.|. 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 #4, "Mean Streets" copyright 1995 by Marc Singer; a Legacy House production ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Cover shows all of STRAFE and EUROPA, backing into the shadows, firing at the troops in front of them. They cannot see the glowing, feral eyes in the shadows behind them.] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jen Kleinvogel pushed her power for all it was worth, and launched into the air. The PROC security troops were even more surprised than Jen was; they had assumed Jen was still in the company of Tsiao-Li Lin, an immensely powerful anchor who inhibited paranormal powers, and thus she wouldn't be able to fly. Jen was now vividly proving them wrong, as she looped over the crowd. Jen knew that a saner person would have fled immediately. But the whole purpose of the flight was to distract the PROC troops long enough that the Lin family could slip past their riot tanks and out of their cordon. So Jen circled over the area, astonishing the mob and infuriating the troops with her aerial acrobatics. She was doing two-thirds of her top speed and rising, and her anti-gravity aura was steadily darkening. The Lins must have been getting farther and farther away, and Jen's power was becoming less and less anchored. But none of Jen's powers would help her if she got shot. The PROC troops aimed their guns skywards and fired everything they had at her. It would have been the hotel plaza scene all over again, but this time Jen wasn't burdened with the Lins, and she was performing at near- peak efficiency. Her dark aura made her virtually invisible against the night sky, even with the neon glow of Singapore's street signs lighting the night. Jen's reactions were also far faster than any normal human's when she was in flight. And Chinese security tech, like all Chinese tech, wasn't exactly the world's best. Jen easily dodged the hail of gel-shells, tanglenets, and live ammo; much of it fell on the mob below her instead. Jen wondered if the rain of ammo, the security crackdown, and her own show of defiance might not inspire the mob of Singaporeans to revolt against Chinese authority. She knew that the internal politics of the PROC and its satellite nations weren't her business, but she just couldn't resist urging these people to fight for their freedom. Besides, she told herself, it makes a great cover for getting the Lins to safety. Jen flew low over the crowd, imploring them to take arms. They did, and they directed them at Jen. The crowd started lobbing beer bottles and trash cans at the woman who was causing them all this trouble. None of them hit Jen, of course, but they did chastise her. That was what she got for thinking life was Les Mis. On the other hand, the crowd's riot would make a terrific cover, if only she could survive it. Jen rose back up, an imperfect symbol of Liberty but still a fine human being. That was when the Chinese stopped using their internationally- derided, cheap cast-off technology, and launched three state-of-the-art heat-seeking missiles at her instead. * * * * STRAFE and EUROPA, the paranormal espionage teams of the North American Combine and the Eurasian Union respectively, had been driving a stolen troop carrier towards STRAFE's safe house, in hopes of meeting with STRAFE's back-up team and locating Jen Kleinvogel and the Lins. But when the carrier's radio crackled with reports of a foreign woman on Bencoolen Street, only a few blocks to the west, Dan Tracey instinctively changed course and headed for her. When the reports quickly turned to panicked tales of a flying woman and a riot, Dan knew he'd made the right choice. But he might not be able to trust his instincts much longer. "I should warn you," he told the rest of STRAFE and EUROPA over the carrier intercom, "one of the Lin family is probably an anchor. As soon as we find them, we'll be performing at reduced efficiency again, so be ready for trouble. Even this carrier may not be reliable." The blinking, easy-interface consoles were decades ahead of anything else China had visibly produced, and if it was supertech then the anchor would cause it to fail as well. They hit the outer edges of the riot, pulling up behind three full- fledged riot tanks and scattering the steady trickle of civilians who had been lucky enough to slip past them. In the sky above them, Jen was dramatically evading all manner of attacks. In the troop compartment in the back, Tony Drake watched and permitted himself a smile. Then each riot tank launched a