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Flamma Argentea

by

Rodford Edmiston

      Note: This project uses materials and characters owned by White Wolf as part of their Aberrant role-playing game. The rest is Copyright 2009 me.

      One of the things I want to explore with this story is the logical progression of character power advancement as it would occur in a long-running role-playing game. Argent will go through power upgrades, some gradual, some discontinuous. They will all follow the rules for the Aberrant game, as I run it. (See here: http://www.dcr.net/~stickmak/Gaming/SinCity.htm )Argent will start out as a fairly typical Nova, but through hard training, hard-earned experience and a Major Plot Device will roughly double her abilities by 2000. All using rules from the game books and my house rules. As a result, Argent will become very powerful by the end of the story, over a period of about a decade. (Most RPGs seem to implicitly assume short character life.)

      The character will not only change physically and in her powers, but in her role in this world, as she becomes more powerful and more important.      

Part One

03/23/1998

      "I had a great-great-grandmother who was an early feminist," said Sarah, tiredly, as she slumped against the rough bricks in the alley beside the Nick-Nack Restaurant. "People used to joke that she was a werewolf... though not loudly."

      Breakfast time at the small cafe was as busy as usual. However, the younger waitress looked more put-upon than usual. Something was irritating her; more than usual, that is.

      "I think the term back then was suffragette," said Ginger, her sister waitress, as she dropped the remains of her cigarette and ground it out with the sole of her shoe.

      "Whatever," said Sarah, with another tired sigh. Noticing the lock of hair hanging in her face moving from the breath, she blew it out of the way. "Point is, this isn't what I had planned for my life."

      "Honey," said the older woman, "does anybody get what they plan for their life? Just be happy you're good looking. That really helps with some types of job."

      "Not with my last one. People looked at my hair and my boobs and figured there was nothing between them."

      "Folks have always judged others by their appearance," said Ginger, sagely. She grinned. "I imagine your great-great-grandma knew that."

      "I wonder how disappointed she'd be that her descendant got kicked out of the police department because a group of men didn't think a woman could be a good cop."

      "Hon, I'm sorry for you, but it's over," said Ginger, a bit tired of the whining, especially when it was eating away at their scarce break time. "You went through all the appeals and lost and you can't afford to sue..."

      "I can't afford much except a grungy apartment and the bare minimum of food and clothing," said Sarah, almost snarling.

      "What's eatin' you this morning?" said Ginger, actually a bit concerned. "You seemed fine, earlier, but startin' about half an hour ago you..."

      "Hey, you folks been hearing the weird stuff on the news?" said Carl, sticking his head through the door frame. "They've lost contact with the Galatea space station, and radar shows debris in its orbit."

      He stepped out to join the two women while they digested this.

      "Oh, no," said Ginger, in sudden alarm. "It's like Challenger all over again!"

      Sarah felt a pang of grief, and was actually a bit ashamed, griping about her minor problems when there were people with far worse. She remembered, a couple of years back, when a group of scientist surprised everyone by successfully campaigning for a complete replacement for the kludge the planned International Space Station had become. The flakes had screamed over the fact that half the station's power came from an experimental isotopic reactor. Sarah had a sudden worry that maybe they had been right, and now the Earth would be showered with radioactive debris.

      "Getting busy in here, folks," said Patricia, looking through the door into the alley. "Late breakfast crowd is finishing. Oh, and Carl, we need more Wacky Snax."

      "I just bought two cases yesterday," said the young man, in protest. "What's with people in this town and that stupid junk food? I mean, have you ever tasted the things?"

      "Yes. They're delicious. People love them. Oh, and the Academy Awards are tonight, so we'll have a big crowd. Get some money out of petty cash - And write how much down! - and go get two more cases."

      "Yes, master," said Carl, sighing.

      "I bet Titanic wins Best Picture," said Ginger. She smirked. "I love a movie where I know the ending."

      "At least is smells better inside," said Sarah, as they trooped through the door.

      The morning passed quickly. Business was good, lately, which meant relatively good money but also long hours. Sarah routinely got up at 5:30 and was busy - sometimes frantically busy - most of the day until well after dusk. Today the situation wasn't helped by the distraction of the big, projection TV, which was tuned to CNN.

      To Sarah's relief, while scientists were reporting that they had detected radioactivity in the Galatea debris, the cloud was expanding due to the force of the explosion and the radioactivity was rapidly fading. By the time any of it came down the radiation would barely be detectable. However, the news brought other concerns.

      "This is crazy!" said Paul, the assistant manager, staring at yet another special bulletin. "The space station exploded, there's been an earthquake in Denver, explosions in New York, the Ganges is out of its banks, people doing impossible things..."

      "Half this stuff is just mass hysteria," said Carl, firmly. "I mean, most of what they're reporting is impossible. What's happened is a few odd and tragic events which by coincidence are occurring on the same day, and the gullible are now seeing the signs of the Apocalypse anywhere and everywhere."

      "Then how do you explain the Pentagon going to Defcon 3?" said Ginger, pointedly.

      "They just said on TV that the government may have evidence the Galatea explosion was deliberate," said Paul. "Given all the terrorist activity in the world today that's just being careful, I guess."

      "Let's hope someone doesn't think a flock of birds is Russian bombers and start a nuclear war," said Ginger, sourly.

      "Did you see that?!" said Patricia, gasping and pointing at the huge screen. "That fireman just... absorbed the flames burning that school bus!"

      "What?!" said Carl.

      Naturally, by the time they could turn around the news had switched to something about the stock market.

      "I tell you, I saw it!"

      "You just got a glimpse of a commercial for some new fantasy movie," said Carl, confidently.

      Within half an hour, though, they had all seen the footage, as it was shown over and over. Newscasters were already referring to Randel Portman as The Fireman, with leading caps. Also being shown now were other events as remarkable and bizarre. Normally placid newscasters were showing genuine emotion, which was as frightening as any of the things they were describing.

      The staff couldn't take much time to watch the TV or even talk about the few glimpses they saw; the customers were staying and drinking as they watched. Nick-Nack normally was open from seven to ten, but with the unprecedented drain on the bar stock Patricia finally called a halt at eight, Academy Awards or no.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Sarah usually appreciated her apartment being close to work, but tonight she wanted to walk. She felt oddly agitated. Sarah walked a different route home than usual, covering far more territory. Trying to sort things out. All these strange events... For some reason, she also kept flashing back to the situation which resulted in her being fired, just over a year before.

      She was part of a group of officers who were clearing out a building full of squatters. Supposedly routine stuff. Only, they soon found themselves under attack from multiple sources, including some automatic weapons fire. Later they discovered that a local drug lord had put his headquarters - and the majority of his inventory - in the upper floors of the old warehouse, with the squatters as a buffer. The raid had surprised the drug lord and his people as much as they had surprised the police, resulting in panic all around, with the squatters in the middle.

      After the initial exchange both sides had pulled back to wait for reinforcements and for the squatters to flee. Sarah had been told to watch a particular opening from cover. After several quiet minutes, she saw a muscular guy - most likely Hispanic, but she didn't get a good look at him, because of what was in his hands - step out, holding what looked like an AK-47. A real assault weapon. He didn't see her; she got a bead on him from around the corner she was using for cover, and opened her mouth to challenge him. Then Billy Snyder - another rookie - walked in from the right, in plain view of the perp, but oblivious to him. The perp started, and raised his gun.

      Sarah yelled a warning and fired. She missed; the perp ducked back into the shadows and started firing. Snyder looked first towards Sarah - actually swinging his gun towards her, then towards the doorway. He began firing, missing widely. Bullets were spraying all around him, but instead of ducking for cover he emptied his magazine ineffectually. As he fumbled with a reload - dropping the first replacement mag - Sarah tried to provide cover fire, but couldn't see the perp and wasn't having much effect. Then, just as her pistol went dry, she saw the perp step out and take careful aim.

      Sarah lunged from cover and tackled Snyder, as the bad guy shot. She didn't know if he would have hit, but that seemed likely. Fortunately, he still had the AK-47 on full auto, and emptied the last few rounds into the wall beyond the two police officers. Realizing he was out, he ran.

      At first, Snyder was appreciative. He confessed that he'd gotten lost after taking a leak and stumbled into some place he wasn't supposed to be. However, in the after-action report he claimed he had spotted suspicious activity, and through careful maneuvering gotten the drop on the perp, only Sarah had knocked him down and spoiled his shot. Sarah knew nothing of this until a few days later, when questioned about her part of the report. Her superiors said they just wanted to clear up a few "discrepancies."

      The tone of the investigators became less friendly and more antagonistic as she persisted with her "story." Finally, they handed her a printed sheet and told her to sign. She read it carefully, which angered them. Then refused to sign, which made them furious. They threatened her with dismissal if she persisted in lying about Snyder's actions. She realized, though, from the way the paper was worded, that if she signed the best she could hope for was a job as a file clerk.

      She was out by the end of the week.

      Worse, they blackballed her. Word spread she was trying to avoid responsibility for a rookie mistake by making a hero look bad. (Yes; by this time Snyder was being hailed as a hero and promising young cop.) Every resource for appeal turned her down, because they had already been told the "real" story by sources they respected more than a rookie cop. Especially a girl rookie cop.

      Now she was working as a waitress, instead of doing the only thing she was actually qualified for. All that training, all that work, gone. Forever.

      Suddenly, Sarah was consumed with a fiery rage. She had to hit something, to express herself with violence. Knowing she would break her knuckles and caring about the harm such an act would cause her, she still whirled around and swung at the concrete lamp post by the curb. At the impact she experienced a silvery, flaring moment of surreal clarity, not merely of the senses but of thought. She could actually predict what would to happen next, visualizing the bones breaking and hearing her screams of pain, dreading the medical bills she could not afford, the time lost from work... That she was wrong was a lesson in humility which would last the rest of her days.

      Her fist went all the way through the reinforced concrete pole, and still she had so much momentum she was carried over the hood of a parked car and into the busy street. There was a thump as she hit the ground and another as the front wheels of a large vehicle ran across her extended arms and legs. She was stunned; not from the impact or the runover but from the twin realizations that she wasn't hurt, and that she was now far more aware of both her surroundings and herself than ever before in her life. More, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion.

      There was a belated blare of horns and squeal of sliding tires. The SUV hadn't been moving fast; it stopped with Sarah squarely under it.

      She didn't know what had happened, but knew she was... different, now. Her mind flashed over all those bizarre reports on the news. Of that fireman - The Fireman - and others. She felt a thrill that she was now one of them.

      Not hurt. Thinking better than ever before. What else?

      She pushed herself up, in the process also lifting the left side of the SUV off the pavement with some effort.

      How much is that?

      The realization that she didn't know beyond a vague guess was another lesson in humility. The subsequent realization that knowledge was important no matter how smart a person was hit her with the impact of a religious epiphany. Then came the realization that the old concept of deriving all knowledge from first principals was folly, at least for whatever level of enlightenment was now hers. She was mildly surprised she knew about the concept, but her memory was better, too; she could recall - though imperfectly - most of what she had read, seen and heard in her life. Imperfectly because while her recall of what she knew was sharp, that knowledge was made up of memories which were not, having been formed before this... whatever had happened to her.

      She also realized that however much her senses and mind had been sharpened her wisdom - and common sense, if that was a separate faculty - had not been enhanced, because she was drawing attention to herself, on all fours, supporting most of an SUV on her back. Sarah didn't want attention, not just now, not until she could figure out what had happened to her. Fortunately, her sense of time - which had already been good and was now exquisitely sharp - told her only a few seconds had passed since her transformation.

      She lowered herself enough to be free of the vehicle and slid deftly out from under it. Standing, she quickly took stock. She was bigger, now, and more muscular, her body straining at her clothes. Between that, and the physical abuse she had given them in the past few seconds, she was dressed in tatters. She could see well-defined muscles in her arms and legs, and even her shoulders, where the cloth was torn. This was not the time and place for detailed self-examination, though. She hopped up, into a backflip which carried her easily over the SUV and the parked car and returned her to the sidewalk beside the fallen light post - not questioning how she was able to do this - then hurried away before anyone could get a good look at her. Her speed was blazing. She was two blocks along an indirect route to her apartment before any of the bystanders could react.

      Sarah approached her apartment taking great care not to be seen. Once inside, with the door closed and securely locked behind her, she stripped off her ruined clothes as she hurried to the bathroom. There, in the full-length mirror, she gaped at her new self.

      She didn't know about the rest of the body, but she had seen that face before. It was the inspiration for several role-playing characters she had created in high school and college, strong-featured with a determined expression. Her great-great-grandmother, the suffragette. Except she'd never seen a nude image of the woman.

Part Two

      Sarah was now fully equipped with sharply-chiseled muscles. Her breasts were smaller, and conical rather than pendulous... though now they were augmented by an impressive set of pecs. There was no trace of makeup. All her hair was black instead of blond, and it was very short. Also, her armpits and legs were unshaven, though this form was not heavily hirsute.

      She gasped at her image in the mirror, and that sound made her try her voice. Which was deeper, but still feminine.

      Short nails, she realized, looking down at her hands.

      That was irritating. One of the few benefits of getting fired from the police department was that she could let her nails grow. Which she realized was an inane thought, just now.

      Sarah felt - disconnected. Reaction was beginning to set in. Among other things, she missed being attractive. Despite her earlier moaning, she liked being stacked and blond. And feminine.

      Damn, I'm butch, she thought, posing and flexing, watching her muscles shift. She grinned as she remembered a lesbian and bi-female bar she had learned about during college and gone to see but never actually worked up the courage to enter.

      If I were of a mind to resume old habits, I could definitely pick up some gals at the Euphemism.

      Only... women had never been a big part of her sex life. Few of her close friends even realized she was bi. Yeah, she'd occasionally had fun with another gal, but more as an opportunistic diversion than a pursuit. With a little mental self-examination she could tell that her preferences in this area were also unchanged.

      Do I really want to spend the rest of my life like this?

      She frowned, and thought of her previous self. Shorter, softer, blond and buxom. She felt a response. Encouraged, she thought harder. She stared at the mirror as her form changed back to her accustomed self.

      Shapeshifting, too?!

      She thought hard for several seconds... given her new mental acuity, that was very hard, indeed. She picked an image. Carl, at work. She'd always admired his broad shoulders and handsome face. With a tingle of anticipation, she tried to shape her body to look like his. Nothing happened. Experimentally, she shifted back to the butch form. No problem. She tried again to change into Carl, with no success. She picked Ginger and tried to change. Nothing.

      Weird. So I have two forms. And... all this other stuff.

      She needed more information. A couple of tech-savy friends had tried repeatedly to get her interested in this new-fangled Internet thing, and now she regretted that she hadn't. Still, she had radio and TV. She turned the set on and toured the channels. Finally, she found one showing a special bulletin. The normally staid announcer appeared to be on the border of panic.

      "Paranormal events are occurring all over the world, with superhumans erupting at random among us like novas in the night sky!"

      At least I won't be alone, she thought, with a sudden pang of relief. Since I can look normal I can hide, while I figure things out.

      She wanted desperately to test herself, find out just what she could do. However, common sense held, and she decided not to rush into things. She'd scout around, first, find places where she could experiment discretely.

      Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she relaxed. Then settled down to watch TV and listen to the radio.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Around three in the morning Sarah decided she better try to get some sleep, even though she still felt wide awake. Sarah carefully followed her normal routine, hoping the familiar ritual would help her relax and get to sleep. She had to get up early for work the next day, after all. Only she found herself lying in bed, mind racing.

      This wasn't insomnia. She simply wasn't sleepy!

      Well, I can get a lot more done if I don't need sleep.

      Still, this was disturbing. From what she knew, sleep was vitally important for mental health. What if she never slept again, gradually going crazy?

      Sarah fretted over this for a while, then decided to watch the TV some more. No sense anticipating trouble. Maybe she really didn't need sleep. Or maybe her biorhythms had simply been scrambled by whatever had happened to her, and she'd start getting sleepy in the middle of her shift. She didn't turn on any lights as she moved from bedroom to den. Her senses were so keen, now, that the light coming in through the closed drapes was all she needed. She did turn on the floor lamp beside the couch, and when the TV came on she put the sound on low.

      Sarah passed the rest of the night watching TV, catching up on her reading - even digging out textbooks and novels she had read previously, to refresh her knowledge of them - and eating. Her reading speed was fantastic, now, and she not only had full comprehension of things which previously had confused her, but could recall practically every word. She also kept getting hungry.

      My metabolism must be outrageous, she thought, after her third meal before breakfast. I'm gonna have to manage my budget very carefully to keep myself fed.

      When her alarm sounded she was busy marking known Nova appearances in her old atlas, trying to find a pattern. There might have been one, but she simply didn't have enough data, yet. Neither did a significant number of Eruptions - the term already being used for someone becoming a Nova - lie along the orbital track of the Galatea, despite the obvious association between the start of the Nova phenomenon - and several others - and the explosion of the space station. Despite all the fuss, Sarah had counted fewer than two hundred Novas so far. She made a mental note to stop at the book store near Nick-Nack and buy a world wall map. Another added expense.

      Hey! If I really don't need sleep I could take a second job! Though I'd have to be careful where.

      Maybe she could work a second job in her new form. As a former police officer - even one with limited time on the force - she definitely knew how to get fake ID.

      That brought another thought. Could she get back into law enforcement? If her new physical abilities were even half as formidable as her limited testing suggested... Well, that was something to check into later. Right now, she needed to get ready for the job she already had.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The next few days were busy. During the day she worked and made preparations. At night Sarah cautiously experimented with her new powers and did what research she could. A local university library had Internet access, which she quickly mastered. She purchased some basic clothing for her new form, mostly workout and martial arts gear. Unfortunately, given her current finances that was about the limit she could afford.

      The third night following her Eruption Sarah went to an auto scrap yard infamous for its lax security. After all, who would want to steal rusted out car bodies or baled scrap? Through research she had learned how much such bales typically weighed, as well as weights for parts of various cars. A bit nervously, Sarah - already in her "butch" form - slipped into the darkened yard and made her way to an isolated section full of sorted parts.

      Experimenting at home, Sarah had learned that she could cause her clothing to change size with her. Unfortunately, the process didn't make them any tougher. Tonight she was wearing cheap gi pants, a sport bra and t-shirt, and some inexpensive athletic shoes.

      Sarah was excited to discover that she could now lift roughly a thousand kilograms.

      Sarah amused herself for a while with bending and tearing metal, but that made more noise than she liked. She decided to move on to a different experiment.

      Her first, timid attempt at a jump carried her about fifty meters. Tempted, she then put everything into the second jump... and landed on the rim of an abandoned quarry well outside of town.             The "flight" - actually a ballistic arc - had only mildly surprised her. She knew she was capable of jumping far further than her initial effort. The true magnitude of her leap was startling, though, and also sobering. She decided to head back to her apartment. Sarah was disappointed she couldn't actually fly - could barely steer by shifting her body shape and attitude - but figured she had nothing to complain about.

      Sarah ran through the streets of Cincinnati, startling a few people but for the most part unobserved this early. She felt... powerful. She was faster and more agile than an Olympic-level gymnast. She was tough, able to endure without harm things which would have quickly caused injury before her Eruption. Also, a nasty burn on the back of her right hand from the week before was completely healed within a few hours. All her scars were gone, now.

      She could note details like Sherlock Holmes, and remember them clearly, though not always perfectly. Moreover, her senses were not only keener, but extended, especially her hearing. She didn't think her range of perception was superhuman, but her sensitivity was. Fortunately, that didn't include being overly sensitive.

      Sarah found herself not only smarter, but clearer-headed, less prone to confusion. Even during that long leap she had been collected, in control. Also, by concentrating she could roughly double her perception of time. That is, she could think and act twice as fast, effectively putting the world into slow motion. Combined with her greater running speed, that made her roughly four times as fast covering ground as before, and she could hold the speed longer. She could literally chase down many speeders, now.

      Just before reaching home, Sarah shifted into her normal form and slowed to a human speed. She pretended she was returning from an early-morning run. Sarah still hadn't actually slept through a night since her Eruption, but had managed a couple of short naps. She figured she'd sleep when she needed to. Sarah entered her apartment and moved straight to the kitchenette to prepare a large breakfast.

      Discrete investigation had revealed that no-one knew how the lamp post got broken. Fortunately, the stores in that area were all closed at that time of night and pedestrians rare. There was a police report with a confused account from the driver of the vehicle which had struck Sarah. She was relieved when she learned no-one in the SUV was injured and the vehicle was not damaged.

      Working her waitress job was becoming increasingly frustrating, though, in large part because her expanded mind was even more bored than her old one. Sarah's excitement over what had happened to her also made her want to share with others, but none of her co-workers were close friends. The temptation to do something was very strong, but her desire to avoid attention was stronger. Media accounts of how people were pestering - in many ways - those few Novas whose identities were known helped reinforce that decision.

      One good thing about the low demand of her job on her intellect was that it left plenty of spare capacity for thinking. She couldn't quite multitask but Sarah could quickly and easily switch what she was thinking about. Besides evaluating what she had learned, she also tried to determine what to do with her abilities. All through the day she formed, evaluated and discarded schemes of varying practicality. Several Novas had already signed product endorsement contracts. A couple had made a big deal of trying to enter the military, though fortunately no nation had yet accepted any of these offers.

      "Earth to Sarah!" said Ginger, at one point.

      "We're going to need more Wacky Snax," said Sarah, calmly.

      "I thought we had plenty."

      "Just a hunch," said Sarah, shrugging.

      She was getting a lot of those, lately. They seemed to originate from something separate from her enhanced intelligence, a distinct ability of its own. Already, those hunches had helped her a great deal.

      Sarah's hunch in regard to the snack food was soon borne out. For some reason the Nick-Nack was a gathering place for people in the area who wanted to catch up on news events or talk about them. The breakfast crowd had been about normal, but things picked up sharply around 11:30. By Noon they were packed.

      For the most part, Sarah resisted the urge to use her powers to make things better. However, she did allow herself a few concealed uses where they would help with the rush but weren't likely to be noticed.

