powers, after all--I am adept at pulling the truth from apparently random and disparate details and using them to predict the future. For instance, based on the trajectory of various Legion activity, the timing compared to your origin event -- the crash, of course, and the delivery times of neighboring restaurants, I deduced that you would be ready to start accepting new members soon, and wanted to get my application in before the rush. And given Solicitor Greyn's presence here, I see that I am right."

"That's a lot to take in at once," Jinnjahl observes. She pauses. "We haven't come up with a formal application process, and Solicitor Greyn was just explaining that we needed to have one and abide by it. But you certainly have our *attention* ahead of the rush -- uh, ahead of the formal applications, rush or not, though with the media attention that, well, seems likely."

"You think Mr. Brand's engine failure was probably an assassination attempt, based on part on similar incidents? Could you go into more detail?"

"Not really." Tok pulls out his handheld, and as he talks, displays holo displays of the different types of media as he talks, the thinness of the image showing how much cheaper his equipment is than Diskette's. "I mean, it's not like it's a detailed vision or anything--my mind is highly sophisticated at drawing inductive and intuitive conclusions from apparently unrelated data. By sampling a broad collection of data -- news audio and text, financial reports, daytime TV, sports reports--my mind is able to integrate them together and draw unobvious conclusions, like about the non-accident nature of the plane crash. That doesn't mean I can get more information without doing more research; I'm not psychic."

"So... Your superpower is that you watch the news?" Patin asks.

Jinnjahl scribbles a note to herself, "Superpower proof - sealed predictions for precognition or imitation

"Well, more or less," Tok says, uncomfortably putting his phone away, "But I'm very good at it. I've been focusing my data somewhat around the Legion recently, since you're clearly where things are going to happen next, and..."

"That's it," Patin snaps. "I've heard enough; I have work to do--we have work to do, and that's only going to be slowed down by a news fan who thinks he has superpowers. We'll talk to you once we're ready for applicants, but this interview is at an end."

"Wait!" Tok almost shouts, "This is important! Just give me one more chance to show I'm useful; I've got something to knock your socks off."

"But whether or not Future Boy has precognition or an equivalent," Jinnjahl says, scribbling down a note, "precognition is hard to prove and frustrating. We do need to allow for some sort of sealed prediction well in advance.... We're going to have to know something in the way of powers before formal applications; precognition isn't the only thing which might be hard to prove on the spot."

"Ok, so I've been watching the recordings, and I've noticed something interesting about you, Diskette", Tok begins.

"Imagine my surprise," Diskette says.

"Specifically," Tok continues, "I've noticed that at least twice --during the fight against Dragon Maiden, and in the fight against the dinosaurs on Bat Island, you picked up an object and used it as a sword. I've looked into your history and seen that you were a potential to be sent to the Ganymede Games for fencing but had to drop due to supposed health reasons. So, you're clearly an expert with the sword, but you don't carry one as a super-hero. Why? Presumably because you're concerned--reasonably--that as a bulky and dangerous object, it would get in the way of the rest of your duties, making people less willing to trust that you came in peace, and slow you down."

"I can name something else that's slowing me down," Diskette interjects.

"So, I came up with this," Tok finishes, pulling out a plastic-looking hot pink cylinder, backing up a bit before squeezing it as it turns into a sharp-looking saber. "You won't have seen anything like it before; the polymer is of my own invention and I haven't figured out how to mass produce it. But it can become a number of very effective weapons, blunt or sharp, and when not in use, you can keep it in passive form. And I can customize that part a bit also; it could be a bracelet, or even maybe a glove; I haven't got that one right yet. Do you want to try it out?"

"Yes." Diskette takes several positions with the sword, shifting it between a sword, a sword-like club, and the small form, and finally letting it rest in the small sword form. "This is great. You're an inventor--why didn't you lead with that?"

"But inventing things isn't a superpower; not really," Tok says, "And my inventing does benefit from my foresight; I can often skip over experiments that won't work and get to the thing I want much faster than I would be able to otherwise."

"Fine, Whatever," Diskette returns the sword to its passive form, and puts it into a pocket. "You've got my vote, for what it's worth; bribes work. I'm keeping this, by the way."

"Good," Tok says, "Because you're going to need it. My powers give me prophetic dreams at night--my subconscious is even better at drawing accurate conclusions when my conscious mind isn't in the way, I guess. And Metal Lass is going to get attacked by a mace-wielding assailant who is prepared for her powers, and who is going to lead by cutting off her communicator, so she won't be able to call for help. It's not at the school; a grittier neighborhood of some sort; nowhere I recognize. But she needs to know and might need rescue."

"Why didn't you lead with *that*?" Jinnjahl asks, deliberately echoing Patin, pulling out her communicator and calling Dolar. "Never mind, you needed some credibility first.... I assume if you had a sense of *when* you'd've said so?"

The commutator buzzes and squawks intermittently, the signal at first chaos and then lost to entropy in a sad low buzz

Jinnjahl jumps halfway across the room and sprints the rest of the way, grabbing a bag from where she'd left it on a table and pulling out a stack of tiny photograph-album-like books. She drops all but one back into the bag, opens it rapidly, touches a sketch, and tries to bring her uncle to help her again.

[BC: She is, btb, making a private vow not to go anywhere without half a dozen sketches somewhere on her body. The next ambush might be aimed at her, and she's kinda fragile due to her size.]

[LP: Whereas I doubt it would occur to Ode that anyone would bother to target him.]

[BC: One of Jinnjahl's tags is "prepared." ;-) She spent her childhood and most of her adolescence as a non-telepathic Slan. She wasn't the only one; why, over half a percent aren't telepathic (about one in 150.) So, for example, not everyone carries a communicator -- it made it important to have plans and fallbacks, because you couldn't always improvise.]

There is a shimmer in the air and her uncle again steps from nothingness to solidity. **Good Morning, Little One. Where are we today?**

"We are in Patin Felos's place of work," Jinnjahl says, nodding at Patin. "Tok Kallot -" she nods at Tok - "has just predicted that Ahn Dolar will have her communicator disabled and be attacked by a man with a mace. When I attempted to warn her, I received an indicator that the communicator on the other end is disabled. Would you be able to ask her if she's all right, and if not, tell us where she is?"

Jinnjahl pulls Tom Greenland's picture out of another book, hoping that Patin has a skimmer available but looking for that next anyway. Hopefully this is all a false alarm and Uncle Lardonn will assure her that Ahn is fine....

Meanwhile, Patin has been running through menus on her handheld. "Ok, we'll have a skimmer in under five minutes. Rush fee, but worth it. We have -got- to buy some Legion vehicles; something with the logo we don't have yet printed on the sides. Unless you can invent something, Future Boy; maybe even if."

"I'll...see what I can do," Tak says.

"Do that," Patin says, "Just tell me what your budget is and what you come up with. You're coming with us, of course; try to stay out of trouble, but you're our eyes here; keep your "foresight" running if you can. And I'm not ruling out the outside possibility that you're trying to lure us into a trap; if so, I want you where I can see you."

"Er... ok?" Tak says and seems to calm a bit compared to his usual affect. [JK: As he, as instructed, slips into a state where his Future Vision is active]. As he mediates, he pulls out his cheap handheld, and looks over traffic reports, local news, and other recent information sources, hoping he can be at least a little useful.

**Little one, she is in trouble. Someone is attacking her, and she is very angry. I dare not communicate with her when I might distract her. She is on a street of entertainments.**

Pages 1-2 Middle tier: At the University Bio-Lab towed island annex

The scene is the University Bio-Lab's floating annex, which is the home of the rescued Tallag creatures. Darvish is laying out the specifics of their care and feeding so that the Legionnaires might find clues for tracking down the missing animals

Gorvo is trying hard to pay attention to the report on the animals and the ramifications, but the way the sunlight coming in the windows catches on Darvish's force-field is very distracting .

"Ugh!" She says, tossing up her hands. "It's just so hopeless. Even if the SP do find them only, we Tallagi have a chance against them. And that means just me and Gordo!"

"We didn't do that badly," says Ode. "But we do need to find them first. What do they eat? Where would someone buy that?"

"Tallag beasts are pretty omnivorous," she tells him, "but there are some minerals in our soil that are needed to keep our electrokinetic abilities operational. So, they would need trace amounts of Piritin Compound. It's difficult to synthesize. The university brings in decent amounts of it to care for Hardo, Gorvo and I, but we can go months without needing any. I arranged for some extra to be brought in for out subjects."

[BR: Important plot point here, Hardo is mentioned needing Tallagi food, but not on her list of Tallagi who can help out....]

[MC: Raised eyebrow!]

Gorvo says, "Darvish, who do you get the Piritin Compound from? We should probably start with them and see if they've had other orders of the compound recently. Or at least they might know who else could supply it in Meridian City."

"I've been thinking. How do we know that the Tallag creatures are the first shipment? What if whoever is after these odd specimens has done something like this before? Where would we start looking for other fishy imports of wildlife?"

Darvish looks impatient at this obvious diversion from her work, but then takes a breath and steadies herself. "I just don't know about other animals. I'm not a detective. I can transmit you the name of the company I arranged that Pirtin compound from."

"I'm sorry Gorvo, Ode. You guys have been a great help." She looks over at the window and groans - a skimmer has settled just outside and there's a figure standing on the wing to snap a holo of the three of them. When he sees that he's been spotted he waves broadly and flashes a big gap-toothed grin.

The two boys recognize him as Olles Senn, reporter for the New Meridian Daily Planet, who has been all over the stories of the teen hero group. He was also the one working the articles on public concern over Darvish’s project.

"You should also all check your supplies to see if any of what came in is missing," says Ode, dropping his voice. (It's unlikely Olles Senn will hear in any case, but just in case.) "Do we need to distract him?"

"Better perhaps to have him onside. Give him a story with pirates, hijackers and plucky heroes and we can keep Darvish out of it and let her get on with her work." Gorvo pauses briefly to see Darvish's reaction.

"How about you talk to him, Ode, and I can back you up as needed. You're certainly charming enough, even without music!"

"Okay. Is there anything I shouldn't say?"

"There's nothing in particular we're trying to hide, is there? We just want to keep him from poking his nose into Darvish's work and slowing things up. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Once there is clear air between them and the skimmer Olles takes the unspoken invitation to leap over onto the platform. "Hey, hey, it's the heroes of the day!" Olles says with his big, gap-toothed grin. "Getting ready for more monster hunting?"

[LP: Platform?]

[BR: You’re on a floating annex to the city – a constructed island being towed some distance behind it to make sure if things go wrong the monsters don’t get loose downtown. Hence there’s a platform all around the outside edge of the annex.]

"Not monsters," says Ode. "They're animals." He grins. "Scary animals, sure. But, just animals."

“Our readers will appreciate the difference between ‘big scary poisonous, electricity breathing invulnerable animals’ and ‘monsters’, Ollie shoots back, clearly taking in Ode’s nonchalant cool about facing down such horrors. “So, you came out to check and make sure the recaptured animals are all safe and sound?”

"It is important," says Ode. "Sure, a wild animal is very dangerous, like the lightning storms on Verantia. But, they're not evil or monstrous."

