Shining_Glory

I, too, can vouch for the fact that TheMindfulFool is sharp, creative, and an all-around good guy. Whatever he puts his efforts into is worth watching.

And, yeah, gaming guilds don't last forever. Some last only the blink of an eye. In other news, water is wet and fire burns. Really, Cien, not all that helpful except as a post bump.

Wow, dude, you're really on a roll these days!

Ah, it's back! Excellent!

As long as there are no elevators involved, it'll probably work out...

Okay, somebody has to make a billboard for the Gyrobber now...

[ QUOTE ]
"Can we also stop being boyfriend and girlfriend, too?"

[/ QUOTE ]

Dun-dun-DUN! More, please.

[ QUOTE ]
"Hi! I... am THE AMAZING CHEN and I invite you to shop at THE AMAZING CHEN'S BIG AND FREAKY SHOE STORE!"

[/ QUOTE ]

Valor never misses the annual "Big and Freaky Shoe Sale at the Big and Freaky Shoe Store!" Although it's often a toss-up whether she's going for the shoes or the free donuts...

[ QUOTE ]
"Attention Heroes: If you want to ensure that the minor tasks of the civil justice system are attended to and don't mind being on cable, send an email to Hephaestus 1 on your Paragon City Communicators to schedule a time for an interview. Our staff will work to see if you've got what it takes. Cannibals, cat- and kitten-haters, anyone who considers humans as food especially if said humans are still alive while feeding, villains, dancing penguins (because Hephaestus 1 doesn't trust dancing penguins), people whose idea of fun involves harming children and fast-food mascots need not apply. Applications will start being accepted October 31st through November 2nd. Good luck to all applicants."

[/ QUOTE ]

Hmm... I could probably rent Valor to you Mondays, Wednesdays and alternate weekends. What kind of pay are we talking?

[ QUOTE ]
"MY MAN-BITS CHAFE, HEPH! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN! I RAGE! I RAGE!!!"

[/ QUOTE ]

...I have nothing witty to add to that one. I think I'm just going to stand back and admire the awesomeness of the quote all on its own.

[ QUOTE ]
Creation takes skill, grace, patience, and courage, and trolling takes a keyboard.

[/ QUOTE ]

Yes.

[ QUOTE ]
Why are you holding us to a higher standard?

[/ QUOTE ]

Because you chose to undertake the task. Doing it with good grace was, frankly, an unwritten part of the job description.

"You'll go blind if you keep doing that!" Valor's follow-up cackle drifted up the stairs and into the cramped home office as Glory stood by the door.

"I'm doing... research for school," Glory called back.

"Research. Uh-huh. Well, there better not be any more Masi Oka fansites in the browser history when I come up there, young lady." A thoughtful pause. "For god's sake, at least go for Adrian Pasdar!"

Glory rolled her eyes and closed the door. It didn't stop the ongoing commentary. "I know you just rolled your eyes!"

Glory slid into the chair, cracked her knuckles and called up The Paragon Sentinel website. She scrolled quickly to the online version of "Uncommon Valor" and began to type in the "Advice to the Lovelorn" thread.

Dear Valor,

I'm a superheroine edging into middle age, and I have my eye on a younger guy, a military man who's all truth, justice and the American way. Well, he's not really younger, but the super-secret process that gave him his powers keeps him looking that way. Do you think I have a chance if I continue to get so much silver in my hair? Also, he tends to hide out a lot on his team's orbital space station when I'm around -- any suggestions on how I might lure him down to earth?

Desperate in Downtown Overlook

Footsteps on the creaking stairs alerted Glory to the imminent arrival of her mother. Fortunately, Uncommon Valor had a "boss button" and Glory made use of it.

"How's the research going?"

"Pretty much finished."

"Do I get to read this paper?"

"Absolutely," Glory told her mother. "Can't wait to hear what you think about it."

"Cool, lemme just do a couple of things on my column first." Valor waved Glory from the chair and brought up her website.

Glory was halfway down the stairs before the shouting began.

met[sup].[/sup]a[sup].[/sup]mor[sup].[/sup]pho[sup].[/sup]sis

A change in the form of an animal during normal development after the embryonic stage. Metamorphosis includes, in insects, the transformation of a maggot into an adult fly and a caterpillar into a butterfly and, in amphibians, the changing of a tadpole into a frog.

----------

Falcon was little more than a silhouette as Tesla’s EMU suit continued to carry her farther into the void. Singh had, of course, protested her actions, but he’d done nothing overt to stop her departure from the ship. He’d even waited until the airlock had completed cycling before rousing the rest of the crew.