      The crowd dropped off sharply after two. People were either going back to work, or home. The restaurant's employees and managers gave a sigh of relief; they had done nearly two days' worth of business already, and hadn't even completely caught up from the rush the night before. Ever since the Galatea explosion people had been much more interested in talking and getting together.

      "So, is this the end of the world?" said Sarah, playfully, as she sidled up next to Carl.

      "Ford just bought Volvo," said Carl, mock fervently. "You can't tell me that's not a sign of the apocalypse."

      Sarah laughed, making certain to include a note of tiredness, even though she felt energized. The previously exhausting demands of this job were nothing for her new level of stamina.

      "You think business will pick back up later?" she asked Ginger, as the older waitress passed by.

      "Patricia spoke with Mr. Downs, and he said to stay open regular hours. Unless we have another run like last night. He's already arranged for the bar to be completely restocked before five."

      Business did pick up, but to a level only a bit above normal. Fortunately, Sarah had managed a trip to the grocery store and book store during the slow period. Her apartment was now ready for another sleepless, hungry night.

Part Three

      Time passed surprisingly quickly, yet things changed surprisingly slowly. Day went into week went into month. Still there was no explanation for the destruction of the Galatea, for the plethora of seemingly natural disasters which had occurred at the same time, or for the appearance of Novas. Intellectually, Sarah knew any of these might take years of study to unravel, and might not ever be understood. That didn't keep her from wishing someone would figure things out now.

      By the end of that month Sarah had pretty much finished evaluating her new capabilities and was deep into studying what to do with them. She felt oddly reluctant to "come out" as a Nova. When she did use her powers, it was in her alternate form. More and more, this was done as a release, for relaxation. Which definitely helped make her mundane life as a waitress more tolerable.

      A large part of her reluctance stemmed from what various people around the world were saying should be done with or to Novas. The suggestions ranged from conscription through lifetime imprisonment to immediate execution. The speakers ranged from random citizens to heads of state. Fortunately, the majority of leaders and ordinary citizens were taking much less extreme stands.

      Friday rolled around again, and on her afternoon break Sarah ate a quick meal then headed uptown on foot.

      Here I go, to put my meager wages into the bank. Wish Downs had direct deposit.

       Life had returned almost to normal in these few days. Well, except for the whole superhuman thing. The various disasters which had accompanied the destruction of the Galatea had faded and their consequences were being dealt with. There was actually very little of the space station left in orbit; pieces - real and fake - were being auctioned in various venues.

      What continued were the activities of the Novas, as well as the Eruptions of new ones. After the initial spate the number of new Novas being confirmed had dropped to well under one a day. Some Erupted in public, and were therefore known immediately. Some went days before revealing themselves or being discovered or identified. How many were keeping their new status secret there was no way to tell. The majority of Novas seemed to be in the US, but that could be a sampling phenomenon.

      Sarah finished her business, made certain her account was in order, and exited the building. As she began walking back to the Nick-Nack, though, she spotted someone in an alley across the street. He was a large man, and appeared larger because of a bulky overcoat, knit cap and scarf.

      This immediately struck her as odd. The weather was cool, but not that cool. Sarah waited until she was past the alley and out of the strange man's line of sight, then slowed. As she looked around she spotted an armored car pull to a stop in front of her bank. Sarah immediately went into alert mode. She eased back into concealment and shifted to her alternate form. When she looked out again, the strange man was running across the street towards the armored car.

      Sarah darted out from cover, but not at full speed. She still wasn't certain, yet. This could all be a matter of innocent coincidence. When he ran behind the truck, however, she heard a sound of rending metal, and a shout of alarm. That was enough.

      Sarah leapt, turning in the air so that when she landed beyond the truck she was facing its rear doors. One of which was hanging askew. The man - obviously a Nova - had grabbed the lower inside corner of the door and ripped it open. He was now trying to climb into the truck. An astonished guard inside was backing away, wide-eyed and fumbling for his gun.

      Noting the demonstration of inhuman strength and the fact that the vehicle had lowered a small but noticeable (to her) amount from the man's weight, Sarah decided not to hold back. She quickly stepped forward, grabbed the man's legs, and swung him up, over, around and down, slamming him onto the pavement.

      The jolt of impact was impressive, actually setting off the alarms in several nearby cars. The man lay still.

      Sarah, concerned that she may have killed him, carefully moved in and pulled down his scarf. She did a good job of imitating the expression she had seen on the guard just a moment ago.

      The figure wasn't human. It was a machine.

      "A robot?!" said Sarah, stunned.

      A sound from behind her made her look back. Both security guards were out of their truck, guns drawn and aimed at her and the robot.

      "Easy," said Sarah, standing and raising her hands. "I'm just a citizen who saw a crime and stopped it."

      "Who are you?!" said the driver, his voice squeaking.

      "Sorry; I'm not ready to go public, yet."

      With a shrug and a apologetic grin, Sarah leapt away.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      She made the news that evening. Security cameras at the bank and in the armored car had caught her in action. The images were blurry and had poor resolution, but good enough to identify her. The newscaster stated that both local police and the FBI were looking for the woman who has stopped the robbery. For questioning. Oddly, there was no mention of the thief being a robot.

      Later, a Cincinnati station had a statement by the Special Agent in Charge of the local FBI office.

      "I want to emphasize that this woman is not a suspect," he said, in part. "What makes this a matter of interest to the FBI is that crimes appear to have been committed in two different states by the same person. There were three actual robberies committed in the southern Ohio and northern Kentucky area over the past five days by what seems to have been this same man, and the woman who stopped him this time was not seen at any of those events. We're reasonably certain she is just what she told the armored car guard: A concerned citizen who saw a crime and decided to stop it. We're interested in both connecting her with the armored car company so they can give her a reward, and possibly recruiting her to help stopping Nova criminals."

      That got her attention!

      Sarah made a mental note of the contact number which was given.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Sarah walked in a side entrance of the FBI building at the agreed-upon time, in her "butch" form. There were several people waiting, including the head of the local office. He recognized her, despite the different clothes - she had worn her training outfit - and stepped forward, extending his hand.

      "Special Agent in Charge Oliver Johnson, at your service."

      "I'm very glad to meet you," said Sarah, taking the extended hand.

      "And you are?"

      "Can we talk somewhere more private? I hate to seem paranoid, but given what some people are saying should be done with people like me I want to guard my privacy very carefully."

      "Certainly. My office is this way."

      Once they were inside and the door was closed. Sarah relaxed. The room was large, with several doors besides the one they had entered by. It was well but not lavishly appointed.

      "Now," said Johnson, "if you do, as you said in your call, want to join the FBI, we have to know who you really are."

      Sarah shifted uneasily. She was giving up something important to her, and it wasn't easy.

      "This... well, it's not what I normally look like."

      She gritted her teeth and shifted to her pre-Eruption form. She smiled nervously, spreading her arms.

      "Sarah Margaret Grimes, at your service," she announced, with a bot of theatrical flourish.

      "That's... disconcerting," said Special Agent Johnson.

      "You ought to try it from this side," said Sarah, with a sigh. "Look, I want to take advantage of your offer. I'm not just some wannabe, either. I was a rookie cop for nearly a year, before I got kicked out due to what was basically sexist bigotry."

      "Better and better," said Johnson. He extended his hand and they shook again. "Ms. Grimes, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The rest of that Saturday passed in a flurry of activity. Johnson confirmed Sarah's background, and quizzed her himself. Besides beginning preparation for hiring her, he also arranged for Sarah to be given the promised reward. Once she was actually an FBI employee she would be issued a substantial check in her legal name, the armored car company agreeing to keep her identity confidential.

      "You don't know what a relief this is," she said, once the details had been ironed out. "Money has been a real problem since I got fired. Moreso since my Eruption. Novas have expenses other people don't."

      "So how will you quit your current job?"

      "Everyone there knows I've been trying to find other work, hopefully in law enforcement. I'll just tell them the truth; that I've been hired by the FBI."

      "That's an odd way to maintain your anonymity."

      "I don't have all the details worked out, but if possible I'd like to be hired as Sarah, but operate as... Well, I don't have a name, yet."

      "I think that can be arranged. I'll have Legal check into it. But you need to realize that some people will have to know, and others are likely to find out."

      "Hey, if you can't trust the FBI..." said Sarah, with a grin and a shrug.

      Johnson laughed a bit, but then quickly got back to business.

      "I am very glad to have you," he said, with an air of sincere concern. "We've manage to keep things quiet, so far, but a handful of Novas have been causing enormous problems. Even SWAT teams are having trouble dealing with some of them. Then there is whoever built that robot."

      "Which is beyond the combined capacity of all the world's state of the art," said Sarah. "Not to mention apparently being put together in no more than the month since Novas first appeared. Possibly less time than that."

      "You figured that out, then?"

      "I did some research. Seems to me that examining the machine should give clues as to who built it."

      "If we do manage to hire you, that's the first job you'd be assigned," said Johnson.

      "Sooner started, sooner finished."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Sarah had graduated a police academy, not an FBI academy. Still, there was little she was lacking, and that could be made up with remedial training. By the end of the day Sunday, Sarah was very happy; she would start on the payroll the first of the month, on probation until she met certain training requirements. This would give her a few days to quit Nick-Nack and get other things in order. Meanwhile, her new employers were studying what they had acquired.

      The tests they ran not only confirmed what Sarah told them about her capabilities, they helped her explore new applications. The results also startled her new employers multiple times. And not just her gross physical capabilities.

      "You deliberately altered your aim a bit for each shot," said Johnson, as he examined a pistol target with a perfectly symmetrical group of holes.

      "Yes. I didn't want to put all the bullets through the same hole, and have people thinking I'd missed."

      "I think we're going to need entire new testing procedures for Novas," said Johnson, with a tired sigh.

      "I can actually see the bullets going downrange," said Sarah, quietly. "That surprised me."

      "I've done that, occasionally, on sunny days when the light angle was right."

      The details of the confidentiality arrangement were surprisingly easy. Similar things had been done before, so there was precedent.

      "Have you decided yet on the name you'll use to preserve your secret identity?" said Johnson, a bit playfully, as they met late Sunday.

      Sarah was definitely liking her new boss. He wasn't a Nova, but he was smart and clever and open-minded. He only occasionally had trouble keeping up with her.

      "Not a secret identity," said Sarah. "A private identity. As you told me earlier, very few FBI agents are public figures. I'm likely to be, if only due to the notoriety of having powers. I don't really mind that, but I would like a private life."

      "Given your ability to change your appearance that shouldn't be too hard to arrange," said Johnson. "What name will you use, anyway? Or have you thought of that yet?"

      "Argent," she replied. "For some reason sometimes I produce a silver glow. And, yes, I'm perfectly aware that a light source can't be silver. The color silver is actually not a color, but a property of reflectivity. However, something I do causes what looks like silver light."

      "Argent," said Johnson, nodding. "That's acceptable."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "I'm sorry to see you go, hon," said Ginger, giving her a hug. "But I know how much this means to you."

      "Thank you," said Sarah, actually tearing up a bit. "Despite everything, I'm going to miss you folks."

      "Take care, kid," said Carl, giving an almost chaste kiss on the cheek. "Come back and see us, sometime."

      "Oh, definitely. I do like the food, here!"

Part Four

      "The medical reports show some interesting things," said Johnson, at the end of Sarah's - Argent's - first week at the FBI. "Beyond the obvious ones, I mean. Things the doctors made special notes of. For example, your body is perfectly symmetrical."

      She had agreed to tests which went far beyond the norm for new recruits, after making sure the FBI would pay for them.

      "Which body?" said Argent, pointedly.

      "Both, actually. Well, both forms of the same body. We're pretty sure you only have one, but can change its shape."

      "I hadn't realized there were changes to my old form," said Argent, startled. "I was pretty symmetrical already; if I'm moreso now I just didn't notice."

      "From what the doctors tell me your current degree of symmetry is almost unheard of," said Johnson. "However, that's about the only true anomaly they found."

      "There's more than just the physical changes involved, here," said Argent, thoughtfully. "I wasn't stupid, before, though my IQ score was only a bit above the minimum requirement for the Academy. Now, with a little study, I could discuss physics with Einstein, philosophy with Spinoza... My creativity hasn't increased, but I was already a creative person."

      "Your IQ test..." said Johnson, sorting papers to find the right one.

      "I got bored," said Argent, with a shrug.

      "Obviously," said Johnson, wryly. "I remember you telling me about all those revelations you had in the first few minutes after your Eruption."

      "It was almost overwhelming how... fast it was."

      "Your strength is incredible, though within conceivable limits."

      "Maybe not so much as you think. I did some research," said Argent. "I should do more damage than I actually do when I kick off for those jumps. From the limited information currently available, some Novas do cause an appropriate level of damage; some even less than I do. Others can lift large objects without bending or breaking them when they shouldn't be able to. Whatever is letting us do these things is variable and controllable. Some ability to manipulate force and energy."

      "You're also ninetieth percentile for muscle mass, and tenth percentile for body fat," Johnson continued, going back to the printed report. "As Argent, I mean; as Sarah you're still unusual but less extremely so. Your vision is 20/5 in both eyes, and you can apparently see part-way into the infrared and ultraviolet. Your hearing is keener than anyone else they've tested, and reaches to the extreme ends of human frequency perception. They gave up trying to measure your endurance, strength, speed and such, and just went with your estimates. And so-on and so-on; I'll put a copy in your office mail so you can read the details. I'd certainly like to learn more about your abilities, but for now we need to concentrate on getting you through your remedial training, off probation and to work."

      "I'll really be glad when I can get the pay increase," said Argent, feelingly.

      "You're already making significantly more than you were as a waitress."

      "Yeah, but I've moved to a better apartment." She gave a short, sharp laugh. "I'm also buying two sets of work outfits, and lots and lots of food."

      "That would do it. Anyway, I want you to check in with Doc Samuels after you leave here. He's in charge of the technical part of the investigation of the robot robberies."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "What's this?" said Argent, pointing.

      "Don't touch," said Samuels, quickly, moving over to where Argent was standing, crouched down a bit, to look inside the robot.

      "I'm not. Just indicating where it is. Looks like a bit of cellophane."

      The man-sized, man-shaped machine was currently on a sturdy work table. They'd had Argent carry it there from the loading dock, since she'd already been in physical contact with it and would not likely increase the contamination of any evidence which might be present.

      "You could very well be right," said Samuels, carefully fishing the object out with a pair of forceps. "You've got a good eye. I hadn't spotted that yet. Would have eventually, since we're literally taking this thing completely apart, but getting it early... Well, well, well... What do we have here?"

      "Candy wrapper?" said Argent, peering at the printing on the thing. "Imported."

      "Yes. Most likely for a gumball or some other hard candy. If the consumer was careless we should get prints, maybe even DNA."

      He smiled at her.

      "Good work, Agent." He chuckled. "Agent Argent. Just realized that."

      "Trust me, I want to get this guy. My money is in the bank this thing tried to rob."

      Doc Samuels laughed and bagged the cellophane.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Did you see this new guest editorial by Gadfly in The Cincinnati Free Voice?" said Steve, pointing to something in the paper. "Guy's a real riot."

      "We're on a stakeout at night," said one of the men in the back seat. "Stop flashing that newspaper."

      Argent hadn't felt it her place to say anything, since she was still on probation with the FBI and Steve Collinghurst was a twelve-year veteran. She was glad the DEA agent - the one who had spoken was named Porter, the other Reichenback - had mentioned Steve's casual attitude about their operation.

      "I've been on drug stakeouts before," said Steve, calmly, though he folded the paper and put it on the seat between him and Argent. As junior on the team she was behind the wheel. "These people are so A) stoned and B) focused on getting their next hit or sale you could walk up wearing a highway department safety vest and they'd barely notice."

      "Maybe not this group," said Porter, trying to be diplomatic.

      Two months on the job and this was the closest to action Argent had seen. She was eager to put her powers to good use, and wondered if tonight would be her chance.

      Someone was selling "Nova Juice" to the gullible and the desperate. A witch's brew of stimulants and mood-alterers, it temporarily gave the user a feeling of invincibility and euphoria, while also boosting their physical abilities and numbing their pain receptors. This scam was far from the only one like it to pop up since Novas appeared on the scene, but this group apparently had a real Nova on hand to "prove it works!" That was why the DEA had asked to borrow Argent.

      Despite her eagerness for action, Argent was feeling uncertain about this. The information she'd gathered on other Novas showed that while most of those with physical enhancements were roughly in her class, there were a few who were much stronger, much tougher, much faster, or some combination. Still, she had her police - and now, FBI - training to help. Which was pretty much the only advantage non-Nova Sarah had had before being fired. In that sense, her situation hadn't changed. In another sense, though, she also had mental enhancements, now, which should help in a fight.

      "There!" said Porter, quietly but intensely. "That guy just went into that alley. Turn the camera on!"

      They had a starlight scope connected to a video camera. The rig was cumbersome, and the images grainy, but it worked well enough for their purposes. While the DEA agents watched the camera's display, Argent peered towards the target, shielding her eyes as well as she could from ambient light.

      "I see three men, one of them very large, the guy in back."

      "Yeah," said Porter. "Got the same... Okay, there's the money... and there's the package. Let's go!"

      They moved a quietly as they could as they hurried across the street, but there was no real way to hide, especially with their badges flashing in the street lights. They were spotted a bit over halfway there, a cry of alarm going up. The four law enforcement agents broke into a run, two yelling "DEA!" and two "FBI!" Argent held back so they could all arrive together.

      The buyer whipped around, reaching into his jacket for something.

      "Gun!" Argent yelled, as the man aimed.

      Argent threw herself in front of Porter. She knew from tests she could take a handgun bullet just about anywhere on her body and not be hurt. That held true, as two bullets from the spray slammed into her torso, the only damage being to Argent's clothing.

      Argent blurred ahead, and slapped the gun from the man's hand. She winced as she realized she had broken some of his bones, but that was better than him getting shot as her partners returned fire.

      While Porter and Steve wrestled with the buyer, Reichenback and Argent went for the seller and the big guy.

      "Hugo!" the smaller man yelled, as he frantically backed away.

      Argent was as tall as any of the other men here, but "Hugo" was well over a head taller, and bulging with muscles. Of course, even if he were a Nova bulging muscles didn't mean superhuman strength. Argent wasn't going to bet that way, though.

      Hugo smiled and, taking his time, moved forward, positioning himself between the seller and Reichenback. Argent carefully moved to flank the big man, while keeping an eye on the seller. Who was also smiling. Hugo suddenly lunged.

      Reichenback didn't fire, but dodged back. Argent quickly moved forward and hit Hugo in the left side as hard as she could, so hard he hit the brick wall of the building to his right, so hard the bricks were noticeably dented in. Hugo looked... startled. He straightened and turned towards Argent.

      "Stupid bitch," he muttered, swinging at her.

      Argent's training kicked in, and she did a hard takedown. Only Hugo responded with a leg sweep, tripping her and almost causing her to fall. She staggered back out of reach as Hugo got to his feet. She noticed the seller was fleeing.

      "Reichenback, stay here!" Porter yelled, he and Steve having 'cuffed the buyer to a utility pole. "Collinghurst, with me!"

      Those two took out after the seller, while Argent was left to keep the muscle busy. Well, that made good sense, tactically. She didn't have to like it; it was part of her job.

      The big guy was definitely stronger and tougher than her, and faster than he looked, but Argent was much faster still, and far more agile. Between those advantages, her training, and the fact that he got more and more angry as the fight went on, Argent was eventually able to get a pin and choke him unconscious. Meanwhile, Reichenback had pulled his radio out and called for backup.

      "You do realize that some Novas can go without air for hours, right?" said Reichenback, with a slight smirk, as Argent stood panting over Hugo.

      "Sure," said Argent. "That's why I choked blood as well as air."

      "Ah. In that case, good work. It looks like the others are coming back."

      The seller was fussing furiously, as sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching rapidly.

      "You got no right to do this! I'm a legitimate businessman, selling a legitimate product!"

      "Your 'product' has put six people in the hospital that we know of, one of whom may die."

      "I told 'em it was dangerous! This is an inexact science!"

      He kept protesting even after he was put in the DEA car which had responded to the call. The door slammed on his protests, muffling them but not entirely silencing them.

      "What do we do about him?" said Steve, looking at Hugo.

      "Special restraints," said Porter.

      From the trunk of the DEA car he pulled out what looked like some extreme bondage gear.

      "Kevlar straight jacket, high-tensile shackles, stainless steel tape."

      "Not bad," said Steve, obviously making mental notes.

      They soon had the big guy securely bound, with Argent lifting and turning him so the others could put the restraints on. They finished with only a bit of a safety margin; Hugo was already stirring.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "That was some good work last night," said Johnson to Argent and Steve the next day. "I'm already getting attaboys from the high ups in both the DEA and the FBI."

      "Did the DEA guys find the lab where they were making that poison?" said Steve, his tone showing a great dislike of drugs and those who made and sold them.

      "Oh, yes. Turns out the big guy had the address on a card in his wallet."

      "Not too bright," said Argent, rolling her eyes.

      "He's been identified as a bad boy from Cleveland, getting in trouble through a mixture of low IQ and plain bad nature since his early teens. Just bad luck he turned out to be a Nova."

      "Imagine if he'd gotten Mega-Intelligence," said Steve, using the recently-developed terminology for Nova enhancements.

      "Maybe that would have literally wised him up," said Argent, pointedly.

      "Argent, there's a bit of other good news which you should especially appreciate," said Johnson. "They were never able to trace those prints they found on that candy wrapper, but some of the parts were so specialized that the lists of people who bought any of them were pretty short. Only one person ordered all of them. Dr. Simon Ortgies. He used to do aerospace work in Dayton. Since the first robot robbery was in Dayton we consider him a pretty tight suspect. We've notified the local police and they've agreed to let us send some agents to be present for the arrest. That's you and Steve."

      "That is good news," said Argent, smiling.

      It wasn't a pleasant expression.

Part Five

      "Did you hear that the UN and the Aeon Society have announced a partnership for studying the phenomenon of Novas?" said Steve, reading the paper as they drove north.

      "I knew they were talking about it," said Argent.

