Masks Series 2: A New Start

      "Too late, you fools!" Carstairs cried, a mad look in his eyes. "I have unleashed... Maxwell's Demon!"

      The Black Mask darted him while Bowman ran to the master console. The workers and henchmen had already fled, knowing a lost cause when they saw one. Hopefully, the new members of the Intrepids - batting cleanup elsewhere in the complex under the leadership of Rapscallion - would catch at least most of them, but for now that didn't seem important, at least to Bowman and the Black Mask. Given the rising howl of the wind outside they were probably right in their priority assessment.

      "No, no, NO!" yelled Bowman, as he fought the controls. "The maniac triggered it! I'm locked out; every console unresponsive. Black Mask, can you get through their security?"

      "No," the other replied. "Not in time. I'll call Rapscallion and have him kill the power."

      "It's already in regenerative mode," said Rapscallion, at least able to see the data on the monitors, "it doesn't need outside power, just what the MHD generators built around the fountain can produce."

      "So to stop it we have to smash it," said Colossa, nodding tersely. "The actual machine; not just these controls."

      "What is 'it'?" said Template, finally able to get a word in.

      "The Brownian Tube! The Wind Machine! The Atmospheric Fountain! Maxwell's Demon!"

      On hearing that a second time, Template remembered something.

      "Are you telling me this thing lets hot air molecules in and keeps the cold ones out?"

      "Oh, it does far more than that! The pressure differential generated causes a gradually building wind. And the faster the wind, the more power the MHD unit generates, and the higher the wall extends. At least he's got this one oriented vertically; we may lose a little air but most will be below escape velocity. But the top is already up to nearly ten thousand meters!"

      "Escape...!" Template gave her head a vigorous shake. "If it's moving that fast, yeah, I see why this thing could cause a problem. How do we shut it down?"

      "This is a technological one, rather than a magical one," said Bowman. "If we can disrupt the power feedback cycle that should do it."

      "So just smash it," Colossa repeated.

      "Trouble," said the Black Mask from where he was watching the TV monitors. "The shed with that large, bomb-like object inside is going to pieces. The object may not stay where it is."

      "So is it actually a bomb?!" said Colossa.

      "Uncertain," said the Black Mask. "However, if it is carried aloft by the fountain effect, it is massive enough to cause serious damage just from impact at terminal velocity."

      "Template, get out there and hold the bomb until Colossa can take over!" said Bowman. "Then I'll direct you in shutting down the fountain."

      "Boy, do I know when to come back for a visit," said Template, already lifting off.

      Template flew towards the door. Outside the wind was at hurricane force and rising. The massive bomb looked immobile, but if it was designed to be propelled out of the atmosphere by the fountain it had to be light. If the wind caught it... The shed was already mostly gone, only a few posts rooted in concrete standing. Template had planned to spike I-beams into the ground in front of the bomb, but as she approached the construction site heard a crack even over the howl of the wind. She saw the bomb sliding forward. She dropped down in front of it, dug her feet in and braced her back against it. Her boots dug deep furrows in the hard ground as it stopped. However, it was not threatening to skew sideways. Template shuffled desperately back and forth until she had the thing balanced against the wind.

      "Got it!" she yelled over her headset.

      "Colossa is on the way," said Bowman. "Now, from where you are, can you see the circular platform the device is built on?"

      "Yeah. I'm low enough I can't see the top, though."

      "Just look at the edge of that concrete disk," said Bowman. "See where those heavy cables come up out of the ground and are attached to the sides, before going over the edge to the equipment on top?"

      "Yeah..."

      "Once Colossa takes over, you need to go to the disk and tear those loose. Break the cables. But be careful; they're carrying some heavy current at high voltage. And try not to touch the force wall around the vortex! I think it's pulverizing the debris which goes in. Even invulnerable it could hurt you."

      "Colossa's here!" shouted Template, as the now-huge woman took over the task of holding the bomb.

      Thanks to the squared-cubed law, Colossa at this size was much less affected by the artificial gale. Template flew up from between Colossa's feet, gave her lover a quick peck on the tip of her enormous nose, then flew towards the device.

      Immediately, she was in trouble. Without Colossa shielding her, the winds at this altitude were sweeping her towards the glowing wall of the Tube at nearly the speed of sound. Template reversed herself and flew against the flow, dropping down steeply. Then something hit her, on the head and left shoulder. Dazed, she spun through the air towards the wall. Template knew she couldn't recover in time to stop and put all her power into resilience, curling into a ball just before crossing the barrier.

      She felt a blast of all-over pain, accompanied by sensations too weird to accurately describe, as she went through. Then things were much quieter. Template began to recover from the blow and the passage through the wall, and took stock. Her headset was gone, as were her cape and one boot. Her costume was frazzled, but intact except for a torn sleeve. Her visible skin looked red and irritated, almost raw. She was rising rapidly. Template put some of her resilience into independence and rode the wind out of the top of the tube. Regaining full control in the high, thin, still air, Template flew out and down. At ground level she headed for the pile of construction materials they had passed on the way in.

      Locating two long I-beams, she put her power into strength, resilience and enough independence she didn't need to breathe. Tucking the end of a beam under each arm, Template walked towards the device, the weight of the steel helping to hold her down and the dragging in the dirt stabilizing her. Her hair was swept forward, whipping around in front of her face so that she could hardly see. Once at the edge of the disk she crouched down, out of most of the wind, and let the beams drop. She seized the cable in both hands, braced a foot against the concrete and heaved. The cable parted with an impressive shower of sparks. In spite of Bowman's warning Template almost dropped the thing. Instead, she grounded it, producing even more sparks, plus a distinct tingle running up through her bootless foot and down her arms.

      "Wow," Template gasped.

      She shook her head and checked the situation. Which seemed unchanged.

      "Hurrah for redundancy," she muttered, as, still crouched over, she made her way around the disk to the next cable.

      Grounding that one did actually cause a notable reduction in the effect of the wall. Pulling the third cut it off completely. The wind began rapidly dying.

      With a gasp of relief, Template straightened, then sat on the edge of the disk. Colossa hurried over, shrinking to human size.

      "Sweet, crispy walnuts," Template groaned, making a tired, futile effort to push her hair back out of her eyes.

      "You okay?" asked Colossa, concerned.

      "You tell me. I've been blown through a Brownian Tube and halfway into space and about one-quarter electrocuted three times."

      "You're fine," said Colossa, hugging her.

      Inside, Black Mask, Bowman, Rapscallion and the new Intrepids were waiting with their prisoners.

      "So much for Armistead Carstairs," said Rapscallion, sneering down at the unconscious politician and would-be mastermind. "Anybody figure out, yet, what all this was for?"

      "According to what I learned from the procedures manual, he was planning to use it to launch that large missile at the main Lunie* base," said Bowman. "That was still days off, though. He activated the fountain when we came charging in, to create a diversion. The warhead wasn't armed, the missile not fueled. Though it could still have caused serious damage falling back to Earth."

      "Huh?!" said Colossa. "That doesn't make any sense. What does he have against the Lunies?"

      "The have a population with a high proportion of supers, as well as nuclear missiles," said Bowman. "Forget about the fact that they've driven off three alien invasions and helped drive off several others. And forget that these days there are weapons which make fusion warheads look like toys."

      "In other words," said the Black Mask, "simple paranoia towards a powerful group outside his control."

      "Like supers themselves," said Template, nodding.

            *            *            *

      "So, how does it feel," said Solange, smirking, "knowing that your uncle is also your aunt?"

      "Kina weird," said Jenny. She shrugged. "But, y'know, it's not that hard to get used to. My whole family is weird, in different ways."

      Preliminary evaluation of Randy's niece had shown her to be a general energy and force manipulator of significant potential. She'd taken the super name Energia (with a soft gee). And given Bowman a blank look when asked about Russian launch vehicles (with a hard gee). Randy/Template had brought her to the Intrepids' headquarters for further evaluation, some training and help with getting a costume. Then been shanghaied into an emergency mission, leaving Jenny with Solange and a few of the new team members. Solange had resented being left out of the adventure, but there was no way they were taking Jenny along, and someone more senior than the new members needed to stay at the base. Solange was actually starting to worry; there had been no word since the message they were sneaking in.

      "Anyway," said Solange, as much to keep Jenny from worrying about Template as to keep herself occupied, "what do you think of this costume?"

      The teenager peered at the image on the screen, and slowly nodded.

      "I like it," said the thirteen-year-old, after a moment. "But can you put a cape on it?"

      "Well, a short one," said Solange. "Also, remember that anyone with sense attaches capes with Velcro or snaps."

      "I know, I know..."

      The com beeped. Solange, seeing that the signal was from a team member, put the call on the main screen of the monitor room.

      "We're through with the cops and getting ready to boost," said Rapscallion. "Be home in about forty. Nobody on our side really hurt, but Template got a bit frizzed by a force field and some high voltage. She'll be fine, though."

      "Great," said Solange. "See you soon!"

      "Ooh! Ooh! Let's hurry and get my costume finished!"

            *            *            *

      They entered the hangar to find two women in costume waiting for them. Energia had, after trying several configurations, finally decided to omit the cape.

      "Je... Energia, is that you?!" said Template, astounded. "My God, you look five years older!#"

      The returning heroes all made a fuss over the girl's new costume and complimented Solange on her contribution. Though Template did take Solange aside.

      "You made her top too big," she growled.

      "Seriously, that's all her idea," said Solange, quickly. "I even tried to talk her out of it. Having been a girl that age, I can tell you that wanting to look older - and curvier - isn't unique to your niece."

      She turned and looked at the way Energia was posing.

      "And having been a boy that age, I feel obliged to warn you to keep a close eye on her when she's wearing that."

      "That much I'd already figured out for myself," Template muttered.

      They rejoined the group around Energia. The men quickly wandered off together, to snack and socialize in the lounge, but the women were still making a fuss over the girl's outfit after nearly half an hour.

      "You might want to lower the heels a bit," said Caprice, one of the newcomers. "I mean, unless you have enhanced dex or are just used to heels. I had heels like that on my first costume and they nearly tripped me three times my first fight!"

