Masks

Chapter 1: Taking Up the Veil

Theme music: "Showtime!" from Beetlejuice

     The fight was going badly. The team, short-handed, tired and unwarned, had been surprised by a supervillain attack while focused on rescuing people trapped under fallen debris. Worse, due to the scale of the situation they were separated into two groups, unable to support each other. Colossa had been holding up a section of reinforced concrete slab while Bowman pulled people out, when they were blind sided by three super villains. Colossa had to stand there and take their attacks while Bowman grabbed the last two civilians and scurried awkwardly out from under the fallen slab with them. Despite this they had beaten two of the bad guys.

     Unfortunately, the last one, though slow, was particularly tough. While the civilians scurried to safety under Bowman's guidance, the villain had gotten lucky; a mass of tangled conduit and wire he'd thrown at Colossa had bounced off her and caught Bowman, taking him out of the fight, at least short term. With all the debris chocking the area Colossa didn't have much room at full size, and had to be careful or risk bringing more wreckage down.

     Colossa was tough, but she was also a big target. The brick finally got in a telling hit, and she staggered backwards, stunned, shrinking back to normal as she fell. Fortunately, she landed behind a pile of debris, but there was no way she could recover enough to grow again before he climbed over it.

     Bowman, struggling to free himself, saw a figure blurred with speed dash behind the pile before the brick could top it. Fearful for his teammate, he struggled harder, but succeeded only in hurting himself. Then the same figure ran back out, carrying Colossa. He (Bowman could see now that the rescuer was a young man, obviously possessing super speed) gently placed the already recovering heroine on the floor beside the archer, then went into frantic action trying to free him. He succeeded just in time. The brick had hefted a chunk of concrete and was about to throw it. With no time for subtlety or cleverness, Bowman shot a high explosive arrow at the rubble the villain was standing on. The explosion blew his footing apart, causing him to slip and fall. By good fortune, the concrete mass fell on the brick, momentarily pinning him.

     "There!" said the stranger, pointing.

     Bowman saw the female of the pair he had previously stunned rising to rejoin the fight. He selected an arrow, nocked it and loosed. The proximity fuse triggered a small charge two meters from her, which in turn deployed a superfibre mesh net. The woman immediately began struggling, lost her balance and fell. Before she could free herself, or use her energy blast, a sleeping gas arrow landed just upwind of her. The fight was over.

     "Ow," said Colossa, sitting up. "Looks like I missed the climax."

     "Still plenty of cleanup," said Bowman. He gestured towards the stranger. "You have him to thank for a rescue."

     "Yeah. I wasn't out, completely," said Colossa, smiling at her rescuer. "Thanks."

     "Just trying to help out," the young man said, modestly. "You folks are with the Intrepids, right?"

     "Right," said Bowman. "We thought we were answering an industrial accident call. Instead, the damage was apparently caused by inept supers trying to rob a branch bank."

     Activity from deeper in the mall caused all three to turn suddenly, expecting further attack. Instead, they saw the Black Mask and Rapscallion hurrying towards them. The latter arrived first, immediately checking to make sure that Colossa wasn't seriously injured, then looking Bowman over.

     "Looks like you didn't need our help, after all," said Rapscallion, once assured that his teammates were all right. He quickly moved over to where the brick was trying to lift the concrete pinning him.

     "We have this guy to thank for that," said Colossa, calling after him as she grinned and put an arm around the stranger's waist.

     "I really didn't do that much," the young man protested, torn between looking at Colossa and watching what Rapscallion was doing to the unfortunate brick.

     "Any help is appreciated," said the Black Mask.

     "He's a speedster," said Bowman, watching to make certain Rapscallion didn't need any help.

     "Oh, really?" said the Black Mask, instantly re-evaluating the situation. "Did we catch you at an awkward moment, or are you just new to the business?"

     "Neither," said the man, looking uncomfortable. "I've had my powers for years. I just don't wear a costume."

     "You should," said Colossa, cuddling closer and grinning at him. "You've got the knack. Not to mention the body."

     "Indeed," said the Black Mask. "About the need for more costumed heroes, I mean. And we most definitely are willing to help new heroes get a good start in the business."

     "I don't want to be a superhero!" There was surprising heat, there; some deep emotional mark, most likely.

     "You're not alone in that," said Black Mask, scathingly, manner quickly changing in response to the other's refusal. "Some of us, however, feel called by duty."

     "Don't get on your high horse," said Colossa, grinning to ease the impact of her chiding. "You enjoy helping people as much as the rest of us."

     "Yes, but my work involves far more than that. Much of it unpleasant. Some of it quite repugnant."

     "Sounds like life, to me," said Rapscallion, dusting his hands as he returned. "He's secured. And, yes, Daddy, I did it without violating his civil rights this time."

     "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't want to join," said the young man, more quietly, but still pulling away. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

     "Wait!" said Colossa. "Before you leave, I want to give you a proper hero's reward!

     She put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a long, definitely not perfunctory kiss.

     "Thanks," she said, in a husky voice, when they finally broke.

     "Don't mention it," squeaked the stranger, looking weak in the knees.

     He turned and staggered off. Rapscallion cackled. Bowman grinned. The Black Mask shook his head.

     "Such a waste. Far too many young people these days refuse to accept responsibility."

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Heroes" by David Bowie

     Randy was just cleaning up from making and eating his supper when he heard a knock. Hurrying to the door of his apartment, he opened it to find an attractive - and attractively dressed - young woman he didn't know standing in the hallway.

     "Hello," she said, wrinkling her nose in an impish grin. "My name is Karen White. We met at the mall attack last week. I just wanted to see if you liked your reward, or should we have had one of the guys give it to you."

     Randy took a moment to parse that and realize what she meant.

     "You're..."

     He stopped himself in time, and reflexively looked around.

     "Thanks for not blurting it out," the woman said, furtively. "Even though there's nobody else here, I appreciate the restraint."

     "Well, I appreciate you not coming here, uhm, in uniform."

     "It wasn't a casual decision," said Karen, AKA Colossa, shifting in her heels. "This is... uncomfortable for me. And I'm not nearly so... dedicated to keeping my hero and mundane lives separate as some people. We just figured it was best to make a low-key contact. Now, may I come in?"

     "Sure," said Randy, moving and holding the door open. "But I'm not going to change my mind."

     "I hope you don't mind if I try," she countered, as he guided her into the small apartment. "We're really short-handed."

     "I thought hero teams were turning people away," said Randy, as he put her in the most comfortable piece of furniture - the "good as new" recliner - then sat himself across from her on the couch.

     "Not for over five years," she said. "Not since shortly before I joined, in fact. These things run on about a twenty-year cycle, and right now we're well into the downswing."

     "Well, I'm sorry you're having problems, but I just have no desire to become a costumed adventurer, or whatever the in-vogue phrase is this year." He laughed. "Guess Black Mask got my ID for you. I'm not surprised by that; just that you would actually look for me."

     "How did you get your powers, anyway? You said you'd had them for years. Were you just born with them, or...?"

     "Remember that big scandal, about fifteen years ago, with the Anderson-Blodgett Corporation getting caught in collusion with an international criminal organization, trying to create supers to order?"

     "Yeah, even though I was just a kid at the time. Big mess. That was right at the start of the last upswing in super activity."

     "Well, they did have some successes, besides killing and hurting long-term several people."

     "But you look about my age!" said Karen. "Maybe five years younger? Were they experimenting on kids, too?"

     "Yeah. I was eight. And I wasn't the only kid involved. Part of their ad campaign was that they would identify kids with powers for free in return for being allowed to study them, and low-level powers run in my family. Those of us who were underage - and a few others who didn't look different, afterwards - were kept out of the public eye by the feds and supers involved to try and let us live normal lives. Sealed records and everything. And that's pretty much what I've been doing since. Keeping a low profile and trying to be normal."

     "So what powers do you have?"

     "I have several, which I can feed power to any way I want," said Randy, actually sounding a bit proud. "Speed, flight, independence, resilience, strength and agility."

     "Impressive. And we don't currently have any members who can fly or have super speed. Any non-physical powers?"

     "Nope. Unless you count the way I got those. Which was actually given to me as part of the experiment performed on me at Anderson-Blodgett."

     "But why don't you want to use them to help people?"

     "Who says I don't? If I didn't, you and Bowman would have been in much bigger trouble at that mall than what you actually got. And I've helped others, before. Just all anonymous. I don't want fame or publicity, even under a fictitious name. It's just not in my nature."

     "Listen, I can understand you don't want to be a full-time mask - I'm not a full-time mask - but would you be interested in joining our reserves? We would train you in procedures and how to better use your powers, provide practice facilities and professional training, and even specialized medical help. I mean, you said your powers were artificial. Has that ever given you any trouble?"

     "Not that, no," said Randy. "Though... You hit a bit of a nerve, with that training offer. I have helped people before, like I said. One of those times I almost made things worse than they were, when I had trouble fixing a bent rail with a train coming. Finally just lay down beside the track and braced it with my foot until the train was past. But I don't want to be a public figure!"

     "Well, we don't make a habit of advertising the civilian identities of our members, or of promoting ourselves as celebrities, the way the current incarnation of the Specialists do," said Karen, with a brief grin which was almost a wince. "And Lord knows, folks like the Black Mask don't seek the spotlight. Having an established costumed identity to use during those times when you want to help would keep your private life private. The mask provides, well, not anonymity; they actually attract attention, even without a colorful costume. It provides... insulation. Isolation. Discretion. It sets the wearer apart from others, gives a sense of objectivity. It's a protection, psychological as much as informational. But beyond all that, it is a symbol. Those who choose to wear the mask - or the hood, or the cowl, or whatever - are letting others know that they have chosen to try and make a difference in the world. To be something different. Something better."

     "You haven't offered me money," said Randy, curious.

     "Black Mask, Bowman and Rapscallion all figured that wouldn't be much of an incentive, and the rest of us went along with them," said Karen. "From what you've just told me, they were right. There is a retainer, for reserve members. Two thousand dollars a month, tax paid. Full members get three times that. And there are bonuses for reserve members if they go into action. And we usually provide costumes and most equipment, transport, some meals, quarters..."

     "Wow," said Randy, obviously impressed. "I didn't know superheroing paid so well."

     "The Intrepids had a couple of rich angels set up a trust fund for us, early on," said Karen. "Years before I even joined. Add to that rewards, revenue from product endorsement, licensing fees, patent fees... We're fairly well off. Oh, and speaking of retainers, we have a law firm on one. That also comes in handy, on occasion. As Rapscallion says, 'With great power comes great liability.'"

