//|| //^^\\ || || .|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED PRESENTS // || \\ || || --X--------------------------------------------- //======================= '|` ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES #71 // || \\ || || Metropolis I - Journey to the Lost City // || \\__// || || Copyright 2006 by Dave Van Domelen ___________________________________________________________________________ [cover is in grayscale. Juliana Silvestri, dressed in clothing vaguely evocative of 1920s styles, is walking down a strangely empty city street, with art deco skyscrapers towering over her in a worm's-eye-view shot.] ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES ROLL CALL CODENAME REAL NAME POWERS STATUS -------- --------- ------ ------ Solar Max Jonathan Zachary Spacetime Control ACTIVE "JakZak" Taylor Comet Sarah Grant-Taylor Superspeed, Ice Body ACTIVE Green Knight Salvatore Napier Strength, Regeneration ACTIVE Contact Aaron Zander Psi, Mind-over-Body ACTIVE Scorch Scott Handleman Pyrokinetic ACTIVE Beacon George Sylvester Living Light DETACHED Essay Sara Ana Rodriguez Gadgeteer DETACHED Peregryn Howard Henderson Jr. Elemental Mage DETACHED Lightfoot Tom Dodson Velocity Control ACTIVE Breaker Christina Li Telekinesis ACTIVE Fury Arin Kelsey Concussion Blasts ACTIVE ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [February 4, 2026 - Manhattan, Autonomous Sector] The two road-ragers were pretty evenly matched as they tore through the southern edge of Little Italy in the lonely hours of the early morning. The current leader drove an older machine, a '24 Ihimaera Badger, but the whispered silence of the motorcycle's engine bespoke extensive modifications and a great deal of personal care. The other participant rode a Haiku TR06, a jet turbine affair that could probably leave the Ihimaera in the dust if the rider dared to open it up. But he didn't dare. Not with the Hangmen clamping down on "rogue" racing. Running silent was the only way to have a chance of getting away with it. Oh, it wasn't that the Hangmen were so easy to fool...the secret enforcers of the peace in Manhattan were simply willing to allow a certain level of discrete rulebreaking. Especially in Little Italy, turf claimed by the CyberNostra, especially right now. The mood was celebratory, not combative, and if a few remade men wanted to blow off a little steam with a race, the Hangmen were willing to exercise forebearance. At least, that's what the racers sincerely hoped. Maybe they weren't so willing. But if it was totally safe, why bother? Risk was the spice of life for any paraganger, and it was the main course for a cycle-riding road- rager. Suddenly, as if it coalesced from the air and shadow, a black motorcycle with blood red flames decorating the body appeared between the two competitors. A custom job, with bits and pieces of different models spliced together into one sleek and dangerous machine, it was immediately recognizable by reputation, if not by any particular detail of its ever- changing appearance. The Hellhound had joined the race, for her own inscrutable purposes. Windows shook as the rider of the Haiku poured on the power and shot away, clearly more willing to risk the Hangmen than Hellhound. Hellhound did not give chase, however, as her victim seemed to be the driver of the Ihimaera. In the early days of road-raging, around the time the Warden had vanished, it had been hazardous to life and property, with crashes sometimes resulting in death or setting buildings afire. The Hellhound had broken up many races back then. But now that things had become more formalized, and the Hangmen enforced rules of conduct with their hidden blades and stealthy ways, Hellhound instead used the races as opportunities to deal out justice to those who had committed other crimes. How she knew who was guilty was unknown, although most racers were guilty of *something*. The Badger maneuvered frantically, unable to beat the Hellhound's cycle on pure speed, trying to buy time for someone to interfere. To no avail. Hellhound pointed a gauntleted hand at the paraganger, and a bolt of electricity leapt from her to the Ihimaera's electric engine, stalling it and sending the flywheel into wobbling convulsions. The finely-tuned machine simply tore itself apart, sending the rider flying through the air at over thirty meters per second. The road-rager slammed into a lamppost, bouncing off with several body parts at angles never intended by nature, to land in a twitching heap. And Hellhound was no longer anywhere to be seen. Gene Clark continued to watch the fallen paraganger on her screen for several long moments after that. Assuming the bike hadn't been sold or traded lately, the rider was one of the Basilisk Blacks, so probably wasn't a cyborg. He would be if he survived this, though. Casting a glance over at Odin's throne, the telepath sighed. If only she dared use the High Throne, she could figure out who Hellhound was in an instant. But it worked too well for telepaths, overloading them with so much information that it almost literally cooked their brains. But you also had to be a fairly powerful paranormal to get it to work in the first place, so using the non-telepathic staff at the MetaPsych base was out of the question. Combine that with the terms of the treaty with Rex Umbrae, and the only people on the island who could use the damn thing were Umbrae's