.|.  COHERENT COMICS PRESENTS
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         Superhuman Tactical Resources and Affiliated-Field Experts
                    original concept by Dave Van Domelen
              development by Marc Singer and Terrone Carpenter

                      Issue #0, "Sophomore Slump"
     copyright 1995 by Marc Singer; a Legacy House production

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     [Cover shows Dan, Jen, Tony, and Teller in Academy training costumes,
     with Popper and a previously-unseen student, Derek, in the background.
     They gaze out of the cover in horror, while the shadow of a large
     trident falls across them.]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

     "I thought I'd find you guys in here."  Jen Kleinvogel entered the
lounge of the brand-new STRAFE headquarters, the only room so far to display
any signs of human inhabitance.  The rest of the facility was too new and
unfamiliar, so it wasn't surprising that STRAFE's newest members -- and so
far, its only members -- were taking shelter in the lounge while the rest of
the place got 'broken in.'
     Most of them were looking at their new black jackets, and Jen held up
her own for them all to see.  "Get a load of this," she said, pointing to the
emblem on its right shoulder -- a rising bird inside a circle.  "Vogel, bird,
whoever thought these up had *no* imagination."
     Tony Drake smiled, and said, "I kind of like mine."  He held up his
jacket for all to see -- a dragon rampant inside his circle.  "Even if it's
about as original."
     Jason William Teller shifted so everyone could see the emblem on his
jacket, which he was already wearing like a second skin.  His emblem was a
set of concentric circles, with an arrow pointing from the left and stopping
in the center of the circles, like an arrow hitting a bullseye.  "At least
they all fit."
     "That they do," said Dan Tracey, whose jacket had a few bars indicating
he was the captain of this unit.  His emblem was a millwheel or gear-stone
inside a circle, and Dan wondered if STRAFE's designers had known his
nickname back at the Academy was 'Grind.'  It looked like the nickname was
going to stick.
     The fifth person in the room couldn't help but feel a little left out.
"Looks like I just got the generic brand," she said, holding up her own
emblemless jacket.  Carol Jackson Brown, "C.J." to her friends, had finished
the Academy as a senior, and didn't stay for any graduate work like the other
four; consequently, she was only in STRAFE on a trial basis.  "I guess you
grads get all the glory -- solving mysteries, collecting praise, *and*
getting personalized jackets."  It seemed she was only half joking.
     "Don't complain, kid."  Teller ignored the fact that he and C.J.  were
actually very nearly the same age -- he was enjoying his new authority.  "One
of the other 'perks' of being a grad was going to class with a killer
assassin."
     "And as I recall," added Jen, "a certain Captain Tracey didn't let any
of us in on the secret until it was all over."
     Dan looked up from his portable computer and said, "That was because you
were all prime suspects."  There was an awkward pause, when nobody was sure
if Dan was kidding or not.  They decided that Dan Tracey didn't kid, and
moved along.
     "So you guys haven't really worked together before, then?"  C.J.  took a
little comfort in the fact that they might be as new to this as she was.
"This is your first time as a team?"
     Jen shook her head. "Oh, I didn't say *that.* Dan didn't include us on
the hunt for the killer, but there was this one other time..."
     Tony Drake leaned back on the couch.  "Hey, why don't you tell it, Dan?
You were the first one on the case."
     "As usual," Teller chirped.  He put on a show of examining his new guns
very carefully, but he was clearly as interested in the conversation as the
rest of them.
     "Very well," Dan said, closing his laptop.  "I'm not much of a
storyteller, but I'll give it a try.  It all started in our sophomore
year..."

               *              *              *              *

     "Hey, uh, Dan, you want to grab some dinner?"  Tony Drake stuck his head
into the new kid's dorm room.  It was tiny, one of the rooms that had barely
been converted from its original prison-cell function, but Dan Tracey had
presumably chosen it for privacy.
     Dan was seated in lotus position on the bed, reading the three different
books spread out around him.  He took a moment to register Tony's presence,
and Tony was about to repeat the question when Dan said, "No thanks.  I have
a little more studying to do."
     "Well, suit yourself.  The cafeteria closes in a half-hour, though."
     "Twenty-seven minutes, actually.  I plan on making it before then."
     "O--kay.  See you around, I guess."  Tony ambled down the hall, where
Jay Teller was waiting for the elevator.  "Another no-show," Tony said.
     "Ah, to each their own.  I just hope he doesn't get himself too stressed
out."
     "Hey, I recall a certain first-year student freaking out the night
before the Ethics and Law midterm and spending the whole night on the archery
range."
     "I passed, didn't I?"  The elevator arrived and the two
superheroes-in-training stepped inside.  Teller tossed a coin at the control
panel; it hit the button for the floor they wanted, and bounced right back
into his hand.  "And the archery practice didn't hurt either."

