Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business Young Legion - A Tale of Earth-K2

“Here we go again”
-- Andy Warhol

“I have a bad feeling about this.”
-- Everybody

PROLOGUE:
FOUR

Garth: Did they really have to drag Brainy out of the building?

Rokk: Practically.

Imra: Sounds like him. He’s probably calculating a way to find a new Legion based on Colu… with him in absolute charge.

Garth: That’s our genius. He always wanted to run our little club, but you were the best leader we ever had, Imra.

Imra: Absolutely not. Rokk was first and best.

Rokk: I blush.

Garth: None of us would have expected it to end this way back when we started…

Rokk: Or to have survived some of the impossible situations we did along the way.

Garth: I only wanted an excuse to hang around with this pretty woman.

Imra: Flatterer. Even if I couldn’t read your mind, I’d know you were lying.

Garth: We did what we could with the gifts that we were given by genetics or accident… and I got you, too.

Imra: If the Legion’s finished, well… I’m not going to ponder what happened on other worlds, or in dreams, or whether this reality is all there is in life… because our story will never end.

CHAPTER ONE:
LETTERS

TWENTY YEARS LATER

TO:
shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up;
fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up;
polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up;
egnach@lgm.com.durla.up;
mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up;
newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up;
10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up

FROM:
dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up;
dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up;
pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up

Cos is official in six hours. Meet at the rendevous ASAP. RSVP.

TO:
dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM:
shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up

I will be there.

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up

We will be there.

TO: shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up

Will be there.

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: egnach@lgm.com.durla.up

On my way.

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up;newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up

On the ball and ready for action!

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up

I have a little surprise for you when I see you all. Hint: Original clubhouse.

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.upTO: shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up
FROM: 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up

Happy Birthday, Pol.
I would remind you all (again) that Coluans do not reach legal majority until the age of approximately one Terran century.
As I am restricted to travel approved by my legal guardian, I am therefore unable to 'rendevous' with the rest of you 'adult' 14-year-olds.
However, I am pleased to continue to serve as a consultant, when necessary.
Dorrit, Dacey and Pol: Do you really think your parents do not know what is going on?
Do you suppose they do not monitor their own server?
How clueless do you think they are?
I believe they are Level-Three intelligences, or am I wrong?
And your mother is a Class-One Telepath, for Ultra-Grife's sake.
Good luck, boys and girls.

TO: shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up; 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up
FROM: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up

Guys, there is going to be a little delay.

Yes, Ten, yer very smart. Now shut up.

TO: dorrit.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; dacey.ranzz@lightningringfarms.net.winath.up; pol.hu.krinn2@lightningringfarms.net.winath.upTO: shrinkingviolet@iota.com.irulan.up; fffffff77@troogle.com.carggg.up; polarpower@coldweb.com.tharr.up; egnach@lgm.com.durla.up; mattereaterlad2@bismollgov.gov.bismoll.up; newphantomgirl@ghostnet.net.bgztl.4d.up
FROM: 10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up

I would say I hate to say 'I told you so', but I actually rather enjoy saying 'I told you so'.

CHAPTER TWO:
AGREEMENTS

Lightning Ring Farms

“Yes, this is a family business,” said Garth Ranzz. “But we still run it like a business.”

“You need to show a little forethought,” said Imra Ardeen Ranzz. “Think of the future consequences of your actions.”

“Read your contracts,” Garth Ranzz said to the two girls. “If you fail to give Lightning Ring Farms two weeks notice, we are allowed to dock your unpaid salary, vacation, and sick leave. If you do, you can cash out your all your withholdings.”

“I am willing for you to leave, Pol,” said Rokk Krinn. “I was only a few months older than you are now when I went to Earth, looking for employment. Your grandpa Hu still lives there. But you probably want to wait until Dacey and Dorrit can join you. You are old enough to start receiving the Stipend now, and thirty-eight credits a week probably seems like a lot of money, but you will be surprised how quickly it goes, once you start paying your own rent, and buying your own food.”

“And of course we were monitoring your emails,” said Lydda Jath Krinn. “They are on a Company server, you ought to have had no expectation of privacy.”

“What were you thinking, setting up communications with a Coluan?” said Imra Ardeen Ranzz. “If there is one thing I hope you learned, it’s ‘Never Trust a Coluan’. Fortunately we have some pretty robust firewalls, and it doesn’t appear he tried to hack our system… but you never know with Coluans and Tech...”

“Okay, okay,” said Dorrit Ranzz. “We’ll give written notice of our resignations. We’ll postpone our trip for two weeks. Pol will stay here on Winath, until we’re all ready to leave together. Are you happy now?”

“We just want you to think ahead, dear,” said Imra Ardeen Ranzz. “And you don’t need to waste money on a Starliner. We’ll transfer your personal Runabout into your own names. That and your savings ought to give you a good start.”

“You’re always welcome to come back,” said Rokk Krinn. “And Pol, if decide you want to start working for the Farms, too, you are welcome as well. You know we are always short-handed.”

Lydda Jath Krinn hugged her son tightly. “Have a good time on Earth, dear. Be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Pol Krinn, sulkily. “And it’s not Earth, it’s Mars.”

Dacey and Dorrit gasped.

Lydda Jath Krinn smiled. “I don’t think you were supposed to tell me that, dear.”

Klar, hi, I think you are the most consistency creative writer on this forum, and this low-key beginning to your story is case in point.

From the great email addresses - the Gragggite being @ Troogle made me laugh, though the Coluan having the designation of 10 was worrying - hopefully that is the intelligence rating, not generation of Brainiac. Nice characterisation for the senior team too, and their worry about Coluans hacking their system is very intriguing. I was surprised that it was Dacey and Dorritt and not Graym and Garridan that seemed to be organisation this team, though I'm sure you'll introduce the boys atsome point.

Looking forward to more, more and more!

CHAPTER THREE:
THE DURLAN

New Metropolis, Mars. (Population 6,465)

The Durlan sat at a restaurant table in the Marshall Grande Hotel, skin the color and texture of mandarin oranges. His bat-like ears and antennae rose high above his head.

“Have you been waiting long?” asked Dorrit.

“A little over two weeks,” the Durlan replied. “We had already departed the Spaceport when I received your message.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Dacey.

“It is of no consequence,” said the Durlan. “I had already said my good-byes to Durla. What is the expression? ‘Burned my bridges’: I had nowhere to go but forward.”

Dorrit was concerned. “It sounds like you sacrificed a great deal to join us,” she said. “I hope… I hope this… enterprise… is worth it.”

“Any Durlan who leaves the Homeworld sacrifices a great deal. But for most, the loss has already occurred before they left. We are aware of with what suspicion shape-shifters are viewed in some quarters of the Galaxy. Our motives and loyalties are always suspect. But the truth is, any Durlan who comes out into greater U.P. space is most likely there because they have nowhere else to go.”

“Hey, how about some formal introductions?” Pol Krinn declared, taking a seat at the table. “I’m Pol Krinn, and I plan to take the name Cosmic Boy, just like my father.”

“Dorrit Ranzz,” Dorrit sighed. “Saturn Girl, named after my mother. Although, I’m really Winathan, not from Saturn.”

“Dacey Ranzz,” said Dacey. “Lightning Lass, like my Aunt Ayla.”

“Pleased to meet you all IRL,” said the Durlan. “You may call me Chameleon.”

“Just ‘Chameleon’?” Pol asked. “No other name? No ‘Boy’ or ‘Girl’?”

“My tribe does not adopt audible proper names,” said Chameleon. “Nor do we select our genders, until we are ready to bond. For me, not for some time, I hope.”

Pol had noticed that although the Durlan appeared completely naked, its body was entirely featureless: there were no visible primary or secondary sexual characteristics or visible orifices of any kind.

“How have you been getting by?” asked Dorrit. “Do you have any other income than the Stipend? Because staying in this hotel for two weeks would probably have wiped you out. Have you found another place to live in New Metropolis?”

“There are several inexpensive delicatessens and cafeterias,” Chameleon replied. “At night, I shift into the form of one of the local birds or domestic beasts to get some sleep. Various trees are quite comfortable enough for me in those forms.”

A waiter came over to their table.

“Waiter, we are expecting about a dozen people over the next couple of hours. Please charge anything anyone orders on my account,” said Saturn Girl. She held up her right hand for the biometric scan. “Including anything our Durlan friend has already ordered. Is there an additional charge for monopolizing your table for so long?”

“Not for registered guests, ma’am,” the waiter replied. “Or their associates. Would anyone like to order anything now?”

“I’ll have a Guaraná,” said Dorrit. She looked around the table.

“Oh, that sounds good,” said Dacey. “Bring one for me as well.”

“Can I have a burger and fries?” Pol ordered.

“Just water for me… for now,” said Chameleon.

“You are very generous,” Dacey complimented her sister.

“You and I can split the tab fifty-fifty later,” said Dorrit.

CHAPTER FOUR:
DINNER

The family table seemed empty without the three teen-agers.

“We should have done something to stop them.”

“What could we do, Imra?” asked Rokk. “They are of age. They can make their own decisions.”

“Back when it was just the three of us,” Imra retorted, “It was only Braal that granted majority at such a young age. The rest of us needed our parents’ permission. Now it’s the whole Galaxy.”

“Dad, was she like this when Graym and I went away to university?” asked Garridan.

“You weren’t intent on resurrecting the Legend of the Legion,” his father replied. “And Manna-3 is not Earth.”

“Well, I, for one am glad we went to Manna U.,” said Graym. “Otherwise, I never would have met Yvés.”

“And I never would have known what a wonderful world you have here,” said Yvés. “Or what a sweet-talker Graym can be.”

“Every hand we can get is welcome,” said Rokk, “Even if we have to use marriage to get them to stay.”

“What do you think of Pol and Dacey?” asked Lydda. “I’ve always thought there was a little spark between them. Do you think we can trust them? Alone? On far-away Mars?” She winked.

“Oh, Dorrit and Dacey have been like big sisters to Pol,” said Imra. “They do like to keep secrets, though. Or, at least, they like to pretend they can keep secrets. This little project of theirs...”

“Imra, I think you are over-worried about this,” said Lydda. “I suspect this is nothing more than one of those Societies for Creative Anachronism-- like Renaissance Faires, or those groups that try to recreate King Arthur’s times.”

“Except that it’s the children of King Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot that are trying to build a new Camelot,” said Imra. “I’m afraid some of our old enemies might still be out there, and may still carry a grudge.”

“I don’t know, Imra,” said Garth. “I’m with Lydda on this one. I suspect it’s just a harmless phase.”

“And it might give them a cold, hard dose of reality,” said Rokk. “Pol seems to think his life on Winath is normal-- and he’s never really wanted for anything. Dorrit and Dacey may be willing to cushion the blow for a while, but their savings won’t last forever. The Galaxy can be a harsh-- and expensive-- place.”

“And if we offer to help him, it will be on your terms?” asked Lydda.

“Our terms,” said Rokk. “We have to see what the future holds, when it comes.”

* * *

“You were quiet during dinner,” said Salu.

“I tend to agree with Imra,” said Ayla. “I lost my brother to the Legion, early on. The fact that they later brought him back… well, it doesn’t erase those months that I felt that he was gone forever.”

“You’re afraid something like that might happen to your nieces, too,” said Salu. “Or Pol.”

“Or our own little Violet,” said Ayla. “Had you ever considered that?”

“But she’s far too young,” said Salu. “She…”

“She’s metahuman,” said Ayla. “And if this New Legion succeeds, it might still be around in a half-dozen years. And she might want to join her cousins.”

“Then let’s hope Rokk and Lydda are right, and they’re just playing out a little fantasy,” said Salu. “And it blows over in time.”

CHAPTER FIVE:
THE ORZDEAN

“Eluia M’Kord, Orzde. Shrinking Violet”

She seemed to Dorrit the stereotypical farm-girl: hefty, broad, and strong-looking. Although, of course, Dorrit and Dacey themselves were farm-girls, and far from stereotypical.

“I got here early this morning,” said the new Shrinking Violet. “This is a pretty small town, to style itself a ‘New Metropolis’.”

“The real Metropolis, on Earth, is a city of ten billion,” said Pol. “My grandfather lives there, so we’ve visited a few times. Of course, the city covers the eastern third of an entire continent, so I haven’t seen much of it.”

“You are Krill, are you not?” asked Chameleon.

“Yes, Orzdeans and Imskians are both Krill,” said Shrinking Violet. “Do you know what the poet said? ‘I am glad my mother taught me Krillic as a lad, so I won’t have to learn it in the Afterlife. For Orzdean Krillic is the language of Heaven, and Imskian Krillic is the language of Hell’”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Chameleon.

“It means,” said Dacey, “That Orzde and Imsk are like siblings, who sometimes don’t quite get along.”

“I wandered around the town a bit,” said Shrinking Violet. “They have a very nice Ice Cream Shoppe. And they have a Superman Museum, although it’s mostly just VR booths. Is it true that Supergirl was accepted into the original Legion by performing a feat of Archaeology?”

“That’s the sort of thing you learn when being so close to Earth,” said Dorrit. “And yes, it’s true. Excalibur and the Helm of Achilles are in Antonio Stefanacci’s Museum of Mystic Arts in Metropolis, but my mother has Richard the Lion-Heart’s Shield hanging on the wall of her bedroom.”

“Is your costume of some treated material?” asked Chameleon. “I assume it shrinks and grows with you. We have such variable materials on Durla, but they are expensive.”

“Oh, it’s much simpler than that,” Shrinking Violet explained. She picked up a fork from the table, then shrank down to one tenth her size. The fork shrank proportionally as well. “Anything we can carry, we can shrink. Of course, once I let go…” She dropped the fork, and it immediately returned to its normal size.

“Interesting,” said Chameleon. “You know, this ability could be weaponized, in close quarters combat. Could you reduce another full person in size?”

“Weaponized?” Shrinking Violet startled. “Why…”

But her question faded into the air. A sixth member had arrived.

Using Dacey and Dorrit is a great idea, it puts them at about the same age as Pol. Good excuse to keep the Coluan physically off-stage but brains available. I'm also curious about his name and wonder if he'll find a way to put in an appearance; surely you can't keep an ambitious kid down on the farm on Colu. The parents are so believable in their mix of reactions to the kids leaving - and that they were one step ahead of them. Mommy sees everything! Interesting that the Durlan is a bit of a mystery to the others; it emphasizes how distant Durlans are from the rest of the U.P., despite the fact that the kids would likely have been familiar with Reep and Yera. A little bit of Orzdean snobbery re:Imsk - sentients never change! Looking forward to the rest of the team and their first mission.

CHAPTER SIX:
THE BISMOLLEAN

“Hillarie Norjay,” the dark-haired youth introduced himself. “Matter-Eater Lad Two.”

“We kind of hoped to avoid using numbers in our names,” said Lightning Lass. “It would make it rather hard to keep track, in the future.”

“Oh, but it’s completely necessary,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “President Kem has trademarked the name ‘Matter-Eater Lad’, and is awfully strict about enforcing it. Fortunately, intellectual property rights on Bismoll are pretty lax, so adding a ‘Two’ completely keeps me out of trouble. I guess I could call myself ‘Kid’, or ‘Boy’, but it just doesn’t have the same musicality.”

“President Kem?” asked Saturn Girl. “I thought his two terms as President of Bismoll were over.”

“It’s an honorific,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “One of our greatest former presidents. Do you know he holds the record for attempted assassinations on his person while in office? Six! In ten years! He must have been doing his job, if it was making so many people unhappy.”

“Who held the second-place record?” asked Chameleon.

“President Bridges,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Long before I was born. Just one attempt on his life. Successful.”

He looked around the table. “Wow, are you really the descendants of the original Lightning Lad, Saturn Girl, and Cosmic Boy?”

Dorrit, Dacey, and Pol nodded.

“Wow, your parents knew President Kem when he was just a kid my age. Impressive.” said Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“Do your new guests require service?” asked the waiter, seemingly appearing from nowhere.

“Do you have a plate suitable for Bismolleans?” asked Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“Certainly, sir,” said the waiter. “One of our refrigeration units was serviced yesterday, and there is a box of used parts in the kitchen. Would that be acceptable?”

“Sure, let’s give it a try,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“And the young lady is from the Irulan System?” asked the waiter.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t disturb anyone with my shrinking,” said Shrinking Violet.

“Not at all,” said the waiter. “Look around. This is our slow period. We do have roast elvabird and cornberry sauce in the kitchen. Perhaps a sandwich for you?”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” said Shrinking Violet.

“Could you bring me two hundred grams of nutritional yeast, if you have it available?” asked Chameleon. “And fresh water, please.”

“Certainly,” said the waiter. “Is there anything else I can get any of you?”

“We are expecting another half-dozen diners,” said Saturn Girl. “Most of them are already registered with the hotel, I’m sure. Are we overstaying our welcome?”

“As long as you are a registered guest of the Grand Marshall Hotel,” said the waiter, “Consider our house your home, and your guests our friends.”

CHAPTER SEVEN:
THE BGZTLR

The Phantom Girl appeared out of thin air.

“Oh, this place is nice,” she said, looking around. “The motel on Gzbk is only fair-to-middling.”

“Giz-Back?” Chameleon inquired.

“Gzbk,” said Phantom Girl. It’s the equivalent of Mars, in Bgztl’s dimension. Inhabiting the same space, but at a different… frequency. I’ve been staying on the other side for the last two days, waiting for the rest of you to arrive. Irinia Apero, aka NewPhantomGirl.”

“We’re meeting again tomorrow noon at the shore of the Hellespont Sea,” said Saturn Girl. “I’ll be sending out maps to everyone’s mail tonight. Will you be staying Mars-side, or in -er- Gzbk tonight?”

“Oh, Gzbk, certainly,” said Phantom Girl. “A credit goes so much farther in my home dimension.”

“Durlans seem pretty independent of hotels, at least Chameleon does,” said Saturn Girl. “Does anyone need to register here?”

“Orzdeans carry their houses with them,” said Shrinking Violet. “My earrings double as comfortable, portable camping trailers.”

“I, um, need to register, I guess,” said Matter-Eater Lad 2.

“I’m booked all by myself in a double room,” said Cosmic Boy. “It would be a shame to waste it. You can stay with me, tonight.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” said Matter-Eater Lad 2. “This is a really nice place. These nuts they served were delicious. Nickel-plated, molybdenum and titanium steel. And some tungsten wiring to go with them, too. Really good.”

“Well, we are all booked in,” said a new voice. Or rather, voices.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
THE CARGGGANS

“This is Ffionna, Ffarrah, and Ffey Ffarr, our Triplicate Girls,” said Saturn Girl.

“It is now a well-known fact,” said Ffiona, “That there are certain Cargggans who have very dissimilar personalities among their three selves. We are rather at the extreme of that. It is… uncomfortable for us to be united. We prefer to live our lives separately. And so we do.”

“For the most part,” said Ffey. “I mean, we love each other. We still want to be together-- we’re sisters, after all-- just not together together, if you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, we were outsiders-- even pariahs on Carggg,” said Ffionna. “Shunned or bullied by family and peers alike. Well-meaning adults trying to ‘fix’ us. Shuttled from one tri-psychiatrist to another, even. As soon as we could, we took the Stipend, and our One Free Flight here.”

“The flight here was torture,” said Ffey. “We only had one ticket-- we had to stay fused for days.”

“One Free Flight?” asked Cosmic Boy. “I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“No doubt coming from a First-World Planet, to you three, it is unfamiliar,” interjected Chameleon. “However, when most youth reach Majority, they are offered a free one-way flight to any other U.P. world. It is supposed to encourage economic opportunity and diversity. I imagine your father, coming from Braal, made use of this same program in his trip to Earth. Most people, of course, eventually save up the money for the return flight home themselves. The call of a familiar, home culture is strong.”

Lightning Lass, Saturn Girl and Cosmic Boy shifted uneasily. It was true that they had had no knowledge of or experience with the One Free Flight program: although their parents had undoubtedly taken advantage of it: it had led to the formation of the Old Legion.