own people, who she didn't really want to allow into the Trade Towers. Of course, MetaPsych maintained the illusion that they *could* use the High Throne, which had helped keep various factions off their back. Still, extremely good cameras mounted atop the Towers gave them a technological substitute for the High Throne. Gene reviewed the few seconds of footage she had gained of the Hellhound. Nothing useful. The gauntlet could be a modified Tsaran blaster, any number of which were floating around the black market thanks to Pranir weapons merchants. Or it could be a fake, covering for someone with natural lightning-casting abilities. The cameras had once again failed to catch where the Hellhound's motorcycle came from, as it both appeared and disappeared while blocked from view. Not just Gene's view, but also the view from Umbrae's seat of power in the World Building. Hellhound knew who her watchers were. Smoke and mirrors, and at least some real powers. A telepath, almost definitely. Either Dumont, or someone she'd found and trained. A gadgeteer, probably, or teamed up with one. A lightning-caster, maybe. If not for the definitely feminine figure, Gene would think that Triton was slumming as a vigilante.... * * * * [February 4, 2026 - Falcon Bay, Venus] Contact slowly pulled out of Geode's mind, opening his eyes. It wasn't that he needed to close them during a telepathic scan, but if he didn't close them he also tended to forget to blink, which was uncomfortable and creeped people out. "I have good news, bad news, and interesting news that may or may not be bad," he declared to the assembled heroes. "Is she clear?" Beacon asked. Without specifying what sort of news he thought that would be, Contact noted. "Yes. There's a few echoes of her mental guest, but nothing on the level of a Strings imprint," he assured everyone. It had been a bad few months a while back, where you couldn't turn around without finding someone else had been turned into a puppet of the telepathic Mr. Strings. MetaPsych now had a special training course to help psis identify those sort of traces. "Nothing above the level of subconscious memory, and even those are fading fast. I doubt Geode will even dream of it." "Anything useful in those echoes?" Solar Max asked, his stance radiating concern of a different sort. Beacon was worried about Geode, Solar Max was worried about the rest of the world. Worlds. Contact nodded. "I think I got those impressions before they totally faded. The bad news is, it was TerraStar. Whatever made her vanish in the wake of Triton's wedding, she managed to hitch a ride on Geode's body somehow." "A lot of that going around," Essay noted, glancing over at Beacon. "The worse news is, she's now riding around in that giant stone beetle. At least we have a name for it, there's some remnants of her conversation with it. It's called Heraclius, and it's apparently a fragment of the Leviathan," Contact revealed. This caused a frown to crease Peregryn's forehead. "I had hoped that granting Photosynth's power to the spirit of this world would allow it to simply destroy the Leviathan, but I was clearly being too optimistic. The reports of other giant monsters must also be the result of the Leviathan's fragmentation." "Speaking of optimism," the Green Knight interjected, "given that TerraStar's main beef is probably still with Triton at this point, we might at least not have to worry about Khadam's presence on Venus too much longer." Contact nodded. "Or her priorities could have shifted. At the least, though, the fact that Heraclius left after merging with her means that her goal wasn't our immediate destruction." "But she just may want to do that later," Solar Max replied, a scowl obvious in his tone.... * * * * [February 5, 2026 - Manhattan, Autonomous Sector] As a globe-trotting fashionista, Juliana had crossed numerous national borders in the past few years, and they all had a certain sameness. The names and the languages and the details of the procedures may change, but there was always this sense of dreary half-vigilance. Of guardians who were underpaid and undermotivated, but just effective enough to do the job correctly. Whether talking from behind pasted-on smiles or more honest scowls, the people who checked her documents were always just doing jobs. It wasn't a career, it was something they did to put food on the table. The checkpoint at the Holland Tunnel was different. At first glance, it was simply at the bright and efficient end of the usual border station, with regular visitors driving past smoothly, their credentials and vehicle registrations read automatically by sensors flanking the opening. But the people who met newcomers, such as Juliana, were much more like front office receptionists at a major corporation. Their smiles were pasted on much more firmly, and backed with the conviction that they might well be Noticed by Someone Important and promoted upstairs, if they just did their jobs really really well. Of course, in some ways, this *was* the reception desk for the giant corporation that was Manhattan. Not everyone on the island worked for Rex Umbrae, but enough did. Not every building was owned by Umbrae, but enough were. By treaty, the island was under the jurisdiction of the King of Shadows, and his company acted as the municipal government for all practical matters. It was even largely self-governing in all other civil and