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 protégé he trained who later took the name Black Bat, and the Black Bat's daughter, who still uses the name Night Master 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 line of flamboyant and powerful supers, going all the way back to the original Captain Thunder of the Thirties."

       "Wow," said Template. "No wonder he's so good. They're supposed to be some of the top supers of all time."

       "Well, enough gossip," said Invicta. "This is our last day of relative calm, and I intend to enjoy it instead of talking shop."

       As another game ended and the winners accepted congratulations from each other and their opponents, Template noted the more-than-admiring glances Thunderscout gave Eagle. And figured there was a good chance the boy had another reason to be wary of bullies.

            *            *            *

       Somehow, everything they needed for the first day of school was ready on time. One thing which helped was that they weren't currently accepting anyone younger than 12 this first year. The middle school and high school students were all in two dorms, one for males and one for females, with an adult monitor of the appropriate gender in each.

       However, already on this first day of regular classes a super-powered fight had broken out among the boys, the results of which required major repairs to the males' locker room. Template, keeping a carefully neutral face, looked across her desk at the teenage boy responsible. She already knew much of what had happened, but wanted to hear his version of things. Right now ThunderScout was sitting there looking defiant, but also very vulnerable.

       "What happened?" she said, finally.

       "I just did what I was supposed to," he replied, tightly, in a surprising baritone voice. "The coach told us to use the shower cubicles for changing and cleaning. But as soon as I closed the door some of the boys started taunting me. Calling out in girly voices, accusing me of being shy. I ignored them, showered and dressed, but when I opened the door there were three of them standing there, sneering at me, obviously meaning to cause trouble. The oldest told me only a queer would close the door like that, and only a queer would look at other boys the way I did. I tried to go around them, but he grabbed me and shoved me against the wall, while the others closed in. That's when I hit him."

       Template sighed in exasperation. Randy had been bullied a bit in high school, but knowing that he could put his fist through any of them - or through a concrete wall, for that matter - had caused him to take the taunts much less seriously than most boys in the same situation. He'd settled for a couple of overt but minor demonstrations of strength and toughness, and some covert retaliations, and that had pretty much solved the problem. In many ways, Randy had had a blessed childhood. Template wondered if Randy might actually be a better choice for talking to the boy. Unless he really was...

       "Did you know I'm a lesbian?" said Template. From the boy's reaction, she saw he hadn't. He looked almost disgusted. "If you are gay, I'm one of the best people on the island to talk to."

       "I'm not gay!" he yelled, twitching in his chair. "That's not what's going on, here!"

       So, there was something besides looking young and a bit girly which made him more susceptible than most to hazing. And perhaps more than simple denial of his sexuality behind his reaction.

       "So what is 'it'?"

       "I'm... they told me not to tell anyone unless I had to, but..."

       He sighed, concentrated for a moment... and suddenly was an attractive teenage girl, who actually did look about 17, and was wearing fairly conventional clothing.

       Template stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. The girl jumped angrily to her feet.

       "You think this is funny?!"

       "Wait, please," said Template, quickly getting her mirth under control. "I'm sorry, but when I show you something I think you'll understand."

       She shifted Randy, and the girl stared, wide-eyed.

       "Oh..." was all she could manage.

       Randy was a bit chastened when she didn't laugh or even smile, but plunged ahead anyway.

       "So, you've shown me yours and I've shown you mine. Or is there something else?"

       That almost made her smile. She shook her head.

       "Okay, let's get back to our super selves before someone walks in here."

       They both changed identities and genders.

       "How long have you been able to turn into a boy?"

       "Just under two years," he said. "It's normal for people in my family to take on a super ID in their mid-teens. But always before the new form looked a lot like they did normally. Everyone was pretty surprised when mine was a boy. Some of them were pretty upset. Grandpa even said I must be a lesbian. I'm not, though. I like boys."

       Hearing that statement from this bishonen young man almost made Template laugh again, but she conquered the impulse.

       "Do you still like boys when you're a boy?"

       "Yes!" he said, scornfully.

       "No romantic or sexual feeling for girls, even when you're a boy, but you do have them for other boys."

       "No! I mean, that's right!"

       "Then you are gay," said Template. "At least, when you're in that form."

       "But I'm...!"

       "Much as I hate applying labels like that, in your case it's true. It's also pretty obvious, I'm afraid. And while some people here would be more sympathetic if they found out you were born female, others would harass you even more. So I think we keep that between us and maybe a couple of the other staff members."

       He nodded mutely.

       "Listen, I do understand what you're going through," said Template, gently, "if from the other direction. I want you to know you can come talk to me when you want to. You should also talk to Binary. Who should have been twins, but they fused in the womb into one person, who can switch back and forth between male and female. For now, though, I'm going to give you some tips on what to do to bullies. Oh; and I hope you're good with tools. You're going to have to help repair the shower stalls."

       "But they started it!"

       "And they say you did. Those not involved were split, but even your own testimony shows that you reacted out of proportion to what they were doing. You don't punch someone's lights out for shoving you. Especially when the knockback from your punch takes out several shower stalls and damages the far wall. You're just lucky Doomster was tough enough to take that sort of abuse without serious injuries."

       "Yes, ma'am," the boy sighed. "But I'd seen him do things the past few days and knew he was tough..."

       "That's enough," said Template, holding up a hand. "It's good you didn't just blindly lash out, but you still lashed out. Now, after your last class you go to your dorm and stay there until supper. You're not to go anywhere except your dorm, your classes, the cafeteria and the showers for the next two weeks. Someone from maintenance will be by to show you what to do about fixing the showers. You'll also have counseling sessions, to be scheduled later. And I will be by later to talk to you some more, too."

       "Yes, ma'am," the boy sighed, even more deeply this time.

            *            *            *

       "Far as I'm concerned, this is just the early part of weeding out the weak," said Coach Tyler.

       He was a general physical super, well past the normal limits in everything, though only about twentieth percentile in any of them as far as supers were concerned.

       "So you're saying it's alright to bully someone if they're gay," said Template, prepared to be outraged.

       "I don't care if he's gay, as long as he stands up for himself," said Coach, firmly. "Which he did. We can't have wimpy superheroes. He taught a bully a lesson, and is taking his punishment without whimpering. Yeah, he overdid it, but as long as he doesn't make a habit of starting fights, as far as I'm concerned the matter's over."

       "Oh," said Template, swallowing her outrage. "I'm glad of that. He's a good boy, with some family problems I can't go into which are making the situation even more difficult than it would be even if he were just gay."

       "I figured something like that," said Coach, nodding. "I've actually met some of that group. They're nice people, but they have standards most of us would consider strange."

       "Just keep me informed if you notice any more problems," said Template. "I've told him he can talk to me or some of the other staff about them, but you know how teenagers are."

       "Heh. Yeah. Will do."

       As she walked away Template wondered if their policy of letting someone's current physical gender determine which set of showers they used was adequate. For one thing, it didn't take into account those whose mental gender was different from their physical, as was the case with her and, apparently, ThunderScout. Well, that was one reason they had two separate, individual shower rooms besides the males' and females'. And no rule could handle every exception to the norm; that's why good judgement was so important in those who enforced the rules. They had known that from the start of this project. Only it looked like the exceptions were going to be more common and more exceptional than they had anticipated. Template sighed.

       And I thought I had problems when all I had to deal with was my own gender changes.

       Note that non-supers in this world are hardly helpless, and rarely have reason to feel helpless. While there have been non-super masks, the tradition is that people who want to do something and have powers wear a costume, while those who don't have powers but want to do something wear a uniform(law enforcement, emergency services or military). Given that what we would consider advanced (even approaching the expression of Clarke's Law) technology and even some true magic are available to non-supers, those can go a long way towards equalizing the power difference between supers and normals.

            *            *            *

       By the third day the teachers' lounge had already become a popular refuge for the adults on the school staff. Invicta, Payback, Cyclone Ranger and Template were already there, relaxing between classes, when Burgundy staggered in. She closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down a bit before catching herself. The others waited patiently for her to recover enough to vent.

       "Cheiron is upset that he's not having sex, and feels no compunction about saying so, openly, to anyone who will listen," moaned Burgundy, spontaneously. "He doesn't care if the partner is male or female, or even underage, he just wants sex and doesn't understand why no-one else is interested. Ettienne has upset a few other students, just 'cause he's a witch, though when pressed none of the complainers can actually say he's done anything wrong. That Canadian boy, Thurlough, has offended everybody, 'cause he says he's 'normal' and shouldn't have to go to school with 'freaks'..."

       "Sounds like a school to me," said Invicta, dryly.

       "So you've got a high school guy who built a freeze ray and a teleporter, and who says he's not a super," said Cyclone Ranger. "He any relation to Pine?"

       Conversation and commiseration continued for several minutes, as they naturally drifted to other topics.

       "President Thurlin still hasn't explained anything about his getting shot," said Cyclone Ranger.

      Though a conservative, he felt betrayed by the President and most of the current administration.

       "Did you really expect him to?" said Burgundy, in disgust. "As far as he's concerned, it never happened."

       "Well, the Black Mask was a member of a small group of supers who had a quiet talk with Vice President Gould while Thurlin was still laid up," said Template. "While he won't reveal much about what they discussed, he did tell the rest of us that when the Secret Service people told Thurlin he had to wear a bullet-proof vest for security, he - the President - thought he had on some sort of steel plate armor. So when the bullet hit his chest like a heavyweight boxer's punch, he thought he'd been betrayed, and given a defective vest."

       "That's the trouble with calling them 'bullet-proof,'" said Cyclone Ranger, dryly. "Nothing is bullet-proof. Not even a battleship. Someone always has a bigger bullet. Properly, the vests are soft body armor, or ballistic vests."

       The lights flickered, came back, then went out entirely for several seconds before coming back on far too bright. All their beepers sounded, but the displays gave gibberish, and they kept coming back on after being reset. Finally, the lights faded to normal and the beepers died completely.

       All super teachers not in class go to the main base entrance, came a mental message from Eve. All primary defenders to your stations.

       "Who needs a lift?" said Template, rising to her feet.

       "Me," said Payback, reluctantly. "I'm defense, but my station is the base."

       "Same here," said Invicta. "Except I don't need a lift, of course."

       "I'll take Burgundy," said Cyclone Ranger.

       "If you don't mind, I'd rather get a lift from Invicta," said Burgundy. She smiled apologetically at their meteorologist. "Sorry, Al, but your wind messes up my hair."

       "No problem."

       The lounge had an exit directly to the outside. The flyers lifted off, two of them carrying passengers. As they rose and headed northeast they could see others also taking to the air from all over the island. Some were headed to base; others to defensive positions.

       "Is that smoke?" said Invicta, shouting to be heard over Cyclone Ranger's wind.

       "Where?" said Payback.

       "Coming from the mountain peak over the base."

       "Looks like it," said Template. "Must be coming out of one of the exhaust vents."

       She and Invicta drifted to the left - with their passengers, of course - away from Cyclone Ranger, so they could talk without shouting.

       "Wasn't the first of the special tech classes supposed to be today?"

       "Yeah, Burgundy, I think you're right," said Payback.

       There was already a crowd gathered at the evacuation point outside the main entrance to the old base. Most of these were techs and other support staff for the base. Template spotted Junker and the students about the same time as the others, and landed nearby. Template was suddenly concerned; the gadgeteer seemed to be in shock. He was sitting with his arms around his knees, head down, rocking a bit.

       "Junker?" said Cyclone Ranger, who had known him for several years. "What's the matter, buddy?"

       "They're horrible!" said Junker, whimpering, his voice muffled by his pants. He turned to gaze up at the assembled teachers with haunted eyes. "First the youngest found and opened the maintenance access to one of the waste tanks. And almost fell in. Then, after I grabbed him, he threw up all over me, because of the smell. While I was cleaning us up two of them tag-teamed a broken monorail pod until it started running - backwards, into a wall. Fortunately they weren't in it. Then Gadgetive got in a big theoretical argument with Spacer over the benefits of tailored molecules for cleanup - organic vs. inorganic. And then - Then! - the Canadian boy sneaked away while I was lecturing in the robotics lab and started tinkering with something I had specifically told them was off limits!"

       "Way to go, Freezer-Burn!" Gadgetive chided.

       "Don't call me that!" said Thurlough, angrily. He turned back to the teachers. "I just wanted to show these doofuses how to make the actuators work."

       Template spun around to glare at the boy. In addition to their past history in Canada, and the few run-ins they'd had here already, she could tell from his preemptive defensiveness that he was guilty of something in this incident.

       "He activated a component from a Myrmidon!" said the Fortean. "One of the old ones, incorporating alien technology."

       The Fortean - or Fort as most called him - was a collector of odd facts and an experiencer of odd events. Some accused him of having a power which caused weird happenings. He claimed he just had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. Somehow, no matter how dangerous or even catastrophic the situation, he always came through unscathed. Which had led to him having an unenviable record of being a sole survivor on far too many occasions. And he'd been doing this for over a century.

       "Fortunately, Junker and I were able to use a zapper already set up and ready in the lab to deactivate it," said Jimmy Kent, the Lunie tech guy. "It's an EMP generator. Must have been put there for just such an emergency."

       "I just don't know why you people are making such a fuss about this!"

       "Timmy," said Template, who had made a point of looking up information on as much of what was in the old base as she could, "that alien equipment uses incorporated processing and memory. There are several types of fiber in the metallic ceramic composite material. Some reinforce it, some provide power transmission and some provide data transmission. The latter have nodes which contain processing and memory capability. All arranged in a neural net form. The original Myrmidons rebelled against their master and tried to take over the Earth when something activated the old programming stored in the alien components."

       "Oh..." said Thurlough, looking abashed.

       "Well, that was only the climax of the outing," said the Fortean. He gave a short laugh. "We made the mistake of putting five gadgeteers under the supervision of two other gadgeteers. Their manic enthusiasm fed off each other's."

       "Yeah, we..." said Jimmy. "Hey!"

       Template couldn't help but grin. She'd worked with gadgeteers, and could even emulate the ability, so had a pretty good mental image of the session.

       "Well, we did kinda get a little hyper," Gadgetive admitted. "But there's so much cool stuff in there!"

       No-one was hurt, and all the equipment on the island was again working properly. The excitement appeared to be over.