“Are they still serving lunch?” asked Ffarrah. “I’m starved. And the food on our flight was atrocious.”

“Order whatever you like,” said Lightning Lass. “Our treat, for today.”

“Say no more!” said Ffarrah, plopping down in a chair. “Life is short. Dessert first!”

“Tell us,” said Saturn Girl, “Why you wanted to join the Legion.”

There was an empty chair next to Saturn Girl. Ffey took it. “It was hard on Carggg,” she explained. “The Old Legion was renowned as a welcoming, accepting haven for unique individuals-- some of them even the last of their race. It was a place to go for some kids who had no other place to go. A place where diversity was prized, not criticized. We hope this group can be the same. A surrogate home and family for us.”

Saturn Girl and Lightning Lass exchanged glances. “We never really thought of it like that…” Lightning Lass began. Saturn Girl subtly shushed her.

“Of course, we want to explore our powers, too,” said Ffiona. “And maybe learn how we can use them to the benefit of others. That’s what the Old Legion was all about, wasn’t it?”

“Adventure,” said Ffarrah, through a mouthful of whipped cream. “Free food! And a way to meet guys,” she laughed.

CHAPTER NINE:
THE THARRITE

“I knew Mars was cold, but it is freezing in this hotel,” said Zylda Kimm. She was dressed in the standard fur-trimmed violet thermal suit. “Do they have to keep the thermostat so low?”

“It’s 20c in here,” said Lightning Lass. “I’m afraid that’s a standard temperature on most Terran worlds. On Winath, it never gets over 40c, even in the hottest part of summer.”

“Wow,” said Zylda Kimm. “On Tharr, it never gets below 90c, even at night. I guess I need to buy another heavy coat, and maybe even a thermal belt, too. Do you think I could order some hot soup, and some peppered cocoa?”

“You are calling yourself ‘Polar Power’?” asked Lightning Lass.

“I was thinking ‘Polaris’,” said Zylda Kimm. “‘Polar Girl’ just doesn’t do it for me.”

“The rest of us are Saturn Girl, Cosmic Boy, Chameleon, Shrinking Violet, Matter-Eater Lad Two, Phantom Girl, the Triplicate Girls, and I’m Lightning Lass. I think it would be good to start using those names when we address each other.”

“Hm. Shrinking Violet,” said the newly self-christened Polaris. “Not sure I get the reference.”

“It refers to a little purple flower from the northern regions of Earth,” said Saturn Girl. “It is so delicate and sensitive that it withers with a touch. ‘Shrinking’ away, as it were. It’s a classic superhero name.”

“Although ‘sensitive’ and ‘delicate’ doesn’t really describe Aunt Salu at all,” said Lightning Lass. “More like ‘Shrinking Violent Temper’”

“Oh, come on,” said Saturn Girl. “There was just that one time. And you did drop their baby down the stairs.”

Lightning Lass shifted uncomfortably.

“Tomorrow, we’ll show you all the clubhouse,” said Saturn Girl.

* * *

The Ranzz twins sat alone together in their room.

“Is that what the Old Legion was?” asked Lightning Lass. “A refuge for misfits and oddballs? Is that what these people are expecting of us? A place to hide from the world?”

“Well, in the original Legion there were some… unique… individuals,” said Saturn Girl. “Wildfire for one. Timber Wolf. Ultra Boy. Even Brainiac 5. Blok, Element Lad, Kid Psycho, all the last of their respective races. Superboy and Supergirl, too, as far as that goes. With this group, only Chameleon and the Triplicate Girls, it seems.”

“'Matter-Eater Lad Two' does strike me as a little off,” said Lightning Lass.

“No, I think all Bismolleans are like that,” said Saturn Girl.

CHAPTER TEN:
DARKNESS

Garth saw that Imra had opened her music-box again.

It was not really a music box. But Garth like to think of it that way. He had a hard time thinking about what it really was.

Inside the largish wooden box, banded with gold, were two dozen tiny statues of Legionnaires. They were not statues, per se, but manufactured solid micro-isomorphic simulcra, and therefore contained, in a sense, a spark of the essence of each Legionnaire represented.

And they were all simulcra of the dead Legionnaires. Imra’s personal Shanghalla.

Imra was not really crying, but her eyes were wet with unshed tears, which she occasionally wiped away.

“I see you have added Reep and Lluornu,” Garth commented. “They didn’t really die as Legionnaires-- Reep has been gone less than a year.”

“I will honor my missing friends as I choose,” said Imra. “And Lluornu died at least three times as a Legionnaire, enough for any Cargggan. You weren’t with her at the end. It was terrible, Garth. What they did to her on Ventura… some of the duplicates she summoned at the end were… wrong…”

Garth put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It’s been months since you opened that box. Why now, all of a sudden? Why are you mourning our all friends again, some of them gone years now?”

“Half the Legion,” said Imra. “We should have disbanded after Ferro Lad. Oh, I started scanning applicant’s personality profiles for martyr complexes, but… then Chemical King. We didn’t learn.”

“We were idealistic kids,” said Garth. “We thought we were invulnerable. And if the Legion had disbanded after I died… well, I’d still be dead, right.”

“And what hubris to bring two dead heroes ten centuries into the future into our Legion?” said Imra. She collapsed into her husband’s arms. “Oh, Garth, I don’t want our children to be the next totems in this box,” she cried.

“Imra, of course I don’t either,” said Garth, “But I’m concerned about your obsession with this. Nothing bad had happened. I’m concerned about these dark thoughts-- that the darkness that was once within you may be re-surfacing. Please don’t dwell on these morbid thoughts. Have faith that our children will be okay.”

“Mordru. The Trapper. Darkseid,” Imra recited. “They could have killed us all with a glance, with the wave of a hand. We are only alive because none of them thought we were worth the effort. Because they just wanted us to bow down to them.”

Garth took his wife’s shoulders. “Imra, I found that shrine to Darkseid you have hidden out in our woods. I don’t think this obsession with Darkseid can be doing you any good.”

“He gave us our son back,” said Imra defiantly. “But I don’t worship him. Not really. Well, yes, there is the shrine. But not in my heart. I just don’t want Garridan to taken away again. Not our son.”

“And whose son is that locked in the inertron cage now on Takron-Galtos?” Garth inquired.

“Look, we don’t know where that other Fatal Five came from, all those years ago,” said Imra. “I can’t think about it; I can’t care anymore. I want my family safe. I want Graym and Yvés to be confident enough in the future to have our grand-kids. I want Ayla and Salu to have another baby. And Rokk and Lydda, too. I want Garridan to find some nice, homey Winathan farm girl and settle down. I want Mekt to find some nice girl and settle down! I want the Farms to be so full of little Ranzzes and Krinns and Digbys that Rokk will stop complaining about how short-handed we are. But I’m afraid, Garth. I’m afraid it’s starting all over again, and Dacey and Dorrit and Pol and their friends are setting themselves up as targets.”

Garth had nothing to say.

* * *

“I’m just saying,” said Salu, “What lasting good did the Legion really accomplish? Sunwoman Tyranntrix is back ruling Vannar; Mordru is chairing the council on the new Sorcerer’s World. The Xenophobes still hold seats in the Parliament on Earth. Politics goes on. People don’t learn. All the Legion’s efforts to ‘save’ people from themselves…”

“Don’t listen to her, little sister,” said Mekt Ranzz, suddenly intruding on the conversation. “The Legion did good in its time. It made a difference, at least in my life. It is because of the Legion that I am living the happy life of a farmer, with my family here on Winath. Eve is equally happy on Bismoll, and LaEvar is… well… he… will… not… be a… problem… any… more... How do we know that this is the real Mordru anyway? Nothing was found of Zerox but rubble, with Validus floating in the midst. You know that magicians never use their real names. The real Mordru may be dead and gone… as… well… I think I have some work to do out in the North Sector. How could I have forgotten it?”

Mekt paused for a moment, appearing disoriented. He then exited the way he had come in.

“Most of the time, I think the reprogramming is wonderful,” said Ayla. “He is usually so cheerful and content all the time. But sometimes I wonder.”

OK, if I were constructing this story according to the proper conventions of good writing, I would have skipped all the ham-handed characterizations*, and gone straight from Chapter One to Chapter Eleven, where something actually happens.

However, as this is fan fiction, I am allowed to indulge myself, and simply brain-dump all the background material I have generated for these characters and this story.

* I was going to use the word 'fanwankery', but it has an obscene etymology, and is inappropriate for polite company. So I won't even mention it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
THE CLUBHOUSE

The Martian Hellespont, formerly known as Hellas Planitia, is a lake over a million square miles in area, and nearly six miles deep. One entry point was only a forty-minute walk from New Metropolis.

The water stretched to the horizon, more like an ocean than a sea. The walk had been through a verdant flourishing marsh. The eleven youths stopped atop a small ridge slightly above the water line. A short beach of red sand stretched out to the sea.

“This is where we will place our clubhouse,” said Saturn Girl. “Mars is still a colonial world, and we can legally homestead rights to unclaimed land, if we show we have ‘substantially developed’ it, over the course of a Martian year. I think what you are about to see will be a good first step.”

Cosmic Boy took a seat in a folding chair they had brought for the purpose. Lightning Lass put her hands on his shoulders.

“Our parents never tried combining their powers like this,” said Saturn Girl. “But Pol and Dacey have been practicing since they were toddlers.”

Traces of electricity crackled down Cosmic Boy’s shoulders, down his chest, and along his outstretched arms. His face contorted with strain; his eyes closed.

“Dacey’s electrical powers are supplementing Pol’s magnetism,” Saturn Girl explained. Out toward the horizon, just at the edge of vision, there was a bubbling in the sea.

“The Old Legion used to give the Legion of Substitute Heroes a first bid on their retired cruisers,” Saturn Girl explained. “Some of the Subs were fairly well off, I understand. The Subs crashed one old Mark II cruiser into the bottom of the sea here. The insurance company never fully recovered it. Now we’re salvaging it for our own use.”

An object broke the distant surface. Slowly, a red, rusted Mark II Legion cruiser floated along the surface of the water toward the group.

“This will be our clubhouse,” Saturn Girl announced.

The cruiser rested longwise on the clifftop, crushing vegetation beneath it.

“Polaris,” said Saturn Girl, “I think you can help by freezing the water off the interior and exterior. The Triplicate Girls can help you get it outside. Matter-Eater Lad 2, there look to be a lot of barnacles that have taken up residence on the hull. Can you bite them off? Once Pol and my sister have recovered, they can help with cleanup as well. Chameleon, I imagine you can assume some sort of very useful form?”

“The power core and propulsion engines have already been salvaged,” said Chameleon, from the rear of the cruiser. “But there still appears to be a battery of decalithium cells that Lightning Lass might be able to recharge. That would supply power to whatever onboard systems may still be working, or whatever else we may install.”

Unseen by the teens, a trail of bubbles, originating at the point the cruiser had risen from the sea, were rapidly approaching the land.

“I made a stop by a junkyard on Earth before coming to Mars,” said Phantom Girl. She opened a large pouch she had brought with her luggage from the hotel.

It was a large placard reaking “SUPER HERO CLUBHOUSE”.

“What is that!?” Shrinking Violet cried, pointing out to sea.

“It’s the original…Oh!” cried Phantom Girl.

Emerging onto the red-sanded beach was a broad, green ape-like creature. There was a moment of perspective confusion, but the Legionnaires soon realized that the creature was fully ten or twelve feet high.

“It’s a Martian M’Mannix,” said Chameleon. “But they are supposed to have been extinct for five thousand years.”

The others gaped at him.

“What?” said Chameleon. “You think I don’t study the fauna of a planet before I visit it? Those things are dangerous. They are said to be twice as strong and the aboriginal Martians. Also thought to be extinct. But that is nearly Daxamite-class strength.”

The would-be teen heroes sprang into uncoordinated action.

Chameleon assumed the form of the M’Mannix. “They were very territorial,” was the explaination. “Maybe the sight of another of its kind will cause it to go elsewhere.”

Matter-Eater Lad 2 was running down the beach. “I’ll attack its Achilles Heel,” he called. He bit a large gouge out of the creature’s heel, which only resulted in his being kicked high into the air.

The M’Mannix blew two fireballs from its prominent nostrils.

“Oh, yeah, flaming snot,” said Chameleon, torso reforming into an ‘O’ shape. The flames passed through harmlessly, but vegetation behind caught fire. Polaris reacted immediately, cooling the flames.

Lightning Lass had begun flashing bolts at the creature. It fell to its knees, gripping its face in apparent pain.

Cosmic Boy, meanwhile had ripped a fin off the cruiser with his super-magnetism, and was using it like a flying surfboard to rescue Matter-Eater Lad 2, bringing him safely to the ground.

“Wait,” said Saturn Girl. “Stop attacking. Can’t you see it’s in pain?” She paused a moment. “It’s burned it's own nose,” she reported. “Since Mars was terraformed, the atmosphere contains much more oxygen, making its nose-flares much hotter. And Martian life-forms were notoriously sensitive to fire anyway.”

The M’Mannix abruptly sat down on the sand, still rubbing its nose, but noticeably calmer.

“I’ve got in under mental control,” said Saturn Girl. “It has a fairly simple mind. Can someone contact the zoo in Marsopolis, and see if they can come pick him up? It’s not too hard to keep him calm, but I’m going to have to sleep sometime.”

“Wouldn’t Agyre City be closer?” asked Phantom Girl. “I think they have a big zoo there.”

“Sure, that would be great,” said Saturn Girl. “And can somebody order a half-dozen pizzas from that place in New Metropolis? Prospero’s? The poor thing is really hungry.”

CHAPTER TWELVE:
FALLOUT

“Eleven teen-agers from seven worlds have formed what they describe as a ‘Super Hero Club’ headquartered near the City of New Metropolis on Mars.
Operating out of a repurposed antique space-cruiser, their adventures have already resulted in the discovery and donation of a so-called ‘Living Fossil’ to the Olympus Mons Wildlife Preserve.
What else may the Galaxy expect in the future from this new ‘Legion of Super-Heroes’?”

“Well, that’s it, I suppose,” said Saturn Girl. “We had hoped to keep a low profile by only calling ourselves a ‘Super Hero Club’, but now I suppose we are the ‘New Legion of Super-Heroes’.”

“Well, your parents were Legionnaires,” noted Shrinking Violet. “Someone was bound to make the connection sooner or later.”

“I can’t believe they got my name wrong,” Polaris complained, looking over the remainder of the article. “They’re calling me ‘Polar Lass’. I ought to track down that reporter and ice his ears!”

“‘Polar Lass’ is probably fine,” said Cosmic Boy. “Dorrit and Dacey’s dad was ‘Lightning Boy’, until the press changed it. Liked the alliteration, I guess.”

“So when do we start try-outs?” asked Matter-Eater Lad 2. “That is a venerable Legion tradition. Besides, we could use some help cleaning up our clubhouse. I found a starfish under one of the main consoles this morning.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Lightning Lass. “Maybe once a Martian week, for starters? Maybe every Mixcoatlsday?”

* * *

“Well, that’s it, I suppose,” said Imra Ardeen-Ranzz. “Only one day, and they’ve got themselves at the top of the Galactic News Feed.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
TRYOUTS, FIRST WEEK: TEN

The first day of tryouts was disappointing.

The Club really had imagined that their brief moment of positive publicity would have brought aspiring teen heroes out of the woodwork. As it was, they set up a makeshift dais on the beach, with seats for the three founders, and waited all day in vain. Even before lunchtime, most of the group went back to cleaning and refurbishing the old cruiser, setting up their private rooms, installing the AutoChef®, solid printer, and so forth.

However, as the weak sun was setting in the pink Martian sky, a hovercab pulled up, and let out a small passenger.

He was clearly Coluan, green-skinned and bald, and stood only about 110 centimeters high. He wore a purple-and-lavender jumpsuit, with a small ten-of-diamonds playing card over the right breast. He was accompanied by what appeared to be a floating camera.

“10.diamonds@vvw70kyod.rl.colunet.up,” said the little Coluan.

Saturn Girl slapped her forehead. “I was expecting someone older and taller,” she said.

“How old are you?” asked Lightning Lass.

“Four and one-quarter Sola-Years, exactly,” said the little Coluan. “I am as surprised to be here as you are. It appears that my Adult Guardian is of a more liberal turn of mind than I had supposed.”

“You’re seven?” said Saturn Girl. “Seven years, Terran Standard?”

“Yes,” said the little Coluan. “After hearing of your adventure with the M’Mannix, my Adult Guardian allowed me to come and join your Super Hero Club. Provided, of course, that I was accompanied by a surrogate Guardian.” He indicated the floating robot. “This is Mr. Andrews, my cybernetic ‘nanny’. My Guardian has a rather odd sense of humor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Club Members,” said the robot. “Everything young Txarlz says is correct. He is here in perfect compliance with all laws and regulations of Colu, Mars, and the United Planets.”

“Txalrz?” asked Saturn Girl.

“Txalz Luz of Colu. However, I would like to use the name ‘Ten’.”

“Because you are our tenth member?” asked Lightning Lass.

“Because of my tenth-level intellect,” said Ten. “I would not be so presumptuous as to call myself ‘Brainiac’. That title is for the twelfth-level intellects of the Dox heritage.” He indicated the playing-card embroidered on his shirt. “I took this as my emblem. It is based on an old Terran child’s game, called ‘Bicycles’.”

Saturn Girl smiled. “I believe you would be better understood by referring to another card game: ‘Solitaire’. I can show you how to play it on our ships computers.”

Ten pulled out an Omnicom, and tapped quickly on its screen. “Ah, yes, I see my mistake,” he said. “The follies of youth. ‘Solitaire’, thank you.”

“I suppose you are already technically a member of the Club, as you were part of the original mail-group,” said Saturn Girl. “Let me have you meet the rest of us IRL, though. Some of us may have some concerns about your surprising age.”

“I assure you that it is my first priority to keep the young master safe,” said Mr. Andrews. “And to assure that this is a worthwhile learning experience for him..”

Ten seemed particularly excited about meeting Chameleon.

“My Adult Guardian specializes in Durlan Biochemistry. A fascinating topic. Gamma-helical protein structures, gemmule-based inheritance factors…”

“Txarlz,” said Mr. Andrews.

Ten paused. “Ah. Hmn. An impolite topic for formal conversation. Yes. It is so difficult to internalize all the rule. Durlans only, Mr. Andrews, or for everyone?”

“Everyone,” said Chameleon. “Except Coluans, I suppose.”

“Ah. Yes. Hmn. How has the weather been on Mars?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
NIGHT JOURNEY

“I’ll need your help on this,” said Saturn Girl.

She closed her eyes, and entered a trance as her mother had taught her. Anchoring herself in her sister’s mind, she stepped out into the cosmos.

The small green star known as Yod was some distance away, but she oriented on it quickly. She found the planet Colu orbiting nearby. It was now a matter of finding the right mind.

She appeared to be standing in a large warehouse. Not standing, exactly, as her feet did not touch the floor. One wall seemed to be an impregnable steel barrier. The floor was littered with half-finished ideas, unanswered questions, broken dreams, and fragments of mathematical equations.

“Well, if I had known I was going to have visitors, I would have tidied up a little bit,” said the old Coluan.

“I don’t have much time,” said the astral projection. “I am Dorrit Ardeen Ranzz or Winath. You are Renlo Tagor, the Adult Guardian of Txalrz Luz?”

“I am,” said Renlo Tagor. “I have so many questions.”

“I have only one,” said the ghost of Saturn Girl. “Did you actually permit him to travel to Mars? It would not be beyond the ability of a seven-year-old Coluan to re-program a Robo-Nanny himself.”

“Oh, Mr. Andrews is quite sentient, in his own way,” said Renlo Tagor. “He would strenuously resist re-programming. Why not just send me a sub-space telegram?”

“Communications through Tech can be easily tampered with,” said the phantom. “Especially by Coluans. Telepathic communication, not so much.”

Renlo Tagor chuckled. “I must admit I am impressed. You are still on Mars?”

“Yes, and I need to return there. Thank you.”