      "Nah, I'm okay," said Energia, beaming at the attention. "My mother lets me wear heels occasionally. These aren't as high as some of those."

      Template couldn't help but feel proud of her niece. However, mention of Energia's mother reminded her of their schedule.

      "I hate to break this up, but you, young lady, and I have places to be. Go take that off and get into your civvies. I'll meet you at the south entrance in half an hour."

      "Aw," said Energia, suddenly looking very much her true age. "Can't I wear it under my clothes?"

      "Not this time. That will require some practice. Besides, you need to leave it here for Bowman to equip. Now, git!"

      Energia said her goodbyes to the other team members and went off with Solange to the costuming section.

            *            *            *

      In Colossa's quarters, after the pair had quickly cleaned up, Template's lover teased her mercilessly.

      "You were such an aunt out there! Anybody who didn't guess you two were related had to be both blind and deaf."

      "Oh, come on..."

      "I'm serious. And you were such a fem, too, the way you cooed over her and made suggestions about her costume."

      "You're exaggerating."

      "You," said Colossa, smirking, "were a full and willing participant in a very female social ritual."

      "I happen to be female, in case you hadn't noticed," said Template, oomphing her chest out to emphasize her currently bare breasts. "Now, hand me my spare costume. Oh, and could you see if the damaged one can be repaired, and if not get a replacement? Thanks, hon."

      "Half of them probably think you're her mother," said Colossa, smirking, as she handed over the outfit and accepted a quick kiss as her reward.

      "I would be proud to have a daughter like Jenny," said Template, firmly.

      It took her a while to realize why Colossa laughed so hard at that.

      "Okay, very funny," said Template, tugging her left boot on. She stood and checked herself in the mirror. "There! Now I can be certain I'll look presentable if I have to change back later."

      With that, Template became Randy.

      "That is so handy," said Colossa. "Not just having more than one body to choose from, but being able to change clothes with the body."

      "It do come in handy!" said Randy, laughing.

            *            *            *

      The Black Mask caught Randy in the monitor room and asked if he had a few moments, which he did, since Energia and Solange were taking their time. Naturally, what the older super was most interested in was how the school was coming along.

      "Just what are you going to call this facility?"

      "The best suggestions so far are Training Center Alpha, Kobayashi Maru Emulations and The Nursery," said Randy. "We're almost finished with the plans, though putting off start of construction in the hopes of getting some more money so we can add things. unfortunately, I'm the source of some problems in connection with that. I plan to keep my secret ID, but if anyone discovers that there's a usually male staff member sharing showers with teen and preteen girls... And besides me, Binary spends equal amounts of time as male and female, and has hir whole life! Sie is actually illegal in some places!"

      "You should have separate showers for students and staff, anyway," said the Black Mask, sternly. "Just to maintain propriety. And have a third set for children with some problem involving secret identities and such. Unless you want to go to the trouble of having individual stalls for each shower, large enough to also dress in."

      "We already thought of the separate facilities thing," said Randy, frowning in thought. "Though I don't think anyone in our group has come up with the idea of separate stalls. It might come to that. We're still short on the budget, and don't know if we're going to be able to afford more than one set of showers for each sex. Super training equipment is expensive. But even if we had the money, teachers would still need to go in the students' locker rooms and showers on occasion."

      "I'll do some additional fund-raising," the Black Mask promised. "Are you still going to require students to live on the island during school semesters?"

      "No, that went pretty quickly. We're not providing any transportation - except for special field trips and such - but any student who can reliably get there on time for classes is free to live elsewhere. Although they still have to pay the whole tuition even if they aren't using our dorms; our budget is that tight. I wish they could all live at home and commute, since the student dorms are giving us serious headaches, but it's just not going to happen. The whole world is still waiting for practical artificial teleportation, I guess. Of course, since we're on Bermuda time, even that would mean getting up early for students west of us."

      "West of you? Do you have any east of you?"

      "Surprisingly, yes. A number of parents of super children in Europe, Africa and Asia have contacted us. We're going to have language classes, but right now most of the teachers only speak English fluently, so we're requiring that all students also be fluent in English. Which has caused some heated exchanges. People have accused us of being everything from racists to American imperialists."

      "I sincerely hope that whoever is handling these contacts has a thick skin," was the Black Mask's dry rejoinder.

      "We have a team of three people with both appropriate backgrounds in managing international projects and great patience," said Randy. "None of them are supers, although they all have close relatives who are."

      "Speaking of maintaining secret identities, how are you handling such a delicate matter?"

      "We have to have a contact, of course, in case of emergency," said Randy. "Most established supers already have a method for people in the know to contact them privately without risking their civilian identities. However, these same people are usually reluctant to have their child - under whatever name - associated with their super ID."

      "I can certainly see that," said the Black Mask, nodding. "Too much chance of promoting an attack on the school just because some maniac knows his arch enemy's child is there."

      "But, we can still use the same sorts of means those people use, for parents who need anonymity." Randy sighed tiredly and ran his hand over his hair. "So. We tell parents that if they don't want to use their child's civilian name, to supply a mask name, and we'll do everything we can to maintain their anonymity. The kid's mask name and costume don't have to be anything connected with the parents, either; just something we can use so everyone knows who we're talking about."

      "Are you still accepting the children of felons?"

      "And even those who already have records, as long as they're not too serious," said Randy, nodding. "We have to, as a condition of our agreement with the US government. I can certainly see their point; if we can keep one descendant of a villain from following in mommy or daddy's or even a grandparent's footsteps, the whole project will be worth it, from their point of view."

      At the south entrance Jenny waited patiently for her uncle, wearing a smaller version of his flying suit.

      "Hope I didn't keep you long," said Randy, apologetically.

      "Nah; just got here, really," said his niece.

      They donned and secured their helmets, then checked each other to make sure everything was tight. Randy opened the outer door and they walked into the outside part of the tunnel, the massive portal closing behind them. Randy automatically checked to make sure it had properly secured itself and turned to lead the way outside. Only to find that Jenny was already flying.

      "Race ya'!" she called cheerfully back.

      Randy grinned and took off.

            *            *            *

      Randy entered his apartment whistling happily. Jenny's flying skills had certainly improved in the past few weeks. So had her top speed; she could touch, just barely, Mach II in level flight. He was almost finished putting his flying gear away in the hidden closet when the two obvious phones in his apartment rang in a peculiar way. Randy stopped the door from closing and pulled out the special phone from the high shelf inside.

      "Hello?"

      "Glad I finally caught you," said Andrea Valentina, the chief administrator and paperwork herder at the school. "We have a new teaching prospect. A woman named Chestnut. She was an independent for a while, then a member of a short-lived super team, the Exceptions, and now is independent again. She's hunting for employment. Her qualifications look good, but her skills aren't quite the mix we were wanting for the position she expressed interest in, and her practical mask experience is less than a year. Still, I thought we might use her in security, where we're still short a couple of people."

      "E-mail me her stats and contact info and I'll go interview her," said Randy, yawning. "But not tonight. I just got back home from a rough mission with the Intrepids and really need some rest."

       "It's on the way," said Andrea, sympathetically. "I'll make the appointment, and call you tomorrow."

            *            *            *

      Template ignored the stares from the civilians as she wove between the huge trees and landed in the small park beside the elegant-looking old building. She was favorably impressed, not knowing before this that downtown Frankfort was so picturesque. There was no sign of her contact, but the day was pleasant and the scenery nice, so she didn't mind. Template wandered around the grounds of the Old Capital, wondering if she'd have time to go inside. It was supposed to contain an architectural wonder, the world's largest double-spiral, self-supporting staircase. She noticed a middle-aged woman approaching, but knew that couldn't be who she was here to see.

      "May I help you?" the woman asked.

      "No, thank you," said Template, with a polite smile. "I'm supposed to meet someone here in a few minutes, that's all. We just decided on this as a good meeting place."

      A movement caught her eye. Template turned, and her smile froze. Knowing Chestnut was 215cm tall and seeing her were two different things. Template was a bit over average height for a US female, and the Revolutionary taller yet, but this woman was more than a head taller than Randy! She vaguely realized that the older woman had retreated, but couldn't spare her any attention.

      "Mornin'!" Chestnut called, waving, as she moved along the brick walkway towards Template. "Glad to hear from you folks. Just hope Ah'm what yo're lookin' for."

      As advertised, she was dressed Western style, with a western twang in her voice and well-tanned skin. She was also flat-out huge. Yet she was well proportioned; if she hadn't been in surroundings which made her size obvious Template would have thought she was normal-sized but further away.

      Snap out of it! she told herself. I've seen Colossa go almost ten times that big! What's the matter with me?

      "Hello. I'm Template."

      They shook hands, Template finding hers almost swallowed.

      "Is there some place we can sit and talk?"

      "Shore. If'n you kin keep up."

      She winked, then turned and took off running at blazing speed, behind the Old Capital, over a cross street and on. Template gaped for a moment, then scowled and flew after the large woman. Who was not only fast, but incredibly agile, casually bounding across streets and over low buildings. She finally stopped in a picnic area on top of the hill.

      "Sorry for boltin' like that," she said, not even breathing hard, as Template landed in front of her. "I'm somethin' of a celebrity hereabouts, and sometimes have trouble findin' privacy."

      "I guess I can understand that," said Template, though she was having doubts about this woman. Still, she knew the problems with first impressions and was willing to learn more before making up her mind.

      They sat in the shade at a picnic table. Template had to admit it was a beautiful spot, with a nice breeze and a good view of downtown.

      "Ah'm gonna be up front with you," said Chestnut, with a sigh. "Ah'm recently divorced - no children - recently fired from my civilian job, recently a member of a now-defunct team, and recently lost a good friend to a heartless monster of a villain, which was the biggest part of what killed the team. Ah'm lookin' to change my life. Maybe give up mah civilian ID completely."

      "That's a pretty drastic step."

      "Ah've had some pretty drastic changes in mah life the past few months," said the other woman. "Gettin' mah powers was jest part of that."