     "This internship, or whatever you call it... How much time would I have to put in?"

     "While you're in the initial training period, at least five hours a week, and we require completing certain types of training successfully before we'll certify you, which can take over a hundred hours for some things. We're a twenty-four hour concern, though, and pretty flexible about scheduling training. After that, just show up for one of our regular practice sessions at least once month - usually a whole day, for that - to stay in the program. It's a bit like the Army Reserves. Full members have to get at least thirty hours of training and practice a month, and be available for at least ten hours of duty a week. Though there's a lot of overlap for those two activities."

     "You must work in sales," said Randy, half joking, half accusing. "I'm actually tempted."

     Karen did work in sales. Which is how she knew to stay quiet while the young man thought things through.

     "Does... Would I have to tell you my origin, and such?"

     "No more than you've already told me, if you don't want to. Of course, if it turns out you've not told us something which could hurt us..."

     "Yeah. I can see why you'd want the whole story. Which is okay with me. It's no big secret, or anything, or even embarrassing. Just... kinda personal."

     Again, there was a long pause while he silently argued with himself.

     "What if I start, then decide it's not for me?"

     "You can quit any time," said Karen, firmly. "Oh! Before starting you have to sign an agreement not to reveal any of our secrets, and a waiver against holding us responsible for physical or mental harm, barring incompetence or deliberate act on the part of team members. Those hold even if you quit."

     "I hadn't thought of those things," said Randy. He shook his head. "I don't know. It's pretty complicated."

     "Life is complicated," said Karen dryly. "This isn't any worse than signing a lease for an apartment."

     "All right," said Randy straightening. "I may regret this, but... I am curious about my powers, and such. I'll do it."

     "Wonderful!"

     "Just one more question," said Randy, carefully straight faced. "Concerning that reward comment you made... who would they have sent if they thought I was gay?"

     Karen started, then laughed out loud.

     "I'm afraid that'll have to wait until after you sign the non-disclosure statement!"

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty

     "Here he comes," murmured Bowman, watching the footpath leading to the back entrance of the team's headquarters.

     "I seem him," said Colossa, her earcom both letting her hear her teammate's comment and him hers. "Wow, he's really moving. Hello!"

     "Hi!," said Randy, after stopping and deliberately turning his speed down. "I followed your instructions; parked in that mall lot and walked normally until I passed the security sign."

     "Perfect," said Colossa. "Come on in."

     Randy was obviously impressed by the security. Especially the thickness of the tandem doors they passed through.

     "Blue and silver are the team colors, right?" said Randy, noting the color scheme of the corridor they were walking through.

     "Yeah," said Colossa. "We don't require members to include them in their costumes, but most do."

     "Well, I'm not planning to have a costume, but I'll keep that in mind."

     Colossa led him down a short corridor, then through an open doorway into what looked like a break room.

     "Folks, this is Randal Devon," said Colossa. "I think you know everyone here. Bowman is on his way up from the monitor room."

     "Wait... is this the whole team? I mean, I knew your membership was down, but I thought you had at least one other member, that strongwoman."

     "Amazonia is not here, just now," said the Black Mask. "She is having problems elsewhere, which is part of the reason we're short-handed."

     "I'm here!" said Bowman, unnecessarily, as he hurried in. "Got one of the more dependable AIs on monitor duty."

     "Karen said that..." Randy began.

     "Please use mask names when we are in costume or otherwise on the job," said the Black Mask, firmly.

     "Oh; right," said Randy. He shrugged and laughed. "Guess I have to get a whole new mindset for this."

     "Having multiple personalities helps," offered Rapscallion.

     "Colossa said that you have training personnel and facilities."

     "Correct. Though the people who help with that are mostly part-time, these days."

     "I assume the people are trustworthy," said Randy, hesitantly.

     "All have been thoroughly checked out, and most have a history of demonstrating reliability and fidelity," said the Black Mask. "Some are even supers themselves, retired or still active on a limited basis."

     "Hey, you two," said Bowman, gesturing towards one of the couches around a central table, where he and the others were already seated. "Sit down. Might as well be comfortable for this."

     Randy sat, Colossa moving beside him, close enough that her hip and leg occasionally brushed against him. Just what he needed to help his concentration.

     "Tell us about yourself," said the Black Mask.

     "Okay, first, my powers aren't quite what I told Colossa," said Randy, nervously. "I did get them during the experiments at Anderson-Blodgett, but only one power - and it wasn't any I told Colossa about - was actually given to me by the scientific experiment itself."

     "Go on," encouraged the Black Mask.

     "I was assigned to a Dr. Herford. He had his own project, one of several they were trying. He had this idea - and I don't know if I'm explaining this right; I'm not a doctor or medical researcher, and this was 15 years ago - that there are two factors involved in powers. One determines the level of power and the other the type."

     "That's actually not too far from modern consensus on the genetic basis of heritable powers," said Bowman, nodding.

     "Well, according to him, some people had the first factor and not the second, and that it was possible to introduce one or more second factors from outside. Which explains why some people can get bitten by a radioactive clam and grow gills, while most would just get sick. His tests showed I had a fairly high power potential - the first factor - but no factor for any known powers."

     "So he put you in a cage with radioactive animals?" snerked Rapscallion.

     "No! He gave me some sort of genetic extract from a guy who could copy the powers of others. Then tested whether I could do the same thing."

     "And it worked," said Black Mask.

     "Yeah, though the way it worked for me is different. That guy could only copy one person's powers for a short while. I sort of copy their whole, uhm, what Dr. Herford called a template, and keep it. He had me try copying two supers - other supers, besides the guy I got the extract from, whom I never actually met - figured out what I was doing, then tried two more," Randy shrugged, and grinned. "Remember, I was only eight at the time. I thought having powers was the coolest thing in the world, and didn't pay much attention to the details of how they worked. Only just as I was getting started the feds shut the project down, with a bunch of masks coming in to make sure there wasn't any problem from super resistence."

     "No wonder you hate masks," said Colossa, sympathetically.

     "I don't hate them," said Randy, irritated at still being misunderstood. "I just don't want to be one."

     "So you could copy any of our abilities?" said Bowman.

     "It... goes deeper than that. When I first... take someone's template, I duplicate their physical form, as well as their powers. It takes practice before I can use just the power."

     There was a moment of silence while they digested that.

     "What is required for you to copy someone's template?" said the Black Mask.

     "First, close physical proximity, the closer the better. Touching skin to skin I can copy someone in about five minutes. Just out of reach takes about twenty. I don't know what my maximum range is; I never tried much past arm's length. Oh, and this only works on someone with powers."

     "Ah. That's actually a bit of a relief, if you don't mind my saying so," said Bowman.

     "Dr. Herford claimed my power potential was eightieth percentile, whatever that means."

     "It's equivalent to the modern score of 800," said Bowman. "Which is impressive. I think, of those of us in the Intrepids, only Colossa and Amazonia are higher."

     "Yeah, well, I actually tested higher than some of the people I copied, with the same powers," said Randy. He laughed, remembering something. "Two of them were women, and as you can probably imagine, an eight year old boy wasn't too anxious to spend much time as a girl!"

     "Can you still assume those other forms?" asked the Black Mask.

     "Yeah, I guess. I haven't tried since I was in my teens," said Randy. "I got in the mood to experiment, and played around with them a lot for a couple of years."

     "Oops!" crowed Rapscallion. "Freudian slip!"

     Randy flushed.

     "I am thinking that ability might be very useful for covert activities," said the Black Mask, cutting the topic off short. "Also, for providing alibis for members in situations where not appearing could jeopardize a secret identity. Of course, this last would only be done with the particular individual's permission."

     "That sounds cool," said Colossa, smirking. "I always wanted a twin sister."

     "Uh..." was all Randy managed.

     "No need to be flustered. Your permission would obviously be required, as well."

     "Yeah, it's fine with me. I just never thought about that part of my power being useful."

     "Anything can have a useful application," said the Black Mask, firmly. "My only real power is an ability to quickly and accurately evaluate information."

     There was a lull in the conversation, which Bowman took advantage of to bring out some forms and put them on the table in front of Randy.

     "This is just the legal releases Colossa told you about," he said, hunting for a pen. "So far we've just been having a chat. To go any further you must sign at least these three on top."

     Randy read them over, nodded, and signed. Bowman, looking pleased, gathered the papers, handed Randy his copies and filed the rest in a brief case.

     "With that done, I think our next order of business is a full evaluation of your abilities," said Bowman.

     "To the Bat-Lab!" cried Rapscallion, lunging to his feet.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Changes" by David Bowie

     "The gymnasium equipment is already fitted with sensors to evaluate performance," said Bowman, guiding Randy to something which looked like a cross between a medieval instrument of torture and a jungle gym after being hit by a tornado. "Just get in here, and we'll see how strong you are."

     Randy put his full power to strength and climbed into the contraption, with a little help from the others. Following Bowman's directions, he pushed, pulled, twisted and resisted in over a dozen different directions. By the time Bowman was satisfied, Randy was soaked with sweat.

     "Guess I need to work on my endurance," said Randy, gratefully accepting the towel Colossa offered.

     "Well, your strength doesn't need much work," said Bowman obviously impressed. "You're close to Amazonia's scores, and she's a Class 1100 in strength."

     "Really?" said Randy, surprised, leaning forward to look at the printout.

     "I suspect that your abilities have increased since you were eight," said the Black Mask.

     "By the way, much of the reason you're sweating is waste heat from all that activity," said Bowman. "If you have to used a high power level for a long time you need to be sure to keep at least some resilience, if for no other reason than to prevent heat stroke."

     "And drink lots of water!" Rapscallion stated, enthusiastically.

     Randy shifted his power to an even mix of resilience and independence, and immediately felt much better. He also remembered something he had thought of a number of times before.

     "I have to wonder about people who have super strength they can't turn off. It must be like living in a world of tissue paper, cotton candy and snowflakes."

     "Restraint is definitely recommended," said the Black Mask. "Even Amazonia, who has been in the business for nearly two decades and unusually athletic all her life, occasionally has problems relating to her strength."

     "Now, if you're rested, show me how well you can fly," said Bowman.

     Randy obeyed, lifting easily off the ground. Then he rotated, keeping his eyes at the same level, until his feet were straight over his head and his hair hanging straight down.

     "I love to fly," said Randy, smiling at the older man. "It's the power I use most."

     "Ah," said Bowman, a bit nonplused. "I should have realized that, having your powers for fifteen years already, you would know at least the basics. Do you have any idea of your top speed?"