      "Just what we need; a liberal would-be world government and a liberal do-gooding organization conspiring to take control of something important."

      "That's funny," said Argent, dryly, "my liberal friends think the Aeon Society is a conservative plot."

      "Just shows how disconnected most liberals are from reality," said Steve, sternly, completely missing the sarcasm.

      I think I'm too subtle for most people these days, thought Argent, tiredly.

      They rode along in blessed silence for a few minutes, the flat countryside of central Ohio passing by slowly outside their car. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

      "I never did hear how you did in Tennessee, last month, cleaning up after that tornado."

      "I wasn't 'cleaning up,'" said Argent, with deliberate patience. "I was doing rescue work. Parts of Nashville were such a mess that they couldn't get heavy vehicles in. I've let it be known that I'm available for stuff like that, and FEMA decided to take advantage of what I had to offer. Found several bodies, several survivors, and helped confirm that several places were empty."

      "Oh, that reminds me; after that waste pond disaster in Spain a few days ago Aeon and the UN are considering recruiting Novas as a sort of emergency response team."

      Again, his tone was disapproving.

      "I read about that, too, Steve," said Argent, managing not to bend the steering wheel. "Sounds like a good idea to me. There are Novas who can fly, run a supersonic speeds and teleport. They can get into isolated areas quickly, and have the power - and powers - to do something significantly helpful."

      "Yeah, but given all the trouble the UN has getting countries to let them send regular forces, how much will they have getting permission for Novas?"

      Argent liked casual conversation as much as anyone, but the things Steve was coming up with on this long drive, and the way he was presenting them... Abortion clinic attacks, Monica Lewinsky, the Oklahoma City bombing, Indian nuclear tests, Pakistani nuclear tests... He kept bringing up important, significant topics and treating them with a cynical disdain inappropriate to the subject, or using them to express some vague disapproval. Argent took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

      "God, I wish I could fly," she muttered.

      "Huh?" said Steve.

      "Just... There are Novas who can actually fly, rather than just jump. That would be so handy."

      "Yeah," said Steve, shrugging, as he went back to his paper.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      They met with representatives of local and state law enforcement at the Dayton police headquarters. Many of those in the large assembly room were obviously puzzled at the presence of the two FBI agents. Fortunately, one of the first things the organizer - the chief of the Dayton police - did was introduce them and explain that Argent was the person who had defeated the robot bank robber a few months before. Knowing nods and some smiles replaced most - though not all - of the puzzled looks. The Chief then got right to business.

      "We've had a bit of luck," said the chief. He briefly held up a folder, then put it on his desk and opened it. "Simon Ortgies. Multi-talented genius. Specializes in bionics, that is, replicating the processes of organic systems with machines. Which I believe means he copies what living things can do."

      He handed the folder to Argent.

      "Pretty much, yeah," said Argent, as she opened it.

      To someone not familiar with her she was merely flipping quickly through the contents of the folder. Steve knew she was reading with full comprehension and would remember every detail.

      "Wow," said Argent, closing the folder and handing it back. "Guy's a real piece of work. I notice there's no mention of him being a Nova, but several people noticed a big change in him about a month before those robots first showed up."

      "The plan is simple and direct. Two of our detectives knock, identify themselves and state that they have a warrant to search Dr. Ortgies' home. If he doesn't answer, Agent Argent takes point and forces entry. Once she has cleared the structure - or apprehended Ortgies if he is actually inside - we follow standard procedures for searching a potentially booby-trapped structure."

      It wasn't actually that simple, of course. Just organizing the disparate forces under a unified command had already taken a great deal of work and time. Now, actually getting the people involved to understand their roles took yet more of each. They finally broke for lunch, and at 1:30 met at the assigned assembly area. There the fifty-three men and women checked their gear a final time, confirmed their orders, and boarded their vehicles.

      The bulk of their forces came from the Dayton police, with roughly half of them coming from the city's SWAT teams. Argent had a hunch the heavy weapons she saw wouldn't be needed. Either they caught Ortgies completely unprepared or, far more likely, he had already twigged and evacuated. Her biggest worry was what surprises he might have left behind to cover his tracks.

      The drive was a short one; lunch rush hour was over and most of their trip could be made on freeways. Their procession attracted little attention, mostly because they weren't in a true convoy but several government vehicles traveling independently to a common destination. No lights, no sirens. Soon, they were approaching Ortgies' home.

      While most of the force hung back, the unmarked Dayton police car with the detectives assigned the task of delivering the warrant, two senior police officers and Steve and Argent pulled up to the house, stopping at the sidewalk in front instead of pulling into the drive. The home was a large, single-story modern building of recent construction. The grass was a bit long and slightly weedy, but compared to some of the lots far from extreme.

      They were in a sparsely populated subjection on the outskirts of town. From what the locals said, this area had been some developer's hair-brained scheme, and had resulted in bankruptcy for him and his backers. Ortgies had bought one of the few completed homes plus two empty lots at auction for a fraction of the pre-bankruptcy price. He'd paid the entire cost with a check drawn on his savings account, which was far from empty afterwards. He had a long history of making large deposits, then living off them for months. His employment history explained why. He was brilliant, but difficult. He was called in as a last resort or when some difficult task had to be done in a hurry. He always charged top money, and always earned it. Until lately.

      Starting a few weeks after the Galatea explosion, Ortgies had drained his bank account, pushed all his credit cards to the limit and taken out a mortgage on his new home. He had then not made any payments. No trace had been found of where the money had gone, beyond a bizarre assortment of expensive, high-tech equipment which only accounted for roughly half of it.

      Robotics was peripheral to his field, which was servo-control mechanisms. His record showed him to be a generalist of narrow application, using a wide range of approaches to solve problems within his specialty. That was designing precision-controlled actuators. This was something which - Argent had been surprised to learn from studying his files - was required in businesses as widely disparate as research laboratories, computer manufacturing, pharmacies, food processing plants... and bomb disposal. Assuming he was now a Nova Mega-Genius, that could easily account for his generalism being expanded to, well, everything.

      Which meant they had no idea what they could be facing inside that house, whether or not Ortgies was still there.

      "Just the sort of set-up a budding mad scientist would want," said Argent, muttering to herself, as she examined the house and its surroundings.

      She watched as the two detectives walked up to the front door, rang the bell and knocked, then called out the requisite warnings. Argent was seated at the left rear door of the unmarked Dayton police car, her side of the vehicle facing the house, her own door actually unlatched and ajar, so she could exit quickly without causing any damage if things went sour. Fortunately, there was no response from inside the house. The two detectives stood back, going off the porch to stand in the front yard, looking at the windows. One of them - Martinez - got on his radio.

      "All units move in. Argent, your call on when to go."

      She nodded to herself, then opened her door and stepped out. She walked calmly past the two detectives to the front door. Argent tried the knob... and somehow was not surprised when it turned. The door was unlocked.

      "I don't like this," said Martinez, behind and to her right.

      "You're not the only one," said Argent. "You two get on the other side of the car. I'll go in and do a quick check. If nothing blows up you can do a proper search."

      The house was well kept, though there was a definite air of being lived-in. Speaking of air, that inside was stale. Argent figured no door or window had been open in at least a week, probably more. Some things were obviously missing: Computer, clothes, whatever vehicle had been in the garage. Ortgies had packed, making deliberate and careful choices of what to take.

      Argent, frowning, went back out and reported her findings. The rest of the team was just rolling up.

      "I'm wondering if we should call the bomb squad," said the other Dayton detective, a fellow named Hodgins.

      "This guy built at least one robot more sophisticated than anything produced by several world-class research teams," said Argent. "If there is a booby-trap, out best chance of dealing with it is to set it off from a distance."

      The senior law enforcement folks conferred for several minutes. Meanwhile, the grunts - Argent included - stood around uneasily. The few other inhabitants of the neighborhood were starting to pay attention to the unusual activity, but so far none had left their yards. Finally, the huddle broke, the leader of each contingent moving out to spread the word.

      "Here's the plan," said Detective Martinez, to Argent and Steve. "Folks not trained in forensics form a perimeter, mostly to keep bystanders out. The experts photograph everything, then start moving stuff out. Strip the house to the walls, even pull up the carpet. If anything is found which looks suspicious, everyone else pulls back and Argent takes a look at it."

      They spent nearly five hours on this operation before someone pulled up a section of carpet to reveal a steel door set flush with the floor.

      Following the plan, everyone but Argent cleared out, taking the last few loose items with them. They all pulled back to a hopefully safe distance, and PA systems on the various police vehicles were used to warn bystanders to take cover. Soon, they were ready. Argent knelt by the hatch and thought hard. There was no handle, no visible hinges, no clue as to how the thing opened. The house was on a slab, without even a crawlspace. Ortgies had simply cut a hole in the wooden floor, then presumably into the slab to do... What?

      Argent took a deep breath, surprised to find her hands shaking.

      "Only one way to tell," said Argent, softly.

      She raised her fist, then struck down, hard.

      Her fist put a deep dent in it the steel door and actually tore it loose from the floor, driving it downward. The metal hit the concrete slab underneath, and Argent suddenly had a strong sense of danger. She didn't even bother running for the door, but simply leapt, crashing out through the roof.

      She had jumped with the intent of aiming for an empty lot across the side street from the house. Unfortunately, while still rising she saw that several people were standing there. She yelled a desperate warning, but they seemed distracted by something. Fortunately, Argent landed well away from anyone, sinking to mid-shin in the bare, slightly muddy ground behind them. She jerked her legs free, and - as a few of the startled civilians turned to watch - looked back at the house. She saw why they were distracted.

      There was an intensely bright light coming from somewhere inside the house. Argent could feel the heat, could see the roof smoking, the drapes burning with a dark, black-tinged, yellow flame. Suddenly, with a muffled Whump! and a sound of glass shattering, the superheated air inside the house found exit. The subsequent inrush of fresh air caused an instant conflagration, and within seconds the house was one huge bonfire.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Well, that was embarrassing," said Steve, as they headed back to town for the debriefing.

      "Not really," said Hodgins, philosophically. "We knew there was a chance of something like this and took precautions. We got everything out of the house which might help us find this guy. No-one was hurt. I'd say we scored about ninety percent."

      "The reason there was no way to open the door is that he didn't need to," growled Martinez. "He set up the trap, dropped the plate in place, put the carpet back and ignored it from then on."

      "Thanks for the jacket, by the way," said Argent. She had ripped her own jacket, shirt and bra strap jumping through the roof, without so much as leaving a red mark on her shoulder and back. "I'll return it after I can get to the spare clothes I brought."

      "I still say we came out badly," said Steve, firmly. "That guy knew we'd find his home, knew we'd look for secret panels, and set up a fake one."

      "Standard procedure would be for the bomb squad to blow the door, with everyone outside," said Martinez. "He knew bomb squad procedures from his job. He wasn't trying to kill anyone; just show us who was boss."

      Steve continued harping about the events all the way back to Dayton. Then all the way home to Cincinnati.

Part Six

      "Another month almost over and the most significant thing in the news is the release of Windows 98," muttered Steve.

      "I'm one up on you there," said Argent, unable to keep a note of triumph out of her voice. "The UN overwhelmingly passed the Zurich Accord earlier today, declaring Novas to be human beings."

      "Well, that's good news. I guess. Probably prevent some pogroms. 'Course, it also gives folks justification to treat Novas as badly as they treat everyone else."

      Argent gritted her teeth. She wondered if she could plead temporary insanity.

      She - or perhaps Steve - was rescued by Special Agent Johnson calling her.

      "We have a situation. Hugo escaped when his attorney got a judge to declare the special restraints he was in to be cruel and unusual. He immediately attacked everyone in the courtroom - including his court-appointed attorney - then escaped through a wall. He's on his way here."

      "You mean to our building," said Argent.

      "Exactly. City SWAT teams have been trying to intercept him, but he's staying away from them. They're not sure where he is; they only get glimpses of him. He knocked down a police helicopter with a car, killing four people, but otherwise is keeping to cover and avoiding contact with police. We can't predict when he'll get here or from which direction. They haven't seen him at all for nearly an hour."

      "Why don't they just surround our building and wait for him?"

      "I asked the same question. The response was, in almost as many words, 'Why do you need our help?' They seem to think that besides you, we have heavy weapons."

      Argent gritted her teeth.

      "Well, I beat him once, but it wasn't easy. What's the plan?"

      "Snipers on the roof," said Johnson. "You, too. When they see him, they'll try to take him out. You're backup. We're also letting non-essential personnel go home early."

      "Lethal force is justified?"

      "Yeah. Besides those I just mentioned, he killed six people in his escape, some of them court officials."

      "Damn..." said Argent. "I didn't think he was the killing type."

      "He is now."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Still no sign," said the leader of the sharpshooter team, half an hour later. "All that talk he did about getting even with both the FBI and the DEA may have just been talk, to cover wherever he really is heading. That's why they lost him. He started for here to throw everyone off, then diverted for somewhere else."

      "Don't count on it," said Argent. "Something tells me he meant it."

      There was another interval of quiet. Which was interrupted by an alert over their radio headsets.

      "They just spotted him! He came up in the parking lot through a storm sewer drain! There are cars flying everywhere!"

      There was frantic swearing, as those on that side of the roof shortened their range, and those not on that side corrected their positions. Argent and the team leader were among the latter.

      Argent was startled by how different Hugo looked. Before, he'd been a very large, very muscular man. Now he looked more freakishly swollen than the most extreme body builders. He hadn't so much climbed out through the drain as burrowed up through pipe, dirt, rock and pavement, leaving a rough hole in the parking lot.

      Taint, thought Argent, shocked.

      She'd read about this. Sometimes, if a Nova pushed too hard, they did something to themselves. Only a few so far had shown this

distortion of form or mind, some of those as part of their Eruption. A few others had tried too hard to do something, and within hours demonstrated some disfigurement. Some had even developed serious psychological problems.

      This could explain his change in mental state, too, she realized. Why he's become a killer.

      One other thing she remembered about Taint: It was often accompanied by a distinct increase in power.

      "This could get nasty," said Argent, quietly.

      The sharpshooters opened fire. Hugo noticed them. He smiled up at the roof, and jumped. Argent met his leap with the hardest punch she had ever thrown, sending him flying into the distance. He had barely grunted from the strike.

      She watched where he landed - in a business area fortunately already mostly closed for the day, as she had hoped - and leapt after him. Argent noticed, absently, that where he had kicked off in the parking lot Hugo had left a sizable dent. Hopefully, that meant that his leaps didn't have the range of hers, giving her a mobility advantage. She had a feeling she'd need everything she could get to take him down.

      Argent had aimed her leap for an intersection a couple of blocks away from where she saw him land. Unfortunately, even in the late afternoon sunlight he saw her coming, and moved to intercept, grinning.

      "Shit!" Argent yelled, flipping over and pulling her feet up tight, hoping to get a kick in before he could hit her.

      She missed. He didn't. The punch felt like being in a car wreck, pre-Nova.

      Argent went crashing through the brick wall of a tire shop, taking out enough of the structure to bring down much of the wall and part of the roof. She lay stunned, precious seconds bleeding away while she tried to get her senses back. A tire incongruously rolled out the hole and into the street.

      He really rang my chimes.

      She heard him coming and felt a sharp pang of fear... but also had an idea. She shifted to Sarah, with the idea of pretending to be an injured bystander.

      Hugo stormed in through the hole and looked around until he spotted her, whereupon he looked startled. Sarah could see his thought processes working; first surprise, then disappointment, then anger, then decision. He reached for her, yelling something mostly incoherent about wanting to know where "the fed" had gone. Sarah pulled her legs in and whimpered - which took very little acting. Hugo moved closer. Sarah kicked out with both legs, catching him in the side of the knee.

      There was a snap which sounded like a hundred year old oak tree splitting. Hugo howled, staggered, tried to pull back. Sarah leapt up and - not even bothering with her fists for this guy - side-kicked him in the solar plexus. Hugo gave a mammoth grunt and shot away, crashing through the already damaged wall.

      Sarah shifted to Argent and started after him, grabbing a steel ceiling truss as she went. It felt far too light in her hands to be used as a weapon against Hugo, but it was what she had.

      Hugo was somehow managing to stand despite one leg having a distinct kink. He looked even more bulky than before, and madder, in both senses of the word. His clothing - like Argent's - was shredded, only a few scraps hanging on his monstrous frame. Argent dashed forward and swung the truss, before he could react. Hugo went flying again, this time impacting the second story of a brownstone. The wall dented but held, windows all along that side of the building shattering from the shock, and he dropped to the sidewalk.

      As Argent hurried forward he shook himself, threw back his head and roared. An eerie glow began flickering around him. He started towards Argent - broken leg and all - looking more monstrous by the second. She threw the battered truss, then dodged the same way he did, catching him in the gut with a knee. The blow should have sent him bouncing off the brownstone, but even though he grunted and folded, he stayed rooted. Argent noted that the pavement under his feet had actually pulled up. Somehow, he was anchoring himself.

      Argent didn't waste time trying to figure that out. Instead she started pounding, with fists and feet, going for joints, groin, eyes and throat. She was hurting him, but he wasn't going down. He was getting bigger. Not just bulkier, now, but taller. And the glow was stronger.

      I can't keep this up much longer, Argent realized.

      She must have been expending energy like a locomotive pulling a load of coal cars up a steep grade. She was sweating profusely, panting for breath. Still he would not go down.

      Abruptly he howled and threw his arms wide, catching Argent with a glancing blow far harder than any solid strike he had yet landed. She flew down the street, landed, bounced back into the air, landed again, sliding and rolling for more than a block.

      She lay there, upper body diagonally over a curb, barely conscious, aware of injuries but unable to do anything about them. What she could do was stare. At Hugo. He stood there, screaming in pain and anger, as his body swelled and glowed brighter and brighter... until he burst.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The first help came in the form of a police unit, rotating and flashing lights on but siren silent, making its way slowly and carefully through the neighborhood. A light shown out the passenger window onto Argent, who waved weakly. She hadn't realized enough time had passed to make it this dark until she saw their lights. She wondered if she had passed out for a while, decided she had zoned but stayed conscious.

      Two officers got out and made their wary way over to the FBI agent, guns and flashlights out, talking on their radios. While one kept watch, the other knelt and checked her over.

      "I'm no doctor, but I don't think you're badly hurt," he told her. "Some broken ribs, split lip, bloody nose, lots of cuts and bruises."

      "Mainly... just tired," said Argent, reassured.

      "Where's the perp?" said the one keeping guard.

      Argent fought back hysterical laughter.

      "That's... What's left of him is splattered all over," she said, with a vague gesture. "Guy literally exploded. Didn't know a person could get that mad."

      A short, sharp laugh broke through, and she clamped down, hard. Both officers were looking at her. The younger one appeared distinctly green.

      "Sorry. Think I have a concussion."

      "Jerry, go get a blanket for her. And be careful. He might be... well, just be careful."

       Argent sat up carefully. She had noticed that her clothes were almost completely gone, only shreds left. She really didn't care just now, but still accepted the blanket and wrapped it around her. An ambulance soon arrived, and she was checked by the paramedics. They confirmed the older officer's diagnosis, with additional details, and decided she definitely needed to be taken to an emergency room.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Argent awoke with a yell, thrashing. She froze immediately when she realized she was destroying the hospital bed she lay in. She was still trying to get her mind around her current circumstances when several hospital personnel rushed in.

      "Sorry," said Argent, blushing. "Nightmare."

      "I don't blame you," said one of the orderlies.

      They checked her, made what repairs they could, and left, looking back at her uncertainly on the way out. Argent wasn't surprised. She lay back down and closed her eyes, the vivid images replaying in her mind.

      She'd been dreaming about the fight. Only it ended differently. After Hugo exploded, Argent found herself beginning to swell and glow a bright silver. She had woken just as the pressure inside her became intolerable and her skin began to split.

      She lay there, shuddering at the memory, for several minutes. Then got up and went to the bathroom.

      She wasn't on an IV or hooked to a monitor. X-rays hadn't shown any sign of concussion; neither had any of her other symptoms pointed in that direction. By the time the doctor had examined her at the emergency room her head had cleared. She was tired and sore, but not seriously injured. She didn't even need stitches... which was probably a good thing, considering how tough her skin was, now. After applying bandages and giving her pills (no injections, for the same reason stitches would have been trouble) they'd decided to keep her overnight, just in case. For once Argent had no trouble falling asleep. Then that dream had started... She wasn't getting back to sleep any time soon. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time to be 3:43 AM.

      She used the john, washed her hands, splashed water on her face, not even bothering with the light. As she looked in the mirror, though, she noticed something which made her grab for the switch.

      With the light on she stared at herself for a moment, then literally ripped the hospital gown off. And stared.

      There was no doubt. The difference was subtle, but definitely there. Her right side was now slightly more muscular than her left. That wonderful symmetry was gone.

Part Seven

      The doctors couldn't find anything wrong. Of course, they were limited in what they could do and what they knew. Drawing blood was such a chore that once they managed to get some flowing they took enough for as many tests as they could think of.

      "Those vampires just about drained me dry," Argent muttered at work three days later. "I'm still not sure they believe me."

      "Nova medicine is still a very new discipline," said Johnson. "The top two experts in the world have only been researching Novas for three months."

      "Mazarin and Rashoud," said Argent, nodding. "I wonder if I should go see them..."

      "If you're not feeling sick, I'd rather you stay here," said Johnson. "Since your success in stopping Hugo I've had several requests for your services."

      "You did tell them he nearly killed me, then self-destructed, right?"

      "Don't be so modest. We managed to reconstruct the fight from security tapes, news helicopter camera footage and forensic evidence. You took on someone as physically powerful as any Nova on record, and held your own. He had to push himself past his limits just to stand up to you, and it killed him. You're still here."

      "There's some truth in what you say. But... I need to get a lot better. I was already working on developing a customized training regimen, trying different things. If you'll approve the expenditure, I'd like to buy some equipment, and some raw materials. I'll also need a place..."

      "Whoa, whoa," said Johnson, with a nervous laugh, holding up his hands.

