//|| //^^\\ || || .|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED PRESENTS // || \\ || || --X--------------------------------------------- //======================= '|` ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES #12 // || \\ || || "Christmas at Ground Zero" // || \\__// || || Copyright 1998 by Dave Van Domelen ___________________________________________________________________________ [cover shows various figures gathered cozily around the Yule log, the flames from which are forming the image of a mushroom cloud] ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES ROLL CALL CODENAME REAL NAME POWERS STATUS -------- --------- ------ ------ Solar Max John Zachary Spacetime Control ACTIVE "JakZak" Taylor Meteor Sarah Grant-Taylor Superspeed ACTIVE Gawain Salvatore Napier Superstrength ACTIVE Contact Aaron Zander and Psi, Mind-over-Body PSYCHIATRIC Paul Mahler LEAVE Scorch Scorch Pyrokinetic ACTIVE Channel George Sylvester Energy Transmutation ACTIVE Essay Sara Ana Rodriguez Gadgeteer ACTIVE Peregryn Howard Henderson Jr. Elemental Mage VACATION Lightfoot Tom Dodson Velocity Control PROBATION ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ INCOMING MESSAGE: Original Format Hardcopy Script (inquire at office within five business days if original hardcopy desired, else it will be recycled). DATE: 22 December 2023, 2231GMT -0900 Querida Sara, Paolo tells me my English writing is better getting, but I think he just want to make mama feel good, no? It takes so long to think about "proper" words, I grow up with good old Ellayish. Have you been lighting the Advent candles like a good girl? I found some good Catholic churches in Chicago using the computer, she is a very useful tool. If you can't get away to come home, at least try to be at a midnight mass. If not for your own good, then for your mama, O.K.? What good is saving the world if you can't save your own soul, I say. But I'm nagging you, and you're all grow up. Not muchacha mia no more. Sorry, so hard to stay proper. I have a favor big to ask you, please. You have some pull in the government, being a big superhero woman. Could you maybe ask to let Carlos's Lana and her baby come visit us for the holidays? I know her own parents don't want her around, so shameful! But the baby's part of our family too, and maybe Lana would feel better if she knew she had some family to come to? Everyone says hola, and Rick says hello. He's growing up so fast, doesn't want to be called Ricardo anymore, just like a teenager, yes? Hope to see you soon, unless you're busy saving the world. Love, Mama * * * * Essay tapped her forehead in irritation with herself. If she'd checked her messages before lunch, she might have told Howie to look into things, since he was going to visit Lana at that high-priced rug her parents had swept her under in New York Sector. Well, she figured he might check in once he got there, she would have to remember to ask him about it then. "Whatcha doin'?" inquired a too-cheerful voice over Essay's shoulder. "Go away, goat," Essay sighed. She made a mental note to do something *extra* special for Zander soon, to thank him for bringing back the satyr Peter from Greece. Something involving either high explosives or powerful laxatives. Maybe she'd ask Scorch for suggestions, he was usually on the receiving end of Peter's nuisance value. Probably had any number of ideas that he lacked the technical expertise to put into practice. Essay could fix that. "C'mon, senior-eeta, I got you something for the Solstice!" Without turning around, Essay slowly held up a large laser cutter she'd designed. It was a hacksaw with the blade replaced by a laser emitter, and the dust in the air sizzled and popped as she flicked it on. "Peter, if your 'present' is currently attached to your body, it won't be for much longer." She was rewarded by the clippety clop of hooves beating a hasty retreat. It had become something of a regular ritual between the two of them, ever since JakZak had introduced the satyr to the wonderful world of five gravities for hitting on Sarah. Essay was the only "interesting" woman in the HQ (as a magical being, Peter apparently preferred paranormals when he could get them), and no one really wanted to let a satyr loose in Chicago without supervision to find more willing partners. The population didn't need increasing *that* badly. To tell the truth, more than once Essay had been curious enough to take Peter up on his offer, but common sense took over in time. And she was glad she'd said no, since a couple of civilian women working at the Chicago HQ who had spent a night with Peter had both ended up pregnant...and one of them had had her tubes tied the year before. She did NOT want to go through the torture of having a kid