      As they talked, Template found herself liking the large woman. There was a lot of hurt, there, but there was also a lot of spirit.

      "Well, I think that's all for now," said Template, finally. "If your qualifications check out we'll probably get back in touch. You've got some skills we can use."

      "Thank you," said Chestnut, solemnly.

      #See here: http://www.dcr.net/~stickmak/Temporary/Masks/ for costume designs. I like Hero Machine, but the 2.0 version has some problems. The hats tend to be too low on the head, and the masks too high on the face, for example. Still, it lets me give you a good idea of what the characters look like. Oh, and I tried doing the Black Mask, but there weren't enough components of his costume in the library. I still haven't done Colossa and several others.

            *            *            *

      "Wow," said Max, staring at his daughter like she was a completely different person. "You look so... grown up!"

      "You should have seen it before I made her reduce the padding," said Randy, rolling his eyes.

      Energia stuck her tongue out at her Uncle, while her parents continued to make a fuss over her.

      "Now, understand, this doesn't mean she's a super hero," said Randy, reassuringly. "The purpose of this costume - like that of any super costume - is to conceal her identity. While it's unlikely anyone would make the connection, I do work for a super team, and there's a chance..."

      "Oh, hush," said Julie. "You've been over this and over this. Let's just enjoy the moment!"

      "Okay, okay," said Randy, laughing.

      "Let me get your picture!" said Julie, suddenly.

      "Oh, MUH-ther!" said Energia, aggravated, as her mother began taking photos.

      "Smile!"

      "Be very careful with who you let see those," said Randy.

      "Do you think I'm going to show it to just anybody?" said his sister, huffily.

      "Just... remember that this isn't a Halloween costume," said Randy. "The school is news, and she'll probably be in some of the photos and videos made there. Someone could easily make the connection if they see the same..."

      "Randy! I'm not stupid! And neither is Max!"

      "It's not a matter of intelligence," said Randy, not liking to confront his sister but knowing this was important. "It's a matter of mindset. You agreed to this; unless you want to change your mind you need to follow through."

      "Randy!" said Julie, stopping her photography long enough to turn and give him a glare. "I understand, okay? Now, stop ruining things."

            *            *            *

      Template stared in wonder out the faceplate of the suit the Lunies had made for her. She'd been in space many times before, but always looked with naked eyes. The faceplate put an extra layer between eyes and space, but it also filtered out glare. The Earth was gorgeous, but it more than filled her field of view, and was rapidly growing larger. She checked the navigation program, and saw that she was, indeed, on course.

       The suit actually fit closer than her costume. Partly that was because it was (except, of course, for the helmet) an ambient pressure suit, more colloquially known as a skinsuit. The elastic restraint of the material provided pressure on her skin to replace that normally present from air, keeping her currently not-invulnerable body from expanding like an overinflated balloon. However, the suit was tighter and stiffer (though far from as stiff as the early balloon-type suits) than an ordinary skinsuit, due to the fact it generated power from her movements. The same electrocontractive, artificial muscle fibers used in strength-boosting suits were present, but working in reverse. Every time her movements stretched them, they generated electricity, helping to keep the batteries charged. All she had to do was turn on a bit of her strength and do some calisthenics occasionally.

       Of course, that still left the question of where supers got the energy for their super strength (or flight, or power blasts, or...).

       With the suit protecting her from vacuum and providing air to breathe, Template could put most of her power into flight. The built-in sensors and navigational software let her plot a course to anywhere in the Earth-Moon system, choosing whether to prioritize elapsed time, distance, or several other properties of her flight. Just now she was decelerating for re-entry.

       With this suit she could make the Earth-Moon trip in well under three hours, though only by putting nearly all her power into flight, which meant she was arriving tired and hungry (the suit recycled liquid waste, so once she overcame her natural revulsion there was plenty of water). If, on the other hand, she put enough of her power into independence to be able to go without food, she could tour the Solar System. Given improved navigation software, that is. Even without using her independence, she could reach Mars in under a day, during closest approach. She'd be doing about .0051 of light speed at the halfway turnover point. Even boredom wouldn't be a problem; besides the excellent communications gear the suit's onboard computer had an extensive library of games, fiction and reference works. She was currently listening to "On the Beautiful Blue Danube." It seemed appropriate.

       "I love this," she breathed.

       "Glad you like it," said Jimmy. "The design is still in the prototype stage; you're only the third super we've had try one, which is why we insisted on an escort. The next version should allow navigation anywhere within twenty light years of Sol, and handle FTL travel."

       "And just how many supers can fly faster than light?" said Template, dryly. "I can't."

       "Yes, we know that. There are at least five able to do it long enough and fast enough to, for example, fly to Alpha Centauri in a day."

       "Wow," said Template. "I hadn't realized that."

       The Lunies, to express their gratitude to the Intrepids in general and Template in particular, had offered to bring her up to their main research center and fit her with one of their prototype suits. Of course, they were getting all the data it collected in return... They'd made it clear Template would be offered one of the production models, after the design was finalized. Jimmy Kent was not only accompanying her back to Earth, but coming down to the island to help with setting up the school. Even Lunar Base Prime didn't have such a facility, and several of their children were of grade school age, so they were eager to support the institution. Jimmy's shuttle was keeping formation with Template, as it had all the way from the Moon. He'd been pretty good company, though she wondered if he was getting the wrong idea about his chances with her.

       They were starting to enter the outermost fringes of the atmosphere. Though she couldn't see or hear anything yet, Template thought she could feel just a tiny bit of drag.

       "You sure you don't want to come inside the shuttle?"

       "You said the suit can take reentry at this speed," said Template. "And I know I can."

       Soon the air was making its presence known more insistently. A dim glow built up around both Template and the shuttle. She positioned her body into low drag configuration. Normally she would slow with her flying power, then simply drop straight down, since a high speed re-entry like this one left her nearly blind. With the suit's navigation system she could hold course accurately, and get down much sooner. Within minutes the plasma faded, and she and Jimmy were over the ocean, screaming towards Bermuda.

       They went subsonic while still high enough for their sonic booms to be barely perceptible, then made a steep curving descent. The island had a small civilian airport, but they were headed for something more appropriate for a Lunar transport. One of the few portions of the old supervillain base still in frequent use was the spaceport. Originally built just to launch the large, conventional rockets of the Sixties, it had been expanded by super teams later and was now a full-function launch and recovery facility. The transport couldn't land vertically on Earth, but the long main runway was more than adequate for the lifting body to make a horizontal rollout.

       Minutes later the shuttle was stopped, with Template landing nearby. They had been in touch with the facility by radio and she could see vehicles coming to meet them.

       "Good flight," said Jimmy, as he stepped out. "Man, that ocean air smells good! We've made a lot of improvements over the decades, up to and including installing artificial gravity in all our habitats, but still can't quite get the air to smell like it hasn't been used a thousand times already."

       "Well, I need to go meet some people," said Template, smiling as the suit automatically relayed her words through the external speaker. "I'll catch you at supper, later!"

       She flew off.

       ##Think Lost in Space (the TV show, not the movie).

            *            *            *

       One requirement of a skinsuit was that nothing be between it and the body, with two exceptions. Template currently had nothing on but the suit and her mask, and a special appliance. Fortunately, the multiple layers of fabric kept anything from showing. However, with atmospheric pressure adding to the squeeze of the fabric, she was having to add some resilience just to stay comfortable. After some quick greetings to friends, colleagues, and her niece, Template hurried to the showers to change. Energia trailed after.

       "Hey, Aunt Template," Energia said, hugging her, once they were private.

       "Hi, hon. How's things going?"

       "Pretty good. But I thought I was here to visit you. You fly me here and then Poof! go off to the Moon."

       "Sorry, Energia. The life of a super is full of sudden schedule changes. Tell you what; since your flight isn't atmosphere-dependant, but you don't have internal life-support, I'll get the Lunies to make one of these new suits for you. Then you'll be able to fly in space, too."

       "That's the whole suit?" said the teenager, fascinated. She ran her hand up and down the slick, silvery fabric## on Template's arm. "Wow. I thought that was just a liner."

       "Well, there's outer layers which can be put on this for armor or extra thermal or ionizing radiation protection," said Template, "but this is the basics you need to survive in space."

       "Okay," said the girl, grinning, as she continued to examine the outfit. "Apology accepted."

       "Good," said Template, as they entered the locker room. "Now, can you give me a hand? I need to peel out of this and get a shower. I'm covered in talcum powder."

       She sat on a bench and unlatched her helmet.

       "Jimmy was right," said Template, sniffing. "Even locker room air is better than recycled after a while."

       "Bet you won't say that after this place has seen some use," said Energia, snickering.

       The school had used the suggestion of the Black Mask and built the showers with large stalls which had small lockers and benches inside. These were in two adjoining buildings, one for males and one for females, plus a few individual showers located separately for special purposes. The idea being to preserve both modesty and propriety by letting people change in the showers. Of course, most people still changed in the primary locker area of each shower, only taking a towel and cleaning items into the shower with them, putting the towel in the shower's locker so it wouldn't get wet. The resultant casual nudity was already making Template uncomfortable, even though the school wasn't officially open yet. Well, at least they'd tried. Maybe, once the showers came into heavy use by people of more different ages, the shower stalls would be used as intended.

       Energia - she was wearing her current choice of costume and like any good super insisted on going by her super name while in it - helped Template strip off the suit. She burst into giggles when she realized her "uncle" was naked inside it.

       "What is that?" said Energia, pointing between Template's legs.

       "Assuming you mean the device and not the anatomy," muttered Template, blushing, "that's a urine collection unit."

       "Gross!"

       "Yeah, well, that's pretty much standard equipment in space suits these days," said Template, peeling the immediate topic of their conversation off and putting it aside to clean. "Sure beats the adult diapers they used in the old days."

       "But you have to shave to use it," said Energia, laughing.

       "Yes, I had to shave," said Template, sourly. "Hand me my costume and towel."

      "Mask," said Energia, as Template headed for the closest stall.