     Things were a little out of the ordinary in the cafeteria.  Essay and
Derek weren't arguing over approaches to supertech engineering, and rarer
still, Jakzak Taylor wasn't drooling over Sarah Grant.  Everybody was talking
about the latest robbery.
     "This time Triton didn't even stick to the lake, he used the sewer
systems," Derek Radner explained.  "Carved right up into a bank vault and
made off with millions."
     "I wonder if they're going to send us after this guy," said Sean
'Popper' St. James.  "I mean, he's right down in Chicago.  I, for one, would
like to meet him."
     Tony mopped his face with a napkin and said, "They must figure we aren't
ready yet.  Otherwise, we'd have taken him out by now."
     "I'm not so sure," Derek said.  "The guy's pretty clever.  We might not
be able to catch him."
     "He wants to be caught," a voice announced from behind the table.
Everyone turned around, a little startled to see Dan Tracey standing there,
dinner tray in hand, along with a newsfax whose headline screamed Triton's
exploits.  (Behind him, the cafeteria was just closing.)  "He leaves those
trident calling cards at each scene," Dan said, "and he gives those snide
clues to the police.  He's practically demanding attention, as if he wants
everyone to know how clever he is.  Sooner or later, Triton will go too far,
and then they'll catch him."
     Teller smiled, and said, "Would you like to place any money on when?"
     "No, that would be conflict of interest.  I have a much more interesting
game in mind.  I'd like to try and catch Triton before the authorities do."
     Everyone else at the table -- Popper, Teller, Tony, Derek, and Jen
Kleinvogel -- just stared at him.  Finally, Jen said, "are you serious?"
     "Absolutely.  But I can't do it alone, and you all have one more year of
training than I do.  I'd appreciate your help, if you'll give it."
     "You know what?" said Derek.  "I'd love to."

     It was a curious way for Dan to start socializing with the other
students, but it worked.  For the next week, he and the five sophomores
planned out strategies for finding and capturing Triton, the aquatic bandit
who was the first full-fledged supervillain in twenty years.
     Dan made himself, and the others, familiar with every one of Triton's
heists.  All involved approaches by water, although the approach by sewer in
the latest robbery was a tenuous connection at best.  Each time, Triton cut
his or her way past all defenses, no matter how physically durable or
electronically secure.  Calling cards bearing a trident and the name 'Triton'
were left behind; the cards could have been printed from any computer in the
nation.  There was never any sign of the getaway, although underwater was one
of the hardest places for sensors to reach.  All of the robberies took place
between two a.m. and five a.m., with most happening earlier in the night.
Triton had already looted four pleasure yachts, a waterfront mall, and now a
bank, and showed no signs of stopping.
     Dan had asked Derek to jury-rig some aqualungs; the gadgeteer was
trying, but made no promises.  Teller had wanted a harpoon-gun, but had to
settle for the nearly harmless dart-gun he was allowed to practice with;
Derek was refitting it to take tranquilizers.  Jen was spending a lot of time
in the swimming pool, using her flight power underwater.  But mostly, the
students were just waiting for another robbery so they could leap into
action.
     In a week, they got their wish.  Triton had sent another clue, this time
not to the police but to the media.  Dan sat in the student lounge -- he
didn't own a television himself -- and replayed the tape of the evening's
newscast.  The clue was displayed on the screen, while a local anchorwoman
read it aloud for the benefit of the many illiterate (or, as they preferred
to be called, *post*-literate) viewers: "Left bank symbolizes golden stormgod
for a sealess city."
     While the commentators droned on about what this clue could possibly
mean, Dan worked on the clue.  He timed himself by the newscast, and before
the anchors could move on to a man-on-the-street piece interviewing local
"Triton fans," Dan had solved it.  The clue was almost laughable, except Dan
took such things far too seriously to laugh about them.  A left bank, a
golden symbol, a storm god, a sealess city....

