.|.  COHERENT COMICS PRESENTS
----X-----------------------------------------------------------------------
   '|`      =====,  ========  ====.      ===.      =======  =======
           //         //     //   ))     //||      //       //
           =====     //     //===<      // ||     //===    //===
              //    //     //    \\    //==||    //       //
         `=====  o //  o  //     // o //   || o //    o  ======= o

         Superhuman Tactical Resources and Affiliated-Field Experts
                    original concept by Dave Van Domelen
              development by Marc Singer and Terrone Carpenter

                              Issue #3, "Grounded"
         copyright 1995 by Marc Singer; a Legacy House production

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
     [Cover shows Jen Kleinvogel, falling in flames like Icarus.]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

     A wave of cold washed over Tony Drake, Jason Teller, and Dan "Grind"
Tracey, instantly chilling the STRAFErs to the bone.  The tall Scandinavian
who created it -- one of their opposite numbers from the Eurasian Union's
super-team -- charged into the hotel room.  He was immediately followed by
the short Gallic woman who had demonstrated super-strength the last time the
Eurasians clashed with STRAFE, a few minutes earlier and a few floors higher
on the towering Singapore hotel.  The other members of the Eurasian team, the
scrawny illusionist and the Mediterranean twins, stayed behind their sturdier
companions but looked no less menacing.
     However, this wave of cold didn't incapacitate its targets the way fthe
last few had.  The STRAFE agents were shivering, but still standing.  Teller
aimed his dart-gun and gel-gun at the Eurasians, and Dan and Tony assumed
fighting stances.  "You're not taking us quite so easily," Dan said.
     "Don't be ridiculous," the cryogenic said, in English but with an accent
Dan placed as Swedish.  Once, he probably would have been able to tell the
exact region of Sweden, but Dan had a hard time remembering things now....
"That was a warning shot," proclaimed the Swede.  "Surrender now, or I will
have to harm you."
     "I don't think you could, even if you wanted to," Dan answered.  "Your
powers have all been waning, haven't they?"  The Eurasians were taken aback,
as if they couldn't believe the agents of the North American Combine knew.
Of course, STRAFE only knew because *their* powers had been fading as well.
But Dan shoved aside his doubts and grinned, hoping his poker face still
worked.  "Perhaps you're the ones who should surrender."
     "This is all a waste of *time*," hissed the illusionist, with a thick
Russian accent.  Teller would have actually chuckled at the anachronism of
American and Russian spies facing off thirty years after the end of the Cold
War, if only the situation weren't so serious.  "Where is the patent
official?" the illusionist said, asking the Mediterranean men.
     The twins both squinted their eyes and furrowed their brows, but
apparently to no effect; they both opened their eyes and shrugged, using
exactly the same mannerism to convey the lack of an answer.  The illusionist
cursed in Russian, then shouted to the STRAFE agents, "Where is the patent
official, damn it?"
     "He went thataway," Teller said grimly, pointing to the window behind
him.  "Then he went straight down."