Half a hundred parsecs melted away in an instant. Saturn Girl opened her eyes in her own room, in her own bed.

“How do I look?” she asked Lightning Lass.

“Sweating. Trembling. Like you just woke up from a nightmare,” her sister replied. “Have a glass of water.”

“Nothing unusual, then?”

“Your eyes are a little bloodshot. You’ll probably feel better after some sleep. That Renlo Tagor read out as quite a character.”

“Despite his assurances, I am conflicted about such accepting such a young child as a member,” said Saturn Girl. “Even if he is a Coluan.”

“And supposedly a tenth-level intellect,” said Lightning Lass. “We need to keep an eye on ‘Mr. Andrews’ as well. The Galaxy has had bad luck with sentient Coluan computers. And then there are the Triplicate Girls.”

“I am perfectly aware of the issues with the Triplicate Girls,” said Saturn Girl. “If you remember, I am the one who brought it to your attention.”

Renlo Tagor examined the steel wall in the outer chamber of his mind. It was sprayed with graffiti.

“Your psychic shields need an upgrade”

A large block of the wall had been transformed into a picture window. An electric rainbow of racing thoughts was visible within.

“Thank you for the warning, young lady,” Renlo Tagor said to himself. “I hope Txarlz is not too much trouble.”

These characters have taken up residence in my mind, and I can see them very clearly.

Unfortunately, I am a lousy artist, and so I have difficultly conveying their physicality.

However, here are some web pictures that may give you an idea of my inspiration for their faces, at least.





Top Row, Left to Right:

(1) Dorrit Ranzz of Winath (Amartan System), Saturn Girl
(2) Dacey Ranzz of Winath, Lightning Lass
(3) Pol Krinn of Winath (Braalien / Kathooni heritage), Cosmic Boy
(4) Chameleon of Durla
(5) Eluia M;Kord of Orzde (Irulan System), Shrinking Violet
(6) Hillarie Norjay of Bismoll, Matter-Eater Lad Two

Bottom Row, Left to Right:
(1) Irinia Apero of Bgztl, Phantom Girl
(2 - 4) Ffiona, Ffarrah & Ffey Ffarr of Carggg, the Triplicate Girls
(5) Kylda Zimm of Tharr, Polaris / Polar Lass
(6) 7-year-old Txarlz Luz of Colu (Yod System), Ten

I had originally thought this might run about fifty chapters.

But I have had a vision of their future, and it may run around two hundred.

So unless I have a relapse, or have to leave the country again, this is going to go on for a long, long time.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
BORED MEETING

Tyresday was the day which had been decided on to hold their weekly Club meeting. Saturn Girl was agreed upon as Leader and Chair.

“As I said before,” Saturn Girl was saying, “I’m glad things went well with the M’Mannix, but our actions were chaotic and uncoordinated. It could have been much worse. Matter-Eater Lad was in serious danger…”

“Two,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Matter-Eater Lad Two.”

“Maybe we should just call you Two?” Saturn Girl retorted.

“Sure, why not?,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “We already have a Ten.”

“If we’re going to go by numbers,” said Shrinking Violet, “Lightning Lass should be Two. That would make me Five.”

“We’re not going to go by numbers,” said Saturn Girl. “Matter-Eater Lad was…”

“Two,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Matter-Eater Lad Two. It’s an intellectual property thing.”

“We have a lot to cover,” said Saturn Girl in frustration. “Training. Security. We need to file the paperwork regarding our homesteading with MarsGov this land. We need to register as an official, non-profit, philanthropic organization, with a mission statement and long-term goals. We need to write a Constitution, formally vote on officers, decide on an Oath and a Flag. Set out specific goals for the club. We…”

“What if we don’t?” asked Ten.

“I thought that’s what we were here for,” said Saturn Girl. “To create a new…”

“Oh, yes, by all means, let’s homestead the Clubhouse,” the Coluan answered. “But what if we don’t register as an official anything? What if we have no Constitution, no charter, no mission statement, no official goals? What if we’re just twelve friends from various worlds, combining our Stipends, living together to defray costs as we finish our schooling? What if no one knows what we’re really up to out here, far from the centers of the United Planets?”

“What are we really up to out here?” asked Triplicate Girl (Ffiona).

“My point exactly,” said Ten.

“But we need to organize ourselves. Train. Make sure we’re prepared,” insisted Lightning Lass.

“Prepared for what?” asked Phantom Girl. “Helping to round up escaped zoo animals? Cleaning up after natural disasters? Fighting crime? Regime change? Fighting back alien invasions? Leading alien invasions?”

“Our power to temporarily fuse into a single person is not particularly useful in wartime,” Triplicate Girl (Fey) noted.

“You three are all quite powerful,” Chameleon noted, indicating the Founders. “I was suitably impressed by Lightning Lass and Cosmic Boy’s ability to draw up a space-cruiser from nearly ten kilometers beneath the ocean. Polar Lass, although somewhat untrained in the use of her powers, is intimidating as well. I suppose I could be quite devastating in hand-to-hand combat, if I wished. The remainder of us have fairly mundane abilities.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Saturn Girl. “We need to train- learn to use our powers- work together- be prepared for… well, anything. To be Heroes.”

“To re-create the Legend of the Legion,” said Cosmic Boy. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Phantom Girl sent a glance at Ten. The little Coluan smiled. “But,” she said, “Does everyone have to know that that is why we’re here? Why not keep them guessing?”

Ten nodded. “Why 'paint a bull’s-eye on our backs'?”

“You’ve been studying your idiom, Ten,” said Cosmic Boy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
TRYOUTS, SECOND WEEK: THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF EARTH

The second Mixcoatlsday began as unpromisingly as the first.

Shortly after lunch, however, they had unexpected visitors.

“Doctor Shakespeare. Princess Xenobia. Jordana Gardner. Aren’t you all a little old to be joining a teen Super Hero Club?”

“Saturn Girl,” said Kent Shakespeare, “This is a courtesy call. We want you to know that you have our full support.”

“As long as you truly are heroes,” said the Princess. “And not rabble-rousers.”

“The name of our Club is... aspirational,” Saturn Girl explained. “We all have particular gifts-- not necessarily unique, but special. We want to learn to use them… well. Mars seemed a good place. Colonized, with appropriate services and amenities, but with plenty of open frontier, too.”

“And close to Earth,” Kent Shakespeare noted. “The League would be happy to assist you in training, and the appropriate use of your gifts.”

“Thank you so much, but I’m afraid we will have to decline, for now,” said Saturn Girl. “We want to be independent for at least a little while. Get our feet, as it were.”

“You have an Irulan Krill, a Durlan, and a Bgztlr on your team,” said Jordana Gardner. “Do you think they can be trusted?”

“If I remember my history,” said Saturn Girl, “The Founders of the Justice League of Earth also questioned whether Saturnians or Winathans could be trusted.”

“One of our Founders was a Legionnaire,” Jordana Gardner replied. “We understand the history of the Legions.”

“And both my parents were Legionnaires,” said Saturn Girl. “But this is not the Legion. This is just a Super Hero Club. And again, the name is aspirational.”

“I hope,” said Kent Shakespeare, “That your Club does not become a tool of dangerous political entities.”

“And I hope,” said Saturn Girl, “That you will consider that the Earth First Party may be wrong.”

“We have a right to defend and preserve our Terran culture,” said Kent Shakespeare.

“Good-bye,” said Saturn Girl. “Oh, and we have a Coluan now, too. You seemed interested. I thought you should know.”

The three Justice Leaguers hovered for several minutes, after the Club Members returned to their Clubhouse. Then they were gone.

* * *

The Justice League of Earth
(Current Membership)
(All in their 40’s or 50’s)

(1) “Doctor Shakespeare”
Richard Kent Shakespeare of Earth
Superman Analog

(2) “Princess Xenobia”
Princess Xenobia of Io, portal to the Themiscryan diaspora
Wonder Woman Analog

(3) “Green Lantern of Sector 2814”
Jordana Gardner of Earth
Green Lantern Analog

(4) “The Bat-Woman”
Plutonian bat-winged, squid-headed woman, true name and abilities unknown.
Evidently some sort of mutant Terran.
Vouched for by Dr. Shakespeare
Batman Analog

(5) “Rush”
Mara Williams of Earth
Flash Analog

(6) “Devil-Fish”
Danava Matsya of Earth (Atlantis)
Mutant Terran (Atlantean)
Aquaman Analog

(7) “The Cyborg Manhunter”
Victoria Jones of Earth
A fusion of an Earth human and an Oan Manhunter robot technology
Cyborg Analog

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
GZBK

The Prospero’s Pizza delivery boy was not expecting a large tip. His expectations proved correct.

Phantom Girl lay the pizzas down on the kitchen table.

“I don’t suppose you could give us a lift back to town?” she asked. “You are going that way anyway, right?”

“Sure, I guess that’s OK,” said the pizza boy. “I’m going straight back to the shop, though. This was my last delivery this run.”

“Prospero’s is not far from the Public Transportation Nexus, right?” said Phantom Girl. “That’s where we’re headed.”

“Yeah, only a couple blocks,” said the pizza boy. As they climbed into the back of his flyer, he asked, “Why is your little brother green?”

“If you look closely, you’ll see his skin is not really green,” said Phantom Girl. “It’s yellow, with close-set blue freckles.”

“My freckles are actually teal,” Ten corrected her. He held Mr. Andrews on his lap, as the flyer sped off.



They left for the country in a hoverbus. Ten let Mr. Andrews roam the cabin freely.

“Why did you do that?” asked Ten.

“Do what?” asked Phantom Girl.

“Convince that pizza deliverer to give us a ride into town.”

“It was only a few miles.”

“Yes, a taxi would have been quite inexpensive. Even for the both of us.”

“You may have an allowance,” said Phantom Girl, “But I have only the Stipend. Besides, it was fun.”

“Fun,” said Ten. “Like when you stood up and screamed, when the truck hit Mach-point-two.”

“Exactly like that,” said Phantom Girl.

“You must get along well with the Triplicate Girls,” Ten observed.

“Yeah, I do,” said Phantom Girl. “Ffey and Ffarrah, at least. Ffiona’s kind of stuck up.”

Agyre City was larger than New Metropolis, but surrounded by farmland, giving it a more rural feel. They stopped in front of a library.

“Take my hand,” said Phantom Girl. “And hold onto Mr. Andrews.”

Ten felt as though he were falling, then floating then falling again. Agyre City faded into grey mists, then something else emerged. He jerked involuntarily as his feet felt the ground underneath him again, and almost lost his balance before realizing they had not been falling at all.

“Welcome to Gzbk,” said Phantom Girl.

There was an older woman working in the yard of the brightly-painted house in front of them. A very young girl was amusing herself on the lawn with a mechanical horse.

“Gammy,” said the little girl, “He’s green!”

“That’s because he’s from Colu, dear,” said the older woman. She stood up. ‘Stately’ was the word that crossed Phantom Girl’s mind. “Irinia Apero?” the older woman inquired. “And Txarlz Luz, correct? Of the ‘Super Hero Club’. Or is it the New Legion of Super-Heroes?”

“Mrs. Nah?” asked Phantom Girl. “Just a club, for now.”

Mrs. Nah removed her gardening gloves, and shook the teen-ager’s hands. She nodded at the little girl playing in the yard. “My grand-daughter, Winema,” she said. “Her parents are visiting for Summer Break. My son Dav and his wife are shopping in town right now. Ordinarily they are enrolled at Xgztl University.”

Two teens about Phantom Girl’s age came barrelling through the front door.

“I’m on my way to Zeta’s,” called the girl over her shoulder, racing down the street.

“My daughter, Arna,” said Mrs. Nah, as the girls back disappeared into the distance. “And this is…”

“Ronin Nah,” said the tallish boy to Phantom Girl. “Arna’s my sister.”

“Irinia Apero,” said Phantom Girl. “Hi.”

“You new around here?” asked Ronin.

“Um… I live over on the Mars side,” said Phantom Girl. “Out in New Metropolis.”

“Oh, you’re her,” said Ronin. “Well, Gzbk is OK, too.” He turned to his mother. “I’m taking the old car down to the Mall, OK?”

“Be home in time for dinner,” said Mrs. Nah. Ronin jumped into a convertible hovercar and sped off.

“Come inside,” said Mrs. Nah, brushing a stray gray hair away. “I’ve made some hoa tea, and we have cookies.”

“Everyone thinks Arna and Ronin are twins, but they’re actually a year-and-a-half apart,” said Mrs. Nah, when they were settled. Winema sat munching happily on a cookie.

“Is your husband home?” asked Phantom Girl.

“Jo’s at work,” said Mrs. Nah. “He has an auto repair shop downtown. He likes to keep busy. He would have liked to have Dav apprentice with him, but he’s decided on chemical engineering. Maybe Ronin or Arna, but neither of them have shown much interest either. It’s a nice little business. It would be a shame if we had to close it when he retires.”

“But surely you’re not that old,” said Phantom Girl. “You’re not thinking of retirement yet.”

Mrs. Nah laughed. “No, not for a couple of decades yet. But you would be surprised how fast time flies. We’re always thinking about the future.”

“Are any of your children… ‘ultra’?” asked Ten.

“Jo’s powers started fading after we permanently moved to Bgztl,” said Mrs. Nah. “We don’t know why. None of the children inherited any of them. Winema’s a perfectly normal little Bgzltr as well, which makes her great-grandmother happy.”

Winema heard her name. “Gammy,” she said, “‘nother cookie… [u]please[/i]?”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Nah, “But you have to finish your milk, too.” She took a sip of tea. “R.J. Brande gave a group of green teen-agers military-grade ships and weaponry,” she said. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Well, I do know what he was thinking, actually.”

“What was that?” asked Phantom Girl.

“It’s common knowledge that Mr. Brande was a Durlan,” said Mrs. Nah. “But what you may not know is that he was a 2Oth-century Durlan, with all the stereotypical 2Oth-century Durlan attitudes. He thought that force was a legitimate solution to ethical problems. He wanted to re-create the Age of Heroes in our century. He had actually briefly known Mon-El as a boy, and conflated his history with that of Earth’s Superman and Supergirl, whom he had only heard of. It was an impossible legend to live up to, but we tried.”

“Was he really that old?” said Ten. "I've never heard of any Durlans with such a lifespan."

“Time-travel, dear,” said Mrs. Nah. “It’s a long story, and I don’t particularly want to get into it right now. His motives, from his perspective, were absolutely pure, completely philanthropic. But the end result was a lot of unnecessary burdens being placed on some very young and very idealistic shoulders. I actually left the Legion before it was finally disbanded. Jo stayed until the bitter end.”

“Do you think we’re making a mistake, then?’ said Phantom Girl. “Dorrit and Dacey’s parents certainly do.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” said Mrs. Nah. “And I haven't seen Imra in years. I won’t judge. I certainly don’t want to be an Adult Advisor, but I can help you children-- young adults-- keep safe, I will. You have my mail address. Stay in touch. I’ll send you Ronin’s, too, if you like. Just keep in mind one piece of advice.”

“What’s that?” asked Phantom Girl.

“Be careful how you use my name.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
A NEW BEGINNING?

“As you know, yesterday’s tryouts were dismal again. No one showed up at all. I’ve put out feelers out to Daxam, Hykraius, Starhaven-- even Janus and Zwen. But not a bite, so far,” said Cosmic Boy.

“We could try contacting the Allen or Thawne families on Earth…” said Phantom Girl.

“Or PhlonGov, or the Mallors or Nahtahnie on Talok, or the Royal Family of Orando, or the Orakills of Naltor… but, I mean, does anyone here have those kind of contacts?” said Shrinking Violet. “I don’t.”

“We could just try to convince someone to expose themselves to Norgine, or Elasticizing Fluid, or Zuunium, or Jathasterone, and see what happens,” said Matter-Eater Lad 2. This elicited some frowns from the others.

“J. Kidding!” he qualified.

“I agree we need a broader base of membership,” said Saturn Girl. “And a greater diversity of powers. But we also need to find a way to be where we are needed. There was that uncontrolled eruption on Io last week-- we probably could have helped, but by the time it hit the news feeds, the SP and disaster services were already cleaning up, and had everything blocked off. There was that museum theft on Neptune... but how do we getting in the loop? I means proving ourselves first, I think.”

“I believe Mrs. Nah was correct,” said Ten. “We require additional technology. We have made the Clubhouse comfortable, but not functional. It is more like a home than a command center. Our only private transportation is the Ranzz’s Runabout. Now, while I am clealy not capable of constructing a starship from scratch, with available materials and some modest investment, I believe I can construct personal flight belts.”

“Not flight rings?” asked Lightning Lass.

“Not unless you can find an inexpensive source of parastable unpentbium isotope,” said Ten. “And it is finicky tech. Brainiac Five is a brilliant engineer, but as he operates at the limits of understood science and technology, often encounters unintended consequences in his work. At one point, he was able to combine the flight ring and telepathic earplug into a single communication and transportation unit. However, this required a over-sized psionic processor. The rings evolved sentience, fell in love with their wearers, which led to a host of problems. They would not work for more than one person, and hesitated to send the wearer into perceived danger. They could also become sulky if ignored. They would also fail to deliver certain personal messages. In the end, the problems became unmanageable. They were ultimately good for nothing, except pets. I prefer tried-and-true, if somewhat antiquated technology.”

“How much time and money are we talking about?” asked Saturn Girl.

“I believe I can build a reliable flight belt, and integrate our personal communicators, for less than one hundred credits. I estimate a similar market solution would cost over two thousand. I would need to cannibalize one or two of the ship’s-- the Clubhouse’s-- dekalithium batteries, but I expect it would still leave us with sufficient power, unless someone is planning on building a small factory here. There would be an issue with battery replacement after a couple of Martian years, but who knows what our group will look like then?”

“A hundred credits apiece would be a substantial investment for most of us,” said Saturn Girl. “This brings up the question of having a Treasury, and dues, and all the rest. Are you certain you could build workable models?”

“Nothing is ever 100% certain,” said Ten, “But I have high confidence. I could begin by assembling prototype flight belts for you, Lightning Lass and Cosmic Boy. After a week’s setup time, I imagine I could produce one per day.”

“Well, I’ll make a motion to have Ten produce three prototype flight belts,” said Cosmic Boy.

“And I will second it,” said Lightning Lass.

The motion was unanimous in the affirmative.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
FLIGHT BELTS: SATURN GIRL, LIGHTNING LASS AND COSMIC BOY
Dorrit Ardeen Ranzz, age 16, Dacey Ardeen Ranzz, age 16, Pol Hu Krinn II, age 14

Ten showed up with three belts a few days later.

“I didn’t make any special modifications to these belts,” he said. “You don’t need magnetic shielding on yours, do you, Cosmic Boy?”

“No, never had a problem controlling stray magnetic fields,” Cosmic Boy said.

“As promised, I have integrated your ultraphones’ circuitry into the belt,” said Ten. “They will display in their interactive holographic panel form.” He demonstrated. “You three are still on your parents’ Winathan server. I could construct a private sub-etheric server for the Club, and transfer and cross-link all our communications, if only the Clubhouse computer hardware were not twenty sola-years out of date.”

“Baby steps,” said Lightning Lass. “A new computer system is on the wish-list. This one was free, built-in to the cruiser, so we can’t complain..”

“And worth every micro-credit, I’m sure,” said Ten. “You know, I prefer the Omnicom to these little ‘phones and communicators everyone else uses these days. I know Omnicoms are a little bulky, but they are extremely versatile and highly customizable.”

“Yeah, ‘highly customizable’ means ‘about a million settings, and you’d better not miss one, and hope they all work together without interference’,” said Cosmic Boy. “Ok for retentive Coluans, but I’ll choose small and simple every time.”

“Let me know how the flight belts work,” said Ten. “If I don’t hear any objections in three days, I will begin general manufacture for the rest of the Members.”

CHAPTER TWENTY:
TRYOUTS: FIFTH WEEK

Saturn Girl, Lightning Lass, and Cosmic Boy, whom the others had come to refer to as “The Founders” sat at the dais outside, with open boxes of pizza. The other Members had gone down to the beach for the day.

