Story 9: Trials and Ideas
LSH Story 9: Trials and Ideas
The 8 page back up appears in Action Comics #34.
Page 1: Miss Anima, Diskette
The page design for this issue is a little bit unusual, as we have a left-hand column of text running ¾ of the page, and then panels in the other space. ON this page, the opening panels are silent, showing the dialogue of what’s happening in the panels. First 9 panels (3 per row, 3 rows) show Officer Siobhan Erin, but her appearance alternates subtly between panels – earrings are different, hair is different – but her position is identical in pairs of panels – hand placement, facial expression, all of it. The 9th panel is black with white text of “End Recording”
Interrogator: Officer Erin, please give us your understanding of the situation at the time of the shooting.
Erin: Hardo Senn, calling himself Monster Boy, had taken control of several dangerous clusters of native Fauna. He had already, we thought, killed several of the Legion of Super-Heroes, he was directly threatning the life of Ms. Patin Felos, aka Diskette, um, and was credibly threatening the city of New Metropolis if left unchecked.
Interrogator: I see. And the specific circumstances?
Erin: Diskette and one/another of Miss Anima’s animations had cornered Senn, um, on the edge of the Gamera’s shell. Diskette had managed to wound him, hopefully stun him, by teleporting partially through his Tellagi force field. It looked promising that incapacitating and capturing Senn was viable.
Investigator: But…?
Erin: Senn managed to summon another ocean predator that suddenly consumed, in one gulp, Tom Greenland…
Investigator: Who?
Erin: Miss Anima’s um/other animation.
Investigatr: Thank you. Please continue.
Erin: Against that sort of area attack the wounded and tired Diskette would have been extremely vulnerable. She wouldn’t have had time to subdue Senn before the second attack. It was logical that disrupting his footing would either give her an opening, um, or send Senn over the edge.
Investigator: And given what happened would you have still taken the shot?
Erin: Absolutely. Senn was a clear and present threat to a civilian at that moment, armed with lethal weaponry, who had ignored attempts to de-escalate the situation.
Investigatory: Thank you, officer Erin. That will be all.
The final row of panels is of Sergeant Zendak, Miss Anima, Diskette and Solicter Greyn (here to look ater the Legion’s interests).
Zendak: These two videos were shot simultaneously, with Erin and Miss Anima’s animation of Erin in two separate rooms. Their responses to the questions are identical, save for the animation acknowledging that she’s… It is?... They are?”
"I prefer she," Miss Anima says, very quietly, and then adds, "you'd have to ask the animated Erin what she prefers, of course. I use the same terms I'd use for the, um, source person, to remind myself that she may be a temporary person, but while she's here she's a person."
"I think," Diskette says, "that the Sergeant was reaching for how to refer to both Erins at once, not questioning the gender of the duplicate."
Jinnjahl blinks. (That's not the way she heard it, but she doesn't want to get into an argument on the subject with the sergeant here.)
“An animation. It’s clear that your creation took the steps that the actual Officer Erin would have taken could, say, Diskette have teleported her to the scene.
"The Legion may have more questions," Miss Anima says, "I don't know if you have more questions ...? But this interview answers *my* questions."
"That's probably true," Diskette says, "and I think it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. But I don't think it's entirely generally true. The pilot -- Tom Greenland -- I could be wrong, but I don't think his original would be still alive if he acted like the image does. That image seems to act...like a real person, I guess, but really recklessly."
“Sergeant,” Greyn cuts in, “are you indicating that there is no need to charges against Miss Anima aka Jinnjahl?”
Zendak nods. “That’s right, at least not from the SPs perspective. We wouldn’t bring Officer Erin up on disciplinary charges based on these events, so we won’t be making any recommendations to our counterparts at Justice.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. May we have the room for a moment.”
As Zendak gives the soliciter a moment with his young clients, Miss Anima speaks up. “The Legion needs to at least have an inquiry about Hardo Senn's fate.”