               *              *              *              *

     Jen Kleinvogel, the STRAFE agent with the power of flight, had been
carrying Lin Kim Chao of the People's Republic of China Patenting Office when
he went out the window, so it wasn't as bad as Teller made it sound.  At
least, not for the first minute.
     Jen had also been carrying Lin's wife and young daughter.  Normally they
should have all been well within her weight limit, but Jen's power wasn't
working as well as it should have been.  The dark aura that usually
surrounded her during flight, and made her near-invisible, was the first
thing to go.  It dimmed and failed, and Jen was visible to every one of the
hotel security guards, Singapore policemen, and PROC Urban Control troops
massed in the hotel plaza below.  They had been summoned by the battle
between STRAFE and the Eurasians, but now Jen and the Lins were the only
target for their guns.  Suddenly, a probing searchlight caught them in
mid-air, as if it were pinning them to the sky.  And then every gun barrel
was pointed upwards.
     The Singapore police and hotel security guards only had handguns, or
perhaps rifles, and Jen dodged them fairly easily.  But the PROC's urban
security vehicles had larger guns and computer-assisted technology.  Those
should have been a joke to Jen -- Chinese tech was a joke to everyone else --
but she started losing speed and altitude.  Jen just barely slipped past the
first volley of gas canisters, gel-shells, and tanglenets, then started
diving towards the plaza.  The Lins screamed for her to pull up.
     "I don't have much choice!" Jen screamed, once her implanted language
chip had translated their cries and then told Jen the Cantonese equivalent of
her response.  The Lins were getting too heavy to carry.  Jen knew she
shouldn't have tried to carry the female Lins, since their mission was only
to grab the patent officer.  But Kim Chao's family didn't ask to be dragged
into this, and Jen felt they shouldn't be abandoned.
     A gel-shell exploded right next to the flying fugitives, nearly
engulfing them.  If the gel weren't naturally inferior to the substance used
in the West, they would have died right then and there, but the gel was
little more than foam by the time it splattered on them.  Still, a direct hit
would be bad.  Jen pushed her power as hard as she could, aiming for the edge
of the plaza and the warren of streets and alleys beyond it.  She couldn't
fail to notice she was moving down more than across.
     But the end of the plaza was almost in sight.  Jen thought they could
actually clear the rooftop of the convention center, and fly straight on to
the safe house in the neighborhood beyond it.  Until a tanglenet was launched
straight into her path.  Its strands were made of a light but sturdy polymer
that actually hung in the air for a moment, waiting to envelop her.
     Jen wildly changed directions, losing a lot of altitude in the process,
and flying back out over the police-filled plaza.  Ther shots were coming
closer and closer, the Lins were shouting louder and louder.  Jen could feel
the last of her power slipping away, as even her own weight grew to be too
much to carry.  Jen poured everything she had into one last forward surge,
then started plummeting to the ground, like a screaming gray comet.
     Jen's forward push -- or perhaps merely the momentum from it -- still
carried her across the plaza.  Then she dipped down, not of her own volition,
and a large office park loomed in front of her.
     Jen just barely cleared the roof.  She actually skidded across the top
of the roof, skipping like a stone on a pond.  Jen angled herself so that she
took the impact, while the Lins rode on top of her.  The little girl, either
too young or too hysterical to react any other way, giggled with delight.
Jen skipped over the roof, then plunged off the other side.
     The buildings on the other side were shorter, so Jen flew over a few
before hitting the ground in a narrow alleyway.  On the way down, she
snatched at a variety of clotheslines and banners draped across the alley,
but they only slowed her down.  Jen and the Lins crashed through a small
stall filled with cheap imitation-paper dragons, then finally came to rest.
     The Lins picked themselves up first.  Jen had again twisted herself to
take most of the impact, so they had all crashed down on top of her.  Lin Kim
Chao shook her tenderly, wondering if she had died to get them out of the
hotel.
     Jen groaned, and picked herself up out of the stall.  "I *never* want to
do that again," she said in English, rubbing her scratched face.  For all its
abrasions, her face still looked Singaporean, thanks to STRAFE's Tesla Branch
supertechnology.  Jen noticed the Lins were staring at her in awe, and she
addressed them in Cantonese.  "I have a thin layer of armor under my
clothing," she explained, "designed to absorb shock in case of crashes.
Though it was supposed to have a damn airbag, too..."  As if on cue, a large
foam capsule shot out of Jen's chest, expanded, and then almost instantly
deflated.  The littlest Lin laughed, but her parents just stared.
     Jen ripped the useless airbag off her chest and said, "We have to get
out of here.  We're only a few blocks away from all those cops... and we're
on the wrong side of the plaza."  Loud sirens started sounding from the
direction of the plaza, providing all the remaining incentive they needed.
The four fugitives started running, through a city that was strange and
unfamiliar to all of them.