“At this point,” said Lightning Lass, “I would welcome a return of the Justice League of Earth.” She sighed.

“It may be only the twelve of us from here on out,” said Cosmic Boy. “We seem to be doing all right.”

“What we need,” said Lightning Lass, “Is a multi-trillionaire to take pity on us, and buy us a bunch of cool cutting-edge technology.”

“The only millionaires I know are our parents,” said Saturn Girl. “And most of their assets are tied up in the land.”

“Did you get that lecture, too?” asked Cosmic Boy. “‘Realistically, we can have anything we want-- buy anything, go anywhere. But make sure you really want it, because it means putting another mortgage on the Farm…’”

“We heard it every time we asked for something,” said Lightning Lass. “Say, there must be other big, wealthy farming families on Winath. Maybe one of them would be interested in sponsoring a group of young vigilantes.”

“Vigilantes?” said Saturn Girl. “I don’t think that’s what this Super Hero Club is intended to be.”

“Then what are we doing here?” asked Lightning Lass. “I thought morally justifiable vigilantism was what super-heroing was all about.”

“Adventure,” said Cosmic Boy. “It’s all about adventure. Although so far, the only adventure we have had is when I woke up that poor hibernating M’Mannix. ‘Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus’, as they say. Well, it got us on the news feeds.”

“Look, I’m not completely sure what we're doing here,” said Saturn Girl. “But I just feel like we have a destiny, with a capital ‘D’. Our parents are Legends, for Frunt’s sake. They fought against gods, monsters, and demons, and beat them... most of the time. Garridan and Graym have the Farm-- and sure, we’re welcome there, but what do we have ourselves? There’s got to be something bigger.”

Lightning Lass mulled it over. “You know, it’s literally true,” she said. “Darkseid was a god, Mordru is half-demon, and Eyeful Ethel was a monster.”

“I was thinking of Validus, or Mordecai,” said Saturn Girl. “Ha-ha.”

“You know, I was reading up on the History of the Legion,” said Cosmic Boy. “Do you know why Flight Rings replaced Flying Belts? It’s because it turns out the Belts are easily hacked.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t rely on them too much in battle,” said Saturn Girl. “Grife, we really need to start some formal training.”

“After the belts were retired,” said Cosmic Boy, “The Legion would give them away as consolation prizes to rejected applicants.”

“Give them away?” said Lightning Lass, “At a hundred credits a pop, that’s a pretty generous go-away present.”

“Probably more like two thousand,” said Cosmic Boy. “I’ll bet they bought them ready-made, at full retail.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t try to get the sponsorship of some other wealthy Winathan farm cooperative?” asked Lightning Lass.

“You really want to kill our parents, don’t you?” said Saturn Girl.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
FLIGHT BELTS: MATTER-EATER LAD TWO
Hillarie Norjay of Bismoll, age 14

Ten was in Matter-Eater Lad Two’s quarters.

“Have you ever used a flight belt before?” he asked.

“Never,” said Matter-Eater Lad 2.

“Just straighten up your spine a little to rise,” Ten instructed. “Lean forward slightly to move ahead. Lean forward a little more to dip, shift your weight right to move right, left to move left. Maybe it would be better if you practiced outside...”

“No, I think I’m getting it,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. He had managed to turn himself upside-down, his feet resting on the ceiling.

“I’m curious,” said Ten, “Correct me if I am being inappropriate. There are a great many species in the Galaxy, and I am not completely familiar with all of them. I was wondering about your Bismollean ability to ‘eat anything’. How do you do it?”

“It is a confluence of several improbable mutations,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two, now hovering comfortably parallel to the floor. “Trans-Daxamite invulnerability, of course, but only the gastro-intestinal tract. Lips of steel. Teeth hard as diamonds. A hinged jaw, like a rattlesnake. And, of course, cold-fusion digestion.”

“Ah, so Bismollean omnivorousness is nutritional,” Ten mused. “And the heavier elements?”

“The cold fusion generates enough energy to initiate fission in the bigger stuff,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “So we can eat that, too.”

“And iron?” asked Ten.

“Well, you know how Terran creatures eat a lot of cellulose?” asked Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“Distantly,” said Ten. “Coluans subsist on an efficient, nutritive gel, without any additional fillers. Roughage, I believe it is called on Earth. Salads?”

“Exactly,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Iron is like roughage to Bismolleans. Eventually, it all gets excreted.”

“But Bismolleans are able to consume great quantities of matter,” said Ten. “Sometimes, greater than their own weight, it is said.”

“Yes,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two, upside-down again. “The world record is just a little under ten thousand cubic meters. In twelve hours.” He floated upright again. “Three-and-a-half dimensional stomachs,” he revealed, pointing to his belly.

“I have made no special customizations to your belt, although it has been necessary with some of the others,” said Ten.

“Maybe you could put in some large pockets?” Matter-Eater Lad Two asked. “For snacks,” he explained.

“Do I look like a couturier?” asked Ten. “Or a haberdasher?”

“You look like a mini-J’Onn J’Onzz,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“Minor character from the Age of Heroes?” asked Ten. “I know little about him.”

“There’s a statue of him in front of the New Metropolis Town Hall,” said Matter-Eater Lad. “You should go take a look. ‘Manhunter from Mars’. Looks just like you, only taller.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
FLIGHT BELTS: POLAR LASS
Kylda Zimm of Tharr, age 14

Polar Lass, formerly Polaris, showed up at Ten’s stateroom / quarters / laboratory at the appointed time.

“Have you ever used a flight belt?” asked Ten.

“A couple of times,” said Polar Lass. “There are some recreational areas in the Tharrite caverns that can only be navigated by air. My family visited a few.”

“Good,” said Ten. “I have integrated the circuitry of your communicator, and added it to our network. I have also been able to merge your thermo-belt into it.”

“Finally,” said Polar Lass. “I have been freezing for the last couple of hours.”

“It is only necessary to maintain your core temperature at forty celsius,” said Ten, “But your Tharrite physiology neutralizes heat with incredible rapidity. I’m sure you are tempted to adjust the thermostat upwards or downwards with every change in the ambient temperature, but if you will try to get used to being just a little cold sometimes, I think your belt and insulated suit might warm you more efficiently.”

“This from the kid who wears the all-environmental force field belt,” said Polar Lass.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
FLIGHT BELTS: PHANTOM GIRL
Irinia Apero of Bgztl, age 15

“Gentles, do not reprehend-- if you pardon, we will mend!
And, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearnèd luck
Now to ’scape the ssserpent’s tongue... we will make amends ere long--
Else the Puck a liar call: so good night unto you all.
Give me your hands if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.”

The holo-vid ended.

“This is supposed to be the Bard’s easiest play,” said Ten. “That’s why I began with it. But I find it immeasurably confusing! The Puck is a liar! Completely untrustworthy. Why should we believe in his consolations at all?”

“Ten, look up ‘sarcasm’, ‘irony’, and ‘unreliable narrator’,” said Phantom Girl.

Ten scrolled quickly through an on-screen dictionary. “Oh, I see,” he said. “Robin Goodfellow is a literary device. As are many of the others, I imagine. The resolution of the plot still seems unlikely, but… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Phantom Girl. “He’s a device, but also a character. Remember that.”

“You are here ten minutes early,” said Ten. “Oh, yes, no doubt for socialization. Thank you. Have you been visit Ronin Nah this week?”

“Yesterday,” said Phantom Girl. “He’s kind of a funny guy. Very brash, a real daredevil. But then, also shy… and he has an artistic side, too. He draws and paints. Alone. In his room. He’s kind of a character.”

“Ronin Goodfellow?” asked Ten.

“No, that doesn’t really fit him,” said Phantom Girl. “Arna, maybe. I like them both. They’re friends.”

Friends are good”, said Ten. “There are few Coluans my age on our world. We seldom see one another in person.”

“That’s too bad,” said Phantom Girl. “Do you like it here, in the Club, with the other Members?”

“It is a... challenge,” said Ten. “Challenges are also good.” He picked up the finished flight belt. “I made this one completely standard, no extras,” he said. “Just remember to keep it in phase with you.”

“Not a problem,” said Phantom Girl. “By the time a Bgzltr is little Winema’s age, we’ve learned to stop phasing out of our clothes.”

“You will want to try it out on Gzbk,” said Ten. “Next time you visit, let me take a look at it when you return. I will see if it needs a tune-up. The physical laws in your home dimension may be slightly different from here.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Phantom Girl.

“I don’t know-- I don’t have any direct evidence-- but I suspect,” said Ten. “Mr. Nah lost his ultra-abilities after several years on Bgztl. There is very little literature on comparison of the variation in physical laws between Bgztl and Earth. The lack is quite surprising, really. I may do one of my theses on the subject in the future.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
FLIGHT BELTS: CHAMELEON
[unnamed] of Durla, equivalent Terran age sixteen

“It really is quite frustrating,” said Ten. “I’m sure there is a solution. Brainiac 5’s work with flight rings is entirely public. He was able to integrate the ring’s circuitry into Reep Daggle’s physical form, who could manifest it as he chose. But I really don’t see that that is possible with a flight belt.”

“My ‘phone’s circuitry is similarly integrated,” said Chameleon. “It is a common practice on Durla. But I will simply have to slip the belt off, if I do any radical shape-shifting. And I can fly under my own power, in any number of forms.”

“Reep Daggle was accepted into the Old Legion on the basis of ‘super-disguise’,” said Ten. “It is hardly useful if you have to leave a loose flight belt lying around every time you change shape.”

“But he also proved that elasomorphism is a much more versatile ability,” said Chameleon. “I will keep the belt. It makes me feel more part of the group.”

“Without names,” said Ten, “How does your tribe distinguish itself, one from another?”

Chameleon wiggled his antennae. “Every object has its unique molecular signature,” he said. “And our language is more than merely auditory in nature. I am… me, and you are… you… and my sister is… her. We are who we are; only inanimate things need names. Two hammers are unique, but they are still only hammers. Beings are truly unique; they are not one another.”

“Durlan philosophy,” said Ten, “has not yet been part of my curriculum. Although I know it comes in as many shapes as Durlans themselves.”

“Yes,” said Chameleon. “The beginning of Wisdom.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
FLIGHT BELTS: SHRINKING VIOLET
Eluia M’Kord of Orzde - age 14

“I assume that, like Phantom Girl, you can extend your powers to include your flight belt,” said Ten.

“Absolutely,” said Shrinking Violet.

“Still,” said Ten, “Let’s run a few tests.” He took out one of his many sensor devices. “I want to make sure the power levels are appropriate in reduced phase.”

Shrinking Violet tried out the flight belt at three feet, six inches, and one millimeter.

“It seems to work fine,” she said, “Although it does seem to gain some power as I reduce in size.”

“Square-Cube Law,” said Ten. “I had thought I had compensated for it in the design, but according to my readings, not completely.”

“It’s fine,” said Shrinking Violet. “I don’t mind being a super-fast bumblebee.”

“Not super-fast,” said Ten, “But there is definitely a little boost.”

“Does everybody have these hidden pockets?” asked Shrinking Violet.

“An idea Matter-Eater Lad Two gave me,” said Ten. “You might find it useful to carry some small tools with you-- which might become relatively large, when you shrink.”

“Chameleon was saying something to me about that,” said Shrinking Violet. “I never really thought of myself as a tool-belt girl.”

On the way out of her apartment, Ten paused for a moment. “That is an unusual lamp,” he said.

“It’s a fragment of luminous white dwarf matter, suspended in an anti-grav sphere,” said Shrinking Violet. “My folks gave it to me as a going-away present. To remind me of home.”

Ten pondered a moment. “It is literally a piece of your homestar, Irulan, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Shrinking Violet. “A little piece of home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
FLIGHT BELTS: THE TRIPLICATE GIRLS
Ffiona, Ffarrah and Ffey Ffar, of Carggg. Apparent age, 15

“This is even more frustrating,” said Ten. “There is a solution, but I do not have access to the necessary equipment. What I really need is a temporal qualitizer. I had to make three separate belts.”

“Well, there are three of us,” said Ffiona. “That seems reasonable.”

“Yes, but you will have to take the belts off to fuse,” said Ten. “With a temporal qualitizer, I could have ‘tuned’ each belt to your individual temporal vibrational frequencies.”

Ffiona, Ffarrah, and Ffey seemed nonplussed.

“That’s how Cargggan triplicating abilities work, isn’t it?” asked Ten. “One of you steps slightly forward in time, one of you steps slightly back, and you ‘fuse’ by cycling through time, synchronously. Three of you, occupying the same space, but not the same temporal coordinates.”

“Yes,” said Ffiona, “But I didn’t think that it was common knowledge.”

“Oh, no, I suppose not, but Colu has always been interested in bio-quantum temporal phenomena,” said Ten. “I’m sorry, am I being inappropriate again?”

“No, but she thinks you’re being dense,” said Ffey. “We should be able to cycle the belts with us. I mean, our costumes aren’t specially treated, and they cycle perfectly well. There aren’t temporal whatsits all over Carggg in the clothing stores.”

“Really?” said Ten. “Can you demonstrate?” He took out another of his many sensor units.

The girls fused, then re-triplicated.

“Intriguing,” said Ten, examining his sentors. “There is, naturally, a slight departure from the optimum in any engineering project. But these reconstituted belts seemed to have averaged away their differences. They are, at the moment, perfectly equivalent.”

“Well, there is a little quantum bleed when we’re together,” said Ffiona. “That’s how we know each other’s thoughts and feelings, and share memories. The longer we’re together, the greater the effect.”

“It's what makes being separate so much more comfortable,” said Ffarrah.

“How do you compensate for the attenuation problem?” asked Ten.

“We… well, we don’t,” said Ffey.

“Then, how long since you have been living, primarily, separately?” asked Ten.

“We may as well tell him,” said Ffiona.

“Since we were nine,” said Ffarrah.

“Since that time, you have aged an apparent six years,” said Ten. “That would make you just eleven years old now, Terran Standard . Not really even adults, legally.”

“Oh, we’re adults,” said Ffiona. “Our parents emancipated us.”

“We receive the Stipend, and everything,” said Ffarrah.

“And we are as mature, physically and emotionally, an any ordinary Terran fifteen-year-old,” said Ffey.

“And in twenty years?” inquired Ten.

“We’ll be old women, naturally,” said Ffarrah. “Yes. And by age fifty…”

“Well, there likely won’t be any age fifty,” said Ffiona.

“But it is worth it!” said Ffey. “Being separate, and free! The world is so much present-- more bright, more intense! We feel like we’re living, not merely existing. Can you understand?”

“I make no judgment of your choices,” said Ten. “You may only live another thirty years. The other Members may live a hundred or more. But by then, I will still have my whole life ahead of me. But by the time the others are beginning their senescence, I will be scarcely an adult. I imagine none of you here on Mars will live to see me graduate from University. I accept that. A Coluan’s long life is, at least in that respect, difficult. Other sentient beings lives are so ephemeral. That your lifespan will be one-third of a standard Terran’s is… well, the Coluan lifespan is six or eight times that. The difference between you, and ordinary Cargggans, is to us insignificant. But then, I will have appreciated knowing you, now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:
INDIGESTION

It was entertaining to watch Matter-Eater Lad Two eat. The other members frequently scheduled their lunches to be in the common room with him.

Chameleon had triplicated himself, and was sitting at the table with the Triplicate Girls.

“How are you doing that?” asked Ffiona. “I thought replication was beyond a Durlan’s abilities.”

“Look at the floor,” said Chameleon.

The three Chameleons were rising up out of a lumpy, orange pool under the table.

“It is difficult to move all three selves independently,” said Chameleon. “I am afraid the illusion is not convincing.”

“I’m pleased Ten provides me with his scraps,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Some of these elements are quite exotic, and uniquely tasty.” He hiccuped. “Although something is not sitting right,” he admitted. “In fact, I’m feeling a little funny.”

“You’re always a little funny,” teased Ffarrah.

“I’m… oh, I’ve never felt this way,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “My stomache…” He doubled over in pain. “I don’t know what’s happening…”

Chameleon and the Triplicate Girls helped him over to a couch.

“This is terrible,” he complained. “Maybe we should call the paramedics.”

Matter-Eater Lad Two belched. A gout of flame shot from his mouth.

“Maybe we should call the paramedics,” said Ffey.

“Polar Lass!” Ffiona shouted. “We need you!”

Polar Lass and Ten arrived just as Matter-Eater Lad Two produced another flaming eructation.

“Can you cool him off?” asked Ffiona.

“I don’t believe that would help,” said Ten. He took out one of his hand-held sensors. “We need Phantom Girl,” he said.

The remainder of the Super Hero Club had followed Phantom Girl into the Common Area.

“What’s going on,” she asked.

Ten checked his sensors. “It appears that the scrap I gave Matter-Eater Lad Two was inadvertently contaminated with a speck of dekalithium,” he said. “It seems to be reacting adversely with his cold fusion digestive system. I need your 4D vision, Phantom Girl. Can you see it? It should look like a small blob of gelatin… glowing, as if there was a flickering candle inside it. Is that an adequate description?”

“Yes, I see it,” said Phantom Girl. “No, it’s gone… yes… no, it keeps fading in and out. And jumping from one position to another. I can’t seem to keep my eyes on it.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Ten. “Bismolleans have three-and-a-half dimensional stomachs, and dekalithium draws energy from the eleven-dimensional matrix. Dimensionality may be pretty twisted in there right now.”

“Master Txarlz, it is necessary for us to return to Colu immediately,” said Mr. Andrews.

“Best-case scenario,” said Ten, “his digestive system shuts down.”

“Master Txarlz, I have called for a taxi,” said Mr. Andrews. “It will arrive in approximately ten minutes. We need to meet it outside.”

“Worst-case scenario?” asked Phantom Girl.

“Worst-case scenario,” said Saturn Girl, “His cold fusion metabolism goes hot fusion, and we have a thermonuclear bomb lying on our couch. For a few minutes.”

“Master Txarlz, I really must insist we leave for Colu immediately,” said Mr. Andrews. “We must meet the taxi, which will take us to the New Metropolis Space Terminal.”

“Mr. Andrews,” said Ten. “Shrinking Violet’s parents have sent her a two-millimeter-in-diameter fragment of the white dwarf star Irulan, which currently resides in her stateroom. Unless she can make a Fantastic Voyage into Hillarie’s digestive tract, and retrieve the dekalithium, in a very short time, the New Metropolis Space Terminal will no longer exist.”

“Why would your parents send you such a dangerous item?” asked Ffey.

“I doubt they expected that she would be caught in a runaway fusion explosion,” said Ten. “Shrinking Violet, you will need my flight belt. I will set the shield controls. That should protect you from any danger inside Hillarie. You will need a container for the dekalithium…” He ran out of the room, Mr. Andrews shouting exhortations behind him.

In a few minutes, he was back. He held up an incredibly small vial. “This is a container from the battery pack I disassembled,” said Ten. “Once you get where you are going, you will need to make yourself large enough to manipulate it.”

Shrinking Violet girded on Ten’s belt, took the vial, and disappeared into Matter-Eater Lad Two’s mouth.

“Saturn Girl,” said Ten, “I hope you can track her progress?”

Two paramedics entered the crowded room. “We got an emergency call…”

Matter-Eater Lad Two belched a long stream of flame, and the paramedics jumped, as a number of people dodged out of the way. Polar Lass moved quickly to suppress the resulting flames.

“Bismollean,” Cosmic Boy told the paramedics. “Indigestion. Anything you can do?”

The paramedics, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, shook their heads. “We were never really trained for this,” said one.

“Shrinking Violet’s all right,” said Saturn Girl. “She’s spotted the dekalithium. Now what, Ten?”

“She needs to place it in the capsule. There is a… belt of sorts around the joint. She needs to press the dial in, and turn it widdershins. Counter-clockwise. There should be a click, and the dekalithium will stop glowing. It will then be inactivated.”

Saturn Girl paused a long moment. “Done,” she said.

“Phantom Girl, can you retrieve her?” asked Ten.