Diskette nods. "you're right; we do. We don't want to give anyone the question that we take a death--even a presumed death--lightly."
"I'm not sure who would be good to make the case against me, when he'd *just* been trying to kill all of us, but then, I'm the last person to make that call, so I don't really need to worry about that part." Jinnjahl sighs a little, since she does need to worry about the results, or at least, she can't help it.
Greyn calls up a copy of the charter on his very, very small tablet (remember he stands under a foot tall), then projects it into the air. "well, Ode as chairperson is disallowed as prosecutor as he is overseeing the event and the tie-breaking vote. Otherwise all that's required is the mindset to produce an aggressive and defensible case to the other Legionnaires to see about advancing to a larger trail. Unless someone volunteers Ode will have to select for the role.
"I also shouldn't be making the case," Diskette says, "As much as that suits my idiom, I'm the one Erin was trying to save at the time, so I can hardly be assumed to be unbiased. I mean, I'd do it, I just don't think it's a great idea. Maybe Metal Lass? She's good at protocol and wasn't directly involved in that brawl. We'll have to see."
Page 2: Robot Boy, Mr. Music, Future Boy
This page has a similar layout – the column of text, the rows of images next to it. (Ideally this issue would be penciled by Kevin Maguire circa his run on Justice League in the 80’s for the focus on facial expressions in conversation.) The characters in this scene are the team’s two Wynathains – Ode and Tok– and Adom. The topic is the place that Clark Kent/Superman holds in the cultural, religious and spiritual realms of Wynathian culture.
On the civil religion of Superman
The three Legionnaires are roaming the city, while around them a public festival is going on - the usually small Clarksday celebrations that allow Wynathians to celebrate their races good fortune in the past, commitment to helping others in need and hope for good fortunate in the future is several times larger this year with the near miss with the Gamera being at the top of everyone’s mind.
The focus of the panels are the team members faces (or displays of lights and gears for Robot Boy) but there’s plenty going on around them in the panels. There are street vendors and buskers and families and tchotchkes and even one or two flags for sale with the Legion emblem on them
Tok is excitedly bouncing from stall to stall, his cargo jumpsuit filled with an improbable number of tchotchkes and toys, and he's just picked up a dozen bright green candy rings. "You've got to try this, Ode," he says, "they're a holiday tradition! 'Kryptonite' rings are sweet, but also super-sour, and the golden center just brings out the Clarksday cheer!"
Adom studies the scene as he follows his companions through the milling crowd, unsure of what to make of the quaint celebration. His own people observed a handful of holidays, but the associated customs tended to be quite a bit less jovial ... indeed, one might even call them severe. He is particularly fascinated by vendors hawking exotic festival foods. "Curiosity. What is a Krypto-Dog and why should one wish to be sure to 'get 'em while they are still hot?'"
"It's..." Ode is slightly distracted by the momentos of the team. "It's... a kind of food from Clark's homeworld, Earth. A modified version. And... they taste better warm. Not hot, but once it's not hot it... gets cold pretty fast."
"Confusion", Adom replies. "I still do not understand what this 'Clark' means to you. There is awe when his name is spoken. Yet this does not appear to be worship. He is not your god?"
"No, of course not," Future Boy replies. "Clark was real -- he was a super-hero, maybe the first super-hero, on Earth; the last of his species. He saved Wynath once, back millenia ago, and inspired us to study, advance, and spread throughout the galaxy. So, once we found Earth--found out about his history and the cultures that inspired him, we remade Soupsday--the holiday we celebrated to commemorate our still being alive, into Clarksday, bringing in the traditions that inspired him, so we'd always remember why we're still here. Oh, a Seidrel! Hold on, I have to get this for little Tolly. You know, this looks like an ordinary top, but due to the power that Clark puts into it (and a little Wynathian engineering), one spin lasts eight full days if you don't stop it first."
"Intrigue. The first super-hero. So one could say the first Legionnaire. Curiosity. How and when did he save the planet?"