               *              *              *              *

     "Mr. Lin obviously isn't here," Dan said, "but a lot of police are.  I
suggest we all leave while we still can."
     The Eurasians pulled back into a small knot and started conversing
amongst themselves.  They spoke in French, the predominant language of the
Eurasian Union -- and a language that wasn't programmed into STRAFE's chips.
Teller and Tony were lost, and Dan, who should have been able to understand
the language perfectly, could only get the gist of what they were saying.  He
translated for his teammates, using his language chip and wrist communicator
to talk to them subvocally.  "They're debating what to do with us," he said.
"The twins know Lin isn't here... they must have some kind of telepathy,
probably how they found us... the Russian thinks they should leave us for the
PROC to find, or just kill us... no, the French woman says that
would... violate orders?"
     "Come to think of it," Tony subvocalized, "we were told not to kill
anybody unnecessarily, either."
     Dan continued listening to the Eurasians.  They decided that killing
STRAFE would be bad form, but they had to find Lin.  Then the Swede pointed
out that they might have an easier time breaking out of the hotel if they
worked together, and the French woman noted that if Lin wasn't dead, he was
with the fourth STRAFE agent and the other three could lead them right to
her.  The others agreed with this, and the Russian suggested that once they
found Lin, they would... Dan couldn't remember that verb... they would do
something with les Americains...
     "We have made a decision," the Russian illusionist announced, in
English.  "Cooperation seems to offer the best hope for escape.  In the true
spirit of pan-Eurasian unity, we extend the hand --"
     "I'm touched," Teller said, shoving past the Russian and through the
door.  "Let's get the hell out of here."

               *              *              *              *

     Once they left the immediate area of the crash-landing, Jen found that
she was actually in less danger than the Lins were.  Jen actually looked like
she belonged in a crowded Singapore neighborhood, but the Lins stood out from
the people their government was quietly subjugating.  So much for a classless
society, Jen thought.  There was also the problem of the police, who were
sweeping the neighborhood and seemed to know what they were looking for.
     Jen left the Lins sitting in another alley, and bought some cheap work
ponchos for them.  The vendor she haggled with spoke in a strangely thick
Maphilindonesian dialect that Jen's language chip had trouble translating;
Jen got the feeling she was severely ripped off, but it would be worth it to
disguise the Lins.
     On the way back to the alley, a local cop stopped her and asked her if
she'd seen either of two fugitives.  Jen tensed up inside, but remembered all
her training and didn't let it show.  The cop showed Jen two holographic
stills, of Mr. Lin and his daughter.
     Jen was visibly surprised by the still of the daughter, but that was
probably a good thing.  She muttered that she hadn't seen either, and
shuffled out of the cop's way.  When she was sure she wasn't being followed,
Jen returned to the alley.
     "I must thank you again for saving our lives, miss," Lin Kim Chao told
her.  "May I present my wife, T'ang-Yu, and my daughter, Tsiao-Li.  I beg of
you, if I cannot be removed from this city, at least get *them* to safety."
     "That might be more difficult than you think, Mr. Lin," Jen said.  "The
authorities want your daughter, as much as they want you."  That seemed to
perplex Lin Kim Chao as much as it did Jen; she stepped closer to him.
"Mr. Lin, I was told the PROC wouldn't care if you defected, but obviously
that's not true.  Do you have any idea why they want to keep you and your
family from leaving?"
     Lin Kim Chao lowered his eyes to the ground.  "To my eternal shame,
yes."

               *              *              *              *

     "I guess now is the time to come clean."  Richard Hendrick, leader of
the non-powered wing of STRAFE and commander of the Singapore back-up agents,
walked over to C.J. Brown.  C.J. was feeling a particular enmity for him,
since he'd kept her off the field team despite her super powers, but she put
that aside and listened to the man.
     "You've noticed all of our malfunctioning gear," Hendrick said.  "For
some time now -- and this is highly classified information which you may not
share with *anyone* -- we've suspected that the People's Republic of China
has an unusually high proportion of what have been termed 'anchors.'"
     "People with negative Tesla indices, who naturally cancel out paranormal
abilities," C.J. said.
     "That's right.  For some reason, the proccies have a lot of anchors, and
a lot of powerful ones.  In fact, we've never been able to use supertech on
missions to the PROC, since..."  He pointed to the radio, which was utterly
failing to make contact with the field agents.  "Well, you can see for
yourself.  The anchor field in China kills supertech, too."
     "But we're not in China now," C.J. said, "and it's still screwy."
     "A fact which worries me to no end," said the affable Agent Milken.
     Hendrick scowled, as if he didn't like his agents to acknowledge even
the slightest weakness, but he pushed on ahead.  "It is unusual for the
anchor field to extend into Singapore.  Presumably, some powerful anchors are
stationed at the hotel for security, which would explain why we lost contact
once the team arrived there.  Unfortunately, this means the team's powers may
also be failing."
     "And you couldn't be bothered to *warn* us about this?"  C.J.  jumped to
her feet and stared Hendrick in the face.  Her power was to control flames,
but right now she wished she could create them, to match the rage that was
rising within her.  "We should have known!"
     "Yes, you should have," Hendrick said calmly.  "But the United World
Security Council specifically ordered us not to tell you."