       "We'll decide on your punishment later," said Template, eyeing Thurlough direly.

       "Why you?!" the boy demanded.

       "Not just me. Anything which causes an effect this big goes before the board."

       "But I'm not the one who triggered the EMP!" He swept an accusing gesture at the teachers. "They did that!"

       "You'll have your say later. Right now, everyone back to class, work, or whatever."

       Template wound up with Burgundy on the way back. As they flew just above the thick jungle growth, heading down the mountain towards the school, Eagle approached.

       "Hey, Template!" he called, smiling and waving. "We still scheduled for five?"

       "Yeah," she answered, smiling back. "Looking forward to it!"

       "Don't tell me you two have a date?!" said Burgundy, after the other flyer had left.

       "You know the islanders have an amateur talent show? They've decided to add a super category. Eagle and I are working on a dance routine." She laughed. "Wow, can that guy fly!"

       "I do believe I detect something more than admiration in your voice," said Burgundy, smiling.

       "Sorry to disillusion you, but it's strictly Platonic," said Template, dryly.

            *            *            *

       After school Template had one other duty before joining Eagle. The school's faculty had started a program to talk with those on the island who knew something about it and the base from the early days. Though the project was formal, the actual interviewing was not, being more a series of guided conversations. These were recorded and later transcribed. They had already learned much which wasn't in the records. Today it was Template's turn to speak with George Kensington, their most popular target.

       "Good afternoon!" George called out as he stepped onto the porch of his small, island home to welcome Template. "I hear you folks had a bit of excitement this morning. I stepped outside when the lights went out and saw smoke coming out of the top of the hill."

       Template gave a brief explanation, leaving out the names.

       "Ah, kids," laughed George. "Especially gadgeteers. Well, come on in, have a seat. Want a beer?"

       "No, thank you," said Template. "Your mention of smoke reminds me of something, though. I understand that all the facilities have a natural ventilation flow, so there will be fresh air even if the power fails."

       "Yeah. Pine loved little flourishes like that."

       "He made this place from nothing. Guess he felt a creator's pride in his work."

       "Contrary to the myth, there was an island here before Pine remade the place," said George. "Several small ones, actually, though they were probably one island when the sea level was lower during the last ice age. Those islands are now the peaks with the older vegetation. They all have coral on and around them, from before they were uplifted. The local plants and animals they already held spread downwards onto the new land. Pine and his people helped that along, and also brought in other living things. Within five years they had most of the island well covered and populated."

       "So he somehow raised the sea floor," said Template.

       "He used a graviplanor to pull more magma into the old, cold mass under this part of the ocean. Same source as made the volcano Bermuda sits on and the original islands here. His control was good enough that Bermuda was barely affected. He then pooled some magma under the south end of the island, where he had his quarters, civilian administration and meeting rooms. And the volcano, of course."

       "But didn't someone detect that he... Oh, wait; that would have been before graviplanors were made illegal."

       "Yeah. Pine was one of the first to use it, and maybe invented it. We know he used a similar principal for some of his flying equipment."

       George took another swallow of his beer before resuming. When he did speak his eyes were distant, as if he were looking back in time.

       "Pine was different from most super inventors," said the older man. "As a rule, they are brilliant at inventing something to do a specific job, but terrible at inventing something practical for general use. Most of the time their devices would be impossibly expensive to manufacture, even if they could be made safe for normals to use. Pine studied industrial design, processes and standards and patented several useful and practical inventions. He used the money from those to improve his lab, and created even more useful and practical inventions. All the while also producing things more traditional for the mad scientist. So by 1959 he had both a large amount of money, corporate backing for earning more, and gadgets no-one else suspected. He also had an Edisonian research and development lab, just full of gadgeteers. He bought the islands here from Great Britain and set to work."

       "And nobody noticed anything suspicious when he raised the sea floor," said Template, astounded.

       "Oh, going back over the records afterwards we could see the signs," said George. "However, at the time anything which drew interest to Pine and his rapidly growing installation were explained away by him. 'Yes, the seismic activity was caused by a land reclamation technique we were experimenting with. Should prove very useful if we can perfect it. Could you send me copies of your data? That should help us with the calibration.'"

       "So he took advantage of a combination of greed and bureaucratic indifference."

       "Pretty much. Plus the inherent and often naive enthusiasm most scientists have for sharing their interests. He presented a flamboyant front, which was passed off as typical of an eccentric scientist, and kept his illegal activities low profile. If someone did notice something improper or suspicious, they either shrugged it off as just another eccentricity or Pine or one of his people explained it away."

       They talked for a while longer, the lonely widower obviously glad for the company. Then Template's com beeped, reminding her that she had another appointment.

       "Thanks," she told George, rising and shaking his hand. "This information really helps fill in the blanks."

       "Any time," the older man said, smiling.

            *            *            *

       Finally the day was over. Template, tired and sweaty and on the way to the showers, couldn't help but envy the students, who had to put in significantly fewer hours than the teachers. She decided to skip showering or even changing, and turned towards the bay for a quick dip in the ocean before flying home. One of the major advantages of their location was the opportunity to swim in the warm Gulf Stream waters which flowed past the island. Template noticed that Andrea and several of the younger students - including Energia - were on their way to the same protected cove she intended to use. She flew down to chat a bit, since they were heading in the same direction. They were almost there when they passed Blue Impact, wearing a training version of her regular costume.

       "Come and swim with us!" Andrea called. "We're going to try and find the entrance to the old welcome center!"

       "No, thanks," said Blue Impact, though she did change course to walk with them.

       "You don't want to enjoy that gorgeous underwater scenery?"

       "My body tissues are as dense as magnesium," said Blue Impact. "I sink unless I swim hard or wear major flotation. And I can't hold my breath for more than five minutes."

       "Good Lord!" said Andrea. "Well, I could get you some SCUBA gear..."

       "Thanks, but I'm really not interested just now," said Blue Impact. "Another time, maybe. I've got time scheduled on that new exercise machine. It's the only thing here meant for working out which would actually challenge me."

       "I didn't realize you were that strong."

       "I'm eighty-fifth percentile in strength."

       "Wow, that's almost in Template's league!" said Energia.

       "I guess being in the business for twelve years helped you train up," said Template, also impressed.

       "She doesn't look old enough to have been a costumed super for that long," said Energia, sounding skeptical.

       "I started out in costume when I was fifteen," said Blue Impact, grinning. She made a fist and flexed her arm, causing her modest-sized but sharply defined muscles to stand out starkly under her skin. "Kept running into villains who just wouldn't believe this little girl could hurt them. There weren't a lot of heroes in our area back then, due to a big scandal a few years before I started. The bad guys just weren't used to the idea of someone being far past human limits, especially someone who didn't look it. I even won a few fights simply because I weighed more than the thugs they sent after me! And I've grown some since then."

       "You sure are light on your feet for someone who masses nearly two hundred kilos," said Andrea, who was good at math.

       "That's right, make fun of my weight," said Blue Impact, rolling her eyes in comic fashion.

       "Well, why don't you go exercise and lose some of it," said Andrea, laughing. "I'm going for a swim!"

       Template joined them briefly, just long enough to get the sweat off, then waved goodbye and headed home. Except that no sooner had she lifted, dripping, out of the water than her com beeped.

       "You have a visitor at the base landing field," said the comtroller.

       Sighing, and wondering if the day would ever let her go home, Template flew towards the mountain. Her tiredness vanished when she saw Rapscallion waiting for her near one of the Intrepids' hoppers. She cried out a greeting and flying-tackled him in a fierce hug.

       "Easy, girl!" he laughed, returning the hug almost as enthusiastically.

       "What brings you here?" asked Template, as she guided him towards a secluded outdoor visitors' area, surrounded by hedges.

       "How long has it been since you've seen Colossa?" asked Rapscallion, dropping onto one of the weathered benches. He looked much more serious, now that they were private.

       "Oh, it's... Wow, over three weeks."

       "Yeah," said Rapscallion, nodding. He regarded Template silently for a moment. "I thought you were just another of her fuck buddies - she's only had a few, usually keeps them for a few months, loses interest after a while and does without for a few months, then finds someone else. But she's really in love with you. Misses you."

       "It works both ways," said Template, quietly. "I miss her, too. And she can come here almost as easily as I can come there."

       "Yeah, but you go home every evening. You go straight home, though, instead of coming by the base or her apartment."

       Template shifted uneasily.

       "Yeah, I see what you mean. It's just that I've been so tired... Tell you what. Let her know I'd like to spend the night at her apartment. I haven't done that nearly as much as I have slept at her quarters at the base. We can even meet somewhere, have dinner... Randy and Karen. It'll make a nice change for both of us."

       "Tell her yourself," said Rapscallion, pulling out his com.

       Template took the device, hesitated for a moment, then punched the speed dial.

       "Hi! Remember me? Listen, are you planning to be busy tonight?"

       Blue Impact was inspired largely by Dwight Decker's Skye Blue, who is available in several issues of a comic with the same name, published by MU Comics.

            *            *            *

       "Didn't you ever wonder why Dr. Hartford still doesn't connect you with Template?" said Karen, as they were getting dressed the next morning. "I mean, he knows your powers, and 'Template' practically shoves his face in it."

       "He's even the one who used the term template," said Randy, nodding. "Truth is, a lot of these super geniuses don't just overlook the obvious, the scornfully reject it. Because it is obvious. Too easy for them, I guess."

       "Yeah, there is that," said Karen, grinning. She tucked her mask in the concealed compartment of her purse. "Do I look decent?"

       "Oh, much better than that," said Randy, leering.

       They both laughed, then started for the door.

       "See you tonight?" she asked, longingly.

       "I have no idea," was Randy's reluctant reply. "I warned you my schedule would be full the next few months."

       "Yeah," she said, sighing, "but a girl can always hope."

       They kissed. Then she opened the door, and they went their separate ways.

            *            *            *

       Template and Andrea were double-teaming a boy wearing girl's clothing. He looked fairly miserable.

       "Okay, let's review, Bobby," said Template, taking the lead. "You were caught sneaking into the females' locker..."

       "I wasn't sneaking!" said the boy. "I just walked in. And since I was a girl there's nothing wrong with that!"

       "When you were asked who you were you claimed to be a new student, and gave a false name," said Andrea, sternly. "That's sneaking."

       "Fortunately, she knew we didn't have any new students coming in today," said Template. "That, and your outfit, were what gave you away."

       "What's wrong with my outfit?" the boy demanded, defensively.

       "Drag queens the world over are dying to try that outfit!" said Andrea, barely able to get the words out for laughing. "Not to mention the fact that you were practically a caricature of a human female!"

       Template nudged her foot. Andrea cleared her throat and regained control.

       "Where did you get those clothes, anyway?"

       "I went to Tina - I mean, Rubber Made - and told her I wanted to practice shapeshifting into a girl, but needed some clothes, and since she had the best wardrobe on the island could she help me?" He grinned, though it was forced. "You know; one shapeshifter helping another."

       "I don't think what she did can be considered 'helping,'" said Andrea.

       "Wait. You mean she set me up?"

       "Well, she did choose a pretty silly outfit," said Template, smirking. "Bobby, you're seventeen years old. Don't you know anything about how real women dress? Or how they're shaped, for that matter?"

       Bobby muttered something unintelligible.

       "Okay, here's how the rules work," said Template, getting serious again. "You use the facilities appropriate to your current physical gender, unless you have a good reason not to. And that reason must be explained to a teacher and an administrator, who must both agree that it's valid. If it is, you use one of the separate showers."

       "Yeah," said Bobby, tiredly.

       "Thing is, if you want to use the girls' showers you must not only be a girl, you must use them openly," said Andrea. "No sneaking around. No lying about who you are."

       "But the girls will give me a hard time!"

       "Besides being more modest," said Template, dryly. "But that's how the rules work. If you turn female you can use the girls' locker room and showers, but you can't lie if someone asks who you are. And you can't duplicate a real person without their permission. If you try you will be caught. There aren't that many people on this island who can exactly duplicate someone else."

       "That's why they call me Bobby Double!" said the boy, proudly.

       "Well, you'll be called a lot of other things, if you keep going to the girls' showers," said Template, firmly. "By both the girls and the boys!"

       "No, they were the ones..." He went silent suddenly.

       "Some sort of bet or challenge, between some of the older boys, as to who could get into the girls' showers first?" said Template, guessing based on some of Randy's previous exploits.

       He didn't answer.

       "Well, your punishment - and this is a mild one, since you were caught right away - is to attend the upcoming seminar on practical disguise," said Template. When she saw the boy's relief, she added "You'll be the speaker's demonstrator."

       "Uh..." said Bobby.

       "That's right," said Andrea, almost gleefully. "You get to be the clothes dummy the Black Mask uses to show how to dress as someone else. Knowing his skill, I doubt you'll even have to change shape."

       "Think of it as a learning experience," said Template, smirking.

            *            *            *

       "You ever think of starting a family?" said Template, lazily, as she cuddled with Colossa.

       "Oh, yeah," said the size-changer. "I come from a big family. And however much I might hate the way they treated me sometimes, I loved having lots of brothers, sisters and cousins around."

       She raised herself up a bit and looked at Template.

       "You serious about having kids?"

       "Yeah. Working around the students so much - especially the younger ones - makes me realize how much I'm missing."

       "Well, it's fine with me, but we'd have to have one each."

       "Boy and girl? Fine with me."

       "No," said Colossa, poking her in the ribs. "I mean we'd each have to have one."

       That woke her back up.

       "Wait a minute..."

       "What?" said Colossa, tone daring.

       "I..." Template swallowed and plunged in. "I do not want to get pregnant and have a baby!"

       "You were the one saying how you wanted kids," said Colossa. She grinned impishly. "Well, that's how you do it. I'm told it's a very rewarding experience."

       "But..." She tried another tack. "I meant I wanted to be a father. The father of our children."

       "So? That's not a problem. You can impregnate me the old fashioned way. And then just do for yourself what you did for those lesbian friends of yours." Colossa was looking positively maternal. "Just think... you'd be growing a new little person inside your own body, which you'd bring into the world, then feed with milk from your own breasts."

       "But... Get myself pregnant?! The incest question alone would..."

       "Genetically, Template is no closer related to Randy than I am," said Colossa, pointedly. "We can have Dr. Whiskers check to make sure, but I don't think that would be a problem."