Tesla knew, however, that his tacit approval would be of no benefit once the voyage was over. With her high profile, criminal charges were unlikely, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would never board an ESA ship again. She felt a momentary twinge at the way she’d bullied and manipulated Sebastian, as well as several others, in order to hitch the ride in the first place. But sometimes the end did justify the means, didn’t it? True or not, at that moment it was a convenient way to keep her focus on the task at hand.

She gently pressed her chin against a pad at the base of her helmet. A string of information scrolled across the inner surface of the helmet’s faceplate in response – distance from Falcon, distance from destination, speed, etc. Carefully squeezing one gloved hand, she used the suit’s attitude jets to gently bring her to a halt. This was far enough.

The cannister was firmly strapped to her waist, and she struggled for several moments to detach it and keep a firm grasp at the same time. Finally, though, it came loose, the strap floating slowly away from her.

Another minute passed as she unscrewed the cannister’s top. Air trapped inside seeped out, and Tesla’s mind filled in a hiss where there was no sound at all. Some of the ashes were carried along with the air, but that was unimportant... because those ashes didn’t belong to E. J. Sterling. Instead, they came from the remains of a slowly-fossilizing tree in Gemini Park that had long ago been struck by lightning.

Tesla scattered the rest of the ashes, then pushed hard on the interior of the cannister. It sprung loose, and she gave it a tap to send it tumbling away. Beneath, trapped in a thin net of mesh, lay the real remains of Elizabeth Jane Sterling. Tesla used a slender blade to carefully sheer away the mesh, and let the contents float into her hand.

She held the dark oval shape for a long moment, feeling its peculiar warmth even through the protection of her suit. If she took it back aboard Falcon, all would be forgiven. There’d be a rush of excitement. Talk of careers being made. Chatter about the discovery of a lifetime. But that wasn’t going to happen, because she’d made a promise.

Throwing an object in a zero-g environment is trickier than it sounds, thanks to actions combined with equal and opposite reactions. Tesla managed it with grace, using the toss to give herself a bit of a push back toward Falcon. Drifting back toward the ESA ship, she watched as the oval – the egg, she supposed, although that wasn’t an accurate description in the strictest technical sense – broke open.

Then the swirls of light made their way toward her and, to Tesla, they looked like nothing so much as beautiful dancers...

Later, she would awaken aboard Falcon, and the crew would, with no small amount of awe, tell her about the angel who had brought her back to the ship. And Tesla, in turn, would tell them how the tale would live forever.

But that would be later. For now, there were only the swirls of light and the calm, deep black as Tesla Morrow was swept across the void.

----------

TOMORROW FOUNDATION INCIDENT REPORT

Filed By: Tesla Morrow
Incident Date: 1/31/06
Incident Level: Delta Green 017
Continued Threat Level: n/a
Database Entry Point: A/85
Permit Access By: Wyldfire

CC: Abigail Foster, Augren Grind, Melanie Proudwind, Joseph Young

Incident Summary (Brief): Extraterrestrial first contact

Incident Summary (Full): The Dy’nme’raa consider themselves the galaxy’s premier archivists and storytellers. Traveling from one inhabited world to another, these energy-based creatures are able to assume native form as needed via unknown means. They may spend years or even decades observing and recording anything and everything they find pertinent to their pursuits – events, songs, literature, myths, legends, etc. In return for this information, they exchange tales collected from other worlds and times, seeing this as a fair and necessary trade. In the case of civilizations which have not yet reached an advanced xenobiological comfort level, they may impart those stories in various unobtrusive ways. (cont.)

----------

Even in the end, she refused to tell me the name to which she had been born, instead insisting that I call her by the one which I knew (and she liked) best.

It had taken the pain of the cancer and the treatments that followed to restore her memory of who she really was. The great irony is, of course, that regardless of the memory loss, she had spent her entire human life in the pursuit of the same goals she would have otherwise sought. She was a student of human nature and human literature, and in return, she gave us tales of wonder and awe. For her, there was no higher calling. For us, there was no greater gift.

How much of what E. J. Sterling wrote was fiction and how much was truth flowing from her untapped memories? I did not ask, and I do not want to know. It doesn’t matter, in the end, because the inspiration they continue to provide is far more important than any origin I could attach to them.

The crew of Falcon described her as an angel. For too brief a time, it was my honor and my privilege to simply call her my friend.

Rest in peace, Elizabeth Jane Sterling, for you will be missed.

– From the private journal of Tesla Morrow

Elizabeth Jane (E. J.) Sterling
(?) 1933 - January 18, 2006

The celebrated science fiction writer succumbed at her country home near Hastings after a lengthy battle with cancer.