The Bgztlr reached her hand into Matter-Eater Lad Two’s belly, and pulled out a tiny Shrinking Violet, holding a vial nearly as large as herself.

Matter-Eater Lad groaned.

Saturn Girl turned towards the paramedics. “You should probably take him to a hospital,” she said. “Preferably one that has a specialist in Bismollean physiology.” Addressing Ten, she said, “I need to meet with you in your quarters.”

Mr. Andrews, Cosmic Boy, and Lightning Lass trailed after them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
INTERROGATION

Saturn Girl accompanied Ten into his quarters, and closed and locked the door.

“My mother always told me, ‘Never trust a Coluan’,” said Saturn Girl. “It appears she was correct.”

“Our taxi has arrived, Master Txarlz,” said Mr. Andrews, through the door. “We need to return to Colu immediately.”

“You are going nowhere, until I get an answer,” said Saturn Girl. She closed the door to Ten’s quarters, and fixed her eye on him. Her rage was barely concealed. “Was this intentional? Hillarie told me you were curious about Bismollean physiology. Was this some kind of ill-thought-out Coluan experiment?”

“No! It was an mistake!” said Ten, his voice choking, tears welling in his eyes. “A really bad mistake, but just an accident!”

“Do you want to leave with Mr. Andrews?” asked Saturn Girl.

Ten thought for a moment. Eyes downcast, he said, “No. If I can, I want to stay.”

“I can’t guarantee that,” said Saturn Girl. “But I can guarantee that unless I am absolutely certain that this was no more than an accident, you are leaving right now. I need you to drop your psychic shields, so I can read your mind.”

“But… my mind… I’m not supposed to… “

“I could take them down it myself, but it would hurt you,” said Saturn Girl. “I won’t do that. But either I read your mind, or I turn you over to Mr. Andrews and his taxi without any objection.”

Ten looked at her, pleadingly, then opened his mind.

“Good,” said Saturn Girl. “I need that one gone, too. And that one. All of them. All right, I’m satisfied. There is someone who wants to speak to us, now.”

They opened the door. Mr. Andrews was projecting a hologram of Renlo Tagor.

“Doctor Tagor,” said Saturn Girl. “Is there a high rate of infant mortality on Colu?”

“Why do you ask?” said Renlo Tagor.

“Because your children seem just smart enough to regularly kill themselves,” said Saturn Girl.

“If I allow him to stay, will you allow him to remain?” asked Renlo Tagor.

“I don’t know,” said Saturn Girl. “I will have to have a council with the others.”

“I think Txarlz has learned a valuable lesson about keeping his workspace clean,” said Renlo Tagor. “If you are willing, I would like to continue to commend him to your care.”

“Hopefully, I can let you know by tomorrow,” said Saturn Girl. “Mr. Andrews needs to go take care of the taxi driver, and his fare.”

Ten ran back into his room, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He locked the door behind him, and flung himself down on his bed, wracked with sobs.

Phantom Girl came up quietly through the floor.

“It will be all right,” she said, taking the little boy in her arms. “I hope you can stay. I want you to.”

“I want to, too,” said Ten, through his tears. “Do you think I can?”

“Your Adult Guardian says you can,” said Phantom Girl. “Now it’s just up to... everyone else.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
COUNCIL

“Well, we’re all here,” said Saturn Girl.

Shrinking Violet looked around the table. “I see a few missing…” she said.

“Ten is confined to quarters,” said Saturn Girl. “Polar Lass is keeping Matter-Eater Lad Two company in the hospital in Marsopolis. They asked us to give the two of them a call, later.”

“Before we get down to the business on everyone’s mind,” said Ffey, “Can I ask if it’s a good idea for Shrinking Violet to be keeping a piece of a star in her room?”

“I talked to my parents,” said Shrinking Violet. “They told me it’s perfectly safe. It would be impossible to ignite outside of the center of a Fusion Powersphere.”

“You didn’t tell them that’s very nearly where you were a yesterday, did you?” asked Ffiona.

“The newsfeeds have really played it down,” said Saturn Girl. “They may not really understand the implications. ‘Young Legion Discovers Something else else Bismolleans Can’t Eat-- And You Won’t Believe What Happened Next’-- that sort of stuff. Even the paramedics didn’t seem to pick up on what was going on. Just some ‘fire-breathing’, they told the hospital.”

“As long as no one on Bismoll comes forward with an exclusive, ‘What Really Happened On Mars’ story, I think we’re fine,” said Cosmic Boy.

“Just don’t let Matter-Eater Lad Two eat your chunk of starstuff,” said Ffey.

“I actually don’t think that would be dangerous,” said Saturn Girl. “Bismolleans have a cold fusion metabolism-- he could probably digest it easily. Of course, he probably wouldn’t be hungry again for a long, long time.” She looked at Shrinking Violet. “Not that I want to see you lose your parent’s gift.”

“It’s actually more than just sentimental value,” said Shrinking Violet. “You all should probably know this, I guess. My parents send me Space Dragon Serum regularly for my monthly dose-- it’s hard to come by, anywhere but Orzde or Imsk. It’s the only way an Irulan can maintain their shrinking abilities away from home. But we... I… also need regular exposure to White Dwarf Star radiation. Sleeping in my room every night with my Irulan Lamp is enough. Without those two things, I’d have to return home-- because and Ordean who’s lost their powers can get pretty sick.”

“Perhaps we need a Council meeting to help us all understand how all the other’s powers work,” said Chameleon. “It would be disconcerting to learn, for example, that Phantom Girl cannot phase through lead at some crucial moment.”

“Oh, I can phase through lead,” said Phantom Girl.

“I only meant it as an example,” said Chameleon.

“So about Ten,” said Saturn Girl. “Do we keep him, or not?”

“Do we get one vote, or three?” asked Ffiona. “Because we’re all in favor of him staying.”

“You see?” said Saturn Girl. “This is why we need a Constitution.”

“Speak for yourself, Ffiona,” said Ffey. “He scares the feng shui out of me.”

“So I guess I have the tie-breaking vote?” said Ffarrah.

“I had hoped,” said Cosmic Boy, “That a formal vote wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe if we discuss this between ourselves, we can come to a unanimous, mutual understanding.”

“He has been a valuable asset,” said Chameleon Boy. “He put in a great deal of time and effort on the flight belts.”

“I think he should stay,” said Phantom Girl, “Because he needs us.”

“That’s an interesting sentiment, but I don’t think I follow you, Irinia,” said Lightning Lass.

“Don’t you understand?” said Phantom Girl. “Colu is a world where knowledge and understanding is valued above all else. Ten won’t even complete what we would consider High School for over ninety years. Then college, after that. But Colu is also isolated and insular. Their tenth-level minds look down on all the less well-endowed sentients in the Galaxy. But you have seen that Ten has plenty to learn from us: social customs, interpersonal relations, other cultures, new ways of thinking. He’s socially and emotionally awkward now, but he learns fast. And that is exactly the kind of knowledge that isn’t available on Colu, with its emphasis on pure data analysis and mathematics. I’m pretty sure that’s a lot of the reason his Adult Guardian sent him here, and allows him to stay-- even after he almost made brand-new crater on Mars.”

“Well, you’ve convinced me,” said Ffey.

“You seem to have thought about this a lot,” said Shrinking Violet. “It’s almost as though you have… feelings… for Ten.”

“Feelings?” said Phantom Girl, agast. “Of course I have feelings. I like Ten, just like I like Winema Nah, who, by the way, is a cutie-pie. He may have tenth-level intelligence, but in a lot of ways Ten is just a little boy away out of his depth. Do you think this incident has traumatized him? Well, it has. And it’s going to take some time for him to get over it.”

“She’s right,” said Saturn Girl.

“Have you ever read that old Fairy Tale, ‘Le Petit Prince’,” asked Phantom Girl. “‘Men have forgotten this truth, but you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’”

“So Ten is our tame Coluan?” asked Saturn Girl.

“Not yet,” said Phantom Girl. “But I think we may be becoming his friends. Something else else he never had on Colu.”

I am loving this, Klar! I'm a sucker for a Fantastic Voyage =)

Having Ten go round individually to everyone with the flight belts was a really good way of getting a little insight into everyone, and I like the approach generally that you take with world-building which focuses on details that get missed or glossed over by other writers (including me).

Thank you, Razsolo. I was afraid that all this slow-poking around in this new Legion paracosm might be rather tedious for anyone who is not me. I am glad you are enjoying my excursions.

The Young Legion / Super Hero Club is having some difficulty getting started-- but that’s kind of the point, isn't it?

How do you become a band of superheroes when you don’t have the assets of an R.J. Brande / Bruce Wayne / Tony Stark behind you?

So for right now, all they have is each other. Well, that, and the shell of an old, broken-down space cruiser (Mark II). And flight belts.

Somebody else's essay on Legion Cruisers

But something is sure to happen soon. When you put yourself out there as “Heroes”, you are bound to attract trouble at some point.

Definitely not tedious, I am quite enjoying it...and thanks for the cruiser link, I have bookmarked it as I'm sure it will come in handy for future reference sooner or later

CHAPTER THIRTY:
A TWENTY-FOUR HOUR, ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT SMORGASBOARD

Ffarrah and Chameleon were in the Common Room, sharing a table for that meal in between lunch and dinner.

“Is that some sort of Durlan dish?” asked Ffarrah. “I looks really unusual.”

“It’s Laban Kishk,” said Chameleon. “An ordinary Earth food. Mars has a wonderful variety of Earth foods, and I have found many to my liking. Poi, Kim Chee, Sauerkraut, Borscht. We used to have Earth Beer on Durla, but I haven’t been able to get it since I left. Did you know Ethanol an intoxicant to most Earth species?”

“Yes,” said Ffarrah, smiling. “I knew that. Maybe someday, if we visit Rimbor, I can get you a Silverale. Or a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. There’s no minimum legal drinking age on Rimbor.”

“Ffarrah!” Ffey had just entered the room. “Are you eating again?”

“I can’t help it,” said Ffarrah. “It’s like living in a 24-hour, all-you-can-eat smorgasboard! It’s just a couple of sandwiches.”

“Well, if you keep at it, you’ll end up weighing as much as Ffiona and I combined, and we’ll never be able to fuse again.”

“You’re like a repeating decimal,” said Ffarrah. “Same thing over and over again.”

“Just remember, we’re paying for 25% of that 24-hour, all-you-can-eat smorgasboard,” said Ffey.

“Then I’d better take advantage of it,” said Ffarrah.

“Chameleon, want to see a trick?” said Ffey. “This is something very few Cargggans can do.”

Ffarrah sighed, and stood up. Ffey and Ffarrah merged, waited a minute, then re-duplicated.

“Do you get it?” asked Ffey. “We merged without Ffiona. For most other Cargggans, that would be traumatic.”

“And now, I have ‘borrowed’ a little of Ffey’s willpower,” said Ffarrah, pushing her half-finished plate away.

“And I ‘borrowed’ some of Ffarrah’s mid-afternoon snack,” said Ffey. “Ugh. I don’t think I’ll be eating anything else until breakfast tomorrow.”

“The Founders are going into town to do some shopping this evening,” said Phantom Girl, just entering the room. “Any of you want to come? Matter-Eater Lad Two and Shrinking Violet want to take me to the Superman Museum.”

“Thank you,” said Chameleon. “Not tonight.”

“Not me,” said Ffarrah.

“Me neither,” said Ffey. “And I’ll bet Ffiona will want to stay home tonight, too. Somebody’s got to be here with Ten, after all. Maybe he’ll come out of his room one of these days.”

“I saw him yesterday,” said Chameleon. “He seemed in relatively good spirits.”

“He sits in there watching performances of Shakespeare,” said Ffiona, from the doorway. “And not on fast-forward. Some of them black-and-white videos from the early 2Oth century. I think he believes Shakespeare is the key to understanding human beings.”

“Want to go into town with us tonight?” asked Phantom Girl.

“No, thanks,” said Ffiona. “I think we’re good.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:
THE SUPERMAN MUSEUM

It was really a shame to use the Ranzz’s Runabout, capable of traversing interstellar distances, to drive the few miles into town. However, there was no other vehicle that could hold a week’s worth of groceries for a dozen teen-agers. Saturn Girl, Lightning Lass, and Cosmic Boy did the shopping. The three others were there to help carry.

Matter-Eater Lad Two had been to the Superman Museum before, and this was Shrinking Violet’s third time, but it was all new to Phantom Girl. The presentation in the VR booth had just completed when Phantom Girl perked up her ears.

“Do you hear something?” she asked.

“Do you have 4D hearing, too?” asked Shrinking Violet.

“No, listen, there’s some kind of commotion outside.” Phantom Girl went to a wall, and carefully poked her head through. “It looks like this guy is threatening the Curator. He looks like a Daxamite, from his clothing.”

“OK, let’s just hunker down,” said Shrinking Violet. “I don’t want to get in an argument with a Daxamite.”

“Maybe we should call the SP’s?” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Does it look like it’s going to get violent?”

“OK, come out of there, you three,” said an angry, stentorian voice. “It’s no use whispering. Daxamites have super-hearing, you know.”

Phantom Girl came barreling out through the wall, hitting the Daxamite full in the chest.

“Foolish girl,” said the broad, sturdily-built man, hovering in the air. “You will not be the first child I have killed.”

Faint pink beams of light lanced from the Daxamite’s eyes. They had no effect on Phantom Girl, the floor, or anything else.

“You’re not going to hurt anyone with that luke-warm vision,” said Phantom Girl.

Shrinking Violet and Matter-Eater Lad Two came out of the VR booth through the door, in the more conventional manner.

“What did you do to him?” asked Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“I knocked him half-way into the Phantom Zone,” said Phantom Girl. “It’s only a couple of microns. In the right direction.” The Daxamite was looking noticeably transparent.

“Is it ssafe?” asked the Curator.

“Oh, yeah,” said Phantom Girl. “Bgztlr kids do this with tourists all the time. No one ever gets out by themselves. And when I say ‘kids’, I mean ‘juvenile delinquents’. Not that I myself am a juvenile delinquent, of course. Or ever was. In fact, I really don’t know where I learned this technique.”

The Daxamite swore a stream that significantly increased Matter-Eater Lad Two’s vocabulary.

“Wow,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “What’s a ‘Feetal’s Gizz’ mean?”

“It means,” said Phantom Girl, “That when we get back to the clubhouse, you need to wash out your mouth with sodium hypochlorite.”

“I’ve got the Science Police on my ‘phone,” said Shrinking Violet, the holographic display in front of her. “The want to know exactly what’s going on here. What should I tell them?”

“Let me sspeak with them,” said the Curator. “Yess,” he said, “It iss apparently a Daxsamite Pirate. We have a ssmall collection of kryptonite at the musseum; he demanded I give it to him, threatening me with bodily harm. Doubtlessss he intended it to bootleg Daxxamite Anti-Lead Sserum. I wass about to do give it to him, when the girl Legionnaire pusshed him out into another dimenssion… Yess, it would be good if you could come and take him away… yess, as ssoon as possssible…”

The Daxamite let loose another stream of invective, directed at both the teens and the Curator. Matter-Eater Lad Two approached the hovering, translucent figure calmly.

“Mister Daxamite, do you see this?” he asked, pulling a small, grey lump of metal from one of his pockets. “You have meta-vision, or whatever you call it? Do you recognize what this is?”

“It looks like a slug of inertron,” said the Daxamite, adding another curse.

“Exactly correct,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Or, as we Bismolleans call it, Gum.” He popped the tablet into his mouth, and masticated theatrically. “Now settle down, or I’ll have my friend send me in there, and I’ll bite your face off.”

“You wouldn’t,” said the Daxamite.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” said Shrinking Violet. “Would you?”

Matter-Eater Lad Two shrugged.

It took a good forty-five minutes for the SP’s to arrive. The Curator took the teens back to a largish box, and pulled back the roll-top.

“All four bassic varietiess of Kryptonite are dissplayed here,” said the Curator. “Green, red, gold, and white. Blue Kryptonite iss a missnomer, ass it is an artifiscially created ssubstance. Thiss chesst is lead-lined, of coursse, and alsso lined with ssmall graphite rodss, to futher abssorb any sstray radiation. The glassss is leaded, ass well.”

It was not exactly a small collection. Each chunk of Kryptonite was at least the size of a fist.

“Mined on Rokyn itsself,” the Curator continued. “Expressssly for our Musseum.”

Three SP officers came in carrying a wide, low device. “We had a portable transmatter gate sent from Earth,” the first officer explained. “Single-use, set for Daxam.”

The second officer was examining an Omnicom. “Yep, Daxamite Pirate all right. A real nasty character. Name of Yar Gol-Ber. The Daxamite judiciary will be happy to see him.”

The third officer hefted a large rifle. “So how is this going to go down?” he asked. “I’ve got a red-sun cannon here, but how do we get him out of that trans-dimensional niche you’ve got him stored in?”

Phantom Girl walked up into the grey-mauve mists surrounding Yar Gol-Ber.

“Now this is the easiest way...” she began. The Daxamite Pirate took a swing at her, his hand passing cleanly-- and harmlessly-- through her head.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Phantom Girl erupted angrily. “I may be standing on the outskirts of the Phantom Zone with you, but we’re still out of phase with one another! Now as I was saying… I will give you a little push, and you will fall out of this pocket of space, and into the gate these nice officers have brought it. Then you’ll be home, OK?”

“****** you!,” said Yar Gol-Ber.

“Or,” said Phantom Girl, “I can drag you all the way back into the actual Phantom Zone, and you can wait there until we can arrange for a Zone-O-Phone to be shipped from Bgztl to Daxam.”

“Or,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two, “We can just let him stay there for forty-eight hours, until whatever residual Anti-Lead Serum he may have taken wears off. There is a nice plate of leaded glass right here in the Museum, which ought to make him compliant enough for the SP’s to ship him anywhere they want.”

“Now just a minute! The Science Police would not permit the torture of a prisoner our custody,” said the third SP officer. “These threats are completely inappropriate. Wow, you kids have some nasty imagination.”

“Oh, we’re nasty all right,” said Shrinking Violet. “Damn evil.”

“Look,” said the SP officer. “Why don’t you kids go on back to your little clubhouse, and let the professionals take it from here.”

“Sure,” said Shrinking Violet. “Come on, guys, let’s go.” Matter-Eater Lad Two shambled over, Phantom Girl stepped down from the mists. They made for the museum door.

“You might consider,” said Shrinking Violet, “That we ‘kids’ might be just a little stressed out because this Daxamite Pirate tried his best to murder our friend here, and has been threatening the three of us, as well as the Curator, for the past forty-five minutes while you took you sweet time in getting here.” She took a breath. “I hope you have a Bgztlr on the force, because it will probably take you some time to requisition one from Gzbk. And unless I’m mistaken about how these things work, I imagine you’re renting that Star Gate from Earth on an hourly basis. As long as we’re on this side of the door, we’re ready and willing to help. But if you want to do it all yourselves, that’s OK with us. It’s what you’re paid to do.”

“Look,” said the first SP. “I admit, it would be very helpful for the Phantom Girl to cooperate, and release the prisoner into our custody. But I don’t want to hear you threatening him again, no matter what he’s allegedly done to you”

“What’s the magic word?” said Phantom Girl.

“Please?” said the first SP, reluctantly.

“Actually, the magic word is ‘Nhbkb’,” said Phantom Girl. “But you wouldn’t know that.” She climbed back up into the grey-mauve mists.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Daxamite,” whispered Phantom Girl, “If you decide you want to wait this out in the Phantom Zone, you won’t be alone. Some Bgztlrs, on their last moments, choose to enter the Bgztlr Buffer Zone just moments before death, to extend their lives indefinitely as intangible, immortal phantoms. Thus the ‘Phantom Zone’. Not that it’s looked on very kindly on Bgztl. It’s seen as a moral lack-- a lapse of courage and faith. Still, I have a great-grandmother there… or great-great grandmother, maybe. At any rate, one is sure to encounter a nearly departed phantom or two, even as far out here as Mars. Sure you don’t want play ball, and take a quick trip back to your Homeworld?”