very sleek, very deadly missile. * * * * The Lins dashed into the Lazy Lotus Hotel, the safe house Jen Kleinvogel had told them about. Heaving and gasping for breath, Lin Kim Chao led his wife and daughter through the banks of coffin-beds, inhabited by migrant workers and hapless drifters, and took them up to the level of real hotel rooms. When they found the appropriate door, Kim Chao stopped and pounded on it. Nobody answered. Kim wondered if he had to give those spy signs that Cook from the United World had told him about before, and he tried to remember them. Some nonsense about it being a nice night for a stroll, which, given the rioting and the tanks, it obviously was not. Kim tried using the communicator Jen had given him, but it wasn't working, presumably because Tsiao-Li was standing next to him. Kim gave up and pounded on the door again. And again. Now people from other rooms were yelling for him to stop. Lin Kim Chao turned to his family, trying not to cry. Nobody was home. * * * * Jen was flying madly through the steel canyons of Singapore's streets, trying to shake the missiles on her tail. They were too complex to be lost so easily; even when Jen made sharp ninety-degree turns around corners, or hugged the sides of skyscrapers and then rapidly pulled away, the missiles stayed with her. For now, Jen was fast enough to keep them from catching up, but she knew that eventually she would tire and they would not. Jen saw a skyscraper that was still under construction -- one of the drab Maoist collectives that were replacing the glass-and-steel titans of Singapore's 1990s capitalist kick -- and gambled that nobody would be in it at this late hour. She flew into one of the middle floors, wound an arcane path through the maze of girders, looked for the narrowest exit, and flew through it to the other side of the block. The lead missile zoomed into the building, following her heat trail perfectly. But part of it must have collided with something on the way through Jen's maze, and the entire floor exploded into a fireball. The upper floors started collapsing as well. Jen would have cheered, but the other two missiles had veered away at the last minute and circled the building from either side. They were smart missiles, *truly* smart, capable of learning from their dead companion's mistake. And they were still coming after her. "The Chinese can't possibly have that kind of supertech," Dan said, watching the chase through a video monitor. "Especially not with all these anchors around." "Dan," Tony cried through the intercom, "we have to do something!" Not only was Jen in dire trouble, but PROC troops were looking at the carrier like they expected allies to come out. In a few minutes, their cover would be blown. "I'm on it," Dan said. He could still think and act clearly, and if Jen wasn't around anchors, either... he tried their communicators again. No response from Jen, just static. Looking at the monitor, Dan wasn't even sure she was wearing her communicator. But somebody else cropped up on the waveband. "Yeah, this is Tracey," Dan said, elated. "Yes, we can see she's in trouble too... actually, we have someone with us who can take care of Jen, but the missiles... you don't say." Dan hooked his communicator into the carrier intercom; with his mind, it was only seconds before he'd linked both systems. "Listen up, everybody," he said, "a plan is in effect...." ((Do not panic,)) said twin voices in Jen's head. Of course, that was exactly what she did, in the microsecond before she realized some person -- or was it two people? -- was addressing her telepathically. In that panic, she faltered for just a second, and the missiles gained another couple of feet. "Wh-who is this?" Jen asked. ((We are the Dioscuri. We are cooperating with your teammates.)) Jen was still confused, and one of the voices said, (You hit me in the back earlier tonight.) "Of course, the twins from the Eurasian team!" ((Correct. We have a plan that will save you. We need you to return to the riot, and fly towards the tanks...)) Jen changed course and aimed for the riot. But a certain amount of paranoia, which this mission had more than justified, made her ask, "How do I know I can trust you?" The Dioscuri opted for the honest approach. ((You don't. But if you hope to live, you'll do it anyway.)) Dan watched the whole thing from the carrier driver's cabin. "You warned her about the chill?" he asked, into the intercom. "Yes," said both of the Dioscuri. "Good." His cameras were picking up Jen, coming in fast from the direction in which