     "About Mach three in the upper atmosphere," Randy rose gracefully to just below the gymnasium ceiling, flipped over horizontal, and began maneuvering around the room. "I have to divert a large part of my power to resilience and independence to do that; with some sort of space suit I could go faster. I've been into space several times, just to see if I could get that high. I have to use even more resilience and independence there, but since there's no air resistence I can keep accelerating for as long as I want. I actually figured out I could make it to the Moon in under a day, a few years back, but decided it was too risky to try on my own."

     "Excellent judgement," said the Black Mask. "And an impressive capability, if your evaluation is accurate."

     "Have you tried combining your speed with your flight?"

     "Yeah," said Randy, finally landing. "It doesn't help me actually fly faster straight line, but it makes me more maneuverable. So I can go faster in tight quarters."

     Randy's powers were tested, with few surprises but considerable comment. Finally, came the time to test his primary power, with an eager volunteer.

     "I'd be glad to teach you how my powers work," said Colossa. "You can wear one of my training suits, which would grow and shrink with you. And you've already seen my face."

     "But not the rest of your body," Rapscallion pointed out, smirking.

     Randy and Colossa both blushed at this.

     "Well, that sort of intimacy is something which appears to be inherent in the boy's powers," said the Black Mask. "Something to keep in mind. Even if we are willing to have him copy our bodies, he might not be willing to."

     "Oh, well, that's... as long as that's understood, and I have permission, I can do it."

     "Me, first, then," said Colossa, reaching her hands out to him.

     "It takes a few minutes," said Randy, uneasily, looking around. "And it's disorienting for me. We better sit down."

     "We understand you haven't done this in several years," said Bowman.

     He and Rapscallion, working like the members of a well-polished team (which they were) quickly and deftly produced two chairs. Randy and Colossa sat, facing each other, hand in hand. There was a quiet pause. Then, abruptly, Randy dropped Colossa's hands, looking surprised.

     "Wow. That went a lot quicker than I expected."

     "You didn't change," Bowman pointed out.

     "No but I definitely got her pattern." He changed into a duplicate of Colossa. "See? I guess Black Mask is right. My powers have gotten stronger since I was a kid."

     "I'd have been surprised if they hadn't," said the Black Mask.

     "Wow," said the original, staring at her twin. "That's... freaky."

     "You ought to try it from this side," said Randy, looking down at herself, still wearing the same, now-baggy clothes.

     "C'mon," said Colossa, bounding to her feet and hauling her double along. "Let's get you into something less guyish!"

     "What is this," Randy asked, a few minutes later, in the costuming section, as she held up what looked like a toddler's jumper, in silvery grey.

     "One of my training outfits. Don't worry; it's really stretchy."

     "There's no way in."

     "You pull the neck open. But you have to strip, first."

     Randy nodded and entered one of the dressing rooms. When she came back out she was covered from the top of the neck down in a skin tight catsuit. She looked quite uncomfortable, and was blushing.

     "This is pretty immodest," she muttered, shifting uneasily. "I swear, I can see my individual pubic hairs!"

     "Which is why the costumes we wear have something under, over, or both," said Colossa. "That's just what we call a base. It's tough, elastic, chemical resistant, and a few other things."

     "Wait," said Randy, looking down at her chest, then at Colossa's. "You're... bigger up top than me."

     "Let me check," said Colossa, concerned.

     She pulled the neck of Randy's costume out, to her squawked protest, and peered inside.

     "You've got my mole, all right... and no pads. That's the difference."

     "Pads? Ow!"

     That last came as Colossa let the material snap back into place.

     "Padded cup liners. They reshape the figure, as you noticed, making for less resemblance between Colossa and Karen." She smirked. "They also keep your nipples from showing. Which you definitely need, right now. I'm guessing you're finding being in my body... exciting."

     As Randy fought the impulse to cross her arms over her chest, Colossa pulled out the neck of her own costume, leaning forward a bit.

     "See?"

     "You're serious. You really want me to look."

     "Sure. We're not only all girls, here, we're the same girl. I know there's a mirror in there, so you've already seen what's in my costume."

     Still not sure she wasn't being tricked, Randy leaned forward and peered.

     "Okay. There's the mole you mentioned. And, yeah, I see the pads."

     "Well, there's not much boy left in you if you can notice those with my boobs right there," laughed Colossa. She let the neck of her costume close. "I'll get you some pads and show you how to position them in your costume. A pair of panties, too. For much the same reasons."

     "Why couldn't you have told me this before I got into this thing?" said Randy, grousing, as Colossa led her to another area of the costuming section.

     "It's more fun, this way," said Colossa, smirking. "You didn't know that Rapscallion and I are cousins, and share the same perverse sense of humor."

     "Uh, no. I thought there was supposed to be this romance between you two, but I guess, knowing you're cousins, that's just one more diversion to help maintain your secret identities."

     "Bingo!" said Colossa, brightly. "We show affection because we were brought up together, and are fairly close. Some tabloid reporter saw us hugging in public and wrote that we were lovers. So the Black Mask suggested subtly encouraging that mistake. Also, in answer to the questioned you asked, back at your apartment, he's the one."

     "Huh?" said Randy, confused.

     Colossa ignored him, pulling open a drawer.

     "Now, I'm a nice, pert B-cup normally, and a C with the pads," she looked over her shoulder to grin at Randy. "Want to go for a D?"

     "No! Uh, no, thanks. Just... what you wear."

     "Panties are available in normal, and three grades of padding," said Colossa, handing a package over. "I recommend either the mildest padding, or normal panties with a liner."

     "Whatever you wear," said Randy, growing increasingly uncomfortable. She fumbled the package open and pulled out the pads, examining them.

     "Right now I'm wearing a thong," said Colossa. "I'll show mercy, and get you standard panties with a liner."

     "These aren't just fabric," said Randy, fingering the pads while her instructor in feminine wear opened another drawer.

     "None of this is just fabric. Some of the most dramatic advances in materials science have come from developing stuff for super costumes."

     "None of which explains why the feet on this thing have actual, individual toes."

     Not too long after they went in, the two identical women came back out. Those waiting had little trouble telling the pair apart, even without taking the costume differences into account. Colossa was looking entirely too cheerful, and Randy very flustered. She was certain that while some of the intimate contact involved with fitting the pads and panty liner had been necessary, and some merely teasing, some had definitely been a case of coping feels.

     Of course, thought Randy, giving the benefit of the doubt, if I were in close physical proximity to someone who was my physical duplicate, I'd probably be curious, too. And the way she kissed me, back at the mall, I know she likes guys.

     Learning to grow was easier than Randy thought it would be. Though she found that she couldn't quite match Colossa's size.

     "Not surprising," said Bowman, nodding. "She also rates well over a thousand."

     "Now, here's something very few people know about," said Colossa, in a booming, inhumanly deep voice, "so please don't reveal it unless you have to!"

     She shrank to a bit less than half her normal height.

     Randy looked at her for several seconds, surprised. She walked slowly around the currently-tiny hero, examining her.

     "Is that as small as you can go?"

     "Yeah," said Colossa, in a high, tiny voice.

     Randy frowned in concentration, and soon was only a bit taller than Colossa.

     "This is weirder than being a giant," said Randy, peering warily up at the men around them.

     "One reason I don't use it much. Let's get back to normal."

     They both returned smoothly to their normal height.

     "Now for the big question, if you'll pardon the pun," said Bowman. "Do you still have all your older powers?"

     Randy went through a quick check, and nodded.

     "Everything there. Well, I didn't check my templating ability, but I don't see a reason for it to vanish."

     "Neither do I," said Bowman. "Still, you should check when you can."

     "One more question," said the Black Mask. "Can you mix and match forms, as you do powers?"

     "Actually, yeah," said Randy. "That's one of the things I tried back in my teens."

     She concentrated for a moment, and then her form shifted, her body changing to a taller, more generously endowed woman's, while keeping Colossa's head.

     "See?"

     "Now that's just bizarre," said Colossa, though she grinned as she said it.

     "Promise me something," said Rapscallion, fervently. "Do not - ever - put Black Mask's head on any female body."

     "So who is that?" said Bowman.

     "This woman was introduced to me as Arielle. She's the one I get my flying from."

     "I think I remember her. Could you show her face?"

     "Sure."

     She shifted again, just her head this time, and was now a completely different woman from Colossa.

     "This was the second super they had me template. The first was a brick named Saint Louis Moe."

     Randy shifted into the form of a large and very muscular black man. Who looked rather silly wearing the breast pads, but wasn't likely to have anyone tell him this.

     "I remember him. Professional heavy," said Bowman. "Not all that strong, at least as compared to Amazonia or even you, but I once heard The Congressional describe battling him as 'like fighting an anvil!'"

     "I get my main resilience from him. The second man I copied was Universo."

     None of those present had heard of him. None recognized him when Randy took his form.

     "Well, he's where I get my independence and strength from. He also had resilience, but at a lower level than Mo's."

     "Do you actually have multiple sets of some powers," said Bowman, "or do they stack, making the potential higher, or does the greater supercede the lesser, or what?"

     "I'm... really not sure," said Randy, shrugging. "I don't think I have multiple copies. I just pick a power - flying, speed, or whatever - and how much to put in it. Not which template."

     "I wonder if the number of templates you can have has a limit," said the Black Mask. "And, if so, whether that, also, has increased."

     "The last of the original set of four was a bit of a red herring," said Randy, changing into a slim and rather pretty Hispanic woman. "She was introduced to me as Falsity. Turns out that, like me, she had the power factor, but no powers."

     Again, no recognition.

     "You look tired," said Colossa, putting a hand on Randy's shoulder. She looked around at the others. "Can we take a break?"

     "No problem," said Bowman.

     "And, after we're refreshed, we can work on his/her mask name!" said Rapscallion.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Surrender" by Cheap Trick

     "Copycat?" said Colossa.

     "Currently taken," said the Black Mask.

     "Given that you used to call yourself GrowGirl, I think you should abstain," said Bowman, smirking.

     Colossa gave him a dirty look but kept quiet.

     "Duplicator?" said Rapscallion.

     "Taken, and tacky."

     "Xerox!"

     "Registered Trademark," said Bowman, irritably. "Rapscallion, if you're not going to help, don't hinder."

     "I suggest something which doesn't immediately call to mind his actual base power," said the Black Mask.

     "Don't you mean 'her'?" said Rapscallion.

     "Do you folks need me to stay in this outfit and body, or can I go change back?" said Randy, still wearing Falsity.