Olles nods, "would you save the words 'evil and monstrous' for the people who set the bombs on the transport's engines?"

"Bombs?" says Ode, genuinely surprised.

Gorvo pipes up. "If that crash was deliberate, and caused by a bomb, then yes, I'd call whoever did monstrous . There were people on that transport, as well as innocent Tallagian fauna. The only reason the creatures were coming to Meridian City was for research to help protect people in future."

He pauses, realizing that he's broken his own recommendation and veered towards Darvish's research. Impetuous boy.

Olles doesn't seem to notice, that, instead pursuing some other thread. "'damage caused to the engine is consistent with the inclusion of a small amount of antimatter, most likely from a planted device', according to the SP reports. So, this monstrous bomber, what do think they were targeting? Why crash a slip full of exotic animals and then just leave them there...?"

"That's why the ship crashed?" says Ode. "What were the odds of the crash killing the crew or the animals? We... need to follow up on this!"

[LP: Hey, what happened to the unconscious guy in armor? He was one of the would-be monster-nappers, right?

[MC: I wondered about him too. I assumed he ended up with the Science Police and we'd get the skinny as and when.]

[BR: still unconscious under police guard. Erin will let you know when he's awake]

"We certainly do, Ode. But perhaps not right now." Gorvo hints that this might not be an ideal place for discussing the group's plans.

Olles gives a little smile at the exchange, then says "But the Legion does plan to track down the Monster Bomber?"

[MC: So, do we think the size of the bomb was designed to bring down the ship more or less intact, preserving the animals for capture? I'm guessing if the bomber's plan was to kill someone on board or destroy the animals a little more antimatter would have done the trick.]

[BR: I'm going to say that Gorvo's background includes a little bit of work in this area - Tallagi are, while not cavalier about anti-matter, more willing to use it because it can be contained in their force fields. So, he had been in underwater excavations that used minute anti-matter bombs to clear out sediments from the ancient submerged ruins in Tallag's southern polar ocean. And yes, it would have been easy to boost the yield and take out the whole ship - much easier than placing such a small amount in just the right spot to bring down the transport without harming the contents.]

"The Legion has only just heard about the bomb," Ode points out, wryly. "But we definitely want to know exactly who did this and why. How do we contact you? "

[LP: Yes, he's telling selective truths, and isn't entirely comfortable with this. He is trying to cover up with charm and with the implication that they'll share future information with Olles. It would be nice to have a good working relationship with him. Preferably one with a less dodgy foundation.]

Olles hands over a small contact card. "Anytime you want to talk, but if you let me know when you're about to move on something I'll be happy to help."

Pages 1-2 Bottom Tier: The streets near the Hotel Diplomatique

This long panel is turned to make it a vertical shot from the base of the stairs where Dragon Maiden fell up to the nightclub that she had spent time at that night, into that club and to the manager’s office on the 3rd floor, where we have panels set in windows along the club’s interior stairs.

At the base of the stairs Metal Lass' keen metal senses locate several small metal objects that have fallen under the stairs, well out of sight.

Dolar's thought balloon reads: “Hidden ore! These may be the things that hurt Jandar Cee. I must be careful not to touch them.”

She stills her body into a blank slate that shows no emotion and sits down on the stoop as if she is waiting for someone, looking up at each of the windows above her with interest and drumming her fingers on her thighs. It looks like absent-minded fidgeting. Only another Metaxian might notice that her fingers are moving in the repetitive patterns of her species' analog of Jacks – the children’s game ‘Scatter and Gather.” Under the stair, the metal objects roll together.

Dolar stretches and pulls a candy bar from her pocket. She opens it and starts eating, placing the wadded-up foil wrapper next to her on the stair. One hand begins fidgeting again as she chews, and in an insert that shows a closeup of the back of her feet through the stairway we see the wrapper slip through the grating, unfold itself so the metal objects can roll onto it, and recrumple around them.

Finishing her candy and checking her chrono, Dolar shakes her head, looks where the wrapper ’should’ be, then frowns and fishes out her detritus from under the stair. Littering isn’t public-minded, after all.

She looks around to make sure no one is watching, then unwraps the wad of foil to see what’s inside.

Inside the foil she sees a trio of data cards - thin, flat palm-width markers used for a million functions and each embedded with the smallest amount of metal needed to conduct electricity. Easy to hold, also can be easy to lose to a gust of wind or, in this case, an errant fall. The first of these is Jandar's identification, marking her name, her home planet and her status as a student at the Diplomatic Academy with a medical condition.

The second is a promo flyer for the band Big Light Big Sound, which was playing at a nightclub on the upper level at the night of the attack. When activated it gives off a small hologram and sound show for the band. Apparently, this card came loaded with credits enough for the first drink and could be refilled by interested individuals who wanted to 'buy you a drink'. Based on this, Ms. Cee was very skilled at that, the card having been refilled and emptied multiple times in the evening.

The club, "The Sound Body" is directly up these stairs.

The third is a similarly designed card for a different band - Total Atonal - that, at first glance, is not working as there is no hologram/sound unit. Her sense of the metal inside, however, is that this card holds much more complicated circuitry. (Since she cannot control electromagnetism but just metal, she has no idea if it is still running.) Whatever this is, it's no ordinary band flyer.

**Hmm.**, thinks Dolar. **Not the things that hurt her, but perhaps the first hint of a seam to follow?**

She rewraps the third card in the foil and puts it into her bag. **Let’s see what the people in The Sound Body have to say.**

ID and flyer in hand, she heads up the stairs to the club.

She's met at the door by one of the staff, who was (conveniently) opening up for the morning (well, near noonish) cleaning. At seeing Dolar there the woman steps up to her. "Yes, we're not open yet, can I help you?"

Making a shallow bow to show respect for an elder-newly-met, Dolar says, “Excuse me please, but one of my friends was here for the Big Light Big Sound concert the other night and mislaid some personal items. Could I see whether they’re in the club?”

"Yes, I see, well, not normally no, but do I know you?"

Dolar shifts into a form that denotes quiet supplication as she says, “We have not met. I am Ahn Dolar, a student at the Diplomatic Academy. My friend is now undergoing treatment at the hospital and cannot come herself. She is called Jandar Cee.”

Holding out Cee’s ID card, Dolar continues. “This is what she looks like. Perhaps you saw her the other night?”

"Yes, yes! I do know you," she pulls up a holo from the Daily Planet, "Yes, you're one of the Super-Heroes! Yes, sure come on in!"

She tries to put her arm around Dolar's shoulder to lead her into the club….

Surprised, Dolar flinches and jumps to one side, landing in a form that signals offense at familiarity offered too quickly before she masters herself.

The woman likewise jumps back, shocked by the reaction.

No one would need a guide to Metaxian body language to decode Dolar’s deep embarrassment. Turning toward the woman and bowing deeply, her hands in shapes of contrition, she says. “Deepest apologies, ma’am. I know that you were being kind, but my people do not touch unless we know each other well, and you surprised me. I meant no offense."

"Yes, woah, sorry. The club scene is, well, very close, yes? Thanks for not blasting me," she jokes as she opens the door and expects Dolar to follow at a comfortable distance.

"Yes, so your friend, I can check the club’s security footage for the night, see if we can find her? Yes, and check lost and found for her stuff. Is this part of the big case with the hospitalized prince?”

One of Dolar’s eyebrows quirks up. “I do not know anything about a prince. What happened? How was he injured?"

"Yes, well the Planet is saying he was in a skimmer accident, but you all know how trustworthy *THEY* are. The Morning Whisper has the real scoop on how he was beaten and left in the street."

The woman calls up an image of the Daily Whisper story on one holo projector for Dolar to read while she searches for Jandar on another console.

The Daily Whisper is... not terribly well edited. But Dolar recognizes the heavily bruised face of the injured boy as one of her classmates - Ggle Gles, prince of an outer edge multi planet empire that just recently contacted the UP. Ggle was always a bit standoffish and paranoid, as if anything that went wrong with him might be a reason for his people pulling out of the UP. Dolar hasn't seen him in class for days but does vaguely remember hearing about the skimmer accident.

[BR: readers will also recognize him as the next target from the end of story 2]

"Yes, here we go. Here's your friend," the bar employee points out Jandar in a holo. "I'll skim through to see if she dropped anything."

The quick scan shows the Sangeorgi girl dancing and flirting and drinking perhaps more than she ought and generally having fun. What catches both women's eye is that for much of the night there's a big man in a black turtleneck near her, and he leaves just a moment after she does.

“That’s odd.” Dolar frowns and points at the man in the holo. “Have you seen that man before?"

"Yes, no I've never seen him in the club before. Darn but he's a big guy. But I don't see where your friend dropped anything." She turns to look at Dolar, giving her some exaggerated space. "Anything else i can do to help?"

"Is it possible to make a copy of that holo? Jandar may know who it is."

Page 3: Metal Lass Gets Attacked

A series of thought balloons shows Dolar’s thoughts as she heads down the stairs of the club:

**Jandar says that someone hit her — and there was a man following her. Perhaps he struck her?**

**But why? His behavior in the club suggests premeditation — like the attack was _planned_.**

**And if that is true, there must be a reason behind the attack…a goal we’re not seeing. Did someone /want /the hotel to burn down?*

**Look for links…. What if the hotel was just collateral damage? Jandar is a student at the Diplomatic Academy. Gles is also a student there. What could someone gain from attacks on the Academy’s students?"

As Dolar is walking along the sparsely populated street filled with clubs and venues in the morning light her mind registers something otherwise insignificant: the man with the hunched shoulders who just walked past her matches in species, size, coloration and lack of hair (bald as a cue ball!) the figure from Jandar's club holos.

(Dolar’s broken thought balloon contains three large and garishly drawn exclamation points)

Round 1

COMBAT INITIATIVE Black Mace (17)

Years of Metaxian forms training make her spin her body sideways, relaxing her stance and shifting an arm to deflect the blow. Her arm goes numb and the force of the strike sends her sprawling some ten feet, but she remains conscious.

Metal Lass (16) [detection roll means you can roll with the attack. 7 it's of damage is taken at 3 to Hit Points (you have 2 left) and 4 to Power (you have 40 left). The instinctive scanning of the environment reveals he hit you with a mace that isn't metal in a part of the street where there is next to nothing to work with - no vehicles or large metal objects nearby - but perhaps enough to let you set up a temporary defense. This is clearly a planned ambush.]

The sheer rudeness of a brute attack without a formal challenge infuriates the young Metaxian. She rolls to her feet, facing the dreadful barbarian that hit her, and instinctively calls ALL the metal in her immediate surroundings to her side.

[DK: Since this is an instinctive Metaxian response to being attacked, I imagine the metal will form up as a rough shield on her arm, which she can manipulate in later actions.]

**They planned THIS attack, too! But not MINE!**

[DK: given the limited amount of metal in the area, Dolar’s strategy for Black Mace's attacks will be judo-like: dodging the blows and looking for an opportunity to strike or throw her opponent. This will involve a lot of Kata-like screaming.]

[BR one action to set up a defense]

Black Mace (2)

Her attacker ducks in for another attack, feinting high but then coming in low with the mace, and only Metal Lass's speed with her powers lets her adjust the location of her shield to block the blow. Even with that the metal cracks significantly, near to shattering, and the impact numbs her already bruised arm.