               *              *              *              *

     Getting out of the hotel wasn't difficult for eight paranormals, even
eight paranormals with weakened powers.  The illusionist, whom the Eurasians
called "Rasputin," was able to mask the group whenever they passed anyone in
the hotel.  Security forces were confining everyone to their rooms, closing
off the building, and conducting room-by-room searches, but whenever they
passed the team, they nodded as if they saw more security officers.  Dan
noted that the time periods Rasputin could mask them for were growing
slightly longer, and he wondered if the others were getting their full powers
back as well.
     The paranormals finally found an exit to the outside, and started to
take it, when five PROC urban-security agents approached them.  Rasputin
disguised the group, but Dan actually did the talking for them.  All the
agents bought the guise, except one.  Dan observed that this one had a
special badge, with some kind of stylized character on it, which Dan didn't
recognize.
     The agent peered at Dan and the others carefully, as if he suspected
something were wrong.  Rasputin started to sweat, and suddenly their image as
security agents flickered.  The PROC agents cried out in surprise, but didn't
have time to do much else -- Teller whipped out his gun and shot them full of
tranquilizer darts.  In less than two seconds, four of the agents fell.
     But for some reason, Teller didn't hit the fifth agent, the one with the
special badge, as solidly.  The darts got stuck in clothing, or didn't find
arteries; one missed entirely, which was unthinkable to Teller.  He nervously
pumped the agent full of more darts.  The agent stumbled backwards, still
conscious, until finally the French woman called "Arc" charged forward and
punched the agent solidly in the jaw.  He finally fell.
     The rest of the paranormals bolted through the exit, but Teller ran over
to the fallen agents.  He'd emptied his dart-gun, so he picked up some of
their more conventional pistols.  He also grabbed something from the special
agent and tossed it to Dan.  "Look familiar?" Teller asked.
     "I can't say I recognize the character," Dan said.
     "Oh, Lord, it's a sign of the apocalypse," Teller said, melodramatically
addressing the heavens.  "I figured something out before Dan Tracey.  That's
not a letter, Dan, it's an *anchor*."