Sterling, along with contemporaries such as Andre Norton and James Tiptree, was obliged to adopt a gender-neutral pen name in order to make headway during the male-dominated 1950s and 1960s. In later years, she would often remark that she was deeply proud of the fact that, upon revealing her true name, she had helped inspire a generation of young women to try at their hands at both writing and scientific careers.

The remarkable story of Sterling’s early years remains something of a legend among her fans. Found wandering within the ruins of a Kipling Mews home destroyed during the London Blitz, Sterling was never able to reclaim any memories of the first eight years of her life, nor did any individual presenting credible evidence that they knew her during that period ever emerge. Adopted by a local family... (cont.)

The London Times
19 January 2006

----------

WOOMERA, SOUTH AUSTRALIA – Launch of the crew exploration vehicle Falcon, an NX-designated spaceplane prototype put forward at one point as a potential replacement for NASA’s shuttle fleet, has been pushed back by 24 hours due to weather conditions.

The Falcon, now operating under the auspices of the European Space Agency, will establish orbit at the Lagrange 2 point of the Earth-Sun system. There it will carry out a series of maneuverability tests, as well as collecting scientific data, in what has been termed by ESA sources as “a potential shakedown cruise to establish the viability of renewed interest in manned space exploration.”

The prototype was designed and built by a consortium of international interests, including Boeing, Feust and Morrow Interests Ltd. Crew members have been drawn from participating ESA nations, but protests were initially raised over the abrupt addition of an American scientist...(cont.)

Associated Press wire bulletin
January 28, 2006

----------

“You owe me.”

Tesla Morrow put no anger into the statement; she didn’t even raise her voice. She simply kept her gaze evenly on Dr. Sebastian MacLeod as the older man chewed his lower lip, an action that made his thick mustache twitch as though it had a life of its own.

To his credit, MacLeod didn’t sweat, not even in what was technically still Australia’s summer. The air conditioning at the Woomera outpost administrative offices left a great deal to be desired, but the project chief had explained that most of the temperature control focus was on the various labs, control rooms and engineering areas.

“I’ll catch merry hell for this,” he told her. “I already had the devil’s own time convincing them to take you aboard the flight in the first place.”

Tesla shrugged. “I designed some of the major components for the CEV, Sebastian. When NASA dropped its funding, I used some of my influence to help keep things going. Without me, you wouldn’t have a prototype to test.”

“Yes, I was rather surprised by that,” MacLeod admitted. “I thought your organization’s remit limited you to Paragon City.”

“My involvement with Falcon had nothing to do with the Tomorrow Foundation then, and it has nothing to do with it now,” Tesla replied. “This is purely my personal and private interest.”

“I see.” MacLeod nodded, but Tesla knew it was simply a stalling tactic to allow him time to assess the situation.

“You can do this.” Offering it up as a statement rather than a question eliminated any possibility of wiggle room for him. Plus, it had the added bonus of playing on his pride.

MacLeod puffed just a little. “Of course I can. I just said I’d catch hell for it.”

“You’re going to do this.” Another jab at his ego.

His gaze slid off her and moved to the dull grey metal cannister that she’d placed on the filing cabinet upon her arrival.

“It’s hardly an unheard-of request,” Tesla said calmly.

“I know that. It’s just that there’s usually all sorts of rigamarole before someone gets the singular honor of having her mortal remains committed to the stars...”

“For me, Sebastian.”

Whatever resolve he had crumbled with a sigh as he continued to look at the cannister. “I must confess... I can still remember the first time I read a Cody Shiloh story...”

Tesla allowed herself a rare smile. “Me, too.”

STERLING, E(LIZABETH) J(ANE) (1933- )
UK writer who began publishing work of genre interest at the age of 19 with submissions to Worlds Beyond, Imagination and others. EJS’s early work consisted mostly of vignettes and portraits of aliens and other worlds, which were critically praised for their stunning attention to detail. However, these works were not to the general taste due to the lack of a HUMAN VIEWPOINT and were greeted with little enthusiasm from the average reader. In response to John W. Campbell’s suggestion, EJS began her long-running series of adventures centered around Cody Shiloh, an explorer/scientist in the late 22nd century who was obsessed with discovering the mythical “Well of Creation,” from which sprang all life in the cosmos. The Shiloh stories were hailed as a more realistic twist on SPACE OPERA and still allowed EJS to indulge in her liking for complex ALIEN SOCIETIES. In the mid-1960s, EJS made a concerted effort to move to the novel form and was rewarded handsomely, winning the HUGO and the NEBULA for her first novel, Wanderers (1964 US). Other works of interest by EJS include To Touch The Stars (1966 US), Down to Earth (coll 1968), Beyond the Void (1976 UK) and A Silent Summer (1982 US).