criminal affairs, something that wouldn't even have been possible under the old United States Constitution, as far as Juliana knew. But, like any other gated community, it was generally orderly. Despite being run by what amounted to a coalition of criminal organizations, it was far from lawless. The paragangs had simply grown up enough to realize that there was more money in legal enterprises than there was in preying on an ever-shrinking population in a decaying city. Of course, it helped that Rex Umbrae was there to play the role of Ward Cleaver. With a very *big* cleaver held in each hand. And now, here Juliana was, to help Ward get married to June. She wondered if pearls and high heels went with cybernetic killcannons? * * * * [February 5, 2026 - Manhattan, Autonomous Sector] "Ah, nostalgia," Devlin Marx sighed as he hung up the phone. Then he reflected on the irony, given that almost no one had a phone that could be literally hung up anymore. Even Devlin's phone simply turned off at the press of a button, rather than being hung on a cradle...but he still thought of it as hanging up. Still, the conversation with young Mr. Coulter had brought back memories of the old days with the Conclave. Full of code phrases and small talk that concealed the true meaning...to the point that neither could be totally sure what the other was saying. In other words, deniability. He walked to the window and looked out over the stone courtyard of the Cloisters, frowning. What could not be denied was that the Archangeli Heir would be revealed very soon, if she hadn't already been found. Coulter was able to confirm that much, given that he had given ASH the clues himself. Marx wished that the secret could have been kept a little longer, but agreed with the ex-CyberNostra's evaluation of the situation. Gimble would not be able to keep her identity secret for too much longer, given the opening of Venus, and of all the factions that could stumble onto her, ASH was probably the least troublesome. Still, it would be better to at least try to spirit Gimble away before anyone found her, and that would require getting a trusted agent onto Venus. Conflicto's little monster movie show had definitely created openings in the colonist list that Devlin could exploit, but who to send? Marx had more agents available than he had a year ago, but still not many. Jo Ridley was competent and trustworthy, but also known to ASH. Perhaps, though.... "Alexey," he said, the intercom's smart systems activating immediately. "Get ahold of Agent Ridley for me, please. And then there's some other arrangements I'd like you to make...." * * * * [February 7, 2026 - The Academy, Wisconsin Sector] Beth Willot fell backwards onto her dorm bed with a sigh of relief. On the one hand, being in one of the later cohorts of the graduate program at the Academy meant a lot of the bugs had been worked out. On the other hand, the reduced urgency meant there was no hurry to rush everyone through in a single semester, so all sorts of additional programs were being put in place that no one had time for back in '22 or '23. She felt like she was getting a PhD in superheroics...a lot longer on theory than the "professional degree" earlier classes got. Of course, her occasional trips to Manhattan to don the Hellhound suit helped her get some of the more practical experience she was missing out on in school, but she had to sandbag it in class so as to not seem suspiciously experienced. It hadn't been all tedium, though. Dating Tom had been fun, when he'd been able to get away from work, and he'd gained a lot of confidence while they were together. The relationship hadn't lasted, but they'd expected that going in. She cleared her mind. It was just about time for her "conference call" with Jessa and Maddie. Jessa was officially still a "closed fist" telepath, barely able to sense thoughts directed at her from close range, although MetaPsych suspected she had at least a few fingers of ability back. Truth was, she was back to what would be considered a "psight" telepath, if not at the power level she had been before she spent most of her strength sealing Mr. Strings away. She could contact people she was familiar with over distances of hundreds of miles, and her psi tracking ability was starting to return as well. Scry had been back in business for months, helping the Hellhound collective figure out who needed a bit of rough justice. ++Beth?++ came the mental whisper. Focusing her attention like Jessa had taught her, Beth tuned in. --Here, and clear,-- she replied. --How's Jimmy?-- ++He's fine, and wondering when you'll be back. He's getting tired of fixing the blaster glove for Maddie.++ Beth chuckled. Her brother wasn't a paranormal, or even really a mechanical type. He was a martial arts teacher, which was how he'd gotten mixed up with Warden in specific and the crimefighting scene in general. But he and Maddie Chin had picked up a lot of tinkering skill lately. It helped that Planetary Confederation field tech tended to be simple to fix and modify, even if neither of them really understood the theories behind it. A lot of soldier tech was like that, though. And Maddie had a head start, what with studying a lot of the gadgetry left behind by her father, the Black Opal. But bringing Jimmy in on the Hellhound secret helped a lot. Maddie had to be the field operative most of the time now, leaving Jimmy to do the support techie jobs. --So, did the Wednesday thing go smoothly?