      "Am I an important resource or not?" said Argent, raising an eyebrow. "Look, my budget for all this is only a few tens of thousands of dollars, total. In part because I'll be doing a lot of the work myself. When I'm done I'll have a facility which won't just help me train to my full potential, but let me teach normals how to deal with Nova criminals. And maybe, if those vague plans you occasionally mention come through, teach other Nova LEOs."

      "Send me your budget," said Johnson. "I'll look it over and let you know."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Argent was working her version of a heavy bag, an old boiler she had filled with molten lead. It was hung from a heavy-duty chain hoist, which also served several other uses. Early on, punching and kicking the thing had hurt a bit, so she had worked up gradually. Now she could pound on it at full strength until she worked up a good sweat.

      There were several people watching her during this day's workout. She put on a good show, not stopping until she actually bloodied one knuckle. Smiling a bit, and sucking on the damaged skin, she picked up a towel with her other hand and wiped her forehead. Her sweat band was soaked through.

      Argent's audience approached warily. One of them went up to her punching bag and started to touch it, then quickly pulled his hand back.

      "It's hot," he said, actually retreating from the heat.

      "Yeah," said Argent, nodding. "Deforming metal generates heat. Even with the doors open and the vent fans on this building gets hot when I'm really working out."

      These men and women were high-ranking government officials from several agencies. They were examining the arrangement Special Agent Johnson and Argent had established with an eye to using Novas in other agencies, as well as hiring more for the FBI. Johnson and Argent had both thought it only fair to let them get an idea of what they were in for if they worked with Novas.

      Right now they were looking a bit overwhelmed

      Argent demonstrated a few more of her custom exercise devices, most of them simply Mega versions of standard gymnasium fare. The equipment was simple - largely assembled from automobile and truck parts - but far from crude. Her bench press machine had been created from the frame and suspension of an old delivery truck. A sliding weight arrangement - similar to what was used for tractor pulls - was used to adjust the resistance. Truck shock absorbers were used to protect the equipment in case of a drop. The bench was a solid block of cast-in-place concrete, with polished oak boards for a pad. Argent had put much effort into not only designing the equipment and building it, but also into making it look good. All the metal had been polished and much of it painted, including the heavy leaf truck springs used in several of the machines.

      "This is all very impressive," said one of the older people in the group, a man from the National Security Agency, as he studied a speed bag which was a solid piece of compressed hard rubber. The backing was a single sheet of heavy steel, the sort of thing put over construction holes in pavement. It was dented, slightly. "Even a bit overwhelming."

      "Aren't you worried about theft, having all this out here in an isolated area?" said one of the women, who was from the Marshall's Service.

      "It has to be isolated. If something here breaks, pieces could fly for blocks. We have alarms and, frankly, there's not much here which could be moved without heavy equipment or someone with powers."

      Special Agent Johnson took over again once all their questions had been answered. He summed up and made sure they had seen all they wanted to. As he led the assembly back to their vehicles Argent felt a flood of relief. None of them had asked about Nova health problems.

      She had been keeping an almost fanatical check on her body and mind since noticing the asymmetry. Not merely eyeballing her symmetry, but using a tape measure and scales to keep detailed records. So far she had detected no further changes; maybe this was simply due to using her right side preferentially, causing it to develop more since her Eruption.

      A recent piece of information from Doctors Henri Mazarin and Farah Rashoud had been of special interest to her. They had discovered a distinctive lump of specialized neural tissue present in every Nova they examined. It was present in no Baselines, as they were terming non-Novas. It sat at the front of the brain, between the frontal lobes. Right where Argent sometimes felt an odd pressure or even pain.

      A check of the X-rays taken at the hospital following her battle with Hugo had shown faint but distinct signs of an MR Node in Argent's skull. Having an exam done using the procedure pioneered by Mazarin and Rashoud had shown it more distinctly. Which, of course, was no surprise. Hers was a bit above average in size, but otherwise not unusual for a Nova.

      There was a strong correlation between the size of a Nova's Node and their power level. Argent's was approximately seventy-fifth percentile. Which meant she was stronger than most Novas, but not in the top level. There were also worrying indications that the larger a Nova's Node the more problems it caused. On the other hand, some Novas suffering from serious Taint had very large Nodes, but others only small ones. So while size mattered, there was a lot more going on.

      Once alone, Argent locked the doors, then stripped on her way to the showers. There were very few amenities in the building, the locker rooms holding most of them. Still, she was proud of what she had done, here. It was a good start, and with several Novas already inquiring into joining federal service should be put to good use.

      After showering, Argent dressed in clean office clothes and left the building, making sure to lock it behind her. Despite her words earlier, she didn't want the equipment damaged by vandals, or people getting hurt trying to use it.

      Steve was waiting to drive her back to the office. He had his flaws, but he was dependable. Well, consistent. After their greetings and a brief exchange on how the demonstration had gone, the rest of the trip was made in silence.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Why the Hell are we in God Damn Chicago in late July?" said Steve, scowling at the traffic as he drove through the city.

      For once, Argent agreed with him. Someone - most likely a Nova - had disguised themselves convincingly as several different city officials, both elected and appointed. This person - there might be more than one, but the working hypothesis was a single Nova with shapeshifting or illusion powers - had entered secure areas to steal money, valuable items and possibly information from computers. Argent had been asked to help capture whoever was responsible, with Steve along as senior member of the team. Only, they hadn't been asked to actually investigate, but only to stand by in case there was a break in the case. They were being treated as hired muscle, rather than trained law enforcement officers. Steve had actually been the least burdensome part of this assignment. He occasionally even pleasantly surprised her. When a particular old rock and roll song came up on a local FM station as they headed back to police headquarters after lunch, this turned out to be one of those times.

      "Saturday night I was down town," sang Steve, in a passably good baritone, as the song played on the radio, "working for the FBI."

      Unfortunately, he was interrupted by a call on the police radio in their car.

      "All units, possible Nova crime in progress at City Hall. Suspect looks exactly like the Deputy Mayor, who is known to be out of town at a fund raiser."

      Moments later, on their secondary frequency, a call specifically for them came through. Argent acknowledged as Steve began looking for a place to turn around.

      "They're playing our song!" said Steve, sounding almost happy as he turned the FM station off.

      "Drive like you stole it!" said Argent, finding his enthusiasm contagious.

      When they arrived on the scene they found several Chicago police cars already there, as well as security guards.

      "What's the situation?" said Steve, cornering a high-ranking police official he recognized.

      "Someone pretending to be the Deputy Mayor was seen leaving a secure part of the building. A guard spotted him, remembered that he's supposed to be out of town and raised an alarm. So far the suspect hasn't been spotted again. They're checking to see if anything is missing, but that could take a while."

      The guard had given a description: Middle-aged caucasian with dark hair in a nice, dark blue business suit, carrying a briefcase, looking like the Deputy Mayor.

      The police were operating under the assumption that the person was still inside, but Argent, realizing that a shapeshifting Nova could have simply changed forms, figured he was already outside. On a hunch, she began roaming the area around city hall. If the suspect were trying to avoid suspicion by acting casual he wouldn't be in a hurry. Since only a quarter of an hour had passed that meant he might - just might - be in the area. Especially if he wanted to watch what happened.

      Argent's path spiraled out from city hall. She saw many men in dark business suits, some of them carrying briefcases, a few even with dark hair, but none of them looked like the Deputy Mayor, whom she had seen in person a couple of times since arriving here. She sighed, thought about going back to check with Steve, but decided to continue for a bit.

      Her perseverance paid off soon after. As she approached yet another innocuous businessman with a briefcase she noticed something distinctly odd. Something she needed a moment to place.

      She felt a strange tingle... coming from the man. She'd read about this, but not experienced it before, not even with Hugo. Or at least not noticed it then; she had been rather preoccupied. One Nova could sometimes detect another, and from the descriptions she'd read the process felt just like this.

      "Excuse me," said Argent, stepping in front of the man and presenting her badge. "FBI. May I ask you a few questions?"

      "Of course," he said, smiling.

      He sucker punched her, catching Argent flat-footed. The blow was strong but not superhuman; however, the sheer surprise made her step back a few paces. Before Argent could react, the man began changing.

      His flesh flowed into a new form, his clothes and even his briefcase joining into a pulpy, white mass only vaguely human in shape. That then flowed into the form of a statuesque woman, wearing what appeared to be a skin-tight body stocking. Argent stared. Yes, she'd known that general shapeshifting was theoretically possible, even seen photos, and there was her own limited version, but to see someone change like that...

      She shook her head and scowled.

      "You're under arrest, for suspicion of..."

      The woman smirked, and her form changed once more, again becoming white and loosing definition. She now looked like a sculpture, or an unpainted vinyl model writ large. She thrust a hand at Argent... and it shot towards her, fingers merging, hand forming into a spear point as the arm it was attached to lengthened dramatically. Argent barely managed to dodge the white spike, she was so startled, the pointed limb actually brushing against her right shoulder. The fabric didn't rip; it sliced. Fortunately, her skin proved more resilient.

      Argent lunged forwards, dodging left as that arm retracted. A good thing, too; as it passed on its return trip she saw the point had been replaced with a large, serrated blade. Argent reached the woman as her arm returned to normal length, delivering a hard punch to her face.

      Argent's fist sank into what felt like window putty, with an alarming "Splat!" sound. The combination of the impact and the recoil of the returning "hand" caused the figure to stagger backwards. "Her" face was a cratered ruin. Argent stared, feeling nauseous. Then she gaped as the creature's face reformed, with an expression of pure fury on it.

      Both arms lengthened, now, and lashed at Argent, whiplike. She dodged most of the strikes, and fortunately the rest did her no harm, though her clothing took additional damage. The woman scowled, and suddenly the whips developed a serious bite, now featuring spikes.

      Argent yelped as the whips began to draw blood, though fortunately the cuts were minor. Gritting her teeth, she waded in, arms raised to protect her eyes. The woman tried backing away, but couldn't move quickly while still maintaining her attack. She squawked in protest as Argent grabbed her, lifted her into the air and threw her. Then came a cry of alarm, which cut off abruptly as she impacted the brick wall behind her, part of the border of a small park. Apparently stunned, she dropped to the sidewalk, back flattened and patterned into a mirror image of the wall.

      Argent stepped back a bit and watched. Sure enough, the woman pulled herself back into shape and stood, looking a bit rocky.

      "I'm stronger than you, and faster, and tougher," said Argent. "Give up before you get hurt worse than you can take."

      The woman looked startled... then quickly raised her hands over her head. Her entire body flowed upwards, arching over the wall behind her. Argent, half expecting something like this, leapt over the wall and grabbed the woman's upper part before it touched the grass on the other side of the wall, holding it as the rest flowed in, wadding it all together.

      Argent kneaded the form like a giant ball of dough, in the process discovering a box of CD-ROM disks which she deftly tossed aside. She then dropped the dough-like mass and stood back again. This time the woman took much longer to reform, and looked far worse when she did. She was also now obviously naked, not bothering to color and texture part of her body to provide the illusion of clothing.

      "I feel sick," she moaned, barely able to raise her upper body off the grassy ground.

      Part of her distress may have been caused by the fact that there was some debris - grass, leaves, a few twigs - mixed into her substance.

      "Give up?"

      "Yes," the woman whispered. "Just, please, don't do that again!"

Part Eight

      "Of course, they wouldn't let me ride in the unit to make sure she stayed caught; by the time they got to the station she was gone," said Argent, sourly. "Nobody even saw her leave, not in the unit hauling her or any of those escorting it."

      "Bet'cha they blame you for her escape," said Steve, sourly. "I get the idea that in spite of inviting us here, they hated doing it and will use any excuse to minimize our contribution."

      The Chicago authorities didn't quite put the blame on Argent the next day, when they relayed the events to the press. They did find an excuse to send the pair of FBI agents packing.

      "Now that you've shown us how to handle her, we can let you get back to your regular work and we'll handle her ourselves," said the Chief of Police, in a meeting which was held ostensibly to commend Argent for her good work.

      Argent didn't feel very commended.

      "Handle her?!" said Steve, all but ranting as Argent drove them back east. "You found her with a Nova power! You beat her with Nova powers! How are they gonna handle her?!"

      "Let it go," said Argent, philosophically. "I heard from a uniform who didn't like what the management did to us that the reason for all this is they're hiring a Nova from Southern Illinois to do the job. They'd rather have a local get the credit. I don't like it, but I can understand it."

      "Huh," said Steve. "Yeah. No excuse to treat us so brusquely, but, yeah, I understand why the did what they did, now."

      Back home, they quickly caught up on things. A few clues as to the whereabouts and activities of Dr. Ortgies had been found, but no solid leads. He was apparently selling high-tech devices with criminal applications to the highest bidders. A couple of crimes had been committed in Ohio by Novas from elsewhere, making them of interest to the FBI. Those were still being tracked down. There were also many unconfirmed rumors of Nova activity, both in Cincinnati and the region.

      "I'm surprised this one didn't show up sooner," said Steve, tossing a report toward Argent as they sat in their shared office. "A Nova prostitute. Got super charisma or something, plus physical and mental powers which make her unmatched in bed. Of course, there are no detailed descriptions and different witnesses contradict each other on what little they can tell us."

      "Maybe another shapeshifter?" said Argent, idly.

      "More likely just a lot of wishful thinking. Or maybe empty bragging by people who got taken by a scam artist."

      "Yeah," said Argent, nodding. She laughed. "We've gotten more business from people pretending to be Novas - or claiming that they can make Baselines into Novas - than from actual Novas. Not surprising, considering how few there are of us."

      "How many do you think there will be?" said Steve. "This year, next year, eventually? I mean, there seem to be a few more every day."

      "Who knows? Within a decade, everyone on Earth could be a Nova."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      A few days later, Argent was surprised to read a police report confirming the existence of the Nova prostitute. She had been arrested for soliciting right there in Cincinnati. A woman with obvious Nova abilities, using the street name Desiree, had been spotted by some of the local working girls, who had turned her in, apparently believing her to be unfair competition. She had almost talked the arresting officer out of it. He was actually starting to uncuff her when backup arrived (having been sent to the scene by a savvy dispatcher who suspected that one officer might not be enough for a Nova) and broke whatever spell she had cast on him.

      The local police department had asked - as a courtesy, since there was no legal reason yet to involve the FBI - for Argent to help them evaluate the woman and see what could be done to reduce her influence. Early on a Wednesday she met with a Lieutenant from Vice who had been assigned the case. Argent knocked, received an invitation to enter and did so.

      He was a handsome fellow in his early thirties. Argent took an immediate liking to him, and also felt a strong attraction. An attraction which got a boost when she noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding band. She was a bit surprised at the strength and suddenness of this - she usually needed to get to know a guy before feeling like this about him - and wondered if this were due to Desiree's presence.

      "George W. Bridger, at your service," he said, smiling and extending his hand. "Please, have a seat."

      "So the double-you stands for..." said Argent, noticing something about the way he said his name which hinted at something more and grateful for the distraction.

      "Washington," he said, rolling his eyes. "I actually got off easy. My sister goes by Goldie, because her name is..."

      "Golden. Gate. Bridger," said Argent, barely resisting the urge to bang her head on his desk with each word.

      "The things parents do to their children," said George, with a tired sigh. "Anyway, our prisoner is one Mary Lynn Taylor, age twenty-three, of Missoula, Montana. She worked as a clerk in a local store until she went missing a few weeks ago. Folks describe her charitably as 'slow.' From what I've seen, she still is below average in IQ, but it's hard to notice."

      "You're not just making a sexist joke, there," said Argent.

      "No. She is... almost overwhelming. It's not just sexual attraction. She grabs your awareness just sitting, reading a magazine. When she pays attention to you, you definitely pay attention back. It's almost impossible not to devote your full focus to her. If she had more brains or more ambition she could be ruling the world by Christmas."

      "Wow," said Argent, surprised. "I'm familiar with Mega-Intelligence and Mega-Cleverness but this... Mega-Charisma?"

      "I have no idea. I just hope it's rare. Very rare. Good God, if a normal man like Hitler or Stalin... A Nova with this..."

      She could see he was disturbed, and shared his feelings.

      "I'll see what I can do. Whatever she has, it almost certainly is rare, or we'd have heard of it before."

      "Unless the others who have it are smart enough to keep it quiet."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      They had her in a remote corner of the jail block, as far from the other prisoners as possible, for good reason. Desiree was definitely having some sort of effect well away from her immediate presence. Argent noticed men - and some women - giving her appraising looks she normally only got as Sarah. She was also noticing her own libido was being in appropriately stimulated. The effect was stronger the closer they got to the woman's cell. Pheromones? Subsonics? Mental influence? She needed to find out in order to come up with a countermeasure.

      Despite his earlier concerns, Argent noticed that George was less affected than he should have been, and the corrections officer who opened the cell door even less so. So, exposure helped develop tolerance. That was good news. Argent took a deep breath and stepped into the cell. And stopped. And stared.

      She was gorgeous. Desiree was a striking beauty, tall, leggy, perfectly formed, buxom without being overinflated. Every movement was a dance, her voice a chorus, even her scent befuddling. Argent found herself in instant lust, and had to shake her head to fight off the effect. She tried to focus analytically on the woman's appearance, but even that left her feeling a strong sense of disconnection from reality.

      The most fascinating thing about the way she looked was that she kept slowly changing. When Argent first saw her, Desiree's hair was jet black with red highlights, her features and complexion darkly Mediterranean. A few moments later her hair was a dark red and her face and color distinctly Creole. There was little or no gross physical change, only some variation to her proportions, but that still left plenty of room for variation. This explained the conflicts between the witness' descriptions.

      "Hello. I am FBI Agent Argent."

      "Oh," said Desiree, smiling. "Hello. I've read about you. Are you here to let me out?"

      Okay, that innocent air was a definite act; it was accompanied by a sudden, strong desire to comply. She was obviously disappointed when Argent resisted.

      "Don't do that," she said, firmly.

      Desiree pouted, then sighed and shrugged. Then she gave a cunning smile.

      "Doesn't matter. One of these times it will work, and I'll be out of here."

      "Why? Your offenses so far are so minor you could probably persuade a judge to give you probation without even needing your powers to prompt him."

      "Why wait?" she said airily.

      "Because if you don't, you'll be hunted. Someone will eventually arrest you and you'll be right back here. Your powers aren't absolute. Why not go through the legal process, then find a real job - and there are Novas with far less marketable talents earning millions - and live happily ever after?"

      "Oh..." said Desiree, startled. "I hadn't thought of that. I was just taking the easiest path here."

      "Why did you even come here?!" said Argent, throwing her arms wide in exasperation. "Aren't there johns where you come from?!"

      "But... Cincinnati is full of Novas!"

      "There's just me, until you got here! Well, Hugo, but he was from Cleveland."

      "But, I keep reading about all the Nova stuff you get into."

      "I work for the FBI. I'm nationwide. I'm just based out of Cincinnati."

      "You mean... There's just us?"

      "There could be another one or two, but considering there's probably only a few more than four hundred Novas in the whole world so far that's unlikely."

      Her face went though a full season of emotions, then settled on determination.

      "Then I'm getting in on the ground floor."

      "Why don't you go out to California," said Argent, gently, "and go into entertainment, maybe movies and television. Become an actress, a body double, do special effects, even go into porn."

      "Oh! I hadn't thought of that!"

      "I think I can persuade the local cops to drop the charges and even connect you with someone in the film industry if you do that."

      "I could be a movie star!" she said, delightedly.

      "Okay, I'll start working on that. Just, please, don't try to escape before I get back to you or you'll ruin the deal."

      "She's going to make some agent very, very rich," said George, later. He shook his head and laughed. "I don't think we'll have any problem persuading the DA to go with the deal."

      "What worries me is the 'Cincinnati is full of Novas!' meme," said Argent, almost growling. "I've read about this happening in other places. Seems Novas like to meet other Novas, for a variety of reasons. Including the 'fastest gun in the west' syndrome."

      "You mean some Novas deliberately confront other Novas to prove they're tougher?!"

      "Pretty much, yeah," said Argent, with a sigh. "The Aeon Society has persuaded the UN to form a special task force to handle Nova-related problems, in part because of this. They figure that not only will this group be able to deal with dangerous Novas, it also gives Novas at loose ends who might become problems something constructive to do."

      "I read about that. They're calling the group Project Utopia. Plans are already underway for a law enforcement arm."

      "Not interested," said Argent, firmly, as he looked speculatively at her. "I already have a job in law enforcement. And that name probably won't stick. They were in such a hurry to announce the group that they forget to pick a name beforehand, and the spokesman just threw that out spontaneously. It's far too pretentious to actually be used."            

Part Nine

                  As weeks become months we rapidly approach the first anniversary of the Galatea disaster. There are still no hard answers to the cause of that, or the other extraordinary events which occurred that day. However, we do now have more information on other, connected matters. One of which is of particular interest to those of use who live or work in Cincinnati. An interesting phenomenon is taking place in the Nova sphere. Any place where a Nova who has gained public attention is based has begun attracting more Novas. There are now known to be over six hundred Novas in the world, with five of those currently living in Cincinnati. Only one of those actually Erupted here. Some of these extras have come here looking for employment or fame, and some for help. Are they getting it?

                   Guest editorial by Gadfly in The Cincinnati Free Voice.

      "Help them?" muttered Steve, glaring at the paper as they headed for lunch. "Who's gonna help us?!"

      "He has a point. Remember Desiree? If I hadn't helped her find a career - and if the DA hadn't gone along with the idea - there's no telling what she would have wound up doing."

      "Yeah, but now we've got Novas coming here specifically to seek you out to help them," said Steve, as Argent turned into the parking lot of a restaurant another agent had recommended. "Or to challenge you. That whole wild west thing."

      "Would you rather they suffer? Or attack someone not a trained law enforcement officer? At least we have experience and some ideas of how to capture and hold superhumans."

      They went inside and were shown seats, perused their menus and ordered. The waitress didn't seem to believe what Argent wanted.

      "Hon, are you sure? That's about two big meals' worth."

      "Yes. Nova metabolism, you know."

      "You're a Nova?" she said, perking up and smiling. "Well, welcome to Cincinnati!"