       "But I'd have to stay Template for nine months straight! And what would the school think about an unmarried pregnant teacher and assistant principal!"

       "We get married as Randy and Karen," said Colossa, resisting the urge to point out there was nothing "straight" about what they were discussing. "I mean, we were talking about that, anyway. If anyone asks Template, you just say that you're legally married in your secret ID. Simple truth."

       "But..." said Template, growing increasingly uneasy.

       Colossa smacked her on the rump.

       "Why is it okay for you to want me to have a baby, but not me to want you to have one?"

       "But..."

       She smacked her again.

       "Stop hitting me!"

       "Then stop saying 'but...'" said Colossa, snickering.

       "Are you really serious about this?"

       "Yep. Equal rights, baby. You're my partner, and both of us can safely have children, so we share the burden."

       Template sat up, hugged her knees and swallowed noisily.

       "Okay, I... really have to think about this."

       "I'm not in a hurry. If you are, feel free to go ahead." She laughed, and hugged Template. "My only regret in regard to this plan is that I can't turn into a man and knock you up myself."

       "If you really wanted to I'm sure you could figure out a way," said Template, sourly. "Even if the closest you came was to use my semen and a strap-on baster."

       Colossa fell back on the bed, laughing.

            *            *            *

       Albert Flash (15), Energia (13), Cosmic Ray (17) and Blue Blazer (16) were being instructed in energy blast use by Myna. Though he didn't have energy projection powers himself, his potent personal force field made it safe for him to be in the line of fire when these novices were practicing.

       Currently, they were on a spit of land south of the main base, where a series of targets had been set up decades before for henchmen to use. The old targets had recently been augmented by several more of various types, some simply blocks of metal, concrete and ceramic armor but others interactive.

       "Comtrol, radar check for the shooting range, please," said Myna, flying a couple hundred meters above the firing line safely ensconced in his Coke-bottle green shielding.

       "Showing you clear all the way to orbit," came the response.

       "Good enough. All right, boys and girl! Time to learn!" said Myna, as he descended to just above the ground. "Energia, as the youngest and the only girl, you go first. Don't try for power right now; just see if you can hit that closest target."

       Randy's niece nodded, stepped up to the firing line, raised both hands, wrists together and palms out, and concentrated, chewing her lip a bit. With a bang and a sustained crackling, a bolt of yellow-white shot out from the joined bases of her palms, lancing downrange. Her aim was a bit off, but since this was a beam rather than a burst she was able to quickly correct. After a few seconds she stopped; the center of the target had been burned out, but there was a long scorch running from high and right to the middle.

       "Not bad. And, notice, that she did correct when she saw she was off. I think all of you can fire for at least a few seconds, so don't just pop a blast and hope. Keep your beam going long enough to correct and get centered on the target. The more you do that now, the easier hitting center will be when you do fire off short blasts. Okay, Albert Flash up next!"

       "Well, I can beam for a few seconds, but that's not the easiest way my power works," the boy stated, as he stepped forward for his turn. "I mean..."

       "We're not working on optimizing the effectiveness of an attack just now," said Myna. "We're working on hitting the target. Go ahead."

       The boy, looking much more uneasy than Energia had, turned sideways to his target and raised his fist, sighting down his arm. There was a short wait of gradually increasing tension; then a brilliant white flash fired off. The top left corner of the target was gone.

       "Typical male," snickered Energia, who looked older than her actual age in costume and tried to act as old as she looked. "No stamina."

       "S-sorry," Albert Flash gasped, reddening.

       "Don't worry about it now," said Myna, who completely missed the joke. "This is just the first try. Okay, Blue Blazer."

       "Can't I go again?" said Albert Flash, almost whining.

       "You'll all have more chances later."

       Blue Blazer - a year older and several times cooler (at least in his own mind) - walked past the retreating Albert Flash, a smug grin on his face. He stepped up, extended his right fist with his left hand clenched tightly around the right wrist, and shot off a three-second burst of what looked like a jet of blue flame . When he stopped his grin slowly faded, leaving him looking puzzled.

       "Did I go through the same hole she did?"

       "You completely missed the target," said Myna, manfully keeping a straight face. "Remember what I said about correcting your aim? You never shifted it."

       "Well, I couldn't see," the boy replied, resentfully.

       "Okay, Cosmic Ray up next."

       "But I missed!" said Blue Blazer. "I want to go again!"

       "As I just told Albert Flash, you'll all go again in a bit. Okay, Ray!"

       The last - and oldest - shooter didn't do quite as well as Energia had done, but considerably better than the other two boys.

       "Good start, actually," said Myna. "And I mean all of you. Let's start over with Energia on the next target, now. Think about what you did wrong before, and try again."

            *            *            *

       Meanwhile, flying class - being taught by Eagle - was underway on the north side of the island.

       "Freebird, get back here," Eagle called out mildly. "We're about to start."

       "Sure!" the girl called back.

       She swooped gracefully into the hovering line Eagle was guiding the students to form. None of the others were quite as accomplished at this as either Freebird or their teacher. One of them, face a carefully emotionless mask, kept bobbing varying distances up and down, occasionally going as much as two hundred meters up or all the way down to the water in the lagoon. Thunderscout and Ettienne were both doing moderately well, but Eagle knew that the latter was only flying through a cast spell, which would wear off in a few minutes. On the other hand, the staff he carried with him most places seemed to be useful for helping his balance, much as with a tightrope walker. Mentat 7 was levitating through sheer power of mind over matter, and looked like he was about to blow a tube.

       "Approximately one super in five can fly to at least some extent," said Eagle, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind and surf. "This doesn't count those who use gadgets, including glidercapes and such. I'm talking about what each and every one of you is doing right now: defying gravity through your own power. Interceptor, can't you hold still?"

       "Sorry," the boy gasped. "My power doesn't throttle easy."

       "I'll keep it brief, then," said Eagle. "Originally we had planned to go straight to things such as obstacle avoidance and three-dimensional maze threading, but once we actually saw you kids flying we realized most of you had not had any instruction at all. So this preliminary class is for the self-taught and those having trouble of some sort. We'll have the full class later, and include several students who aren't here for this. Okay, I know hovering is hard for most of you, so let's get back down onto the beach."

       There were several gasps of relief as they angled down to the warm sand. A couple had hard landings, and Interceptor actually sent a splash of sand up while burying himself almost knee deep. Eagle resisted the urge to wince. Fortunately, the boy was tough.

       "Okay, I want all of you to practice hovering on your own time, because we will be using it a lot in this class. Now, the second exercise is related: I want you to fly to that rock outcropping over there and back, on a curving course following the beach but staying over the water. Touch the rock then fly back on the other side of the lagoon and return here. I'll demonstrate."

       Eagle casually lifted off, the stylized golden winged emblem on the chest of his mostly red costume glinting in the morning sun as he smoothly swooped over the lagoon on a curved path, touched the rock in passing, and returned.

       "Okay? We're working on control, not speed. Now, each of you in turn."

       Ettienne went first, deliberately chosen so he wouldn't have to recast his spell. Eagle and some of the others had noticed that the boy was shy about actually using magic in the presence of others. He flew well for a novice, not wobbling much, smacking the rock as he flew by, and returning for a landing which including a slight stumble. Eagle motioned for the next in line - Thunderscout - to go. As the boy took off Eagle noticed that Interceptor was slipping to the back of the line.

       Thunderscout flew quite well, doing far better under way than he had while hovering in formation. Freebird was next, and did even better. One by one they all managed, some flying unevenly in course, altitude and speed the whole way, but all of them making the trip successfully. Then came Interceptor.

       The fifteen year old sighed, got a determined look on his face, and took an odd sort of crouched stance. He then literally leapt into the air, and shot across the lagoon. Instead of bearing right and curving around left to pass by the rock, he flew straight towards it. And hit it squarely, sending fragments flying, coming to a dead stop and dropping into the water.

       "The rest of you stay here!" Eagle shouted, as he shot out over the lagoon.

       Fortunately, the boy was tough; he was already climbing onto the narrow strip of sand under the rock. Eagle landed beside him.

       "You okay?"

       "Just hurt my pride a bit," the boy said, sourly. "My power just doesn't work that way."

       "Okay, I'll help you with some extra training later," Eagle promised. "For now, lets get back."

            *            *            *

       "Why am I here?" said Repli-Kate, at 12 one of the youngest students currently in the school. "I don't change my shape. I just make more of me."

       "Most standard power classification systems group self-duplication powers in a subfolder in the same folder as the subfolder for shapeshifting in general," said Binary, who was currently female.

       She was also currently wearing an outfit which would have caused a scandal in a more traditional school. Her shorts were fine, and even the t-shirt would have been acceptable for a class involving physical activity (which shapeshifting arguably was) if she'd been wearing something under it. Since they were currently in an air-conditioned classroom, the fact that she was braless was being made obvious. This was causing Bobby Double no end of distraction.

       "You've all probably noticed that I'm dressed very casually, in loose or elastic clothing," said Binary. "The notes for this class requested you do the same, and I'm glad to see that you all did. Because if you change and your clothes don't, some changes could be very uncomfortable."

       She raised an eyebrow and smiled a bit as the students shifted uneasily, their imaginations supplying good - or bad - examples of the problem.

       "Shapeshifting is a rare power," she said, beginning the class. "So rare that most social structures and legal systems have trouble dealing with it. Doing more than just shifting mass around is even rarer... Bobby, honey, would you do me a favor?"

       "S-sure," said the boy, startled.

       "Change into a girl, please."

       "H-huh?"

       "Come on. The rest of us here are girls. It'll make things more comfortable."

       What Binary didn't say was that between his staring at her chest and his obvious (through his snug, if stretchable, shorts) erection, Bobby was making his classmates uncomfortable, as well as his teacher. The boy flushed and muttered something under his breath, then changed into a female version of his usual self. Binary was pleased to see that he had learned at least one lesson about being female; she'd half expected an over-inflated blond. Of course, the newly female student now had her own problems with the cold air in the room. Which was part of what Binary wanted to teach him/her.

       "Much better. Did you change genetically, or just reshape your body?"

       "I can change my genes, too, but that's harder," said the boy.

       "So you just reshaped your body," said Binary, patiently.

       "Yeah."

       "Okay, getting back to what I just said, what you did was illegal in twenty-three countries. Of course, changing your genes is illegal in thirty-six. Both actions are illegal in eighteen countries."

       "Huh?" said Bobby Double.

       "Most countries don't know how to deal with physical transformation," said Binary. "Either they ignore the situation - meaning some laws for other things have unintended effects on shapeshifters - or they try something hasty and ill-considered and wind up looking stupid. Most people who can change their shape do that simply by moving mass around, like Rubber Made. Some can change their mass, too, like Bobby Double. Some shapeshifters can flow smoothly between forms, like both Bobby and Rubber Made. Others can only switch between two or more distinct forms; that's me, but I'm unusual in how I do it. Most of us multi-forms are actually people who use some sort of advanced technology or magic... Yes, Kate?"

       "Teacher, why isn't Wolfman Mack here, then? He goes between human and wolfman. I'm guessing that's magic."

       "He and Velocirapper are currently in a special anger management class," said Binary, hiding a shudder.

            *            *            *

       "I'm surprised so few of them have costumes," said Colossa, thoughtfully, as she gave Template a massage which was definitely intended to lead to something more.

       "Well, kids - especially the young ones - have trouble not using their powers inappropriately," said Template, who was enjoying the attention and definitely anticipating what it was leading to. "So a costume is kinda irrelevant. They're as likely to wear it to show off as to keep their civilian IDs secret. Also, most of them don't come from super families, so there's no tradition of secrecy. Though some first-generation supers are made to wear costumes because their families don't want it known they have powers."

       "So you group by abilities to teach them how to use their powers," said Colossa, working the knots out of her love's shoulders, "but by age - or scholastic ability - for teaching the regular school stuff?"

       "Pretty much," said Template, with a contented sigh. "Today was the first day we went beyond simple evaluation of powers. And, boy, do we still have a lot to learn! We actually don't have any teachers with some of the powers a few of the students have. And some of our kids are just... weird. I mean, how do you teach someone with poison touch to use it?! Overall, though, we had surprisingly few problems. Most of those involved powers being more variable between users than expected. We'll just have to be flexible. That means a lot of work, and a lot of judgement calls."

       "Poor baby," said Colossa, sympathetically, as she moved her kneading lower. "Well, no-one's ever really tried this before."

       "I thought we tried this position last night?"

       Colossa smacked Template on the butt.

       "No! Silly! I meant teaching a whole school of super powered kids at once. Always before, any training was done one-on-one, mentor to pupil, or in small groups by teams."

       "We're still doing a lot of that, too," said Template. "Oh! There!"

       "Here?"

       "Yes!"

       "You sure you don't mean here?"

       "Oooohhhh..."

       "I thought so," said Colossa, smirking. "You still have a few things to learn about being a girl, you know."

            *            *            *

       "Running on water!" exclaimed Speed Freak. "With the help of my special guest, Rio, we will demonstrate the basic techniques."

       Speed Freak was the physics teacher, an older man with greying hair who at his peak had been able to run at just under the speed of sound. He was past his peak, now, but still one of the fastest land travelers on Earth. Rio, a Hispanic woman in her early thirties dressed in an almost scandalous costume, was more than twice as fast.

       The two of them ran around the beach to the far side of the lagoon together, took brief running starts, then pounded their way across the water, sending up huge rooster tails of spray. They hit the beach at the beginning of an area they had made sure ahead of time was clear of students or other obstacles and slowed, coming back to their starting place.

       "Looks easy, doesn't it?" said Speed Freak, beaming. "Well, with the proper technique, here in a sheltered lagoon, it is. But I wouldn't want to try it on the open ocean. Rio can handle that better than I can, but even she doesn't try long crossings; or crossings of any length during rough weather."

       "Unless you can swim at super speed, don't go out on any rough water," Rio added. "It's almost impossible to get back up and running once you're down."

       The students for this class were UltraManic ("Not UltraManiac!"), Velocirapper and, interestingly, Chestnut.

       Speed Freak and Rio lectured for several minutes, demonstrating such things as foot positions, then asked if there were questions. Their students looked too nervous to ask.