The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction
entry by Jefferson Nicholls
St. Martin’s Press, 1993

----------

The grand dame of science fiction and the woman of tomorrow met on the world’s only civilized battlefield – the chessboard. Liz – as she was known to Tesla – began, as she often did, with a feint involving one of her rooks. Tesla allowed herself a slight smile and responded to the challenge with only a knight.

“You know me too well, my dear,” the older woman said with a chuckle. At 72, she could pass for 60, thanks to a vitality she attributed to a long walk each morning and an endless supply of green tea.

Their friendship had begun with a letter. Correspondence, Tesla would call it when pressed by friends. Fan letter, her friends would reply. And, indeed, the letter could have been fairly described as having been on the gushing side. The only evidence to the contrary was a comment near the end of the letter pointing out a mistake in Liz’s use of a wormhole in one of her Shiloh stories.

There were undoubtedly authors who would have taken offense at having their errors pointed out by a six-year-old. Liz Sterling was not one of them. She wrote back almost immediately upon receipt of Tesla’s letter, fascinated by the prospect of corresponding with a girl prodigy. In return, she was rewarded with the knowledge that she was likely the only person on the planet who knew that Tesla Morrow had wanted to grow up to be just like Cody Shiloh.

Letters had been their primary method of communication early on, given Liz’s deep fear of flying, the sole exception being a trip to Europe which had taken the Morrow family briefly to Liz’s home in Hastings. Three days of heaven had followed for Tesla as she and Liz spent hours upon end discussing extraterrestrials, space travel and the latest scientific breakthroughs.

The friendship had grown more firm still with the plunge in long distance phone rates and then the arrival of the wonders of e-mail and the Internet. Later, when Tesla had begun to make her fortune in a variety of scientific fields she’d had the resources to visit frequently. Even with the work of the Tomorrow Foundation, she still made time to “cross the pond,” as Liz put it.

Tesla slid one of her own rooks across the board and collected a pawn for her efforts. Almost immediately, Liz responded by moving her queen to capture the rook.

“A pawn for a rook is a poor trade,” she remarked.

“If that’s all it is,” replied Tesla as she rested a finger on her own queen. She dropped it into its new position. “Check.”

Liz studied the board for a moment. Tesla knew that it would be easy enough to break the check and, given the older woman’s aggressive style of play, she expected Liz to come back with metaphorical guns blazing.

Instead, the author sighed and made a little motion with her hands before she tipped over her king. “Not in the right frame of mind for it, I suppose. I’m afraid I didn’t come here just to catch up with an old friend.”

Tesla leaned back in her chair. Around them, the work of the Tomorrow Foundation went on as usual. More than a dozen research tracks were in progress, the archives were in the process of being updated, and there were always deliveries being made. From Tesla’s office, it was possible to hear chatter from dozens of conversations if you listened closely when the door was open. Many people found it distracting; Tesla found it stimulating.

She steepled her fingers. “Given that you were motivated to take your first flight in 72 years, I’m not surprised.”

“You won’t believe me when I tell you why. You’ll think I’m quite insane.”

“Try me.”

So E. J. Sterling told the woman of tomorrow one last mad, beautiful story. And, in response, Tesla Morrow agreed to move Heaven and Earth to help the grand dame of science fiction.

“They floated silently in the darkness, borne toward Shiloh by the solar winds. He drew in a deep, involuntary breath, then cursed himself for wasting what little precious oxygen remained in his damaged spacesuit. His last coherent thought before the black took him was that the swirls of light looked like nothing so much as beautiful dancers...”

"Cody Shiloh and the Dancers in the Void"
by E. J. Sterling
Galaxy, June 1958
(reprinted in The Adventures of Cody Shiloh (coll.), Bantam, 1964)

----------

Tesla Morrow closed her eyes and moved her gloved hands carefully across the EMU spacesuit. The movements should have been clumsy and slow in the bulky pressure suit, but repetition had brought a certain grace to them. The process of checking seals and connections had been drilled into crew members relentlessly during training, and it had taken on the air of a religious ritual. Of course, in this case, as the final authority on the suit’s integrity, you were responsible for your own salvation.

Satisfied, Tesla turned to the keypad and entered a string of numbers. There was a barely audible hiss as the inner airlock door cycled through and popped open. She pushed the door a bit to widen the gap, then turned to pick up the dull grey metal cannister that rested by her right elbow.

“Doctor Morrow?” The question came from Singh, the Indian astrophysicist, as he appeared in the narrow corridor. Educated at Oxford, his British accent was as perfect as any performer on Masterpiece Theater. He was dressed in the standard dark blue flight suit bearing the ESA logo, and he raised an eyebrow as he studied her. “What are you doing?”