His face is grimly determined when he launches the attack but with her successful defense he smiles and bounces on his feet a little, clearly enjoying the idea of the fight.

[BR his attack roll was blocked by your defense. Your actions]

Metal Lass (1)

In a single graceful motion, Metal Lass removes a blob of metal from the edge of her shield and darts out her free hand in the form “Setting the Falcon Free”. The blob flies toward the mace-wielding man’s legs, reforming mid-air into a bolo to wrap around his knees.

[DK: waiting for the GM to determine whether the attack actually succeeds in wrapping around his knees and restricting his movement…]

[BR: Base to hit is 13, +1 for accuracy, -3 for level vs. level = 11 or less to hit, roll is 9. Metal Lass is 2 HP, 39 Power]

Her forms are off from the damage to her arm, throwing off her attack. Her assailant is tries to slap the incoming bolo out of the way, but it wraps around his legs. With his legs constrained he falls to the ground but keeps his weapon.

Round 2

Back Mace (17)

"Yer good, kid. You got potential." The mace he's holding crackles with some foul energy and he hurls it well past Dolar's head, where it slams into the building behind her. The building's face shatters under the attack, leading to a mass of debris collapsing onto the young Legionnaire. "I bet yer people are gonna be real mad when you turn up dead from street accident."

He takes a moment to stare at the pile of rubble as he snaps the bolo, and then lopes away, snagging his mace as he goes.

Metal Lass (16)

Dolar finds herself pinned under more than a ton of rubble, her metal shield instinctively formed into a rough lattice that kept her from being crushed but now affords her no space to move.

[BR: His attack hit in general but didn't get any damage through the Metal Shaping defense. However, she is now too constrained to use her forms, so her Metal Shaping is at 1/3rd power. You can try one action before the team shows up to rescue you.]

**Gods and hammers!**, Dolar thinks. **Hope nobody was in that building. Hope nobody’s hurt. Mace-man’s escaping. What can I do?**

**Can’t move. Must be simple. Cannot fight him, hurt or stop him… but if we know which way he goes, may be able to track him later. Have to see!**

Dolar takes a deep breath, turns her head in the direction the man had been standing, and focuses her thoughts on the part of the metal lattice nearest her eyes and two of the simplest forms Metaxian children learn to shape: the tube, and the mirror.

[BR: Very nice!]

The crude periscope juts up through the rubble, giving her a chance to see her assailant grab his mace and head towards the shadows one of the cross streets. He reappears a moment later on a small personal gravskim that shoots him up out of sight. By this point her view is blocked by locals who are now crowding the street to see what happened with the collapsed building, and with locals trying to shift the rubble to see if someone was trapped inside.

Two gravskims are approaching the area at high speed: one holding Diskette, Miss Anima and the self-styled Future Boy, the other Mr. Music, Bubble Boy and Olles, the reporter for the Daily Planet. They can make out the pile of debris from the collapse of the building’s façade. It doesn’t look like there was any significant structural damage to the building, but the red-brick facing that marked the “Old Metropolis Jazz Club” now lies in a heap…

Perhaps as an early grave!

“Help!” Someone is yelling. “There’s someone buried under the rubble!”

"Looks like you were right, Future Boy, but...we're too late," Diskette says, a tear at the corner of her eye.

She runs out of the skimmer as soon as they touch down, gesturing as half a dozen small disks appear in front of her, to carry her voice, and sight, underneath the rubble. "Doles, can you hear me? Please answer if you can!”

“I’m over here!” In her cage under the rubble, Dolar focuses on flattening the part of the periscope that juts above the debris into a flag shape, then rocks it back and forth.

"You're alive! And... Are you in any pain?" Patin triangulates the voice and the more visible periscope, and drops out a few more portals, one to see by and a few to provide lighting.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Dolar squirms around inside her cage to face Patin’s portal. “Though it is very cramped."

“Nevertheless, I could protect myself. You need to use your portals to see whether anyone else was caught in the debris! And keep watch for a large bald man on a small gravskim. I doubt he will return — but if he does, he is dangerous and should not be underestimated."

Meanwhile, Tak, feeling useless with respect to a rescue, keeps his focus, looking out for any hidden threats in the crowd--as well as devoting some attention to looking for patterns that might provide a way to later track the mace-wielding assassin.

Ode starts moving rubble under the direction of anyone who knows how it can be done safely.

The moment Ode reaches for the rubble he hears something – something that those who lack the training of the Space Monks of Universal harmony would be able to hear. There’s a dissipating discordance around the debris, an unnatural entropy in the universal symphony.

Gorvo lends a hand, scooping up force-buckets of rubble and dumping it to one side. "Don't worry, Dolar! We'll have you out in a photon's blink." Characteristically he may dig more enthusiastically than carefully.

Ode stills, listening, trying to identify the discordance, and perhaps find the note to hum to bring things back into harmony.

Thought balloon: This isn't right.

Thought balloon: Photons blink?

To the crowd, it probably looks like he stopped himself from digging so as not to interfere with Gorvo's more effective rescue work.

The crowd looks on in shock as the enthusiastic teenager extends his force field into the cracks of the rubble and then expands it, shifting close to twelve tons of debris off of the cage that protected Metal Lass , shoveling it safely out of the way and proving the veracity of his claims in an unexpected display of power.

The next two panels of the page are in sepia tone, and show a younger Ode, head shaved and wearing a hooded robe (for which the hood is currently down) seated in front of an obviously superior member of the order (whose hood is up, so that we can't see his face.).

A gross of years ago there was a disharmony in the order, young Ode. One of the choirs became obsessed with the concepts of dissonance. He was a human, Varèse, who combed through the forbidden scores for the works of his namesake and applied to them the concepts of the order, unlocking dark secrets. With this he seduced some of the other monks to join him, and they fled to the darkest corners of the galaxy to experiment. They learned how to elicit fear and hatred, and worse, how to unravel the sound of the universe itself."

"The Space Monks of Cosmic Entropy diminish themselves as they practice their arts, but Varèse, being a Terran, endured a long time, and constructed an order of the angry, the outcast, the confused. These have survived him, and work their foul song on the galaxy, trying to accelerate entropy, promote chaos and stop any attempts at order or growth. Their goal is to bring the sentient races back to barbarism, and ultimately to accelerate and merge with the heat death of the universe. Their arts echo for a while when used, and you will hear them."

"You must be vigilant, Ode, should you ever leave the monastery, to avoid striking these wrong chords."

Page 4 Top Half: Whole team

BR: To keep things moving along… Bubble Boy has just freed metal lass, the building itself is stable. Metal lass needs some basic medical attention, which Gorvo can perform with his Xenomedical Doctor profession. She would normally recover her healing rate in HP (in her case an 80% chance of 1 HP) with regular post-fight recovery, but with the first aid she would recover 2 and be back to 4 HP. Her arm is still bruised, and I reserve the right to mess with her powers because her forms are off due to the damage, because it is a weakness. This will take a few minutes, which the group may not have if they want to rush off immediately unless she gets worked on in the Gravskim.

Bubble Boy is going to have to touch her to do the medical work as well. The elevation of Bubble Boy’s emotional subplot with Darvesh to a subplot filled with ridiculous teenage angst with this starting Metal lass being quietly infatuated with the ebullient Tellagi whose heart is elsewhere would be a great source of additional XP. Just a quick idea, no pressure.

[MC: I'm all for ridiculous teenaged angst and OK with this development if Diane is. It's her call, however.]

[DK: I’m up for it.]

[BR: Yea! Ridiculous teenage angst!]

Immediate paths of investigation: Metal Lass knows saw his bike and knows roughly what direction he took off in to try to find and chase him. Mr. Music can still hear the echo of the discordance and might be able to track its source. Either of these are long shots that the team might try. With the Holo Metal lass has they could go the Science Police and try to ID the guy. Or you could try to work out the pattern to his attacks and try to get ahead of them; I would rather this be completed with the actual detective work the team has actually started, but if we want an excuse to really trust Future Boy you could try to arrange for him to enter a fugue/dream state – still his precognitive power is meant to be unpredictable rather than short circuit mystery plots so I would only like to go in that direction if the player group feels it’s the best call.

[DK: I’d argue for IDing the guy and working out who’s supposed to be the next target, especially since they seem to be putting some work into figuring out every target’s weaknesses and planning ambushes.]

[EC: I like the idea of hanging around his next target. Note that the Legion doesn't have police powers yet. We can certainly go to the police and try to ID him, and we've been helpful enough that they'll probably share. We probably should: why not? And they'll probably come to us if we don't go to them; someone did just try to kill Metal Lass. But even if we find out where he is, I think the police would want to do the arrest themselves. By contrast, they can't very well object to us hanging around someone who we think is in danger -- not unless the target asks them to, anyway. And if there's an attack, or even looks like there's about to be one, we can react. The most the police are likely to do in response to that one is ask us to call them at the start of any trouble.)

*********

The gaps turn into a cheer from the crowd as the battered Metal Lass steps out of the rubble. She’s covered in red brick dust and cradling her arm but given how it looks like no one could survive that everyone is pretty impressed.

Olles Senn takes two steps towards her and then stops, thinks, and executes a really abysmal but well-intentioned bow outside of her personal space “Metal Lass, Olles Senn, Daily Planet – can you tell our readers what happened?”

"He gave us a lift," says Ode.

Gorvo steps in "Hey, Olles, give the girl some room. She may be Metal Lass but she's flesh-and-blood and just survived a building falling on her.”

Dolar returns Olles the simplified bow her race uses for diplomatic relations with barbarian races. “It is good to meet you, Mr. Olles, and the story is simple. A man attacked me as I walked down the street, and when I defended myself, he hit the front of the building with a blast of energy from his weapon that made it fall on me."

She winces as her arm slides into the form that amplifies truthfulness. “Now, if you please, I have a minor injury and need to seek medical attention."

"Of course." Ode can hear in Olles Senn's voice the reporters' need to push for the story, but the man adopts his trademark ingratiating grin and gives the girl some room.

Instead he turns to Ode, "I'm going to chat with the witnesses, get some third and fourth 'graph quote. If I find something interesting, I'll let you know. But if you could let me know when you're going to move on this guy...."

Jinnjahl looks up from the books of sketches she's been looking through, having put the first one away. "I think we need to figure out what we're doing next before we can promise anything," she says as she walks closer, putting these two sketchbooks away as well, "but if you could give us whatever contact information, you'd want us to use?"

(She has a couple ideas she doesn't want to discuss in front of either the crowd or Olles, some of which are mooted by the existence of the holo Dolar has....)

Olles smiles a respectful smile, impressed that the kids would not be railroaded into something. "Mr. Music has my card. You kids stay safe."

He heads over to the crowd to start getting eyewitnesses accounts of the rescue.

Meanwhile, Gorvo has to take the rare step of lowering his instinctive force field to feel for a broken bone and Dolar has to make the unprecedented allowance for someone to touch her....

"Now, Dolar, I'll need to touch you to check for any broken bones." He bows slightly and drops his personal force-field, which disappears like a faint rainbow bubble in slow motion.

"Have I your permission to touch you? I will be gentle.”