she'd left. The two missiles were right behind her. A smaller terminal gave their flightspeeds, in kilometers per hour. The measurment was a strange mishmash of systems, but then that seemed to be Singapore in a nutshell. Despite this nuisance, Dan converted the speed to meters per second, calculated the distance and time involved, then said, "Hit the fireworks... now!" The EUROPA superhuman called Ymir stood up out of a hatch on top of the carrier. His obviously Nordic features attracted no attention, since the illusionist Rasputin was making him appear Chinese to all onlookers. Ymir opened his arms, and a wave of cold rolled out of them; Jen flew right into its path, just as Dan had calculated. The cold wave didn't encase her in ice, but it did drastically lower her surface temperature. Then a jet of flame shot out of a nearby building -- a jet that clearly came from C.J. Brown's Tesla Branch flamethrower. Again, nobody saw it thanks to Rasputin. C.J., ensconced in that nearby building along with Richard Hendrick and the other two STRAFE back-up agents, reached out with her power and seized control of the flame. The flame-jet curved in midair, and started flying along Jen's previous flight-path; Jen herself had dropped out of the air and landed on the roof of the stolen carrier. The flame-jet traveled on for a while, then split in two. Each jet hit one of the outer riot tanks. The flames themselves weren't nearly strong enough to damage the tanks. But the two missiles, which suddenly registered Jen as being too cold to be their target, locked on the only other available target -- the flames flying in Jen's place. The missiles followed those trails, too quickly to be disarmed or aborted, and they slammed into the tanks. The twin explosions could be heard throughout Singapore. The mob cheered and, with the balance of power suddenly and drastically altered, they transferred their aggression from Jen to the PROC troops. Before it could take any further actions, the third tank was overwhelmed by a swarm of angry Singaporeans. Dan slammed the troop carrier in reverse before the mob could swarm over it as well. Ymir and Rasputin pulled Jen inside the troop compartment, while Dan radioed C.J.'s team and told them to get out of the area. Their old escape plan -- sneaking out on the Australian freighter that had carried them in -- was probably useless by now, so Hendrick suggested following the UW's back-up plan of rendezvousing with a UW sub in the South China Sea. "I'm not entirely certain we can trust the UW," Dan said. "They seem to have sent both us and the Eurasians here, in a rather deceptive and mean-spirited test. But I guess they'll have to take us out, as long as we have the Lins. Jen, where did they go?" "Ummm...." Jen sounded very sheepish over the intercom. "Back to the safe house?" Hendrick moaned and cursed over the communications link. Dan slammed on the brakes, sending the carrier fishtailing across Bencoolen Street. Its rear bumper spun around and smashed through a small telephone booth which apparently contained a VR whorehouse -- its patron grabbed his pants and fled for dear life. "As long as we have the Lins." Dan only rested his head on the steering wheel for a minute. Then he hit the gas pedal, hard. * * * * There was nothing particularly unusual about a PROC troop carrier pulling up to a disreputable establishment, in this case the Lazy Lotus, and disgorging police officers, in this case two elite troops. Only these troops were actually foreign spies in disguise; Rasputin masked himself and Dan as PROC officers, and they charged into the hotel. A third man dashed up the street and joined the group; as soon as he did, he looked like a PROC troop as well, but underneath the illusion he was still Richard Hendrick. "I knew we shouldn't have left the safe house," Hendrick grumbled, "but when we heard the riot... damn, we screwed up." A lesser person might have fallen into gloating. If there was anything Dan Tracey was not, it was a lesser person. "I'm sure Jen appreciates your decision," he said. "C.J. was instrumental in getting her out of there." But that just soured Hendrick's disposition even more, since he'd been the one who called C.J. off the field team. Then Hendrick saw something on which he could vent his frustrations: two real PROC police, lying dead on the stairwell. "Shit!" he cried, drawing his gun and charging up the stairs. Dan saw the darts sticking out of the cops' necks, and realized Hendrick was in major trouble. Hendrick emerged from the stairwell, waving his gun