"This was back in the old days, when Wynathians were just on our home planet; we hadn't made it to space yet, though we knew it was possible, but there were so many things to do, plus a lot of people were convinced that it was the End Times." Tok snags a couple of cookies from a vendor and passes one to Ode, keeping one shaped like a sun for himself.
"Well, they were almost right. One day, without much warning, the sun winked out in the middle of the day. Gone, just like that." Tok takes a big bite of his cookie. "There was a lot of panic at the time, but a guy in blue and red flew out of the sky and told people what had happened--that a creature called a Sun-eater had, well." he takes another bite. "Eaten the sun; truth in advertising, I guess, and we were doomed.
“But, he also said that we shouldn't panic, that he was Superman, a hero from another world, and that he'd fix it--that he had to, because last time he visited, it was a thousand years in the future and we were fine. And he did. We had astronomers watching closely by that point; it's not like they had much to do with the surface quickly cooling and people were rioting in the streets, the ones who weren't watching Channel Superman, anyway, and they saw the whole thing--how he beat up the Sun-eater, forced it to spit what was left of our sun and flee the system, then hit it with rays from his eyes and flew around it until it ignited again. It was a bit smaller and darker than it had been, though, which I guess explains why he vanished, moving faster than almost anything, and returned a few weeks later trailing a second small star -- that's why Wynath has two suns now. He flew off after assuring us that it was all fixed -- something about a disaster brewing half a galaxy away, but...how could you forget something like that?"
Lights flash behind Adom's face visor and a series of clacks and high-pitched thrums emanate from his cranial unit as he attempts to reconcile this reply with his understanding of the laws that govern physical reality. He quickly abandons the effort for fear of crashing his neural network, simply accepting the truth of his teammate's explanation as stated. "Fascination... Legionnaire designate Clark-Superman can travel through time. His first visit from the Wynathian perspective is not the first from his own. When he returns his younger self will have no memory of the Wynathian historical encounter. Interesting paradox."
"Curiosity. When is Clark-Superman anticipated to return? Are the circumstances known?"
"I... think he was quiet about the details," says Ode, still staring at a flag with the Legion emblem. "Or maybe people were too worried about surviving one more year, let along a thousand, to ask. Though... maybe he told someone, and whoever it was kept quiet... in case of... of..." He shrugs. "But I don't know what he's going to think of --" The musician gestures around him. "All of this. I mean, even these --" He motions to the flags. "These are... It just feels weird looking at these."
"Anticipation. It will be an honor for self-designate Adom to meet him. Solemnity. I will convey your admiration if Clark-Superman does not arrive during your brief soft-kin lifespans." Adom picks up a small red cape, a remnant of a festival costume lost at some point by a passing child and drapes it around his shoulders. He does not fully understand the purpose of such apparel but feels it important to conform to local social norms, however incomprehensible.
"Realization. You used designate Superman when recounting his exploit. Why do you also use designate Clark? Is he a hybrid being like Adom and Proty?"
"Ah, no, it -- "Clark" is his name, and "Superman" his... Well, like "Mr. Music" is my league name."
Ode adjusts Adom's cape so it hangs better.
Ode's thought balloon has Adom wearing the cape, taking center stage in a Welcome Back Clarke concert for Superman, using Ode's idea of what the latest in music technology will be in a couple of centuries.
Tok has been thinking quietly as they walked, somewhat uncharacteristically. "You said that Clark could travel in time," he says. "Maybe he can, but...what if the reason he hasn't shown up yet is that in his past; in our future, he didn't travel in time to us; how would he know to do so? What if we travelled in time to him?
"It's been over a thousand years, and he said about a thousand years, but Superman hasn't shown up. What if Clark's waiting for us to invent time travel?"
Page 3: Metal Lass, Bubble Boy
Story 9 Page 3 Framing Having checked the navigation charts for New Metropolis our young heroes have made way for Peek Island, some hours ahead of the capital city’s path through Charkesh’s endless oceans. There they can safely test Future Boys jet packs without concern for an accident over the city, while still being close enough for assistance should things go wrong.