       "Alright, UltraManic, why don't you try it," said Speed Freak. "Just back off as far as you need to get up to full speed before you hit the water."

       The seventeen year old nodded, and began trotting around the beach, building up speed as he went. He vanished into the jungle for a few seconds. Then there was a brief, rapid pounding sound and he burst out onto the beach, heading straight for them across the lagoon. At first he did okay, but about a third of the way across he began to have balance problems. He veered back and forth, hurling up huge amounts of water, more hydroplaning than running, for perhaps three seconds before reaching the beach, well off to the side. He vanished into the (fortunately not very dense) plant growth there, accompanied by multiple ripping and tearing sounds. Rio was halfway down the beach to his exit point when he reappeared, looking a bit rumpled and with a few minor cuts and bruises.

       "Not bad, actually," said Speed Freak, after Rio had escorted the shaken boy back to the group. "Just need to work on your balance."

       Velocirapper was up next, shifting to his reptilian form as he jogged around the beach. They watched as the huge dinosaur man approached the water at high speed, and disappeared into it with a massive splash. Several stunned seconds went by before he reappeared, about a quarter of the way out from the beach. Rather than go back onto the land he simply swam strongly across. Reading his scaley face was difficult, but he seemed more resigned than angry.

       "All right," said Speed Freak, trying to sound cheerful and not really succeeding, "we'll have to work on that. Chestnut?"

       With a sigh, the huge woman - as tall as Velocirapper and nearly as heavy - jogged around the beach and into the jungle on the far side. She came tearing out of the greenery going nearly as fast as Speed Freak had. She hit the water with a splash, and for half a dozen steps was actually doing well. However, her feet began going deeper and deeper into the water, slowing her. She frantically did a little hop, got back on top and tried to regain speed, but without success. She finally gave up and just leaned back with legs stiffly out ahead, skimming to a stop less than twenty meters out from the others. She swam and waded ashore, her western costume not just dripping but streaming water onto the sand.

       "Well, we've proved that corduroy will hold a lot of water," she said, sourly, raising her arms a bit to emphasize what was pouring from the cuffs.

       "I don't get it," muttered Speed Freak. "You were going fast enough. What happened?"

       "It's the squared-cubed law," said a new voice, from up the beach.

       They looked up to see Tiger walking towards them.

       "The area of the soles of the feet increases with the square of the linear increase in size," the engineer explained. "But the body mass those feet have to support increases with the cube of the linear increase. Both of them are larger than average humans. So they just don't have enough surface area on their feet to get the same support at the same speed. Even the lizard guy with his big feet. Though I think part of the problem there is the shape. Those wide-spread toes would catch a lot of water, increasing drag dramatically."

       "That's the first time," said Velocirapper, in his odd, hissing voice, "I ever heard science used to actually explain something practical."

       "Basic geometry," said Tiger, grinning.

       "Hmph," said Speed Freak, nodding. "Well, Chestnut, unless you can get a major increase in speed, looks like you'll just have to stick with your charge and skim method. I wonder if that would work for Velocirapper..."

       "Now, can you folks point me to the race track?" said Tiger. "I think I asked Myna the wrong question."

            *            *            *

       Meanwhile, the non-speedsters were having a race. Or, rather, a series of them, as part of some track and field training.

       "Okay, this is partly to evaluate your physical abilities," said Coach Tyler. "Some of you have never been properly evaluated; some may have been misevaluated; and you've all grown some in the past year so even if you were properly evaluated that data might now be invalid. So, first, let's see how you do in the dash."

       The group was limited to those with physical enhancements but no known super speed power. They were an odd mix; the group had both genders, a wide range of ages, and even someone of a different species. The students lined up in the starting blocks, many looking uncertain.

       "This isn't a race!" Coach emphasized. "There's enough difference in ability between you that just wouldn't be fair. Maybe later we'll have enough information to be able to provide handicaps. Right now we're timing each of you individually, to get baseline data. What matters is if you do better at the end of the year than you do today. Okay, get ready..."

       At the sound of the starter's pistol Chet immediately took the lead, by the simple expedient of leaping several body lengths. Three others made huge lunges. By the ten meter mark the lineup was Chet, Blue Avenger and Squirrel Girl. Then came Cheiron, who got off to a slow start due to being so much larger than the others, but was rapidly making up for that. Those with no physical enhancements all trailed behind him, as well as some who were beyond normal human limits.

       Chet spared a glance back to see Doomster and Europa closing, having already passed Blue Avenger, but behind them Cheiron was charging up fast. Chet focused all his attention and effort on running. In spite of this Cheiron passed him at the 70 meter mark, and Europa soon after. Chet finished third, with Squirrel Girl fourth, having managed to outlast Blue Avenger and Doomster.

       Meanwhile, Coach Tyler was trying to decide whether that leaping start should be allowed. On a longer course that wouldn't count for much, anyway, so for now he decided to let Chet's result stand. Coach noted the times for each runner and added some personal comments while the students assembled back at the start.

       "Okay, very impressive. If you've never run in an actual track event type race before you may not have done as well as you expected. Like anything else, having skill at running will help you improve. Okay, Weather Warper and Valence are going to help me show you the proper technique. Then you get another try."

       Template - watching the students run from beside the bleachers - noticed a woman dressed in sandals, shorts and a sleeveless blouse knotted just under her breasts, sitting about halfway up in the bleachers, who was cheering for Chet. Something clicked, and she realized this was TAL, the boy's mother and Tiger's wife. She'd heard a lot about the woman but never actually met her. Deciding to introduce herself, Template climbed up and sat beside TAL.

       "Hello; I'm Template."

       "Oh, hi!," said the other woman, smiling and offering her hand. "Yeah, Tiger's talked about you."

       "Speaking of whom, where is he?"

       "Probably halfway to Bermuda, knowing him," said TAL, laughing. "He has this habit of asking the wrong question when getting directions."

       "I'm surprised he asks for them at all," said Template, playing to the stereotype, even though doing so made her male psyche twinge a bit.

       "Oh, yes. He doesn't have the social inhibitions most humans have. Though fortunately he does usually wear clothes. And cook his food. But he doesn't communicate the way most humans do, and often provides the wrong information or misinterprets what he's told."

       Template thought that was a bit of an odd thing to say, but laughed politely.

       "There he comes!" said TAL, pointing.

       "Your eyes must be better than mine," said Template, peering. "Okay, now I see him."

       Tiger joined them shortly, and was chastised by TAL for missing the first event.

       "Hey, I asked where the students were running, and was told 'down by the lagoon,'" he countered.

       TAL gave Template a meaningful glance.

       "That jump he gave was impressive," said Template, after she and TAL described the first event to Tiger. "He takes after Tiger, then?"

       "Not like that," said Tiger. "Those who are born Gifted are a tabula rasa as far as powers are concerned, except for the health benefits all Gifted have. But living around the two of us, he naturally shaped his abilities to match ours. TAL doesn't use her electrical powers casually, but she also has some physical enhancements, so Chet focused on applying his Gift to improving his physical abilities. He's twelve years old and as strong and tough as six grown men."

       "It does come in handy when everyone in the family has at least some of the same abilities," said TAL, smiling. "Tiger and I love going for a swim together before breakfast, for instance. Since the swim is several klicks in the San Francisco Bay, year 'round, it's not something someone without heightened stamina and environmental tolerance would enjoy."

       "You go for a swim..." said Template, startled, as the other woman's words sank in. "All year... even Winter."

       TAL nodded and gave her a smug smile.

       "They're ready for the next event," said Tiger.

            *            *            *

       After the track and field evaluations were completed, the boys showered and dressed before going to the next class. Due to his size, Cheiron could barely fit in the standard shower stalls, and certainly couldn't turn around to wash all over. He therefore went to one of the separate shower rooms. Normally, centaurs helped each other wash, since they couldn't reach their hindquarters easily. However, no human was particularly interested in doing this for him (except a few of the girls, who had been told in no uncertain terms by the staff not to) and Cheiron wasn't eager to have humans back there, anyway. Fortunately, Junker had come up with some simple, long-handled tools to help him do the job by himself. Brushing his tail was still a problem, and he often did ask for help with that task, which several of the female students enjoyed performing. Drying was easier; Cheiron's coat was pretty short-haired, and would usually dry in the air with a few minutes of walking.

       As Chet exited the male's locker room, he encountered the centaur. They naturally fell in walking together, heading sedately towards their next classes, which were in the same building.

       "I have to admit, I'm surprised that some of you did so well against me," said Cheiron, tail swishing easily as he strode along with casual equine grace. "I am, after all, a creature of magic."

       "Hey, I'm a creature of magic, too!" said Chet, grinning. "My fairy godmother is a real fairy!"

       "You are more than simply a creature of magic," said a new, and adult female, voice.

       The boys looked over to see the head of the school joining them from a side path.

       "Gifted are sources of magic," said Eve, looking at Cheiron. "Just by being present they increase the effectiveness of magic."

       Cheiron gave Chet an evaluating look.

       "Sources of magic."

       "Well, yeah," said Chet, a bit embarrassed. "Not a lot of it, though. For just one of us, I mean. But with my Mom and Dad here, too, visiting, we're probably making a difference."

       "So you may not be quite so successful after they leave," said Eve, smiling at the centaur.

            *            *            *

       The nurse showed Template into the waiting room where her niece sat, the girl's expression masked by the ice pack she was holding to her face. She looked up, waved with the ice pack and gave an embarrassed smile to Template, then winced and replace the bag. Her mouth was quite swollen and red, with a noticeable cut.

       "You all right, hon?" said Template, sitting beside her and putting an arm around the girl.

       "Yeah. I just used too big a blast up close and a chip of rock hit me right in the lip!"

       "She's fine," said Dr. Nief, as she entered to speak with them. "Just have her put cold compresses on it until the swelling goes down, and take something over the counter for pain. She doesn't need to come back unless it looks like it's getting infected. This was her last class for the day, right? She should just go to her dorm room and rest for a while, then. She'll be able to eat supper, after the pain killers kick in. Just be careful not to reopen the cut."

       "Energia, honey, you need to learn to keep your defenses up," said Template, firmly, as they stood. "You're only human, physically."

       "Yeah, I know," the girl said, sighing, as they started walking slowly. "They've been teaching me plasma shields, magnetic walls and heat barriers, but they're really complicated. It's not like the way you just turn on your invulnerability and forget about it."

       "I could have settled for just keeping a large part of my power in passive defense - resilience and independence - all the time and being less effective," said Template, firmly. "But all the others in the Intrepids - including the staff combat trainer - told me that was actually more dangerous for me than using active defense. So I learned to shift my powers around as needed, and rarely have even most of it in resilience during a fight. You need to learn to keep your defenses up, and to put them up quickly."

       She gave Energia a quick hug.

        "I'm telling you this because I don't want you getting hurt."

       "Yes, ma'am," said Energia, with a sigh.

       "Seriously. If you want to be a costumed adventurer you have to learn active defense. Otherwise you have too much chance of getting hurt, and even if you don't you'll be less effective. Now, let's get you back to the dorm."

       "Oh! Template, could I see you for a moment?" Dr. Nief called after them, just before they reached the door.

       "Sure," Template called back. She turned to Energia. "Will you be all right?"

       "I'll be fine, 'Mother,'" said Energia, rolling her eyes. "I'm heading straight for my room, just like the doctor told me to."

       Template gave her another brief hug, then followed Dr. Nief into her office.

       "Just some information I've been meaning to talk to you about," the Doctor said, after the door was closed and they were both seated. "We got Energia's full genetic scan data back three days ago."

       Dr. Nief was one of only a handful of people on the island who knew Template and Energia were related, though even she didn't know the exact situation. Template had avoided telling her more to protect Energia than anything else. Though with some people - both staff and students - speculating she was Template's illegitimate daughter she was thinking of changing that decision.

       "She has the same power gene complex as you," said Dr. Nief, pointing to something on a printout. "She also has several of the known genes for energy control, and a few of those for force control."

       "Makes sense," said Template, nodding. "My only real power is sharing my energy. That's a gene they weren't even certain existed until just recently."

       "But you have... well, never mind. Unless you are willing to discuss your exact relationship with Energia."

       "No; I want to preserve her privacy. I can say that those other genes of hers must come from her father, while the power level and probably at least some of the energy control genes come from her mother."

       Dr. Nief nodded, obviously curious but not wanting to press for more information without need.

       "Anyway, this explains why she's such a potent energy manipulator," said Dr. Nief. "Her power level is roughly the same as yours, but concentrated on energy gathering and use."

       "I'd already figured that out, roughly" said Template, smiling. "She's going to be major player, and not too far in the future. If she can learn to keep her defenses up."

            *            *            *

       "Oh!" said Colossa, as they traded places in the bathroom. "Solange finally decided to sue her parents and that psychiatrist. The team's law firm has agreed to take the case."

       "I don't know if that's good or bad," said Randy, with a sigh, putting toothpaste on his brush. "There are some situations where trying to get justice only hurts everyone involved."

       "Well, I can't say if that's true, here," said Karen, removing her mask and reaching for the cold cream. "I think her main reason is to try and get her parents to admit they made a mistake. She thinks the only way she will ever reconcile with them is if they apologize."

       "I can see that," said Randy, voice muffled by toothpaste foam.

       There was a long silence while they finished their respective grooming rituals.

       "Male or female me for sleep?" said Randy, after a final wipe of his mouth with the towel.

       "Template's better for snuggling," said Karen, grinning. "More and softer curves. Though I have to admit, since we started talking about getting married and having kids I find myself preferring the male you for sex. Must be my biological clock speaking."

            *            *            *

       As Template flew to a landing at the practice field she saw that Chestnut was already there, watching the latest track and field exercise.

       "Hey!" Template called, as she settled lightly on the bleachers beside the huge woman, landing already folded into a sitting posture.

       "Good mornin'!" Chestnut called back.

       "What looks good in the third race?" said Template, seeing Cheiron approach the starting blocks and making a lame, horse-related joke.

       Chestnut gave her an odd look and snorted - though fortunately with humor - then returned to watching the students. She did, indeed, seem to focus her attention on the centaur boy. Template knew the other woman had some sort of strong connection to horses, and hoped her interest wasn't more than casual.

       "He's th' one I'm here for," said Chestnut, quietly, as if sensing Template's uneasy speculations. "Ah was told he'd be here and would need protecting. With my rapport with horses, I was the best candidate."