     "Somehow, it all makes sense," Jen Kleinvogel said as she landed on the
roof of a small office building opposite the Chicago Port Authority.  "'Port'
is a nautical left, 'Au' the chemical symbol for gold, 'Thor' a storm god --
how could anyone miss that, after the Godmarket?  And the 'ity'?"  Jen looked
at Dan questioningly.
     "A c-less 'city,'" he whispered.  He was more interested in scanning the
waters around the Port Authority with his Derek-designed field glasses.  They
could even see underwater, according to Derek.    
     "Wow, that's nice work, Dan.  It's so obvious, I wouldn't have even seen
it."
     "Too obvious, really."  Dan continued to watch through the field
glasses.  "It almost seems too straightforward."
     Jen stepped right up to Dan, although he barely noticed her.  "Don't
knock yourself, Dan.  You're on the right track.  I mean, nobody else figured
the clue out, did they?"  
     "Guess again, little lady."
     Dan and Jen both whirled around in surprise, and Jen levitated a few
feet into the air -- against the night sky, her dark sheath made her almost
invisible.  Dan admonished himself, because he'd been too distracted to
notice the approaching man, who was now aiming a gun at them.
     "Why don't you kids settle down?"  The man put away his weapon, and
produced a badge.  "We're on the same side," he said, "and I at least am
*supposed* to be here."
     Dan stepped closer and looked at the badge.  "Richard Hendrick," he
read, "of SPIRIT."
     "That stands for the Super-Powered --"
     "Information Retrieval and Investigation Team," Dan finished.  "I've
read up on you, and I'm not surprised to see you here.  After all, an agency
that was created expressly to cover for the absence of superheroes must not
be too happy to see a supervillain going public again.  Pretty soon a hero or
two will follow suit, and then you might be redundant."
     Hendrick snatched the badge back.  "You're forgetting, Mr.  Tracey --
you *must* be Mr. Tracey -- we're also in the business of enforcing the law.
And arresting people like Triton.  You, on the other hand, are supposed to be
in the Academy.  Not playing hooky and sneaking off the grounds after dark."
     "We're here to hone our skills!" Jen protested.
     "You're here to get underfoot.  And maybe get killed.  I mean, none of
you are even twenty-one."  Hendrick produced a communicator from his jacket.
"Now, will you go home like sensible almost-adults, or do I call in your
administrators?"
     Dan tried to think of a way out.  This wasn't working right at all.
"Maybe we can cooperate," he said.
     "No deal.  SPIRIT doesn't need a bunch of untrained supernormals to
worry about.  We have the situation well in hand."  Just then, Hendrick's
communicator started squealing with traffic.  "What the hell -?" he blurted,
as another SPIRIT agent said something about the latest robbery.
     He looked to his communicator for an instant, then looked back at Dan
and Jen.  But they were gone.

     They flew over Chicago, Jen's sheath keeping them more or less invisible
from Hendrick and any other SPIRIT agent.  But Jen seemed to be having
trouble lifting him, so they landed on another rooftop.  Dan pulled out his
own communications gear (lifted from the Academy workshop that afternoon) and
began checking in with the others.  "Has Triton arrived?" Dan asked.  "Where
is he?"
     Jay Teller answered first, a little out of breath.  "Can't help you,
boss-man.  Tony and I are --" There was a long pause, then Teller's voice
came back.  "On the run from a couple of spooks who want to send us back to
the Academy."
     "Damn!"  It was the first time any of them had ever heard Dan curse.
"Popper, can you pick them up and get them to safety?"
     "You got it," Popper said, from his vantage point inside the Port
Authority.  A moment later, his voice reappeared on Teller's channel.  "We're
home free," he said.
     But Derek hadn't answered yet.  And he was in the most dangerous
position of them all -- testing out a new diving suit in the lake, right next
to the Port Authority.  And right in the path of Triton.  "Derek," Dan
called, "Derek, are you there?"  Dan didn't know if he could handle the
thought of getting Derek sliced to ribbons because he felt the need to prove
himself by solving this mystery.
     After a tense minute, Derek answered.  "Sorry, couldn't figure out how
to use the thing underwater without drowning."  His voice seemed tinny and
hollow.  "I've got no sign of Triton.  There is no action here."
     Perplexed, Dan scanned the other bands for news of the robbery.
Descrambling the SPIRIT channel took almost four minutes, and Dan made a
mental note to brush up on his cryptography.
     The SPIRIT agents were talking up a storm about how Triton had made his
latest heist -- from another bank, a mile up the waterfront.  Dan had been
wrong about the clue.  Completely, utterly wrong.