               *              *              *              *

     "...And China has many of them," Mr. Lin explained, as Jen led him and
his family through the back alleys of Singapore, making a wide arc around the
hotel plaza.  Mr. Lin had to tell Jen everything at least twice, since her
language chip was now starting to make lots of errors.  "Of course," he
continued, "officially there is no 'anchor effect,' China simply repudiates
the taint of decadent Western paranormality."  Mr. Lin saw Jen waiting a long
time for a translation, and he said, "China says super powers are bad.  But
upon reaching a certain level in the government, however, one learns the
truth... too much of the truth, I fear."
     Jen pondered this revelation.  "So the PROC wants to keep you from
defecting so you can't tell the West about the anchor effect?"
     "I cannot tell the West what it must already know, miss; your nation
simply has not told *you*.  No, I fear my government has much darker secrets
it wishes concealed.  You see, because of the anchoring effect around China,
which I presume results from the large number of anchors, my nation cannot
make --"
     "Quiet."  They had been taking back alleys to avoid being spotted by the
police; it had seemed like a good idea earlier, but Jen wasn't so sure when
she saw three tough-looking men tailing them.  Jen turned on her chip, and
hoped it could get her through a few basic sentences.  When the men drew
nearer, Jen said "Good evening," in Cantonese, letting them know she'd
spotted them.
     A short Malaysian man, wearing a top hat and monocle that looked like
they had spent about 150 years of rough wear just getting to Singapore,
seemed to be the leader of the group.  He spoke to Jen, and her chip
translated his words as "Good evening to you, sweet young thing.  You look
lost.  You need a wise hunting dog --" Jen smacked herself in the ear, where
the chip was implanted, and the chip repeated itself -- "you need a guide for
this scary city?"
     Jen subvocalized, "I'm here with my family," listened for what she hoped
was the proper translation, and repeated it.
     "We can guide them too," said Top Hat.  "The little girl must especially
need a big strong bear of the mountain country."  Jen smacked her ear again,
and the toughs looked at her like she was crazy.  Top Hat decided this
conversation wasn't worth the effort, and advanced on Jen.
     Powered or not, Jen was still a fully-trained STRAFE agent, and she'd be
damned if she let anybody harm her charges.  Jen used an aikido move to flip
Top Hat past her and into a wall.  His two followers reached inside their
jackets for weapons, and Jen leapt into the air, getting a slight boost from
her powers.  It was the only boost she could manage, but it let her linger in
the air just long enough to deliver two spinning flying kicks that knocked
the would-be abductors senseless.  Jen landed, gave Top Hat a kick to the
side for good measure, and started running.  As soon as the toughs got up,
they'd surely report the presence of a flying woman.  Apparently, the police
were offering a large reward.
     "I must finish telling you about the anchors," Lin screamed, running
alongside her, "the anchors, the merlions, the refrigerators --"
     "No time," Jen screamed, but she gave her chip another whack just for
good measure.

               *              *              *              *

     STRAFE and the Eurasians stopped once they got several blocks away from
the hotel.  They were also just a few blocks east of the STRAFE safe-house,
but Dan didn't want to divulge that just yet.  Jen might come back this way
-- if she were alive -- and there was no need to give the Eurasians advance
warning.
     The teams rented a motel room for an hour, so they could rest and
compare notes.  Everybody divulged their names and powers, since it seemed
more likely they might escape alive if they knew what each other could do.
STRAFE's rivals from across the Atlantic introduced themselves as EUROPA --
the Eurasian Union Ruling Order Paranormal Authority.  "Rasputin" was the
illusionist and "Ymir" the cryogenic, of course.  "Arc" had limited
super-speed, but could convert that kinetic energy into super-strength.  The
twins were Italian brothers called "the Dioscuri," who communicated
telepathically with each other, and didn't really communicate with anyone
else.  The rare times they were referred to as individuals, they went by
"Castor" and "Pollux."  Dan guessed they might have greater psychic powers
under more ideal conditions.
     After the STRAFErs introduced themselves, Dan waved the stolen badge and
said, "It looks like none of our amazing powers will do us much good, because
we're up against anchors."
     "I'd guessed as much," said Rasputin, nervously sipping at a styrofoam
cup of oolong tea.  "But why is the effect so powerful?"
     "There was that Chinese security team who temporarily nabbed Mr. Lin,"
Tony said, thoughtfully.  "They probably had a few anchors, and they must
have been waiting near him the whole time."
     "Which means this operation was a lot tougher than we were promised,"
Teller said.  "Some test run."  He was insolently stretched out across an
entire bed, but then he sat up.  "Wait a minute... who sent *you guys* here?"
     "That's strictly classified, I'm afraid," said Rasputin.
     Arc, who was frenetically pacing around the room, said, "Oh, can it,
Yevgeny.  The United World sent us in.  And they told *us* it would be a test
run, too.  I guess they didn't count on the anchors."
     Rasputin threw up his arms in disgust at his teammate's lack of secrecy,
but Dan was less secretive.  "The UW sent us here as well," he told EUROPA,
"and I suspect they wanted to see *exactly* how we'd perform without our
powers.  That way, they can compare us more evenly.  Especially by sending us
to the same place, at the same time, knowing we'd fight."
     "But that's mad," Tony said.  "If we lost our powers, *and* fought each
other, there would be almost no chance of getting Mr. Lin to defect safely."
     Ymir scratched his head.  "We were told the UW didn't care about the
patent official at all.  They just wanted to evaluate us."
     "Cook told us the same thing," Tony said.  "But obviously Lin *is*
important, or that PROC security team wouldn't have been right up by his
hotel room.  And then somebody *else* killed the security team.  A lot of
people do seem to care about Mr. Lin."
     But most of Tony's deductions had blown right by Ymir.  "Cook, you said?
He was our UWSC contact as well!"
     "Well that's just perfect," said Rasputin, even more disgusted than
before.  "Just say his name and everything."
     "He probably doesn't deserve our loyalty," Dan said, "and we can't
afford to keep secrets from each other now."  To a point, anyway.  "Any
thoughts on how to find Jen and the Lins?"
     They briefly discussed a telepathic search by the Dioscuri, but that
seemed highly unlikely given the anchor effect.  Before they could consider
any other options, the Dioscuri jumped to their feet, ran around the cramped
room, and pointed frantically at the door.  "Raid!" shouted Ymir.  "Somebody
must have figured out who we were!"
     The paranormals had just enough time to set up a rough defense,
crouching behind two overturned beds.  Then the door was blown open, sending
plastic fragments shooting and rebounding across the room.  On the other side
of the door, a PROC troop at the far end of the hall crouched on one knee,
activated a launch-tube mounted on his shoulder, and sent a gas canister
whistling straight towards the motel room.
     Teller rolled out from behind his cover and aimed straight at the
three-inch-wide gas canister with his gel gun.  He only had time for one
shot, and his aim hadn't been all that great the last time he fired.
     The canister shot down the hall.  Teller pulled the trigger.