     "How long can you stay changed?" said Bowman. "For that matter, how long can you keep a power working?"

     "As long as I've had the patience for, to answer both questions."

     "Aw, stay like that," said Rapscallion, grinning. "I think you're cute."

     "You should definitely go change," said the Black Mask, face twitching in what was almost a smile.

     When Randy returned they still didn't have any good ideas for a mask name. However, they did have two sets of papers out.

     "I'm assuming, from your attitude, that you at least want to enter the internship program," said Bowman, gesturing at one stack.

     "Yeah. And if the other pile is for full membership, you can put them away. I still don't really want to be a superhero, but I am willing to train so I can be better at helping people."

     "Good enough," said Bowman, handing over a pen.

     Randy sat down and read through the papers. They were fairly simple; at least, for legalese. After a few questions to clarify things he put the pen to the line, took a deep breath, and signed.

     "Wonderful!" said the Bowman, shaking his hand. "Welcome to the club."

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac

     Karen had finished showering and was just starting to dress when she caught motion out of the corner of her eye. She looked up, startled, to see Randy standing there, in her form and his clothes. Karen grabbed her towel and held it to her body.

     "Hey! This is the women's locker room!"

     "We're not only all girls, here, we're the same girl," said Randy. She was not smiling. "I have a question for you, and just you. What's with all the flirting? Because you're sending mixed signals."

     Karen flushed, and looked down.

     "I'm sorry. It's just... I'm not going to blame the mask, like some people would," she said, fumbling for an explanation. "I mean, I do it because of the mask, but I do it. I'm not two different people, just two different facets of the same person. Wearing the mask tends to have an inhibition lowering effect on most people, me included."

     "There you have my main reason for not wearing one," said Randy. "And you still haven't answered my question."

     Karen heaved a sigh.

     "I'm actually kinda shy about sex," she admitted. "I have to get to know someone before I can be intimate with them. But I do have an active libido, and when I'm wearing the mask... I sometimes start something I wouldn't feel comfortable doing without it. Geo... uh, Rapscallion and I both use the joking and the pranks as a defense mechanism, and, well..."

     "It's just that I don't know whether to take you seriously or what," said Randy, when it seemed the other had run down.

     Karen looked up and smirked, some of Colossa back in her manner.

     "Oh, don't worry. When I mean it, you'll know."

     "Did you mean it when you kissed me at the mall?"

     "Ohhh, yeah," sighed Karen. "You're pretty cute... uh, I mean, your normal, male form is nice looking."

     Randy stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked out without saying anything else. She looked... thoughtful.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Roll With the Changes" by REO Speedwagon

     "Most shapeshifters either have a very strong sense of identity, or none," said the Black Mask.

     "I can see that," said Bowman, nodding. "When your body is variable, you either develop a resilient mind to deal with the changes, or you don't, and lose part of who you are every time you change."

     "And this man has been changing since he was eight," said the Black Mask. "He has a very clear mental image of who and what he is, and worries that wearing a disguise might confuse that."

     "So we don't push him into it," said Bowman, nodding. "We let him decide on his own."

               *             *             *

     The next few weeks were rather interesting for Randy. They were also very busy. He was introduced to the staff and the rest of the team and started his training. That involved far more than simply practicing using his powers.

     "So much to learn..."

     He was sitting in the base library, a small but well-equipped facility. Each team member and several of the staff - some of whom were retired masks themselves - had given him lists of recommended reading material. While no-one but the Black Mask actually tested him on his studies, they all expected him to know the material.

     Anything associated with mask activity was a candidate. History. Law. Even popular culture, including works of fiction. Much of this turned out to be so interesting that he actually enjoyed it. Just now, however, he was trying to get his mind around a bit of legal precedent on use of force by non-government supers.

     "My, what an intense expression of concentration," said a voice, startling Randy.

     He looked up quickly to see the staff physician, Dr. Whiskers, standing near one of the computers.

     "Oh. Good evening. I didn't hear you come in."

     "Quiet as a housecat," she said, laughing.

     Most of the staff were male. All but Dr. Whiskers were human. She was a felinoid, a refugee from an alternate Earth visited by a super team nearly a decade before. She had been a practitioner of medicine there, and with sponsorship by the Alternates had received her certification less than five years after fleeing political persecution on her homeworld. She had found that the people most likely to accept her ministrations were masks, however. She also had an interest in super biology.

     She was a bit shorter than human average, and furry, clawed, fanged and digitigrade. Few humans could pronounce her real name, though she managed to imitate human speech well enough to be easily understood. "Dr. Whiskers" was her own choice of how to be addressed.

     "Well, yeah," said Randy, smiling a bit shyly.

     He'd met her several times since singing on, but still found the felinoid a bit disconcerting. Being naturally gregarious, he decided to make an effort to fix that.

     "Actually, maybe you can help me. The example case given here mentions that back in the Forties Angel of Mercy healed someone despite his objections, and that he later sued her, claiming that as an atheist he didn't believe in miracles. But it doesn't go into much detail. Have heard anything about this case?"

     "Not that one, no," she said. "I do know that patients who are conscious and reasonably lucid have the right to refuse treatment, and that even lifesaving treatment can be grounds for action if the patient objects."

     "Yeah. The jury decided in Angel's favor, but the case was overturned several times on appeal. The Supreme Court finally stated that given the nature of the case - and again they don't go into details - she was right and he was wrong. However, they also noted that the case was a special situation - still without details, and this is starting to drive me crazy - and the ruling should not be used to force people to have medical treatments they didn't want."

     "I do recall that the first of the Good Samaritan laws were passed during that period," said Dr. Whiskers, frowning. "Those protect people trying to help in an emergency, even if they do something wrong, as long as they can make a good case that they actually were trying to help."

     Randy frowned and checked the book's index.

     "Okay, yeah. There's a section on Good Samaritan laws... and they mention the case. Naturally, they have the details there! Thank you."

     "My pleasure," she said, giving a catblink and purring a bit.

     She sat down at the computer and started work on her own project, while Randy, thanks to her clue, completed his.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by The Rolling Stones

     Flying was still the best part of having powers, in Randy's opinion. He pulled a five g loop for the sheer fun of doing it. No doubt about the training helping; after just two months he was definitely stronger and more adept in all his powers. Even his flying was better.

     He still had neither a costume nor a mask name. Which was fine with him. The world seemed to currently be in a quiet period, with little demand for superheroes, and he was in no hurry. Currently, he was wearing what he called his "flying outfit." This was a heavy jumpsuit, leather flight jacket, tightly laced running shoes, leather driving gloves, and a motorcycle helmet with some modifications courtesy of Bowman. He could actually go supersonic without using other powers besides flight in this outfit. It was also inherently stealthy; his radar signature was no larger than that of an eagle. Though there were very few supersonic eagles...

     He still approached the base indirectly. No sense taking chances without need. He dove for the flyers' entrance, speaking a coded phrase into his helmet mike. Two electronic tones indicated the command had been received and was being executed. The disguised door slid open, Randy swooped deftly inside, and the door closed behind him. The whole routine took less than five seconds, but even at normal speed Randy had plenty of time to veer off if the door didn't open.

     Randy was surprised when no-one met him in the hangar. He landed, made sure the hatch had closed properly, then walked towards the central control area, taking his helmet and gloves off on the way. He become increasingly worried at the absence of anyone - everyone - else. The central area was as empty as the rest of the base, with all the monitor screens blank from timing out. Randy, feeling self-conscious as well as creeped-out, sat at the main console and entered his ID and password.

     "Good afternoon, Andrew," said Bunter, the main AI, his synthesized face appearing on the large, central monitor. "I have a text message for you from the Black Mask."

     Immediately, the small screen at his station came to life. Feeling both relieved and anxious, Randy began reading.

     "If we have not returned by the time you get this, contact any of the teams on the appended list and tell them we need help at the location given. Due to circumstances nearly all of our staff are off today, so you are the only one besides the AIs available for this task."

     That was it. Short, simple, direct and easy to follow; standard Black Mask. Only the fact that he had felt a need to leave it indicated a very non-standard situation.

     Randy called up the attachment which, in typical attention to detail, not only listed the teams but gave the preferred method of contact for each. Assuming they were listed in order of preference, Randy started at the top of the list, with the Specialists, who were based less than two hundred klicks away. The Intrepids had a direct audio/video connection with them through a dedicated communications link. He got a message on the main monitor that no members were available and to leave a voice message.

     "I had a message from Black Mask to call you if the Intrepids hadn't returned by a particular time," said Randy, wondering if this would result in a pickup.

     When it didn't, he gave the current time, how long the Intrepids had been gone and the location they were going to. He waited a bit before cutting the connection, just in case; then he sat, scowling, as he thought hard, for several seconds.

     He went to the second team on the list, the oxymoronically-named Independents. He dialed the 900 number listed, got what sounded like a standard business automated system, and after the list of options was finished pushed a number the synthesized voice hadn't given. This took him to a live connection with no recorded voice and no pickup. Randy pushed three more buttons, expecting to get the team's hotline. Instead, he got a recording telling him no-one was available and to leave a message. He gave the same information as before. When he tried the third team he got a disconnected signal. He used the backup contact he had been taught, and sent them an instant message. Then he went to the fourth name. Again, he got an automated response to his phone call, with no live person answering. Again he left a message. A check showed no response to the instant message he had sent the third team.

     All those teams had been local. There were also two non-local groups listed, the bottom two. Randy skipped down to the bottom of the list, to the most remote, the Bay Area Guardians, the only other team given who, like the Specialists, had a direct audio/video connection. That resulted in a live person answering.

     "Thank God," said Randy, relieved. "I'm an auxiliary with the Intrepids. I got here to find the base empty, and a message from Black Mask to call someone if they hadn't returned. You're the fifth team - and the only non-local - I've tried, and the only one to actually have someone on duty."

     "What other teams did you try?" said the woman in the green, web-like cloak, with matching hat, gloves and mask.

     Randy told her, as other Guardians team members began arriving beside her.

     "That does sound worrying. We just heard there was some sort of major event brewing in your area, with several teams involved."

     "And none of them are back, yet," said Randy, his relief turning back to worry.

     The woman conferred briefly and quietly with one of the others, then spoke again to Randy.

     "We can't get a team there for over an hour. Is there anyone else you can call to help sooner?"

     "Only one person," said Randy, with a growing sense of dread. However, at least he actually had come up with an appropriate mask name on the spur of the moment. "Super named Template. Been training with the Intrepids for a few weeks, but hasn't been on any missions."