     Dan had suggested going to the bank to search for clues, but the place
would be crawling with SPIRIT agents and nobody wanted to tangle with them
again.  Dan still insisted upon waiting around and monitoring the radio
traffic, but SPIRIT wasn't divulging anything sensitive over the airwaves.
Finally, they had to leave by five a.m. in order to return to the Academy
before their absence would be noticed at the seven a.m. wake-up check.
     They drove back in an old internal-combustion car which Derek had
scavenged from the abandoned streets of Madison, Wisconsin and then modified.
They couldn't have used an Academy car, because its absence would have been
noticed, and Dan said it would have been uncomfortably close to stealing.
     Teller leaned his head out a window and laughed.  Of all the students,
only he'd had a good time, because he enjoyed fleeing the SPIRIT agents.  And
perhaps also because Dan had made a fool of himself.  "I mean, the clue even
said left *bank,*" Teller howled, "and you just completely missed that?"
     "None of us got it, either," Tony mumbled.
     "Yeah, but the frosh was so *sure* he was right!  He was going to catch
the big, bad Triton.  Hah!  Left bank!  Triton left the bank, alright, he
left it empty!"
     "Give Dan a rest," Derek said angrily.  He turned his head to shout at
Teller, flinging the last few drops of water from his hair into the back
seat.  "It isn't like SPIRIT or the cops figured it out, either.  Triton just
outsmarted all of us."
     "He just second-guessed us," Dan said quietly.  He was hefting Derek's
heavy oxygen tank in his hands like it was Yorick's skull -- or a symbol of
the criminal who'd eluded him.  "I think maybe we outsmarted ourselves."

     They didn't see much of Dan in the days after the bank heist.  While
most of the sophomores had written off their attempt to capture Triton as a
fun escapade that had never had a hope of succeeding, Dan seemed to be
treating it even more seriously.  And some of his classmates were worried
about him.  When Tony said that Dan had barely been in his room for days, Jen
decided to look for him.  The poor guy was so tightly wound, there was no
telling how hard he was taking this.
     Jen finally found him in one of the computer labs, working late.
"Hello, Jennifer," he said, without even looking up to see her.
     "Um, you can call me 'Jen.'  How'd you know it was me, anyway?"
     "Your shampoo.  That stuff they originally designed for use on horses, I
believe.  It's quite... "  Dan lost his train of thought, and actually looked
at her for a moment.  "Distinctive," he finished, returning to his computer
work.
     "Dan," Jen said, sitting down next to him, "a few of us are worried
about you.  You've taken this Triton thing awfully hard, and we just want you
to know... it's okay if we didn't catch him.  He did put one over on
everybody."
     "No it's not okay," Dan said.  "And no, he didn't put one over on
everybody.  He put one over on *us*, and me in particular."  Dan tapped at
his keyboard with something approaching fury.  "And I can't let him continue
to roam free because I made a mistake."
     Jen leaned forward.  "Dan, don't be -- what are you doing?"  Jen watched
the rapidly-changing display on his monitor, waveforms constantly being
projected and compared to one constant pattern on the top of the screen.
     "I'm 'borrowing' time on a National Science Foundation computer," Dan
explained.  "Trying to figure out what could produce a particular sound
effect.  But it doesn't look like it'll find a match any time soon."  Dan
spun around to face Jen; she found his attention strange, perhaps even a
little threatening, considering how rarely he gave it to her or anybody else.
     "D'you remember what you said to me on the roof of that building last
week?" Dan asked.  "About Triton's clue?"
     "That it was so obvious, I wouldn't have figured it out?"
     "Exactly.  Too obvious.  And more to the point, it was *completely
wrong.* That clue didn't point to a bank at all.  It led to the Port
Authority and Triton knew it."
     "So it was deliberate misdirection," Jen said.  "Dan, please let it go
--"
     "Deliberate misdirection, right after I mentioned that Triton's clues
would get him caught?  Jen, doesn't it strike you as odd that Triton should
just *happen* to rob the major financial center closest to the Academy?  Or
that the timing of the robberies is *just right* for someone to leave the
Academy at midnight and return by seven?"
     Jen rocked back.  "You mean... he's one of us?"
     "And he changed his modus operandi right after I foolishly blurted how
it was going to get him caught.  Next time, remind me to choose my allies
more carefully."
     The lab seemed to be spinning around Jen.  One of her classmates, a
villain?  It didn't seem possible... not that there was anything ruling it
out...  "So who is it?" she asked.
     "Well, you and I were together.  So were Drake and Teller, and they
don't have the right powers to pull such a string of robberies anyway.  That
leaves --"
     "Popper!" Jen exclaimed.  She realized she'd shouted, and she quickly
lowered her voice to a whisper.  "He could just teleport in and out of any
vault!"
     "Very true," said Dan.  "And he was alone last week--" Dan's terminal
started beeping, and he returned to face it, as if Jen weren't even there.  A
match had been found for the wave pattern at the top of the screen.  "That's
interesting," Dan commented.  "Brick."  He started tapping at his keyboard
again, switching to another remote system.
     Jen sighed.  Now she knew how poor Watson must have felt.  "What are you
doing *now*, Dan?"
     "I'm accessing city plans for the Chicago lakefront before the
Godmarket," [Editor's note - At the time of this story, none of the students
knew of the term "Causality Wars."] he explained, "and after that, I should
have the proof that will lead us straight to Triton."
     "So, we're taking this to the administrators, right?  And SPIRIT?"
     Dan again shifted his attention to Jen, and smiled.  "No," he said,
"this one's ours."