unless it was with someone she loved, and she definitely didn't love that randy little half-goat. Essay turned back to the terminal and started tapping out a message. "Hey, Scorch...got any ideas for a 'present' for Zander which says 'Thank You' for Peter in an appropriate way? I can handle the technical details...." * * * * JakZak idly ran his fingers through Sarah's tight, curly black hair as they sat in front of the "eternal Yule log" Peregryn had given them last year, now resting in the rec room of the Chicago HQ. He grinned a little as he remembered how he used to tease his wife about her hair, how he could tell the time of day by how long it was. Of course, that was back in their "college" years, before they got married, when Sarah's regular training sessions and imperfect control of her hypermetabolism meant her hair grew as much in a day as JakZak's did in three months. She'd just shave bald in the morning, and by the end of training she'd be struggling to pull her helmet off a respectable afro. "Penny for your thoughts?" Sarah asked, turning to lightly kiss him. "Oh, just remembering your old 'Chia head' days." She chuckled. "Thank GOD those days are over and I only need to get a trim every week or so. I *hated* being bald in the morning and a hairball at night. When all the other girls were trying out the newest hairstyles, I was getting sheared like a sheep." "Just think about how fun it would have been if you were invulnerable, too," JakZak snickered. "No scissors would be able to cut it." "Ick," she winced. "I can see my codename now, 'Tumbleweed, the Human Hairball.'" "Or we could have gotten you some REALLY wide bellbottom pants and passed you off as the goddess of Twencen Blaxploitation flicks!" "Cleopatra Grant!" Sarah started to giggle. "Stop, or I'll hit you with my 'fro!" "Oh, I got a better one!" JakZak snickered. "Put 'em in dreadlocks and say you're Dredbanger 2023!" The two dissolved into laughter for a few minutes, falling into each others' arms in fits of giggles. JakZak wasn't sure why he found this all so funny, but he was glad he did. Too much had been weighing him down since that TV show he did with Thom O'Ryan [last issue - Ed.]. Sarah finally recovered and gasped for air before saying, "Hey, wasn't Dredbanger one of the last people to visit Devastator's satellite before we did this summer?" JakZak paused to think. "I guess, although I think the Professor checked it a few times after that to make sure it was inactive," he said, referring to the original Solar Max, his predecessor. A faint beep sounded from the end table next to the couch, and JakZak reached over to pick up his "little black book," a slim computerized assistant which doubled as pager and telephone when on the run. He checked the screen. "Hm?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow. "Tom's checked back in," he said, tapping in an acknowledgement for the duty logs. Sarah's expression changed to one of disapproval and concern. "Back already? I thought he was taking the week off to visit relatives?" She sighed. "I kept telling him he had to do this, for closure, but he kept putting it off. I figured the holidays would take away any excuse he might have. Guess I was wrong. JakZak?" she asked, already moving to stand. He nodded. "Yeah, go talk to him." Before he'd even finished the sentence, she was out of the room at hyperspeed. JakZak snickered one last time then turned to the other messages he'd been putting off reading. The current crop of graduate students at the Academy was coming along well, and at a much more leisurely pace than his group had been allowed. Now that Delta Rose wasn't manipulating events in a desperate plan to get "front line troops" in place as quickly as possible, and now that more people knew about the things she'd done to make her plans work, things were being done differently. It might take two or three years before enough new grads joined active duty to double ASH's numbers, but this group would be a lot better adjusted, JakZak hoped. They were getting a chance to practice in the wading pools first, while the Class of '22 had been tossed off an ocean liner in a storm. He scrolled down the message, and noticed a few of the students were going to be spending a month at the Mexico City ASH HQ, more for social integration than superheroics. Provided nothing got dropped at their doorstep, like had happened about a year ago [ASH #1 - Ed.], it was probably a good idea. Better to let the potential heroes learn more about the places they'd be working from, get better integrated into society again after spending several years mostly sequestered in northern Wisconsin Sector. Maybe once the new kids...JakZak smirked at himself. He wasn't even 25 yet, and already he felt old. Anyway, maybe