Dolar looks vaguely uneasy — perhaps it’s the pain — but she holds out her injured arm. “We are tied by saak. We are as-kin. You may proceed."

"Thank you, Dolar."

Tellagi body temperature is naturally higher than Metaxian, and his touch is very warm. His gentle pressure hands don't find any evidence of a break, and the quick work he does eases the pain considerably.

"There. We are done. Nothing broken, I'm glad to say. The analgesic gel should ease the pain. If you can manage to take it easy on yourself, it should heal quickly."

He steps back and nods respectfully before raising his shield anew.

Dolar sits down on the edge of the skimmer, holding her injured arm, and waits for her teammates. But she continues watching Gorvo out of the corner of her eye as he helps the other Legionnaires in the street. *He’s so capable*, she thinks .

Page 4 Bottom Half: whole team

Breaking this out for the new venue and to give some focus: the scene is an ice cream shop several blocks away from the site and given the power of Terran entertainment it is made up to look like a kitschy 1950's diner. Add in the Meridian City laws about dining establishments there's even a small stage where a band (Josie and the Pussycats in Space) are singing.

This image takes over the bottom half of the page, bleeding off the sides and bound only at the top. The legion members are at a table partaking in that greatest of restorative confections. I'd love to know who is sitting next to who but otherwise let the conversation commence.

Gorvo is kneeling in his seat for added height as he juggles ice cream and fudge sauce with his force field. The inevitable distraction that breaks his concentration is only moments away. [MC: And up for grabs for any other PC who wants to see Gorvo covered in fudge sauce.]

Jinnjahl is perched on a high stool, one of the pieces of furniture kept around for races that don't match the generic human-size-and-shape. Since she's perfectly comfortable on a stool, her tentacles are neatly curled away, her hair in braids and her feet in her shoes and around her ankles. (It's not for Slan in particular - though Jinnjhal isn't the only non-telepathic Slan who feels she fits in with non-telepathic aliens than she does with other Slan - for any race small enough to need a boost with enough balance they don't need a chair back.) She's layering ice cream, nuts, caramel sauce, and a little fudge into a concoction that would be large for a human-sized teenager. She's not especially concerned with who she sits next to.

Dolar sits next to Ode, picking at a dish that combines local fruits with three scoops of ice cream, each in a different flavor, and watching Gorvo’s antics from across the table.

"What do we know so far?" Jinnjahl asks. "Or guess?" she adds.

Dolar holds up one hand. “Before we start, there is something I want you to see.” She reaches into a pocket, pulling out the Total Atonal flyer. She starts to place it on the table, pauses as if she’s thought of something, then grabs a spoon and pulls it into a tiny Faraday cage surrounding the pamphlet.

“I found this under the stair where Jandar Cee was injured. Its circuits feel unusually large and complex for a band holo. Does anyone have ideas about how we might figure out what it does?"

"Can I look at it," Tok says.

"This is Tok -- Future Boy," Patin says, "He's why were able to get to you so quickly; he had a prophetic dream about the fight. Apparently, his prophetic dreams work. He also makes gadgets. I'd call him Psychic Gadget Boy, personally, but Future Boy is the name he picked."

Eyebrows raised in curiosity in response to Patin's speech, Dolar silently hands Tok the metal-encased flyer.

"I'm not psychic," Tok protests as he fiddles with the flyer, "I'm just very good at predicting things, like, yeah, a planned ambush with a mace in an area without a lot of metal around. And inventing things, both of which involve the future. I'm going to want to look at antigrav--you should all have devices like that gravbike the mace guy was using. Only better, because super-heroes should be able to fly." He sips his concoction--a vanilla shake with a tiny strand of chocolate sauce winding through it.

Jinnjahl's eyes go dreamy at the thought of flying. (Heavily brachiating species, after all!) "If I understand what you said earlier about your power, you predict things based on what you know - or guess? - so if we didn't already have a good reason to compare notes, which we do, you'd be a good reason by yourself." Her tendrils fan uncertainly for a moment. "Assuming no one minds? All we actually know about Tok is that he warned us the attack on Dolar was likely while it was ongoing, and he gave Patin a cool shapeshifting sword. I'm in favor of trusting him, but I want to do it on purpose...."

**And we aren't on Slan. They say it's Just Not Done to ask for telepathic assurances off Slan. I don't miss everyone but me being a telepath, but I miss ... the ease of establishing or not establishing trust. And do I want to tell Tok about negative space and the Institute and stuff?**

"Know or guess," Tok says, "or correlate. I read and watch a lot of news; it makes my abilities work better, since they have more to work on, but also means I don't necessarily know exactly what facts resulted in a given prediction."

"I'm good," Patin says. "I've been bribed, remember? And frankly, since the other possibility seems to be Tok working with our enemies in a very complicated plot, well...in that case I'd want to keep an eye on him for a while anyway. But I don't buy it."

Gorvo funnels his ice cream and fudge sauce down a force-cone back into his bowl, slightly disappointed he didn't get it all over someone.

"I'm good. If Tok or Future Boy, whoever he is, helped us save Dolar he's all right in my book. I say we let him join."

"I don't think we can make legal and binding decisions until we all review the bylaws Patin and Jinnjahl were writing, but I'm happy to make Tok a 'special advisor' for the interim." Dolar turns toward the young Wynthian. "Tok, what do you make of that thing?"

"I've seen what I can from the outside," Tok says, "But I don't have a scalpel or tweezers on me, and that's what I need for this. Metal lass -- Dolar, can you make them?”

Dolar smiles as she nabs Gorvo’s spoon from across the table, holds it up in one hand, and with some graceful hand passes remolds it into a serviceable pair of tweezers with a single sharp edge.

Tok carefully peels back the outer covering on the flier and looks over the internal circuitry. "The battery's dead now, I think, but it’s a radio transmitter; probably hooks up to the phone networks and uses them as a relay. Like a bug or a phone, but it doesn't have a lot of inputs -- mostly just geo-location, really. Near as I can tell, aside from the band holo part, it's only useful as a tracking device, transmitting its current location somewhere--I'd have to partially power it up to figure out where, but even that might not be enough. Where did you get this?"

"Is it still active?" asks Ode.

"No, Battery's dead," Tok says.

“It was under the stairs outside the club where Jandar was injured, along with her ID card.” says Dolar. “And now that we know it cannot transmit our conversation, I can also show you this.” She pulls out her copy of The Sound Body's security holo recording, placing it on the table so all the Legionnaires and their Special Advisor can see the tiny image of Jandar Cee dancing and having fun.

Dolar points at the large bald man hovering at the edge of Jandar's orbit. “This is the man who attacked me. As you can see, he follows Jandar when she leaves the club, so we may assume for now that he also hurt her. And I have learned that there is a third Diplomatic Academy student who may have recently been attacked and beaten."

She frowns and shifts her position to denote the realization of unpleasant truths. “The pattern worries me. Every student belongs to a race that has delicate relations with the UP. And each was attacked in a way that seems designed to strain those relations.”

Dolar ticks events off on her fingers. “Jandar was injured badly enough so that she would wake afraid, but not enough to keep her from using her natural Singeorgi fear reflex. Indeed, the medication she was carrying to suppress those reactions may have been removed from her purse. If we had not determined that her behavior at the hotel was unintentional, it could have easily escalated into an interplanetary incident.” She holds up a second finger. “I know little about Ggle Gles save that he acts as if his people would sever relations with the UP at the least provocation.” A third finger goes up, as she shifts into a form that signals resignation toward having to explain one’s culture. “And an attack on a Metaxian that does not follow the traditional forms of challenge would demand a response from at least two different clan braids. It is…,” she stammers, “… Very Rude." Ode looks at his ice cream and puts his spoon down.

"I think... you need to know about Entropy Monks. This man might be one."

There’s a panel where the image focuses on the band, and all we can see of the team are the looks of concern as Ode reveals the existence of a century old cult of entropy worshippers who slowly sacrifice their own existence to make the universe unravel.

Jinnjahl looks troubled. "This is a lot vaguer, but ... my boss at the Center for Last-Chance Medicine drenched me with praise the other day - the day of the fire - because the animation I did of Mr. Wyla -" she watches the others, especially Tok, to see if the name appears to ring a bell - "told them so many fascinating things. It bothered me because he seemed so much more interested in what they were learning than in how it would help the patient, though when I *asked* he said that it shed light on the negative space experiments which got Mr. Wyla so hurt they put him into suspended animation to buy time."

She swirls a spoon around, mixing in nuts. "Anyway, what you've said sounds vaguely like negative space, only for sound. Maybe we want to consult with Mr. Wyla's image, both about negative space and about what sort of *other* consultations he's had to give lately?"

“Perhaps that could be informative.” says Dolar, leaning back in her chair. “But we definitely need to show these materials to the Science Police and find out whether they recognize this man. Chaos Monk or no, someone who likes to hit people with a mace might already be in their records."

"Wait, Mr. Wyla [JK: or would Tok say Doctor Wyla?]? The physicist?" Tok asks, "I read about his experiments--and his accident, but I had no idea he was in-system. If it was an accident; it seems more like sabotage to me. If his peers could get a chance to see what he was working on, it would be worth a lot to them; maybe enough to bribe the head of a hospice center. I'd love to find out more about his experiments too--it sounded like fascinating stuff."

"Right," Patin says, having only taken a few spoonful’s of her own concoction; a single scoop of a pinkish fruit gelato, "it seems like we have a few different threads to follow. The attacks on Dragon Girl and Metal Lass are obviously connected, seeing as they were the same guy; that could be connected to any other attacks trying to destabilize the UP, but I'm going to assume that whatever this mace-wielding evil monk's long term goals are, that until we have more evidence, there's a much more straightforward set of motivations -- Jandar, now that we know it was an attack, not an accident, could have been targeted for a number of reasons--but Doles was almost certainly attacked because she was actively engaged in investigating the crime, with some success. That said, he's attacked two people from the same school--if you can figure out which of your fellow students, he's going to attack next, that should give us a way to get ahead of him rather than behind him.

"Jinnji, I'm assuming you can animate Mr. Wyle. If so, you'll want to let Tok talk to him; even if it's not connected to the mace monk plot, it's going to be something we'll want to know about, and if it is connected to the entropy monks, that's critical. Other people might want to sit in on this, but it sounds like Tok already know enough of the science involved to lead on that part of things.

"Also, Ode, it sounded like you were taught enough about entropy music to be able to recognize it. If you could find a way to track it -- or better, figure out a way to counter it in a fight with your own music, that would be super-helpful.

"And I'm going to bring the tracker, and the evidence we've collected, to the Science Police. Given that we now know it was a deliberate attack, not an accident, this had best be done sooner rather than later, Dolar, if you're feeling up to it, we should go together since you collected and can best explain most of the evidence. And are part of the evidence, as it happens."

Dolar shifts into a stance of wry amusement. “I cannot argue about that. Shall we go now? I expect that they have finished examining the wreckage by now.”

Gorvo asks "Hey, Dolar, do you want to head back to the campus after and ask around among the other Diplomatic Academy students if they've been followed or attacked? I'd feel more comfortable if you kept off the streets for a while and we don't know who the next target of the Mace Monk might be."