      "Give me a break," Argent muttered as the woman walked away. "I've been operating openly for the FBI here for ten months, and she thinks I'm new to the city?"

      "Well, you're just not, uhm..."

      "What?"

      "People with a reason to seek you out personally - for help, like you were talking about before, or revenge, like Hugo - have a reason to notice you and remember you. But folks who just watch the news or read celebrity rags don't."

      "I still think I'm more memorable than this. I mean, I'm not a fame seeker - you know that - but what does it take for people to notice me?"

      "Sweater puppies," said Steve, with a smirk.

      "Wait, what?"

      "That gal on Team Tomorrow, what's her name? The one with the big boobs and breast window. She gets more attention than the rest of the team combined. Even though her powers aren't all that impressive."

      "Are people really that shallow?" said Argent, tiredly. She sighed and shook her head. "You're saying that if I worked for the FBI as Sarah, they'd remember me better?"

      "Well, yeah," said Steve, embarrassed. "Sorry. That's what people notice. The only way they'd notice you as Argent is if someone got a shot of you after a fight where your clothes were all torn off."

      "I really, really wish one of those Mega-geniuses would come up with super-strong fabric," said Argent, rolling her eyes.

      "That new fiber the guy in Italy came up with didn't work?"

      "It was pretty strong, but far too stretchy. Worse, it didn't spring completely back. Each time it stretched, it got looser."

      "Ow," said Steve. He chuckled. "They had the same problem with the costumes on the original Star Trek. Or did it shrink each time it was washed? Something like that."

      They completed their meal mostly in silence, Argent dutifully putting away nearly every bite of hers. She hadn't exactly lost her appetite, but definitely her enthusiasm.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The drive back to work was also quiet. As they sat at a red light Argent boredly looked around. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the side mirror, and had a moment of introspection. The face she saw was how she thought of herself, now. "Sarah" was simply what she wore when off duty. The only real advantages Sarah had over Argent were anonymity and symmetry. For some reason, her Sarah form hadn't been affected by the Taint she had acquired in the fight with Hugo.

      Through hard training, she had built her left side up until it was almost equal to her right, restoring most of the lost symmetry. However, she could feel that there was still something wrong, some vague thing not overtly physical, but connected with her powers. Being easily bored (because her mind worked blazingly fast) and needing little sleep, she had both researched the problem and thought deeply about it. So deeply that on one occasion she lost nearly thirty hours. Fortunately, this was on a weekend. She knew - could feel - that there was an answer but so far didn't know what it was.

      There was little hard data on Taint. It was known to be caused by a Nova's power use exceeding their ability to handle the strain. It could happen to anyone, though some were more resistant than others. The problem was simply too new for anything more to be known. The top Nova researchers - Drs. Mazarin and Rashoud - had separated not long after releasing the results of their first study. Their parting had been amiable, but they deeply disagreed on several things. Argent had corresponded with both on the matter of Taint. Dr. Rashoud was advocating a type of drug therapy she was developing, part of her new job with Project Utopia. (Yes, they had kept that stupid name. Then compounded their mistake by naming their troubleshooting Novas Team Tomorrow.)

      Dr. Mazarin felt that while drugs could help the immediate symptoms, the only viable long-term solution was to train Novas to better use their powers. He had proposed a trial project involving physical therapy and bio-feedback, but so far could get no funding.

      Back at their office they only had a half hour before an important meeting with local Drug Enforcement Agency personnel in regard to a serious Nova problem. A fellow going by the appropriate name of Violent was finding and trashing the storehouses of drug lords in a five state spree. His motivation was apparently to score enough drugs to affect his Nova metabolism. Worse, his actions were becoming more desperate.

      Besides their previous contacts Porter and Reichenback, Argent and Steve also met with their boss, a mid-level supervisor named Ross. He seemed a bit nervous around Argent, but handled himself professionally.

      "Violent seems to be developing Mega-tolerance," said Ross, passing around photos after the preliminaries were completed. "Sorry some of these are so grainy; they were taken from security tapes."

      "You mean drug dealers have security cameras?" said Argent, surprised.

      "Lots of them. Keeps the help honest."

      "Are these in chronological order?" said Argent, paging through the images.

      "Yes."

      "Notice how Violent looks progressively more lanky," said Argent, laying several photos out and pointing from one to the other. "He's almost grotesque, now. There may also be other signs."

      "Signs of what?" said Ross, puzzled.

      "Taint," said Steve, nodding knowingly. "He keeps pushing himself, harder and harder. That means his power's growing."

      "Shit," said Reichenback, quietly.

      "We really need to get this guy, and soon," said Argent, only a bit louder but more firmly. "If this keeps up, he could make Hugo look like Don Knotts."

      This time they planned things out more carefully and thoroughly than they had with their first joint operation. Given the experience all those had gained with Novas in the past year they had both far better knowledge of what they needed to do, and much more reason to do it.

      "We've got several undercover agents working in areas where we think he might go," said Ross. "Those guesses are based on more undercover work, plus forensic analysis of the locations he's already hit."

      "Hang on," said Argent, rising and going to the large map on the wall.

      She began putting dots on the map with a marker, representing each drug stash Violent had hit. Then she drew connecting lines from the first, through to the last, in chronological order. She studied this for a moment, then nodded.

      "I thought so. At first glance it looks like a drunkard's walk, but notice the pattern."

      "You did all that from memory," said Ross, astounded, "after just glancing at the notes?!"

      "Yeah," said Argent, absently. "Look. At first he simply headed to the nearest cache. How he learns the locations we don't know, but he obviously does. However, after this one, he skipped to 'way over here, and hit a big stash. Then again a long jump to here, another big one. The trend - with some minor exceptions - for the past few days has been to go to bigger and bigger hoards of drugs. Even if that means going a large distance. He's also traveling faster, now, than in the beginning, so there's actually less time between strikes. He should strike again within a couple of days, so there's not much time."

      "We've been studying that data for days without noticing that," said Ross, staring at the map. "This... this one clue could be the big break we're waiting for."

      "We know the general locations of several really large drug caches, but not exactly where they are," said Porter, rising and moving to the map. He thought for a moment, then pointed, looking back at his boss. "Here, maybe?"

      "Yeah." He looked back and forth between Steve and Argent. "That's a Medellín Cartel distributorship. One of the biggest in the eastern half of the US. And it's right here in Cincinnati."

Part Ten

      It was a peaceful city street in a run-down industrial area of Cincinnati, late at night. There was some activity on the far side in the past few minutes - sounds of demolition, screams, yells and gunfire, then not long after, sirens and bullhorns - but this side of the building was quiet. Until, suddenly, something crashed through the wall, well above the ground and on an upwards trajectory, trailing packets of white powder, bottles of various types and sizes, small boxes and pills of myriad colors.

      Violent landed hard, skidded to a stop, and lay still for a moment, his overly long arms and legs splayed out at awkward angles. Argent, leaping after him, landed more gracefully nearby. The man stirred and sat up. Instead of attacking he wailed, throwing his arms to heaven.

      "I can't get high any more!" Violent wailed. "Nothin' works!"

      "Then why bother?" said Argent, reasonably. "Surrender. They'll put you through rehab, and..."

      He screamed in rage and swatted at her, his inhumanly long reach catching her by surprise. Argent still almost dodged, but got swiped, his nails shredding her clothing over the abdomen and leaving ragged red marks oozing blood on her skin.

      "Are you nuts?! What good is it if I can't get high?!"

      Snarling, Argent, moved back in and tried to hit him, but Violent was on his feet, now, and fighting like some mad thing.

      He's definitely got the reach, she realized, dancing away from another swipe. He's fast, and experienced with his powers and his new form. This is going to be hard.

      Shots were fired from behind her, passing by Argent, with some even hitting. They weren't well aimed, due to the circumstances, but they were only 9X19 and the shooters presumably knew they weren't likely to hurt her. Whether they'd hurt Violent was a question yet to be answered.

      As it turned out, none of the bullets struck him, but he was distracted enough by the fusillade for Argent to get a good hit on his left shoulder. He screamed again, in pain this time. Argent pressed her slight advantage, and after several more hard strikes had him down, stunned. She stood over him, panting, while the DEA restraint team hurried in.

      Soon, a sobbing Violent was securely bound.

      "That went better than it could have," said Argent, dabbing at her belly with a providone prep pad a few minutes later. "A lot better. Mainly because it was over quickly. There's still a lot of room for improvement."

      "Uhm, maybe it didn't go as well as you think," said Steve, feeling awkward. "You've got a big rip in the seat of your slacks."

      "Motherfucker!!!" Argent yelled, fists clenched, wanting to hit something.

      Seeing all the people around her cringe, she took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm.

      "That's why that paramedic asked me if I was cold," she growled.

      As a precaution, several ambulances and their crews were stationed near the warehouse but out of sight before the law officers went in. Once the fighting was over, they'd been called. Except for Argent's scrapes and a few other minor injuries, all those hurt or dead were criminals. The manager of the drug warehouse - knowing about Violent's rampage and being far from stupid - had fortified the place and put fifty well-armed men in various locations inside. Only to be left literally in the dark when Violent cut the power. The rogue Nova had killed or disabled nearly all of those inside before the DEA and FBI teams could react, and was already stuffing his loose clothing with various drugs by the time they could find him.

      Argent couldn't see in the dark, but with the illumination from the flares and flashlights brought in by the federal agents and her heightened senses she hadn't had much trouble. Well, except for the whole part where she was fighting a demented superhuman roughly as strong and fast as her. She quickly learned that his nails were also capable of gouging brick. So, yes, being able to take him out while receiving only one minor strike was definitely a good thing.

      "Wonder if it happened when I got knocked through that crate," said Argent, standing and trying to twist around to look at her rear.

      "Take my jacket," said Steve, pulling it off. "You've got spare clothes in the trunk, right? I can handle the cold until we get there."

      "Yeah," said Argent, resignedly. "Still sucks."

      As they walked back to their FBI issue vehicle, the custom-modified armored car with Violent inside drove slowly by, escorted by a local patrol car in both the front and rear. The pair of FBI agents could hear him inside, merrily singing a children's song.

      "I can't figure it," said Argent, staring after the heavy vehicle. "If the drugs no longer affect him, why does he keep having these rapid emotional changes?"

      "Forget mood swings, he's been on everything in the mood playground," said Steve, with a smirk. "Some of the stuff he's taken the past few years can cause permanent - or at least long-term - changes in brain chemistry. There's no telling what happened to his grey matter when he Erupted a few weeks back, with all that already going on in his head."

      "Point," said Argent. "If he was already chemically imbalanced before his Eruption, and that didn't fix things..."

      She sighed and shook her head. Someone was going to have to deal with a very crazy superhuman, possibly for a very long time.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Ha!" said Steve, startling Argent, as they sat in their shared workspace a few days later.

      "What?" she said, leaning around to try and see what he had read in the paper but failing.

      "Remember DoughGal?"

      "How could I forget?" said Argent, sourly.

      "Well, turns out after she escaped she laid low for a few days, then discretely contacted the Chicago District Attorney. You remember, his was one of the offices raided?"

      "Yeah," said Argent.

      "Well, she was able to provide evidence that she was hired by - Get this! - the mayor himself! Seems he'd had an attack of paranoia and hired her - DoughGal - to check on several people in his administration. The mayor is denying it, of course, but DoughGal has turned state's evidence, and the DA is going through the steps of investigating the mayor."

      "Damn, I hate politics," said Argent, sourly.

      "Oh; her real name is Bethany Elizabeth Bryers."

      "Bethany Elizabeth?!" said Argent. "What, her parents couldn't make up their minds?!"

      Any comment Steve might have made was cut short by their boss entering the room. He was smiling.

      "Just wanted to let you know, Argent, that you'll continue to be working here for the foreseeable future."

      "Uh, that's nice," she replied, a bit puzzled.

      Johnson laughed and shook his head.

      "I got a call from someone I can't name, first being threatening for my hiring you at all, then offering to let me off the hook by allowing you to transfer further up the chain so you'd be directly under him."

      "Allowing me?"

      "Yeah. I asked him what incentives he'd offer for the transfer and he seemed offended by the question. So I mentioned that your work with the DEA had greatly impressed them, and that their local office had a big budget specifically for cross-agency transfers. Both facts being true, but unconnected, though he doesn't know that."

      "Why would the local DEA office want to pay more to hire her when they get her services for free now?" said Steve, baffled.

      "He didn't think of that," said Johnson, straight-faced. "Cutting to the chase, not only is he 'allowing' you to stay here, but you get a pay grade increment and I get a bigger budget for Nova-related operations."

      Steve chuckled, but Argent laughed loud and hard.

      "I knew there was a reason I liked working for you!"

      "Anyway, I have an assignment for you two," said Johnson. "Someone has threatened a local gay pride event. Normally this would be the purview of local or state agencies, but there's a long history of them downplaying these incidents. There will be other agents on the job, but you two are the contact people. Steve, you know the drill."

      He handed the older agent a folder, turned and walked out.

                              *                        *                        *

      The building looked innocuous enough. It was the local headquarters for a political group, after all, not a den of iniquity. That, however, was how it was seen by some, despite not being zoned for such. Argent had her own reasons for feeling a bit uneasy. She hadn't come out as bi, as either of her selves. Besides her boss and employer, only a few of her old college friends knew. Should she let these people know? It might make things smoother with them. She decided to not plan on anything, but just go with what happened.

      They walked up to the door and Steve knocked. Like an old speakeasy, a small door opened and someone peered out.

      "What's the pass... Oh! Hi, Steve!"

      "'Hi, Steve!'?" said Argent, raising an eyebrow at her partner as the small door closed and the large one opened.

      "I've worked security for pride events before," said Steve, poker faced.

      "He was a big help in ninety-six, when we had a threat from a skinhead group," said the person who had answered the door, whom Argent now saw was a somewhat swishy man. "Local law enforcement wouldn't take it seriously, but we managed to get the FBI involved. Some skinheads showed, but left when they saw all the guys and gals in suits."

      "Just doing my job, ma'am," said Steve, in his best Joe Friday manner.

      The man shook hands with Steve, then held his hand out to Argent.

      "Simon Thurvalia, at your service."

      "Argent," she said, shaking the offered hand.

      "That... it?" he said, puzzled.

      "She's our famous Nova FBI agent," said Steve, with a bit of a smirk.

      "I didn't know we had a local FBI agent!"

      What do I have to do to get some recognition? wondered Argent, keeping a pleasant face despite her irritation. And in his case I know it's not due to a lack of sweater puppies.

       "The case three years ago when I first met these people involved civil rights and a multi-state group on both sides," said Steve, as they were escorted inside. He grinned, glancing at Argent. "I got to make a particular shaved-head punk furious by deliberately confusing him with one of the pride people."

      "Never seen the attraction of a shaved head," said Argent. "Especially on a woman."

      The place was almost disappointingly mundane. It's use was political organizing, and it very much looked the part. The two FBI agents were led into the office of the local leader. There were more introductions all around. His name was Louis Bertraille, and he, at least, had heard of Argent.

      "I hope this doesn't mean you expect Nova trouble," said Louis, with a worried look at Steve.

      "Uhm, no," said Steve. "I've had this assignment before, and Argent and I have been partnered for about a year, now."

      "And I'm bi," said Argent, spontaneously.

      Steve managed to conceal any surprise he might have felt over this revelation. He knew she was bi; it had come up more than once during their time together, some of which was spent on boring stakeouts. She was gratified he hadn't volunteered the information himself. Whatever his shortcomings, Steve was trustworthy and generally had good judgement.

      "Ah," said Louis, not quite sure what to make of this statement. "I don't suppose you'd like to join?"

      "Uh, no," said Argent, with an embarrassed laugh. "Regulations. I'm not looking for a hookup, either. No real time for relationships, right now."

      "Ah," said Louis, again. That seemed to be his default when he felt a need to say something but didn't know what. "Well, if you two will be seated, we can work out the details."

Part Eleven

      "Two bombs?!" said Gordon Elwood, the group's security chief.

      "There have been several bombings in the past month where a small bomb went off, then a bigger one a few minutes to half an hour later. In a couple of places the second bomb was found and taken care of before it went off. All the bombs showed signs they were made by the same person. Someone talented enough to include anti-tamper devices, but not really a bomb expert. Also, all the bombs were designed with countdown displays, for psychological effect. Oddly, the displays were actually accurate."

      "Good God," said Gordon, paling. "I'd heard of a few bombings in this region, but hadn't realized things were that bad. Or that they were connected."

      "The targets have been Abortion clinics, groups and events like this, even a couple of black churches in a five state area," said Steve, grimly. "Whoever is doing this - one person or a small group, most likely, with the possibility of copycats - hates so badly he wants to kill not only his targets but anyone who helps them."

      "But... Who?!" said Gordon. "What group...?"

      "Sometimes, it's just one demented person," said Argent, sourly.

      "What a world," said Gordon, shaking his head.

      "That is why the FBI is interested in this," said Steve. "Along with just about the whole rest of the federal alphabet. We got the job in this particular case because of the local FBI office's history with your and similar groups in this area, but the BATF plans to send some folks over when they can spare them."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Got any Wacky Snax?" said Argent. "Got addicted to those things when I worked as a waitress."

      "I think so," said Sandra, rising to rummage through the supplies in the break room cabinets. She held up one of the familiar, brightly colored packages. "Yay!"

      "Thank you!" said Argent, eagerly taking the bag and ripping it open. "Sorry. Nova metabolism."

      "What's it like?" said Sandra, as Argent started munching.

      She used the time spent chewing and swallowing to conArgent the question.

      "Scary," Argent said, finally. "I can do things... Well, I could kill a normal perp by a trivial accident if he struggled during an arrest."

      "Ow," said Sandra, wide-eyed. "Uhm, do you mind a personal question?"

      "If you don't mind no answer if it's too personal."

      "Why cut your hair so short? You'd definitely look better if you let it grow out."

      "I've never cut it," said Argent, flatly. "This is as 'grown out' as it gets."

      "Too bad," said Sandra, a bit wistfully. She grinned, actually leering a bit. "I have this... thing for tall women with long hair."

      "Oh, really," said Argent, smirking. She had a bit of a "thing" herself, for pale-skinned redheads like Sandra. "I could wear a wig."

      "Sorry, not the same," said Sandra, teasingly.

      Argent was enjoying herself. The flirting was innocent - Sandra had made a point of introducing her partner when Dolores had stopped by for a visit two days before - but fun.

      She was actually happy with this whole assignment. She hadn't done much socializing since joining the FBI, in part because of being very busy, and in part because of being leery of how someone of potential romantic interest might react to that interest from a Nova. She had actually encountered a few folks here who kept their distance, either because she was a fed or because she was a Nova. A few others had shown an unhealthy interest, also for both reasons. Most, though, had just treated her like a person.

      A person who can bend an I-beam over her knee, but a person thought Argent.

      There had been no unusual threats, nothing beyond the typical letter or phone call. The person or persons responsible for the recent bombings had not made any such contacts, though, so that didn't mean they were not being targeted. The planned rally was in just three more days; if there was going to be an attack - by the bomber or someone else - it would most likely be made that day or the day before. Which didn't mean those watching were relaxing. Some crazies could go off at any random time.

      The BATF was busy elsewhere, so the FBI wound up sending a pair of bomb experts with experience in the recent bombing spate. Argent had barely met them, and they had been introduced only as "Agent Grant" and "Agent Tyler." She could understand the need for anonymity; this bomber had demonstrated a worrying vindictive streak.

      Argent had just dumped the crumbs in the bottom of the bag into her mouth when Steve entered, looking serious.

      "Someone found an unaccounted for package beside the receptionist's desk," he said, as Argent lowered the bag. "They're evacuating the building as a precaution while the bomb boys check it out."

      The package did, indeed, turn out to be a bomb. A small one.

      "That means we need to look for the big one," said Louis.

      "'We' don't," said Steve. "You folks stay out here."

      "But we have the best chance of finding something out of place!"

      "How long did it take someone to notice the small bomb? No. This is our job. Please stay out of the way."

      "The first bomb was set to go off over an hour from now," said Argent, reassuringly. "We've got time to find the second."

      An hour and a half later things were getting tense.

      "It's gong to be tight," said Steve, as he and Argent rummaged through a basement storeroom. "I'm about ready to get out and just let it..."

      "Got it," said a voice over their radios. "Second floor, just above the main conference hall."

      The Steve and Argent hurried up the stairs, but then proceeded very cautiously to the room. Inside they could see the bomb experts crouched in front of a credenza next to a desk in a room currently being used to store flyers and posters. One of the bomb experts glared at their approach, but said nothing. The other was busy.

      "Guy was sloppy," said the bomb squad man with "Grant" on his coveralls, as he carefully worked. "Lots of anti-tamper devices, including tilt switches, but look at how long these wires to the two blasting caps are. If we can work the blasting caps out without upsetting the mercury switches and wrap them in a shock blanket..."

      "No time," said "Tyler." "Only eight minutes. Take us at least ten to get those out."

      "I can do it," said Argent, moving in. "You folks get clear."

      "You can't...!" Tyler.

      "Superhuman manual dexterity and reflexes," she told him, flatly. "I can actually hear the mercury moving, and feel exactly where my hands are. I will hold the bomb perfectly still and remove the blasting caps slowly."

      "We can't..." said Grant. He swallowed. "There's enough there to take out several rooms."

      "This could provide important evidence if I can disarm it. Even if it goes off, it won't kill me."

      Argent actually wasn't sure of this, but was presenting an air of confidence and competence.

      "Besides, I can get all the way out of the building in less than five seconds. Just go."

      "Are you gonna argue with someone who can bench press a Buick?" said Steve, shepherding the protesting bomb squad men out.

      "You, too," said Argent, as she gently tugged at a blasting cap. "I think this will work, but even if it does, when these go off..."

      "Gotcha," said Steve. "Good luck."

      He didn't go far, just to the end of the hall. He knew that if the dynamite went off he might be too close, but he had confidence in Argent's abilities and judgement.

      Sure enough, a few minutes later there was a muffled Crack! but no Boom! Steve hurried back into the room. He was startled to find Argent laying on her side, curled around her hands.