      "I only take it off inside," said Template. "Even though it's just us in here, now, I need to condition myself."

      "And I need to remember to do the same," said Energia, sighing and nodding.

        Template knew there were some moral issues with having her niece see her naked, issues which in more general application were affecting the entire school. Conventional morality and laws simply didn't address shapechangers, even just those who only changed between genders. Template had been very careful to avoid seeing Energia without clothing, even though they sometimes found themselves using the same restrooms, locker rooms and showers now that the girl was spending so much time with her. However, she figured a teenage girl seeing a related female unclothed could squeak by. Of course, using that excuse would mean letting people know the two were related, when officially Template was hosting the child of a friend.

       My head hurts just thinking about this stuff, thought Template, who was starting to realizing how tired her trip had left her. I'll worry about appearances later, and just go with pragmatism for now. And, pragmatically, I need a shower.

       "What's been happening while I was gone?" Template called out from the stall, while Energia played with the suit.

       "More students arriving, and it's still two weeks before the semester starts," the girl replied. "Mostly kids my age, but a few older and younger. What was the Moon like?"

       "I actually didn't see much of it."

       "You went to the Moon and didn't even look around," said Energia, shaking her head.

       "This wasn't a pleasure trip."

       "Oh! And that tall woman got in."

       "Chestnut?"

       "Yeah. And, boy, is that a stupid name. People are already calling her 'Chestnuts.'"

       "That's horrible."

       There was a long pause, finally broken when the sound of the water stopped.

       "Have you ever gone into the wrong restroom by mistake?"

       "No," said Template, "I'm pretty careful about that. Though I have occasionally changed without consciously meaning to, because my unconscious mind thought another form was more appropriate."

       "That could cause trouble. Though I still wish I could just switch, like you do. Especially if one of 'em was a boy."

       "What?!" said Template, opening the stall door and peering out to make sure she'd heard right.

       "Hey, you've been doing this since you were eight," said Energia, shrugging. "The rest of us are still curious."

            *            *            *

       As they made their way to the middle school girls' dorm Energia babbled about many topics, while demonstrating that she had been practicing her flying. She was able to maintain a stable hover almost casually, now, and had no problems smoothly trailing along beside Template as the later walked the short trail between the shower and the dorm. There were plans to cover the most heavily used paths later, when they got the money, but given the climate there was no hurry. Template was still living in Randy's apartment, but since most of the rooms in the dorms were currently empty, she'd requisitioned one for her and Energia to use while they were here. Energia had needed little encouragement to take a five day vacation on a tropical island before start of school. After things got underway, of course, she'd be in a room with a girl her age. Exactly who they didn't know, yet.

        Template at least didn't have to worry about maintaining a double life while on the island. She had reluctantly decided to keep Randy physically separate from the school. Those who didn't already know they were the same person would be told they were friends, and that Randy occasionally visited. Otherwise, it was Template full time while here or on school business elsewhere. Given Template's flying speed, commuting was not a major problem. Money was, though only a minor one. Her money went by a complicated rout into the Intrepids' primary account, and the team issued a check in that amount to Randy, who was - as far as the IRS was concerned - still employed by the super hero group.

       Actually, not all the money went to Randy. Template had a bank account, now, and was paying taxes on the money the school paid her, though with a huge credit due to the circumstances. So while Randy was essentially paying taxes twice on the same money, the total burden wasn't much greater than it had been. And given the crush to get the school ready, there really wasn't time to spend on anything not strictly necessary, and wouldn't be for perhaps several months. Besides, Randy wasn't in this for the money.

         The fact that she wasn't living here freed up one of the staff cottages, which was a big help to the school. They'd actually been able to go ahead and hire Chestnut. The woman had an Ag degree, specializing in animal husbandry, and while she didn't have a teacher's certificate, she had been a TA while working on her degree.

       "Supper in just over an hour," said Template, flopping onto the bed with a sigh. "Hope you don't mind; I just flew back from the Moon..."

       "And, boy, are your arms tired!" came a voice from the still-open door.

       "Hello, Andrea," Template called out, waving with exaggerated limpness and refusing to get up.

       "I'm glad to see you made it," the Head of Administration said. "Where's that fancy new space suit of yours? I wanted to take a look at it."

       "Left it in my locker. Sorry."

       "Well, later, then."

       "You're looking happy," said Template.

       "Why shouldn't I be happy? The Black Mask just got us an extra five million. From his father."

       "Whoa..."

       "Who's his father?" said Energia.

       "Uhm..." said Template.

       "Well, it's not a secret; just not bandied about," said Andrea. "His father is the original Night Master."

       "There's more than one?"

       "There have been three Night Masters. The original, a protégée he trained who later took the name Black Bat, and the Black Bat's daughter, who still uses the name but isn't very active."

       "Wow, this is so cool," giggled Energia. "The stuff I learn from you folks is so much more interesting that what they teach us in regular school."

       "Well, this is hopefully going to be a lot like regular school, once it gets going," said Andrea, smiling. "Though we also hope to have lots of cool stuff."

            *            *            *

       "This has to be the best part of being a girl," said Template, with a sigh, as she finished applying a fresh coat of sunscreen.

       She lay back in the recliner, adjusted her sunglasses over her mask and simply enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the cool ocean breeze.

       "Can't hurt, being a lesbian under these circumstances, either," said Burgundy, who, with her odd skin, didn't need sunscreen.

       "I am not a lesbian," said Template, already feeling drowsy. "I am a man in a woman's body."

       "Yeah, right," said Burgundy, laughing. "Like anyone would believe you were in any way masculine. That new gal is a lot more butch than you."

       Template started at that, and wondered if she should be offended.

       With start of school still four days away, and the influx of money easing their worries a bit, Eve had called a holiday for the afternoon after Template's return from the Moon. Most of the men - including Jimmy - had taken a boat over to Bermuda, while most of the women had decided on spending a day at the beach. Besides Template and Burgundy, there were nearly two dozen other females here, ages ranging from ten to - in the case of Eve Hind - close to a thousand. Some of them were definitely fine looking, and Template wasn't the only one doing the looking. A few of the island's natives were present, as well, but more to watch the staff and students than to enjoy the beach.

       "Good afternoon!" called a male voice.

       "Tyler," said Burgundy, sighing. "It had to be Tyler. He couldn't go over to Bermuda with the rest of 'em."

       "What's wrong with Tyler?"

       "He talks."

       "He's not that bad."

       Tyler was in charge of boys' physical education and health. He was an older man, but still in good physical shape and actually quite attractive. He was respectful to women, polite to everyone. Unfortunately, he considered himself something of a homespun philosopher. He would let someone else start a conversation, then take over with his observations and words of wisdom. Template and Burgundy, therefore, both kept quiet. The peace lasted perhaps three minutes.

       "Good afternoon!" called out a loud female voice.

       Template glanced up, then stared, at the sight of Chestnut approaching, wearing a swimsuit which would have embarrassed Solange. Moreover, she had the body for it, something not obvious with her usual costume. Template wondered if she'd worn that suit thinking this outing would be "girls only." But, no, she not only didn't seem bothered by Tyler's presence but actually focused on him.

       "What a fine day!"

       "You'll see a lot like this, here," said Tyler, beaming up at her cleavage. "Weather here isn't always perfect, but a high percentage of it is this good or better."

       Chestnut spread her towel near to Template's lounge and sat, then began applying sunscreen.

       "Would you be a dear and get mah back?"

       "It would be my pleasure!" said Tyler.

       "Thanks! You really know how t' make a gal feel appreciated."

       "Speaking of appreciation, did you hear that with Carstairs' arrest, the House is considering revoking his law? It'd just be a formality, of course, since the Supreme Court has already ruled against it."

       "Here it comes," said Burgundy, leaning over to mutter quietly to Template.

       "Wall, I'd expect them t' do more than consider it! After all that supers did t' help in New Orleans [she pronounced it "New Or Leans] and him bein' found out and arrested and all. Why, th' supers and other volunteers did more than all the feds combined! They mostly just sat around and waited for orders. Which they mostly never got!"

       "There's some very good reasons independent supers are better at some tasks than governments or business," said Tyler, winding up. "They're the same reasons individual efforts of all types during emergencies are often faster and more effective than any bureaucratic effort could ever be. There's no oversight, no second-guessing, no rules and regulations designed for normal operations which actually hinder emergency operations. Intelligent, capable, motivated people see that something needs doing and do it. No paperwork, no budget, no rejection because the right form wasn't submitted. It just gets done."

       "I was in New Orleans, after Katrina, and saw that sort of thing first hand," said Template, nodding, becoming involved in spite of her intent to just lay in the sun and relax. "None of the government super groups sent there actually got involved with any rescue or repair work until the worst was well over. Meanwhile, volunteers arrived, organized and went to work. In spite of several attempts by various government agencies to stop us."

       "And there you have the strength of super activities," said Tyler, who seemed as involved with the subject as he was with oiling Chestnut's muscular back. "A police officer or soldier with a gun, or a securely locked door or gate, can stop normal humans who are trying to help. They'd just be pretty much ignored by supers."

       As the conversation continued, Template sat up for a moment to check on some of the younger kids, who were making a lot of noise for some reason. And stared at a strange apparition which was causing their excitement.

       "What is that, some sort of tourist ride?"

       "Damn!" said Tyler, jumping to his feet. "That's that pirate ship!"

       "Well, obviously..."

       "No, I mean it's a real pirate ship, with real pirates! They attacked a cruise liner last week. Most of you weren't here, but I thought it'd be on the mainland news."

       Others had apparently recognized the ship, as well. Adults were calling their charges in (difficult, especially with the younger ones, who were enraptured by the ship) and others were shouting warnings to clear the beach.

       "You mean," said Template, unable to keep from grinning as the situation slowly dawned on her, "that you've got a bunch of criminals with a pirate motif, who are about to attack our island, not knowing it's full of supers?"

       "And us caught in our skivvies," snickered Chestnut, who didn't seem at all worried about that.

       "This is no laughing matter," said Tyler, though he couldn't help grinning. "They've killed and hurt several people already."