Page 5 top: Metal Lass, Diskette and Bubble Boy

The young Legionnaires return to the scene of the attack on Dolar, finding that the rubble has indeed been examined by the SPs and cleared away with the usual efficiency. We are cutting into the scene past the point where Dolar has re-stated what happened for an official deposition. The large panel is the now cleaned up street, with a likely unnecessary but why take chances support scaffolding in place around the damaged building.

Officer Erin has just finished taking the statement and is answering an inevitable question. “The façade of the building had extensive decay all through it, running from an initial impact point. The instability reads as natural – no detectable energy signatures or foreign matter – except it simply stops past a certain radius. That confirms your account that it came from a hit from some sort of weapon. I’m sure the club’s owners will be happy to know that.”

Dolar sneaks a look at Gorvo to check his reaction as she shifts into a form that denotes excitement at a mystery suddenly solved. "So, it's as if a chunk of the building suddenly aged much faster than the rest of it?"

"Crashing stars! Imagine if that weapon was used against a person." Gorvo looks worried and looks at Dolar, suppressing a shudder at the thought of her being on the receiving end of the beam and not just an electro-mace.

Erin pulls up the holo that Metal Lass had provided from the nightclub. “We don’t have any hits on this fellow, but we’re still checking through spaceport records. He’s not a local. Based on this tattoo,” she enlarges part of the holo to show a barely visible marking on the side of the assailant’s neck, just under his right ear, which the computer then extrapolates out, “He is now or was once a member of the Taurus Gang. They’re a multi-species criminal mercenary group, but the SPs broke them up about 3 years ago. Either they’re back in business or this guy was missed in the sweep and is now freelancing.”

Distaste flickers over Dolar's face before it is repressed into a studied calm. "I got the impression that he enjoys his work," she says.

Erin taps the stylus onto her tablet in a worried fashion, “I don’t think Dolar was attacked because she was investigating. I think she was already the next target. When Jandar was attacked there was a lot of noise in the press about the nature of the diplomatic program – dangerous youths and all that – and her planet immediately made noises about pulling her back and possibly returning to their isolationist stance to protect the rest of the UFP. The only reason she’s still here is because of her current medical state.

“Ggle’s imperial family isn’t tightly bound to the UFP, and the damage he took in the skimmer crash was enough for a separationist faction to advance the argument that the UFP cannot meaningfully support their security on any level. There’s a smaller group that wants to turn this into a shooting war.”

“Dolar, how would your people react to such a breach of protocol as random informal assaults leading to the death of their diplomatic student?”

"The exact reaction could be influenced by a number of factors," says Dolar, as she shifts into a form denoting the consideration of branching possibilities. "If the attacker remained undetected, my death would be assumed to be an accident. My clan might request some restitution for my loss from the owners of the building that collapsed, but it is also impolite to cast blame for chance events, so they would not press unreasonably."

"But if they determined I was deliberately attacked and given no chance to defend myself?" Dolar's face hardens into disgust. "THAT would be considered the height of rudeness by my clan and every other that holds obligations to it.

Gorvo raises an eyebrow. "Murder is so very rude, certainly. We need to find this fellow and get him the justice he deserves."

Dolar shakes her head. "The Science Police will be searching the city. /We/ need to figure out who his next targets will be and try to protect them from the coming attack." She turns to Officer Erin, placing her palms together and making the most formal form of the bow of request. "It seems that this man is cautious, and he may delay or change his next plan if he sees a sudden increase in police activity around the Academy. We will be far less conspicuous on campus. Is there a way we can coordinate so you can respond quickly when an attack begins?"

Erin looks concerned, but responds with a canny, "You're a student there, Miss Ahn. Naturally the safest place for you after the attack is at your campus, surrounded by your friends. I'll make sure the Science Police are ready to respond to any call on this communicator frequency."

"That's good," Patin says, "You won't scare him off because you won't be there, and we won't scare him off.

"But anyone notice anything about his attacks? Ggle was alone. Jandar was fingered in a crowd, but then only attacked once she was alone. And Metal Lass was also alone. So, we can count on him waiting until his target is alone before striking. Us being on campus will help a bit, but only if we successfully guess his next target."

“Then clearly our next task should be deducing the most likely target,” Dolar says, pulling out her communicator and pulling up a ‘pic book’ for the Diplomatic Academy. “Would anyone like to suggest some search terms?"

It's Gorvo's turn to shake his head. "Not a clue. What connects the previous targets apart from their diplomatic status? It could be any off-world student. Though maybe one who would be more likely to cause an interstellar incident if attacked. Have we any royalty or offspring of planetary presidents attending?"

Dolar is able to filter the class of several hundred down to eighteen for those who come from 'polite worlds' where the chance of a diplomatic incident is much higher. That includes all three of the targets so far. Clearing those drops it to fifteen possible targets.

Unfortunately, further narrowing it to royalty or political scions clears the board - only Ggle was actual nobility.

Reversing that filter and prioritizing for those where the event might cause an interstellar incident clears out another eight whose planets have small populations, limited strategic value or where relations are too well established.

Gorvo pipes up again. "Well, that's seven possible targets. Put the three previous targets back in and look for other commonalities, I guess. Or start a roster to keep an eye on those seven if we can't narrow it down any more. We'll be spread pretty thin if we do."

Page 5 Bottom: Miss Anima, Mr. Music, Future Boy

[BR: Lacking anywhere to place this other than the Legion’s current ‘headquarters’ we can frame this in Patin’s suite…unless someone has a better idea.]

There’s a shimmer in the air and Mr. Mans Wyla appears, dressed in the hospital clothes that he was wearing when Miss Anima original sketched him weeks ago.

“Well hello there,” he says with a bemused-if-helpful expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. But I recognize you, Miss,” he says to Jinnjahl, “from when I gave that Q&A at the medical institute last… well some time ago”

Mr. Music, watching the man post materialization, can’t shake the feeling that Mr. Wyla’s demeanor is an act. There was something about the way his eyes darted around the room, taking everything and everyone in, that was just slightly offsetting. Of course, Ode has never seen Jinnjahl animate anyone other than her uncle. Maybe this is normal…?

Thought balloon: Maybe this is normal...? But... if it _isn't_... Am I just letting my imagination run away with me?

Thought balloon: Maybe if... it won't hurt anything if I'm wrong. And if I'm not...

Ode starts strumming his guitar, as if absent minded, trying to nudge things into harmony. He's figuring that if he's jumping at shadows that might be entropy monks, well... this will just be a little nice background music.

If it is an entropy monk in disguise, somehow... well, Ode's not thinking about the consequences of revealing his abilities or anything like that. And if it's some other oddity or enemy, it's a toss-up between Ode figuring something out, Ode thinking everything's normal, and Ode having no idea.

"Doctor Wyla," Future Boy says, "We were wondering if you could do a Q&A here, as well. It's possible it could help save a great number of lives."

The slight tune from Ode's guitar washes over the room. Tok doesn't feel anything himself, but sees both Jinnjahl and Wyla relax slightly, likely unaware that anything was happening.

"Of course. I'm always willing to assist if lives are at risk. What do you need to know?"

"Thanks! All right--what can you tell us about the event that lead to your current state? I know everything that's been released in the regular and scientific papers, but there's a lot they were just guessing on."

Wyla grimaces, "Ah. I was hoping for something more... intellectually stimulating and less traumatic memory.

"Maybe later," Future Boy says, "I want to pick your brain on ideas for anti-gravity and the possibility of tiny AG-generating manifolds using multi-dimensional folding. But sorry, we need this first."

Wyla continues "I don't recall every exact detail, but I was doing research into the theories of folded spatial topography, looking for a way to breach the negative space between spatial layers, as the initial step towards Einstein Rosen bridges."

Future Boy is familiar with the theory, that the curvature of space time is actually fairly dense, " like the layers of a well-made buttermilk biscuit" per one self-proclaimed epicurean physicist, so that certain areas of space being very close to other layers if one can only punch through the negative space/energy barriers between them. If true, this would open up the possibility of wormhole transport or ansible communications between these fixed points.

Wyla continues. "The calculations were fine, I believe, but the materials it turns out were faulty. Unable to contain the stress. Fortunately, my lab was isolated, and I worked alone so there were no casualties. I understand from this lovely lady here," he nods toward Miss Anima, "that my body is being mended by some of the capital city's best minds."

He gets a panicked look, "Sweet Hawking, the danger isn't that they're working on my theories in Meridian City, is it?!?"

"I wouldn't rule it out; Jinnjahl, didn't you say the scientists who talked to him earlier seemed a lot more interested in the theory than what they were ostensibly there for? And a materials failure makes me even more certain that your accident was planned."

Jinnjahl sighs. "The head of the on-planet Last Chance Institute said some very happy things to me about the conference the scientists had with you, and it was all about how much the scientists learned and thanking me for making it possible. He did say that they understood more about what might have happened when I asked about *you*, but it was - well, *of course* the scientists are going to be interested in the theory; they're scientists. The Last Chance doctors are supposed to be interested in the patients, not in what the patients know. But of course, the head of the institute is a bureaucrat, and of course he's going to want to help the institute. But it just felt *wrong*. And I don't know what to do about it. Am I supposed to go to the Science Police about 'just felt wrong' with the institute that brought me here?"

Her head-tendrils wave uncertainly. "But to answer your question, I have no idea *where* they're working on your theories, but from other things he said I'm sure they're working on your theories somewhere."

Wyla looks mollified, "That's fine, as long as it's not near a populated area. I isolated myself from others for my work because I work best without distraction, not because I wanted to keep my discoveries secret. If you're helping people further my work, miss, I'm in your debt. And I'm certain that the institute is doing everything they can to improve my condition. it doesn't make sense to remove me from my work if they're also advancing my work. After all, the people who might have sabotaged my experiments are unlikely to be paying for my treatments!"

He says this with evident guileless sincerity, but to Ode it strikes a discordant note in the room. Nothing anyone else could hear, and nothing that would indicate the work of an entropy monk, but perhaps Wyla is not speaking with complete candor.

Wyla looks at Tok, "But I would love the chance to collaborate with your privately. If there's some way we could have regular meetings in your lab, with this young lady's assistance...."

"I'd like that," Tok says." [Missing the potential deception and point of probing]

"I know it's a strange question," says Ode, hesitantly, still strumming. "But... are you sure that there's no connection between the doctors and the saboteurs?"

"As a theoretical physicist I can never be sure of anything!" He laughs, and it has that same off quality to Ode ear. "But it doesn't make sense for someone to try to kill me and then keep me alive."

Page 6-8 whole team

Another overshot of the Diplomatic Academy grounds, where the Legionnaires have met up with the same teacher whom Dolar spoke with during the Jandar Cee incident. (We need to give him a name, and it is Professor Noah.) I am assuming that the group has already shared their information with one another and are now discussing things with the Professor to see if he can narrow down any of the targets.

[BR: I am assuming that of the six heroes present only 3 of them – Metal Lass, Bubble Boy and Mr. Music? – are talking to Noah while the other three have their eyes peeled on the Academy grounds to prevent an ambush.]

Professor Noah is aghast. “Are you implying the Academy’s polite worlds program is being targeted? But the whole goal of the program is to _prevent_ conflict!”