Yar Gol-Ber, grumbling, turned and faced the transmatter device. A shimmering gate opened beneath Phantom Girl and the Daxamite, a dull gray room displayed on the other side.

“Now, on the count of three, I’ll give you a little push,” said Phantom Girl. “One…” Phantom Girl pushed. The interior of the museum briefly turned scarlet by the flash of the red solar cannon.

Yar Gol-Ber, Daxamite Pirate, flailing a moment, dropped out of the half-dimensional pocket, and down through the sparkling gate, sprawling on the gray floor below.

“...and three,” said Phantom Girl.

“Why do you carry inertron pellets in your pocket?” Shrinking Violet asked Matter-Eater Lad Two later.

“They’re not really solid inertron,” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “They’re inertron-plated lead. But I figured he wouldn’t tell the difference. Limits of meta-vision.”

“So why do you carry inertron-plated lead pellets in your pocket?” Shrinking Violet asked Matter-Eater Lad Two.

“Haven’t you been listening?” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Gum.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:
“'DAMN EVIL' LEGION THWARTS DAXAMITE PIRATE ON MARS... AND WHAT HE TOLD THE SCIENCE POLICE AFTERWARDS WILL MAKE YOUR HAIR STAND ON END"

Saturn Girl read the headline aloud. “We really need to begin some official training,” she commented.

The Club had gathered in an emergency meeting. Several large boxes of half-eaten pizza covered the table.

“It could have been worse?” Matter-Eater Lad Two asked.

“I think Phantom Girl and Matter-Eater Lad Two did an amazing job,” said Shrinking Violet. “We were facing a Daxamite, for Frunt's sake, and he would just as soon have killed us, as looked at us. Could have killed us, just by looking at us.”

“We have an even half-dozen applications requesting our consideration at try-outs tomorrow,” Ten reported, taking a sip from a tube of Coluan Nutrative Gel.

“Yes, but are they expecting to join a Super Hero Club,” asked Saturn Girl, “Or the Legion of Super-Villains?”

“I’m just glad we finished the parking lot,” said Cosmic Boy. “We don’t know how many are taking taxis, or bringing their own vehicles.”

“Or flying in under their own power,” said Chameleon.

“Hah!” said Ten. “I get it!”

“Get what?” asked Phantom Girl.

Ten pointed to one of the pizza boxes. “Prospero’s Pizza!” he said. “Their slogan, on every box: 'O brave new world, that has such pizzas in it!'’”

This is the best antidote for a grim and tedious week! You combine humour with the serious side of young, inexperienced, idealistic kids trying to build something.

Fascinating explanation for the Triplicate Girls and Carggite powers in general.

The shrine to Darkseid and the untold tale of Reep and Lu's deaths adds a bit of darkness to this, and what's a hero's journey without darkness?

These kids may surpass their parents and elder counterparts once they get going. Dorrit's long-distance excursion into the mind of Renlo Tagor was an impressive accomplishment and the way Pol and Dacey combined powers shows that they were developing their teamwork as young children, probably by now it's second nature to work together. Big advantage.

I love 10, not just because he's Coluan, but because he's everybody's annoying, yet smarter than you, little brother. In his case, it's exaggerated on both counts. Laughed at the ben-day dots skin.

You've put in a lot of attention to detail, such as the Ranzz's financial situation, Jo's power loss on Bgtzl, the different personalities among all the offspring, the change in Martian atmosphere from terraforming, something a Bismollean can't eat. It all gives a richness to the story.

More chapters, nhbkb!

Cramer: I am pleased that you have found Earth-K2 interesting so far.

I am naturally drawn to themes of old age and dying, so of course I have worked out the details of Reep and Lluornu’s deaths. There may be a need in the future to reference them again, but this is primarily the younger generations’ story.

With Earth-K, I brought a lot of deceased Legionnaires back, in order to reconcile the Retroboot and 5YL, so with Earth-K2, I wanted for all the Legionnaires dead (or lost in time) at the end of #23 to remain that way. The body count is pretty daunting. Legionnairing was dangerous business.

(In the Earth-K2 paracosm, 5YG & 5YL never happened. The Legion was disbanded in #23 and... twenty years later...)

It seemed natural for two characters with electromagnetic powers to be able to ‘boost’ each other. In James Kakalios’ book The Physics of Super-Heroes his discussion of Marvel’s Magneto and Electro spawned some ideas.

Dorrit is not really more powerful than her mother; Imra once casually contacted the Guardians on Oa from Earth, with substantially less effort. Dorrit is, however, at least a Class-Two Telepath. Imra is unquestionably Class-One, although Titan has debated creating a Class-Zero just for her. Or maybe going into the negative numbers, like with the measures of apparent magnitude.

I am also fond of Ten, and there is a temptation to over-use him. All these characters have become frighteningly “real” to me.

I have outlines through Chapter Sixty in detail, and have easily enough material to continue for up to a hundred. I don’t want to hog Bits too much, though.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:
TRYOUTS
FRENQ GOLL, JR. OF XANTHU: PHRENOLOGIAX-2

“My father was a member of the Uncanny Amazers, the original Phrenologiax! I possess all his forty-six of his uncanny powers and abilities!” shouted the bald-headed youth in the black-and-white chequered costume.

“Er- I’m sorry, I am not completely familiar with your father and his powers,” said Cosmic Boy. “Just what abilities do the two of you possess?”

“I have forty-six psychic modules, including propensities, sentiments, and faculties: Adhesiveness; Alimentiveness; Amativeness; Acquisitiveness; Causality; Cautiousness; Combativeness; Concentrativeness; Constructiveness; Destructiveness; The Propensity of Ideality; Love of life; Philoprogenitiveness; Secretiveness; Cautiousness; Love of Approbation; Self-esteem; Truthfulness; Benevolence; Conscientiousness; Firmness; Hope; The Sentiment of Ideality; Imitation; Veneration; Wit, or Mirthfulness; Wonder; Coloring; Eventuality; Form; Hearing; Individuality; Language; Locality; and power over the faculties of Number; Order; Sight; Size; Smell; Taste; Time; Touch; Tune; Weight; Causality; and Comparison.”

“Perhaps you could give us just one example of your powers?” asked Lightning Lass. “A demonstration, as it were?”

“Certainly,” said Phrenologiax-2. The young man wrinkled his brow in concentration. “Using my Faculty of Taste, I can generate for you the sensation of Vanilla Ice Cream!”

* * *

“So, did you actually taste ‘Vanilla Ice Cream’?” Ten asked later.

“Well, no, not really,” said Cosmic Boy.

“But there was sort of a sense of the immanence of the flavor of vanilla ice cream,” Saturn Girl admitted.

“He certainly displayed the limits of his Sentiment of Combativeness, though” Lightning Lass observed.

“Until he can better learn to control his unique abilities, he’d be as great a danger to us as to our enemies,” Cosmic Boy observed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
TRYOUTS
GREGOR SAMSA OF PLANET KAFKO: BLUE BEETLE 3OOO

“Like all the inhabitants of my world,” said the blue-skinned, antennaed boy, “I have the ability to transform myself into a giant scarab.”

The one-hundred-twenty-pound scarab was a shining, brilliant lapis-lazuli color.

After about fifteen minutes, Lightning Lass rang up Phantom Girl in the Clubhouse.

“Can you tell the Zoo we have another animal for pickup?” she asked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:
TRYOUTS
PIERRE KERN OF ZWEN: THE NEW STONE BOY

“Zwen, Planet of the Sleepers. You have all the abilities of Dag Wentim?” Cosmic Boy asked.

“Oh, gosh, no,” said Pierre. “Dag Wentim was one of a kind. Able to ignore the demands of the Times of Hibernation, he nevertheless was able to drop off to sleep anytime, at will. I can only petrify at night, while I sleep, or during the Times of Hibernation.”

“The Old Legionnaires used to swear this oath, in part,” said Saturn Girl. “‘I make this solemn pledge: to use my powers for good, to fight for justice and protect the innocent’. Now out Super Hero Club does not require the same oath, but we like to think we ascribe to similar values. How might your slumbering petrificative powers be used for good, to fight for justice, and protect the innocent?”

“I… I’m not sure,” said Pierre.

“Well, think about it, and get back to us when you have an answer,” said Saturn Girl.

Ten had showed up beside the dais, from inside the Clubhouse.

“Before we dismiss this candidate,” he said, “Could I satisfy my curiosity?”

“By all means,” said Saturn Girl.

“I understand that Zwenites are particularly long-lived, for Terrans,” said Ten. “Is that correct?”

“Well, if you mean, we don’t age during our petrification, then well, yes,” he said. “We also have no need to eat or drink or breathe while we sleep.”

Saturn Girl looked at Ten. “This ‘teen’ would be older than my parents, then!”

“Assuming Zwen’s orbit makes the planet uninhabitable for approximately three-quarters of the year, and that even during non-hibernation, Zwenites sleep one-third of the day, I would estimate that young Pierre here was born some eighty-eight Terran Standard years ago.”

“Well, Zwen’s years are a little different than Earth’s, but I guess that’s pretty close,” said Pierre.

"So if I were to visit Zwen in another eighty-eight years time, during the Times of No Hibernation,I would find you a man in your mid-thirties?" asked Ten. "And all your people age at a similar rate?"

"Yeah, sure, that's right, I guess," said Pierre.

“Thank you, Mr. Kern,” said Ten. “This brief conversation has been most enlightening.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
TRYOUTS
KETURAH OF TARTARUS: FRANKENSTEIN-ELEVEN

The young woman was tall, over two meters in height. Her black hair was streaked with gray. Her skin was pale, yellowish, and papery, like crepe. She had no nose to speak of, only two large nostrils in the center of her face. Her eyes were cloudy, bloodshot, and rheumy. All in all, she looked like a typical inhabitant of her homeworld.

“Towards the end of the eighteenth century on Earth, an Italian-Swiss student of Natural History began a series of remarkable experiments. Combining science with the mystic arts, he created a living being through the animation of dead tissue. Some of the material was found in morgues and University biology departments, some was grown in the laboratory. What could not be acquired or synthesized was substituted with inorganic material. The majority of the peripheral nerve structure, for example, was finely drawn platinum wire.”

“The Creature, as he was called, beseeched his creator to form a woman as a companion for him. The scientist reluctantly agreed, but later destroyed his second Creation before it was completed. After several decades, and following the death of his creator, the Creature unearthed records of the processes that created him. He created for himself the She-Creature he had longed for.”

“Alas, being composed of only dead tissue, reproduction in the ordinary was impossible. However, a century or so later, the two created a child by the same arcane methods. Sadly, that child was destroyed after only a few decades.”

“From time to time, over the past twelve centuries, there have been other Creatures constructed by this small ‘family’ of the Unliving. In all that time, there have only been eleven of us formed, including the two originals, and only seven of us survive today. I am the youngest of them all, having been assembled on Tartarus, by my ‘mother’ some fifteen years ago.”

“We are immensely strong, agile, and durable, and possess an accelerated healing ability. In fact, very little other than utter disintegration can destroy us. Our family business is monster-slaying, and our weapon of choice is the sword. Mine is a particularly fine one, an osmium-iridium alloy, with a sharpened edge finer than a human hair.”

She displayed the great broadsword for the Founders to examine. Etched down the center, in letters of gold, was the phrase: “Meine Kraft ist wie die Kraft von zehn Menschen, den mein Herz ist rein.”

“<My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure>” thought Saturn Girl to her sister. “<What do you think?>”

“<Her litany of powers are certainly impressive>” Lightning Lass thought back. “<And I have no real objection to her appearance. On the other hand, I do not relish the thought of sharing the Clubhouse with the stench of mildew and decay that follows her>”

“<Cadaverous amide>” Saturn Girl replied. “Thank you, Keturah, for considering us as companions in your quest,” she said aloud. “We do not expect to be solely in the business of fighting monsters; you may be doing more good on your own than with us. Also, we do need to discuss your application with remainder of the membership. We will contact you... shortly.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN:
TRYOUTS
OJINA EINSTEIN OF MONDEAUX: LAMBDA LASS

“Lambda?” asked Saturn Girl. “As in, the cosmological constant, the measure of the sum of Dark Energy in the Universe? The underlying variable for Hubble’s Constant, and the expansion of the Universe?”

“Exactly,” said the bright, pretty girl. “I have the ability to create or neutralize space itself!” She waved a hand, and suddenly the grove in which the Club was holding its tryouts became much larger. Scrub and small trees were suddenly farther distant, as were the benches the applicants had waited on. Just as suddenly, the space between the Founder’s dais and Lambda Lass disappeared, and she was right up in their faces.

“That is only a sample of my powers,” she said. “I can teleport, twist and distort local space, even turn objects inside-out. I would be more than thrilled to place my powers at the disposal of your Super Hero Club.”

“Your powers are certainly impressive,” commented Lightning Lass. “And you show good control, as well.”

“We do need to discuss your application with remainder of the membership,” said Lightning Lass. “We will be in touch with you in a couple of days.”

“I would think,” said Lambda Lass, her face turning dark, “That you would accept me immediately, and be grateful for my application. I’ve seen the other sort of losers and monsters who have been applying. You need me, and you know it. You can come crawling back in a couple of days, if I haven’t joined some other team.”

She gestured, and a hole opened up in the air. It somewhat resembled a Boom Tube, but was composed of square helical segments. Lambda Lass stepped through the portal, and it closed with a *pop*.

Ten came out from the clubhouse. “What is wrong with you?” he cried. “Why did you send her away? She controls fundamental forces of the Universe! Think what an asset she would be!”

“You didn’t see inside her mind,” said Saturn Girl. “She’s… not right. You saw what she was like when we didn’t immediately fawn all over her. We need to come up with some pretext for rejecting her outright.”

“Not right? In the head? All the more reason to keep her here, under surveillance,” said Ten. “Make sure she’s on our side, or at least, under control.”

“I do not think,” said Saturn Girl, “That our little Super Hero Club would be an reasonable or appropriate refuge and safeguard for an immature, unpredictable, erratic, and possibly dangerous child.”

“You mean,” said Ten deliberately, “another immature, unpredictable, erratic, and possibly dangerous child.”

“No offense,” said Saturn Girl.

“None taken,” said Ten.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT:
TRYOUTS
GHURWIL TANR’R OF JAQUAA: VARIABLE LAD 2

“Well, all Jaquaans are really cousins,” said Ghurwil Tanr’r. “I am quite closely related to Dr. Gym’ll and Oaa Tseldor. My powers replicate the latter’s: it is somewhat rare, but not too uncommon a mutation among my people.”

The little Jaquaan stood only three feet tall, mostly head. He was so nervous his arms were cycling between two, three, and four.

“So you can copy any super-power?” asked Saturn Girl.

“Yes,” said Gurwhil Tanr’r, “Although, I don’t copy them exactly-- more like a close analogy. And I have to have seen it done-- although watching a demonstration on holovid is usually enough. And I do it by transforming into various monstrous forms. There is a degree of randomness to it: I might assume different forms to replicate the same or similar abilities.”

“Can you give us a demonstration?” asked Saturn Girl.

“Sure,” said Gurwhil Tanr’r, stepping back from the dais a bit. His body swelled, melted and shifted, forming itself into an immense, flaming head. The little Jaquaan then returned to his original form.

“Okay, sorry, I was going for super-strength,” he said. “I’m still learning-- like I say, there is a random factor-- let me try again.”

His body swelled up like a balloon again, this time forming a giant, floating eye, with hanging tentacles. He quickly returned to his smaller form.

“Sorry, super-vision,” he said. “Can I try again?”

This time, he assumed the form of a bi-pedal, six-armed, purple hippopotamus-like creature.

“That’s more like it,” said Gurwhil Tanr’r, his childish tenor now a basso profundo. “I’ve never assumed this form before, but it feels very strong.” He resumed his natural form.

“Do you think you could improve control with practice?” asked Saturn Girl.

“Oh, absolutely,” said Gurwhil Tanr’r. “That’s the problem on Jaquaa-- they don’t like to see Variables practicing shifting into different forms. It is thought to be… indecorous. Impolite.”

“Well, it seems to me you are a good candidate,” said Saturn Girl. “Although I will need to consult with the rest of the group. Are you staying here on Mars, or are you going back to Jaquaa?”

“I’m actually going to be on Medicus One, visiting with my Uncle Gym’ll for a few weeks,” said Gurwhil Tanr’r. “You could contact me there. Oh, but I have one other monster-form I want to show you-- and this one, I get right every time!” His body lengthened and slimmed, until he had assumed the form or a near-humanoid. His head was still a little too large for his body, but in a heavy fog or a dark room, his silhouette might be mistaken for a Terran.

The Founders waited for the Jaquaan to call a taxi, and leave for New Metropolis.

“That’s the last of them,” said Lightning Lass. The other nine Members began slowly began to come out of the Clubhouse.

“But Variable Lad-2,” said Saturn Girl, her head in her hands. “Variable Lad Two! The only Academy member the Legion ever lost. Murdered by Cosmic King. How could old Dr. Gym’ll even allow him to try out? And how could we stand seeing him walking around the clubhouse every day? Oh, maybe mother is right after all. This was a bad idea.”

“Wow,” said Lightning Lass. “if you are thinking Mother is right about the Club, you are completely not OK. Do you think you might be stressed out from too much mental exertion? You've been reading minds all afternoon. Maybe you just need rest.”

“And not to be morbid,” said Cosmic Boy,”But Oaa was not the only one. You’re forgetting Mentalla.”

HOW THE ‘YOUNG LEGION’ OF EARTH-K2 SHOULD HAVE ENDED
AN IMAGINARY STORY

“We have a latecomer,” said Cosmic Boy. “A walk-in.”

The space-flyer landed quietly in the parking lot. A young man climbed out, at no older than Cosmic Boy.

She was blonde, a little pudgy, and obviously struggled somewhat with acne. In fact, she most resembled a fairer young Cera Kesh-- unfamiliar to the Members, as she did not exist in this Universe.

The young Founders resumed their places on the dais.

“I am Jenifer Jahnson,” the young girl introduced herself. “My father is Ennis Jahnson, a metahuman with the ability to transform humans into animals, and animals into humans, who runs the exclusive resort world Jahnson’s Planet. My mother is Dori Aandraison, once known as Rainbow Girl, a metahuman with the power of super-charisma. My big sister, Meredith, has no super-powers, but through a remarkable set of circumstances, is Queen of Faeryland. A Queen, of a Faeryland.”

“I, on the other hand, have inherited my parent’s metahuman tendencies. I have the power to super-cutify animals.”

“I’m sorry,” said Saturn Girl. “Cutify?”

“I make them cuter,” said Jenifer. “Permanently.”

She pulled a small, bedraggled kitten out of a large coat pocket. It was sad, skinny and wretched-looking. The creature’s fur was short, badly matted, and balding in places, one ear half-missing, one eye scarred shut. It looked like it had lost every fight it had ever been in. “I picked up this poor little guy at a rescue shelter on Mars. They told me he’s been pretty sick during his short life, but he’s had all his shots now. They have done all they can for him. Of course, no one wants to adopt him. He will suffer the fat of all abandoned pets that the Shelter can’t sell.”

Lightning Lass gasped.

“That’s right,” said Jenifer. “He’ll be sent to Cornfield, Planet of the Feral Animals. But wait! Now, I apply my powers.”

The kitten’s ear and eye healed. His eyes grew large and round. His skinny body fleshed out and rounded, and its coat grew sleek, and then long and fluffy. The grey and brown fur gradually brightened into rainbow colors. He was so adorable, he seemed to glow.

“How precious!” cried Lightning Lass. “Can I keep him?” Jenifer handed the kitten over to Dacey, his new owner.

“Yes!” cried Saturn Girl. “I see it now! This is what the Super Hero Club was founded for! This is our destiny! We will travel the Galaxy, rescuing abandoned kittens and puppies and cats and dogs, even turtles and reptiles and fish and birds! Jenifer will cutify them all and we will give them away to new homes, where they will be lovingly taken care of. We’ll even sell some of them. The Super Hero Club will even be self-funding!”