around and looking for PROC troops to shoot. But every policeman in the hall was lying on the floor, with darts sticking out of them. Four men in black combat suits and ski masks were standing at the opposite end of the hall, between Hendrick and the Lins. They saw him, and fired. Dan sprang out of the stairwell, colliding with Hendrick and knocking him over. Several darts thudded into the wall behind them, their lethal cargoes of cyanide-D expelling harmlessly into the plaster. "We're not PROC!" he screamed. "Rasputin, drop the illusion!" Rasputin had little choice; the illusion was already faltering, thanks to little Tsiao-Li down at the end of the hall. The men in black pointed their guns away, surprised to see two members of STRAFE in the place of the PROC troops. "Well I'll be," said one of them, in a thick Australian accent. "If it isn't Dan Carter and ol' Richie Hendrick." "And I'll be as well," Dan said, "if it isn't Bill Cook." * * * * They all rode in the troop carrier, since it was the safest means of transportation -- unless the riot spread to the rest of Singapore, of course, in which case it would be a rolling target for every street revolutionary. But for now, the PROC was containing the riot to Bencoolen Street. It was straining the security forces enough that STRAFE, EUROPA and their guests just might make it to the waterfront after all. "I'm assuming the plan of stealing a boat and getting to the UW sub is still in effect, since the UW people are here," Hendrick said. "Unless, of course, the UW wants to betray *itself* the way they betrayed us." Bill 'Captain' Cook, crammed into the driver's cabin along with Hendrick, Rasputin, and Dan, gave them an easygoing smile. Calm and cheerful, he looked like he belonged on a pleasure yacht and not in a band of fugitives. "Fellas, we never betrayed you at all. This was a simple test of your abilities, we didn't really want you hurt. That was why we had the safety team in place at all times." "Plus you wanted to be sure you didn't lose your precious patent official," Rasputin added, sullenly. "Nah, who cares about him?" Cook poked Rasputin in the side, trying and failing to spread his bonhomie. "The anchor, she's useful. But the patent man? He was just a great means for a test. I mean, what could a proccie patent official have to offer us, fer chrissakes?" "Maybe you should ask him," Dan said. "Ask him about this." He tapped the dashboard. "Ask him why the Chinese would have a state-of-the-art vehicle that seems to be supertech, and ask him why it's still working even though that anchor -- or a little girl, as I like to call her -- is sitting in the back." Cook's smile faded; he hadn't thought of that. "Well, uh, how about it, Mr. Lin?" he said over the intercom. "You said you had some information you wanted to share with us?" Mr. Lin chattered in a rapid stream of Cantonese. All of the language chips in the car immediately gave faulty and ludicrous translations, since Tsiao-Li was unconsciously interfering with the supertech. Dan, Cook, and Hendrick were the only ones who could grasp what Lin Kim Chao was saying, and Dan was only getting parts of it. With Tsiao-Li in the carrier, he could feel his intelligence slipping away again... Dan tried to fight it, and he continued driving through the streets of Singapore. Cook just turned paler and paler as he heard Lin, but Hendrick translated into English for the others. "He's defecting because of the terrible secrets he's learned...." Cook asked a question in Cantonese, Lin gave an indignant reply, and Hendrick said, "Not the anchor effect, a worse secret... the proccies are dealing with the... merlion celestial expressway?" Back in the troop compartment -- which was hot and muggy, since it was filled with sixteen people and Ymir could no longer use his powers to cool it -- Jen sat bolt upright. "Mr. Lin said that before," she said. "I thought my chip was just screwy." "No, he really said that," Hendrick said, from the intercom. "The 'merlion celestial expressway,' and the 'merlion refrigerators.'" "Maybe it has something to do with Singapore?" Tony asked. The merlion had been the symbol of Singapore for many years before the PROC takeover, especially when Hermes had summoned a Chimera and called it a merlion in the days of the Godmarket. "Wait," said Jen, "this must be one of those things the PROC has purged from its languages. He's trying to use circumlocution to say something he doesn't have words for. 