Tok bar tasked the pair with full field tests since they could, in a pinch, support one another with their powers should one of the packs malfunction. Lacking either Robot Boys invulnerability or Diskettes agility the pair could give he devices their fairest rest for the “average” user.
[BR this work: isolated island, room for possible weirdness, picnic lunch?]
[MC: All good by me. I assume the pair take public transport to reach the island.]
As the air-cab flits away, the two youngsters are left standing on the shoreline of Peek Island. Gorvo carefully puts down the jet-pack he lifted from the cab.
"Right, here we are, Dolar. Picnic first, or jet-pack testing? We should probably find an open patch of ground for the test flights, first, though. Don't want to land in the ocean if the pack switches off suddenly. I've had my fill of sub-aquatic adventures for the moment."
“We are likely to do our best work with full stomachs,” Dolar says. “Site first, then food, then flight.”
Her thought balloon reads **He remains charming and funny. How could I have been so wrong about what that meant?**
As she bends to pick up her jet pack, her hands flicker through the form for remaining firm in the face of great emotion, before it is hidden by the equipment. She picks up the picnic basket, squares her shoulders, and walks toward the interior of the island.
Gorvo checks his jetpack and hurries after Dolar. He chats enthusiastically about flying and the wildlife on the island. It's clear that he's pleased to be out in the open and to have the chance to shake off any lingering effects of his recent traumatic encounter with the Gamera.
"It's strange to me, Dolar, to be out and about in the open like this and not have to really worry about the wildlife. At home on Tallag, pretty much everything will eat you given half a chance. Parents never let their kids wander off unsupervised. At least not before they've passed their outdoor competency tests."
"What's it like on your world? Do you have wild beasts to worry about? Are the skies beautiful?" He gestures up at the sky above the trees by the shoreline, marveling at the colour. "At home it's mostly blue and grey clouds."
“Metax’s sun is redder than this one, so our sky is more gray-blue than this world's. And the land is drier. The river valleys where I grew up are green and filled with plants, but much of rest of the continent is covered in sand.” Dolar gestures at the ground, and her expression softens as her thoughts turn inward. “It is the sands of Metax that are truly beautiful. Over millennia, burrowing animals have called the minerals they needed to nurture their young to their nests, which has stained the sands in layers of color."
“I expect you would find our animals very dull. Very few of them would try to eat you."
Gorvo grins. "I could live with dull once in a while. If I never get swallowed by megafauna again I'm fine with it."
"Metax sounds beautiful. I know your people aren't wildly keen on visitors, but I'd love to see the sands of Metax one day."
The weather for the day is flat calm - perfect day to attempt flying - though there is still the risk of a storm later. Fortunately, the ocean horizon would give a long warning before that could happen.
Once decided on a suitable jetpack proving grounds, the two young Legionnaires unpack their picnic before settling down to eat. Gorvo demonstrates the Tallag 'bubble-chair', where he forms two simple, flexible force bubbles to sit on.
"Your seat, Metal Lass," he says as he gestures with a flourish to the translucent mushroom chair. "Let us save dirtying our uniforms for the landing practice later. What picnic delights have you brought?"
Gorvo's contribution to the picnic supplies tends towards large foil bags of incredibly spicy chips and a slab or two of chocolate.
Dolar opens her pack and starts pulling out nested boxes containing fresh fruits, square sandwiches made with different flavored pastes, a grain salad with dried figs and tiny fish, and thermoses of cold soup.
“I thought bringing a variety of different dishes would be wise,” she says. “I’ve seen you eat.”
Snagging a pink-and-green filled sandwich, she continues “It’s not that we dislike visitors, you know. It’s that outsiders are often inadvertently offensive.” She looks up at Gorvo, her body shifting into a form denoting the telling of earnest truths. “It’s not just that they don’t understand how our obligations within the clans bind our actions. Our postural language describes the emotional context of the words we speak. We can learn to still our bodies, or to use formal stances to mute the display of emotion, but among friends on Metax it is not really possible to hide what you feel.” She looks away quickly, her gaze fixed on the open sea. “It avoids misunderstandings."