     "Call her, and get her to go check the area out," said the woman. "Have her contact us on the way."

     Randy started to correct the gender mistake, but the woman in green was already giving radio communications details, and signed off immediately after. Randy sat for a few seconds, convincing himself he really had to do this. Then, realizing time could be important, he turned on the speed and dex and headed for the costuming section

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Once in a Lifetime" by The Talking Heads

     Randy realized, while rooting through the lockers, that he should have shifted powers as soon as he noticed there wasn't anyone around to greet him. He should have been more alert, more cautious, thinking like a super. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

     He found the first part of what he wanted and headed for a dressing room, barely noticing that the items which he had tossed aside appeared to be drifting lazily to the floor, due to his accelerated state. Surrounded by mirrors he quickly stripped out of his flying clothes and slipped into the neutral gray body stocking. He grabbed the dark blue mask, and raised it towards his face.

     Randy froze, neck bent, the mask in his hands. He was startled to note that he was actually trembling. He took a deep breath... and pressed the mask to his face. It adhered instantly and fully, forming itself to his features. He looked up, at the mirror, and felt a strange shock. He looked different. What he saw was not just him in a mask, but a super, getting ready for action.

     He was also aroused by the experience, something made obvious by the skin-tight outfit. He quickly pulled on a pair of deep blue trunk tights. True to their name, they fit snugly enough to leave it obvious he had an erection.

     "I don't have time for this," Randy growled.

     He tried to take his mind off the problem by finishing the costume. He hunted down the lettering and stuck a large black "T" in the middle of his chest. Then he tried to find some appropriate footwear. The only thing even close to his improvised color scheme and general theme was a pair of rather fey booties, with pointed, up-curled toes and folded down tops. They were also too small, even though somewhat stretchy. He was scowling at these, wondering if he should just start over and very aware that his erection wasn't going away, when he had an idea. They were, after all, expecting a woman...

     He quickly walked back into the dressing room and turned into Arielle. At first Randy thought that would be enough, since she had been retired for years, but the way she filled out the costume - especially the top - was more than Randy wanted to deal with. She gave herself Falsity's bosom, then shifted her hair to Colossa's color, but made it straight and long like Falsity's. Randy turned and posed, examining her reflection. She turned her rump into Amazonia's, winced, then switched to Falsity's. That actually made for a very trim and attractive package. However, her prominent nipples made obvious the fact that she was still quite aroused. Those, however, were easily dealt with. Randy quickly hunted down the drawer of cup liners.

     When she pulled down her top to insert them she noticed with a start that her breasts were much darker than the skin around them.

     Oh, right, thought Randy. Probably my ass, too.

     She did something tricky, shifting her skin color all over to Colossa's (a medium tan, nice and even) without changing anything else. Satisfied, Randy inserted two of the least generous pads and checked the result. After a bit of adjustment she was satisfied. Off came the trunks and body stocking, and a pair of panties and a liner went on. With the body stocking pulled back in place she donned a powder blue piece shaped like a woman's swimsuit bottom. Next came the booties - which fit fine, now - a basic utility belt and, on a whim, a short, silver-blue cape. Then back to the mirrors.

     The effect was startling. Randy couldn't believe the figure in the mirror was actually him... or her. Realizing time was shrinking rapidly, she shook free of her reverie and hurried to the flyers' port. She entered the code to open the door then close it after a few seconds, shifted to a balance of speed, flight and resilience, took a deep breath, hit the execute button and lifted off.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "One Vision" by Queen

     Randy - or rather, currently, Template - knew the general direction. Once under way she pulled out the belt's basic GPS unit to check. The distance was over a hundred thirty kilometers. About half an hour at current speed. Randy put the gadget away, made sure it was securely fastened, and shifted enough resilience and speed to independence to keep herself from needing to breathe for a while, then poured on the speed. Ten minutes later she slowed and checked again, and found she'd just flown past the location, a bit too far south. Fussing mentally, Template turned back. She was heading straight for the site when something told her this might not be a good idea. She slowed more and descended, weaving between the taller trees as she made an indirect approach. She saw something out of the corner of her eye and braked, actually flipping past upright and making backpedaling motions.

     Template moved towards what she had seen - a large flash of bright blue which just had to be one of the team transports - keeping a tree between her and it. Alighting on one of the larger branches near the trunk, she carefully worked her way out to where she could see what was going on.

     It was definitely a Hawk, and five men in unfamiliar uniforms were working on the door. Under other circumstances she would have at least considered that these might be government agents or legitimate security guards. Here and now, she gave herself a boost, shifted her flight to strength on the way, and tackled the men actually at the door. Still moving at four times normal speed, she was able to corral all of them in seconds, removing their helmets and equipment vests and tying them together before any could call for help. She stepped back from the sorry-looking group of henchmen, converted her speed to resilience, put her fists on her hips and glared at them for several seconds before speaking.

     The pause was also necessary to get her shaking under control. This was the first fight Randy had been in since grade school, and the first in female form. The experience was simultaneously exhilarating and frightening. Finally, she had her breathing back to normal and thought she could speak without squeaking.

     "Where are the Intrepids?"

     There was no response except surly glares. Template picked up one of the bulky helmets and casually tore it into two pieces. She didn't bother repeating the question.

     "They're all inside!" said one of the henchmen, despite threatening words from the others. "You'll never get them out!"

     "Inside where?"

     No answer.

     "Are there any air defenses?"

     No answer. Template thought about making another show of force, but time was passing and she couldn't count on any answer they gave to actually be the truth. Instead, she pulled out her com and tuned it to the Guardian's frequency.

     "This is Template."

     "Good to hear from you," said the same woman as before. "Any news?"

     "Found their jet, with some guys trying to break in. Caught all of them. They say the Intrepids are inside - not sure inside where. No idea what sort of defenses the bad guys have, outside or in, but given their equipment, and the fact that even the Black Mask hasn't managed to get out or report, I'd say they're pretty well set up."

     "We're still over half an hour out," said the woman. "I suggest you sit tight until we get there."

     Template had been watching the men the whole time, and noticed a couple of them look relieved when they heard that last. She realized that she shouldn't have let them know the Guardians were on the way. Oh, well; no help for it now.

     "I think waiting could be bad. For one thing, these guys will be missed soon. I'm going to gag them and leave them tied in the tallest tree near the jet and do some more scouting. Maybe even find a way in."

     "It's your call," said a new, male, voice. "Good luck."

     Dealing with the henchmen took longer than she liked but she made herself do the job right. Then she flew off and circled the area, again below treetop level. She soon found another jet, this one covered in camouflage netting. Soon after she came across a camper likewise concealed. Though the latter seemed normal from the outside, inside it was a rolling headquarters. Template called the Guardians to report both finds.

     Coming back to the first clearing, she saw men checking the area around the Hawk. Glad she had taken the time to hide what she had removed from her captives, she watched for a few moments from concealment. They obviously knew something was wrong. That decided her. She backed away, then flew towards the access road she had passed over earlier which led straight to the low hill. The base had to be under that. She flew along beside the road, still in the trees, until she saw ahead what looked like a storage shed built against the side of the hill.

     There were no guards visible, but she knew that if this was, indeed, an entrance that it would be carefully monitored. In fact, they might already know she was there. Given that, and her lack of expertise with sneaking into places, she simply flew up, converted everything to resilience and independence, and let herself drop.

     The shed wasn't armored; she went through the roof, and halfway through the floor. She didn't go any deeper because her feet had impacted on something very solid. Template was relived to see there was no-one in the shed, but neither was there any sign of an entrance into the hill. Shifting a quarter of her resilience to strength, she tore the wooden floor apart, discovering - very much not to her surprise - that what appeared to be old, weathered wood was backed by strong lumber. The ground below her feet was actually pavement, which ran all the way to the front of the shed, where it must merge with the access road. But she found no door.

     Wading through the floor, making a horrible racket and sending chunks of wood bouncing around the inside of the empty shed, she moved to the back of the building and shoved her hands through the wall. There was definitely something hard, there, and flatter and smoother than natural rock. A few seconds of mayhem uncovered a large, metal door, as well as signs that the shed somehow opened up to allow vehicles to drive directly in or out. Template pounded on the door a few times without making so much as a dent. Hearing activity from outside she decided not to try a full-strength effort. Instead, she took a good look around, trying to get an idea of how the door was controlled.

     Her efforts were interrupted by the shed blowing to splinters, the explosion also throwing her onto the ground a good twenty meters away. Startled, she leapt into the air, shifting strength to flight. She backed away until the door - unaffected by the blast, naturally - was just a shiny speck. And pondered.

     She had to get in there quickly. While her presence might not cause whoever was behind this to kill their hostages, that was a consideration. As was the fact that, having discovered she wasn't easy to hurt, they would escalate their efforts against her. She remembered something the Black Mask had said, about the door to a place often being the toughest part to get through. Template flew above the hillside beyond the door, positioning herself as best she could above where she thought the presumed tunnel behind it was. She flew upwards even further, until the cold and thin air were starting to affect her. She put just under half of her power into speed, the same into flight, and the remainder into resilience. Then she flew feet-first, straight downwards.

     With gravity helping, she quickly passed the sound barrier, the slipstream whipping her arms around over her head. She saw the hill getting larger, and frantically switched all her speed and flight to resilience. She felt a huge impact. There was no pain, and though she was stunned Template didn't lose consciousness. However, she found herself being tightly held by what felt like dirt. And rocks; definitely rocks. She shifted some of her resilience to strength, tried to move but found herself pinned. She kept putting more and more of her power base into strength, until, finally, she shifted her arms. Soon she had broken through into light, and once the dust settled some saw that the light was artificial. She had done it!

     Looking around, Template saw a huge mound of dirt and rock, completely filling the corridor behind her. Fortunately, she was on the side away from the door. Men in that odd uniform lay all around, moaning, some trying to push themselves to their feet.

     Just how fast was I going when I hit? Template wondered. And, I hope there aren't any of them under all that dirt...

     No time for that now. She shifted her strength to an equal mix of speed and flight and flew down the tunnel. She soon entered a large, open area, filled with structures and devices.

     People were shouting and shooting at her, so she quickly found cover on top of a beam just under the ceiling and reached for her com.

     "Template to the Guardians," she panted. "I'm inside! Just look for a hole in the hillside, with the remains of a shed nearby."

     There was a brief pause, and Template wondered if the com could actually reach from this far under ground. Then she remembered she was still accelerated, and slowed just in time to catch the beginning of the reply.

     "Guardians to Template," said the woman. "Good work. We'll be there soon."