He glances at the holos that Metal Lass is providing – the one of the suspected assailants and the other seven. “Well, I can make this a little easier – five of these students are leaving right now on an off-campus trip.”

He points over to a grav skim that is preparing to take off. “Visiting the UP Parliament today – Ms. Ahn, you went on that trip last week – for a few hours.”

“For the other two, he points to a blue translucent face with flowing blue hair “Student Ssssuss is inside her containment space: she’s a luminiferous aether from a gas giant and requires a specialized atmosphere and pressure to survive.” He indicates the other “I’m not sure where Hlodor is today. The boy has an extreme temper and prefer isolation lest he accidentally harm another student.”

Dolar can back that up – weeks ago she had had to restrain the boy raised on a dwarf star colony when his inherent territoriality nearly led to an incident.

Bubble Boy and Metal Lass

The pair walk through the Academy grounds and into the building that houses the environment containment center that holds Ssssuss.

**I’m glad Gorvo is coming to help with Ssssuss. We work well together. Has he noticed that?**

**I wonder what this Ssssuss will be like. I bet Dolar will know what to do. She's so very competent.** Gorvo smiles encouragingly at Dolar, unaware how it might be misread.

No doubt Gorvo misses the flush that his smile elicits under Dolar’s coppery skin.

The long corridor of a room has transparent material on one long wall, where orange and green and violet mists swirl about. There is a movement of those mists and an indigo form and face appears. An electronically generated voice fills the room.

"HELLO, FELLOW STUDENT. WHO IS YOUR BOY FRIEND?'

Conflicting forms quickly ripple over Dolar’s body: surprise for a secret revealed segues into wry amusement at the recognition of a misunderstanding and finally into the shapes that accompany efforts to build understanding between people.

“Hello, Ssssuss. May I make known to you my friend Gorvo Van of Tallag. He is an exchange student at Meridian City University, and he is very interested in exobiology.” Shooting a look at Gorvo, she adds, “I remembered you had some questions about oxygen-breathing lifeforms in class, and I thought he might be better able to explain some of the more technical details for you."

Gorvo raises an eyebrow but plays along with only a brief moment of confusion.

"Yes, I'm happy to help, Ssssuss. And delighted to meet you."

'HELLO EXCHANGE STUDENT. YOUR PEOPLE ARE WELL INTEGRATED INTO THE POLITY?"

"Hello, Ssssuss. The Tallag people are fairly well integrated, yes. In fact, after Tallag the cold of space and the community of the Union were surprisingly warm and welcoming. It's ... nice, I think, to meet people who aren't trying to eat you.

"I AM CURIOUS: YOUR METHODS OF FUEL EXTRACTION APPEAR REMARKABLY INEFFICIENT. YET YOUR BIOLOGICAL TEMPLATE APPEARS ON MANY SOLID WORLDS. CAN YOU EXPLAIN THIS APPARENT CONTRADICTION?"

“It's all to do with the relative slope of the chemical energy cascade. Deeper in the gravity well of a star, orbits exist where chemistry with hydrogen pumps is easy to achieve. That drives profligate nature. Solid worlds are common, and naturally form, or end up, closer to the parent star and then... well, life finds a way.”

As they are talking a Science Police officer enters the room, wearing the official uniform with helmet. The eye visor is down, and Dolar can make out the lights of the heads-up display underneath them - the officer is clearly scanning the dim room with light amplification and other threat assessment tools.

• That’s…odd,” Dolar thinks. *The SP are supposed to be off-campus.*

He nods to Dolar, apparently satisfied with the security in the room, and turns to exit. Dolar catches a quick sight of the skin of the officer's neck, where an inked design is just visible....

“Gorvo, cover Ssssuss! He’s here!”, Dolar hisses as she hits the communicator frequency that Erin said would connect her to the Science Police.

“Metal Lass calling SP. The man you seek is in the Aetheric Containment Building at the Diplomatic Academy. He's wearing an SP uniform. Please hurry!”

Message away, she reaches into her satchel, grabbing for a metal sculpture.

The SP growls pulls his helm off and hurls it aside. There's a shimmer in the air as the holographic cloak hiding his mace drops. "Too slow, kid," he mutters and slams the mace into the wall. "I'd have preferred no witnesses, so it looked like an equipment failure, but hey, if the atmosphere drops you too...."

A long crack spreads across the face of the containment unit, which starts bulging under pressure.

Gorvo growls a Tallag curse and throws up a force bubble across the containment unit.

[If possible, he'll also through a flurry of smaller bubbles at the assassin's face to distract him, a la Invisible Woman.]

Holding one end of the sculpture in her left hand, Dolar ripples her right arm in the simple form ‘Crack-the-Whip’. Metal at the far end of the abstract blob snakes out towards the assassin in a rope two-fingers thick.

[Nothing fancy forms-wise, owing to her injury earlier in the week — she’s trying to work within her current capabilities. Her goal is simple: grab his mace and pull it away from him, before he can do any more damage with it. She’s hoping that this attack is similar enough to what she did during the fight in the alley that he’ll react to a perceives attack on his person by blocking her metal with his weapon...]

[BR: we'll go to initiative order here - everyone got on action last round – Black Mace hit the wall, Bubble Boy reinforced it, Metal lass contacted the SPs and pulled out her weapon]

Round 1

BLACK MACE: 17

The big man readies himself - after having put the crack in the wall he is clearly relishing a rematch with the teen hero. [BR: saved action]

Metal Lass: 16

Metal Lass' rope lashes out at her adversary, and he attempts to block it with the mace. Alas when she tries to yank it away, she finds that he's stronger than she expected - stronger than a Wynathian has any right to be. [BR Interrupt with saved action] Mace pivots and Metal Lass feels herself flying through the air, tethered to her sculpture.

[BR: If you want to hold onto it, you're going to go flying into a wall and take damage. If you're willing to give it up, you can let go and roll clear with just some Power loss. let me know.]

Metal Lass lets go of the silvery rope as she feels her feet leave the ground and tries to turn her flight into a somersault.

The roll is successful enough, letting her blunt the damage from the haphazard fall before she hits the wall with considerably less force than she might have.

[BR: Power was 44 to start, down to 39 for controlling the metal sculpture. Rolling with the 3 points of this attack takes you to 36. HP total is still 4.]

Bubble Boy: 16

Gorvo, half of his attention on maintaining the containment field, raises one hand and unleashes a stream of smaller bubbles at Black Maces head as the criminal closes in to finish off Metal Lass. The pelting of hundreds of pieces of force field hail certainly do the job, making Black Mace switch his attentions over to the Tallagian. "You ain't on the list kid, but that don't mean I can't slap you around some."

He closes the gap to Bubble Boy in two quick steps, but Gorvo can take comfort in knowing that the distraction worked.

Black Mace: 2

[BR: Explanatory math: Mace's base attack is 13 due to skill, +3 for the weapon, +1 for his Accuracy mod = 17. Bubble Boy's constant Telekinesis defense drops that to a 1. The level vs. level modifier kicks that back up to a 3. Roll is a 14. Gorvo spend 1 maintaining the TK defense, plus the 1 power he spent on his attack - current power is 42]

The mace hammers down repeatedly on Bubble Boy's personal force field as the big man effortlessly lands blow after blow on the youth no matter how he tries to dodge. The dodging, however, is just a sideline, and the real contest is between the mercenary's ferocity and Bubble Boy's Tellagian abilities.

Bubble Boy: 1

[BR: Maintaining the big force field supporting the wall takes 1 action per turn. If you want to hit back, you'll have to drop the field protecting Ssssusss' environment. If you do keep both fields going, purple prose about the assault on the force field, worries about maintaining concentration, etc. etc. are in order.]

**Splintering suns! He's incredibly strong!** thinks Gorvo as he tries to maintain his force field against the hail of blows. He tries to keep a brave face and taunts the mace-wielding assassin. "You'll need more than that toy to break a Tallagian's defenses, murderous scum!"

**I pray I can just hold on...**

Metal Lass: 1

[BR: wherever you are you're still conscious. It's a question of how hurt you are. Spending an action here to start a Metal Bending defense might be good or trying to launch some sort of surprise attack on Black Mace. Or something else.]

[DK: Is a piece of titanium rope still wrapped around the handle of his mace? If so, it’s about to turn into a metal octopus and crawl onto Black Mace’s face.]

[BR: Indeed, it is. Magnetic powers base is 13, increased to 14 with your Accuracy, reduced to 10 for the level vs. level modification. Special attack to the face requires 2 rolls, which are 9 and 10. Almost didn’t make it. No damage, but he’s currently blinded and can’t breathe.]

A series of panels that have been showing the specific impacts of mace, fist and foot on Bubble Boys force field now shows one panel of Black Mace’s face with a shadow behind it, one of him saying “hey!” and raising a hand in defense and the final with the tentacular metal covering it.

[Myles: As soon as Gorvo sees Black Mace ensnared in the metal mask he's going to try and get away from him into a position to throw up a field around him entirely (unless that would interfere with the metal bending power). I want Gorvo to isolate Black Mace from the others until we can secure the containment field.

Question: Does Ssssuss's field not have some emergency backup or a physical barrier that drops into place in case of an imminent breach? We may only have to hold Black Mace off until that triggers.]

[BR: Hrm. It probably would... A quick check against your Xenomedical Doctor skill means that you're correct in remembering that such items are standard equipment. Bubble Boy can see a flashing light on the control indicating that Sssuss has entered and activates the secure inner chamber, a separate much smaller containment space.]

[BR: Just the one. On to round 2]

Round 2

BLACK MACE: 17

[BR: Discordance effect the entropy monk put on Black Mace's titular weapon attacks as disintegration, which ignores Force Field defenses.... Base is 15, Force Field offers no defense, level vs. level increases it to 17. Roll is 14. Ultimately Metal Lass takes 12 Power damage from the toxins and will take more every action until she's protected. Gorvo's personal field is protecting him. ]

Black Mace claws at the metal one handed for a moment before realizing that it would be useless, and then spins and slams his mace against the containment wall again. There is a... discordance, identical to the one Metal Lass felt earlier. Bubble Boy feels a moment of confusion as his Force Field simply gives way against the weapon, offering no more resistance than waterfall. There's also none of the feedback he would experience from a significant impact. The whole leaves him feeling queasy, but unharmed.

The wall, on the other hand, shatters completely, just as the building's facade had earlier. The pressure imbalance forces the gasses through the brief hole in Gorvo's field, filling the room with a miasma of airborne toxins and doubtless - from Metal Lass's perspective - causing Sssusss' death,

Metal Lass: 16 [Power 24, HP 4]

The forms of despair for the loss of a friend softens Metal Lass’s stance, but her face remains set in concentration .

• We couldn’t save Ssssuss, but we WILL stop YOU,* she thinks, as she wraps metal tendrils more tightly around the back of Black Mace’s head.

But then she takes a breath and begins to cough.

[BR: successful Metal Powers attack on Black Mace; Attack roll was 3, Damage is 9 points.

There's a strangled "urk" from their attacker, though no one can see what's happening in the clouds.