'Celestial expressway'... could he mean space travel?" "Aliens!" cried Rasputin. "The merlions are aliens!" "Merlions," Dan said. "What known races does that fit? Mammal and fish...mammal and reptile..." "Furry reptile," Teller said. Everybody in the carrier fell silent. Arc was the only other person in the carrier blunt enough to come out and say it. "The Pranir." "Then the merlion refrigerators..." Tony sunk his head into his hands. He remembered that training mission back at the Academy, the one where they found the Pranir ship filled with frozen people, their own organs precious interstellar commodities -- or delicacies. "The Chinese have been selling *people* to the Pranir?" Hendrick asked this question in Cantonese, and Lin Kim Chao nodded his head vigorously. He explained more, and Hendrick said, "It's in exchange for technology. Because of the anchor effect, illicit trade with the Pranir is the only way the PROC can keep up with Western supertech. Kim learned this because he had to fabricate patents for the Pranir tech...and he discovered the proccies were selling humans in exchange... wait, there's more." Lin Kim Chao pulled Tsiao-Li close to him, and spoke. Everybody noticed the change in his tone, from the frantic man who desperately had to be understood, to the dignified man with something to say. Even Hendrick made his translation a little more austere. "He says...he says he loves China. He loves Maoism. He says he's always viewed us the way we probably viewed him...a faceless white peril that could destroy him at any moment. He loves China...but he loves his family more. He could not stay there, knowing they were at risk, knowing other families were being torn apart...especially now that he knows...his daughter is the kind of person the Pranir wanted most." "Holy shit," said Teller, "now the Pranir have anchors." The next team of paranormals who tried to stop a Pranir ship might be in for a nasty surprise. Lin Kim Chao hugged his family silently. The assembled spies fell into silence as well. * * * * Once he finally reached the docks, Dan stepped on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the street. The carrier hopped up onto the curb and knocked into a small kiosk, another sign that Dan was losing his coordination with Tsiao-Li around. But he refused to let it cripple him. Cook's three Australian UW commandos crept onto the docks to steal a boat. They were all normal humans, and they used no supertech, so they wouldn't be at any disadvantages -- they, at least, had been warned about the dangers of Singapore. The rest of the spies climbed out of the steamy troop compartment. They felt the cool night air for a moment, then they turned on Cook. "Where the hell do you get off sending us here like this?" Teller demanded. "You didn't tell us about the anchors, you didn't tell us the Eurasians would be getting in our way..." "Getting in *your* way?" Ymir said. "Your lackluster powers have been holding *us* back!" "Frosty the Snowman is calling *me* lackluster? You couldn't freeze your own bank account." Arc stepped between Teller and her teammate. "And you can barely shoot off your own mouth." She flashed him an impertinent smile. The rest of STRAFE waited for Teller's cutting reply, but it never came. He did open his mouth a few times, but no words came out. "Well," Arc said, correcting herself, "I guess you can't shoot *that*, either." Tony inadvertently chuckled, and Teller spun on him, saying "Cut it out, will you? Maybe the kid is anchoring my sense of humor, too." Arc raised an eyebrow. "No, that would imply your humor was *greater* than human." Teller just stammered some more. "Can we please remember who the real villain is here?" C.J. said. "This creep Cook set us all up." "He even *ordered* us not to divulge the secret of the anchors," Hendrick added. "I'm sure he did the same to EUROPA's superiors. And I must say, it's the first order I'm glad I disobeyed." Jen, Tony, Dan, and Teller looked at Hendrick in a new light. But Cook was still the target of everyone's aggression. "I'm sure you'll all understand that it was just to see who would get the United World Security Council's elite sanction," he said, still trying to affect cheeriness. "Speaking of which, I'm afraid your cooperation makes evaluating you a little difficult. I don't suppose you want to have a tussle now, last team standing wins, winner takes all?" Sixteen angry faces -- that included the Lins -- scowled at him. "I, uh, I guess not, eh?" Cook was saved by the return of his underlings. "We got two launches," one of them said, "and the proccies are doing something out on the water. Let's go." The assembled