       "Wall, why don't Ah see what Ah kin do t' help dampen their spirits?"

       Chestnut rose and walked calmly over to an outcropping of rock. Obviously intending to pick up a large one and throw it.

       "Whoah!" said Template, quickly moving to intercept. "If you sink their ship here, they'll not only have to come ashore, they'll take hostages!"

       "Oh..." said Chestnut.

       "Why don't the two of us go out there and see what we can do?"

       "Ah don't know," said Chestnut, frowning. "Don't think Ah kin make it thet far, skimmin'. And swimmin' would take too long."

       "I thought you could run on water?" said Andrea, hurrying up to join them.

       "Nah. I take a good run 'n' go and slide, like one of those barefoot water skiers. Might look a bit like Ah'm runnin', cause Ah have t' dance around t' keep mah balance."

       "I can give you a lift," said Template.

       "And I think the rest of us better stay here to form a defense," said Eve, also joining them. "I tried taking their minds, but they're... strange. They honestly think they're Seventeenth Century Carribean pirates. I can't make heads or tails of them."

       Template lifted off, caught Chestnut by the raised hands, and the two of them swooped out over the ocean, heading for the pirate ship. As they flew, Template couldn't resist looking down, and noted - among other things - that Chestnut had no tan lines. Template shook her head and got her mind back on business.

       "Looks like they've dropped anchor!" said Template. "I'm going to drop you on the deck, then wreck their boats so they can't easily go ashore."

       "Sounds like a good plan t' me!"

       With Chestnut incongruously in a bikini on the main deck wreaking havoc, Template dumped the pirates out of each small boat, then smashed it. They were being shot at, and even hit, but neither considered the soft, pure lead balls more than a distraction. Then she heard Chestnut yell.

       "What?" said Template, quickly flying up check.

       "Bastard grabbed a feel!" said Chestnut, holding the rapidly purpling pirate around the neck with one huge hand while tugging a bikini cup back into place with the other.

       Template grinned and shook her head, then ducked reflexively as a cannon ball flew dangerously close to her. She saw that a gun crew for the small cannon on the main deck had managed to heave their weapon around and prop the front up high enough to aim at her.

       "Yow! You better dump those cannon overboard. I doubt even you would like getting hit by one."

       Chestnut nodded and tossed her miscreant overboard. Template returned to her scuttling, being sure to keep an eye on the lower deck gun ports. If one of those monsters fired on her, and managed to hit, she could be in serious trouble.

       In seconds she was finished, and rose again to check on her partner.

       "Hey!" called Chestnut, waving a cannon as she ignored the guns, knives and swords of the few men still on deck. "This stuff looks real!"

       "I think the crew is real, too!"

       "Some sort of time warp? Or did they thaw out of a glacier?"

       "I'll ask," said Template, dryly. She grinned. "Be careful they don't cut a strap, or you could get arrested."

       "You wish..."

       Template few down, grabbed someone shouting orders on the command deck and lifted him into the air.

       "Who are you people?"

       The man swore at her in what sounded like French. When he appeared to be gathering saliva, Template let him drop into the ocean.

       "I think we... What the Hell are you doing?"

       Chestnut had seized muzzle of the last cannon still on the main deck with both hands and was pulling. The muscles in her shoulders and across her back bunched impressively as the metal began to split. Then a chunk of the muzzle tore away with a jerk.

       "Damn! Was tryin' t' split it down the middle."

       Just how strong is she? Template wondered.

       "Forget that. We need to..."

       Again, Template interrupted herself. This time to gape in disbelief as ship, boats, wreckage and pirates faded, dropping Chestnut into the water.

       "What...?!" was all the huge woman managed before her head went under.

       She quickly surfaced, and began swimming strongly for the shore. Seeing that she didn't need help, Template quickly flew back to Eve.

       "Yes, definitely not a mundane phenomenon," said the mentalist. "I'll contact Marcus Altione, who's with the group on Bermuda, and see if he has any ideas about what's going on and what could be causing it."

       To their surprise, he did.

       "One of the last major projects worked on in the old base was a device intended to distort physics," said Marcus. "It's in a separate lab, at the far end of one of the transport tunnels. I recall from what I read that some of the government researchers investigating the base said it could cause time warps, as well as do a lot of other stuff. That's the main reason they quit working on it; the thing scared them."

       "How do we access this machine?" asked Eve.

       "Go talk to George Kensington, in the settlement," said Marcus. "He knows more about what's where and how to get to it than anyone else still alive."

            *            *            *

       "Yeah, I remember that lab," the old man stated, nodding.

       Eve had taken just Template with her. She was the only super currently on the island with much recent experience, and had a solid technical background. That last might help her to ask questions Eve wouldn't think of.

       "That old base has several widely separated modules, most of them dug into the mountain," said George. "Most of the Bermudas are a mix of uplifted sedimentary - largely limestone - and volcanic rock. This place, though, has rocks which simply don't belong here. Even the volcanic and sedimentary deposits don't match up with the rest of the Bermudas. We think Pine somehow raised some deep deposits which are much older than what is on or just under the surface in the actual Bermudas. Whether having an active volcano was part of the plan or a side effect of bring up that deep mass is unknown. Though since he tapped the magma to use as a security device I suspect the former."

       "That's all very interesting," said Eve, patiently, "but how does it help us?"

       "Just giving you some background. Many of the tunnels are through dense, metamorphic rock. Those which aren't are all lined, as are some of those which are. They should all still be intact. The module with the Extravagant Physics Lab should be, too. It's all very solid construction."

       "So just give us a map to this lab showing the shortest route in from outside," said Eve.

       "I'll do that, but there's more to it," said George. "The feds made sure to seal that area thoroughly. And those doors are designed to stay shut unless opened in the right way. If the power is off in that area, I have no idea how you'll get past them. Even if it's on, opening them won't be easy. Some of them are controlled from the central security station, which was also sealed off. Getting into that would be an all-day task by itself."

       "We've got a gadgeteer, an energy user and two bricks on hand," said Eve, smiling. "I think that should cover it."

       "I assume I'm one of the bricks," said Template, as they walked back to the flitter with their map. "Who are the other team members?"

       "Energia for the energy user," said Eve, ticking them off on her fingers. "Chestnut for the other brick. And Gadgetive for the gadgeteer."

       "Gadgetive?" said Template, startled.

       "Yes. She arrived an hour and a half ago. I was late to the beach because I was showing her to her room. You're leading the team, by the way."

       "Well... I guess that makes sense," said Template. "I have more practical experience than just about anybody else here, I've worked with Gadgetive and trained with Energia, and Chestnut is probably the only person currently on the island who is stronger and tougher than me. Any more than that and we'd just get in each others' way."

            *            *            *

       Gadgetive was quite happy to see Template again, but there was no time for a reunion. Template spread the map George had given them on the table in Eve's office. Template, Chestnut and Energia had all put their costumes on, which gave the psychological benefit of making this feel like an official team mission. Gadgetive was dressed, as usual, in an outfit which was a cross between a mechanic's, a photographer's and a target shooter's.

       "Okay, the closest way in is here, through what was an escape hatch from the tunnel. It's spot welded shut, because they damaged it when they forced it open, back in Sixty-eight. Shouldn't be a problem for any of us to open. We go left, past this other hatch, to the end of the tunnel. There's only one door there, which opens onto the lab access corridor. Less than two klicks, total. Even moving slow and careful, and taking the need to force the doors into account, shouldn't take us more than an hour, tops, to get in the lab."

       "Wow," said Gadgetive, stars in her eyes. "I can hardly wait to see it. This place is the stuff of legends!"

       "Just remember, the legend who built this place was a cold-blooded murderer who may have left lethal traps. You kids are in my charge and you will do what I say."

       "No problem," said Energia, with a shudder. "Ugh! Don't like creepy tunnels."

       "I'm okay with that," said Gadgetive, though with less willingness.

       "Yo're th' boss," said Chestnut. She grinned. "Even though Ah'm not one of the kids."

       They took a flitter to the outside hatch, but found that the landing area George had described and which was clearly marked on the map had disappeared under vegetation. Template set the flitter to hover there and flew down with Chestnut, while Energia carried Gadgetive down.

       "Chestnut, can you get that hatch open?" said Template, after giving the situation a quick check. "Gadgetive, Energia, you two clear a place for the flitter and I'll bring it down."

       Deciding to show off a bit, Chestnut marched up to the hatch, set her feet, grabbed the warped, rusted door and heaved. The spot welds suddenly snapped, and the door swung open with a squealing-hinge abruptness which jerked it out of Chestnut's hands, so that it bounced, clanging, away from the cliff face.

       "Damn!" the huge woman hissed, embarrassed.

       "Don't worry about it," said Template, as she flew back up to their transport.

       Burning the vegetation down to the bare, level rock ledge took less than a minute between the two teenagers' efforts. Template landed the craft and climbed out, walking slowly up the rock cut steps to the dark hole into the mountain. She wasn't fond of tunnels, either. Template took a breath, then stepped inside, shortly followed by the others. The tunnel air was cool and musty, with a hint of old decay. Despite assurances it had been sealed, they could see dust and cobwebs, and an occasional bit of debris. There were even the mummified remains of a few small animals.

       "Power's off," said Gadgetive, waving a field strength meter around.

       "I think most of us realized that already," said Template, dryly. "Great; didn't think to bring any lights. We were in too much of a hurry. I don't suppose any of you can see in the dark?"

       She yelped as her vision was flooded with a sudden glare.

       "Sorry," said Energia, dimming her glow to a tolerable level.

       "Thank you, but we're going to need other light sources. That's one of the basic rules of spelunking; carry multiple lights. I know at least some of us have small flashlights, but those don't carry far enough, and flares, but those don't last long enough."

       "I'm here, remember?" said Gadgetive.

       She reached into her backpack and produced three hand lamps.

       "These are commercial units," said Template, surprised. Then she became suspicious. "You've tinkered with them, right?"