once the Class of '23 started filling out positions in ASH, he and his classmates could take more time off to get their heads together. Presuming they'd be allowed to. He put down the black book and rubbed his temples in irritation. It kept coming back to what O'Ryan had said. And, now that he thought about it, what the Professor had said back in August of '22. The Combine seemed free enough, seemed to be the good guys, but there were a lot of things JakZak had never really thought about before, places where the silver star was tarnished. He still didn't think his own government was evil, but more and more he could see where people he'd never met were making choices about what was best for him...or for the nation, and damn him if his best interests got in the way. Sure, some people really were in the dark about the things Delta Rose had done to make him and his friends combat-ready as soon as possible, but that Galactic Warrior couldn't have done everything on her own. Others had to have known, had to have approved. Someone weighed the lives and sanity of a dozen young men and women against the good of the people, and decided that the people came first. Several someones. Of course, for the moment at least, those people were being silent, retreating to fallback positions of plausible deniability and scapegoats. Which meant that when things started to erupt around the world after the Barrier was holed, the Combine wasn't shoveling innocent young students into the breach. Maybe a little more help would have made the fight against the frost giants in Greenland a little easier, might have spared Ymir of EUROPA those broken bones, but he knew that green heroes tossed into that mess would have probably died. A dozen or so more members of ASH would certainly be helpful in curtailing the activities of "rogue" Chinese supernaturals in the Pacific Rim (ah, more plausible deniability), but when you came right down to it, if the million or so mid-to-high-power PROCcies un-anchored over the summer ever got together with one goal, a few dozen more superheroes on ASH's side wouldn't make a bit of difference. JakZak sighed and read the last item in his official mailbox, the daily report from the "interdiction" satellite in high Earth orbit. It had been put in place a generation ago to help the Planetary Confederation detect and deal with anyone violating the quarantine of Earth, but since the PC had pretty much forgotten this sector (their rather spectacular attention over the summer [ASH #9 - Ed.] aside), it was more like a security camera in an unlocked building. A couple Pranir traders, some smaller independent ships, nothing big or worrisome today. Pretty much all headed straight in to Khadam, now a sort of Hong Kong for aliens. At least, for the moment, all the troubles came from right here on Earth, JakZak shrugged. * * * * "Entering atmosphere, out of range of the GWC satellite," came the translated voice of the Pranir pilot. He knew enough Santari to get by, but preferred to use the biomechanical translator unit he wore around what might be termed his neck. "Yer a high muckety-muck in the Corps, why not just send the all-clear to the satellite? Or for that matter, just fly in on yer own cruiser, instead of hiring me ta sneak you and them bargain basement cyborgs in?" General Kasca resisted the urge to lift the insolent furred serpent up by its skull. He didn't trust the automatic systems of this decrepit craft that much, and besides, the Pranir's thrashing tail might hit a control. "Too much information is harmful, Pranir. To all concerned. I have paid you for your services, and the price of my silence on certain... irregularities...in your shipping manifests is your silence on my business. That means not only not telling what little I have let you know, but remaining silent on the issue of determining more about my affairs. I have my reasons, and they are important enough to keep to myself." "Fine, sure, whatever," the faintly artificial voice clucked, over the hisses and clicks of the Pranir's native language. "My cloak's up, good enough against this mudball's sensor web, now where on Earth do ya wanna go?" Kasca slapped a dataplug into the appropriate port, and a secondary screen lit up with the relevant geographical information. "The body of water is called 'Lake Michigan' by the Earthers. You will go to this point," his gauntleted finger stabbed at a coordinate that was highlighted by a flashing dot, "and submerge. My troops and I will disembark through the airlock and engage in our mission." "How long do I wait?" "As. Long. As. It. Takes." Kasca punctuated his words with repeated jabs at the screen while looking into the Pranir's saucer-like eyes. "Understand?" "Ah, sure. Okay. Gotcha." The Pranir turned