               *              *              *              *

     Jen and the Lin family pushed through the streets of Singapore.  Jen had
hoped that once they got further away from the alley where she was spotted,
the streets would get safer, but if anything, the opposite was true.  The
Singapore police were getting increasingly nervous, as PROC security
increasingly breathed down their necks, urging them to find the Lins.  Every
passing minute only made the security forces more nervous; each minute also
seemed to double the number of cops out on the streets.  They were growing
bolder and more desperate, and were now trying to cordon off and search
entire neighborhoods.
     It was a colossal mess, of course.  Singapore had masses of late- night
merchants and guides and prostitutes, and the commotion of the police search
only stirred up more people.  Then the police tried to clear the streets so
they could more easily conduct searches and spot travelers.  It was a bad
idea, Jen figured, presumably one proposed by the PROC troops who didn't know
the town.  Closing the streets would take away the night city's whole
livelihood.  The crowds wouldn't cooperate, so the police broke out billy
sticks and tried to make them move.  Jen tried to pull the Lins through the
crowds, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation.  The Tour.Guide in her
language chip gave her lots of vivid statistics about the frequency of
anti-PROC riots in Singapore.
     The crowd was too massive and too angry to be moved.  A police officer
shoved a prostitute.  Her pimp, an Indonesian man covered in tattoos, pulled
out an impressive parang and sliced the cop across the chest.  The crowd,
empowered by the pimp's defiance, surged forward.  The police fell back, and
the crowd cheered.
     The crowd seemed to think they had vanquished the police, but Jen
wouldn't bet on it.  She wished she could just fly the Lins out of this
neighborhood immediately, but she couldn't even levitate herself anymore.
Something was totally blocking her power.
     Jen considered getting a taxi or pedicab, but the streets were too
congested.  The night people were dancing in the streets now, lobbing bottles
at groups of cops, beating lone cops to death.  She had to travel on foot,
using the Tour.Guide to navigate through the streets.  Once the police pulled
back, Jen found she and the Lins could make good time, and they actually ran
for several blocks.  The Tour.Guide told Jen she was only a few blocks west
of the safe house.
     But the Tour.Guide couldn't necessarily be trusted.  The third time it
led her into a cul-de-sac, Jen knew the thing was malfunctioning.  "Turn
around," Jen told the Lins, "we'll try to find another way."
     They stepped back out into the street, where the night people were
rejoicing and playing last year's Eurasian pop hits on small radios.  The
crowd was a little less hostile now, and Jen and the Lins made pretty good
speed through the dancing, singing, and celebration.
     Then the low rumbling sound began.  Most of the crowd didn't notice it
at first, but when they did they stopped celebrating and stood in the street.
Jen and the Lins just ran all the faster, until they couldn't run anymore.
Because a much larger crowd was running from the other direction, straight
towards them.
     The rumbling grew deafening, drowning out the music and partying.  Three
large PROC riot tanks rounded a corner and rolled slowly down the street,
driving the mob before them.  Jen tried to switch directions, but the crowd
was too thick -- people were coming from behind as well, then seeing the riot
tanks and stopping dead like lost sheep.  Jen figured there were tanks in the
other direction as well.  The mob had its fifteen minutes of reveling; now
the police had their cordon.
     "Maybe they just want to clear the streets," Jen whispered to Mr.  Lin.
"We all look like we belong here, maybe we can ride this out."
     Lin Kim Chao gulped and said, "I doubt it."  Much to Jen's surprise, he
then dragged his index finger down her cheek.
     The finger came away dripping with brown dye.