     The Art Institute of Chicago hadn't fared well since the Causality Wars.
Its extensive Classical art and sculpture collections made it a natural
foothold for many of the gods and goddesses who tried to mine humanity for
resources, particularly the Greek titans who wanted to make Chicago their own
private domain.  And after the Wars, fundamentalist mobs had sacked the
museum, purging it of all "heathen influences."  Of course, they had
destroyed Seurats, Picassos, and Hoppers along with all the Classical art;
"Nighthawks" now existed only as art-book photographs and parodies featuring
James Dean serving Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, and Tymythy Twystyd.  And while new
curators were trying to rehabilitate the museum up above, the areas down
below were a lost cause.  So lost, that nobody noticed one of the old,
boarded-up brick cellars was again filled with treasures -- treasures of a
less artistic kind, awaiting transfer into anonymous accounts.
     The cellar also had a channel cut into it, leading out to Lake Michigan.
A lone figure was walking up the channel, wearing a strange wetsuit and
carrying a large waterproof sack over one shoulder.  He was also emitting a
force field that kept the water from touching him.
     Triton advanced up the channel, checking his homemade alarm system to
ensure that everything was secure.  He emerged into the dark cellar, and
called out, "Lights."  Nothing happened, and he again said, "Lights."
     "Allow me," said another voice.  A hand activated the lights manually,
showing five very angry Academy students standing around the channel
entrance.  Teller was aiming his dart-gun straight at Triton.
     "You really had us going for a while," Dan said, removing his hand from
the light-switch.  "But now the game's over, Derek."
     Derek Radner dropped his sack and looked at his classmates.  "Guys,
you've got it all wrong.  This -- this was to trap Triton!  I, uh, I found
his lair, and --"
     "You aren't fooling us a second time," Teller spat.  "And you aren't
talking your way out of this one.  Put your hands up."
     "Come on, guys, be reasonable.  It was all just for fun...look, you want
to split the take?  Fine with me."  Derek laughed nervously; when he saw that
his former friends weren't laughing along with him, the nervousness turned to
malice.  "So, you idiots finally figured it out, huh?"
     "That's right," Dan said, "we beat you at your own game.  I realized you
were feeding us misinformation.  I realized you were too dry in the car, and
the oxygen tank you took along as cover was too full of air, for you to have
been submerged for hours; you had to be using something else.  And you made
the final mistake, answering your communicator down here where the walls
created a distinctive echo pattern.  The only person you outsmarted was
yourself."
     Derek shook his head with condescension.  "Dan, Dan, you can't ever take
your nose away from the grindstone, can you?  Too bad, I liked you more than
most of the Academy simpletons.  But now I'm going to have to kill all of
you."  Derek pressed a few buttons on a wrist console, reactivating his force
field.  And causing a coruscating shaft of energy to grow out of his left
arm.  "Say hello to Triton's trident."
     Popper's eyes bulged.  "I'm getting help," he said, "try to hang in
there!"  And with that, he was gone.
     "Looks like St. James left the rest of you to die," Derek gloated.
     "We'll see," Teller said calmly.  The force field held out water and
pressure, but with Teller's psychokinesis driving his darts, they just might
penetrate.  The wetsuit covered most of Derek's body, but he was just
egotistical enough....  Teller fired, and three small darts pierced the field
and lodged in Derek's face.
     And nothing happened.  Derek laughed, and said, "You let *me* refit
those darts, remember?  They couldn't tranquilize a fly!"  He lashed out with
his field-projection; Teller danced back just in time to avoid decapitation,
but he dropped his gun.
     "Too bad you were so busy robbing banks, Derek, or you might have
brushed up on your hand combat skills."  Dan stepped forward in a fighting
stance, holding a wooden baton in each hand.
     "Who needs skill when you've got genius?  Or enough energy to power your
own gadgets?" Derek answered.  One sweep of his trident sawed the batons in
half.  Dan jabbed at him, but the punches bounced off the force field.  Derek
pressed forward, lashing out at Dan, missing him but forcing him back into a
corner.  "You cracked my cover wide open," he hissed, "and now I'm going to
do the same to your belly."
     Popper hadn't come back; Teller was scrambling for his gun; Jen's powers
were nearly useless in these quarters.  Tony had never used his powers
outside of a controlled test, but he had to use them now or watch Dan die.
He didn't scream a battle-cry, he didn't say any snappy lines, he just jumped
in the path of Derek's trident.
     The field never pierced his skin, but the pain was excruciating.  The
trident just shook like a buzzsaw as it rattled against Tony's invulnerbale
body, but Tony screamed and blacked out.  "Crybaby," Derek muttered with
contempt.
     Jen had taken advantage of the distraction to fly over Derek and get Dan
out of the corner.  "Any thoughts on how to stop him?" she asked.  "The only
weapon we have that can get through to him doesn't do him any harm."
     "Perhaps not.  Teller, you see that red button on his wrist console?"
     Teller looked up from the damp floor, where he'd recovered his dart-gun.
"Yeah... *yeah*," he said, with sudden realization.
     Derek had spun around and was swinging his trident in a wide arc, ready
to kill his last three opponents.  He noticed Teller leveling the dart-gun at
him again, and he sneered.  "Don't tell me you're going to shoot me again,
Teller.  Don't you ever learn?"
     "Nope."  Teller shot, pushing the dart with all the force he could
muster.  It flew right through the force field, hitting the red button dead
center.  And Derek's force field shut itself off.
     Derek was too stunned to say or do anything before Dan's fist collided
with his face.