     "Defenses don't seem to be very strong in here. I'm going to keep moving, to keep them from bringing some heavy weapon out to use against me, and to try and find either the control room or the prisoners."

     "Be careful. We're only about ten minutes away."

     Template signed off and put her speed back up. The whole time she had been talking she had been under fire, and between the noise of the weapons and the shouting had experienced trouble hearing and making herself heard. Now, the beam she crouched on was starting to get hot, so she knew she didn't have much time left here. Being able to think more than five times faster than normal meant she could make the time to consider things thoroughly. So far she hadn't seen any sort of major weaponry, even that grenade or whatever they used to destroy the shed apparently being pretty standard light military arms stuff. So how had they captured all those teams? Gas? Coming up with a plan, based on what she had already seen and some reasonable guesses, she divided her power evenly between speed, flight, resilience, dex and independence. She took a deep breath, held it, and launched back out into the air.

     Several shots from energy and projectile weapons immediately found her, but her speed kept the henchmen from being able to concentrate their fire, and her resilience meant that the effects of what did hit her were minor. She flew a fast, erratic course around the room, basically trying to get a better idea of what was there. She saw no corridors leading out except for the one she had entered by, but several of the structures backed up against the wall and there could be exits through those. She did notice several men in different uniforms, each carrying an odd weapon, coming out of one of the buildings. She swooped down low, actually below the heads of the troops to get a better look at one of these, and was surprised when the wielder was able to bring his weapon to bear on her in spite of her speed. She dodged frantically, and looked back to see several of the standard troops frozen in some sort of shimmering energy field.

     Okay, thought Template, that must be how they captured those teams.

     Template doubled her speed, sacrificing flying power. Then, on the assumption that what could make such an effect could also remove it, she swooped up, looped over a beam, came down along the wall of one of the internal structures, and shot back out into the room, heading for one of the men with those strange weapons. She was barely able to reach him and knock his gun aside before he shot.

     These guys aren't normal henchmen, Template thought, as she yanked the thing way from him, with a bit of difficulty. Stronger than normal, as well as faster.

     She dropped down, feet on the floor, knees deeply bent, held that for a two-count, then kicked off, flying upwards as fast as she could. The man she had taken the weapon from, and several regular henchmen around him, were all caught in that freeze effect as another of the special henchmen shot where she had been.

     Template turned the weapon around and shot frantically down at those shooting at her. She quickly exhausted the weapon's power supply, but also managed to reduce the opposition by more than half.

     I like this thing! she thought.

     She had focused on those carrying the strange weapons, and only one of them was still unfrozen, running towards a building as he fumbled at his belt. Template caught him from behind and flew the two of them up to the top of a structure, momentarily out of the line of fire.

     "I take it these are the power packs," said Template, yanking the thing he had removed from his belt out of his hand, then backhanding him halfway across the roof.

     She knew he was tougher than a normal human, but still didn't want to use her fist. Fortunately this seemed to do the job, he was still moving but appeared stunned. She quickly figured out how to switch the power packs, took the last two from the man's belt and zapped him. She then examined the gun more thoroughly. Experimenting, she moved a control from one position to another, pointed it at the man and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

     "Okay, that must be the safety," muttered Template.

     She moved that control back, and tried another. This time the weapon removed the field. Nodding, she flipped that back.

     This weapon, and the way it operated, explained a great deal. Someone would wait in ambush, freeze the teams, then move them to containment. The more dangerous ones could simply be left in stasis for later... or forever.

     The man had been heading for this building... Template wondered what was in here. Shifting powers again, she kicked through the roof and dropped inside.

     Several minutes - and several floors - later Template realized she was well below the level of the large chamber. The she was now in had a solid stone floor, as opposed to the concrete used in the ones of those above. So this most likely was the lowest level. And a good place for the prison. There were few guards here. From the alarms she was hearing - distorted by her accelerated speed - they might be having other problems. Like the Guardians arriving. If she had taken out all of the stasis gunners, then the bad guys were about to be in a world of hurt. And might just realize that and be evacuating.

     Ignoring the few henchmen she saw, Template wandered around the level until she found a large room full of exotic laboratory equipment, scientists and technicians... and supers.

     "Bingo!" Template shouted.

     She shifted her speed to resilience. Keeping an eye on the fleeing techs and scenists (it felt odd, having people run in terror from her, but also satisfying) she identified the Intrepids and - standing well back - hit them with a reverse charge.

     To their credit, they reacted immediately, taking defensive positions and preparing to fight.

     "I'm in the clear!" Template shouted, using a team code phrase to identify herself as a friendly.

     Still, she didn't just rush in. She let them have time to evaluate the situation. The Black Mask, after a quick look around, turned to Template.

     "And you are...?"

     "Template," she said. And, in case that wasn't enough, "You wouldn't send Rapscallion to recruit me."

     They needed a couple of seconds to interpret this; then Colossa and Bowman actually laughed. Amazonia just rolled her eyes.

     "Is that really you in there?" said Colossa, approaching.

     "Yeah. It's just a little something I threw together."

     "I could almost kiss you," gasped Rapscallion. "And for me that's saying something!"

     "Situation report," barked Bowman, bringing them back to the moment.

     Template gave a quick and concise account of what she had done since she - or rather, Randy - had received the Black Mask's message.

     "So what happened to you folks? I assume from the poses I saw you in before I released you that you were walking somewhere and got zapped."

     "Uhm, yes," muttered Bowman, looking a bit embarrassed. "We rendezvoused with the other teams, agreed to a plan, split up and moved in. About halfway we were ambushed. We had just enough time to realize we were under attack. Then we were here."

     He shook his head.

     "True temporal stasis from a portable projector. Somebody's been doing a lot of lab work."

     "We can admire their efforts later," said the Black Mask. "Now, we need to free the others."

     "I think these are the Specialists. And those the..."

     The floor rocked from a distant explosion.

     "Maybe we should get out of here!" gasped Template. "If they're in stasis, they won't be hurt. We'll just dig them out later!"

     "Oh, they never actually blow these things up," said Rapscallion, airily. "They just want us to think they tried, so we'll believe the fake data they leave behind is real, and accidentally survived."

     "She has a point, though," said Bowman. "Still, even real destruct sequences usually give time for people to get out. Let's release them."

     The other teams did not come out of it as gracefully as the Intrepids had, but in seconds all the supers were freed and briefed. After a quick discussion, the assembled supers decided to split up and capture the base and as many of its occupants as they could.

     "Poseurs," muttered Amazonia, glaring at the retreating backs of the Specialists, as the Intrepids headed in another direction.

     "That's right," said Template, nodding, "you were a founding member of the original team."

     "The only genuine Specialists," the strongwoman said, firmly.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Walk - Don't Run" by The Ventures

     As they reached the floor level of the large room they could see through rents in the wall of the building that the floor outside was mostly empty. As they stepped out through one of these into the large excavation they saw several costumed figures - plus one in shorts, running shoes and t-shirt - walking out of the main entrance tunnel.

     "It's the Guardians!" cried Bowman, with relief.

     "No wonder we were having such an easy time of it," said Colossa.

     "That was easy?" said Rapscallion.

     The two teams came together and hurried introductions were made and information shared.

     "Thanks to your dramatic entrance, we had no trouble finding the place," said the green-clad woman to Template.

     Her mask name turned out to be Steel Lace, which Template thought was rather odd.

     "Of course, thanks to your dramatic entrance we also had to dig through a small mountain of displaced earth and rock to get in here!" said Tiger, the man in street clothes.

     "Don't listen to him," said Amazonia, giving him a hug which would have pulped a normal man. "Template, you and this guy should get along fine. He doesn't like wearing costumes, either."

     Steel Lace caught Template's eye.

     "You did good. Thank you."

     "The work is not done," said the Black Mask.

     "Right!" said Mesa. "Let's get to it!"

     In half an hour the base had been completely secured, all personnel captured or fled.

     "Feds are on the way," said Tiger, when he encountered the Intrepids a short time later. "Just came from the com room. FBI, Federal Marshals, Super Task Force, the works."

     "I'll be glad when I can get out of here and to a place where I can clean up," said Template, feelingly. "I've got rocks and dirt in several places I can't get to without stripping!"

     Tiger gave her a strange look, then left to continue spreading the word. As Template finished stuffing henchmen into a room and jamming the door firmly shut, Rapscallion approached.

     "Not to mention you're probably feeling rather all too concave, just now," he said, in a low voice brimming with mirth. "You do realize that's going to be your super ID from now on, right? There's no turning back."

     "So?" said Template, shrugging. "It's not like this is the real me, or that I'm planning to stay this way full time."

     "Why did you pick a female?" asked the Black Mask, now that they had a few moments.

     Template sighed, and explained about Steel Lace's gender mistake.

     "That's interesting," said the Black Mask, giving her an evaluating look. "And feasible. But isn't there something more?"

     Template looked furtively around, and leaned in close.

     "I had a hard-on, okay?! I couldn't get rid of it any other way!"

     "Why didn't you just wear a modesty pouch?" asked Rapscallion. "That's what most guys with snug costumes use."

     "I... never heard of that."

     "Ah," said the Black Mask, nodding. "It appears we left something out of your training."

     "Too late now!" crowed Rapscallion.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "19th Nervous Breakdown" by The Rolling Stones

     The debriefing was short and informal, though Template would be required to write a full report and turn it in before the end of the next day.

     "Now, any questions or remarks?" asked Bowman, when the more formal part of the meeting was over.

     "I'm amazed at how easy it was," said Template, simultaneously thrilled and uncomfortable. "I mean, they had captured five entire teams, and I just breezed through their defenses, and..."

     "We were ambushed," said the Black Mask, dismissing her confusion with a short wave of his hand. "You, effectively, ambushed them, being forewarned by our failure to return."

     "Also, you are rather powerful," said Bowman.

     "There are dozens of supers with ratings of around a thousand," said the Black Mask. "There are dozens with multiple powers. There are only a handful with both capacities."

     "We did some checking into this Dr. Herford," said Bowman. "Turns out it was an alias. The man - one Dr. Eugene Hartford - was a US citizen of German descent who was a Nazi sympathizer in the late Thirties."

     "He didn't look that old," said Template, startled.

     "He was a biological researcher, working with powers," said Rapscallion. "Do the math."

     "He moved to Mexico after the US declared war and he was placed on a detention list back home, and was heard from only sporadically - and never in a good way - for decades before being arrested in the raid on Anderson-Blodgett. Supposedly, he died in prison seven years ago, but there is some evidence he faked his death and escaped."