       "Told...?"

       "Ah get mah powers from Horse," she said, flatly. "Th' totem. A reward for my work at protecting horses. And, as you might imagine, Horse has an interest in centaurs. So, when I was down after all th' bad events of last year and asked Horse to take my powers back, Horse offered me an alternative to bein' a super hero."

       "I didn't know your powers were mystical, too," said Template, startled. "Either that's more common than is officially stated, or..."

       "Coincidence, partly," said Chestnut, straightening and growing tense as the race neared its end and Cheiron and Europa battled for the lead. The latter finally took it, just barely ahead as they crossed the finish line.

       "By 'protecting' did, uhm, Horse mean from deliberate attempts or...?"

       "Several diff'rent things," said Chestnut. "Bigotry as well as cultural accidents."

       She leaned back and laughed loudly.

       "Who would'a thought a centaur would be lactose intolerant?"

       Template had to laugh at that, as well, remembering what happened after Cheiron's first dose of ice cream. She briefly put her hand on Chestnut's shoulder as she stood.

       "Well, I have to go. I'm coaching one of the teams in the baseball game that's about to start."

       "Okay. Catch you later!"

            *            *            *

       The game went slowly, due largely to being the school's first try at an organized team sport. Junker was playing referee, and seemed highly amused by some of the mistakes coaches and players on both sides were making.

       "You need to work on your signs," said Junker, grinning. "You just told the catcher to steal third."

       "Give me a break," growled Template. "You may have the rules memorized, but you've still interpreted a couple of them wrong."

       "Hey, don't be so grouchy," said the gadgeteer, good-naturedly. "We're doing this for fun, so we might as well laugh at our mistakes."

       The game was allowed to end in a tie due to losing the sun and not having lights installed, yet.

       "Well, it was a good first try," said Cyclone Ranger.

       Dr. Nief's name is pronounced "Knife." :-)

            *            *            *

       Finally, Saturday evening came, and with it the islanders' amateur talent competition. Inconveniently, this came right before mid-terms. The school management had decided, reluctantly, to make the event for students and teachers separate from that the natives held, mainly because getting both done on the same night just wasn't practical, and the students needed to focus for the classwork peak instead of practicing, anyway. The school members would have their turn next week. Meanwhile, the islanders' show made a good break for everyone on the island.

       There was a great deal of good talent represented. Some sang, some danced, some gave short dramatic presentations, a few had comedy skits. Many of the older members of the island community had actually worked in entertainment - most of them in Bermuda tourist traps - before retiring here, and their expertise showed, whether they were themselves performing or had helped train those who were. As the show ended everyone knew the students and staff at the school had a lot to live up to.

            *            *            *

       The ensuing week passed uneventfully. That is, the only events of note were the sorts of thing which were coming to be seen as normal for this school. Hugh Manatee was almost harpooned by Doomster when the latter went spear fishing in the waters south of the island. Doomster subsequently wound up getting cursed by Ettienne so that he could only speak pig Latin for six hours. Gadgetive reversed the gravity in the engineering lab to demonstrate a mid-term project. (Unfortunately, the effect also unexpectedly spread to five other rooms...) Bobby Double was caught earning extra money by working as a waitress in a Bermuda bar. Rosetta caused a major NATO alert by breaking into their secure communications and issuing notices about several types of fictional aliens sending pre-invasion scouting parties to various locations from European myth and fiction. Repli-Kate served detention after the third time she slept in while also attending first period class. ("You know very well that what one of your duplicates learns is divided when it rejoins you!") And students and teachers planning to participate in the school's talent show put the finishing touches on their routines.

            *            *            *

       "You always want to have sex as Randy after practicing with Eagle," said Karen, when he greeted her with a particularly passionate kiss one evening. She grinned mischievously. "One might suspect that you're desperate to reassert your masculinity."

       "Look, I'm not sexually attracted to him," said Randy, irritatedly. "It's just that... you know dancing turns me on, any way. And some of the moves we're doing are... suggestive."

       "I've watched you practice, remember?" said Karen, smirking. "Yeah. The way you wiggle and bounce, I wonder if you'll still have a job after that show. I get pretty hot just watching you two."

       "Hey!" said Randy, defensively. "In the first place, Template doesn't have all that much to wiggle and bounce with! In the second place, I wear a sport bra."

       "I'm not talking about up top." Karen moved in close, as if to hug him, but instead reached around and grabbed his rear with both hands. "You've got a good ass as Randy, but a great one as Template."

       Randy sputtered and turned crimson. Karen laughed, then kissed him.

       "You want to stay like this, or do you want to change?" she teased.

       "I'm tempted to change, just to prove you wrong," Randy muttered. "But, yeah, I do feel like being the man tonight."

       He grinned, and suddenly picked her up, holding her laying across his arms with her arms reflexively going around his neck.

       "Must be my biological clock ticking."

            *            *            *

        Eve had wanted to use the school's auditorium, but it still wasn't quite finished. So, come Saturday evening, the school and guests assembled at the same outdoor stage the islanders had used for their event. Fortunately, the weather was good. Perhaps because Cyclone Ranger was the staff meteorologist...

       Take people with more than human reflexes and speed. Have them get advice and training from professionals on the island - both staff and retirees - who are grateful for the chance to exploit the potential of said superhumans. Have them practice an average of an hour a day for over a month. Then turn them loose. Of course, not all the participants did all of this. Some, regrettable, didn't do any of it...

       First up were the students, in order of advancing age. Doomster performed an act combining juggling and acrobatics, to modest applause.

       Gadgetive was next, even though, strictly speaking, it wasn't her act. She had built a Mighty Iceberg Machine, and persuaded Malcolm "Double Dutch" Van de Meer - member of the original Shepherds and music teacher at the school - to play it for the contest.

       Dutch had been a drummer in a swing band before his powers manifested in the mid-Thirties. He had already been able to adequately play several other instruments before that. With more than human dexterity and seven decades of practice he was now magnificent on practically an entire orchestra, and able to pick up a completely new instrument and play it well in only a few hours. However, the Iceberg Machine had challenged even him.

       Still, after three weeks of intermittent training by Gadgetive ("No, no, no! Shift this lever, then turn that knob!") he had managed to create something like a one man band performance. On fast forward... There were changing lights, and swirling sounds, and a massive bass beat which was more felt than heard. Afterwards, the applause was mixed. Most people simply hadn't been able to follow all of his performance, and their response was polite as a result of this confusion. Those who had been able to keep up - due to a better developed sense of music or some power - were standing, clapping and whistling.

       Next came Richard Flemming - Ettienne's roommate - who performed a trick-shooting demonstration. This was quite impressive, and while the applause was only moderate several people made resolutions to be particularly nice to the guy.

       Wolfman Mack and Ettienne did a comedy-horror skit which was a modest hit.

       Bobby Double did impressions, with quick costume changes. He seemed disappointed at the polite applause which followed.

       Europa did trick shots with a bow, including splitting an arrow already in a standard target. Again, the response was only moderate.

       The final student performance was UltraManic's plate-spinning act. He played it for laughs, and wound up getting a very flattering response. After going for several minutes without losing a single plate, at the very end he comically arranged for all of them to break.

       Next came the first staff performance. These were ordered by length, teachers and students alike having been told to stay on stage no more than six minutes, to provide leeway in case preparations - or repairs - between acts took longer than expected.

       Chestnut was up first, and her act was a trick roping demonstration. Her size made some of the stunts she performed particularly impressive. She received considerable applause, and in reply took off her hat and gave the audience a sweeping bow.

       Rio and Speed Freak did a super-speed clog dance which had to be cut short as it threatened to seriously damage the stage. They received polite consolation applause for their effort, anyway. Or perhaps the audience was just glad the buzzing, pounding, thrashing thing was over.

       Template and Eagle were next, standing nervously in the wings. The extra wait while the damage to the stage was repaired by some of the gadgeteers didn't help their states of mind. Then, finally, it was their turn. They both took deep breaths, straightened their backs, smiled, and strode boldly forth. The applause started as they walked out on stage, shortly accompanied by cheers and whistles, most likely due to their costumes.

       Template and Eagle were wearing alternate versions of their regular outfits, trimmed down and otherwise modified for intensely athletic dancing. These were snug enough to reveal that both were in excellent physical shape. They moved to the middle of the stage, turned to face each other and backed apart several strides. The music began, "Footloose," and they danced.

       The routine had to be seen to be believed. Template and Eagle were all over the stage, bounding, spinning, strutting, occasionally dashing past each other, approaching but never actually touching. The maneuvers came from many sources, including the good, old-fashioned Jitterbug.

       They had deliberately kept the sexual component low, since this was for a school event, but it was impossible to eliminate completely. The sheer sensuality of their graceful movements did more than daring costumes or overt posturing would have. So did their superhuman energy.

       As the dance progressed it grew more acrobatic. At one point, they ran towards each other, with Template at the last moment bounding into a forward tuck and aerial somersault while Eagle dropped to his knees and slid below her.

       And then, about halfway through, the singer shouted "You can fly!" and they soared into the air. They sailed past each other, turning to keep facing as they parted, reaching but not quite touching as the distance between them increased.

       Gravity became irrelevant. They ignored common orientation, soaring through three dimensional space as they spun and tumbled and bounced from invisible walls. Now they did touch, often grabbing the hands or feet of their partner to send both hurtling in new directions, each dancer using their partner as a substitute for the out-of-reach floor, to help with their changes in direction and orientation.

       At the beginning of the crescendo they were upright and facing each other, hands reaching but not quite touching, hanging barely above the floor. They rose slowly with the music, arms lifting; then as the music climaxed they performed a starburst maneuver, arcing over backwards and looping downwards. People watching were actually standing and stamping their feet as they cheered and whistled.

       Finally, the music ended. By what appeared to be sheer coincidence they were once again upright, just above the middle of the dance floor, facing each other and holding hands. They hovered rock solidly for a moment as the last notes faded; then sank down to the polished wood, turned and bowed.

       The audience went wild. Several minutes passed before the pair could leave the stage and let the next contestants on.

       Cyclone Ranger and Burgundy did an Arabian Nights skit with the former as a genie and the latter as a princess, to the tune of "Magic Carpet Ride." Their award was applause, cheering and whistling. They were obviously quite pleased, beaming at the audience as they bowed.

       For the last performance, Myna and Invicta performed a duet of Bowie's "Absolute Beginners" to enthusiastic applause and whistles. Still, everyone already knew who the winners in the staff division would be.

            *            *            *

       "What did you think of our dance last night?" said Template, eagerly, catching up with Chestnut as they both headed for a late morning shower that next Sunday.

       "Well, I got airsick," said Chestnut. She grinned. "It was wonderful, actually. Made me wish I could fly."

       "We had a great time doing it," said Template, grinning and blushing.

       "Wait a minute," said Chestnut, suspiciously. She leaned closer and sniffed. Her eyes went wide. "Don't tell me you two...!"

       "We... kinda got caught up in the excitement of celebrating our victory," said Template, quietly, blushing more deeply.

       "But I thought you didn't... Okay, now I am officially confused."

       "Look, we spent weeks in close physical proximity, doing something physically... stimulating," said Template, shifting uncomfortably as she fumbled for words. "It's like... three weeks of foreplay with no release. After the climax of winning, we just... sort of naturally went on to have another kind of climax."

       "I hope you at least made him use a condom," whispered Chestnut. "I mean, yo're not used t' thinking about that sort of thing, are you?"

       "No, but I'm on the pill anyway, to make my periods easier," she replied, likewise in a subdued tone.

       Chestnut stared at her for a moment, then sighed and turned away, shaking her head.

            *            *            *

       "How much did you have to drink?!" said Colossa.

       "One beer, and that was over an hour before," said Template, smirking and blushing.

       "Jeez, if I'd known your were that easy..."

       "Hey, he had twice as much to drink as I did! Of course, he weighs almost twice as much."

       "Oooh, yeah," said Colossa, smirking. "Grade-A prime beefcake. You think he'd like to try a threesome?"

       "Before we actually got to it," said Template, ignoring the hint, "he kept asking me if I was really sure. And the next morning he kept apologizing! I finally had to threaten violence - well, jokingly - to get him to stop. I then thanked him, told him I'd enjoyed myself, and that while I doubted I'd ever want to have sex with a man again, if I did he was on the list."

       They both collapsed on Colossa's bed in helpless laughter. Through no conscious planning, their "socializing" had developed into three distinct formats: During the week Randy would stay at Karen's or Karen would stay at Randy's, and on weekends Template with Colossa in her quarters at the Intrepids' base.

       "Oh," said Colossa, panting as she recovered, "Oh. That could so have been taken the wrong way!"

       "Well, he knew what I meant. He smiled, and we kissed - chastely, I might add - and we parted."

       "Boy, he'll be walking on clouds for a week! I just wish I could'a been there; but we had that fire in Ashland..."

       "Don't worry about it," said Template, quietly, moving closer and kissing her. "I'll be glad to give you a private performance."

       "What, no 'Randy needs to be manly'?" said Colossa, surprised.

       "After last night, I'm not going to worry about it any more," said Template, reaching up to push the left shoulder of Colossa's costume down. "Guess I just got something out of my system."

       "You're not going to go all girly on me from now on, are you?" said Colossa, only half joking.

       "I think I can remove that concern right now," said Template, taking the initiative.

            *            *            *

       "C'mon, man!" said Velocirapper, currently looking human. "It's your eighteenth! You gotta do something! For mine I went out with some buddies and got drunk. Woke up in a flophouse the next morning, in just a pink leotard!"

       "And that's the reason I don't want to 'do something,'" said UltraManic, emphatically. "How come I'm the sensible one of this group? I never was in any other."

       "Hey, you just have to do something really stupid involving lots of alcohol," said Bobby Double. "It's tradition."

       "What if we promise to make sure you're back here in time for class tomorrow?" said Cosmic Ray.

       "I don't know..." said UltraManic.

       "C'mon! You've been saying you want to go to that bar ever since Bobby started talking about it!" said Velocirapper, sitting forward eagerly.

       "That was before I knew what she was doing there," said UltraManic, leering at Bobby Double.

       "Hey, c'mon! I needed the money, and that was the only unskilled labor open that I was willing to do!"