-- ++Yes,++ the mental voice shifted slightly, letting Beth know that it was Maddie speaking through Jessa's mind. ++Your tactical tips were very helpful. We got that scumbag Basilisk Black with one shot, and got away without anyone seeing how we did it. Had to seal up the exit ramp, though, I'm pretty sure at least MetaPsych was watching us, and probably sent people out to discreetly scour the area.++ --Good. Al Mirage needed to be taught that you don't go doing that sort of thing to young girls even if you are a big bad paraganger and the Hangmen are willing to look the other way.-- ++Amen,++ the voice was back to Jessa's. ++Things'll probably be quiet for a little while now, between that lesson and the upcoming wedding.++ --Just as well. I've got some ideas for something bigger, but I'm gonna need some time to work out the details. I'll let you know when I've got enough firmed up so you can start looking for targets.-- ++Right. Signing off.++ * * * * [February 8, 2026 - Lakshmi Planum, Venus] A body lay face down on the rocky beach. A casual observer might be forgiven for thinking it had washed up there, but for two things. One, it was several meters from the line of marine growth that marked the highest the water level ever got. Two, it was so filthy and covered with dried blood that it could not have been immersed in water any time recently. The slow rise and fall of the figure's back also indicated that life yet remained, despite the punishment suffered by the flesh. Inhuman eyes regarded the figure from the shallows. And eyes more inhuman still saw through the creature that lurked just off-shore, directing its actions. And now the puppetmaster directed the puppet to rise up. "Awaken, fallen goddess," the creature hissed as water streamed off its serpentine head, a head which was large enough to swallow the mud-covered figure in a single bite. Although small for its breed, the sea serpent was many times larger than any human. The figure stirred, but did not roll over to look at the serpent. "Go away," she said, for the rasping voice was recognizably feminine even if the body no longer was. "I'm trying to decide how I want to die. Unless you want to give me another possibility?" The serpent chuckled with the sibilant voice of its mother and master. "Giving up so easily, when there is still revenge to be had? And the possibility of regaining godhood?" Photosynth rolled over, slightly less dirty where the wave-smoothed stones had rubbed away the dirt and caked blood, but still presenting a shocking appearance. She blinked to clear the crusts in her eyes, but did not seem frightened by the beast before her. "Who are you, who could make that offer?" The serpent ducked its head as if bowing. "I am but a mouthpiece for the great mother, creator of all life on this orb. She who was ousted and shattered with the help of the power stolen from you by our mutual foe, the human mage Peregryn." "Can she give me my power back?" Photosynth asked, a spark of hope glimmering in her eyes for the first time since she had regained those eyes. "She can offer you sanctuary, time to mend and regain your strength. As for power...that goes to those with the strength and will to seize it. If you can show you still have the will, she can help you regain the strength. And you can help her destroy the goddess who has humbled us both." "Go on...." * * * * [February 9, 2026 - Manhattan, Autonomous Sector] "Now, just walk towards me, slowly," Juliana told the slim and wiry cyborg, who was to be one of the ushers. His name was Salvatore, which amused Juliana every time she thought about it...the other Sal she knew could wrap this one around his fingers, cybernetics or no. Well, maybe not...the cyborg Sal was probably one of the Hangmen, and thus much more dangerous than the run of the mill CyberNostra. "Good, good," she held up a hand to indicate Sal should stop. "I'm getting a good mental picture of how you move, and how your visible prosthetics mesh together. A traditional tuxedo would look almost like a parody on you, but I've got some ideas I think might work better." Sal looked slightly relieved, although he was professional enough to not make any obvious gesture. He probably hadn't been looking forward to how he'd look in a tux. The beginnings of an idea were gelling in her mind. The bride was the Queen, and her party would be her Knights, Pawns and so forth. Silver and white, perhaps with some accents in red. The King of Shadows would also have his pieces, in black and dark gunmetal, with hints of green. It would be a grand chessboard, where the game led up to a Mate of a different sort. Of course, the red queen might well crash the party. From what she'd gathered, the Hangmen were actually letting the various paragangers run a little more wild than normal, in hopes of drawing out Hellhound, perhaps even trying to draw the vigilante into crashing the wedding itself. That would certainly be dramatic, and upstage Radner's nuptuals. Perhaps red wouldn't be the best accent color for the bride's side.... * * * * [February 10, 2026 - Johannesburg, South Africa] "For God's sake, help me!" shouted the man thrashing about in the muddy runoff pond. It was barely deeper than he was tall, but as he seemed to be made of a kind of living metal, he was having great difficulty keeping his head above water. Apparently, metal