“Would you believe I just needed to stretch my legs?”

Singh chuckled. “I wasn’t aware of any scheduled spacewalks. In fact, as far as I know, you and I are the only members of the crew awake at the moment.”

Tesla sighed. Honesty was always the best policy... if you got caught. Words of wisdom from her father. “This isn’t a scheduled spacewalk.”

“Then what is it?”

“A favor for a friend.”

----------

“The girl, unclothed and described as being some eight years of age, was discovered in the remains of the Kipling Mews area by air wardens surveying damage from the previous evening’s Luftwaffe bombing. She had no visible injuries but was unresponsive to questions asked. She was transported to the Albion Hospital, where she remains at the present time. Police ask that any person or persons who may have knowledge of her identity come forward, as searches of the registration rolls have thus far proved fruitless.”

“Mystery Girl Found Untouched in Shattered House”
The Watford Chronicle
10 April 1941

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There was magic in that battered cardboard box. And magic was not a word six-year-old Tesla Morrow used lightly.

She’d been carefully attaching the state-of-the-art 5mb hard drive to her homemade computer when one of the screws had slipped through her grasp. It had bounced once on the concrete floor of the family garage, then rolled out of sight into a disorderly pile of boxes in the corner.

Tesla had knelt by the pile, squinting into the shadows to catch sight of it. The screw had somehow threaded its way through the maze of cardboard and wedged itself in between the boxes at the back of the group. Murphy’s Law in action.

She’d grunted with the effort as she’d shoved one box after another to the side in an attempt to reach the screw. Her parents were natural packrats, a fact evidenced by the container full of receipts from 1972 and the box holding her mother’s entire run of junior high school reports and projects. Convinced that the rest of the boxes held the same sort of junk, Tesla was less than careful in shifting them, picking up the pace of her work.

Then it had happened. One box, pushed at the wrong angle, had tipped onto the floor sideways, disgorging its contents, which slid in all directions. Paperbacks of every width, texture and color had skittered across the floor.

Tesla Morrow, with her staggering intelligence, had long since passed the years of “See Spot Run” and fairy tales. On those wonderful occasions when her father had taken her to the university library, she’d concentrated on scientific and medical texts. A book to her was merely a non-volatile storage medium, and nothing about which to get sentimental.

And yet, for reasons she was unable to fathom, she couldn’t take her eyes off these paperbacks. Instead of immediately tidying them away, she reached down and carefully picked up one of them. Foundation by Isaac Asimov. She began to read, “Hari Seldon–...born in the 11,988th year of the Galactic Era...”

The rest of the day was merely a haze of momentary interruptions from her all-important reading. By the time she finished the book, her father had returned home from work, more than slightly bemused to find his daughter sitting on a dirty garage floor surrounded by yellowing paperbacks. To her delight, he’d bequeathed the box to her, and she’d struggled her way to her room with it, refusing his offers of help.

In the golden days that followed, she read every paperback in the box – the Ballantines, the Del Reys, even the DAWs with their distinctive but off-putting yellow spines. She devoured Heinlein, Niven and Clarke. Known Space and the Future History opened their borders to her. She met the Heechee, the Kzin, and the Fremen, among so, so many others.

And best of all, to Tesla’s mind, she discovered E. J. Sterling.

((Thanks for reading, guys!))

Six Months Ago

The last contaminated thug collapsed in a heap on the dirty floor of the abandoned office building. Moments later, Tesla found herself in front of the hero known as Coyote. He offered her a broad grin and a thumbs-up.

“Well done, hero!” said Coyote in a voice that was surprisingly reminiscent of Duane “The Rock” Johnson. “You’ve completed the Outbreak simulation scenario! Your score will now be calculated, and a city representative will be with you shortly, so please don’t leave the simulator area!”

The Coyote sim remained in its stock pose, grin fixed in place as the virtual reality scene of a typical Paragon City street began to pixelate and fragment. On occasion, actual emergencies cropped up where new heroes on probation could be safely deployed – Tesla had even heard that such actions were coordinated by the real Coyote – but, for most heroes, the final test consisted of a number of simulations or controlled displays of power.

The street vanished entirely, and there was only darkness remaining. Tesla carefully removed the VR helmet, then pulled off her gloves. The simulation room was a featureless grey cube roughly the size of a small office. The walls were padded and soundproofed, and the floor beneath her was remarkably similar to an advanced treadmill of sorts.

Wireless electrodes and a thin blood pressure cuff had been placed on her body to measure heart rate, blood pressure, etc. She waited calmly as the training technicians fussed over removing them. Finally, finished with their tasks, they left the room without a word.