       "I tol' ja' I'd pay good for certain... services," said Velocirapper, also leering at Bobby.

       "Fuck no!"

       "Guys, you're getting off the subject," said Cosmic Ray. "Let's go ahead and make plans for sneaking off the island and back, in case he changes his mind."

       "Yeah," said Velocirapper, "and meantime, we also work on convincing him to change his mind."

            *            *            *

       "Hi, Karen!" said Randy, as she opened the door to her apartment. "Whoah, you look down. What happened?"

       "Solange finally got her lawsuit filed," said Karen, sighing. "Within three days there was a slander countersuit. The psychiatrist has had several good-selling books and his publisher is not only helping pay for his lawyers, but insisting that he fight back this way."

       "Ow," said Randy. "I hope this doesn't drag the rest of the team into that mess! I mean, I feel sorry for Solange, but she at least wanted to take this course."

       "It can't help but do that," said Karen. "They'll accuse us of putting her up to the suit, of poisoning her relationship with her parents... They're already accusing her of jeopardizing them by outing them a second time."

       "Well, if you need me, I'm here. For you, in particular, but for all the team. If you think I can do anything..."

       "Uhm, actually, Template will almost certainly be called on to testify. The countersuit specifically mentions her and Colossa, claiming they 'recruited' Solange into lesbianism, undoing all the successful work of the good doctor's therapy."

       "Would it look bad if someone strangled that guy by shoving his own sheepskin down his throat before the trial?" said Randy, sourly.

       "I'm afraid so," said Karen, giggling. She quickly grew serious again. "We're going to have to be extra careful. While they can't directly ask us to give any information which would reveal our secret IDs they can ask things which could indirectly lead to them. And use our refusal to reveal private stuff to prejudice the jury."

       "Guess we'll have to do a huddle with the team's lawyers to get ready," said Randy, sighing. "At least the talent show is over."

            *            *            *

       "Solange! Good morning!" Randy called out, as he entered the main break room at the Intrepids' base. "Haven't seen you in a while."

       "Randy!" the young woman called, running over to give him a hug. "Wow, how did you get away from Colossa?!"

       "She had to get up early to answer a call with Bowman and Jet Jaguar," said Randy. "Since this is a school holiday I slept in. How have you been?"

       "Better," she sighed, as she linked arms with him and led him to a break room table. "You want anything for breakfast?"

       "Some of those eggs and bacon would be nice," said Randy, "with OJ."

       They chatted about the team and the school while eating. However, as they cleaned their dishes Randy broached a more personal subject.

       "How is the suit against that psychiatrist going?"

       "The good news is that there are now six other suits against the guy," said Solange, making Randy stare as she stood on tip-toe and reached to put a cup back on a high shelf. "The bad news is that he's in Canada on a book tour. Only he bought a one-way trip, emptied his savings, took most of his belongings with him, and his publisher doesn't know anything about it."

       "Ow," said Randy, manfully moving his gaze back to the buxom woman's face. "At least we have good extradition with Canada."

       "Except that Canada's national psychiatric association has officially come out in support of Dr. Felinger and his 'theories,'" said Solange, sourly.

            *            *            *

       Eve was sitting on a rock, looking out at the last trailing streamers of the sunset, idly petting one of the island cats which had adopted the school.

       "Is there a problem?" asked Template, as she landed deftly beside the rock. "I mean, there better be. I was about to leave for home when I got your message."

       "Do you like cats?" Eve asked, nodding to the one in her lap.

       "I can tolerate them," said Template, puzzled.

       "Have you noticed that their number seems to be increasing?"

       "No, I hadn't. Is that a problem?"

       "Not yet, but they could become one if the increase continues," said the mentalist. "I want you to find out why there are so many more cats on the island now than when we first arrived. Some of the islanders have mentioned this to me."

       "I'll check into it tomorrow," said Template, nodding as she took to the air.

            *            *            *

       "Spacer," said Template, patiently, "why do you need so many cats?"

       "I'm using them in my experiments," the young gadgeteer said, warily.

       "You haven't submitted any experiments involving felines for approval."

       "Uh, well, I'm still getting baseline data."

       "Or is it that you know your experiments wouldn't be approved?" said Template, pointedly. "I really hope you aren't hurting any cats for..."

       "No! I like cats!"

       "Then why do you need so many?"

       He fidgeted and sighed.

       "Some of my lab mice escaped," he said, quietly. "I need the cats to catch them."

       "Cat catch mice, all right," said Template, dryly. "Then they eat them."

       "I know that! But... Well... they're breeding pretty fast."

       "Is there something about these particular mice I should know?"

       "They're the ones from my fertility enhancement experiment," said Spacer.

       "You were supposed to destroy those!"

       "I was doing that when I dropped the cage and some of them got out."

       "Spacer, you should have told Chestnut immediately! She wanted you to kill those mice because they could overrun the island if they got loose. And now you tell me they are loose! How long have they been out, and how many are there now?

       "Uhm, just a couple of weeks," said the teen, shifting uneasily. "And... maybe twelve thousand."

       Template just stared at him, jaw slack, for a long moment. Then she abruptly shook her head.

       "You're confined to your dorm until further notice. Git! I've got to talk to some people, pronto!"

       "You've been hanging around Chestnut too much," said Spacer, snickering.

       "GO!!"

            *            *            *

       "That's the last one here," said Able Tyler, over his com. "They got into just about everything in the storeroom, too. Bags, boxes, foil pouches, even gnawed their way into some cans."

       "Heightened metabolisms need a lot of fuel," said Invicta, likewise, from the attic. "I'm a bit upset the cooking and cleaning staff didn't notify us of the problem."

       "They actually had complained about mice, a couple of times over the past week," said Andrea, from her office. "The problem wasn't nearly as bad as what you're finding now."

       "I just hope we caught this in time," said Blue Impact. "I didn't spend fifteen years as an active hero just to spend the rest of my life as a ratcatcher. I'm having Star Trek flashbacks."

       After a quick evaluation the staff had determined that the number of fast-breeding mice was approaching a tipping point. The cats simply couldn't keep up. Therefore, all staff and students with sufficiently heightened dexterity were given bite-proof gloves and put to work, the latter getting extra credit for their participation. So far, together they'd caught over a hundred kilos of enhanced mice. These were being humanely gassed, thoroughly cooked to denature their DNA, and the roasted bodies scattered into the ocean as quickly as they were caught. There were some happy fish in the waters.

       "Looks like we're pulling ahead," said Template, who was helping Andrea plot their progress. "A couple more hours and we can take a break to evaluate the situation."

       "Of course, once we solve this problem we still have to find homes for most of the cats..." said Tyler.

            *            *            *

       "Man," said Velocirapper, groaning and tipping his chair back, "I thought we'd never get away from there!"

       "Who would have thought that an invasion of super mice would almost scuttle our plans for properly celebrating Ultra's eighteenth birthday?" said Bobby Double, smirking.

       "It's HyperManic."

       "Would you please pick one and stick with it?" said Velocirapper, irritably.

       "Well, they didn't," said Lasher, the only female in the group. "In the end, the confusion from all that activity, and then the teachers being tired afterwards, helped us to sneak out."

       "Only I'm tired, too," said HyperManic, looking it. "We speedsters bore the brunt of the assault on the mice."

       "Our party may not be as wild as we had planned on," said Cosmic Ray, as if making a grand announcement. "But we can still get drunk."

       That sentiment met with general approval. They were all in civies, sitting in Chuggers, the same bar where Bobby Double had (very briefly) been employed as a waitress. The others had wanted to see this place ever since they'd found out about that little adventure, and Bobby had assured them no-one there had ever seen his base form.

       One reason Chuggers had been chosen for their fete was that they were notorious about not checking IDs. Half the group was underage, though all but Albert Flash only by one year. However, as they sat and drank something odd began to happen. Something which took a while for them to notice, thanks to the fact that they were drinking. Everyone was getting quieter and more mellow. Except for the guest of honor.

       HyperManic was actually becoming more hyper than usual. He was talking too much and too quickly, and drinking faster and faster. By the time the others were all well buzzed, he was starting to buzz in a different way, actually becoming blurry around the edges.

       "Imflngrlywrdandhyprgys!" said HyperManic, vibrating in place.

       "What did he say?" said Bobby Double, blearily.

       "IcntststlnylngrIgtgoooooooo!"

       And with that he jumped up (shattering his chair) and exploded through the front window, showering the street outside with glass and metal. Fragments of cloth drifted to the floor in erratic paths.

       "Is that his clothes?" said Velocirapper.

       This activity, of course, was not unnoticed by staff members. Within seconds the manager came up behind where they were standing, staring out the hole formerly occupied by a window.

       "What the Hell happened?! What are you doing to my bar?!"

       "Here, this should cover the damages," said Velocirapper, handing him a wad of bills without looking.

       "You still haven't said what happened! I'm going to call the police!"

       Velocirapper sighed, and emptied his pocket, nearly doubling the size of the wad in the manager's hands.

       "Is that enough?"

       The man hesitated.

       "Good," said Velocirapper.

       "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to go catch our naked friend," said Bobby Double.

            *            *            *

       "Of course, by 'we' he didn't mean himself," panted Velocirapper.

       There was no way he could keep up with HyperManic even normally. However, the boy was running around at random through the town, and their paths occasionally intercepted. So far Velocirapper just hadn't been able to catch him. That had to change... Eventually... Hopefully... Meanwhile, those without super speed were spreading out from Chuggers and trying to direct Velocirapper over their coms.

       "I still say we need to call for help," said Bobby Double. "Even just some of the faster students would be a big HELlo...!"

       "He just ran by us," said Cosmic Ray, who was flying above the shapechanger. "He looks like he's getting tired."

       "I should hope so," gasped Lasher. "The way he's expending energy, and with all that he used earlier... Oh, my God!!"

       "What?! What?!" yelled Bobby.

       "He... just crashed through the front door of a closed liquor store. He's guzzling hard liquor straight from a large bottle."

       "Okay," said Velocirapper, "now we call for help."

       This episode inspired by the "Frye drinks a hundred cups of coffee" sequence in Futurama, the "Partying is Such Sweet Soiree" episode of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and the letter purple. ;-)

            *            *            *

       "This is going to be bad," said Andrea, sourly.

       "But alcohol is a depressant!" said Coach Tyler. "Given all he did earlier today, it should have put him out, not driven him into wild activity!"

       "For him it seems to be a fuel," said Andrea.

       "We're tracking him on the radar," said the comtroller, through their earpieces. "He's very erratic. We're only getting him when he's on the beach or open water, but when he is his speed makes him pretty obvious. Wow... He just hit Mach 1.5 cutting across the main harbor."

       "But he's subsonic!" said Andrea.

       "Not any more!"

       "Great. Get Rio. And Interceptor. Thunderscout, too. Anybody who can fly or run supersonic. I wish Template hadn't already gone home. By the time she could get back here this'll be over."

       "I certainly hope so," said Tyler.

            *            *            *

       "Would you please pick one gender and stay that?!" said Andrea, as they waited for the "fast team" to report back.

       "Sorry," said Binary, voice sliding from baritone to alto. "I tend to shift when I'm nervous."

       "Bet that made losing your virginity difficult," snickered Burgundy.

       "No," said Binary, puzzled. "Why would it?"

       "Good news!" Rio reported. "By the time I got to Bermuda someone had already caught him and brought him to the group on the beach. HyperManic's out cold, but his vitals seem okay. I've got Thunderscout bringing him straight to the infirmary."

       "We saw this huge rooster tail of spray heading back towards Bermuda and hurried over to intercept, only it was this sissy-looking guy with long, green hair and green eyes, carrying Manic in his arms," said Velocirapper.

       "That sounds like the Prince of Speed," said Eve, startled.

       "The Prince of Speed?" said Tyler, incredulous. "No-one's seen him since he accidentally killed that werewolf girl in eighty-one!"

       "He said that he'd noticed the sonic booms, gone to check them out and found Manic," said Velocirapper. "He figured out what was wrong, and guided him out to sea, staying with him until he ran out of steam. Then brought him back."

       "He saw Cosmic Ray flying overhead, and our big, fast dinosaur guy running on the beach, and realized the troublemaker was a student at the school," said Rio. "He and I had a super speed conversation, with him explaining and me thanking. Then he left."

            *            *            *

       "Sixteen liquor stores vandalized," said the odd little man. "Hundreds of windows broken. Some actual, physical injuries from the sonic booms and flying debris."

       "Yes, yes," said Eve, sighing. "We already have our lawyers settling the claims."

       Henry Durgan was a deputy administrator from the US State Department. He was there with representatives from six other departments and bureaus.

       "Bribery doesn't cancel crimes!" snapped Durgan. "And that's just the latest problem. There are many other complaints against the school as an institution and some students and staff personally."

       "Such as?" said Eve, bowing to the inevitable.

       "You have failed to meet our requirements, for one thing," said Tracy Thurlough, from the Department of Education.

       "What requirements have we failed to meet?" said Eve, outraged.

       "Most seriously, you have provided no demographic information on your students."

       "You were told, going in, that we wouldn't do that," said Andrea. "That providing such information would be a severe violation of confidentiality."

       "And you were told going in that that excuse was unacceptable! Combine that with the crimes some of your staff and students have been involved with..."

       "The information you have requested is protected under law," said Andrea, firmly. "Unless and until a costumed super is convicted of a felony, all personal information is held confidential."

       "I know some of the students have been involved in questionable activities," said Eve, "and I, as well, before the school was formed, but all those matters are being handled by the appropriate courts. You have no authority to preempt the legal procedure involved."

       "What about Template participating in the framing of Congressman Carstairs!" snapped Durgan.

       "'Framing'?" said Eve, with a smirk. "The man was caught red handed in a plot to attack Independent Luna!"

       "Only there were no witnesses to this alleged act except the very people who framed him!"

       "The testimony and evidence were strong enough for several attempts to have the charges dismissed rejected by the courts, some of them ruled by staunch conservatives," said Andrea. "You're not going to make that lie stick."

       "I think he honestly believes his accusations," said Eve, sounding amused.

       "We have enough on you and this school to shut it down permanently!"

       "No, you don't," said Eve. She sighed. "However, you think you do, and are fanatical enough not to rest until you've exhausted every legal avenue. And then to use illegal avenues to harass us. I assure you, all those activities will be strongly - and successfully - resisted."