      "I need paramedics in here!" Steve yelled over his radio. He knelt down beside Argent. "What happened?!"

      "Found a booby trap," she gasped. "Wire running between the two blasting caps. Took extra time to work it out. By then I only had a few seconds, so I clenched one in each of my fists and put as much of me between them and the explosive as I could."

      "Well, it worked," said Steve, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder. "Here come the medics."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Fortunately, Argent's wounds weren't serious, though the paramedics insisted she go to a hospital for better treatment and observation.

      "Did you know that my skin - well, some of it - is tougher than kevlar?" she said, grinning, as she lifted her bandaged hands from where she lay in the hospital bed. "Lost some skin and had a bit of muscle and soft tissue damage, but am already healing. Though they are keeping me overnight for observation."

      "Well, the bomb guys were impressed," said Steve, grinning at his partner. "They're making noises about having you transf..."

      His cell phone rang, and he excused himself. From where he stood in the hallway, Argent could hear the voice of the caller and recognized him as Johnson, their boss, but could not understand the words. Steve's expression spoke volumes, though, when he returned. After he hung up he was silent for several seconds.

      "There was a third bomb."

Part Twelve

      "There were only two fatalities," said Steve, looking ill as he put his cell phone away and reentered. "Tyler and Grant. While everyone was focused on the building, someone managed to slide a large explosive device under their van. When they entered it, the bomb detonated, most likely through remote control. Several people in the area were injured seriously. That cute secretary you like lost an eye."

      Argent felt sick. What kind of person would...

      She stopped, took a deep breath, and grief turned to cold anger.

      "We're going to get whoever was responsible for this," she said, voice tight and deadly.

      "Hell, yes," said Steve, almost snarling.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Argent was pushing herself. She knew she shouldn't - that every time a Nova pushed too hard there was a chance of Taint - but she just couldn't stop right now. She pounded her "heavy bag" so hard the massive beam overhead creaked. She worked hands and feet, punches and kicks, even some elbow and knee strikes. The creaking became groaning, yet she continued, almost blind with pent-up frustration. Finally, she struck with a hard side kick, and something snapped.

      Argent yelped and jumped out of the way, as first the old, lead-filled boiler and then the chain and then the chain hoist came crashing down. Chips flew out from the concrete floor. Argent dropped onto her butt, and sat for a moment, staring numbly. Then she put her arms around her legs and her head on her knees, and just sat.

      "You're getting stronger," said Steve. "Did you know you glow silver when you really strain?"

      "Yeah."

      Argent had heard him enter in the silence after the crash, but didn't look up until he spoke.

      "How long were you watching?"

      "Watching? Hell, I stayed in the car until the noise stopped."

      "Smart man."

      She groaned, and slowly stood. She had bound her hands with strips of kevlar fabric. It was seriously tattered, but had done the job. Her only recently healed hands were sore but not really injured.

      Steve put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

      "You're not the first agent to feel like this. Trust me."

      "It's... None of them were friends. Only a few were even acquaintances. But... We had saved them! I had saved them! Then some son of a bitch..."

      "Someone you'll probably never personally deal with," said Steve, flatly. "You're part of a team, a large organization. You have your strengths, but other people are better suited to tracking down and arresting the bomber."

      "I know. I understand. But it's still so frustrating."

      "Maybe this will help."

      He pulled a manilla envelope from under his left arm and handed it to her.

      Argent, puzzled, opened the envelope and pulled out the papers. Her eyebrows rose with the first sentence. She read through the entire document with blinding speed. By the time she finished she was smiling.

      "Now this is something which is definitely in my area of specialization," she said, nodding. "When do we leave?"

      "How fast can you get cleaned up and dressed?"

      "Time me."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "What a world," said Steve, as they drove north. "Did you hear about those two kids who shot up their school? They say the boys were getting revenge for being bullied. Who the Hell kills a bunch of kids just because they're bullied?!"

      "Depends on how bad the bullying is," said Argent. "I was bullied pretty badly in high school."

      "You?!" said Steve, startled. "Who bullies girls?"

      "Other girls are the worst, but boys who expect something they don't get can be bad, too."

      She frowned in thought.

      "Actually, I think a lot of bullying is from people who don't get what they expect. I was blond and stacked, so folks expected that I was a ditz, and easy, and the only athletics I would be interested in was cheerleading. But I got good grades, was a virgin until I was twenty, and went out for track and field. Didn't do too well, but just the fact that I tried made people dislike me, because I didn't fit their preconceptions."

      "Yeah, I can see that," said Steve, nodding. "But! You didn't shoot the bullies. Much less a lot of other people. What makes people do that? Computer games?"

      "No. Not having anyone pay attention to you when you ask for help. I had supportive parents and friends. These guys sound like the only people they had was each other and maybe a handful of like-minded misfits. As to whose fault that is, well, some people enjoy playing the martyr. I'm not saying that's what happened here, but it could have been part of the background."

      "Maybe." He suddenly sat up, putting his paper away. "This is our exit."

      "Turn right at the bottom?"

      "Yeah."

      "I can't believe we're right back in Dayton," said Argent, as she stopped at the light.

      "Old trick," said Steve. "Vanish, but don't move to Argentina. Move across town. Take a name similar enough you'll automatically react to it, grow a beard or shave one off, change your hair color, et cetera, and you'll be almost impossible to find."

      He grinned at Argent as the light changed and she made the turn.

      "Just as long as you don't take up old habits. They'll trip you up every time."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "The judge granted the warrant," said their local FBI contact, Marla Sorensen. "The fact that he ordered some of those imported hard candies to be special delivered to his new place of employment clinched it. Given that, and the number of similar robot parts and their specialized nature, plus some pre-existing problems with Armstrong Robotics, he was actually eager."

      "What sort of problems?" said Steve.

      "A wide variety of misdemeanors with a sprinkling of minor felonies," said Marla. "Local and state law enforcement has been after them, as well as several federal agencies, including the FBI. The real problem is that they seem to think they're above the law. Since they're a military contractor, they nearly are."

      "So what are we waiting for?" said Argent.

      "Backup. Lots of it. Armstrong Robotics makes bomb disposal robots. Only, lately they've been branching out. Got a contract to make a prototype autonomous fighting vehicle. The governor has agreed to have a squad of National Guard armed with anti-tank weapons standing by near the site."

      "Oh, God," said Argent. "They've got him building military robots."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Three vehicles pulled up to the front entrance of the building and the dozen FBI agents piled out. Puzzled employees stared at the strange procession, which hurried in through the door. Marla, in the lead, held up her badge in one hand and the warrant in the other to the security guard.

      "FBI! We have a warrant to search this building!"

      "Th... this is a secure facility," said the guard, reaching for his radio. "How did you get past the gate..."

      Argent grabbed his hand and pulled the radio out of it.

      "Sorry, no calls for help," she said.

      The guard was detained - politely but firmly - by two of the local agents while the rest of the group hurried to the stairs. They knew which floor they wanted in the long, low building. They made their egress onto the office floor to the obvious surprise of several secretaries and a few others. Ignoring them, the agents branched out, heading for the three top offices, the elevators and the receptionist's desk.

      The surprise was total. The branch manager was still staring at his phone, wondering why he'd been cut off, when Marla, Steve and Argent burst in.

      "Dr. Oliver Pruitt? I'm FBI agent Marla Sorensen. We have a warrant to search the building."

      "But... You can't do that!" said Pruitt, reflexively taking the document as Marla handed it to him.

      "I believe that says we can. We particularly want to see Dr. Simon Ortgies."

      Argent could see that he recognized the name. And was suddenly worried.

      "Well, I'm certain that can be arranged," said Pruitt, trying to regain control, as he reached for a phone. "I'll call and have him come..."

      "No, you won't," said Argent, pulling the phone away from his hand. "We want to surprise him."

      The offices comprised only a small portion of the third floor, directly over the two-story reception area. The rest of the building was a single, large chamber partitioned off according to need. Pruitt - very reluctantly - took them to a corner of that space. He started to knock, but Steve quickly stepped forward, between him and the door.

      "We'll take it from here," he said, as much to Marla as to Pruitt.

      He nodded to Argent. Who tore the knob out of the door. It was still secured, so she rammed it with her shoulder, taking the whole frame out of the partition.

      Inside were several men and women. One of them was Ortgies. Argent felt an odd thrill, finally seeing in person a man whom she had previously known from photographs. She stepped inside, to the right. Steve came in and went left, gun out.

      "Dr. Simon Ortgies! FBI! We have a warrant for your arrest."

      There followed several seconds of stunned silence. Then:

      "Kill them!" Ortgies yelled.

      "Stop or I'll shoot!" Steve yelled.

      Argent knew something was wrong. It wasn't just one of those odd hunches she go from time to time. The way they moved was wrong. Too quick, too strong, too self assured. Argent shoved Steve back out the door and braced herself. The closest man swung, his fist a blur. Argent dodged, and hit him, not holding back. He dropped, but was already rolling to his feet. Others moved in.

      They were strong. Nova strong. Some of them were trained fighters. But they weren't as strong as her, and didn't have much - probably no - experience fighting superhumans.

      Argent caught another man with a hard punch to the jaw. She heard and felt bone crunch. His jaw was noticeably skewed, but he didn't seem to notice, staggering back a bit and then coming at her again. Argent was greatly outnumbered, and had her partner and Marla to worry about. She tore into the strange men, deliberately going for killing and crippling strikes.

      She heard .40 caliber gunfire, and knew that Steve and Marla were shooting through the door, trying to help. The men - Argent noticed that only men were attacking, and that half those in the room were running out a fire door, the appropriate alarm sounding - hardly seemed to notice when they were hit.

      "Head shots!" Argent yelled.

      They kept forcing her back, actually toppling a portion of the partition in the process. Argent fell more than once, but managed to get back to her feet each time before they could dogpile her. Slowly, the numbers of attackers was whittled down. Some actually collapsed without being shot or hit. Finally, Argent stood, panting, bruised and bloodied, in that big open space, a fan of felled men before her.

      Steve hurried up, already taking his jacket off. Once again, Argent's clothes had proven unequal to the task.

      "You hurt?" Steve asked, as he put the jacket over her shoulder.

      "More my pride than anything else," said Argent, tucking her arms in the sleeves. "Damn! What the Hell were they doing here! Those aren't robots!"

      "Congratulations," said Pruitt, his voice dripping acid. "You've just set back the future of the US military by six months!"

      "In case you hadn't noticed," said Steve, dryly, "they lost."

      "Most of these men are dead!" said Marla, cautiously checking pulses. "None of them are healthy."

      "Oh, you'll pay for this," said Pruitt. "We have a revolutionary process for boosting human strength and combat effectiveness, and you just killed all our test subjects."

      "Looks like Ortgies got away," said Marla, looking at the fire door. She came back to the others, scowling at Pruitt. "Between the building evacuation because of the alarm and the unexpected attack, we may have trouble finding him. So you'll have substitute."

      "Me?! You're the ones who forced your way... What are you doing?!"

      "You have the right to remain silent," said Marla, as she spun Pruitt around, leaned him against a machine and patted him down. "You have the right..."

      "If you've got him, we'll see if we can follow Ortgies," said Steve.

      Not even stopping her recitation, Marla nodded.

      Once outside they were confronted by dozens of confused employees milling around.

      "I don't see Ortgies," said Argent. "Or any of his lab workers."

      "You can identify them even with just that glimpse," said Steve, nodding.

      "Most of them. Hold on."

      People yelled and pointed as Argent leapt straight upwards, spinning around to get a good look at the area. She dropped back down beside Steve with surprising lightness.

      "Nothing. There's several different ways any of them could have gone."

      "At least we have his lab," said Steve.

Part Thirteen

      The ride home, three days later, was a quiet one. No sign had been found of Ortgies. Several important records on his process turned out to be missing. How much of the outrage expressed by company executives over the deaths of test subjects and Ortgies' duplicity might be genuine was still under investigation.

      Further investigation did find the apartment Ortgies was renting. Given the sparsity of furnishings, he had obviously intended it only for short-term use, though they did uncover a stash of Ortgies' imported hard candies. Perhaps he had permanent living quarters in the area. If so, this was not obvious.

      Bizarrely, all of the lab workers who had left with Ortgies soon returned to the facility, having walked back after losing track of the bad Doctor. They said they hadn't known what was happening, but had simply run when their boss said to.

      Thanks to the knowledge of the lab workers and the information in the notes which were recovered, the doctors tending the "super soldiers" were certain that the enhancement effects of the treatment would wear off in a few days. However, none of the test subjects who actually made it to a hospital were healthy, and weren't likely to be, ever again. There was extensive, system-wide damage. Some of them would need organ transplants. There was also still a question of whether the alteration of their brain chemistries would have a permanent effect.

      From the company's records and the preliminary statements of the managers, they knew that Ortgies had developed some very effective armored fighting machines for them. That success had left them receptive to his next proposal. To a person, they bosses denied that they knew Ortgies was wanted by the FBI, or that his process was harmful.

      "Yet their actions speak otherwise," said Johnson, after Steve and Argent completed their oral reports. "Lying, outright and through omission, reluctance to cooperate, keeping things from their own people..."

      "Well, some - even most - of those actions and their attitude can be attributed to standard corporate paranoia," said Argent, with a shrug. "Not all of it, though. They knew there was something going on. They just didn't want to know what."

      "Well, our part in the matter is officially over," said Johnson. "Except probably being called on to testify in several trials, you're free to move on to other assignments."

      "I wonder," said Steve, looking philosophical. "Now that people know there's at least one way to pump humans up to match Novas, will there be less fear of them?"

      "People won't know about this, at least not for months or years. It's all been classified. In fact, the Dayton office had a hard time keeping the military from moving in, taking over and putting all those people right back to work, doing the same things."

      "Well, if Ortgies really did design practical robotic war machines..." said Argent.

      "They expressed a particular interest in the enhancement process," said Johnson, sourly.

      "Good God," said Steve, shocked. "Didn't anyone tell them what that did to the test subjects? Besides all the physiological effects, it warped their minds, making them more prone to violence."

      "For some purposes that could actually be desirable," said Johnson. "Anyway, Argent, you're due for some counseling. Yes, I know you're saner than most people; you killed several men in the line of duty, and it still won't hurt to talk out what happened with a professional."

      Argent sighed and nodded.

                                          *                                    *                                    *

      "Hey!" said Steve, pointing to something in his paper. "Congress passed the Nova Development Program legislation."

      "Good," said Argent. "With the increasing amount of Nova-related crimes - by them and against them - they need more than just you and me."

      "I dunno... There was a lot of last-minute meddling. No idea what the details will be like."

      "If the law was passed, it'll soon be on paper," said Argent. "I'll look it up and let you know."

      "Better you than me, reading all the dry stuff," said Steve, with a chuckle.

      "This is it," said Argent, wheeling into a parking lot at a large bank building.

      Inside, folks were still stunned and confused, not certain what had happened. Several of them were having difficulty with their hearing. Their accounts agreed on certain things: A man in a stylized stage magician's costume had entered, created a bizarre show of light and sound which left the people there dazed, then ordered a couple of young men who had been waiting in line to go behind the counter and empty the drawers.

      "No dye packs, and they didn't seem to care that they set off silent alarms," said the young Lieutenant they spoke with, reviewing his notes. "The whole thing went pretty quick. Once the ready cash was in the bags the guy ordered the two men to follow him, and they left the bank. No-one outside noticed anything, and no-one has seen any of the three since."

      "Five to two, those men were in on it with him," said Steve. "They pretended to be as affected as anyone else, but notice that once they started gathering the money they didn't have any of the same problems seeing or hearing."

      "You think so?" said the Lieutenant, startled.

      "Makes sense. Classic tactic, if this guy is a magician or wants to be one. You have plants in the audience."

      "Anyway, this guy is obviously a Nova, so that's why the Chief asked for you two."

      "I'm starting to think the Nova Development law is a very good idea," said Argent, with a bit more heat than she intended. "There's still fewer than a thousand known Novas in the whole world, but they keep gathering - or acting in - places where Novas already are."

      This was obviously news - and disturbing news - to the Lieutenant.

      "So we can expect more of this kind of thing?"

      "Yeah," said Steve, with a sigh.

      "So... How do we deal with this guy?"

      "Ear plugs, dark glasses and tear gas," said Steve.

      "Sounds like a plan, actually," said Argent, nodding. "From what I've read this sort of power takes concentration. Even if it doesn't, not being able to see because of tearing and distraction from coughing would definitely reduce his effectiveness."

      "Remind me to requisition some gas masks and CS spray," said Steve. "Maybe some gas grenades."

      "Yeah," said Argent, nodding. "I can deal with light and noise better than normals, despite my keener senses, but tear gas..."

      "Wait," said the Lieutenant, startled, staring at Argent. "You're the FBI's Nova?"

      "You asked for us, specifically," said Steve, puzzled.

      "Uhm, no, I just knew the Chief asked for the FBI's Nova unit. I didn't know you were a Nova... Ma'am."

      "For the record, I'm not," said Steve, dryly.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "What the fuck do I have to do to get recognition?" said Argent, all but snarling as they went back to their car. "I've been active as an FBI agent for well over a year, I operate out of the local office, I..."

      She trailed off and slowed to a stop as a man stepped out from behind a nearby van. A man in a magician's outfit.

      "Ho-lee shit," said Steve, drawing his gun. "Don't tell me he's calling you out?"

      "Until we're sure what's going on, keep your distance."

      "No problem," said Steve.

      The man smiled as Argent walked warily towards him.

      "There you are. Finally. Afraid to confront me?"

      "You're under arrest, for suspicion of..."

      He stirred the air with his fingers, leaving glowing streamers of color behind. Those strands wove themselves into a net, hanging in the air between himself and Argent.

      "Soooo typical," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "I had hoped you might appreciate my talents, but you're just another drone, Nova or not. Well, have a taste of Pandemonium."

      He raised his hands. Argent hopped over that odd barrier, causing him to squawk in surprise, and hastily pull back. Before he could recover, Argent - while her feet were still in the air - slapped him. There was a flare of color and a snap of sound, and he staggered.

      Argent stepped forward and delivered a backhand slap, harder this time. The flare was brighter and the snap louder. Pandemonium almost fell. Argent caught sight of two young men running towards her from beyond the same van, but focused on the Nova. Another, still harder, slap, and he was down. Flickers of color briefly chased over his body and odd bits of sound were heard, but then all was still. Argent glanced at the two henchmen, who were now pointing guns at her.

      "If you shoot me, and I notice, I'm going to be very annoyed."

      They looked at each other, dropped their guns and put their hands on their heads.

      "Veterans, I see," said Steve, hurrying up.

      Argent watched Pandemonium while Steve went through the process. By now some of the police still at the bank had noticed what was going on. One of them drove a squad car to the scene, and Steve allowed him to cuff the two suspects and put them in the back of that. Then he went to the FBI car and removed the special restraint gear from the trunk.

      "I'm not sure if we need this, or if it will work on him," said Argent. "He had some sort of power protecting him physically, but that vanished when he went out. I'm guessing he's physically normal."

      "Normal cuffs and a blindfold?" said Steve.

      They looked at the young Lieutenant, who had arrived a few moments before.

      "You two are the experts."

      "Just remember, this stuff is FBI issue," said Steve, as he and Argent bound Pandemonium. "We want it back."

      The costumed man still wasn't showing signs of consciousness. One of the paramedics who had been tending the robbery victims checked him over and recommended he be taken to a hospital. Steve and the cops were exhibiting an air of accomplishment as the ambulance pulled away, but Argent still felt uneasy.

      "I could feel his Quantum."

      "That buzz you sometimes get from other Novas?" said Steve.

      "Well, it's the word being used for whatever it is that lets us Novas do impossible things," said Argent. "It was barely noticeable."

      "Yeah, he didn't seem all that formidable."

      Argent started to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle impact on the nearby cross-street. Someone watching the ambulance leave the bank had run a red light and been t-boned. As the two FBI agents watched, other cars going both directions hit the first two and the accident escalated.

      "We better go see if we can help," said Argent, starting off.

      She was busy checking the first damage car she came to when she heard screaming. She then felt a surge in Quantum, and the scream dropped from high to low, and was accompanied by a very muscular man with dark bronze skin and no hair ripping his way out of one of the most badly damaged cars.

      "Help her!" the man yelled, stepping out onto the pavement, wearing only tatters of clothing.

      The closest officer gaped, then drew his gun.

      "On the ground! Now!"

      "You have to help her! She's hurt bad!"

      "Get on the ground!"

      "Officer, lower your weapon!" Argent yelled, stepping between the two, facing the giant. A glance in the car filled in the rest of the picture. She felt a clench in her gut as she realized what had happened. Argent lowered her hands, stepped forward a bit, and spoke more gently. "What's your name?"

      "Andy! Please, please, help her!"

      "Andy?"

      "Yeah?" he said, tentatively.

      "How old are you?"

      "Twelve."

      "Thought so. You remind me of a friend I had when I was your age."

      "That's a kid?!" said one of the officers.

      "Now, Andy, you know you're in trouble."

      "Yes, ma'am."

      "If you want to avoid getting in any more trouble, you need to calm down."

      "But... My Mom!!"

      "Andy," said Argent, softly, "you know why you remind me of my friend? Because his mother died when he was just eleven. And he acted a lot like you're acting now."

      For a moment, she thought he was going to resume his tantrum. Suddenly, though, he sagged, and began sobbing. Argent quickly moved in and hugged him. The hug was awkward, since her arms barely went half around him, but it definitely helped.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Another Nova in Cincinnati?" said Johnson, alarmed. "The odds of that are..."

      "I... felt something, just before he Erupted," said Argent. "I've read that an active Nova can trigger a latent one, under some circumstances, and there were two of us nearby. Given that strong emotional episodes can also trigger one, you put all that together..."

      "So... there are probably many latent Novas in the population," said Steve, nodding slowly. "Maybe caused by the Galatea but not yet triggered."

      "Yeah. Andy Sullivan also supports the hypothesis that the form of a Nova's powers are shaped by a combination of factors, including personality, mental state at the time of Eruption, and probably genes. Andy wanted to be strong to help his mother."