fugitives piled into the two boats, guided into one or the other by Cook. Dan and Cook each started up their motors, and pulled away from the dock. Behind and below them, the water started to bubble and churn. And great shadows moved under it. * * * * Cook may have been scum, but Dan had to admit, he knew his business. One launch carried the Lins and all the normal humans, who wouldn't be affected by Tsiao-Li. It also carried Arc, since Rasputin paranoiacally insisted that one Eurasian be present to balance out Hendrick, Milken, and Keating -- not that they could take the Lins anywhere. The other launch carried all the paranormals; they were sufficiently far from Tsiao-Li that their powers were almost fully returned. Dan thought some rich, complex thoughts, the way an almost- drowned man might take deep breaths after finding air again. Jen noticed his pensive mood, and stood next to him. "It's funny, isn't it?" She pointed at the Singapore skyline, which was slipping past them as they headed down river. The riot was raging on, and its flames were drowning out Singapore's red neon glow with a more sinister, flickering orange. Jen pointed specifically at the Temple of Mammon, a towering skyscraper capped by the face of a fat, horned, laughing demon. The demon looked more Oriental than Miltonic, but he was meant to represent the dangers of Western greed. Now his gold-colored face glowed orange, lit from below by the burning city. "All this time, he was supposed to warn them about capitalism. And the fire *was* sparked by capitalist spies... but the firewood was there because the PROC was willing to sell its own people for technology." Dan chuckled bitterly. "Then I suppose capitalism is the root of the problem, after all. A shame the PROC would resort to such measures just to keep up with the Joneses." Dan paused, then said, "But I was thinking about those strange drones hovering over the river." The PROC wasn't patrolling the Singapore River itself -- they were too busy handling the riot. But they had released several small, unmanned rotorcraft over the river. Dan suspected they were some kind of patrol drones, judging by their odd antennae. Rasputin couldn't mask both of the boats, thanks to Tsiao-Li, so Dan had asked Teller, Ymir, and C.J. to shoot them down from a distance instead. Teller caught a drone's rotors with the last of his gel-shells. The rotors got gummed up in the gel, and the drone fell into the river. Ymir froze the water under it, to keep it from sinking, and Dan pulled the launch up next to the small ice floe. He appraised the drone, and said, "Probably Pranir tech... but it isn't set up for security. It couldn't detect us if we floated right under it." Dan rubbed the side of his head. "Is anybody else hearing a funny buzzing noise?" Teller snorted. He was still bitter about not being able to take on Arc. "Maybe it's your super-hearing acting up." Dan's eyes lit up. "Maybe it is. I've been meditating lately, to expand the ranges of all my senses." He knelt down and examined the antennae on the drone more closely. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated, listening for something nobody else could hear. "This thing isn't patrolling," he finally said, "it's *broadcasting*. Ultrasonics, just outside the human range. But why?" The water next to the drone started bubbling. STRAFE and EUROPA were about to learn the answer to Dan's question. Cook let his launch idle, then drift to a halt. "What's holding up those bloody kids?" he asked. Hendrick stared at the other launch through nightvision binoculars. They were an old souvenir of his, from the days when spies had little to no supertech, so they still worked. "They seem to be examining one of the drones," he said. "Wait, now they're starting the launch again..." Tony Drake's voice spat out of their walkie-talkies. "Guys, get out of the river now! Go!" Before anyone could ask why, the ice floe in the middle of the Singapore River exploded. Something had pushed up from underneath, and shattered it. Whatever it was, it grabbed the drone, crushed it with a hideous sound of grinding metal, and spat it all the way over to the shore. Then, making a sound like a demented humpback whale, the creature sank back into the river. The onlookers only caught a glimpse of a lion's mane, and a long fishlike tail. Then they saw more manes and tails, rising and circling around them. "What the hell *are* those things?" Teller said, screaming over the noise of the launch. The launches were fast enough to break out of the creatures' circle, but