Bubble Boy: 16 [Power 42, HP 5]

Spotting the flashing containment light, Gorvo realizes Ssssuss is out of danger at least for the moment. However, Dolar lacks his protection. He dashes to her side, hoping to extend his force field to protect her, and putting some distance between himself and the blinded assassin.

"Hang on, Metal Lass! I'm coming!"

[MC: Gorvo's not really thinking and forgets that shouting out might well identify his location to Black Mace.]

Black Mace: 2

Gorvo feels a heavy hammering on his knees from the mace's swing, sending him crashing into Metal Lass and leaving both in a heap on the floor. His field inadvertently slams into Dolar's solar plexus, forcing her to exhale in a wild gasp.

He can hear the mercenary running away up the stairs, but his choice now is to protect Dolar from the gas or to try to engage the fleeing mercenary.

Bubble Boy: 1

Bubble Boy drops to his knees and instinctively wraps his arms around Dolar and extends his personal field around them both. The skin-tight field glitters and squeezes them closer together.

"Apologies for the familiarity, Metal Lass, but only the air inside my field is safe to breathe! Breathe now, Dolar, breathe!"

He looks up through the fog of gasses after Black Mace but can't see through the swirling clouds.

Metal Lass: 1

Dolar’s eyes go wide when she finds herself in Gorvo’s lifesaving embrace, but she inhales, filling her lungs with clean air.

“Gorvo, grab my wrists and follow along!” she cries. “I’m going to try to put bars across the front door!” Extending her metal-sense outward, she feels for the rebar in the walls of the building and pulls her arms in front of her in the pattern "The Jaws Close Tight”.

Gorvo lifts himself and Dolar to their feet and keeping a firm grip on her wrist, tries to follow her movement as Metal Lass manipulates the unseen metal.

[BR: attack roll to grab control of the metal is a 20. No go. 5 power for the attempt, so Metal Lass is down to 19 power.]

Metal Lass reaches out to grab the metal, but the combination of the old shoulder injury, being inside Bubble Boys more constrained field and a coughing jag from the gases in her lungs means she cannot complete the forms.

When the clouds clear their assailant is gone.

A tear rolls down Dolar’s cheek, and her body slumps as into forms of defeat.

CLASSMATE DOLAR I AM SADDENED THAT MY ATMOSPHERE HARMED YOU BUT GRATEFUL FOR YOUR SUPPORT.

“Ssssusss? I….I thought…"

Gorvo smiles broadly. "Ssssuss! I thought you'd made it into the emergency accommodation. Well done! You see, Metal Lass, we did it, we drove off that assassin and..."

Gorvo realizes from Dolar's coughing that she's a bit worse for wear and his flapping tongue stops as he forms a force field chair from the field around them both. He helps her sit as he separates their shared field into two distinct fields, restoring Dolar's personal space. "My sincere apologies, Metal Lass, for taking hold of your person. I am very glad you're alive though!”

In between coughs, Dolar stammers, “No…no need to apologize. I…am glad you thought of sharing…the air in your field. How long…can we last in here?"

[MC: I'm assuming that the environmental protections of the building will seal if from releasing any hazardous gases to the campus at large, so we'd better signal the SP that we're inside and Ssssuss is safely in her emergency environment, so they can go ahead and evacuate the atmosphere of the building as needed.]

[DK: I’ll leave those details to Bubble Boy if Metal Lass is having repeated coughing jags!]

Gorvo calls the Science Police on his comm and relays the location and condition of all three sentients he's aware of.

[MC: I have a question. Does Gorvo's forcefield allow certain gases through, or block all gas outright? I suspect he'd asphyxiate fairly quickly from CO2 if he couldn't vent through his skin-tight shield. I was assuming that he could breathe more or less unhindered inside one of his bubbles unless directly attacked by a poisonous gas that could get through. Comics-physics is A-OK by me for this, btw.]

[BR: Your personal field, maintained by the Telekinesis power, allows through gasses that your body can metabolize but not any others - some toxins can still hit you depending on what they are. A full power force field made by the actual Force Field power is total coverage, including being airtight. It will hold in an atmosphere under the water or in space, blocks all gasses, can be used to suffocate people, and so on.]

[MC: Got it. Thanks for the clarification. On that basis, we need to get Dolar into safe atmosphere quickly, as I don't know how much air she would have in the force bubble Gorvo's provided. That said, I suspect in the case of a breach, the entire containment area around Ssssuss evacuates and re-fills with clear air as quickly as the fans, or rather atmo-impellers, can switch the air.]

"Come on Metal Lass," cries Gorvo. "With our powers combined we can escape the building without a further atmospheric breach and chase that no-good assassin! You'll feel better out in the fresh air anyway!"

Miss Anima

The diplomatic students are clambering into the Gravskim, and Miss Anima is able to join them. The teacher/chaperone had already been contacted by Noah to warn him of the addition.

The students are of various colors shapes and sizes but are predominantly humanoid. The Slan girl doesn't take up too much space but it is still a crowded skimmer. Her hand is fingering the image of her uncle but adding him would take up even more space. (BR: not impossible, just awkward)

Meh. Uncle wouldn't be able to help much if we were attacked in the air, but when else would I get a few minutes to concentrate?

No, the thing to fear now is a skimmer failure. Intentionally arranged, that is.

One of the students turns to Jinnjahl, her over-sized cranium pulsing with thick blue purple veins. "You're a Slan, right?"

"Yes," Jinnjahl says, then adds, "but not a telepath. It's why I'm here. Everyone's very nice to me at home, but I just ... don't fit."

Jinnjahl can make out a Science Police officer through the window who is giving the pilot a thumbs-up gesture. The skimmer lifts off the ground and starts its passage to the capital.

Jinnjahl makes sure she knows where her sketches of Bubble Boy and Metal Lass are. Er, the skimmer is metal? Also, the sketch of the skimmer she used to get everyone to Bat Island.

Oooh, maybe I could sketch some of my fellow passengers? Though planning to use animations as decoys isn't very nice. Still....

She pulls out a stylus and a small pad and starts sketching one the students in quick, rough lines. The Gravskim is rapidly gaining elevation to get to the correct flight level, when there is a sudden... discordance.

A note, atonal to the point of being painful.

And the gravskim... disappears, shredded into its component atoms.

Miss Anima, the pilot and the rest of the students are borne upward for a second more by momentum before gravity starts to take hold....

This wasn't even slightly the way Jinnjahl expected the gravskim to fail, but there will never be a better time to catch everyone in a freshly appearing gravskim. She lets go of her pencil, scrambles to get below the other people (preferably not *right* below), puts the notebook into a pocket, comes out with a handful of papers, and tries to make the gravskim real. Hopefully since everyone's in a cluster everyone will land in the gravskim. And hopefully even if *everyone* doesn't *most* people will, and her friends can help enough to catch the rest.

N.B. It's a top of the line gravskim, but it's in do-not-damage-the-lawn mode, not in-flight mode. Someone will have to at least turn the autopilot into collision avoidance mode. Jinnjahl is hoping the pilot will have quick, confident reactions. If not, well, she'll deal with that when the time comes.

Also note - Jinnjahl is trying to get *below* the other people, all of whom are larger than she is. She knows someone might land on her. Her main concern there is not losing the papers out of her hand; she may well desperately need Bubble Boy or Metal Lass. Pity she doesn't have Mr. Music in case the whatever gets another similar follow-up, but you can't think of everything....

There's a shimmer in the air as the Gravskim comes into being, and a very loud thump as everyone who was in the old one slams hard into the floor of the new one. That one is still falling. Due to the subconscious mechanics of Jinnjahl's power the skimmer pushed everyone out of the way of its materialization, forcing all the passengers into the ships interior and shoving people aside from seats. That produced a mad tangle of bodies, with Miss Anima at the bottom. Her whole body hurts from the impact, but she managed to maintain consciousness.

[BR: Power score from 46 to 38 for the creation, then to 35 for rolling with the impact of the students landing on her. Damage roll was a 5, less 3 for rolling with the attack, she takes 2 HP damage and has 1 left.]

[BR: so, we want an excuse to play off her Speed Bonus power with rushing to the controls?]

After the initial bounce against the Skimmer's default 0.25 upward propulsion that keeps it off the ground, the group goes into freefall again. The pilot seems stunned by this sudden turn of events, and Miss Anima has to find a way to do more than hope that he gets his act together.

"Everyone! Seats! Strap in! Now!" Jinnjahl gets her legs under her and as soon as there's no one right on top of her, jumps for a suspension hook on the ceiling; grabs it, puts her feet on the ceiling, and jumps for the pilot's seat (or co-pilot's seat if the pilot heads for the pilot's seat.)

She slams the counter-gravity to 100% first, to buy time while she fastens *herself* in, sets the autopilot for emergency landing(*), and turns it on. Not only do they have a three-minute time limit, but she has no idea if that note came from a bomb-equivalent or if someone shot at them, and if the latter they might be able to do it again.

(*) That is, autopilot's command is to get us out of the air soonest, wherever it can. Back to that airstrip. Another airstrip. Emergency landing strip at a hospital. Empty parking lot. Whatever the autopilot thinks is landable and not coded as inherently dangerous.

There's still the possibility someone's shooting at us. Trying to bubble an aircraft during landing probably *not* the best of ideas, and the note blew things into pieces Miss Anima suspects are too small for Metal Lass to work with. She considers other sketches, her thought balloons switching from "What next besides hope the pilot comes to help? What else might someone try to hurt us with?" to tiny sketches and punctuation marks.

The three-minute timeframe is less critical than the 11 seconds it takes to fall from 1400 feet, but the anti-gravity engages with top of the line efficiency. She hears a thud as everyone hits the floor again, and the scramble of everyone to climb into seats. The auto-pilot cycles on, filling the room with an amber glow and soft buzzing from the emergency setting, and starts a rapid arc to the launchpad.

After a second the shocked pilot comes to his senses - perhaps due to sights and sounds of the emergency autopilot and grabs the skimmers controls. "We still being shot at?"

"No idea. Pilot's override on. Land us fastest or elsewhere, depending on how much longer it'll take us to get elsewhere. Please."

Diskette and Mr. Music

The two young heroes make their way across campus following Professor Noah looking for Hlodor. After a few minutes Diskette realizes she can guess the direction they are heading by the slight pulling of her hair.

They turn a corner and see a stoutly built young man, almost as broad as he is tall, with coal dark skin shot through with reddish veins, sitting quietly by the Academy's artificial pond. There is a slow but steady ripple on the water as his presence makes the tide come in.

"That's him," Noah whispers.

"Are you kidding?" Diskette whispers back. "Of course it's him; he has his own gravity well. Do you want to introduce us?"

"Nah. Let him be," says Ode. He looks for a place to sit that's in sight of Hlodor, but far enough away to give the student space. He gets comfortable and starts strumming, focusing on calm enjoyment of the day.

"Yeah, all right. Maybe this is all a bust, anyway. You don't feel any discordant tones, right? So, we can sit back, enjoy the tides, and hopefully the others will get the work and the danger. I'm enjoying the view, anyway.

"So, this other monk, he's your opposite number, right? Do you think you could play some kind of music that's the opposite of what he does--to prevent things from crumbling and rotting?"