               *              *              *              *

     Teller pulled the trigger, aiming with his skill and trying not to use
his telekinetic power as a crutch.  The gel-shell zoomed down the hall, and
hit the gas canister head-on.  The gel expanded and engulfed the canister
before it could go off; the impact and additional mass also deflected the
canister, so it didn't land in the motel room.  It bounced off a wall and
exploded out in the hallway.  The gel bubble swelled even larger, and gas
shot out like geysers from a few weak points.  Seeing that the gas attack
failed, the armored and masked PROC troops swarmed towards the motel room.
They lifted their guns and started firing.
     Tony jumped in front of the door; his invulnerability was virtually the
only cover the others had.  Of course, if the strike force had a lot of
anchors, those bullets could well kill him --
     They didn't kill him, they didn't even break his skin, but they hurt him
worse than anything he'd ever felt before.  Tony grabbed the sides of the
door to hold himself up, and he blocked the gunfire.  Teller fired around
him, sending ridiculous banking shots through and under his arms and legs,
sometimes even ricocheting them off Tony.  Teller gelled the front line and
forced the rest to pull back a little.
     Meanwhile, Arc was running back and forth in the tiny little room,
building up as much speed as she could.  When she thought she could wait no
longer, Arc rammed into the far wall and, converting her speed to strength,
she plunged right through it.  Arc bolted through the room on the other side,
surprising the businesswoman and her escort who were using it, and the rest
of STRAFE and EUROPA followed.
     Arc had built up a running start now, and she smashed through three more
rooms in rapid succession, finally breaking through the rear wall.  This
time, they had selected a room on the ground floor, so they could just dash
off into Singapore -- were it not for the huge urban- security vehicle parked
behind the motel, its mighty engine idling.
     Arc screamed "Merde!" and hit the dirt, but then she noticed that nobody
was shooting at her.  The other paranormals tumbled out the back, and noticed
the same.  Dan ran up to the vehicle: the driver, the gunners, and every one
of the troops inside were dead.  "Our guardian angels strike again," he said,
fascinated.
     Then Tony came limping through the hole in the wall, PROC troops in hot
pursuit.  Teller fired a few shots at the hole itself, aiming them so the gel
would fill it and buy them a few minutes' time.  Dan shoved the corpse out of
the driver's seat, then shoved the vehicle into the reverse.  The other
paranormals hopped onto the back, and Dan squealed out into the wild streets
of Singapore.
     Tony was having a hard time climbing all the way into the troop
compartment, so Teller grabbed his arm and pulled him in.  "Are you okay?"
Teller asked.  "You took some pretty nasty hits back there."
     Tony rubbed his chest and legs.  "I still ache a little," he said,
"which I shouldn't normally do, but I feel a lot better than I did back at
the high-rise.  Looks like your aim is better too.  Lucky for us."
     "I guess we ditched whatever anchors were inhibiting us back there,"
Teller said.
     "I'm pretty certain we did," Dan said, his voice crackling through a
small intercom set in the troop compartment.  "If for no other reason than
because I now see something that I couldn't quite grasp before.  Yes, we
definitely ditched the anchor who was playing havoc with us back at the
hotel."
     "Splendid," said Rasputin, mopping sweat from his forehead.  "Let's do
our best to keep it that way."
     "'Fraid we can't do that, Rasputin," said Dan, his voice oddly cheerful.
"In fact, we're going to drive straight back to them."