still needed to breathe in this case. "You can help yourself," the man standing at the edge of the pond replied. His duster was ripped in several places and bore enough fresh bullet holes to explain why the area was littered with unconcious thugs. "Just turn back to flesh and blood, and you'll be able to swim out." "Then you'll kill me!" the man in the water protested. "Like you killed my men!" "Nonsense," the stranger replied. "The only dead men within a mile of here are those killed by 'friendly' fire. The ones I took down may *wish* they were dead, but they'll recover fully. Pain is a powerful tool...hurt a man enough and you don't actually need to injure him. But I expect a tin god like you knows all about that, given the way you kept order amongst your slaves in this little mining operation." He smiled slightly at the joke. Paranormals had been setting themselves up as gods in the less civilized parts of the world for a few years now, but this one was literally made of tin. He was also, unfortunately, unable to feel pain while in that form, and it had taken way too long to maneuver him into the pond. Time during which some of those friendly fire victims had died for lack of attention, unneeded deaths. The tin man swore loudly in Afrikaans and was once more flesh and blood, swimming quickly for the far shore of the small pond. His opponent waited patiently until the mine "owner" was able to stand up on the bottom of the pond, then leapt across the expanse and kicked him in the head, felling him like a poleaxed steer before he could switch back to metal. He pulled the tin god out of the water and made sure he wouldn't wake up for a while, then strolled over to the slightly dilapidated building that acted as the mine offices. The mine had been a legit concern back in the twencen, but dried up around 1993. The new owner apparently had an affinity for the earth that let him find a smallish new vein of diamonds, and his ruthlessness did the rest. They weren't "blood diamonds" per se, but anyone who would buy from this mine was likely to need a bit of justice sent their way, and the records in the office might give him a new destination for his meanderings. After a few minutes of searching the records with the help of a grateful ex-slave, he smiled. "Rex Umbrae. Now there's a name I haven't run across in a while. I wonder what he wanted diamonds for...I suppose I should pay him a visit and ask, once I've gotten things cleaned up here," Warden decided. ============================================================================ Next Issue: "Metropolis" continues in ASH #71, as things are complicated by "Human Desire". ============================================================================ Author's Notes: Road-raging was introduced in Warden #13, with everyone driving various Ihimaera models, such as the Badger, the Tick and the Scavenger. Yes, the bikes were named after RACC writers. The Ihimaera line comes out of New Zealand, while the new Haikus are a Japanese competitor, introduced to the CyberNostra by the Otazuka and starting to make inroads in the road-raging scene. For those just joining us, the World Trade Center is intact (more or less) because on July 6, 1998 there was a nearly world-ending event, which represents a bigger historical divergence than you'll see in most comics. However, in the ASH Universe, the Trade Towers have their own horrible tragedy. Odin took them as his seat of power during the Godmarket in 1997-8, culminating in a gathering in of his faithful to add them to his army of slain warriors. The building became an abbatoir, as thousands were slain and their spirits gathered. Some have posited that the later "dark rapture" on July 6 resulted because the other gods felt Odin's methods were too unpleasant. As for Odin's chair...let's just say it's finicky about who gets to use it, and that Gene doesn't necessarily know all the rules. :) And now for some other character references, since we're getting back to a LOT of CSV and Warden supporting cast this issue. Jo Ridley's significant appearances include the first several issues of CSV and ASH #22. Jessa "Scry" Dumont also first appeared in early issues of CSV, and temporarily lost her powers in CSV #21. The Willots show up on and off through the Warden series, as does Maddie Chin. The Black Opal appeared in WarStar #2. Hellhound first came on stage in Warden #15. The relationship between Tom Dodson and Beth Willot did not really show up "on camera", although its beginnings were shown in ASH #14 and it was alluded to once or twice after that. http://www.fourmilab.ch/cgi-bin/uncgi/Solar is a simple online orrery, and reveals that mid-to-late January 2026 had Venus in opposition to Earth, so straight-line communications would be tricky and travel times at their greatest. Presumably all interested factions had established relay satellites in trojan orbits leading or trailing Venus by then, though. ============================================================================ For all the back issues, plus additional background information, art, and more, go to http://www.eyrie.org/~dvandom/ASH ! To discuss this issue or any others, either just hit "followup" to this post, or check out our Yahoo discussion group, which can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ash_stories/ ! ============================================================================