     "That's... mildly worrying," said Template.

     "Well, we doubt he'd be after you. Still, his history puts a new light on his work with you. We think you were a trial effort at creating super soldiers with a specific set of abilities."

     "So... his choice of people whose powers he wanted me to template was deliberate. I mean, he wanted to create someone who would be generally effective in combat."

     "That is our speculation," said the Black Mask, nodding. "It would definitely explain the particular combination of abilities."

     Template sighed and scratched, wincing as she realized anew how dirty she was.

     "Is that it? Good. I really need a shower. Only... my clothes are scattered over two widely separated sections of the headquarters."

     "You can use my suite to clean up," said Colossa. "Then you can just take my form, put on some of my clothes, and go get your stuff together."

     Template was actually still buzzed enough from the afternoon's events to not realize what Colossa really wanted until after the door to her quarters was shut and locked. That done, she turned, smiling, and put her arms over Template's shoulders, moving in close.

     "I want to give you the proper hero's reward," Colossa purred.

     "Oh. OH! Well, just let me get cleaned up and changed into something more male..."

     She was silenced by Colossa's finger on her lips. Which was replaced by Colossa's lips. The kiss started mildly, but quickly escalated. Template found herself backed against a wall, Colossa's arms around her shoulders, tongue in her mouth, breasts pressed against breasts. Template herself was kneading Colossa's firm ass with both hands and grinding their hips together. It felt a little odd that Colossa's legs were between hers, though.

     When they finally broke they both were breathless and having trouble standing.

     "You did tell me I'd know when you were serious," gasped Template.

     "I'm going to let you in on a little secret," said Colossa, panting. "I'm bi. And I'm really looking forward to showing you both sides of my sexuality."

     "In other words," squeaked Template, voice weak but game, "I'm going to be sore in the morning."

     That brought a laugh. Followed by another, briefer kiss.

     "Come on," said Colossa, taking Template by the hand. "Let's get you cleaned up. But definitely stay in that body. For now."

     "I just hope Rapscallion doesn't feel this appreciative," said Template, with a theatrical shudder.

     They both broke out laughing at that one.

Chapter 2:Veiled Threat

Prologue One

Theme music: "Goldfinger" by John Barry

     The mastermind was called into the security room, meaning this was more than a simple alert.

     "Status," he said, calmly.

     "We saw an unknown super approaching the main entrance. This may be the person who took out Vehicle Security Team Two. She entered the shack and found the door and started

pounding on it. Sensors revealed at least level 300 strength, so we detonated the shack to buy

time. She shook that off, and flew away. Only she came back, in a dive which penetrated the tunnel behind the door."

     "Impressive," murmured the man, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched the woman's antics inside the main chamber. "Both power and intelligence. She could be trouble."

     "Sir," another called out, "communications says she's using a com to talk with someone in a suborbital hopper heading here. We can't crack the encryption this quickly, but given the type of com signal and the type of hopper we think she's with the Intrepids, and the hopper is from the

Bay Area Guardians."

     The mastermind winced, and made a decision.

     "Send out the capture team. If they can't deal with her in time to go set up an ambush of the hopper before it gets here sound the evacuation. I'll be in my office, preparing."

     "Sir, do you really think that's necessary?" said the other voice, as the mastermind spun around and quickly left. "Sir...? Sir...?"

     The mastermind arrived in his lab shortly thereafter and turned the main monitor on just in time to see the intruder procure one of the stasis rifles. He allowed himself a few seconds to gape in surprise at her swift and agile movements; then he quickly set to work.

     He tied his kinesthetic analysis unit into the video feed and started it working. While that perked he piled everything but that day's records and the red herrings into the vaporizer. If procedure were followed nothing would be lost; every evening all computer files were backed up

offsite, and when the evacuation signal sounded all technical personnel were under orders to take the day's records with them.

     Fake "destruct charges" would cause enough damage that the effort would appear genuine, but allow the planted evidence - with all its false leads - to be found. Those in the upper ranks who escaped capture would regroup at preplanned locations and move to an alternate facility. But it shouldn't have come to this!

     It had all seemed so simple, so straightforward. During a downswing in super activities, wait until several regional "hero" teams were shorthanded, then lure them into traps. With them out of circulation his group would be able to attract substantial super help, using the captured heroes as inducement. Use them to carve out a niche, working quickly and quietly, to consolidate the area before those supers outside it could react. Governments - local or federal - were irrelevant, of course. Politicians, lackeys and bureaucrats were all easily handleable. It was only the freelance supers, with their damnable independence, and their powers making them less susceptible to bribery and intimidation, who couldn't be properly handled. How did you tempt someone who could fly or punch through reinforced concrete? And threats to loved ones simply made them proactive against you...

     Well, the base was probably lost, but not the overall project. He'd retrench, regroup, and develop another plan. With more and better augments. This installation had been designed to be expendable, after all. The equipment definitely was, the structures mostly so, and even the personnel largely so. Only the data, himself and a few essential staff members were not. And their survival was all but ensured.

     He checked the monitor, and marveled at how quickly events had changed in the past few minutes. The strange super had not only placed most of the augments on the capture team in stasis - along with a surprising number of regular troops - but the damn woman had figured out how to both reload the weapon and reverse the stasis! A quick check of the analyzer confirmed his suspicions: she was accelerated, thinking and acting much more quickly than even his augments.

     "Strength, speed, flight, durability...," he murmured. "Where do such people come from? Well, we knew the Intrepids were recruiting... it looks as if they hit the jackpot with this one. She will definitely need to be accounted for in future plans."

     As the woman plunged into the headquarters building he shook himself to alertness, and moved quickly to hit the evacuation alarm, since that fool in the control room hadn't, yet. Every helmet radio among his troops would now be repeatedly sounding a quiet but unmistakable chord, and every monitor would flash a red symbol, superimposed on what was already there, every three seconds. He then turned on the vaporizer, leaving it on to make sure. Finally, he took the disk from the analyzer and put it into the attache case with the rest.

     And with that, he left.

Prologue Two

Theme music: "Centerfold" by The J. Giles Band

     "You fly more than any other super I know," said Rapscallion, seeing Template heading up the corridor towards him with no visible means of support or propulsion. "Especially indoors. Say, is that the new costume?"

     "Like it?" said Template, stopping in the air, rotating vertical and turning to give him a good look, her cape floating behind her. "Colossa and Mrs. Grey helped me fine tune my kludge to make an official version, with a little assistance from the Black Mask and some gadgetry from Bowman."

     "Nice," said Rapscallion. He grinned. "I hope you're not one of those girls who changes her costume every five days."

     "Me, too," sighed Template, settling to the floor.

     "Anyway, the boss wants to have a short meeting in the common room before you go flying off on vacation. Starts in ten minutes."

     "Thanks!"

     Template arrived second last, Rapscallion hurrying in behind her. She sat herself primly down, sitting upright and properly, as had been drilled into her. The Black Mask was a master of disguise and subterfuge, and also a firm but fair teacher. Rapscallion simply plopped into his seat and sprawled in a manner only vaguely included in "sitting." The Black Mask sighed tiredly, then began the meeting.

     "We've been asked if Template, Bowman, Colossa, Amazonia and Rapscallion would be interested in posing for a charity fund raising calendar," said the Black Mask, his manner for once a bit awkward.

     "Sounds okay to me," said Template, though the expressions of the others made her uncertain.

     "It's a pinup calendar," said Colossa, smirking.

     "Oh..."

     "They have three editions each year," said Bowman. "One all female, one all male, one mixed. All the participants wearing revealing outfits, or nothing at all, and holding suggestive poses. For some reason the first one outsells the other two combined by a considerable margin."

     "What is this charity raising money for?!" demanded Template. "The Dirty Old Men's Binocular Fund?!"

     "Oh, I am so gonna steal that," chortled Rapscallion.

     "It's sponsored by a fitness product company," said the Black Mask. "The money goes towards funding medical care and physical rehabilitation in countries which can't afford them."

     "That... actually makes sense," said Template, almost reluctantly. "Supers tend to be very fit, after all. If the images aren't too daring... do you know where I could find a copy to see for myself?"

     "Be right back!" said Rapscallion, hurrying off.

     "Of course, it'll be the all-male edition," said Bowman, dryly.

     "Oh, hush," said Colossa, giving him a playful whap on the arm.

               *             *             *

Theme music: "Paranoia Will Destroy Ya" by The Kinks

     Randy scowled as he sat across from the federal agent in the interrogation room.

     "I don't understand why you hauled me in here!"

     "We just want to clear something up," said Agent Carstairs, smiling insincerely. He shuffled some papers, in no hurry, until he found what he wanted. "According to your credit card report, you charged something to your Visa at 9:47 today..."

     "What are you doing poking around in my credit card account?!" said Randy, outraged.

     The man gave him a level look.

     "If I may continue. According to your credit card report, you charged something to your Visa at 9:47 today, in Nashville, Tennessee. The next account activity was at 10:52, at the Hilton, here in Atlanta."

     "So?"

     "Are those charges both valid."

     "Yes," said Randy.

     The agent closed the folder, rested his hands on it, and stared at Randy for several seconds before speaking.

     "We have no record of an airline ticket in your name."

     "So?!" Randy repeated, with emphasis.

     "How did you get from Nashville, Tennessee, to Atlanta, Georgia, in just over an hour, without taking a plane?"

     Randy stared, astounded.

     "You hunted me down at DragonCon and hauled me in here just to satisfy your curiosity?!"

     "Mr. Devon, I work for Homeland Security. My job is to use my curiosity to spot strange occurrences and find an explanation for them. So far, you aren't helping."

     "What were you doing poking around in my credit card account?!" Randy repeated.

     "That is none of your business."

     "Of course it's my business! It's my credit card account! And how do you know those times are even accurate?!"

     "Mr. Devon, I suggest you cooperate. Because, under the law, we can hold you until you do."

     "Am I under arrest?"

     "No."

     "Then why can't I leave?"

     "We're holding you for questioning."

     "Without arresting me."

     "Exactly," said Agent Carstairs, smiling, and this time he meant it.

     Randy scowled again, fidgeting. He did not want to give this creep any satisfaction whatsoever, but neither did he want to miss any more of the con than he already had. He decided to try something.

     "You looked through my wallet, right?"

     "Of course."

     "You saw my photo ID as a civilian volunteer for the Intrepids."

     "Of course."

     "And you know who they are."

     "Some sort of rock band."

     Randy stared at the idiot, wondering how he remembered to breathe.

     "Actually, they're one of the oldest and most respected superhero teams in the country."