now the things were swimming after them. The creatures would leap out of the water for just an instant, flashing the spies a glimpse of their gaping, leonine maws, and then they would disappear under the river again. Jen was the only one not nervously looking back at the creatures. She watched Singapore flash past them faster and faster, and she saw a park coming up. This park had a pedestal with no statue on it, and Jen remembered her Tour.Guide's lecture on the way into the city. "They're merlions," she said, "real merlions. I wonder if they come from the Chimera... it could have mated with local sea animals!" It certainly explained why each misshapen creature looked somewhat different from the rest. "Jeez," said Teller, "isn't that just like a Greek myth? The old goat must've bred like crazy. Too bad for us." He fired a stolen gun at one of the merlions, but the bullets only angered it. The monster lunged for the boat, barely missing it. "What do we do now, Dan?" Teller shouted. Somehow, Dan had gotten stuck with making the decisions. "Try Ymir first," he shouted, "and make it quick!" Two merlions were already flanking their launch. Ymir stepped to the stern of the launch and stretched his arms outwards. A full-force cold wave fanned out from him, freezing the water as soon as it hit. A rippled cone of ice spread out in the launch's wake. Everybody hoped it was strong enough and deep enough. Apparently, it was not. The merlions closest to the stern became encased in ice, but the rest easily smashed through the sheet or swam under it. There were still eight or nine creatures, now all racing alongside the boat. One or two were breaking off and menacing the other launch as well, causing Tsiao-Li to scream. One merlion swatted the paranormals' launch with a clawlike fin, knocking a large piece out of the side and nearly grabbing Castor of the Dioscuri. Another surfaced directly in front of the launch; his soggy, muck-encrusted mane rose out of the water, and his huge jaws parted. C.J. frantically lifted her flamethrower, and shot a jet of flame. The jet actually dodged around the other passengers in the launch, thanks to C.J.'s ability to control flame; then it shot inside the merlion's mouth. The merlion bellowed and sank underwater. Now all the paranormals were attacking the merlions, doing whatever they could to kill them before they tore the launch to pieces. But two merlions were still menacing the other, almost defenseless launch. Arc couldn't build up enough kinetic energy or strength to stop the creatures for long, especially with Tsiao-Li in the boat. "The ultrasound!" Dan cried. "We need it to lure them away from the Lins! Jen..." Jen didn't need to hear any more. She flew up from the boat, just over the snapping jaws of an angry merlion. Jen soared over the river, towards the nearest drone. The small rotorcraft tried to evade her, but she easily outmaneuvered it, grabbed it, and pushed it back towards the launches. Fighting against its rotors, Jen forced the drone over the Lins' launch, then pushed it away once it attracted the merlions' attention. The irritated creatures chased after Jen, trying to leap up and grab the drone. She did the same with the merlions around the other launch, luring them away as well. "Jen," C.J. shouted, "try and get them somewhere I can burn them!" "In the middle of a river?" Rasputin complained. Dan said, "Why not? C.J., cover Teller. Teller, shoot our fuel lines." Rasputin screamed for him not to, but Teller calmly reached down and aimed his gun at the fuel line. "Please," pleaded Rasputin, "that's a normal pistol, not a dart-gun!" Teller was silent, sizing up the angle of the shot. Rasputin begged, "Don't do it! Your aim isn't the best here! The slightest error could blow us all to pieces!" Teller ignored him, and shot the fuel line. The bullet neatly clipped the line, and gasoline started spilling out onto the river, floating on its surface. The launch didn't blow up. Teller said to Rasputin, "Good thing I'm perfect." He didn't bother to mention that C.J. had controlled every single spark, and made sure nothing ignited the fuel. Dan gunned the launch, getting as far from the large pool of gas as possible. Jen, immediately grasping the plan, hovered above the pool, keeping the drone just out of reach of the merlions. All the merlions clustered in the pool, trying to grab the offending drone and end its noise. C.J. calmly hefted her flamethrower, pointed it at the pool, and pulled the trigger. The jet hit the pool, which exploded into flames. At C.J.'s command, the