       "Variable brightness by turning the bezel around the lens," said Gadgetive, grinning. "Spot or flood by pulling and pushing the bezel, like zooming a camera. Power supply is my own design, should last six days at max."

       "With these, Energia, the small flashlights and the flares, we should have plenty of light sources," said Template, nodding absently as she tested her lamp. "Let's move out!"

       Walking in a staggered double-file with the monorail track down the middle, they proceeded into the darkness. Ten minutes later they came to another door, this one blocking the corridor.

       "Looks like it retracts into the ceiling," said Gadgetive, shining her light at various parts of the obstruction and into the gap between it and the tunnel. "I could power it up..."

       "But you'd have to uncover the mains, since there's no control panel here," said Template. "So let's try another way."

       She set her lamp down, crouched, shoved her fingers into the bottom crack and lifted. The door moved a bit, and stopped, not even creaking when she tried harder.

       "Damn," she muttered, pulling her hands out and straightening. "What's this thing made of?"

       "Let me try," said Chestnut.

       Template gave her room. The large woman straddled the track and forced her fingers under the door on either side of it, then lifted. When the door stopped she strained for a moment, let it drop back down and then heaved. There was a loud, metallic Clang! and it surged upwards, showering dust and bits of metal.

       "Whoops!" said Chestnut, grinning as she stood there, holding the door up. "Looks like we need to prop it open with something."

       Just how strong is she? Template wondered, again, as she pried up a section of track and jammed it between the door and the floor.

       "I could'a just welded it," muttered Gadgetive.

       "Be my guest. Let's not take chances with any of this."

       The young gadgeteer quickly spot welded not only the door to it's frame but the rail to both the floor and the door. They continued on.

       Another five minutes and the tunnel ended in a small station. According to the map, the hatch in the wall gave access to a corridor, which in turn led to the lab.

       "No brute force until I check for traps!" Gadgetive called out, taking the lead.

       "Ah wonder..." said Chestnut, looking at the flat stone wall at the end of the track.

       While the rest waited in the tunnel or behind Gadgetive, the tall woman went to the blank wall which ended the tunnel and began rapping on it.

       "Nope. Just what it looks like; solid stone."

       "Glad you thought of it, though," said Template.

       "Still no power," said Gadgetive, more muttering to herself than reporting to the rest. "Reflective lixoscope shows just normal door opening and closing and locking stuff. Hold on."

       She took a thin probe in her gloved hands and began feeling all around the door.

       "I think it's safe."

       "So what's the best approach?" said Template. "The seam's much too tight to get fingers in, and just bashing it should be our last resort."

       "It opens outwards, so we'd need a lot of force to push it open; pulling would be a lot better," said Gadgetive, rubbing her chin as she thought. "I could burn through the latches, but that would use up most of my gas... Hey, try this; one of you bricks push in the middle to bow the door, while the other tries to get her fingers in the seam."

       Template couldn't get enough traction, and again stepped aside for Chestnut. Who also found her boots slipping. Before anyone could suggest something else, she simply backed up a bit and lunged, crouching to ram the middle of the door with her shoulder. The others actually felt the impact through their feet; dust and grit rained down and the sound echoed ominously up and down the dark corridor for several seconds.

       "Hold on," said Gadgetive, digging through her pack again.

       She took a metal wedge and forced the knife edge into the crack, then leaned on the back end.

       "Okay."

       Chestnut rammed the door again. The wedge slipped in a bit.

       "Okay, hold it. I'm gonna get two more wedges out, and want the others to push on those. Then you keep hitting it until I say stop."

       Each impact let them force the wedges in a bit deeper. In seconds Gadgetive called a halt and waved everyone else back.

       "Thank God," said Chestnut, rubbing her shoulder.

       "Template?"

       Gadgetive had a good eye; the gap was just wide enough for Template to squeeze her fingers in on either side of the central wedge and get a solid grip. She braced her left foot against the wall and pulled out and away from the frame, increasing the force slowly instead of heaving. Abruptly there was a snap, and the part of the door she was pulling on sprung out a bit, the wedge dropping to the floor.

       "That's one!" cried Gadgetive. "Keep going!"

       Each latch went faster, since the increasing gap let Template get a better grasp and better leverage. Soon the now-twisted door swung freely, opening to reveal a short corridor.

       With an identical door on the other end.

       "Argh," said Gadgetive.

       "Sweet, crispy walnuts," muttered Template. "That map is seriously deficient."

       "Not another un!" said Chestnut. "Oh, well; Ah got another shoulder."

       "Gadgetive, why don't you mark where the latches are on that one, and let Energia try to burn through."

       "Oh, right; good idea." Gadgetive grinned at Energia. "Sorry. Not used to working with all the members of this particular team."

       First, though, Gadgetive checked both the corridor and far door for traps, again finding none. Then she marked the spots and Energia stepped forward. She dramatically pointed her right finger at the first mark, and an eye-searing spot of white appeared on it. Except for Gadgetive having to quickly rig up a fan to disperse the fumes from vaporized metal, the cutting went swiftly. The second hatch was soon open, revealing the lab.

       "Finally!" said Template, with definite relief.

       Again, Gadgetive took the lead. She slowly walked around, the others keeping what she was looking at lit for her as she examined pieces of equipment with eyes and gadgets. Finally, she moved to the center of the large chamber, right under the massive, physics-distorting machine itself.

       "Nothin'," said Gadgetive, slowly scanning with her field strength meter. "It's all dead. From the looks of things this equipment hasn't been hot in decades. Just from here, I can see dust in spots where it would'a been burned off if this had been working recently."

       "So it's a dead end," said Template, with an exasperated sigh.

            *            *            *

       "And we missed it..." lamented Marcus Altione.

       The large group of staff members who had gone over to Bermuda - most of the men and some of the women and a few others - had returned en mass as soon as Marcus could get them together after Eve's call. They were now doubly disappointed; not only by having their holiday cut short, but getting back after all the excitement was over. Worse, by the time they arrived the authorities were already questioning the witnesses and participants from the island. (The pirates, of course, being unavailable.) Which meant they had to wander around until that was done before hearing the details themselves.

       "Wasn't much t' miss; they just weren't here fer long, and didn't speak English, anyway," said Chestnut. She grinned. "Though Ah did git t' beat up on some real pirates!"

       "So what are we going to do about this?" said Junker.

       "For now, I suggest we leave the matter to the authorities," said Eve. "They have statements from all of us who were involved with or witnessed the attack. They know where we are if they need more information. For now we have something more important to do than chase pirate mysteries."

            *            *            *

       The massive ram moved slowly but inexorably down, accompanied by a distant hum of powerful hydraulic pumps. Template couldn't get braced; it was pushing down and out at an angle and the horizontal component was making her feet slip on the padded floor. Realizing she wasn't going to be able to stop it that way, she shifted position, and instead of pushing directly against it now pushed to the side and twisted. There was a groaning sound from the machine, then a muffled Snap! and the ram came off in her hand. Hydraulic fluid hemorrhaged from the wall.

       "You broke it!" yelled Junker, over the PA, from where he sat in the control booth.

       "You said just do what I'd do if it were a real attack."

       "But you broke it!"

       Template, scowling, decided she did not have time for this. She tossed the mass of broken training equipment aside with a huge clangor, and flew up to confront the gadgeteer through the large, single-pane window of the control booth. She glared at him, fists on hips. Her irritation was considerably heightened when she realized he was staring at her chest. She found herself wishing that techs dated more...

       "I did just what you said to do. Be glad this was me and not Chestnut. You'd have to replace the whole wall."

       Template left unsaid which wall specifically she meant. However, she did reach out and flick the transparent ceramic outer layer of the window with a fingernail which could scratch steel, causing a bell-like ringing. She then flew down to the door, hit the big, red OUT! button and flew along the corridor to her next appointment. There was still a lot of equipment to test, most of it far closer to ready than the combat emulation chamber.

       The flyers' obstacle course was at least fun. The selected path through the maze was different each time, lit by red indicator lights, so it couldn't simply be memorized. Better, some of the gates selected changed during a run, meaning the flyers really had to pay attention. Many of the selected gates cycled between red and white, forcing the flyers to time their passage, the latter being the signal to pass through. Finally, some of the gates actually moved. The hardest one gave a selection of three openings, in a vertical triangle which slowly rotated on an axis perpendicular to its plane. The selected one would turn white only after the previous gate in the course was successfully passed through.

       Template had already flown the course several times in the past two months while the techs worked on it. Those early runs had led them to ramp up the maximum speed and gate difficulty. Template found herself jinking in four dimensions, actually having to slow for some sections to catch a gate when it lit. For the first time she was actually challenged, having several close calls where she bumped the edge of a gate (each contact adding five seconds to the total time) or barely made a gate before it cycled off (adding a penalty of five seconds for each second by which the gate was missed). Still, she made it through successfully, and in under fifty seconds.

       "Wow," she panted, standing at the far end, hands on knees as she gasped for breath. "Thanks, guys. That was fun. And I didn't bend any this time! You've definitely got them strong enough."

       All the gates were padded, for those who - like Energia - could fly but weren't physically resilient beyond human norm. Before, when Template had bumped a gate, it tended to bend and stay bent. Which would have likewise meant at least a severe bruise for those with no resilience. Now they sprung away and back. That yielding, plus the padding, made them much less likely to harm someone.

       "Phil pointed out that springiness and a little padding would be better than unyielding metal and a lot of padding," said Julia, grinning at both the compliments and Template's state. "Fewer repairs for both the gates and the flyers."

       "You're one of the best flyers I've ever seen," said Jimmy, impressed.

       "Thank you," said Template, still a bit breathless, as she finally was able to straighten. "I think this is one of the best training aides for supers I've ever seen. Too many flyers just zoom along as straight a course as they can, keeping their bodies rigid even when they turn. This should help break them of that."

       "Or break something else," said Julia, laughing.

       "Okay. One more thing to check before lunch. See you guys later!"

            *            *            *

       At least the flyer's obstacle course and the last piece of equipment were outdoors. Template was working on a semi-tropical island less than three hundred klicks from Bermuda, yet found herself spending most of the day indoors. That wasn't just a crime, it was a sin.