     Popper returned a few minutes later, with a squad of Academy security
personnel.  "Just in time that we all could've been dead," Teller noted
acerbically.  Popper just smiled.
     Frank Napier, the Academy's personal combat instructor, was also there,
and he gave the students a rather stern lecture about alerting the proper
authorities next time they felt like investigating a mystery.
     "Are we in any trouble for this?" Tony asked.
     "Not as much trouble as Mr. Radner.  And you *did* capture him, when
nobody else could.  I wouldn't be surprised if your probations got lost in
the shuffle."  He winked, then turned to the group that was stripping and
securing Derek Radner.
     The woozy Derek was being led away by SPIRIT agents -- including a
rather angry and embarrassed Richard Hendrick -- when he passed by Dan and
the others.  "I guess you won this one, Mister Nose- to-the-grindstone," he
mumbled.
     Dan, victorious and surrounded by new friends, smiled.  He said, "Call
me 'Grind' for short."

               *              *              *              *

     C.J. actually clapped.  "That was great!"
     "Yeah," Tony added, "I guess we can add storytelling to your list of
skills after all."
     "Great," Teller whined, "now there's *nothing* he can't do."
     Ignoring that last comment, Dan told the group, "Now at least you can
see why I was a little more secretive the next time I was investigating a
conspiracy.  And it's a good thing I didn't include Popper in *that* group."
     Jen placed a hand on Dan's shoulder.  "Hey, we really don't mind that
you left us out of the investigation.  We were a good team before, and we'll
be a great team now."
     A few minutes later, the team was joined by two visitors to the lounge.
The first man in through the door was Dr. Davis Stern, the founder and
director of STRAFE.  "I'm glad to see you're all here, and getting along so
well," he said.  "I'd like to introduce you to the man who's going to lead
the mundane agents for us," he pointed to the second man through the door,
"Richard Hendrick."
     For a moment, everybody sat in complete silence.
     "My my my," Teller said, "it looks like we're in for one hell of a
ride."


The beginning...