Part Fourteen

      "How is the boy?" said Johnson.

      "Not too good," said Argent, with a sigh. "His parents divorced two years ago because his father abused him. He was banned from visiting until Andy is eighteen. No-one even knows where he is, right now. Andy has no relatives in the area, either, because his mother moved after the divorce to get away from the father and the in-laws. So he's in now foster care."

      "He doesn't sound like he's twelve, from what he's said and the way he acts."

      "Well, he's regressed a bit due to the emotional trauma," said Argent, with a shrug. "No surprise, there."

      "Poor kid," said Steve. He gave Argent a sympathetic look. "Between visiting the folks who were hurt in that bomb blast and trying to help this boy, you're off-duty time is going to be pretty full."

      "Little need for sleep, remember?" said Argent, not surprised that Steve had guessed she wanted to help Andy.

      "Well, our new employee should be able to help with that," said Johnson, smiling. "Thanks to the Nova Development Program we finally have the resources to hire another Nova. I have several candidates in mind. None of them have law-enforcement training so they wouldn't be field agents - at least not a first - but there are many ways Nova abilities could help in our work."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Argent watched as the boy in a giant's body lifted the weight. She'd had a few other Novas at her training facility in the handful of months since building it, but this was the first time she was evaluating someone she knew. Already, she could see that his strength exceeded that of any of the others.

      "How's this?" he said, eagerly, as he held aloft the array of concrete masses hung from a heavy steel I-beam.

      "That's exactly a tonne, and you lifted it with little effort," said Argent.

      "How much can you lift?" said Andy, as he carefully lowered the home-made Mega barbell back to the thick steel plate which protected the concrete floor.

      "About five times that," said Argent, startling him.

      "Wow," said Andy, grinning.

      "Okay, lets try some other tests."

      Andy was at about the same level in physical ability that Argent had been at right after her Eruption. He didn't have her mental augments, but made up for it by being more versatile in application of his physical abilities. Despite his bulk he could thread a needle with ease, bounce around in a manner to put an Olympic floor gymnast to shame, and leap huge distances. Playing around, he at one point slammed both fists down on the rock in the old quarry where they performed some of their tests. A massive shockwave shot across the floor, exploding out of the ground in a shower of jagged fragments a short distance away.

      "Let's... not do that gain," said Argent, startled.

      "Uhm, yeah," said the boy, embarrassed.

      "Race you back to the gym," said Argent, playfully.

      "Aw, c'mon," said Andy, as Argent pretended to make ready to dash. "You know I can't run fast like you can."

      "Okay, okay. Back to the van, then."

      She couldn't help but note the way Andy's bulk caused the van to lean a bit to his side. She was worried about the boy. His physique was freakish, more exaggerated than all but the most extreme of male body builders. Still, except for that one thing he appeared to be unaffected by Taint.

      "It's not so much that I can run really fast," she explained, as they drove away. "I mean, I can, but what's really happening in those dashes is that I can crowd in an extra action. I normally use it to move, but can also do other things. It's more a mental ability than a physical one. I just think so fast I can do more in the same time."

      Back at the gym they saw that Andy's social worker was already waiting.

      "Hi, Mrs. Wellington!" Andy called out cheerfully as they exited the van.

      Judith Wellington was in her fifties and looked it. Until she smiled, as she did now.

      "You sound like you enjoyed yourself," she said, taking both his hands.

      "He did very well today," said Argent, also smiling. "I'll send you a copy of the tests after I type it up."

      "Oh, that's not necessary," she said, with a little laugh.

      "It... could be," said Argent, reluctant to ruin the pleasant mood. "I mean, he's still a growing boy. We should keep track of things."

      Mrs. Wellington nodded, understanding that Argent was concerned about something she didn't want to mention in front of Andy.

      "Andy, you go get cleaned up. I want to talk with Argent."

      "Sure!"

      They achieved confidentiality by the simple expedient of walking into the building at a normal speed, while Andy dashed ahead.

      "I don't know if he has Taint or if his bulk is simply a side-effect of his traumatic Eruption," said Argent. "It's important to keep track of his physical and mental development. If he... Well, no-one knows yet how to deal with Taint, but it's better to know than be caught by surprise."

      Mrs. Wellington nodded, looking worried.

      "I doubt we'll ever find a home for him," she said, looking down. "His appearance, his powers... I plan to make him a special case, do as much for him as I can. Fortunately, his mother left him financially comfortable, thanks in part to her life insurance."

      "I also plan to make him a special case," said Argent, as she opened her locker and began taking out clean clothes.

      "What's that?" said Mrs. Wellington, as much to change the subject as from curiosity. "It looks like a sport bra, but it's... stiff."

      "Pick it up," said Argent, smiling.

      "It's heavy! This is thick fabric, but not that thick."

      "It's a prototype athletic bra based on one designed for use under US-issue body armor," said Argent. "The company wants to expand their line to Novas, if only for the bragging rights. They sent me six with the sole condition that I tell them how well these bras do. It's a mix of several fabrics, and fine stainless steel wire."

      "I bet it wears like iron," said Mrs. Wellington, with a snicker.

      "I just wish they also made similar panties," said Argent, absently, as she got out the rest of her gear. "Ah, well; maybe if this works..."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Before the Nova Development Program, Argent's performance reviews had been done in the same way as any other FBI agent's. Now, though, someone "specially qualified" would come by at the scheduled time. For Argent's first review under the new rules the interviewer was a tall and rather straight-laced man named Harold Grimes. The fact that he had the same last name as Sarah only made things more irritating.

      Most of the interview went smoothly, but then he flipped a page and came to a hand-written note which caused him to scowl. First at it, then at Argent. She couldn't see it well enough to judge whose writing was on it.

      "You aren't carrying your issue gun."

      Argent stared at him in confusion.

      "You do know I'm a Nova, right? A physical one. I don't need a gun."

      "Why don't you let the bureau decide that?" said Grimes, sternly. "Regulations are there for a reason. Regulations require you to carry a Bureau-issued sidearm. You will carry a Bureau-issued sidearm."

      Argent shook her head, confused.

      "But..."

      "No 'but's! You will carry or you will receive disciplinary action! Really, Agent, it's for your own protection!"

      "I did carry a gun my first few weeks," said Argent. "The first time I got into a fight with another Nova it wound up looking like it had been drawn by Salvador Dali."

      "I assume your supervisor took that out of your pay."

      "Uhm, no. There's a provision for issue equipment unavoidably damage in the line of duty."

      "Then you should have no objection, if you won't be held responsible for the replacement cost."

      "It's a waste. An unnecessary one."

      "Are you wanting to go before a disciplinary board?"

      "Uhm, no, I'm just..."

      "Then you will carry a gun," said Grimes, icily.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Fortunately, this was the same day their new Nova operative arrived. Johnson had picked a man named Brian Allen. He had only a couple of minor physical enhancements, but could change his shape or that of anyone else.

      Johnson brought him around to the office Argent and Steve shared for introductions about an hour after Grimes left. Argent was pleasantly surprised to find that Brian was a man a bit older than her and rather handsome and trim.

      "So, is this how you normally look or did you make some adjustments?" said Steve, lightly, as they all sat down to talk.

      "This is me, actually," said Brian. "I come by my looks honest. I had a grandfather who was a bit actor in Hollywood, based on his handsome appearance."

      "How do your powers work?" said Argent, more pertinently.

      "The changes are temporary," said Brian, in an assuring tone. "Depending on how much effort I put into one, it can last from a few minutes to several hours. I can do humans the easiest, but also animals. Nothing inanimate. Yet."

      "You can understand why I hired him," said Johnson. "His abilities will be useful for far more than Nova work."

      "This could revolutionize undercover operations," said Steve. "Though I'm a little concerned about the time limit."

      "I'm getting better," said Brian.

      "He also has some concerns I want you two to hear about," said Johnson.

      "One of the reasons I wanted to work here is, well, I'm worried," said Brian, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Since my powers first showed up, about eight months ago, I've cashed in on them in several different ways - all of them legal. I encountered some bigotry, but nothing serious. Then I read about how another shapeshifter was recently killed."

      "DoughGal," said Argent, darkly.

      "Yeah. I mean, someone literally blew her to bits. No warning, no claim of responsibility. It might have been personal, or due to her testifying against the Mayor of Chicago, but it might also have been part of a pogrom."

      "You're Jewish," said Argent, surprising him.

      "By heritage. I'm not a practicing Jew. I have, of course, heard enough from relatives and friends and even history classes to be aware of what bigotry can do. Not to mention seen modern examples in the news."

      "I already have a use for his ability," said Johnson. "We've got a lead on the bombing. There's a hate group which has been connected to several acts against similar groups. A couple of the members are known to have had bomb making experience. There's also talk that they have at least one Nova member."

      "Wait," said Argent, holding up a warding hand. "You're saying... you want Brian to change me to go undercover in that group?"

      "They don't allow women," said Johnson. "Not as members, and not at their events. I just want you to wander in as a new recruit and take a look around. No deep investigation. Just see what you can see."

      "You want her to be a man?!" said Steve, startled.

      "Just for a few hours."

      "Wait," said Argent, thinking of something. "Brian, have you ever changed a Nova before?"

      "Well, no."

      "We'll have a dry run tomorrow," said Johnson. "The meeting isn't for another three days."

Part Fifteen

      "Being bi I thought the role would cause few problems," said Argent, gladly female again. "However, once the testosterone hit I was amazed at some of the effects. Like compulsively staring at breasts."

      "Yes, I can see how that could be a problem," said Johnson, straightfaced. "Most men go through normal puberty, at a time when they're expected to be dealing with the results and trained in how to act by people who have already been through the process. You didn't get any of that help."

      "Most of the men I know either didn't get any training, or the wrong kind," said Argent, sourly.

      "Now, be fair," said Johnson, still straightfaced. "Just because you hang around with undesirables is no reason to judge all of mankind by your unpleasant experiences."

      "Most of those 'undesirables' were cops," said Argent, raising an eyebrow.

      "My point. If they'd been federal agents..."

      Their amusement faded, and Argent sighed.

      "Too bad it only lasted two and a half hours. That's what I was afraid of; I heal about three times faster than a Baseline. Apparently, that includes recovering from transformations caused by other Novas."

      "Well, that's not a major problem. We'll just have one of our usual undercover guys go in, with you and Steve among the reinforcements waiting nearby. If we can, we'll station you two close enough for you to have a chance to try that Quantum sensing thing you do."

      "Sounds workable," said Argent, nodding. She laughed. "At least I got to try out aiming while peeing."

      "Yes, the janitorial staff would like to have words with you about that..."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The meeting was dreadfully mundane. The program consisted mostly of generalized ranting about how "they" were ruining things, with no specificity. There was no sign of a Nova member, nor any mention of one.

      "You think they knew there was a plant?" said Steve, later, at the operational review.

      "I'd bet on it," said Johnson, obviously not happy. "I don't think it was a leak, either. No Nova powers required. Our people had to ask around so much to get leads someone must have twigged."

      "Just bad luck," said Argent.

      "Well, more a matter of bad work. Reading between the lines on the investigators' reports, I see that some of them were trying too hard. We'll pull back for a while, then try again, more subtly."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Steve watched from a safe distance as Argent trained Andy. This was not only her idea, but Mrs. Wellington's. The better the boy could handle his powers, the less likely he was to hurt someone or damage something. Steve wasn't sure the social worker realized that training would include working Argent's "heavy bag" and other equipment meant to help with combat proficiency. The process was noisy enough that he was wearing ear plugs.

      Later, while the two Novas were cooling down, Steve walked around the room, gingerly examining the pieces of equipment.

      "You both just keep getting stronger," said Steve, "but... Not to take anything away from either of you, but I saw Caestus Pax on the news last night, lifting a locomotive."

      "I think people still have a lot to learn about the spread of Nova power," said Argent, tossing her towel aside. "Most Novas seem to be at a fairly mediocre level. Yes, they have 'powers' but those are at generally an understandable - and acceptable - level. Most of the rest of us are unreasonably potent, but still comprehensible. Then there are a handful of what some call Supernovas."

      "Like you," said Steve, nodding.

      "Actually, I was including myself in the middle group," said Argent. "Compared to people like Shelby Eisenfaust - better known as Caestus Pax - I'm not so hot."

      "I bet you could take him," said Andy, grinning.

      "People - even Novas - are so impressed with the apparent miracles low-level Novas can perform that they don't imagine that the more powerful Novas are anything more than just a bit stronger," said Argent. "I think there are going to be a lot of hard lessons learned in coming months and years."

Author's note: Here is a chart combining material from the game manuals and from my own campaign. Whether the columns line up properly is beyond my control, unfortunately.

At the time of this segment - mid-1999 - several people are working Nova classification terminology and ways of placing Novas in understandable categories. Here are the eventual results:

Project Utopia Guide                   Class A                   Class B           Class C      Class D

Teragen Jive                           Stage 1                   Stage 2           Stage 3      Stage 4

Directive Threat Level                 Beta                      Titan             Demigod      Deity                                                 

Carstairs Classification System        Flare                     Nova             Paragon       Supernova           Quasar

      "Now I'm hungry," said Andy, laying his towel on the chair beside him.

      "Have some Wacky Snax," said Argent. "Lots of protein, fat, starch and carbohydrates."

      "Mrs. Wellington says if you are what you eat then junk food makes you junk."

      "Well, that's pretty much true," said Argent. "Novas are less affected than Baselines, but good nutrition is important for us, too. I just don't have anything else handy, right now."

       Not long after, Mrs. Wellington arrived to take Andy back to the foster home. She exchanged pleasantries with Argent and Steve, but didn't stay long. Which was fine with Steve.

      "Okay, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" said Argent.

      "Got a lead on some of those supremacists. Thought I recognized one of the faces, and started going through the mug books until I found it. Guy named Farleigh Sullivan, from a case I was peripherally involved in about five years ago. I remember, because he was a gun runner. Not just guns, either; grenades, assault rifles, claymores, C-4 and ammunition by the pallet load. He was selling to a group of Neo-Nazis."

      "That sounds promising," said Argent, nodding.

      "Anyway, I wanted to keep this between us. I'm not as confident as Special Agent Johnson that there wasn't a leak."

      "So what do you want to do with this?"

      "You get changed into some clothing suitable for night work. I found out where this guy is currently living, and it's 'way out in the boondocks, out west of Northern Kentucky."

      "Out past the airport?"

      "Well past. He is staying on a small farm. Ostensibly, he's the caretaker for the owner, but he's doing a lot of non-farm business for just taking care of a farm."

      "Do you think he's a member of the group, or just selling to them?"

      "A bit of both. Guy's a real character. Tried to use the defense that since most of the weapons he sold were going to be used against illegal immigrants stealing American jobs, the charges against him should be dropped to misdemeanors. And he meant it!"

                              *                                    *                                    *

      The night air was stifling. There was no breeze. There was, however, plenty of noise. There had been rain that morning, and now everything which depended on water for procreation was busy with the act.

      "I can see the property just fine," said Argent, as quietly as she could and still be heard. "But the frogs and crickets, or whatever they are..."

      "Don't look at me," said Steve. "City boy and proud."

      He was using starlight goggles. Argent simply looked hard. There was a two-story farmhouse, well back from the road. Beyond that were a barn and large storage shed. To the right was a large garage, for storing and working on vehicles, both car and road. The place had a run-down air to it, with only a few signs of current habitation. One of those was the lights being on behind the drapes in two rooms.

      "Kitchen and den?" said Steve, guessing which rooms were illuminated.

      "Dinner's long past. Probably no TV there; there's an antenna on the roof, but it's tilted with wires hanging down."

      "He's got windows open, including for those rooms," said Steve. "Maybe we'll get lucky and a breeze will move the curtains enough to see inside."

      The sound of a jet passing overhead at a few thousand meters and climbing hard made them both look up reflexively. Greater Cincinnati International Airport was not far to the east. It wasn't actually in Cincinnati or even Ohio, but northern Kentucky.

      "Three hours and nothing," said Steve. He grumbled under his voice a bit, shifting position. "You're the lucky one, here. Don't need to sleep, superhuman hide, see in the dark..."

      "I do need sleep, just not much," said Argent, patiently. "Yes, it's easier for me to be comfortable. I don't see in the dark; my eyes and ears are just very sensitive... Hold on..."

      "Where?" said Steve, swinging his goggles around.

      "He's going to that... Outhouse?"

      "Wait; doesn't this place have a septic tank? Why would they have an outhouse?"

      The building did, indeed, fit the stereotype, complete with the crescent moon painted on the door. It also appeared to be new construction.

      "We need to check the records tomorrow," said Argent. "If this place does have a septic tank it should be in those, and if so that outhouse might be suspicious enough for a warrant."

      "Not by itself," said Steve, "but since he's got previous convictions..."

      "He's been in there a long time..."

      "Nazis don't get enough fiber in their diet," said Steve, straight-faced.            

      "Don't make me laugh. We don't want him to hear."

      "In all this noise?"

      An hour and a half later he finally exited the small building and returned to the house. Shortly after, the downstairs lights went out and some upstairs lights came on for a while. Then all went dark in the old house.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Bingo!" said Steve, pulling out a piece of paper. "Complaint about their septic tank overflowing, a year and a half ago."

      "Maybe that's why they built an outhouse," said Argent.

      "No, there's a follow-up form, they fixed the problem. Oh, and another inspection just this Spring says it's still fine!"

      "Do you think this is enough?"

      "Hey, an hour and a half in a building which serves no known purpose? I know a federal judge in this area who'd do it."

      "Then let's go!"

                              *                                    *                                    *

      They waited until Sullivan was working on a tractor in the garage before moving in. As soon as he realized what was going on he quickly stepped out of the building and made for the outhouse. However, there were already agents between him and the small structure. He quickly changed demeanor, appearing to go from angry and outraged to completely unconcerned.

      "Mornin', gentlemen," he said, nodding, as Steve walked towards him. "What can I do for you?"

      "We have a warrant to search the property," said Steve, handing the paper to him.

      "Well, I don't know why," Sullivan said, after a brief perusal, "but go ahead."

      Argent was immediately on guard. Before she could do more than look at the man, though, she was suddenly falling!

      There were yells and screams from all around as the group of FBI agents all reacted to the sudden drop. Only, they were falling up!

      Argent, used to making long jumps, recovered immediately. They were barely off the ground, but rising rapidly. She had to do something, quickly, before they got any higher... but what?!

      She remembered Grimes, and suddenly, silently thanked him. Argent drew her issue sidearm, aimed and fired, putting a bullet through the top of Sullivan's right shoulder.

      They dropped back to earth, only Argent actually managing to land on her feet. She dashed to Sullivan and put an arm around his neck from behind, the muzzle of the gun to his head.

      "Any more of that and you'll die very quickly," she said, voice deadly.

      Sullivan froze. Argent couldn't see his face but from his posture and body tension knew he was thinking fast.

      "You... you can't kill me just for makin' things float!"

      "Agent Porter has a broken arm; we've all got bruises," growled Steve. "That's assaulting federal officers. Much higher and someone could easily have died. If you give any indication of doing that again, we'll be acting in self-defense in shooting you."

      Sullivan swore fulminously, but for now gave in. Argent continued to hold him while one agent tended Porter and another Sullivan's shoulder wound, another called for an ambulance, and the rest split up to begin the search.      

      "So what if I just fly off with you hanging on?" said Sullivan, trying to sound cocky. "You shoot me and you fall."

      "I'm a Nova," said Argent. "I can jump across this farm. I can't think of a fall which would hurt me."

      "Shit," said Sullivan, sagging a bit. "You're the bitch I heard about in Cincinnati."

      "You should speak more respectfully to someone who has a gun to your head."

      "If you're a Nova, why do you need a gun?"

      "Bureau policy," said Argent, with a tight smile.

      The trio who went to the outhouse took their time. Two of them had extensive experience with explosives and booby traps; the other was Steve. They found trouble, even before opening the door. Things at the outhouse got very tense, with Steve backing well off.

      The ambulance arrived and took Porter away. Sullivan's wound was determined to be minor enough to wait for the agents to transport him. Those exploring the garage reported nothing unusual there. Likewise when the men checking the farmhouse returned. The two who had checked the barn reported blasting equipment and dynamite, but legally stored and probably just for removing stumps and rocks. Argent held her position, as still as a statue, the entire time.

      "Don't you ever get tired?" said Sullivan, almost whining.

      "No," said Argent.

      "Okay, I think we've got more than enough to arrest him," said Steve, returning from where the two explosives experts had finally opened the door. "Just looking inside there's at least half a dozen felonies we can charge him with."

      "I don't know anything about that," said Sullivan, fervently. "The guy who hired me said never to go in there!"

      "We saw you spend nearly a hundred minutes in there last night," said Steve, pulling out the handcuffs.

      "Fuck," said Sullivan, hotly. "You were spying on me?!"

      Getting him cuffed without Argent letting go was a bit tricky, but they managed it. However, as they put him in the back seat of one of the cars Argent and Steve were suddenly hurled backwards. Argent rolled to her feet to see the car surge upwards. She leapt, but the car dodged. Still rising, she drew and started firing, not really aiming at Sullivan but putting holes in the car as a warning.

      The car rolled, and Sullivan fell out the still-open door. He yelled in alarm, caught himself with his power, then was caught unawares when the car fell on him. Argent watched helplessly as the car went down, catching Sullivan between it and the ground. By the time she could land and jump to where the car was she knew it was no use. She heaved the car off him, then fell back, fighting nausea.

Part Sixteen

      "Now, Agent Argent, this is not a witch hunt. No one is accusing you of anything. The purpose of this meeting is to determine exactly what happened and whether there is a reason to proceed from there."

      Argent nodded, and looked at the group on the other side of the table. At least she wasn't alone with Grimes. To his right sat Special Agent Johnson, and to his left the head of the local office's Human Resources.

      "Now, please, tell us what you saw on the date in question. No guesses, nor any information you received from anyone else afterwards. Just what you, yourself, experienced."

      Argent nodded again, cleared her throat, and began.