       "It's a super version of an automated batting practice cage," Marcus explained. "The baseballs are regulation, but the bats are a very tough composite, regulation dimensions but slightly heavier than regulation weight. The pneumatic pitcher can be set to vary speed over the plate from an easy lob to barely subsonic. The balls are caught in a SpiderSlik(TM) net."

       "Sounds workable," said Template, picking up one of the protective helmets.

       She put most of her power into an equal balance of speed and power, with about a quarter in resilience just in case. She dialed the control up to max power and medium interval and stood at the plate, doing a few warmup swings while the display counted down to the first ball. The count hit zero, and there was a loud and distinct SPOOT! from the machine as the ball came screaming in so fast she barely had time to swing. She missed.

       "This is tougher than it..."

       SPOOT!

       "Hey!" yelled Template, stepping back.

       The machine was launching baseballs at an ever-increasing pace.

       SPOOT! SPOOT!SPOOT! SPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOTSPOOT!

       The demented device quickly ran out of balls but continued to operate, without the projectiles losing the fricative and just making a SPOOSPOOSPOOSPOOSPOO sound. Template glanced over at Marcus, who - red faced - couldn't meet her gaze. He pushed the emergency cutoff.

       "Needs some, ah, fine tuning," he stated.

       "Right. Let me know when it's ready. I've one more piece of equipment to test today, right after lunch, then a meeting."

       Template put the helmet and bat away and flew off, hoping that her lunch at least would go well. Fortunately, it did, though she had to make it shorter than she liked. The last device was also outdoors, and a squall was moving in.

       As she flew towards the long, straight section of beach where the timing gates had been installed, Template received a mental missive from Eve: A request to come to her office. Template sighed and changed course, arriving less than a minute later. The Principal invited her in and indicated a chair.

       "The pirates have been seen again," said Eve, as Template seated herself. "A British Navy destroyer escort saw the ship just suddenly appear. Most of the crew was in the water, surrounded by debris."

       "Sounds like for the pirates that was immediately after Chestnut and I trashed their ship and boats," said Template. "That was, uhm, four days ago..."

       "And their arrival here was six days after their attack on the cruise ship," said Eve. "The destroyer moved to capture them, but the remaining crew on board managed to fire a broadside and severely damage the destroyer escort. The remaining pirate crew scrambled aboard their ship and they sailed off. They haven't been seen again, despite an intensive sea and air search."

       "Wait. Were those just ordinary cannonballs?!"

       "Yes. Several were found aboard the English ship and sent away for examination."

       "And they did that much damage to a modern warship?!"

       "As the man I spoke to put it when I raised the same point, 'Destroyer escorts have hulls just thick enough to keep out the water and the smaller fish.'"

       "Well, at least this should help the authorities take the situation seriously," said Template.

       "Yes. I have heard that NATO and the US Navy are both planning to join the effort to find and capture the pirates." She sighed. "I only hope that if they are, indeed, what they appear, they will be studied, instead of merely imprisoned."

            *            *            *

       After finally getting to fly the timing course, and clocking over 1100 kph on the big display past the end, Template headed to the showers for a quick clean-up before her next duty. As she approached she saw Jimmy on the path. She called down to him as she landed, and paused when she saw him hurrying over.

       "Would you like to go over to Bermuda for supper?" he asked, casually.

       "Oh, Jimmy, I can't," said Template, mouth almost watering as she recalled tales of the food there, which she still hadn't gotten to taste. "We've got just one more day until the school session starts, and I'm far too busy."

       "Well, once things get settled down, then."

       "That would be nice, thank you."

       Not until several minutes after they parted, while she was drying her hair and costume, did Template realize she'd agreed to go on a date with him.

            *            *            *

       Her finally duty for the day before heading home was a meeting with the tech staff to talk about problems.

       "Okay, I think we're all clear on what remains to be done to the testing and training equipment, the teaching facilities and the residences before school opens," said Template, after they each reviewed their notes to make sure everyone was on the same page. "The cafeteria isn't a problem; it was one of the first buildings up, and has been feeding us with no problems the whole time. They should be more than ready to handle the larger numbers of meals once school starts. So, with the exceptions already noted, the school is pretty much set. Now, what about the old base? I still don't know everything that's in there. How do I keep the kids safe without that information?"

       "You haven't read the federal investigation team's reports?" said Marcus.

       "I haven't been cleared, yet," said Template, sourly. "Something about not being able to complete the background check because I won't reveal my secret ID, and getting the waiver takes time. More stalling by the sour grapes lame ducks in the current US administration. The thing is, if we're going to have kids here, there's a good chance some of them will get into that base. Most probably deliberately, but knowing kids I don't doubt some will simply wander into off-limits areas by accident."

       "And we are going to have some of the tech classes there," said Marcus, nodding. "Yeah. I think a combination of a major security upgrade combined with mandatory guided tours are definitely in order."

       Marcus Altione was a non-gadgeteer with an engineering degree and experience running high-tech operations. He was the general facilities manager for the school. As such he was in charge of making sure the work on the equipment, housing and such got done. However, Template was responsible for the safety of the students and the smooth operation of the school. While they generally acted as equals, she could overrule him. So far, she'd only had to do so once, when he had insisted on buying a hopper for the school. He'd eventually admitted they just didn't have the money. Then managed to get a super team to donate one. Template had learned to appreciate his talents.

       "But that still doesn't tell me specifically what is still there which could cause trouble," said Template.

       "Just about everything," said Junker, with feeling. "Some of the stuff was safe when put there but is now unsafe due to deterioration. Some was always dangerous."

       "Details, please," said Template, managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

       "Caustic and acidic chemicals and strong solvents in both labs and workshops," said Junker, ticking things off on his fingers. "Huge, automated arc welding rigs. Transport pods which, if you could somehow power them, would drive off the end of high rails where those have broken or collapsed. Hell, just the sharp and/or heavy tools in there are enough to scare a half-dozen child welfare agencies into putting us out of business."

       "Pine collected things, especially tech," said Jimmy. "He even obtained a lot of captured villain and alien stuff, under the pretext of examining it further for the government or his business associates. Weapons, armor, communicators, things not even properly categorized when he got them. He even has one of our old Lunie Earth Entry Vehicles."

       "No wonder he made so many developments in so many areas," said Template, impressed. "Give any one of those items to a talented gadgeteer and you'll soon have a dozen or more new inventions inspired by it."

       "He also has one of the original Myrmidons, disassembled and stored in a dedicated lab," said Marcus. "Those were the ones from the late Fifties, which used salvaged alien hardware. They're arguably the most technically advanced, and the most successful, of all the Myrmidons, in spite of fifty years of development after them. Everybody is lucky he didn't include any of that tech in those battle robots he built. He had time and opportunity; I guess he knew enough not to use it."

       "Yeah, I remember," said Template, nodding. "The old programming is non-fugitive, and tends to hide in odd nooks and crannies until something triggers it."

       One reason Template had this job was that she could go into gadgeteering mode herself. Mostly she just used this to help understand what the techs were talking about, but sometimes she surprised them by actually making intelligent suggestions.

       "Besides all that, there's the three super headquarters built on the island," said Marcus. "Only one of those actually used part of the old base. The other two are not only completely different kettles of chips, but one is still held as a reserve base for the Pioneers."

       "Oh, forgot to tell you," said Junker. "The last of those teams contacted me yesterday. They've all said they'd accept responsibility for maintaining security in their installations, and meet with us next week to discuss what they have in the base and whether any of it needs to be removed."

       "That's wonderful. But it still only reduces our work by about ten percent."

       "Tell you what, Marcus. Get me large prints of the base maps - say, no more than two meters high and however long they have to be. I'll put them on the wall in the corridor to my office. Each of you mark rooms you know about with a number - from zero for harmless to 9 for 'Death awaits all who enter!' - with your initials. Do this for all of the facilities, but put the emphasis on the Pine's base. I'll prioritize based on level of danger and accessibility. We'll probably have to resort to spot welding bars over the doors and ventilation ducts of the worst ones until we can get to them later."

       "Even that won't keep out anyone who is determined to get in," said Marcus. "Though, yeah, it would stop the casually curious and the occasional lost kid from getting in."

       "Why don't you contact all the surviving techs who worked on the examination of the base and see if any would help us get the old security systems back in operation?" said Template. "The few I've talked to or heard others talk about would probably love to help, just to revisit the place."

       "Yeah, good idea," said Marcus, nodding. "There's at least half a dozen already living in retirement on the island. They would be a big help."

            *            *            *

       Randy had rarely been more glad to get home. The physical drain from flying out in the morning, running around the island performing all those tests and attending meetings, then flying back home in the evening was bad enough. The mental drain from all the hard decisions - and even the easy ones; there were just so many of them - was worse. He got his mail in and sat down at the kitchen table to open it while his supper heated in the microwave. He was almost through sorting when the phones gave the special ring.

       "Oh! Hi, Bowman. Good to hear from you."

       Randy heard the microwave beep behind him but ignored it for now. He liked to let the food sit for a bit, anyway, to help the heat even out.

       "How's work on the school going?" the Intrepids' gadgeteer asked. "You going to have enough money for the whole semester?"

       "We originally planned for up to a hundred fifty students this first year," said Randy. "That was the largest reasonable estimate of potential customers and, really, all we could afford, so we scaled everything else to that number. We currently have just under two-fifty signed up. People came out of nowhere to ask if their kid could attend, and even after weeding out the non-supers we have this many. Guess we all underestimated the number of customers."

       "I remember the Black Mask remarking on how many students you were going to have," said Bowman. "Why didn't you turn some of them down?"

        "The upper staff and backers decided that having a larger student body - as long as we can handle it properly - would help more than hurt for next semester. And, truthfully, the increase in number of kids doesn't make our job all that much harder. The biggest part of the administrative work - just flying through all the hoops necessary to get a school started was about half of it - would be the same no matter how many kids are there. Thanks to the recent influx of money the additional number of students isn't a problem in terms of housing or other infrastructure; everything is modular, designed to upgrade and expand easily. However, teachers are in short supply. We wanted to have small classes, ten to fifteen students per teacher. Instead we're going to have classes around twice that size."