     "Oh, you mean that Intrepids? I thought they disbanded."

     "The just recently added a major new player - I mean member - Template."

     "So you are associated with a superhero team. That still doesn't explain how you got here so quickly."

     "I had one of the team members give me a lift," said Randy, smugly.

     That made no impression.

     "Can you verify this?"

     "Call the toll-free number on the back of my ID card."

     "You seem very fit," said Carstairs, changing the subject and making the new one an accusation. "You must lead an active life. Train hard."

     "Hey, I'm dating a superhero. We both have high standards."

     "Let me guess. You're dating Template."

     "No; I'm dating Colossa," said Randy. He smiled. "She's got a better figure than Template."

     "This is ridiculous," said Carstairs, for the first time showing something like anger. "I want real answers, not these adolescent fantasies. You aren't leaving this building until I get them."

     "Agent Carstairs," said Randy, slowly and deliberately. "I am going to be missed, soon, if not already. I am known to be a responsible person. That's why the Intrepids let me help at their headquarters and do these sorts of favors for me. Not long after I am missed the Black Mask will learn about my absence, and he will find me. And you do not want to get on his bad side."

     That actually made an impression. Carstairs straightened a bit, is demeanor now more serious. Without a word, he rose, picked up his folder, and exited the room.

     Randy waited patiently, sorry he'd had to use such a trump card, but feeling satisfied he'd used it in such a skilled way. Several minutes passed before the door again opened. Carstairs entered, an older, taller man with him.

     "You're free to go," said the older man.

     He and Carstairs immediately turned around and left, the door remaining open behind them. Randy stared after them for several seconds, not believing how rude and petty these people were. Then he hurried out into the hallway, just in time to see the two men disappearing around a corner.

     "Hey! Where's my stuff!"

     They ignored him.

     "Don't worry, kid," said the uniformed guard outside the door. "I'll show you where it is."

     Well, at least some of the people here were decent.

               *             *             *

Theme Music: "Once in a Lifetime" by The Talking Heads

     Randy picked up his gear and began walking through the lobby of the building towards the main entrance, still fuming. No apology, no ride back to the con, nothing. He realized someone was calling his name and turned to see, to his vast surprise, Angelina Thurgood approaching him at a fast walk.

     "Randy! What are you doing here?"

     "What are you doing here?" said Randy, startled.

     He knew Angelina lived near Atlanta - a chance to get together with her again was one of the reasons he had come to the con - but how had she...

     "I asked you first," Angelina responded, smiling, though there was a sourness behind the expression.

     "I went to my room to get something and found the door open, with half a dozen federal agents inside, going through my stuff."

     He didn't mention the near panic attack this had brought. He had his Template costume and the accompanying super equipment mixed in with the other stuff, and wasn't sure how thorough the search had been, or how alert the searchers.

     "Ow," said Angelina, wincing. "I asked for you at the front desk, the attendant asked me to wait, and after a few minutes three big MIB types told me I was wanted for questioning."

     "The told you they could hold you as long as they wanted without arresting you, right?"

     "Yeah. Then they just let me go. What's going on, anyway?"

     "The only thing I can think of is that when I checked in the clerk asked if I wanted to double my points from my stay by putting them on the same card as my airline ticket. I told him I didn't have an airline ticket. And the guy interrogating me kept asking about credit card charges. Wanted to know how I got here so quickly, going by the times recorded for two purchases."

     "Guess he doesn't know how crazy you drive," said Angelina, grinning. "But why'd they let us go? This type doesn't give up so quick; they keep digging until they find something, or are told to stop."

     "I pulled rank on them," said Randy, proudly. "Remember, I told you I'm doing volunteer work for the Intrepids? I threatened to sic the Black Mask on ‘em."

     That made her laugh, and it was a relieved sound.

     "Wanna share a cab back to the con?" he said, holding his hand out.

     "Sure. Thanks." Angelina handed him her bag.

     As the exited the cab back at the hotel Angelina and Randy were both reluctant to part. They had talked some in during the trip but hadn't wanted to mention personal stuff in the cab, and the public areas of the con were, well, public. Also, Angelina seemed to have something on her mind, which she shared with Randy as they passed through a quiet area with no-one else nearby.

     "So, when do I get to meet Template?"

     Randy missed a step.

     "You figured that out, did you?"

     "C'mon, Randy," she said, grinning. "I'm one of the few people who knew you had powers. Or did you forget you showed me back when we were kids? And you e-mailed me you were working for the Intrepids. Then this new super shows up, with the sorts of powers you have."

     "Do I dare hope your interest in Template is more than Platonic?"

     "I am in a stable, monogamous relationship."

     "How is Cindy, anyway?"

     "She's fine. In fact, she just got a new contract. It's gonna bring in enough that we think we can finally start a family."

     "Great! You adopting, or finding a sperm donor?"

     "The latter. And it'll be me for the first one."

     She looked over at him.

     "You're in the running, if you want to be."

     Randy stumbled again.

     "Uhm..."

     "We'd prefer an indirect donation. So get your mind out of the gutter. Or, rather, my pants."

     "Sorry," said Randy, blushing.

     She laughed and gave him a brief hug.

     "Actually, I'm flattered you still think I'm attractive."

     "Oh. Wait," said Randy, looking worried as something occurred to him. "Do you really want a kid who may have powers?"

     "I thought yours weren't genetic... That they came from that experiment."

     "The specific powers did. My natural power potential is actually unusually high."

     "Wow, did you sound smug, just then," said Angelina, smirking.

     "Wouldn't you be smug if you could lift a semi, and potentially fly to the Moon under your own power?"

     "No need to get defensive. I've always been impressed by your powers. I was just commenting on a change in the way you feel about them."

     "Well, if you want to meet Template it'll have to be in private," said Randy, changing the subject slightly. "Your room or mine?"

     "You said they trashed your room," Angelina pointed out.

     "Mine then," he said, grinning. "You can help me clean up. Besides, the costume and gear are there."

     As they approached the door, Randy thought of something.

     "Oh; just talk about innocuous stuff until I check for bugs," he said.

     "I hadn't thought of that," said Angelina, looking embarrassed.

     "I wouldn't have, either, except for the training they gave me."

     Randy opened the door and turned on the lights, and they stood for a moment, looking around.

     "Not as bad as I was expecting, actually," he said, finally. "I looks like they mostly just dumped stuff on the bed to check inside the luggage."

     With the door closed he found his cell phone, and activated one of the special functions. While slowly touring the room, sweeping the phone around, he tried to maintain a conversation.

     "I assume you brought all your costuming gear."

     "Hardly. 'All' of it takes two rooms to store. I brought some commissions for final fitting, and a bunch of stuff to sell. That's already down in the dealer's room. I'm also sharing a table with the Mortons. Did my turn this morning and don't need to go back until closing time."

     "Okay," said Randy, closing his cell phone and smiling. "Looks like it's safe for Template to come out and play."

     He shifted, shrinking a bit, hair growing longer, body reshaping.

     "Well?" said Template spreading her arms. "What do you think?"

     "Actually, I wanted to see you in costume," said Angelina, though she looked impressed.

     In spite of her earlier words and her calm tone, she was obviously excited by the situation. Though the type of excitement wasn't what Template was most interested in seeing...

     "I'm getting to that," said Template, smiling.

     She moved to a jumbled pile of t-shirts, searched for a moment, then held up what looked like a grey velour top with metallic highlights and long sleeves, plus inserted breast forms.

     "You're kidding."

     "No. It stretches."

     "I know about super fabrics, dummy. I meant, those idiots did all this damage and completely missed a super costume."

     "Well, it is designed to look innocuous when not worn," said Template. "Though I'm surprised they didn't notice the pads and have the interrogator make some snide comment about me crossdressing. The cape folds up and - with the lower half - tucks inside the top, and the gloves tuck inside the sleeves. All folded like this it looks and feels like a heavy sweatshirt for a woman. The utility belt looks like a normal cloth belt. The items which go on it look like normal grooming and hygiene items, plus a cell phone, GPS, Palm Pilot, and so forth. Real spy movie stuff. Add a pair of panties, and you have a super costume."

     Template found the rest of the costume, entered the bathroom and closed the door. A surprisingly short time later the door opened and she stepped out, in full uniform, shoulder-length hair now tied back in a ponytail.

     "Like it?" she said, posing.

     "Wow," said Angelina, walking all around her, examining the details. "You have a six-pack? Which shows through your costume?!"

     "That's airbrushing. Y'know; part of what some people in the business call 'the costume discretion.' Although I am in the best shape of my life. In both forms."

     She flexed and posed a bit; then broke out in giggles, which Angelina immediately caught.

     "You are such a girl," she teased.

     "One hundred percent. When I first chose this form I had to piece it together from several templates, but they were all female. After the third or fourth time I went through that process, I got an idea; I templated this form."

     "You're lucky you didn't turn into a black hole!"

     "Bowman muttered something about recursive powers," said Template, shrugging. "Anyway, it worked. Even my DNA is unique for this body, a blend of that from all the people whose templates went into it. And completely female. XX and everything."

     "But what about the fact that the bodies of those people you copied are different ages from each other, not to mention you?"

     "If I turn completely into someone I've templated I take on the age they were when I did the template. But, if I just take parts and use them to replace mine, they are the same biological age as me. I don't change into other bodies; I alter mine. My biorhythms run the show."

     She grimaced.

     "Which is why my periods are regular."

     Angelina laughed at that.

     "You know, if you had done something like this back when we were sixteen, after I told you I liked girls instead of boys, you might have had a chance. Instead, you turned into that top-heavy woman in her thirties and made a pass at me."

     "Can we just chalk that up to adolescent stupidity?" said Template, sighing.

     Angelina gave her a hug and laughed.

     "Oh, I did that a long time ago."

     "Well, if you don't want to make out I need to change back so we can actually get to see some of the con."

     "Why change back? I saw at least two other Templates running around, earlier, and your costume is less flashy than either of those were. One of those women was showing enough cleavage to shame a Klingon."

     "I just never wanted to parade around in a hall costume. You know that. Besides, my name tag says Randy Devon."

     "I have a Guest Of badge so people modeling my costumes can get into function areas," said Angelina. "And I'll help you clean up your room before we leave, if you do go out like that. Just leave that tag here, and we'll stop by my room for the other on the way."

     Template hesitated. She looked around the messy room, and winced.

     "Deal." She sighed. "The Black Mask says I need to get used to being in public in costume, anyway."

     "The Black Mask is the guy in the old-fashioned formal evening wear, right?"