away and became incredibly engrossed in readouts of fuel efficiency. Kasca left the cockpit to check on his "troops." He disliked using such old-model Scytharians, especially since his sources told him that those he went to face had defeated a similar model handily a year ago. But it was all he could afford on his personal funds, the cyborgs would have to be enough. Hopefully, equipping them with stealth technology he had raided from the Galactic Warrior Corps's vaults would tip the balance. If he lost, it would just be one mysterious attacker...Kasca had no plans to be captured alive, and the Scytharians knew no more than was absolutely necessary. He was acting without sanction from the Corps, and he wanted to leave no clues pointing back to his House, so he couldn't bring a unit of his father's Elite Guard to ensure the job of vengeance would be done. No, if he lost, the blame was only his. But if he succeeded, House Kas'r would be avenged. * * * * When Sarah found Tom, the refugee from the 1990s was in the act of pulling a few bottles of Scorch's microbrew out of the refrigerator in the kitchen. "Aren't you a little young for that?" she jibed, hoping to lighten the mood. Tom didn't look too happy, and getting drunk wouldn't really help. He snorted. "Look at my birth certificate. I'm middle-aged. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to drink myself into another dimension and stay there until they stop playing Christmas songs on the radio." "Holiday blues," Sarah said, more a statement than a question. "No shit, holiday blues," Tom spat, popping open one of the bottles with a bottleopener he'd pulled off the front of the fridge. "So, the family thing didn't work out, I guess." "Brilliant deduction. I knew this was a bad idea...hell, I hardly even knew these cousins back when they were my age, I sure don't know them now. I should've just made a clean break, not tried to see if any of my relatives were still alive once I knew my close family had all died off in the Godmarket." Sarah sat down at the table next to Tom and grabbed one of the beers. She always got a headache from Scorch's brews, but she knew she wasn't going to get very far talking to Tom if she wasn't drinking with him too. "Still, they *are* family. I thought they were glad to have you visit?" Tom paused to wipe some of the oddly-colored beer off his chin. "Yeah, they were glad. They were nice people, bending over backwards to make me feel welcome, help me not feel so adrift...which only made it worse. Sarah, I don't *know* these people, they aren't *family* to me anymore. Geez, even my family wasn't really family anymore when I left to join ASH. Mom and Dad had divorced, Mom and I were living in a pissant development in a little Missouri college town. I was so glad when I realized I had superpowers and could head off to be a hero in the big city. Well, in Milwaukee, but it was bigger than Kirksville. Being with these nice people who I didn't recognize only made it more obvious that I didn't *have* a family anymore. The last one I had all went poof in July of 1998. And, no offense, you guys are great and all, but this ASH isn't a family like the one I was in. You're classmates, and it shows." "No offense taken," Sarah replied, hoping to keep him talking. The more time he spent talking, the less time he spent drinking. Maybe he could work through things enough to put down the bottle before he got too far into his cups. She paused and actually tasted the beer. "Gah, what's in this stuff?" "Alcohol. The details aren't important," Tom took a long pull, screwing up his face in distaste as he also finally noticed the...flavor. "Okay, maybe they are." "Hey, guys, how'd'ya like the brewskis?" Scorch asked, hauling a large bag of lumpy objects through the kitchen on his way to the living quarters. "Scorch, why do these beers taste like kitchen cleaner?" Sarah asked, having finally identified the elusive (and it had good reason to want to hide) taste. Scorch put down the bag for a moment and checked the labels. "Oh, that. Well, the recipe said to age the beer in pine casks for a year to impart extra flavor, but I got impatient. So I added pine extract. What, did I add too much?" Sarah shot Tom a look which said, "At what multiple of the speed of sound should we throw these bottles at him?" Tom shook his head. "Never mind, maybe I don't want to get drunk tonight after all." He paused. "Scorch, do I want to know what's in the bag?" "Shhh, don't tell Aaron. It's a present for him. Or it will be, once Essay helps me build it." Sarah hung her head with a sigh. "Please, Scorch, promise me it won't explode, burn or leave permanent stains? We only have so much budget for discretionary rebuilding." "Aw, you're no fun," Scorch pouted as he hefted