       "There's been a lot of talk about this island of yours," said Phillip Hoskins, who until now had been quiet. The fact that his employer and position hadn't been identified made Eve suspicious of him. "A suggestion was put forth on the Senate floor that anyone with a super power gene who had committed a crime be deported. This island was one of the suggested destinations."

       Homeland Security? Andrea asked Eve over their mental link.

       Or a branch thereof. Most likely NSA.

       "I doubt it would hold them all," said Eve, dryly. "Even discounting those whom it wouldn't hold at all, because they can fly, teleport or otherwise simply leave under their own power."

       "Oh, those with active powers would still be detained in facilities designed to hold them," said the fed, smugly. "This would be strictly for those without active powers, with enough approved active supers stationed here to keep them in check. Partly in the hope that such a... peaceful setting would keep them from developing powers."

       "You're still talking about thousands of people," said Eve, frowning. "Tens of thousands, depending on how you determine whom to exile."

       "Nonsense. The measure would only apply to those who tested positive for at least one super gene."

       "You do know that something like eighty percent of the Earth's population has at least one gene associated with powers, yes?" said Andrea. "Most just haven't had the right stimulus to activate their super abilities. That's one of the reasons you see so many new supers emerge at times of crisis, like alien invasions and such."

       "That... can't be right," said the fed, looking worried, confused, defiant and outraged at the same time.

       "Basic genetics. Known for decades and repeatedly tested and confirmed. Odds are, most of you would qualify for relocation."

       Some of them started to protest, but the school's principal cut them off.

       "So, given the current US prison population, multiplying by eighty percent, subtracting those who already have active powers, you would have to accommodate..." said Eve, frowning as she did the math.

       "Never mind!" gasped Hoskins, who got the number more quickly.

       "And that's without dealing with the people who have been living here for decades, already."

       "What people?!" said Durgan, outraged.

       Andrea sighed, and explained about the retirement community.

       "They're... they're not supposed to be here!"

       "They're the ones who got the island released from Britain," said Eve. "Otherwise it wouldn't even be a US possession."

            *            *            *

       "I don't get it," said Andrea, leaning back and kicking her shoes off with a groan of relief. "I thought the feds were so happy to have some of these kids here they promised to look the other way."

       Eve's staff briefings tended to be informal. Some of those attending this one were in swim suits.

       "I think it's a case of one hand not knowing what the other is doing," muttered Invicta.

       "No, no; you're forgetting who you're talking about," said Blue Impact, scowling. "I think this is a case of one hand not remembering the other exists."

       "Well, my contacts in DC have assured me that words of advice will be whispered in the appropriate ears," said Eve. "I also plan to speak with the islanders about this matter and see if they have any insights or suggestions."

            *            *            *

       "Some of us who live here have been considering this step, anyway," said George.

       "What step?" said Eve.

       "Petitioning the UN for Independent status."

       There was a long, shocked silence after that.

       "That... would be a solution to our immediate problem," said Eve, carefully. "Though it would certainly create others..."

       "Those of you who don't want to actually move here could be guest workers," said George. "Or even granted dual citizenship. The US allows that, now."

            *            *            *

       Given the excitement and tension of the weekend, most people on the island were actually glad when Monday rolled around again. Until third period was interrupted.

       We have an emergency, came the mental alert from Eve. A commuter plane from Bermuda has declared an in-flight emergency and is asking to use our runway. All flyers with heightened strength are to take off immediately and intercept, to escort the plane in and give any support they can.

            *            *            *

       The turboprop plane landed safely, without super help. The crew and passengers were appropriately grateful.

       "Dreadfully sorry about this," said the Captain, as he met with Eve, not long after. "The airline has promised to send a boat this afternoon to remove us from your island, so we won't be too much of a burden."

       "I'm just glad no-one was hurt," said Eve, diplomatically. "It's a school day, so I'm afraid we don't have anyone free to give you a tour. However, if anyone wants to wander around the public parts of the island they should feel free to make themselves at home."

       "Actually, we planned to do much more than that," said the Captain, smiling as smoke poured out from his chest.

            *            *            *

       Template was indulging herself; she had a free period, and little in the way of preparation needed for her next class. So instead she was swooping around and through the scattered clouds out high over the ocean. Unfortunately, she had only just started when someone began calling on her com.

       "No airliner is missing!" shouted Eagle. "They're ringers of some sort! Comtrol is out; we've only got point-to-point!"

       "What?!" said Template, having trouble changing mental tracks.

       Eagle swooped up and joined formation with her. He deliberately turned his com off before continuing.

       "We're under attack! Some got inside the base, but the people there managed to seal the compromised sections off and stop those. Several parts of the school were gassed, and some students and a few teachers hauled off. Only a few there got out; most of us who weren't caught were somewhere else when the attack started. We're rallying at the spaceport, and at the lagoon."

       "Oh, God," groaned Template. "Energia! Do you know where she is?"

       "At the lagoon. She was in my flying class, and we were all up in the air when the attack started. I'm heading there next."

       "Thank you. If you see her tell her I'm going to the base first, then coming there!"

       "Roger!" Eagle said, as they parted.

       Template was shocked to see the amount of damage at the spaceport. It was close enough to the regular airport that many of those from the airliner had simply walked there. Bodies were scattered everywhere... but no blood. Apparently the attackers were some sort of construct. And from appearances rather formidable ones. Fortunately, they had gone after transportation and communication equipment, rather than personnel. She landed at the main entrance - the only one where she could actually see anyone friendly - and had a bit of trouble convincing those on guard she was who she claimed. Junker finally arrived, scanned her, and declared her the genuine article.

       "Those passengers were actually some of DoppelMeister's duplicates," said Junker. "We're all on edge, expecting copies of staff or students to show up next. Stupid! I should have spotted that! I was right there!"

       "Later," said Template. "We need to organize. Does anyone know where Eve and Andrea are?"

       "No," said Junker. "No outside supers are here, either, and that timing is probably deliberate. It's just base staff, a few school staff and students, and islanders, left free."

       "Eagle says there's another rallying point at the lagoon," said Template, realizing she was pretty much the one in charge, at least where school matters were concerned. "I'll head there and see what they know. Are the base coms still working?"

       "Yeah, but we're limited on bandwidth. We have to assume all the standard channels are compromised, so we're using twelve-thirty and fifteen-forty-five for general stuff, and sixteen-fifteen for command. Enough people have already been told this that we already have too many people trying to use those."

       "I'm heading for the lagoon," said Template, setting her com as she lifted off. "Get those channels cleared, and see if you can get some more for other special uses. Call for outside help, too."

       "Already on the way, but at least half an hour getting here," Junker yelled after her.

            *            *            *

       There was a pirate ship in the lagoon. Two more were anchored on either side of the entrance. They looked eerily identical. Even the crew members seemed the same. Unconscious people were everywhere, many of them being ferried to the ship in the lagoon. Template wondered if this activity was why the second rallying point was here. She saw some people active and resisting, and for the moment decided to direct her efforts towards heading off escape by the attackers - who might have captives on board - rather than directly rescuing anyone.

       From what she could see none of the captives had been taken anywhere but the pirate ship in the lagoon. She suspected that once it was full the plan was to have it leave, and one of the other ships enter. Therefore, if she could prevent the ship in the lagoon from leaving without damaging it, there would be minimal risk to the students and staff on board.

       She flew down to the ship at the entrance on the left and grabbed the anchor chain. She pulled the anchor free, then began towing the ship towards the lagoon entrance. None of the big guns on board pointed forward, and she was so low and close to the ship that even the small cannon on the bow couldn't be aimed at her. Slowly, the ship built up speed, as Template heaved on the chain, ignoring the small arms fire from the pirates. She ran it aground against the right side of the channel through the reef, then flew down the port side, tearing open the planking below the water line.

       Thunderscout, seeing what she was doing, was already flying towards the third pirate ship. With his help Template was able to get it into position and thoroughly grounded and holed on the other side of the channel in short order. The channel was now blocked, but the crews also had direct access to land simply by climbing down the sides of their ships. They also had cannon, but their field of fire was limited, and soon they would be useless as the ships took on water and heeled over. Template was wondering what to do next when she noticed several flitters arriving from the base. Norm security teams, augmented by low-level supers from the base staff, landed on either side of the lagoon entrance and set themselves up to prevent the pirates from moving further inland.

       "Good work!" Template shouted down at them, smiling and waving.

       She landed on the beach, where Burgundy was trying to revive Cyclone Ranger. Template was relieved to see Energia nearby, using her beams to fend off pirates.

       "They gassed us. Ranger tried to disperse it, but was only partially successful before they darted him," Burgundy snarled.

       Abruptly, the pirates still on the beach turned and left. Some using rowboats, the rest simply swimming. Energia hurried over to her aunt and they hugged briefly, each relieved the other was all right. Template relayed the new com channels to the active staff members and students around her, and also gave another for contacting her point-to-point.

       "The airline passengers were duplicates of some sort," said Template, as they programmed their coms. "The pirates must be, too."

       "No wonder Eve couldn't read their minds!" said Burgundy, startled.

       Invicta arrived just then, carrying Dr. Nief and one of the infirmary nurses. Those two set quickly to work while Invicta joined Template's group.

       "Eve is out - some sort of gas - and we can't find Andrea," said Invicta.

       Template repeated the new com information. She was pleased to note that some of those lying on the sand were beginning to recover already, thanks to some super ability or other. The attackers' time table was obviously upset.

       "Are they after the children?!" said the Fortean, arriving late due to having drive one of the school's golf carts from wherever he had been.

       "Yes!" snarled Burgundy. "They've already got some of them and a few teachers on that ship!"

       "Which isn't going anywhere, thanks to Template and me," said Thunderscout, proudly.

       Template's com buzzed.

       "The super monitoring system shows there's a bunch on the island who aren't supposed to be here," said Tammy, the base's chief of communications, almost shouting. "There's also more on the way, coming in from the southwest. Almost certainly enemies. Most of them seem to be in some sort of aircraft, but one is flying independent, at Mach 5, and will be here in just two or three minutes."

       "Damn!" hissed Template. She lifted off and raised her voice. "All right, listen up! We need everyone with combat capability in three groups! One here to keep those pirates on the ships, one at the base and a third to meet some incoming supers! Doctor, I hate to tell you your job, but we need more supers conscious as soon as possible!"

       Their resources were sparse, and she was proposing to spread them thin. That couldn't be helped.

            *            *            *

      "Bogie inbound at high speed, diving down towards the island and slowing," said Tammy, as Template and her crew landed at the empty beach on the southwest side of the island. "High energy reading... getting signature now... It's Energex!"

       "Great," groaned Template. "How far ahead of the plane is he?"

       "About fifteen minutes."

       "If we can't beat him in fifteen minutes we won't beat him at all," said Template, more thinking out loud than telling Tammy. "All right! We set up a three-stage ambush! All the energy projectors will be on the line of flight just inside the edge of the jungle..."

       She quickly outlined her plan. Then gave them the pep talk.

       "The way to beat Energex is to tag team him!" said Template. "You have to keep pounding him, don't give him time to rest. He expends energy faster than he recovers it. He's just made a long flight at high speed, so he won't be completely charged when he gets here. If you can keep him busy using his powers, you can wear him down. Now everybody into position!"

       Energex first met with an energy barrage. Energia, Albert Flash, Blue Blazer, Cosmic Ray and several gadgeteers executed a coordinated attack along his flight path, from positions on either side. He immediately flew lower to avoid the attack. Interceptor, flying high cover, waited until he approached the position where the others were waiting, concealed, then dove. His impact slammed Energex into hard ground, and from there they both slid into a rock face. Interceptor, expecting all this and braced for it, recovered more quickly, and scooted away while Energex was getting to his feet. Then it was Chestnut's turn.

       Chestnut was about twice as strong as Template, which made her about half as strong as Energex. Thunderscout and Blue Impact were both roughly in Template's strength and resilience range. However, proper application was just as important as might. Chestnut came charging in at full speed. Energex heard her coming and turned just as she gave a hop and a twist. She planted one foot while executing a side kick with the other, putting both momentum and muscle behind it. The combination of her speed and strength hurled Energex back into the cliff hard enough to shatter it, sending rock fragments as big as suitcases whistling through the air.

       She was supposed to hit Energex once or twice and then pull back, but instead started pounding on him. Each blow drove him back against the rock hard enough to bounce him back off to meet the next one. But Chestnut's lack of experience caused her to get suckered in after just a few, hard punches. Energex dodged a roundhouse and, with Chestnut committed and off balance, punched her hard in the left side. She stumbled, and he swung at her solar plexus. Only to be rammed from the side by Blue Impact. Energex' hard, disabling blow was altered into a glancing strike to Chestnut's right ribs.

       Chestnut dropped to the ground, rolled away, then climbed painfully to her feet and began hobbling back, away from the fight. Blue Impact took up the fight. They had expected Chestnut to be able to help with the next part, but she was definitely out of the fight for the moment, even though she most likely just had the wind knocked out of her. Energex, surprised and more than a bit stunned by the sudden combination assaults, shoved Thunderscout away, shaking his head. He realized Blue Impact was charging straight for him and managed to brace himself. He missed the fact that Template was diving down, fists extended. She managed to hit his head with an double-strike which nearly finished the fight right there. Then Blue Impact came in from the front, while Template swooped up out of the way.

       Though not as strong as the others, Blue Impact was far more experienced, and had more mass behind her blows. Strikes which would have left deep dents in armor steel drove Energex back against the cliff face and pinned him there, rock shattering under him with each blow. Like many of the others in this fight, Blue Impact had superhuman reflexes. Her punches landed with almost jackhammer speed.

      "My turn!" yelled Chestnut, lunging forward.

      Template didn't know if she was ready, but there was little choice. Perhaps determined to make up for failing so soon before, Chestnut tore into Energex with a furious series of hard punches. Even so, the villain managed to cover himself to block most of them, and land a few of his own. After several seconds of exchanges he again managed to tag Chestnut solidly, knocking her a good fifty meters into the jungle. Again, Blue Impact moved in to take up the fight.

       "Watch and give her a hand if she needs it," Template yelled at Thunderscout. "I'm going to find Chestnut."