It seemed like an eternity before the door slid opened again and Tesla’s assigned city representative entered. He was well-dressed, well-groomed and always in a hurry. Hardly surprising, since, at any given time, he was monitoring the progress of more than two dozen potential heroes toward their licenses. She’d heard that some city reps were lax on their testing and training courses, allowing almost anyone who drew them in the rotation to apply immediately for a license. Not this one.

“Doctor Morrow,” he said, consulting the file he held. Then he fell silent for an irritatingly long time.

Fortunately, her time in Paragon City had made Tesla an expert in waiting. She leaned on one of the padded walls, trying not to breathe heavily in front of him.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he said at last.

She waited. He simply looked at her.

“I passed?”

The rep nodded. “Your test scores are well within the acceptable range. Commendable, really. Your health is excellent, and your equipment has been certified safe by our technical experts.”

He walked back to the door, which opened automatically for him. Then he snapped his fingers and turned back to her. “Oh yes, I knew I was forgetting something... congratulations.”

And, with that, he was gone.

Zweibel fell into step with her as she left the room. “You passed?”

Tesla nodded, adjusting her jacket.

“Great! Now let’s talk about the outfit.”

Tesla simply shook her head. The focus groups he’d commissioned had leaned towards the idea of a bright and colorful skintight costume. Tesla had rejected that out of hand, saying that she wanted people focused on her words and her deeds, not what she was wearing.

Her uniform, such as it was, consisted of a red t-shirt, grey jeans and a blue jacket with the Tomorrow Foundation logo. It was comfortable and practical (since she’d treated the clothing to make it fire retardant, energy resistant and as a tough as kevlar), and that was enough as far as she was concerned.

Two doors down, she collected her equipment: her goggles, the cloaking device, strobe pulses, holo-generator, and finally, the jetpack. She checked each item carefully, unconcerned about whether the technicians watching might be insulted that she didn’t trust them to return the items undamaged. After all, she’d be the one relying on these devices to keep her alive.

“I’m gonna go ahead and have somebody work on that costume,” Zweibel announced as Tesla tightened the cloaking device on her wrist. “Just in case.”

“I won’t need it,” she replied, donning her goggles. “I don’t plan on doing this for too long.”

They’d agreed on six months. As well as being the first renewal date for the hero license, that seemed more than enough time for people to start to take notice of the Tomorrow Foundation via Tesla’s efforts. While she respected the city’s heroes and the tasks they performed, she felt there were a great many challenges that couldn’t be solved through confrontation. If all the city needed was an up-tick in the arrest rate, she knew there were any number of people better at doing that than she was. No, the license was a means to an end, and that end was to open doors for the Foundation to carry out its work.

They reached the registrar at a good time, and there was no waiting. Tesla was able to step right up before the elderly woman as Zweibel presented the various papers.

“Got a problem here,” the registrar said after she’d shuffled through the entire set once.

“No, no,” Zweibel said. “It’s all there.”

“Requested hero name’s been blacked out.” The registrar held up the document as proof. There was indeed a thick black line drawn across the line in question.

Zweibel turned to Tesla. “I already told you, ‘Doctor Tomorrow’ tested right off the scale.”

“Sounds like somebody who’d be trying to sell me something,” the registrar said.

Zweibel reddened and spun around to face the woman. “Nobody was asking – nobody was asking that sort of thing in the focus group.”

The registrar shrugged. “Can’t issue an ID if I don’t have a name. Of course, you could just go with your real name. I registered ‘Bob Patterson’ and ‘Jane Jones’ yesterday. Periods and hyphens are big this year, too.”

“Just put Doctor Tomorrow back on there,” Zweibel said.

“Don’t,” Tesla said.

“You two married?”

“No,” said Zweibel. He gestured at the form. “Doctor Tomorrow.”

The registrar sighed and picked up her pen. Before it touched paper, Tesla laid a hand on the woman’s wrist.

“Tesla Tomorrow,” said Tesla. “Use that.”

The registrar nodded, quickly filled in the name and turned to her monitor and keyboard.

“Tesla Tomorrow?” Zweibel shook his head. “That’s a terrible name. ”

“I like it,” said the registrar over her shoulder.

“She likes it,” Zweibel told Tesla, acid dripping in his tone.

“Other folks will, too,” the woman said.

Zweibel rolled his eyes as the registrar ran Tesla’s ID through a lamination machine. “And just how do you know that?”

The elderly woman laughed and reached for her purse. From it, she pulled a laminated card of her own, handing it to Zweibel. “You think they’d let just anybody handle this job? Read that bottom line. The one in red.”