the bag back onto his shoulder and walked out. * * * * Sarah tossed her coat onto the rack next to the door of the rec room and walked over to slump next to her husband on the couch. "So, how'd it go?" he asked. Sarah exhaled and snuggled up against JakZak. "It took a couple of Scorch's foul beers and a run around the city to blow off steam, but I think Tom's at least not in too deep a funk anymore. And," she said, snapping JakZak's black book closed for him, "if you're *quite* done with your boss duties for the night, I could use a little holiday cheering myself," she grinned, the weariness melting from her features as her hyperactive metabolism recovered from the running she'd been doing. Just then an explosion rocked the building. "DAMN IT, SCORCH!" Sarah shouted, on her feet and out of the room before JakZak could blink. "Security, location of explosion?" he shouted into the wallpanel intercom. "Is it near Scorch's room?" "Negative, we have an external wall breach, but whoever's caused it isn't showing up on the cameras. We're going to full alert, sir," said the head guard on duty. Damn. Invisible attackers, and half the team was out of town, including the members best at detection, Peregryn and Contact. He checked the readout on the wallpanel and saw where the breach was. "Everybody, to the south wing, we have bad guys!" he yelled into the general channel. The attackers would almost definitely be listening in, so no point in naming who was around. First things first, gotta suit up, JakZak thought. The space armor had a few sensors which might be beyond the state of the art stuff installed in the HQ. Concentrating, JakZak warped gravity to slide into his quarters as if he were just sidestepping into the next room, and quickly donned the baroque pieces of modified alien space combat armor which formed his "uniform" as Solar Max. Hopefully, everyone had at least put on their headsets by this point, and he clicked on the scrambled team frequency. "Roll call!" he yelled as he flew down the corridors towards the breach. "It wasn't me, honest!" Scorch said, sounds of fighting nearer to him than to Solar Max. "We're on it!" Tom said. He almost always wore his Lightfoot costume, as it was his one concrete link to the past. So of course his headset was at hand. "Lightfoot and Meteor, at the site of the breach. The enemy is only partially invisible, and we're keeping them pinned down for the moment," Sarah said, her voice calm and professional. Hundreds of hours of tactical simulations and practice showed in her demeanor now. Essay didn't answer, but Solar Max knew she was in the HQ. Hopefully she wasn't down already. He arrived at the scene of the fight, and immediately reeled back as a plasma burst caught him in the chest. Dodging, he switched on the sensors in the bug-eyed helmet he wore, and his opponents came into blurry focus. "Scytharians and someone in power armor," he said over the comlink, having cut his external audio feed. No point letting the enemy know he knew what they were. "Old models...too bad Peregryn's not here to scrag 'em like he did the ones last time." [In Academy #5 - Ed.] Meteor and Lightfoot were darting in and out, trying to get the cyborg soldiers to shoot one another, but their hardwired combat programming prevented them from firing on their own side. Scorch stumbled into the hallway and lanced out with pinpoint streams of flame at what he saw as hazy silhouettes. Although, to be honest, he could simply have aimed at wherever Meteor and Lightfoot *weren't* to hit the cyborgs. "Scorch, where's Essay?" JakZak asked. "Bringing party favors for the guests," Scorch sub-voc'ed into his throat microphone. "She'll be here in a Jif." Solar Max warped a few of the plasma shots back in the direction of their shooters, and was rewarded by a sizzling sound as one of the Scytharians' invisibility devices shorted out. Once visible, he was quickly disabled by the two speedsters while Scorch and Solar Max kept the others at bay. "FELIZ NAVIDAD, CHI-CHI CABRON!" Essay shouted from a doorway as she leveled an improbable-looking (even for her) contraption at the fighters. Scorch grabbed floor, apparently knowing what the device was, and the other ASHers quickly did the same. A creamy, light brown substance shot out of the front of the device at high pressure, hosing down the cyborgs and their armored leader with.... "Peanut butter?" Lightfoot gasped. "Don't knock it, it's what I had ready," Essay replied, noting with satisfaction that the other stealth devices were failing under the onslaught of a substance they were definitely not designed to be submerged in. The Scytharians seemed more affected by the sticky coating than just having their visibility restored, and Solar Max took advantage of their