========================================================================

But this is just an imaginary story.

In the real Earth-K2 Universe, Jenifer never joined the Super Hero Club. In fact, she may have never been born.

Instead...

========================================================================

Oh, wait. Because so many people are such better writers than I am, a little side-trip, if you are interested.
The Colors of Evil

========================================================================
And so it was. And they lived happily ever after.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE:
TRYOUTS
TED RIVOLKANE OF WEBER’S WORLD: MASS MASTER

“We have a latecomer,” said Cosmic Boy. “A walk-in.”

The space-flyer landed quietly in the parking lot. A young man climbed out, at least as old as the Ranzz twins. He was simply dressed, in a dark-gray long-sleeved t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. In contrast to his drab clothing, his face was extraordinary: evenly split in half, one side lavender, with black hair, one side tan, with flaming red hair. His eyes were two different shades of blue.

“I know him!” said Cosmic Boy. “Hey, I know you,” he told the young man. “Your dads are friends with my dad. You came to my birthday party once-- five or so years ago? Afterward, the two of us played video games together for hours, while our folks talked.” He turned to Saturn Girl and Lightning Lass. “You weren’t there,” he said. “That was one of the ones you missed.”

“Yeah,” said Lightning Lass, “We’ve occasionally been jerks to you, and you’ve reciprocated.”

“I’m Ted Rivolkane,” the boy introduced himself to the Ranzzes. “Hello, everybody,” he said to everyone else.

“You’re a… pi-something,” said Cosmic Boy. “Something else else cool.”

“Piebald chimaeric fusion,” Ted replied. “My dads wanted me to be unique, and I kind of am.”

“His dads were once members of the Legion Academy, too,” said Cosmic Boy. “Gravity Kid and… Powerhouse?”

“Gravity Kid and Power Lad,” said Ted. “But that was a long time ago. I more or less have their combined abilities. I can independently affect the gravitational or inertial mass of any object.”

“Just what exactly does that mean?” asked Lightning Lass. “Practically, I mean.”

“If I increase inertial mass, an object becomes stronger,” Ted explained. “Decreasing it makes the object light, even insubstantial. Decreasing gravitational mass makes it float, increasing it makes it fall. I can also re-shape gravitational fields, making things fall up, or sideways, for instance. And I should be able to do the same with the Higgs field, but we’re not sure what that would look like. My dads suggest I call myself Mass Master.”

“What do you think, Saturn Girl?” said Ten. “Here’s another meta-human that can alter fundamental, universal forces. Cosmic Boy seems to vouch for him. We’re all here, I say we vote on his membership right now.”

“Slow down a minute,” said Ted / Mass Master. “My dads were members of the Legion Academy. I’m not really confident in the control of my power, yet. I was hoping to spend some time in your academy?”

“Well… er… we don’t actually have an Academy yet,” said Saturn Girl. “We’re just barely starting out our ourselves...”

"Maybe that's what the Super Hero Club should be," said Lightning Lass. "A kind of by-your-own-bootstraps Legion Academy."

“Oh, well, what…” said Ted / Mass Master. “What…’

But he was interrupted by a high-pitched, keening, pulsing, ululating shrieking.

CHAPTER FORTY:
TRYOUTS
PRINCESS POLLITA OF THARN

The young girl materialized out of thin air, her clothing varicolored and flamboyant. She was accompanied by a bright green rooster.

“I am Princess Pollita of Tharn, the New Sorcerer’s World,” she announced.

“Another walk-in applicant!” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Or rather, teleporting in.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” said Princess Pollita, “I am no applicant. I’m only a messenger. I have no super-powers, or even magical powers. I am merely the caretaker of Chanticleer,” she indicated the green rooster. “When he crows, he teleports, and can take others with him. I have been tasked with inviting you to stand before the First General Coventry of Tharn. They have been debating sending a magical acolyte to become a member of your New Legion.”

“Actually,” said Saturn Girl, “It’s just a Super Hero Club. And following tradition, it is the applicant who comes here for the audition.”

“One does not ordinarily reject an invitation from the Councilours First General Coventry,” said Princess Pollita. “Still, I am unable to transport you there without your consent, so if I must return to the Council alone and empty-handed, I must.”

“You know, a magical member might be interesting,” said Ffiona, “Even if only a sorcerer’s apprentice.”

“I think Ffarrah once spoke of Adventure,” said Cosmic Boy. “A strange, magical world sounds like it might be at least a small adventure.”

“I advise caution,” said Ten. “Magic is difficult to understand, predict, or control.”

“I agree with my charge,” said Mr. Andrews.

“I’m not sure you get a vote, Mr. Andrews,” said Ffiona.

“Well, has it come to that?” said Saturn Girl. “I propose a vote then. But it needs to be unanimous- we all go, or no one goes. All in favor?”

Ten hands went up. Saturn Girl gradually raised her own.

“Well, ‘Forever and ever farewell, Cassius’,” said Ten. “‘If we do meet again, why we shall smile.’ I suppose I am coming too,” he raised his hand. “And don’t forget Mr. Andrews, Princess.”

The rooster crowed, the air shimmered.

And Ted Rivolkane, the Mass Master, was left alone.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:
WELCOME TO THE SORCERER’S PLANET

The old sorcerer was looking well. His hair and beard 'of formal cut' were well-trimmed, and more gray than white. He wore a modern ‘French Court’ style business suit, in a subtle pinstripe. He looked as though he smelled of peppermint and Macassar oil. His absurd hat, the green fez with eagle’s wings and a great red ruby eye, sat discreetly beside him on the table.

“Welcome, young people, I am Lord Mordru, Chair of the First General Coventry of Tharn, the New Sorcerer’s World; Chief Executive of the Council, and Arch-Chancellor.” He smiled. “Allow me to introduce the other members of the Coventry. From my far right: Counselor Rincewind, Professor Leitseid, Thane Fitzneron, The Sensei, Karannat, and Falco Columbarius. From my far left: Mariam Abraxas, Lady Leshove, Nagromma, Viviane Inwidu, Capella, and The Manananggal. We have invited you to Tharn, as we are considering placing one of our apprentices in you charge. Oh, my, an objection already? The Chair recognizes Rincewind.”

“Why does it have to my Occultress?” Counselor Rincewind whined. He was a slight, stooped man with gray 'Fu-Manchu' moustaches and a scraggly beard. “Why not Strego Stefano, or Zauberlein, or La Bruja Amarilla?”

“All excellent suggestions,” said Lord Mordru. “That is precisely the matter this committee is to take up. The Chair recognized Nagromma.”

Nagromma was somehow hard to look at, as if out of focus. “Might we ask the Durlan to assume some other form?” she asked. “His current appearance is offensive to some of us, as it resembles the Demons of Avalon.”

“Would you oblige her?” asked Mordru, kindly.

Chameleon looked around for an appropriate alternate form. He settled on the Triplicate Girls, choosing shades of purple and gold for his costume slightly different from the ones they were wearing.

Ffey giggled. “Now there are four of us,” she said. “We’ll have to call you Ffameleon.”

“Is there any other old business before we attend to the business at hand?” asked Mordru.

The Coventry was silent.

“Very well, then. You, young people, have appeared before us. We have even now taken your measure, through our refined senses,” said Mordru. “I think I speak for us all, when I say you seem persons of good character. As a group, you display many positive virtues, especially courage. We believe you to be trustworthy and honorable. The portents do foresee any untoward dangers in your immediate future. I believe we can commit one of our acolytes to your care, to begin to experience the worlds beyond the Sorcerer’s World. Understand that this will be a temporary appointment, no more than two or three years.” Lord Mordru turned and addressed the Board. “Counselor Rincewind has objected to sending his Occultress to Mars. Perhaps Professor Leitseid would be more generous with his pupil, Zauberlein?”

“She has only the most narrow and elementary understanding of the mystic arts,” said Professor Leitseid. “But if she will continue her theoretical studies on her own, I would not object to exposure to more practical experience.”

“Then let it be proposed,” said Lord Mordru. “A show of hands?”

The motion carried unanimously.

As the remainder of the Coventry filed out, Lord Mordru motioned the Members up to the stage.

“With Zauberlein, you will be thirteen,” said Lord Mordru. “A propitious number.” There were two large bronze gates behind his throne. “These transport gates will take us anywhere on the Sorcerer’s World in an instant,” he explained. “A perquisite of the office. Please accompany me to Miss Zauberlein’s dormitory. Outside it, of course. We will knock bfore entering.”

The gates opened, and Lord Mordru and the Members walked through.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:
O BRAVE NEW WORLD

The first thing they noticed was that their flight belts had not come through the gate with them. Neither had Mr. Andrews. They were in a large, drab, and smoky warehouse, with a distinct chemical odour in the air.

“This is our Thaumaturgy and Alchemist’s shop,” said Lord Mordru. “The largest such Factory on this world.”

There were some three dozen workers, seated at tables, doing close work, or standing, operating machinery. They mostly appeared in late middle age, and all seemed tired and worn, with dark, sunken eyes. Many spots of clothes and fingers were burned or chemically discolored. There was an undeniable overall griminess to their appearance.

“Come,” said Lord Mordru, “We have found you the positions of employment with which you will be most comfortable.”

Saturn Girl and Lightning Lass were seated with a woman who appeared to be their mother, and two doppelgangers of themselves. Imra Ranzz pointed out their father across the room, a one-armed blacksmith, with Garridan and Graym operating the forge and bellows.

Cosmic Boy was put with his parents as well, and another Pol Krinn, carefully measuring chemicals out with eyedroppers, according to ancient, yellowed recipe pages.

Shrinking Violet was placed at the next table, with Salu Digby, and Ayla Ranzz.

The four Triplicate Girls (including Ffameleon) were placed under the apprenticeship of a Mr. Taine, a slender, badly wrinkled, jowly man who seldom spoke, except to give curt orders or corrections. He was assembling what appeared for all the world to be watch-parts, into small, bizarre machines according to some weathered blueprints.

Phantom Girl was assigned to work with the Nah family: Jo, Tinya, Ronin, and Arna.

Matter-Eater Lad Two found himself with Tenzil and Eve Kem.

Polar Lass was assigned to work with the Bannins.

Ten found himself at loose ends, in a child-care center off the main factory, with Freski and Froyd Bannin, Violet Ranzz-Digby, two little, blonde three-year-old sisters, both named Glorith, and a little Orandan girl known only as ‘Princess’. The nursery was supervised by two middle-aged Chinese ladies who insisted on being called 'Good Ms. Marya' and 'Good Ms. Li'. One wall of the nursery was rather disturbing, as it appeared to house a massive aquarium, containing a single, torpid, ill-looking Hykraian.

Once each day, the little group of children would march out for lunch, and eat in the cafeteria with the teen-agers and grown-ups. There was very little that a Coluan might eat, but Ten satisfied himself with a colored, sugary gel which was available every day.

On their walk back, they always passed another Coluan, a long-haired adult dressed in motley, bells, and fool's-cap, who sat murmuring to himself, occasionally breaking out in spasms of Tourette’s: mad laughter or profanity. There was a small, oval metal box next to the Coluan that continually muttered, “He does not like this place, oh, no, oh, no, he does not” over and over again, as a little light blinked on and off.

They worked ten hours a day for seven days, and rested on the eighth. Their homes were a ten- or twenty- minute walk from the Factory, in a little isolated ghetto. If they came a half-hour early to work, they were given breakfast, usually porridge, occasionally with warm, fatty bacon. If they stayed an hour late, they were served a meager dinner, just enough to drive the hunger pangs away. They often took advantage of this benefit, as there was little time for cooking between work and exhausted sleep.

It was also easier to eat their meals at work, because keeping food in their houses meant another half-hour walk to the town market, operated by ill-tempered goblins. None of the workers ever explored past the market, into the unnamed town beyond: the days were too short, sleep was at a premium, and there was water to bring in from the communal well.

If they were late to work, they were beaten by their taskmasters, Zoe and Thanat Saugin, (whose names meant Life and Death). They were fiercely loyal to Lord Mordru, and had a clear sadistic streak. If they fell asleep at their posts, or were otherwise thought to be slacking off, they were happily beaten.

Many of the jobs seemed menial and pointless. They would be called upon to sort chips of corundum into piles of red, blue, and purple. Then they would need to sort the red chips into burgundy, scarlet, and pink. Sometimes they would be asked to take one color, and sort it yet again. Sometimes, in the middle of a task, the Saugins would pull them off to an entirely different task. Shrinking Violet once found herself pasting together tiny scraps of old parchment into pieces large enough to make labels.

Other work was purely dangerous, such as working with the furnace. Certain chemical compounds would sometimes emit harsh, choking gases.

It was only after a couple of weeks that the spell began to wear off, and the Members began to look around, and perceiving at last that this was not how their lives had always been. Something else else was very wrong.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:
“I DON’T THINK THIS PLACE IS REAL”

It was only after a couple of weeks that the spell began to wear off, and the Members began to look around, and perceiving at last that this was not how their lives had always been. Something else else was very wrong.

It was a few days after the second time that Lord Mordru had returned to gloat.

The sun was setting on Eighthday, and Pol Krinn and the Ranzz twins were sitting in the little alley between their two small homes.

“It’s this place,” said Pol. “It’s because of this place that we don’t have powers.”

“It’s not just us,” said Dacey. “Cargggans, Braaliens, Bgztlrs, Saturnians, Bismollians… They've never had powers. They don't remember ever having powers. Hillarie and Mr. Kem eat normal food, just like the rest of us. It isn’t natural.”

“You’ve noticed, haven't you,” said Dorrit, “It's not just our parents here. It’s all the old Legion. Everybody here. Somehow, Mordru has gathered them all together, without them realizing it, and stripped them of their powers. Retroactively.”

“Yeah,” said Dacey. “I’ve been trying to identify everybody. That green jester is Brainiac Five-- but without his super-intelligence. Without even human intelligence, really. And I’m sure that little box beside him used to be called Quislet. Somehow, Mordru has... ensorcelled them all, is keeping them prisoner here.”

“That’s not quite right,” said Pol. “I was talking to Dad. There never was a Legion. He’s been working in this place since childhood. Recruited from Braal when he was only fourteen. He’s never been back. Mom was recruited a little later. He calls this place Tharn, but he’s never heard it called Sorcerer’s World. It's not just their powers-- he's messed with their minds and memories, too.”

"No, I don't think he's messed with their minds," said Dorrit. "I think he's messed with time. I think this is some kind of parallel Universe where the past was different: no extraterrestrial human colonists ever gained powers, and therefore, no Legion."

“You’re right. I don’t think our parents are our parents at all,” said Dacey. “Only some kind of weird alternate-reality doppelgangers. They may have started out similarly to our parents, but their spirits are completely broken. I’ve tried bringing up leaving the factory, but they won’t even hear of it.”

“Yeah, because why is there another Pol, and another Dorrit, and another Dacey?” said Pol. “They come from here, but we come from… there.”

“And why are there two Gloriths?” said Dacey. “You know, those little identical twin sisters that run around with Ten. But Glorith-- he Legion’s Glorith-- ought to be only a few years younger than Mom and Dad, not a little baby. They just don’t fit.”

“I can't figure the age difference. But maybe one of them is from here and one of them is from there,” said Dorrit. “Like us. There are two Bloks, too, you know..”

“Blok?” asked Dacey.

“Those two big stone statues that guard the door,” said Dorrit. “The door back to the Sorcerer’s World. Only they’re not statues. I know they look empty, lifeless… like burned-out volcanoes. But I’ve seen them move. They… tense up, if anyone walks near the doors, even the Saugins.”

“Glorith… Blok… I wonder if they came from the other Sorcerer’s World with Mordru,” said Dacey. “That would make sense. Only then there should be two Mysas as well, and there’s only one. The two Gloriths live with her and her sister, Nura.”

“Maybe the other Mysa is dead,” said Dorrit.

“No, that can’t be right,” said Pol. “It’s not just who is here. It’s who is not here. I asked Dad if he ever knew anyone called Lyle Norg. He seemed surprised. Said he’d come to work at the factory at about the same time as Dad, but died in a terrible accident. I asked him about Douglas Nolan. Same story. Poor boy, terribly disfigured. Also died at a young age. There is no Legionnaire here who is dead in the our world. The details of the past may be different, but it all leads to the same outcome.”

“Look at our father,” said Dorrit. “His right arm is missing, just as if there wasn’t the technology here to re-grown one.”

“And how do Aunt Salu and Aunt Ayla have a baby?” said Dacey. “The technology doesn’t seem to exist here-- it’s like the dark ages. But they do. And they've lived in the Factory their whole lives.”

“I don’t think this place is real,” said Dorrit. “It’s a copy of our world-- only the past is different. Only I think that the past has only been different for a little while.”

“There’s one other thing,” said Pol. “I can’t use my magnetic powers, but I still have my infra-red and quantum magno-vision. I haven’t been reverted to complete, Earth-base human.”

“Yeah, I notice I still have my ‘shark-sense’,” said Dacey. Pol gave her a questioning look. “You know. I can ‘smell’ electric fields.”

“I think Mordru made a mistake. He only cancelled the powers he knows about. Dacey and I still share our permanent telepathic mind-link,” said Dorrit. “That’s been a comfort.”

“Wait,” said Pol, looking at the two girls. “You two have a permanent telepathic mind-link?” Pol quickly ran through all the conversations he could remember having with one twin while the other was not present.

“Um, yeah,” said Dacey. “Didn’t we ever mention it?”

“Do you think you could link with the other Dacey and Dorrit?” Pol wondered.

“I wouldn’t want to try it,” said Dacey. “They’re so afraid of Mordru… if we have an advantage he doesn’t know about… well, maybe we can use it to escape.”

“He’s suppressed all the super-powers he knows about,” said Dorrit. “He ignored super-senses.”

“And he’s been careless with us,” said Pol. “He’s relaxed his mind-control. Our parents may still under his influence... No, I think he's broken them, and they just don't have the spirit to resist. Either he thinks it will be the same with us, or... He doesn’t think we’re important. But then why go to all the trouble to bring us here?”

“Yep,” said Dorrit. “I just took a peek out the other Dacey’s eyes. I was quick; she didn’t even know I was there. But she and the other Dorrit mind-talk all the time. They keep it a secret from Mordru, but they feel guilty about it.”

“So if Mordru brought people here from the real Sorcerer’s World, why aren’t there two Mordrus?”

“Maybe there are,” said Dacey.

“No, not possible,” said Dorrit. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have to come here every week. He’d already be here.”

“Maybe,” said Pol, “Mysa is the other Mordru. Or vice versa.”

That gave everyone a pause, and a chill, and the three friends stopped talking, and went home.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:
“I’VE GOT YOUR LOVE TO KEEP ME WARM” (K.Z. + H.N.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJdfSXlB_8I

“I can’t stand this food,” said Hillarie Norjay to his foster-parents. “It tastes of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen. The same four elements over and over again, with little variation. It may look different from time to time, but it all tastes the same.”

“I know, son,” said Tenzil Kem. “I’ve had the same problem for twenty-five years. “But you have to keep up your strength. The work is hard here.”

“Hard work is good,” said a voice in Hillarie’s ear. “If you were not working hard, we would not be doing are job,” said Thanat Saugin.

“It’s Sevenday Night,” said Hillarie. “Would you mind if I went over to the Bannins for a little while?”

Eve Kem smiled. “Of course, dear. But don’t stay out too late. Tomorrow is our only day to clean up the house. And I was hoping to be able to go to the market-- maybe find a special treat for you and your father.” She gasped, and put her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry, son,” said Tenzil Kem. “It’s just… after all these weeks with us, we’ve come to think of you as our own child.”

“It’s OK,” said Hillarie Norjay. There had been a time when the thought of being the son of the President of Bismoll would have seemed like a fantasy come true to him. But seeing them like this-- gaunt and worn, a woman who had once been considered the most beautiful First Lady in the history of Bismoll… It was depressing. They were less than ordinary. He thought of his own parents, his brother and sisters, fondly now. The only bright spot in his life now was Kylda.