flames didn't rush up the gas trail to the launch, but stayed with the merlions instead. The merlions twisted, burned, and died. For an instant, the small fire on the river was perfectly centered against the larger fires behind the Singapore skyline. Then the launch moved on, shifting its point of view, and what was briefly a thing of beauty was once again just violence. * * * * The launches pushed on, leaving Singapore and entering the South China Sea. The paranormals' launch was still losing gas, so Jen transferred everyone aboard over to the other launch, one at a time. The other launch was crammed far beyond its normal capacity with twenty people, but it still stayed above water and chugged across the sea. If any human authorities noticed that the fugitives had escaped the merlions, they noticed far too late to do anything about it -- or they were too busy trying to salvage their grip on Singapore to care. The launch slipped away without meeting any further challenges. Once they'd gone twelve miles out to sea, which took about twenty minutes, Cook signaled for rescue. Then he took one last look at Singapore. Mammon's head was still visible against the orange glow, as if telling the fugitives not to look back lest they turn into pillars of salt. "Amazing, innit?" Cook said. "Not only did we nab an anchor, but the patent man knew something important after all, *and* the proccies have a little revolt on their hands. Not a bad day's work." "And what about those people who are rebelling, Cook?" Jen asked. "What happens to them when more PROC tanks come?" Cook feigned reproachfulness, but he was clearly amused by the question -- or at least by Jen. "Now, now, m'dear," he said, "that would be more than a day's work. Tonight, they're just diversions." Jen nearly punched him, but Tony held her back. "He isn't worth it, Jen," Tony said. "His damn UWSC sanction isn't worth it, either." Rasputin suddenly perked up. "Yes, what about the UW sanction? How will you determine which side gets it?" "Kissing booth?" Cook wiggled his eyebrows, but Jen and Arc both turned away in disgust. "No, seriously mate, I've already made my decision. Both groups performed remarkably. But one group overcame worse odds, with lesser powers, and managed to lead the way almost the whole night. They behaved less like a random bunch of superhumans, and more like a *team*. Besides, they tanned your hides back at the convention center hotel. Sorry, EUROPA, but the nod goes to STRAFE." He turned to face the Americans. "You'll be sanctioned to do missions on UW authority, virtually anywhere in the world." Dan was unimpressed. He looked at his teammates and, seeing that they felt the same way, he said, "I don't think we want to do your dirty work, Cook." "Don't be ridiculous, Tracey," said Richard Hendrick. "Of *course* we want the sanction. So long as we have the right to turn down any mission that stinks of Bill Cook." "Why, Richie, I knew *you'd* see the light." "I just see that taking the sanction is the best way we can keep your slimy ass in line." "What a colorful image, Richie!" Cook called. But Hendrick had already turned away and gone back to wait with his team. Teller was chatting with Arc, trying and often failing to outdo her wordplay. Agent Keating was comparing guns with one of the Australians. Dan was reciting his multiplication tables, to avoid losing his intelligence in proximity to Tsiao-Li. Jen was playing with Tsiao-Li, and Tony was watching Jen. As Hendrick rejoined the others, the loquacious Agent Milken threw an arm around him. He tossed his other arm around C.J. "So," he said, "our feuding sides are at last reunited. Nothing like a common foe to do the trick." "What are you talking about?" said C.J. "Both sides of STRAFE against EUROPA? STRAFE and EUROPA against the Chinese? Or STRAFE and EUROPA against Cook?" "That's the funny thing about humanity," Milken said, gazing at Singapore, "there's always another common foe." Then the United World submarine surfaced, only a few dozen feet away from them. It disrupted their little floating world, but it also promised to carry them home. All except the Lins. THE END Next issue: Who knows? Whatever it's about, it'll ultimately lead into the next arc, where STRAFE goes to Haven and meets an old friend... STRAFE #4 written by and c. 1995 Marc Singer. And this is as good a place as any to acknowledge (and praise) Bruce Sterling's _Islands in the Net_ for a colorful portrait of Singapore, and to thank Dave Van Domelen for letting me bounce lots of ideas for this arc off him.