“Precognitive Grade Five,” Zweibel read.

“It means she can see the future,” Tesla explained, accepting her ID from the registrar.

“I help keep an eye out for the people to watch,” said the woman. “And I see a bright future for you, Tesla Tomorrow. You’re here to stay. Just you wait and see.”

Today

The Tomorrow Foundation is quiet, which is something of a rarity these days. With no crisis at hand and no immediate calls for help, regular personnel have long since departed. Even the metahuman members of the organization decide to take one final circuit around Paragon City and call it a night.

Tesla Morrow opts out of the patrol. Instead, she walks the corridors of the massive Foundation building and lets her mind wander freely. So much has happened in six months. New friends made, new challenges met, new obstacles overcome. All of these things with the promise of even better times to come.

The Foundation’s media profile is at record highs. As a result, the right people have finally begun to return calls and read proposals. Suddenly, it’s as though the floodgates have been opened, and she’s on the verge of achieving all her goals.

This morning, Zweibel told her she could quit. Tesla Tomorrow had served her purpose. If the Foundation needed more publicity in the future, the others could handle it. Tesla had replied that she’d think about it and had let the matter drop. It had made her instantly uncomfortable, and she hadn’t been able to put her finger on the reason.

Now, as she passes the arboretum, she’s doing nothing but thinking about the possibility of turning in her hero ID. The idea of staying in the lab is incredibly tempting. Every day, projects are delayed because she’s busy fighting Sky Raiders or the Council. Flashes of inspiration vanish forever because she’s nowhere near her equipment.

And yet...

She remembers the first person she helped as a registered hero. It was nothing more than a simple mugging, and the Hellions had been easily defeated. But it hadn’t been simple for the girl they’d been harassing. She’d hugged Tesla fiercely and sobbed into her jacket, thanking her over and over again.

There’ve been more such incidents since then, of course. Many more. Ordinary people caught in various desperate situations. All of them needing help. Help that she was the one to provide.

Tesla finishes her walk. She’s come full circle to her lab. Inside, there’s a bare-bones flowchart that needs to be fleshed out into new educational software for the Paragon school system. Half a dozen experiments in progress wait to be checked. And she still hasn’t done a final draft of the paper on Outcast mutations, though the deadline for journal publication is rapidly approaching.

The temptation to become a full-time scientist again grows as she reaches for the lab door.

And yet...

She knows that she’ll finish all the projects in good time, regardless of her responsibilities as a hero. She’s not entirely sure how she manages to keep up the balancing act at times, and that doesn’t matter, really. What’s truly important is that she’s felt more alive over the last six months than ever before. And she’s made a difference. Wasn’t that the point of her work all along?

So Tesla Morrow lets her hand fall away from the door to the lab and instead reaches into her pocket. Then she draws out her cellular phone and dials a number. A moment passes before she hears a groggy hello spoken by a man just awoken from a deep slumber.

“Prep the renewal papers, Sidney,” she says. “I’ve still got work to do.”

Tomorrow...?

Well, that will be another story for another time.

((I’d like to thank everyone who came along for the ride. Your words of encouragement meant more to me than I can express.))

One Year Ago

“I need a bigger office,” announced the Tomorrow Foundation’s Chief Operating Officer as he shifted in the uncomfortable waiting area chair.

The comment drew no response from his employer, but he hadn’t expected it would. It was simply a running a joke between them. So Sidney Zweibel tossed aside the battered copy of Paragon Monthly and reached for another magazine. Naturally, it too was out of date. It was the unwritten rule of waiting areas, he thought. Every magazine had to be at least two months behind the times.

At her desk, the mayor’s personal assistant looked up from her correspondence just long enough to catch his eye and frown at the noise. Despite being barely out of kindergarten by Zweibel’s estimate, the girl already had the outlook of an ancient and very fussy librarian (albeit one who could probably tell the difference between Hilary and Hayley Duff).

Zweibel shrugged, unfazed by the reproach, and added, “I need an expense account, too.”

Across from him, Tesla Morrow sat perfectly still, fingers steepled and resting against her chin, her eyes closed. The rise and fall of her chest was the only indication she was actually alive until she spoke. “He’s not going to see us today, either.”

They’d been waiting to see the mayor for most of the morning, but the appointment had been pushed again and again. The waiting area that had been packed at the beginning of the business day had gradually emptied, and now it was only Zweibel and Tesla.

“He’s a extremely busy man, Doctor Morrow,” the girl said. “I’m certain he’s very interested in hearing about your organization, though.”