      "...I couldn't see exactly what happened, since the car was between him and me, but I saw the car drop towards him and assume it struck him. I do know that he fell below it to the ground," she finished, a few moments later.

      "He was dead when you removed the car?"

      "Yes. Very dead."

      "Just to make sure everything is clear, would you explain what you did when you opened fire while in the air."

      "I was trying to let him know that I would shoot him if I had to and could hit him if I wanted to," said Argent. "I shot into the engine compartment and the trunk. Not into the passenger compartment. Too many things in the doors and windows which can deflect a bullet. It worked, I guess, but instead of surrendering he rolled the car's bottom towards me. I then heard him yell and saw him drop below the car."

      "Thank you, Agent." Grimes looked around. "Do either of you have any questions?"

      There were none.

      "Now, lets move back a bit. According to my notes, this all started because you and Agent Collinghurst saw the suspect enter an outhouse and spend an inordinate amount of time there," said Grimes. "Surely that's not sufficient justification for attempting to obtain a warrant."

      "We verified the next day that the property had a functioning septic tank," said Argent.

      "Still, this appears to be a rather tenuous chain," said Grimes.

      "Sometimes you just have to play your hunches."

      "You based all this on a hunch?!" said Grimes, not wanting to believe it.

      "Hey, if the voices in my head are giving good advice, what's the problem?" said Argent, smiling sweetly.

      "This is serious business!"

      "A federal judge thought enough of our evidence to issue a warrant," said Argent, quickly, realizing that her attempt at levity had backfired. "If he was convinced, why do you have a problem with that?"

      "This isn't about me! You've been getting away with being sloppy, attributing lucky successes to your Nova abilities. That has to stop!"

      "The hunch wasn't even mine," said Argent, barely managing to keep a civil tone. "My partner, Steve Collinghurst, had the hunch. You can attribute it to his years of experience."

      "Hmph," said Grimes, deliberately looking away from her and back at his notes. "You should have said so in the first place."

      "I don't know where you got the information on how we determined there was something odd about that outhouse, but we didn't call it a hunch in our reports."

      "I think the fact that a judge thought there was enough cause to issue a warrant makes this line of questioning irrelevant," said Johnson.

      Grimes reluctantly gave up attacking that part of the investigation. Which meant he was finished for now. He adjourned the meeting and walked out.

      "That was more stressful than fighting Hugo," said Argent, later, as she, Johnson and Steve met in the Special Agent's office.

      "Sullivan's wife is suing the Bureau for wrongful death," said Johnson. "We're just being thorough in determining that everything was righteous. The good news is that not only did we find enough illegal arms and explosives in the chamber under the outhouse to justify the search, and not only did we find connections to the hate group, but we found bomb-making materials identical to those used in several of those multiple bombings. Including those at the gay rights headquarters."

      "That is good news," said Sarah, relieved.

      "Yes. I expect you and Steve to be closely involved in the follow-up."

      "So I'm still employed?"

      "Yes," said Johnson, smiling.

      "Good. I'm supposed to be house-shopping this weekend."

      "That's a big step," said Johnson. "Stephanie and I didn't start seriously looking for a home until five years ago."

      "Well, with all the hazard duty pay and overtime I've got a lot saved up," said Argent.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "They're talking about using Novas in Kosovo, to support the NATO forces," said Steve, after perusing his paper in silence for a bit.

      "God, I hope they don't set that precedent," said Argent, feelingly.

      "Yeah," said Steve. He sighed, put his feet back on the floor and his paper on his desk. He looked over at Argent. "So far, Project Utopia has only used them for disaster relief and police actions. Using them in a war would be too much like using nukes."

      His phone rang. Steve grabbed the handset and listened, asked a few questions, then hung up.

      "Rogue Nova, in Florence Mall," he told Argent, as he stood and grabbed his jacket. "Local police asked for our help specifically. Say he's too much for even their SWAT team."

      "Okay, that sounds serious," said Argent, doing likewise. "Just hope he won't cause too much damage before we can get there."

      They saw smoke as they crossed the bridge over the Ohio River, south of Cincinnati. Shortly after, they saw damage to the buildings in the huge mall. As they approached the exit, they saw dozens of police vehicles from different agencies, lights on, surrounding a building which was heavily damaged. Debris had scattered even onto the nearby Interstate.

      "Good God!" said Steve, looking pale. "Just how powerful is this guy?!"

      "He calls himself The Baron," said their contact, Florence Police Chief Leslie Stein. "He's... not really coherent. Dressed in a costume, like something out of a comic opera. But what he's doing is no joke. We've got dozens hurt we know of, and probably more in the rubble."

      "What does he want?" said Steve.

      "As best we can determine, to set up his own little kingdom, right here." He sighed, and looked Argent in the eye. "Listen, I know if you really cut loose you could cause a lot of damage. Don't worry about that. This guy is already causing a lot of damage, and we've got everyone out we can. Odds are there are people dying in there we can't get to, so the longer it takes to take him down, the more higher the casualty count."

      "What are his powers?" said Argent.

      "He shoots rays from his hands, which can cut, gouge, push, heat and maybe a few other things."

      Argent nodded, considering.      

      "Any evidence of Mega physical abilities?"

      "We've had snipers taking potshots at him for ten minutes. He ignores them. We can't tell if the bullets are bouncing off him or some sort of force field."

      "All right," said Argent, with a sigh. "I'll try reasoning with him first. I won't put a lot of effort into it with people in there needing help. If he won't stand down, I'll issue an ultimatum, then attack."

      "Sounds good to me," said Chief Stein.

      Argent took a few moments to prepare, then started walking in. She soon found the man, using his powers to reshape a decorative fountain. Into what she wasn't sure.

      "FBI!" she called loudly, holding her badge up.

      "Excellent!" said the man, turning towards her, a mad twinkle in his eye. He was pale, with a thin mustache and a small, pointed beard. His age... was difficult to determine. "Come to take my terms?"

      "Your terms?" said Argent, trying not to appear confused.

      "For your surrender."

      "Actually, I think you need to surrender. You've hurt a lot of people, some of whom we can't get to because you attack anyone who tries. We don't know if anyone had died, yet, but someone is bound to if you keep this up. You need to stop, now, before you make things worse for yourself."

      He seemed... amused.

      "Such presumption." He struck a theatrical pose of thoughtfulness. "Ah, well; I suppose I'll just have to show you that resistance to my new world order is useless."

      He raised both hands, aiming over Argent's head, at the already damage balcony above her. She leapt, bouncing from a pillar to a chunk of rubble to land a flying kick to the man's midsection before he could complete his attack. He grunted a bit, and took half a step back. Argent bounced away, legs stinging. She managed to land in a controlled fashion, but was in pain.

      "Fool! Did you think I was unaware of your nature? I sensed your approach well before you arrived. But you are only barely more to me than the nothing these ants are. I wheeled power you cannot even comprehend!"

      "'Wheeled'?" said Argent, with a smirk. "Did you mean 'wield'?"

      That actually seemed to break through his amused air. He snarled, and raised his hands towards her again. This time, Argent heaved a chunk of reinforced concrete. The Baron blasted it, but very close to himself. The explosion not only knocked him down, but sent Argent - and many other things - flying.

      She fetched up against the wall of a shop, below a broken display window. She heard something inside as she stood. The Baron was down, and not moving. Argent spared a glance through the window. And stared.

      There were several people cowering in there. One of them was a man she recognized: A "minister" of vague denomination and uncertain ordination, one Reverend Wainwright, who preached hate speech of various kinds. Of late, his favorite target was Novas.

      "If any of you can move, now is a good time to make a break for it," she called out, as loudly as she dared.

      "Daughter of Lilith!" Wainwright shouted. "As if we would take your word for the safety of the situation!"

      "Don't you mean Lilitu?" said Argent, raising an eyebrow. She noticed The Baron getting back to his feet. "'Scuse me."

      She jumped and vaulted and kicked off and reached him barely a second later... but still wasn't quick enough. Even coming in from the side, even keeping under cover until the last moment, he caught her solidly with one of his blasts. Argent went down hard, her body actually shattering a portion of concrete wall.

      The Baron wasn't unscathed; he was bleeding from several cuts and had a nasty bruise over one eye. He was also slow getting to his feet, and wavered a bit after doing so. He took a deep breath, and started for the motionless Argent. He stopped near her, and raised his hands. She suddenly rolled over, swinging a roundhouse punch and connecting with his groin.

      She was far more successful than she expected to be. He had somehow anchored herself, so instead of flying away with the force of her blow remained rooted while her fist crashed through his invisible protections and connected solidly with his crotch. The Baron dropped... but only to his knees. Several rigid seconds went by in silence. Then he took a deep, ragged breath, screamed, and fell over on his side.

      "Sorry... for the cheap... shot..." said Argent, trying to get back up, failing, and deciding to roll over instead. "It's all I could... afford just now."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "That's when it got weird," said Steve, reporting to Johnson later. "The Baron lay there whimpering for a moment, with Argent not much better off. Then he started glowing. It didn't look like when Hugo went nova. I wondered if I should do something. Then he just sorta faded, like the Cheshire Cat. Only he wasn't grinning. By the time Argent could move again, he was long gone."

      "Nothing either of you could have done, sounds like," said Johnson. "Just be sure to finish the written report before you go back to the hospital."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "Wow," said Steve, later. "Those were some new moves. All that gymnastic stuff you did in the rubble at the mall."

      "I recently heard about parkour," said Argent. "Been studying the way practitioners move through cities. Of course, I have some maneuvers they don't."

      She sighed.

      "I underestimated him," said Argent, sourly. "I noted his bizarre posing, his bad grammar and poor vocabulary, and figured he was simply a nutcase with powers. He turned out to be a very effective nutcase with powers."

      "Hey, you still beat him."

      "I drove him off. I'd call this one a draw."

      "I call it a win. We stopped his rampage and let the emergency services work on saving people."

      "Well, I'm not badly hurt," said Argent, stretching and wincing. "That blast of his knocked the wind out of me, but was spread over most of the front of my body. I'm a mass of bruises but nothing more."

      "Good," said Steve. He put a hand on her shoulder. Gently. "Let me know when you're ready to leave."

      The next day, Argent was back at work as usual, only slightly the worse for wear after several hours of rest.

      "I'm still amazed at how you were maneuvering through all that debris, yesterday," said Steve.

      "Still can't fly. If I could, well, I could probably have stopped Sullivan without him being hurt."

      "If wishes were horses, we'd all ride," said Steve. He gave her an evaluating look. "How long has it been since you last tried?"

      "Last Saturday. I can show you what happened if you come into the furniture storeroom with me."

      "Say what?"

      "Just... come on."

      Moments later they were in the large, dimly lit room in the basement. Argent looked around, then nodded.

      "Okay, we're alone. Now, watch."

      She scowled, squinting hard, looking the very image of someone concentrating with all their might. Or perhaps very constipated.

      "The floor is smoking," said Steve, mildly alarmed. "Good thing it's concrete."

      "Hrrrghh..." said Argent, shifting her mental gears.

      "Okay, now it's crumbling. Argent!"

      "Okay, o... okay. Whew! I could feel something happening, but flying wasn't it."

      "Yeah. Let's not try that indoors again. Please."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Sarah looked the place over thoroughly from the outside, while the real estate agent waited patiently to open the door. The property was isolated and surrounded by empty lots and farms, which would ensure privacy. The view was nice, there was a major highway just a few minutes away, the road between here and there was mostly level and straight, and so was the driveway. Besides all that, the house looked nice. There were even several small flower beds scattered around the property.

      "Okay," said Sarah. "What's the inside like?"

Part Seventeen

      "It's official," said Johnson. "The Nova resources law becomes effective at the start of the next pay period. There will be funds in the budget for recruiting and training Novas into law enforcement. We can use our Nova resources to respond to non-federal requests for help in Nova-related matters without special authorization. New sentencing guidelines include having Novas convicted of crimes where community service is an appropriate punishment assigned to assist law enforcement agencies."

      "I bet that last won't stand," said Brian. "I came here knowing it could be dangerous, even for a non-field agent. Making Novas work for law enforcement as part of sentencing would constitute cruel and unusual punishment."

      There would be a more general announcement later, during an assembly later in the day. First, though, Johnson felt his Nova operatives and the non-Nova agent most experienced with Nova operations deserved a more personal briefing.

      "Sorry, I wasn't clear on that last part. It's a choice, an additional option, for Novas who are eligible. If they have a good record and their offense is minor, and the judge deems community service appropriate, they may choose aiding a federal law enforcement agency for their service."

      "Ah," said Brian.

      "That was always the intent of those who proposed the law," said Argent. "Several 'tough on crime' politicians tried to make it mandatory, and right up to the last step it almost was."

      "I'm not sure I want to have people under my command who are only here to avoid jail time or cleaning toilets at the senior citizens center," said Johnson, scowling. "Since we already have two - much more qualified - Novas in this division I thought we might avoid that. I've been informed that because we already have Novas working here successfully we'll be a training center."

      "Oy," said Steve, rolling his eyes.

      "Just giving them the basic LEO training will use up most of their sentences," said Johnson. "I know I'll catch flak for that, but there's no way I'll put any untrained person in the field, much less someone who can read minds or shoot lasers from their eyes."

      "Oh, there are bound to be people we can use almost from the start," said Steve. "Like Brian. Keep them in the office, away from civilians. Others are probably quick learners. We'll get by."

      "Just be sure to stock up on Wacky Snax," said Argent, almost giggling. "Novas love Wacky Snax."

      "Wacky Snax cause Novas," said Steve, wryly.

      "But why this... almost draft?" said Brian. "The previous law set things up to actually hire and properly train Novas for a career in federal law enforcement."

      "It inserted them into the existing pay scale," said Johnson. "Project Utopia is offering salaries vastly higher than that. They're also offering work which many see as inherently more interesting and rewarding. Not to mention the adulation of the fawning press and fans. With all that going on, it's hard to entice talented Novas with an interest in law enforcement to join the FBI, the Marshals, or even the CIA."

      "The situation is even worse with other countries," said the well-read Steve. "Some governments are offering similar amounts of money - as well as significant non-monetary rewards - as Project Utopia to Novas to help them retain or extend their power. Some people who might otherwise be more altruistic are turing mercenary. Add in appeals to patriotism..."

      "I hear the US military is planning to start a Nova recruitment program," said Argent.

      "It's a complicated world," said Johnson. "Anyone who expects to deal simply with any part of it - Nova or mundane - is naive."

                              *                                    *                                    *

      "I hear you two had a false alarm," said Johnson, a few days later.

      "Another wannabe," said Argent, sourly.

      She didn't look... right. Her normal calm or even pleasant demeanor was absent. This was more than just a bad mood. Something like that might be due to the case she and Steve had just returned from, but Johnson had a feeling there was more going on.

      "Guy put on a fancy costume, doped himself with stimulants and pain killers, and went on a rampage," said Steve, just as sourly. "People - including local police - panicked and called us. All they needed to do was tackle the guy. People are seeing Novas in every shadow these days."

      "Well, they didn't know that," said Argent, a bit testily. "Seriously, they could have determined it, but we were close and calling us in was actually quicker than dealing with him themselves. I can't blame them for being careful."

      "That's not what you told that police captain," said Steve, a bit too loudly. "You really chewed his ass out."

      "Are you all right?" said Johnson, looking more closely at Argent. "You're squinting your left eye."

      "Guy got a lucky shot with the toe of his boot, right in my eye," said Argent, scowling. "It hurts, but is nothing serious."

      "Tell him about the headaches," said Steve, flatly.

      Argent went tense, the arms of her chair actually creaking a bit. More telling, she didn't have the normal response of glaring at Steve, the way she normally did when she irritated with something he said. Then she winced, and reached up to rub her head.

      "You really are hurt," said Johnson.

      "No, this has been coming and going, lately," said Argent, shaking her head and wincing again at the motion. "The doctors think it's stress."

      "Well, you have done a lot, lately. And been through a lot. Maybe you should take some time off."

      "I..."

      She sighed and stood. Johnson could tell she had come to a decision.

      "I want to show you two something," said Argent, unbuttoning off her shirt.

      "Whoah!" said Johnson, startled.

      "Relax; I'm wearing a sport bra."

      She tossed the shirt onto a chair and posed, flexing like a body builder, turing to give a view of her back as well.

      "You're... very muscular," said Johnson, actually startled by her musculature.

      "I'm freakish. It's Taint, again. Or still. I've felt something coming on, and I think I need to do something about it."

      "It doesn't look that bad," said Johnson, diplomatically, "but, yeah, I can tell you've bulked up a great deal in the past few months. I thought it was just... all the exercise you were getting."

      "Now watch." She shifted to Sarah. "Still bulgy. I wasn't before. It's getting worse."

      "I have to admit, that looks a lot more extreme on you in that form," said Johnson. He glanced over at Steve, who was staying silent but watching. "Still, as strong as you are..."

      She sighed and shifted back. Even relaxed, her muscles bulged, seeming to tremble with barely restrained force.

      "My strength doesn't come from muscles," said Argent, pointedly, as she retrieved her shirt. "I was in good shape when I started, and given my level of activity should be in somewhat better shape. This... isn't right."

      "So why are you telling me this?"

      "I'm going to need some time off," said Argent. "I've known this for a while, but hoped I could wait until after the new recruits were ready. With what happened just now, though, my own reactions to the discussion told me it was time."

      "For what?" said Special Agent Johnson. "I'm not arguing with you; you look like Hell warmed over right now, and when I think of it I realize you've been slowly going downhill for a few weeks. I need a reason to put down and an idea of how long."

      "Exhaustion would work." She gave a short, sharp laugh. "No kidding. I haven't had a real vacation since I started here. As for how long, I'm... not really sure, Wally. I just have this intuition..."

      "Having benefited from your intuition on multiple occasions, I tend to have a healthy respect for it," said Johnson, when she wound down. "Take as long as you need. Don't be reluctant to call on the Bureau if you need help. I'll personally get you anything you need, if it's possible with our resources."

      "I hate to leave you hanging when you're likely to have novice Novas coming in who need training, but..."

      "It's not like we'll need superhumans to be prison guards for these people," said Johnson. "I think that with what Steve and I and a few others have learned working with you, and help from Brian, we can handle the initial training. We'll just focus on the basic LEO training and keep them out of the field until you can give them Nova-specific training... or tell me you won't be coming back. That first stage could easily take months for people with no prior LEO training."

      "I... think I will be coming back," said Argent, gaze distant. "It's just that... I need time to deal with this."

      "All right. I'll put you down for sick leave - you've got almost a week of that - and go to comp time and then vacation leave if you need more. That gives you over two months, total, since you almost never use either. If you need more than that you have a lot of vacation time accrued. You'd be losing some hours, anyway, you have so much overtime, if you didn't take some soon. After that I'll authorize leave without pay."

      "Thank you. I hope it won't be that long, but... Well, I've got direct deposit, and that arrangement with the home service company since I'm away so much for work... Andy is happy in his new home..."

      "You won't be staying home?"

      "Y'know, that's odd... I plan to but... for some reason I just have this feeling I won't be much interested in feeding the cats or watering the plants..."

      "You're starting to scare me."

      "I'm well past scaring myself."

      "When do you want to start?"

      "Now," she said, with a reluctant determination.

                              *                                    *                                    *

      Argent hung up the phone. The company which took care of her new home when she was away on duty had been informed they were to start the next day and continue until further notice. Her mortgage payments were automatic, and the home care folks were authorized to pay utility and credit card bills. Even without direct deposit, she had enough in her savings to keep that up for at least a couple of months. She'd even stopped at the market on the way home and stocked up on food and drinks with long shelf lives. This was going to require solitude rivaling that of the more extreme religious ascetics. Argent knew she wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

      She carefully considered how to start, and found she already knew. Where was another matter. She didn't want to be interrupted while working on this. The home service people were supposed to check the house, to make certain there was nothing wrong. The only exceptions were two particular rooms. One was her vault, where she kept things like firearms. The other was her den. Argent nodded. Yes. The den. Perfect. It took up half the basement. Only one door, and that was fireproof. She kept her records, her important books, her keepsakes in there. It had its own bathroom, a recliner which was comfortable for sleeping, Internet connectivity, a TV, even a small refrigerator. Best of all, this was her private room, her refuge. No-one was allowed to enter without her express permission. She'd be at peace, there.

      She put a cushion in the corner of her den and sat on it in a comfortable position. Before her eruption, Sarah had not been much for actual meditation. With her Nova mental enhancements she now had little trouble being introspective. That aspect of her abilities was what had told her there was something wrong, and given her clues as to what it was. Those odd flashes of insight she occasionally had provided more information on the problem, as well as what could be done to correct it. Since noting her asymmetry a few months back, Sarah had spent time each week thinking deeply about her physical state. She had found that meditation techniques definitely helped. They just were't enough. Something more was needed, and she had to figure out what that was.

      Sarah closed her eyes and relaxed. Thinking about her physical state, she could feel - almost image - the familiar problems with her physical self. Her Quantum sense and intuition and heightened awareness of her body were all giving the same general message, though with different details. Argent felt as if her body were fighting the Quantum flowing through her. As if there were some sort of blockage, or perhaps several small ones. Focusing on these, she got the impression they were yellow.

      Argent was not a big fan of Oriental mysticism, but she remembered one self-defense instructor at the Academy who had pointed out that yielding gracefully to the inevitable gave you more control over the result. His point had been that if someone gets the drop on you with an attack that instead of resisting, you should use it to your advantage. If knocked down, roll away to gain distance and time, for example. If shoved, go with the push and pull the pusher with you. Argent had found that the same basic principle was useful for far more than combat.

      So she tinkered, mentally, with the constrictions she detected, trying various ways to relax them, to open the channels she was visualizing. Deeper and deeper she flowed, immersing her consciousness in her greater self as she sought to attune body, mind, powers and, perhaps, spirit.

      Slowly, the problem spots opened, and the angry, yellow flows of quantum turned silver. Eventually, her whole world was silver...

      End Section 1

      This document is Copyright 2009 Rodford Edmiston Smith. Anyone wishing to reproduce it must obtain permission from the author, who can be contacted at: stickmaker@usa.net