"Dunno... If something breaks... you can fix it, maybe, right? But... you can't unbreak it."

"Er. Aren't those the same thing? Do you mean there aren't songs of creation the way there are songs of destruction?"

"All songs are songs of creation. ... Well, if they're not songs of destruction... Entropy, I mean. It's... more than destruction..."

"Everyone knows that--entropy's the tendency of the universe to get less useful. It's very irritating, although--what?" Patin stops as she realizes Ode isn't listening, his eyes having turned upwards, and her gaze follows his.

Meanwhile, Ode hears/feels a discordance, his eyes turning upward to see the gravskim holding the students just... disappear, as if it never was.

Everyone else looks up when they hear the screaming. Hlodor leaps to his feet with more agility than one might suspect and gazing up in panicked confusion.

Before there's a chance to act there's a second tune in the air - harsh, cruel, violent - and Hlodor looks back down, his eyes now red and shot through with black veins. Patin feels her hair being pulled towards the boy with much more force....

Patin looks around for the source of the chord and readies herself to use portals to the water to cushion any unexpected changes in direction or catch anything flying at Hlodor that might irritate him more. "I'll try to defend us against anything physical--if I can. I know you want to help the flier, but you need to calm Hlodor down -- Mr. Music, please, now!"

"Yes, Ma'am". Ode turns to Hlodor and starts playing a calming song.

Round 1

Diskette: 25 Seeing him coming, Diskette has time to either prepare or preempt

No attack--Diskette knows Ode is going to try to calm him down, and she doesn't want to distract from that by attacking first. But she is prepped to intercept his attack, and she'll draw her blade when he brandishes a tree at them.

[BR: I'm counting this as holding your action with the plan being to interpose yourself and your defenses if Ode is attacked.]

Hlodor: 19

The maddened young man casually rips a full-grown tree out of the ground and brandishes it towards the heroes....

[BR: Hlodor has a base to hit of 5, increased to 8 for the tree, plus 2 for his accuracy is 10. This is reduced to 2 against Diskette's Stretching defense, and further to 0 for the level vs. level modifier. He needs a 1 to connect. He rolls an 8. Due to this being her whole action Diskette's defense counts for Mr. Music as well.]

Diskette draws her new sword, which looks pitifully ineffectual compared to the bulk of the tree. Hlodor hurls said tree at the pair, and Diskette leaps in front of Ode, creating a stepping disk in front of both of them along the path of the tree's flight. The 18-inch trunk connects with the two-foot-wide patch of earth that is at the other side of the disk and shatters against it, inches away from Diskette's hand. The split tree hurtles past both youths but leaves them untouched.

Mr. Music: 16

[Mr. Music has a base of 11 or less, increased to 13 due to his having a higher charisma than Hlodor. The roll unfortunately is a 20. No power loss because single target emotion control only works on a success.]

With a confidence that might not be wise Mr. Music starts singing a counter melody, trying to block the unseen Entropy Monk's music. "Hlodor is basically a decent sentient, intelligent enough to understand his own temper problem and wise enough to take action to keep from harming others. Hlodor is in harmony with the universe in a way the entropy monks aren't, and buying Hlodor time and mental space may be enough for the student to regain enough control"

Unfortunately, he had not counted on Hlodor's people's extreme territoriality, which the Entropy Monk is playing on. He can hear the two strands of music competing with one another, warring inside of Hlodor's head, but the deep-set biological urges are, so far, stronger than the boy's good intentions. Then he hears the other tune stop - it's still echoing in the boy’s brain, leaving him enraged for several more minutes just as Odes music has a lingering effect unless countered - but perhaps it means the Entropy Monk is leaving the scene? or something else...

Entropy Monk: 16

Diskette hears a subtle discordant music seeping into her brain. [Have to stop here till we resolve earlier actions, but yes, Diskette's insecurity will be the Entropy Monk's next target.]

[JK: Uh-oh! We'll see how this goes]

[BR: Emotion Control base is 7, increased to 10 due to the Monk having higher Charisma and Intelligence. Level vs. level modification increases this to a 12. The roll is a 7. Patin's mind is filled with music that reminds her in no uncertain terms of her failed life. She has no chance against someone who can uproot a tree, she's led Ode to where he will be crushed, her brother was completely right to mock her ability. I'll let Josh fill in the details.

Diskette: 10

[BR Unfortunately, she doesn't get to resist until between turns, so her action here has to reflect her insecurity.]

[JK: Since the reaction blurs into my own turn, I'm combining the two]

Diskette's momentary triumph is shattered as the tree is, as the discordant music slides into her thoughts, surrounding her thoughts (and her thought bubble) with harsh, jagged shading and the occasional unnoticed note. "I got lucky," she thinks, "but this kind of amazing power; to throw a tree like it's nothing--it's even stronger than my brother, Hans. And I've fought this battle before; for all her tricks, her pride, little Platelet falls against the first good blow from her brother. And then he laughs at her. I can't...I won't do that again."

"I give up," Diskette says, her sword vanishing and stepping away from Hlordor. "I can't stand against you, not for long. Just please don't hurt me. Us. Please."

Hlodor: 4

[BR: Gravity Control has a base of 10, decreased to 8 due to level vs. level modification. Attack roll is a 20; no chance.]

The energy in the dwarf star colonist's eyes flares, but he ignores the clearly surrendering Diskette, as she no longer poses any threat towards his territorial instinct. Instead the flare in his eyes lances out as a pair of grey beams, scoring the ground towards Mr. Music. Where the beams hit the ground caves inward on itself. The young Legionnaire is just able to leap clear of the beams, but Mr. Music has the clear impression that Hlodor is holding back and could have pushed him down into the ocean if he had really wanted to.]

Mr. Music: 1

Mr. Music has a base of 11 or less, increased to 13 due to his having a higher charisma than Hlodor. Activating the Charismatic Tag means the chance to hit bumps to a 14. The roll is a 10. new power score is 38]

"Of course!" reads Ode's thought balloon. "Patin's brilliant!"

He kneels carefully, still strumming. "I surrender to you," he calls. "We aren't enemies."

“Your mind was invaded, and not by us. We could never stand against you -- but we can help you focus your rage on the one who dared try."

The boy's eyes clear and he takes several steps back to make sure he isn't too near anyone. "What... What happened?"

Entropy Monk: 1

[BR: No visible or audible action from their still unseen foe, who is taking this moment to skedaddle. Between Turns: Patin gets a D% vs. Charisma (10%) to overcome the effect, which can be increased to 30% if she draws on her Arrogant tag. The die roll was 20; can you give me some good old fashion Arrogant Patin text?]

[JK: Yeah, I think I can manage that]

"No," Patin thinks, "I am not that little girl any more. I am Patin ... -- Diskette -- and I have relentlessly exceeded the bounds for my "pitiful" power, shown that it can break the laws of physics and that I can make my portals larger than ever thought possible. And I'm not even half done; when I am, nobody will -ever- doubt my power again!"

Patin stands again, looking angry--but doesn't draw her sword, "You were controlled, influenced -- as was I, but there they made a mistake, as I would -never- have surrendered to you on my own, and," there, she smiles ruefully, "it turned out to be the correct tactic after all." She activates her radio -- "team, we have resolved the situation here for now; as we suspected, Hlodor was driven into a rage by the Monk's music."

Hlodor is still recovering, clearly, he is of a deliberate mind. “I… didn’t hurt anyone?”

"We knew there might be an attack," says Ode, staying where he is. "But there might not have, not on you, and if not... we didn't want to bother you unnecessarily. And the others -- Patin, how are they? The flier?"

"You didn't," Patin touches her ear, then frowns. "Later. They're fine; Miss Anima was prepared and was able to catch everyone with a conjured flier. I'm guessing the monk zapped them and then ignored them to concentrate on us here, since nobody could survive their plane disintegrating in mid-flight."

Miss Anima and Future Boy

Shortly after the all clear is given from Diskette, Miss Anima's emergency shuttle disappears from the landing pad. No real worry because the students had already had a chance to disembark. The pilot was halfway down the ramp when the whole vanishes in a glitter of light. "Woah" he yells as he drops the last couple feet. "But that's about as far as I'm willing to fall in a crash."

Miss Anima falls to the ground easily; her people are small and used to minor falls. "That was the other reason for on the ground soonest...."

Future Boy is running up, trying to get her attention.

"And I'm guessing we have another emergency..."She sighs, then sprints to meet Future Boy.

"I know where Black Mace is going--my dream told me about them attacking all three targets, which makes sense in retrospect, and plotted out his likely escape route--but we have to move fast."

Miss Anima takes a deep breath and her "hair" waves slightly, but she simply says, "Likely escape route is where?" as she reaches for her communicator. "And will anyone be with him?"

"Between the landing pad and where Hlodor was found," Future Boy answers, "I don't have enough details about the entropy monk, assuming they're different people, to know whether they'll be together or not--although the monk would have to be somewhere their music could reach both your transport and Hlodor".

"Oh, I suppose you should talk to Diskette and Mr. Music about this too; they're positioned to cut him off from the other side."

Miss Anima cues her communicator to the all-team channel as she counts sketchpads and pulls one out. "Diskette, Mr. Music, Future Boy thinks Black Mace will be escaping between where you found Hlodor and the landing pad. Bubble Boy, Metal Lass, that's to the west of the landing pad." She calls whatever number she has for the SPs while rapidly flipping through the sketches and says, "Expecting Black Mace at -" she gives numerical coordinates.

She looks at Future Boy as she pulls out a sketch of a robot. "Any idea about timing?"

(The robot is a psychiatric wing orderly, sort of. It's not law enforcement, but its jobs include containing hysterical patients without hurting them. She expects Black Mace will wreck it, but it's just a robot, not even an AI; it's not like she's sending a person how there to get hurt. You never know, maybe it'll take Black Mace down, and if it doesn't, maybe it'll at least get that mace away from him. At least it should catch him and buy Time

"Only one," Future Boy says, and then takes off running. "We don't have much of it!"

The pair hustle at their best speed, with Miss Animas leaping and loping sprint clearly outstripping Future Boy. She arrives where they must have been supposed to go, but too late.

The landing marks of the one-man grav cycle are obvious. And there's is a metallic octopus of some sort on the ground, mangled, with some blood on its appendages.

Eventually the team can piece it together Black Mace must have moved at a full sprint - faster than a Wynathian, possibly faster than a sprinting Slan - while his breathing was restricted, with his last full breath having been tinged with poison gasses, and then had strength enough to rip Metal Lass's sculpture from his head.

"So, he got away," Miss Anima says with a sigh. "But we can hope his blood -" she points at the discoloration on the octopus's tentacles - "will be of some use to the Science Police. At least confirming his identity later."

"It's also possible he left some blood back at the fight, or maybe other clues as well," Future Boy says, "I still don't know how he could have been fighting Bubble Boy and Metal Lass, and making Diskette surrender at the same time; he must have had a confederate. But that's a second time that he's gotten away because he has a small flying device; those aren't common, and he must be reasonably skilled at their use. I haven't seen them often, certainly not in the size he's using, but it does still seem to be a handful; he must have planted it beforehand here to prepare for a later escape." ‘’’CONTINUED IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF ACTION COMICS!’’’