momentary confusion to send an extended gravity wave through them, crushing the more rigid parts of their bodies, such as cybernetic implants and bones. Before they'd been too mobile for Solar Max to hold the gravity waves on them long enough to do the job, but now they were toast. With peanut butter. The leader, unfortunately, seemed to have a more robust suit of armor, and was unaffected by the waves. Meteor and Lightfoot set in on him, but he shrugged off the attacks and electrified his armor, forcing them back. He paused, as if he wanted to make some kind of dire threat, but then turned and leapt out the hole in the wall he had come in through. "Meteor, Lightfoot...!" Solar Max started to shout. "On it!" Meteor replied, running out the hole just ahead of Lightfoot. "He's gone airborne," Lightfoot said over the comlink. "I'm on him!" "Scorch, Essay, make sure these guys are down, I'm going to back Lightfoot up!" Solar Max said as he flew out the hole and turned on the juice, careful not to break the sound barrier too close to the ground. He spotted Lightfoot and the intruder up ahead in the night sky, the flare of the intruder's jets making him easy to follow. Then the flare was joined by another, brighter flare. The tactical computer in Solar Max's helmet quickly identified them as multiple missiles, homing in on Lightfoot. Lightfoot broke off to evade, but the missiles were gaining on him. He might dodge one or two, but not all ten. "Damn," JakZak hissed as he broke the sound barrier and slamed into the middle of the missiles, releasing a broad gravity pulse which detonated them all at once. Tom managed to drop out of the way of the explosion, and Solar Max's armor was strong enough to protect him even without the gravity pulse acting to push the explosions away from him. The warheads were more flash than fury. A distraction. And it worked, the intruder was nowhere to be seen. * * * * Kasca of the House Kas'r cursed at the indignity of his defeat as he swam below the frigid waters of Lake Michigan. He hadn't even faced the full complement of his enemy, and he'd lost like an amateur. He'd definitely underestimated his targets. Now he had to slink back to the Pranir, endure its insolence and return home to try another way. Or did he? Khadam was a cesspool of criminals and those just barely not criminal, perhaps he could recruit another force without having to return home in shame? Kasca considered this as he swam on.... * * * * "Okay, now that we've cleaned up everything, patched the wall, reported this incident to everyone who needs to know and searched the city for any trace of our attacker...why peanut butter?" Sarah asked, jerking a thumb at the wetvac full of the stuff, which had covered the hallway the day before. "Well, it was *supposed* to be for Aaron..." Scorch started. "THAT'S what was in that bag!" Tom realized. "Yah, fifty pounds of peanut butter," Essay nodded. "Heated to the point it could be pumped through a hose. We were gonna install it over his bed, or maybe in his closet." "We were still discussing that when the alarms went off," Scorch noted. "I still think we should have put it behind his shower head." "Nah, we woulda had to pull out the wall for that, pendejo." JakZak waved his hands in the air. "Enough. At least it worked. Time to call everyone on the team and let them know someone new is gunning for us. Scorch, you know where George is, get him on the horn. Essay, see if Peregryn's back in contact, I definitely want him in on this. I'll call up Sal and Aaron." "I found Peregryn," came a voice from down the hall. It was Peter's voice. "He's on TV, channel 4." The replacement wallpanel computer wasn't functional yet in that hallway, so everyone went quickly into the small guest quarters down the hall where Peter was staying. The broadcaster had that unconcerned look of fake concern endemic to his profession as he read the news. "We repeat, we interrupt our broadcast to bring you news of a video which has just been downloaded into network feeds from an unknown and unauthorized source. It claims to show that Academy of Super-Heroes member Peregryn, and STRAFE agents Jennifer Kleinvogel and C.J. Brown are the captives of a newly reformed Conclave of Super-Villains...." "Damn," JakZak spat. =========================================================================== Read Conclave of Super-Villains #3 and beyond for the fate of the captured heroes! =========================================================================== Author's Notes: Disclaimer - While Tom Dodson is inspired by an actual person I knew in Kirksville, Lightfoot's life story is not meant to exactly mirror that of the real guy. Any coincidence by this point is pretty much accidental, except for describing where he lived.