       "I hope you're not going to ask me to help teach," said Bowman, sounding half amused, half concerned. "You sound like you're making a formal pitch."

       "No, but we would definitely appreciate having guest lecturers, as well as seminars on tech, disguise, the law and anything else we can think of."

       "Oh, that's a different matter altogether," said Bowman, suddenly enthusiastic. "Okay; I'm in for at least one tech seminar. I'll check with supers I know - and, yes, mother, I'll only tell responsible people - and see if any of them want in, too. I'll even ask the Black Mask if he can persuade his father to give a lecture on the history of early Twentieth Century costumed adventurers."

       "Wow," said Randy, feeling a tingle of awe in spite of his own close association with so many supers. "The Night Master himself, talking about the Golden Age of supers. That would really be something."

       "I'll let you know," said Bowman, his grin almost audible.

       I have a game for the Night Master and other Thirties adventurers at: http://www.dcr.net/~stickmak/Gaming/modrnag.htm This also gives some of the background for the world. Note that this game was created about a decade before I started the Masks series and does not match up perfectly with it. For those places where it disagrees with Masks, just assume Dr. Freysdottir was lying through her pointed canines. :-) Likewise, the difference in terms for powers and abilities can be attributed to changes through time in the knowledge and preferences of those who study and categorize supers.

            *            *            *

       "We're getting two new students in today," said Eve. "Cheiron and Ettienne de Chevalier. I want you to greet them, show them to their quarters, give them and their families the nickle tour."

       "What's the mystery about them, anyway? Some of the housing requirements for them were... unusual."

       "As are the students. Ettienne is the least unusual; he is a white witch from southern France."

       "A magic user?!" said Template, startled. "We don't have anyone to train him! Oh, wait; of course, you can."

       "I can," said Eve, nodding. "I most likely will, at least to a small extent. But remember, our goal is not to provide training in each and every power, or even class of power, but to provide a learning environment for children with powers. One where they can be among peers, both young and adult."

       Eve smiled. Template worried.

       "If you are this upset over a young boy who can cast a handful of spells, the centaur who will be joining our student body should have a definitely interesting effect."

       "A centaur," said Template, numbly.

       "He's from a secluded - meaning, deliberately hidden by magic - island off the coast of Greece," said Eve. "There are many types of supposedly mythical creatures there. Oh, and since the parents of both boys will be with them, and we want to make a good impression, I want you to dress in your finest costume and wear proper makeup."

       "No, no, no!" said Template, briskly shaking her head. "The costume's not a problem, but I already wear all the makeup I want to!"

       "Give me one, good, practical reason for you not to wear more when you are representing this school before the public!" said Andrea, who until now had been quiet.

       "It would smear when I fly fast."

       The administrator started to say something, then closed her mouth and scowled. Eve smiled and nodded.

       "Very well. You will wear your good costume, however."

       "That I'll do."

            *            *            *

       "The dorms only have two stories," said Template, as she came to the first stop of the tour for the new arrivals and their parents. "The ground floor of each has the public facilities and the monitor's room, plus two rooms set aside for students with mobility problems."

       "Mobility problems?" rumbled the big, bay centaur stallion, his full beard barely moving when he spoke.

       To Template's discomfort he was completely naked except for an ornamental harness around his human chest. He also kept looking at her in a way she had difficulty interpreting. At least the white-haired witch boy's family looked normal, if possessing very little English. Of course, that big, grey tomcat with them also made her a bit nervous. It was the boy's familiar, and there was more than the usual housecat intelligence lurking behind those eyes.

       "Trouble climbing stairs or maneuvering in tight quarters," Template elaborated.

       "Ah. So my son will be in one of those ground floor rooms. Being, as he is, much larger than those the other parts of the structure were designed for."

       "Yes. We outfitted it according to advice Eve - that is, Eleanthe - gave us."

       She led them to a double-wide door and opened it, then stepped aside. The adult centaur (his name was something Greek which Template could not remember, much less pronounce) walked in and looked around. Finally, he nodded.

       "Excellent. Good space, nice place to lay for sleeping, direct access to the outside. Come in, Cheiron, and see your new home."

       "Yes, Father," the boy said, formally.

       Both spoke Excellent English, though with a charming accent. Both were also smaller than Template had expected, being in the large pony/small horse range. That still left quite a lot of body for both of them, most of it bare. At least the boy was wearing a plain linen shirt and some sort of pack on his lower - equine - back. The latter presumably contained the possessions he had brought for his stay. Template wondered if he would be in for some teasing, due to his name sounding so much like Karen.

       "Yes. You will be satisfied with this."

       That sounded more like an order than an evaluation.

       "If you will wait here for a few minutes, I'll show Ettienne and his parents to his room, upstairs, then come back and show you the rest of the facilities."

       "That is acceptable."

       Leading the humans to the upper floor, Template went to the assigned room and knocked. No answer. She opened the door and led the party of three - four, counting the cat - in.

       "His roommate has moved in, but isn't here just now," said Template, as she showed them around the already partially occupied room. She didn't mention that the other boy was the illegitimate son of an (in)famous British super-spy and assassin. "Ettienne has been assigned this side. There's a closet, book shelves, a desk and bed. The bathroom is just down the hall to the right. Oh, and there's a freshly filled litterbox under the bed."

       They talked for a while, occasionally asking questions, which usually had to be translated by the boy, as did the answers. His English was good, though heavily accented. Ettienne left his luggage by his bed and the four of them went back downstairs. There Template found the adult centaur standing just beyond the outside door of Cheiron's room, examining the plants growing around the building.

       "Ah, good. Do we have the rest of the tour, now?"

       "Yes. If you'll just come this way..."

       The rest of the morning went smoothly, all three parents seeming impressed by the school. They had lunch, then returned to the dormitory until time to meet the ferry. Finally the white-haired student's parents hugged and kissed him goodbye and left him to unpack. The big centaur was less expressive, but did give his boy a fatherly hug.

       "Son, you behave. I will see you over the Winter holiday."

       "Yes, Father."

       At the dock the boat for their return trip to Bermuda was just arriving. From there the French family would take a commercial flight home, while the centaur boarded a Greek Navy amphibious transport plane. The de Chevaliers shook Template's hand and thanked her. While the centaur didn't offer any physical contact he did smile, nod to Template and thank her. They walked to the boat, the centaur's unshod hooves drumming a slow, muffled, syncopated beat on the weathered boards. Template heaved a great sigh, lifted into the air, and made a graceful flying turn to head back to the dorm to check on the new arrivals. The way these things usually worked they both were probably already in trouble of some sort. And there was still a lot of work to do, final preparations for the facilities and personnel.

            *            *            *

       There were still a few students not here, but all had been to the island and given the tour so they just needed to arrive and unpack. Classes didn't start until the next Monday, anyway. Those students who had been there for a while showed the latest newcomers the ropes, greatly helping the adult staff. The centaur, especially, attracted much attention, but Ettienne's long white hair and French accent also garnered their share. The last of the staff members to arrive flew in that afternoon, in time for the evening meal. Template actually stayed late for that, before flying home and changing back to Randy.

       We must be doing something right, he thought, as he finally got into bed. We are, as an institution, competently handling a centaur and a witch. We've got one more day to solve problems, and only a few left on the list. We might just make it.

            *            *            *

       "I can't figure out what's wrong with that damn ball thrower," muttered Junker, scowling. "No matter what interval you set, that gets progressively shorter, and the power quickly ramps up to max. I'm half tempted to put it on a pintle mount overlooking the bay as a defensive weapon."

       "Language," said Template, mildly. "We have to get in the habit of not swearing, so we don't do it around the students. Anyway, if we need batting practice before it's fixed we have several supers who can pitch at least that well. Not to mention a couple who could keep up with this thing at full speed."

       "I'm half suspecting that Abnotech has been fooling with it," said Junker. "That guy can mess up equipment just by looking at it hard."

       "He's not quite that bad," said Template, smiling a bit. "And he certainly knows his effect on technology, so I doubt he would deliberately come near anything he didn't need to."

       She left the gadgeteer muttering to himself as he continued to work on the device. That was her last planned item to check for today. Time for a major break.

            *            *            *

       Template watched as some of the teachers and students engaged in an informal soccer game. Informal because the normal rules just weren't flexible enough to take into account super powers. The stars appeared to be Eagle and a boy Template didn't recognize. The latter wore a blue leotard with a familiar symbol on the front, a powder-blue cape with gold trim and what looked like ballet slippers without the ribbons. She was vaguely aware that he had already been the target of some teasing over his effeminate costume and good looks. Just now, though, he was tearing up the beach. He obviously had speed, flight, durability and strength, and was putting them all to good use.

       They worked as a team; Eagle would use his superior agility and flying skill to set the ball up and then the boy would swat it across. Even teams of two super teachers were having trouble against them. About the only pair who could stand up to them were Blue Impact and Coach Able Tyler, the former actually removing her trademark leather jacket and scarf to play. Their physical prowess was at least equal to that of their opponents; neither could fly, but both were impressive jumpers. After losing three of five games even they finally yielded. Template found herself paying a lot of attention to the talented duo.

       "I didn't think you liked guys," said Invicta, teasing, when she noticed Template's interest.

       "I love to watch Eagle fly," said Template. "He's one of the few people I've ever met who does that significantly better than me. And that boy... he's, what, fifteen?"

       "Seventeen," said Invicta, surprising Template. "Bishonen bait, definitely."

       "Eh?"

       "He's going to be trouble," said Invicta, not directly answering the question. "Not because he's a bad kid, but because the other kids are already giving him a hard time and he's not the type to stand for it."

       Well, he was a slim, pretty boy with moderately long hair who looked younger than his age. He was definitely in for at least a lot of teasing, and maybe some bullying.

       "So who is he?"

       "He goes by the name ThunderScout," said Invicta. "He's a member of a long l