The Bannins always took a warm and comfortable seat near the furnace and forge. Hillarie hurried over after dinner.

“Would you mind if I came over again tonight?” he asked the Bannins. Mr. and Mrs. Bannin nodded, and their daughter giggled. Their son rolled his eyes.

But Kylda Zimm stood up quickly, and told her guardians, “Hillarie and I will walk home together.”

They walked hand in hand, Hillarie perspiring in the warm summer evening, and Kylda wrapped in furs, barely suppressing shivers.

“Are you cold?” asked Hillarie. “I’m sorry, of course you are. You’re always cold.”

“Not when I’m with you,” said Kylda, pulling him closer. Her ice-blue eyes stared into his green ones, and the next thing they knew, they were kissing.

Little Freski Bannin’s giggling brought them back to reality. They turned and walked casually down the road, as if they had not just been kissing in the middle of it.

Kylda laughed quietly.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Hillarie. “Am I so funny?”

“You are funny,” said Kylda, “But I was just thinking of that silly old nursery rhyme.”

“His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.”

“That describes you to a jott,” she said.

“<And I know how that old nursery rhyme ends>,” thought Hillarie. “<‘The Hero that conquered the Dark Lord’. But I’m not doing any conquering, and I’m a Hero in name only.>”

The Bannins always had a huge fire going in their fireplace, and their home was hot and smoky inside. The family gathered close around the fire, but for Hillarie’s sake, he and Kylda sat far back against the opposite wall, sharing a chair. The six sat silently, watching the flames.

“You may always feel cold,” Hillarie whispered to Kylda, “But you’re hot to me.”

“You may feet hot,” Kylda whispered back, “But I think you’re cool.”

It was their little game.

“Do you think you ever could live on Tharr, where the temperature never drops below 90 celsius?” asked Kylda.

“No,” said Hillarie, “Do you think you could ever live on Bismoll, where the temperature never gets above 40 celsius, and there is nothing to eat but rocks?”

“No, honestly” Kylda replied.

“Star-crossed lovers,” said Hillarie. “But at least, we’ll always have Tharn.”

“I’m afraid that may be literally true,” said Kylda. “Neither of us may ever see our homeworlds again.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hillarie asked.

Kylda Zimm sat silently.

“So what is there to do for fun on Tharn on a Seventhday Night?” asked Hillarie.

“We could sit by the fire. We could go to sleep,” said Kylda. “We could get up, do the once-a-week household chores, then we eat, we sleep, we get up on Firstday and go back to work.”

“That’s one of the problems with this place,” said Hillarie. “No variety.”

He stood up with Kylda, and went over to the couch where the Bannins were sitting.

“Have you ever heard of Fire Fairies?” he asked.

“Fairies aren’t real,” said Froyd.

“I don’t know,” said Hillarie, “We have goblins down at the Market. But Fire Fairies are very real, and they come out whenever a fire is kindled-- in a store, or fireplace, or even a candle. Now, look at the fire, especially around the edges, where the coals have burned down, to red and orange and yellow embers. If you look long enough, you’ll begin to see little shapes. Little people maybe, or horses or lizards or birds. They’re always changing, so you have to pay attention.”

“I see them,” said Freski. “They’re really there!”

Even Froyd was impressed. “Hey, yeah, what do you think of that?” he said.

“Oh!” Freski jumped. “I saw a dragon jump out at me! But it shrank, and now it’s only a kitten.”

“Sometimes,” said Hillarie, “When I stare into the fire, the Fire Fairies act out a story for me. Would you like me to tell you what I see?”

Freski and Froyd nodded. Even Kylda seemed to be paying attention.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
HILLARIE’S STORY

“Once upon a time,” Hillarie began,

There was a king whose kingdom was lost when it was overrun by invaders. His youngest son managed to escape, however, and took it into his mind to wander the world, seeking his fortune. He worked at jobs no king’s son would have imagined doing, feeding chickens and tending swine, or taking odd jobs helping farmers harvest their crops in the Autumn. Still he kept traveling on, seeking his fortune.

One day, he came to a castle in a strange country, where the king of the land had a remarkable custom. One of his courtiers was a celebrated trencherman, and every week-end, the king would set a great table out in front of the palace, with seating for a hundred men. At one end would sit the trencherman, and the assembled guests would try to out-eat him. Those who failed (and it as all of them) would receive ten lashes with a rod, in the presence of the king, but such was the poverty in the land that there was always a full table willing to risk a beating for one good meal.

Now the former prince had a keen eye (for, truth to tell, he had plied his trade more than once as a thief) and saw that at the trencherman’s place, there was a secret hole in the table, and fully half of all he supposedly ate was disappearing down that hole, and into some pit beneath the lawns.

The king's son continued on his journey, away from the kingdom with the cheating, wicked king, but still wishing he could find a way to teach him a lesson. That night, as he traveled through the woods, he was drawn to a fire, at which a great man was roasting four whole oxen on spits. The man was tall, and as wide as he was tall, and was he endeavoring to turn all four spits at once, and he collecting the drippings in buckets, and drinking them up while he roasted the oxen.

“Ahoy!” called the king's son. “There is a great deal of cooking going on in this woods. I suppose you expecting a great company to help you with that feast of beef?”

“Alas, no,” said the fat man. “This is scarcely an decent evening meal for me alone, my appetite is so great. I spend all day searching for food, and eat it up as soon as it is prepared. I would invite you to sup with me, but I hardly have enough for myself.”

“I eat very little,” said the king's son, “Hardly a heart, or half a liver, but if you will share with me, I will tell you of a place where you can get a hearty meal, even for you, in six days time.”

So the fat man shared his meal with the king's son, and the king's son told him of the trencherman’s challenge, and how the king cheated his own people. The fat man was outraged to hear that fully half the trencherman’s food disappeared down the secret hole in the table, for he thought it a great loss to him personally not to be able to eat it.

For the next week, the king's son helped the fat man in his search for food, cleaning the trees of berries, nuts and fruit, and catching and roasting every deer or boar or rabbit that came within their view.

However, as they made their way back to the little kingdom of the wicked king, the game became more scarce, and even the fruit trees bore little. By the day of the trencherman’s challenge, the fat man had become quite slender, and though he still stood head and shoulders taller than the prince, he was most alarmingly thin.

“Is this a skeleton or a scarecrow who comes to challenge my trencherman?” laughed the wicked king.

But the king's son’s champion matched the trencherman bite for bite, even the ones which did not make it past the trencherman’s lips. As one by one, the other challengers began to leave the table for their beatings, the fat man (for now he really was getting quite fat) took their plates, and ate their leftovers. At last the trencherman, unable to take another bite (and equally unable to dispose of his food without doing so) sat upright and frozen in his seat, as the fat man called for more and more to eat, emptying the kitchens, and even finishing the king’s own dinner.

The wicked king called up the fat man (who really was now remarkably fat) to stand before the throne.

“How came you to this country?” the wicked king inquired. “You are not from around here.”

“I owe it all to my good friend here,” replied the fat man, and motioned for the king's son to join him before the throne.

“Did you know,” said the wicked king, “That I had offered a thousand thousand pieces of gold to the man who could beat my trencherman?”

The king's son and the fat man acknowledged that they had not known this, but thanked the wicked king for his generosity.

“You’re quite the clever one,” said the wicked king to the king's son. “Your champion will receive his thousand thousand pieces of gold, and a wagon to carry them in. He may leave our kingdom in peace, provided he never returns. But you, my clever friend, will be locked in our dungeon, and next week when the trencherman’s feast is held, you will watch it hanging by your neck from our gallows.”

The king's son begged for mercy, and even the fat man offered to give back half his thousand thousand pieces of gold, if the wicked king would spare his friend’s life. But the king was adamant, and would not change his mind.

But the fat man and the prince continued to weep and plead, and at last the wicked king, just to make and end of things, declared, “If, while you are locked away in our dungeons, you can find a man who is willing to be hung in your stead on the trencherman’s day, I will give you ten thousand thousand gold pieces, and send you safely on your way.”

So the king’s son was led away to the dungeons, and the servants of the wicked king brought a wagon ten feet long and ten feet wide and five feet deep, and filled it with gold pieces, and sent the fat man on his way.

The fat man traveled as far from the little kingdom of the wicked king as he could get, and used his gold to buy a little house by the sea-side. He hired a great number of servants, to fetch him food, and prepare it day and night. The fat man himself would sit at a great table in the middle of his house, and spent all of the day and most of the night eating. Noblemen would come from all around, to sit at the great table and watch the fat man eat, and to sup on the leftovers from his meals, for which privilege they payed a gold piece a day. So the fat man’s wagon full of gold pieces dwindled very slowly.

The king’s son spent most of a week locked in the wicked king’s dungeons, and the other prisoners nodded knowingly when he told them that his crime was being too clever. The king’s son considered that he had left so seek his fortune, and that this, apparently, was it.

The day before the king’s son was to be hung, he was looking out his window, which showed him a fine view of the feet of the people who passed by on the street above. A little man with a long scarf wrapped around his neck bent down, and spoke to him.

“I am a friend of the fat man,” said the fellow, “and I believe I can help you.”

“I am afraid I am beyond help,” said the king’s son. “And why are you wearing that great scarf wrapped around your neck?”

“My neck suffers from a great stiffness,” said the little man. “As it is made of iron, and the scarf is a little comfort. But as a good hanging can only do me well, I am inclined to take your place tomorrow on the scaffold.”

The next day, the man with the iron neck presented himself to the executioner, who felt that one hanging was a good as another. He carefully measured and weight his charge, put a rope around his neck, and dropped him through the trap. When the man with the iron neck refused to die properly, the executioner hauled him up again, re-measured the rope, and dropped him through the trap again. This time the rope broke, and the man with the iron neck fell to the ground, but he obligingly climbed back up the scaffold to give the executioner another try. On the third try, there was a very satisfying jerk, but the man with the iron neck simply hung there happily, and watched the proceedings of the trencherman’s feast.

At the end of the feast, the wicked king called the man with the iron neck, the executioner to stand before the throne, and the king’s son to be brought from the dungeon. He also called for his best archer, and requested that he put an arrow through the forehead of each of the three. But the archer had heard the king’s decree concerning the king’s son, and refused to do it. Then the wicked king called his captain of the guard, and asked if he would kindly cut their hearts out, but he also refused. So the wicked king was obliged to call for ten wagons, each ten feet by ten long and ten feet wide and five feet deep, and fill them with gold, and send the king’s son, the man with the iron neck, and the executioner out of his kingdom forever.

The king’s son gave three of the wagons full of gold to the executioner, and four wagons full of gold to the man with the iron neck, who declared that his neck felt wonderfully stretched out and supple. He considered that perhaps three thousand thousand pieces of gold might be just as fine a fortune as ruling his own kingdom, and that perhaps he ought to find a place where he could stop wandering, and settle down.

On the way out of the little kingdom of the wicked king, the king’s son stopped at the last house on the last street before the open road. There was an old woman there, sweeping her steps. The king’s son inquired if she could read, and she said she could, having learned letters as a child. So the king’s son gave her a letter, sealed in wax, and told her that this was for her.

Carefully printed in the king’s son’s own hand, the letter read, “There is a hole in the table under the trencherman’s plate.”

Hillarie finished his story, and Freski and Froyd clapped their hands, but old Mr. Bannin took him aside, and told him “It would probably be better if you didn’t tell those sorts of stories anymore.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE FOUR TRIPLICATE GIRLS

“I’m starving,” said ‘Ffameleon’. “Literally, I am starving.”

It was true that she did not look at all well. Unlike the other Cargggan girls, she appeared severely underweight and seriously over tired, with dark circles around her sunken eyes.

“What can I get you to eat?” asked Ffey.

“This is the difficulty. There is nothing for me to eat here,” said the Durlan. “The vegetables are hard and dense, and sit heavily on my stomach, providing no nourishment. The fruits are over-sweet, and make me nauseous. The raw milk is indigestible. I can scarcely find enough clean water to drink; that is why I spend all my free time Eighthday at the well.”

Ffey felt helpless. “What can we do?” she asked.

“My only hope is escape, back to the world we came from,” said Ffameleon. “But that is a slight hope, at best. Escape seems impossible. The older thaumaturgists have been here for decades.”

Ffarrah spoke up. “Maybe there is one thing that is possible for us to escape from,” she said. “And that’s Mr. Taine. I am completely creeped out living with him.”

“I know what you mean,” said Ffey. “He completely ignores us-- makes meals for one, when he does cook-- then out of nowhere, he’s telling one or the other of us how beautiful we are.”

“And those creepy group hugs,” said Ffiona. “There is something wrong with that man.”

“His late wife was a Cargggan, you know,” said Ffameleon. “He may just be old and confused.”

“Well, I am sick of him,” said Ffarrah. “It’s torture in the factory, Does it have to be torture away from the factory? Isn’t there somewhere else we can go?”

“Ms. Mallor and the Nursery Ladies live alone,” said Ffiona. “Ten lives with the Nal sisters, who have two houses between them. The Gloriths live there too, maybe the four of us could put ourselves out as babysitters?”

“Do we need to get the Saugin’s approval to move?” asked Ffey. “That might be hard.”

“I’ve never seen the Saugins, away from the factory,” said Ffiona. “I’m not sure they care what we do, as long as we clock in on time.”

“Well, let’s talk to Ten and the Gloriths on the road to work tomorrow, and see what they think,” said Ffarrah. “I’d kind of prefer not to live with Ms. Mallor or The Queen and The Princess, they seem to have their own problems.”

“You know,” said Ffiona, looking around, “sometimes I think this place isn’t even real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” said Ffameleon, sweeping forward two locks of her hair, which stiffened and waved like Durlan antennae. “I can hear the molecular structure of everything around us. This world is no illusion. The houses, the streets, the scrub… What we see is actually, physically there.”

Unlike most who worked in the Thaumaturgy, Nura Nal was not underweight. She was, if anything, slightly plump. Still, she had the same tired, hollow, beaten look as everyone else. Her stringy platinum hair made her look even older than she really was.

Mysa was as gaunt as her sister was zaftig. Her red hair was liberally streaked with gray, her green eyes dull, her face mottled, as a woman who had alternately spent too much time indoors, and too much time in the sun. Neither was particularly happy to take in the four triplets, but seemed to understandd their uneasiness with Mr. Taine.

With Mr. Taine, it had been five crowded into a single small house. With the Nals, it was now nine crowded into two houses-- not a significant improvement.

Ten and the two Gloriths spent most of their days playing together, exploring the dusty areas throughout the ghetto. Ten showed no sign of his former intellect. He seemed to have the mind of an ordinary seven-year-old Terran child; possibly somewhat less.

“Txarlz,” Ffiona reminded herself. “He’s just Txarlz now..”

Ffameleon was getting worse. When they got home from work, she would go straight to bed. She slept all day every Eighthday.

“I know Ffameleon is really sick,” said Ffarrah, “But I feel like the rest of us are slowly starving to death, too. I’m always hungry.”

“You were always always hungry before,” said Ffey.

“No, I have to agree,” said Ffiona. “Our portions are small at the Factory, it is difficult to visit the Market, and we have only a copper a day to spend anyway. It takes all our effort to keep body and soul together.”

One Seconday, Ffameleon fell asleep at her station. She was taken out by Thanat, and beaten. The next day on the way home, she sat down on the road, half-way home, unable to move on. Her sisters coaxed and carried her home to the Nals, but could not get her out of bed on Fourthday. She missed work Fifthday, Sixthday, and Seventhday as well. The Nals and the Triplicates brought food to her sickbed: soups, mostly, and some soft, mashed vegetables, but Ffameleon did not recover enough to do more than converse weakly.

That changed the next Firstday, when Lord Mordru returned.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
HISTORY LESSONS

Eluia was angry. She was so angry, she wanted to hit someone. But there was no one around to hit.

She did not so much mind working at the Thaumaturge and Alchemist’s Factory. The work was hard, but not much harder than the work she had had to do on her family’s Organic Retro-Farm on Orzde. Of course, she had left Orzde for Mars.

The real problem was a lack of time to adequately rest, the limited socialization, and the sparse meals. Eluia remembered fondly the massive breakfasts on the Farm: tubers and gravy, her mother’s home-made sausage, cutlets, eggs, waffles and fruit every morning.

But it was the injustice of it. Trapped, imprisoned, with no hope of a future.

She liked living with Salu and Ayla well enough. They were friendly, if not cheerful, and she saw the Pol and Ranzzes occasionally on Eightdays, as their houses were nearby. Violet Ranzz-Digby was a doll, and took this strange world in which she had been raised quite for granted. She fully expected to grow up and work in the Factory one day, like her mothers.

Eluia probably had greater knowledge of the Legend of the Legion than any of the Club members besides Dorrit, Dacey, and Pol. She recognized all of the thaumaturgists from Grava of Extal (sans golden exoskeleton) to Jacques Foccart (with the white forelock. Now how had that happened, if there had never been a Legion?). Sometimes, she wanted to walk up to these sad-eyed old people and slap them. ‘Don’t you know who you are?’ But she knew they were not really, never had been, the Legion. None of their remarkable powers and abilities were manifest, and evidently had never been. They had never joined together to form the Legion. Most had worked at the factory since their early teens. But there was something very, very wrong with the history of this place.

“It’s terribly hard work here,” she had said to Ayla. “Everyone is exhausted all the time. The work is exacting and arduous, and never seems to end. Why don’t you quit?”

“Where would we go?” asked Ayla. “Tharn is the one place in the Galaxy where there is work.”

“The Irulan System has been in an economic depression for half a century,” said Salu. “If things were better there, of course I would return home.”

“When I lived there, they called Orzde and Imsk,” they were called ‘The Shrinking Worlds’.”

“Yes,” said Salu. “Everything there is shrinking. Economic opportunity, crop yields, optimism.”

“So do you hear from family back on Imsk?” asked Eluia. “They let you know how things are?”

“My father lives there,” said Salu.

“Oh, I would love to contact my family on Orzde,” said Eluia. “How do you go about it? Is there a sub-etheric communicator here?”

Salu looked puzzled; she did not seem to understand the question.

“The goblins have a mail service at the Market,” said Ayla. “You can post a letter anywhere in the U.P. for a few coppers.”

“Doesn’t your family had a farm on Winath,” said Eluia. “Why aren’t you working there?”

“Winath has been over-farmed and under-producing for decades,” said Ayla. “Almost as bad as Bismoll. Most Winathans are no more than subsistence farmers. When the chance to learn magic on Tharn came from Lord Mordru, my parents were overjoyed at the opportunity.”

“And have you learned magic?” asked Eluia.

“Sadly, no,” said Ayla. “There were over fifty of us in this pilot program, but none of have shown any aptitude. Lord Mordu has been generous in allowing us to continue to work into our golden years.”

“There are a great many less of you now,” said Eluia.

“Yes, I suppose that is why Lord Mordru has generously recruited you and your friends,” said Salu. “The alchemical supplies and thaumaturgical devices produced by the magic factory are needed throughout greater Tharn.”

“But… didn’t most of the employees… I mean, the ones who don’t work here anymore… didn’t they die?”

“True, it was dangerous work in the beginning,” said Salu. “We were young and inexperienced, and this sort of thing hadn’t been tried before. Garth was especially accident-prone. We thought we had lost him once, and then he lost an the arm. But it’s been some twenty years we’ve been working without an accident. Lluornu and Reep passed away a few years ago, but that was from natural causes.”

“Would you say life is hard in the rest of the Galaxy, without magic?” asked Eluia.

“Oh, my, yes,” said Ayla. “Earth and Xanthu are alarmingly over-populated. Braal is infested with metallic monsters. Korlon, not far from Winath, has Lightning Beasts, and is completely uninhabitable.”

“That is why,” said Salu, “Lord Mordu has a plan to bring magic to the rest of the United Planets. I don’t know the details, but the Saugins tell us that this factory plays an important role.”

Eluia was a great fan of the 29th-century mystery writer Agaton Xavier. Especially his fictional detective, Captain Samuels. She hoped that she, herself, was on the brink of unraveling a great mystery.