       The huge woman was sitting against a tree, obviously in pain. However, she was still alert, and waved Template down.

       "Overdid it," she gasped. "Gotta change back for a while. Don't worry about me."

       Her form blurred, and shrank, and suddenly Template was looking at a mousey, slightly overweight, middle-aged woman. She smiled tiredly at the other super.

       "Not so impressive, now, am I? I'll be all right. Just need to rest for an hour or two to heal and recover energy."

       Template started to say something, but was interrupted by a massive energy burst from the direction of the fight. It lit up the sky even in broad daylight, and the heat withered the greenery around them. Alarmed, Template leapt upwards.

       Blue Impact was down, over thirty meters from where Template had last seen her. A somewhat burned Thunderscout was kneeling beside her. Energex was just lifting off from an orange-glowing crater of nearly-molten rock surrounded by blown-out sand, flying away, but his path was wobbly and slow. Template started towards her teammates, but Thunderscout emphatically motioned her after Energex. Templet set her jaw and changed course. It was up to her, now. And she had an idea. She'd take the fight somewhere that the environment itself would help wear him down.

       Energex' biggest weakness was his ego. Unlike almost every other super who wore a cape, his was securely attached. Template caught the hem of that, yanking him upwards a few hundred meters. Template hovered, holding herself above Energex, while she looked at where the energy users had been. Some of them obviously were still there; just as Energex started to pull against her, several bolts and beams came searing up from the jungle. Not all hit Energex; one even grazed Template's left shoulder. Fortunately, she had enough in resilience that this caused no real injury. Template held the thrashing and screaming Energex until the shooting stopped. Then she then whirled him around a couple of times and let go. Recovering from the recoil, she flew after him, to make sure he went where she wanted. However, he managed to change course before she reached him. Instead of going straight into the crater of the volcano he clipped the near rim - leaving a large gash in the rock and ash - bounced upwards, sailing over the crater, then fell down the far slope.

       By the time Template reached him he was already standing, though just barely. He looked groggy, but still full of fight. He looked more shaken than low on power, so Template changed her plan. Instead of flying straight in and attacking, she tried something else.

       "This is a new low, even for you. Getting beaten by a bunch of kids and teachers! I think your ranking in the supervillain world will take a major hit after word of this gets..."

       She dodged frantically as he screamed and thrust his hands towards her, barely managing to avoid the energy bolt. She flew around and up and hovered again.

       "Look at you! You can barely stand! Why don't you save us both the effort and just give up?"

       Again he shot, and this time better, destroying the end of Template's cape.

       She flew behind him, pausing on a rock outcropping on the side of the volcano above him. Before she could do more than open her mouth, though, he whipped around and blasted. Fortunately, with the rock to push off from, she moved out of the way more quickly this time. But the volcano didn't. The blast showered Energex with debris and opened a hole in the side of the mountain. An angry red glow could be seen inside, which rapidly grew brighter and lighter in color. There was a deep rumble, accompanied by a tremor strong enough to shake Energex off his feet. The hole widened into a nearly vertical fissure, rising over twenty meters, and then lava began pouring out.

       Energex was so confused by the rapid sequence of unexpected events and so blinded by debris he didn't even manage to stand before the lava flooded over him. Template winced as she watched him struggle in the molten rock. From studying his activities she knew he'd been in situations like this before. Normally, this would be extremely uncomfortable bordering on mildly painful for him; not really a dangerous situation, since he could just fly out of it. Depending on how weak he currently was, though, he might already be dead.

       Then she saw him pull himself part way out of the river of lava onto a rock in the side of the gully he had landed in, and go limp. Template hesitated, then scowled and flew down towards him. Putting everything but a bit of flight into resilience, she grabbed his hands and started pulling, with only normal human strength. The boulder - the ground around it being washed away by the flow of lava - suddenly rolled. The lava got a grip on it and pushed it rapidly down stream, nearly dumping both of them into the molten rock. Template gritted her teeth and heaved, and got the big man far enough up the hill to be out of immediate danger. She had been worried that he was playing possum, but now saw that he was truly out.

       Energex was badly burned, his hair and even most of his costume gone. Template's hands were red and blistered, and splashes of lava had left nasty burns in several other places. She noticed that the sparse vegetation on the hillside was starting to smolder, and sighed. With more than one wince, she reapportioned her powers a bit, grabbed Energex, and lifted into the air.

       She needed a few seconds - and some distance from the volcano - to realize that the buzzing in her ear was her com.

      "Template, here," she said, hoarsely. "Energex in custody."

       "The plane turned around," said Tammy. "Reports are coming in from all over that we're winning."

            *            *            *

       "Broken wrist, several broken fingers, broken knuckle, burns, contusions..."

       "In other words, the usual," said Template, sighing. "I'm just surprised I didn't notice the wrists and knuckles. I mean, I must have done all that the first time I hit Energex... and I never even felt it until after I got here!"

       "The wrist is a simple fracture," said Doctor Nief. "Same for the fingers. The knuckle is actually crushed. Still, given the adrenaline and your other injuries, I guess that just blended into the general haze of pain."

       "There is definitely that," said Template, wryly. "What about Energex?"

       "Under a power neutralizer in the infirmary, along with the other injured attackers," the doctor replied. "His powers wouldn't help him heal, anyway, and were actually preventing us from properly treating him. He's in for a long recovery. You, on the other hand, will shortly be getting a visit from a specialist I've called."

       As if on cue, there was a polite knock at the entrance to the clinic's treatment room.

       "Ah, Ettienne! Thank you for coming. I hope you have some healing spells left."

       "I have one minor and one moderate," said the white-haired boy, in his charming accent. He smiled tiredly at Template. "I heard you had been injured and saved them just for you."

       "But if others were hurt..."

       "None so much as you, now," he said. "Those who were, I treated first."

       "You know I - Ah! - forgot you could heal," said Template, as he gently took hold of her right hand with his left.

       The boy murmured quietly to himself for a moment, in a language which didn't sound much like French, while making a complicated motion in the air with his right hand. Template gasped as the pain was suddenly greatly reduced.

       "Bon," said the boy, smiling. "Now, just the minor one."

       A repeat performance, with variations, and Template was left almost healed. She turned her hands over, marveling. There was still some redness, and dead skin from healed blisters, and that one knuckle was still sore, but otherwise...

       "Merci," she said, smiling.

       The boy grinned back, shyly ducking his head.

       "Thank you, Ettienne," said Dr. Nief. "Now, you go rest."

       He nodded again, turned and exited, his huge gray tomcat familiar trailing casually behind.

       "He actually wants to be a doctor," said Nief, looking back at Template. "He already has a pretty good general knowledge of disease and injury treatment."

       "Can you fill me in on any more details of how the fight went?" said Template. "All I know is we won with no losses, and the last few of the attackers fled."

       "I heard some of it on the com," said Dr. Nief, "and got more of it from people coming in for treatment, or bringing someone in. Between staff members - both super and security - and the more aggressive students, with the boats scuttled and Energex out of the fight, the attackers didn't really have a chance. They started withdrawing not long after Energex went into that volcano..."

       "He didn't actually go in the volcano," said Template.

       She gave a brief description of their fight.

       "I hadn't actually planned for him to blast the volcano. Even if I had thought of it, I didn't think he had that much energy left, to punch all the way through to the lava. That part was just pure luck. Now, what about the rest of the fight?"

       "Ah," said Dr. Nief, nodding. "Well, most of the androids covered the living human attackers as they retreated. They didn't last long, and once the submersibles the humans had arrived in left the remaining androids destructed."

       She laughed and shook her head.

       "I swear, it's a good thing you had the best flyers with your team. Some of those kids at the ships actually tried to chase the transports!"

       "Every time I think I can't be impressed any more..."

            *            *            *

       "That whole pirate nonsense - including the first attack on the island - was just testing the equipment and methodology," said Eve, still nursing a headache from the anesthetic which had been used on her. That hadn't stopped her from scanning their prisoners, though it had made the process less pleasant for them. "DoppelMeister and his associates originally planned to use the synthetic pirates to capture as many students as they could get away with, as a giant red herring. However, the quick and potent response by the teaching staff on that first attempt made them withdraw and change their minds. They decided to use the fake airliner and passengers to reduce our defensive capacity, then send the pirate ships in to go after the children while their hired supers would block the staff and cover the kidnaping operation."

       Template had changed into a spare uniform she kept in her locker in the females' showers. The only signs of her fight were some burned hair and red hands and face.

       "But... why?!"

       "To have super powered children they could train as operatives. For their own use, or to sell to others."

       "If Ah get mah hands on them..."

       "You'll have to stand in line," growled Abnotech.

       "Energex, given his history with Template, was an obvious choice. Of course, this ignored the fact that he's come off the loser every time he's gone against her."

       "Well, some of those encounters weren't clear victories for either side," said Template.

       "Still, he's never accomplished his goal when you were among the opposition."

       "So what, now?" asked Andrea, who had been rescued - bound and gagged - from a pirate rowboat. As a normal staff member, she had been targeted to help care for and control the children, once they were captured.

       "There's several super teams and individuals on the way; some have actually already arrived. They'll handle most of the cleanup. The UN is also sending an investigatory team."

       "No, I meant how does this affect the US government trying to shut us down?"

       "No response, yet, but I'm expecting a negative one."

       "Jimmy Kent says the Lunies will support the islanders' petition for independent status," said Template. "He's not sure the people they spoke to at the UN even know about the school, and they didn't feel like enlightening them. We could get snuck in the way the nuclear base was when the Lunies were recognized."

       "Good news, if it happens," said Eve, "but let's not count on it."

       "And in spite of all this," said Burgundy, "we still have to finish the semester. Assuming the parents don't all withdraw their children."

       "Some have already said they would," said Eve. "However, others, after learning their child was all right and the attackers mostly captured, said they were safer here, with so many people to protect them, than they were at home."

       "Huh," said Chestnut. "Hadn't thought of that, but it makes sense. If whoever is behind this attack had gone after a bunch'a individual families at once, instead..."

       "That was pretty much their point."

       No students had been seriously injured. Only a few had been injured at all. Two needed significant costume repairs. Thunderscout, despite taking the brunt of Energex' blast, had only been stunned and a bit scorched, and even that minor hurt vanished when he cycled to his civilian ID and back. Something only three of those present knew about. Blue Impact had been a bit more hurt, but had moderate regeneration and was already almost completely healed.

       "Some of the students are as happy as I've ever seen them," said Eve. "Some of the staff, too. There are a few who will need counseling, but the fact that they saw the people who were trying to hurt them quickly and decisively beaten should ease even that."

       "And we've got until tomorrow mornin' to get the school back in shape to resume teachin'," said Chestnut, laughing. "Piece'a cake!"

*The Lunies

      The Lunar Defense Station was the first major project by the newly-formed UN. The purpose was to create an installation which could protect the Earth, both from native aggressor and outside invaders. The motivation was a combination of the recently-ended War, and a sortie by the 9ne#jkt(HUK)pbr. Using some of the advanced technology developed during the War, an international team - including participants sent by the new Russian government - constructed a Lunar rocket vehicle and traveled to Earth's satellite. The first mission only stayed on the surface a week, gathering data and collecting samples. Three more missions visited other areas for similar durations during the next two years. After a hiatus of a year to improve designs and upgrade equipment, a multi-ship mission placed a ten-man, long-term station on the face turned permanently towards the Earth. To this day the exact location of this installation is officially a secret. However, after nearly sixty years it is pretty certain it is on a high spot in the Hyginus rille.

      Under the growing threat of Communist China, this station was steadily expanded over the next decade, and equipped with long-range nuclear missiles. A second installation, deliberately located hundreds of kilometers away, was also established, taking advantage of the infrastructure created for constructing and maintaining the Station. This was intended strictly for scientific exploration. Over the years the second station - named The Goddard Research Project, Unit 1 - was expanded, then replicated. A strongly international community was established in the two associated stations. Women had come to the Moon on the first landing (much to the distress of certain old-fashioned parties) and the portion of females among the crews remained steady at about 12% for several years, before beginning a slow increase to 50%. Six months after the completion of the initial phase of the Goddard base one of the women stationed there was discovered to be two months pregnant. The scandal was greatly mitigated with the revelation that Helen Blaine and Thomas Crawford had secretly married a month before launch. The reason for the secrecy being that only single people were allowed on the flights at that time. The Earth-bound administrators of the project were outraged; both at being lied to and at having their rules broken. They were especially incensed that everyone involved but them seemed to know about the marriage - and that the couple was openly living together - before they did.

      The Lunar Oversight Committee managing both projects for the UN promptly ordered Helen home. She refused, with support of the on-site doctor; there was too much chance of the trip harming the fetus. The committee then ordered Thomas home. He refused, saying he wanted to be there for the birth of his child. The committee went ballistic, rapidly issuing an escalating series of orders intended to force compliance, all of which were studiously ignored by Lunar personnel, when they realized that any attempt to reason with their bosses in this matter were futile. The fact that public opinion was solidly behind the couple only increased the committee's fury. Their final measure was to cut back supplies to the base by the amount needed for one person, assuming this would force at least Thomas to leave.

      The response by the various teams was to petition the UN for recognition as a legitimate state, and request membership.

      This move was neither frivolous nor hasty. As a member state they would no longer be under the authority of the Committee, and could request aid from the UN. After much heated argument (most of the challenges being brought up by the Committee members) both requests were granted. Only later did the UN realize that this gave "a group of ideologue scientists" control over the entire Moon, and that those there assumed the charter included the nuclear-armed Lunar Defense Station. (The LDS commander was kept in the loop by the scientists and agreed with their petition. He felt that the task of running his base required both objectivity and an emotional distance from terrestrial politics.)

      The group renamed themselves the Lunar Nation of Man (later modified to the Lunar Nation of Humanity, and still later Independent Luna). They are commonly known as the Lunar nation, and affectionately (and sometimes not so affectionately) known as the Lunies.

      Since there were known supers on even the first Lunar mission, the fact that a high percentage of the Lunie population is super does not surprise anyone paying attention.

This document is © 2006 Rodford Edmiston Smith. Anyone wishing to reproduce it must acquire permission from the author, who can be reached at: stickmaker@usa.net

You are the visitor to this site since the counter was started, in December of 1997.

You are the visitor to this page since the counter was started, in April of 2006.