               *              *              *              *

     The riot tanks were shining little searchlights into the crowd, probing
everybody's face.  The PROC troops weren't clearing the streets at all, which
meant Jen and the Lins were finished.  The Lins couldn't retreat inside their
ponchos for long, and Jen's disguise was starting to malfunction just like
every other piece of supertech she had.  Jen brought a hand up to shield her
face, so the mob wouldn't notice and tear her to pieces.  Jen whispered to
Mr. Lin, "You have any bright ideas?"  Assuming that was what her language
chip was telling her to say.  "If we don't get out before my disguise melts
all the way, I'll have to leave you, and I don't want to do that.  Without
powers, I wouldn't even be much of a distraction."
     Whatever she said, Mr. Lin nodded sagely and answered, "No, no, that is
a splendid plan!  We must get you as far away from my Tsiao-Li as possible."
     Lin T'ang-Yu was horrified.  "How dare you send away our only 
daughter's one celestial protector?" she said, or something to that effect.
     "Because if the government wants to find Tsiao-Li as well as me, 
then she must be one-who-holds-down."  Jen smacked her chip again, 
and she heard Mr. Lin say, "Then she must be an anchor."  A searchlight 
swept dangerously close to the group, and Mr. Lin fell silent for a 
moment.  Then he said to Jen, "Give me the location of your house of 
safety.  I will lead my wife and anchoring daughter there, granting you 
aerial mobility and great diversionary powers!"
     Jen protested this plan, and said she wouldn't leave her charges alone
and unprotected.  But either she said something totally different in
Cantonese, or Mr. Lin chose not to hear her.  He insisted on the address once
again.  The tanks were slowly rolling closer, compressing the crowd and
approaching the Lins.  Hating herself for it, Jen gave them the address.  She
also gave Lin her wrist communicator, even though it probably wouldn't work
near Tsiao-Li.  "Thank you," said Lin Kim Chao.  "Now, in case I do not make
it, I must tell you of the merlion refrigerators, celestial expressway anchor
technology..."
     "Just *go*, damn it!"  Jen shoved Mr. Lin away, and his wife and
daughter pulled him through the crowd.  Jen didn't have time for a wonky
language chip or an insane patent official, whichever had caused that.  The
Lins pushed one way through the panicked crowed, while Jen pushed the other.
Everybody else was trying to escape the tanks, and failing, so the Lins
weren't that conspicuous.
     Jen made it to the edges of the crowd, which was unfortunately right
where the tanks were.  She cupped her face in both hands, noting that brown
dye was now running over them and down her arms.  She had no idea where the
Lins where, or how close they were to reaching the edge of the crowd.  Jen
tried levitating slightly, and got her head about a foot above the mob.  She
could just barely see two people in ponchos, presumably carrying a smaller
third one, hitting the far edge of the crowd.
     Since she was now a head above the crowd, Jen attracted more attention.
A searchlight from a nearby tank stabbed into her, and a voice cried, "Remove
your hands from your face!"  That attracted still more attention, catching
her in a triangulation of lights.  "Remove your hands from your face!" the
voice cried again.  It suddenly occurred to Jen that if there just happened
to be another anchor in this crowd, then she was screwed.  "This is your last
warning," cried the voice, "uncover your face!"
     Jen slowly removed her hands, showing the long streaks of brown dye and
the pale white face underneath.  Hordes of troops dropped off the tanks and
started shoving through the crowd towards her.  "Do not move," cried the
voice, "or we will be forced to shoot..."
     The Lins were right next to another tank, but troops walked right past
them to get to Jen.  Mr. Lin managed to lock eyes with Jen for an instant;
they shared an expression of total understanding, of complete acceptance of
what was about to happen next.
     An armored cop was right next to her now, trying to lift his gun through
the crowd.  Numerous troops on and off the tanks were aiming their rifles.  A
dozen searchlights were pointed straight at her.
     Jen pushed her power for all it was worth, and launched into the air.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Next issue: The Singapore arc concludes, many secrets are revealed, and all
hell breaks loose.

STRAFE #3 written by and c. 1995 Marc Singer.