Gorvo looks at Dolar intently, as though seeing her anew. "You've always seems very in control of yourself, Dolar. I never realised how much your posture expresses your thoughts. You must find the rest of us very sloppy and confusing. I bet we send all sort of unintentional signals."
He pauses. Then slowly, trying to choose the right words. "Um, I hope I haven't said anything too stupid or offensive in the past in my ignorance, Metal Lass." Then brightening, "is there any basic postural signs you could teach me? I'd love to be able to say, 'you're doing great' or 'well done!' in Metaxian. Watching you in action with the Legion, it seems like those would be the most useful, at to start with."
Dolar carefully shakes her head in a gesture that Gorvo can clearly interpret. “The forms don’t send secret messages to other individuals, silly! They provide context.” A blush flashes across her cheeks. “For instance, right now, I am in the form used to let others know that I am speaking truth. And now,” - she shifts position - I am showing that the subject we are discussing is easy to misunderstand.”
“The closest form to what you suggest would be this.” - she shifts again - “It denotes pride in the accomplishments of your companions.”
Gorvo clumsily mimics Dolar's form as best he can. "Does this mean you have to be aware of, and control, your posture all the time? Just to avoid sending incoherent signals or confusing context? Can you ever just let go, like dancing and move unconstrained?”
“We incorporate forms into all our movement - dance too,” Dolar laughs. “Think of them like your force field. We start learning to use them when we’re small, and it’s second nature by the time we’re grown.” She leans forward, shifting into a form denoting polite curiosity. “Do you have to drop your force fields when you have a big dance party? Or is everybody bouncing off one another?”
Gorvo looks a little shocked at the suggestion. "Oh no, Tallagi only lower their force bubbles with family and closest friends. It makes doctor's visits a bit difficult, especially when we're too young to follow instructions reliably. Dancing is more of a vigorous workout than something done in pairs. More mosh pit than minute waltz, I'd say."
"We can draw our fields in pretty tightly to our bodies; it's only polite on public transport, for example, to minimize one's bubble. It can be a bit like a bowling ball and skittles otherwise, when the driver slams on the brakes."
Gorvo muses further. "Do you have public transport on your homeworld? Metaxian don't seem to be big on close physical proximity. Squished like sardines would put a real strain on the forms."
"Tallagians don't really have to worry about inadvertent contact. It's more the risk of two bubbles repelling each other and throwing people about the place."
Dolar responds, “We do have public transit, and believe it or not, there’s a form for that, too.” She stands, and shifts into a position that radiates disinterested nonchalance. “This denotes regret for any temporary inconvenience I might cause for you or your clan during the time that we travel together,” she intones before a grin spreads across her face. “I’ve never thought about how that must look to strangers — dozens of Metaxians standing quietly in the exact same attitude between stops. It’s no wonder that the sophonts that visit us think we’re unfriendly.”
She shrugs, which looks surprisingly uncontrolled on the young Metaxian. “Young hotheads insisting on ritual combat to repay inadvertent insults probably don't help either. That's why I’m here learning how to translate between our culture and the rest of the UP’s. My clan considers my work with the Legion a bit of icing on that particular cake.”
She looks toward Gorvo, raising an eyebrow. “That reminds me, Darvish seemed quite upset about your well-being after you escaped the Gamara. Did you happen to tell her that we’re flying completely untried experimental jet-packs today?"
Gorvo echoes Dolar's shrug. "It must have slipped my mind. She's been like a mother-hen since the Gamara incident. I wish she'd stop treating me like a kid, and, I don't know..."
He blushes slightly. "Anyway, I didn't think Darvish needed another excuse to fuss and worry. I'm sure these jet-packs are perfectly safe."