Zweibel and Tesla shared a look. They’d heard that refrain from a number of city officials since the Tomorrow Foundation had opened its doors. In reality, it had proven surprisingly difficult to establish a rapport with anyone capable of making decisions. Appointments had been pushed or canceled, phone calls went unreturned, and proposals were left unread. Even given its obvious need for assistance in many areas, Paragon City was very much a closed system. One councilman had even gone so far as to bluntly say, “What can you do for us that Crey can’t?”

So, while the Foundation had done well enough with donations and grants to provide a stable base of funding, it had only a few projects to show for a great deal of effort. Major plans, such as those for the revivification of areas such as Perez Park and the expansion of the medicom system to a broader range of citizens, simply gathered dust, which frustrated Tesla no end. It was one thing to deem the plans unworkable or too expensive, another to simply refuse to even look at them.

“Is the mayor available, Judy?” The voice was low and deep, but surprisingly warm. “I realize it’s short notice, but I won’t take long.”

The girl hurried out from behind her desk to greet the new arrival. Zweibel opened his mouth to protest the latest delay, then promptly closed it. Sensing the change in the atmosphere of the room, Tesla opened her eyes.

The red, white and blue uniform was skintight, showing off every muscle of what was a perfect physical form. The polished helmet glinted even in the dull fluorescent lights of the waiting area. And the cloak rustled softly, catching the slightest tremor in the air.

“Right this way, Statesman,” the girl said, ushering the hero into the mayor’s office without so much as a knock on the door. A second later, she emerged, closed the door and all but sprinted down the hallway to the kitchen to prepare coffee.

“Always figured he’d be taller in person,” Zweibel said. But Tesla could tell he was impressed.

She closed her eyes again. Somewhere in the ether, an idea was forming. A solution that would change everything. All she had to do was grab it.

Start with Statesman, she told herself. He was what triggered the thought. Okay, everyone was impressed with Statesman. When he spoke, people listened. They listened in the way she needed them to listen to her if the Tomorrow Foundation was ever going to work. Of course, Statesman was an extreme example, one of a kind. But, to some extent, that sort of respect and cachet extended to a number of individuals with hero licenses.

Statesman had often said in interviews that he’d donned the costume to become a symbol for the city. That made sense to Tesla. After all, once you’d created a symbol, it couldn’t ever truly be destroyed. Symbols, like the ideals for which they stood, were forever.

It all came down to symbols. That was her solution.

“Let’s go, Sidney,” Tesla said as she stood.

“Go? What about the mayor?”

“He’s not going to see us. Not today.”

“Well, that pretty much clears my schedule. So what are we gonna do now?”

“We’re going to build a symbol,” Tesla said, allowing herself a smile. “A symbol for Tomorrow.”

Two Years Ago

Sidney Zweibel ran a hand through his hair. I paid a hundred dollars for this haircut, he thought, and it’s all gonna be for nothing because I’m not gonna have any hair left by the end of this meeting. “Can I ask just one tiny question?”

Tesla Morrow nodded as she passed the head of her steel walking cane back and forth in her hands, the cane’s tip digging a little deeper into the plush carpet each time. It had become a nervous habit in the months since she’d been able to walk again, and she was trying to break herself of it. Suddenly conscious of the motion, she forced herself to hold the cane still as she leaned forward in her chair.

Soon she wouldn’t need the cane at all; the surgeries had gone extremely well and her physical therapy was progressing nicely. She’d be glad to be rid of it. Beyond being a symbol of her infirmity, it was a reminder of other things, as well. People gone and battles lost. She shook her head to clear those thoughts away.

“So... is that a yes or a no?”

“Ask your question.”

Zweibel swivelled in his own chair to look out the window for a moment. The traffic in both directions on the freeway was at a crawl. Well, there were always some things that could be counted on in Los Angeles – death, taxes and traffic. By the time he’d turned around again, he figured he’d found the most delicate phrasing for the question he wanted to pose.

“Are you out of your freaking mind?”

Tesla merely smiled. “If I were, I’d be the last person to know, wouldn’t I?”

“Then as your financial adviser, your money man, your go-to guy, let me be clear – it’s my considered and professional opinion that you’re out of your freaking mind.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Zweibel repeated, more for his benefit than hers. He shuffled the ream of papers she’d handed him upon her arrival – unannounced, of course – and sighed. “Why, she asks me. Because you’re throwing away a fortune.”

He tapped the papers. “Do you understand what a risk establishing a non-profit organization is? Do I need to tell you how many of them simply evaporate?”

“I did the research.”

“And yet you’re still sitting right there, telling me to put every penny you’ve ever earned into this ‘Tomorrow Foundation.’”

Tesla nodded.

“If it goes under, you’re ruined,” he said. “You get that, right? Broke. Busted. Skip your turn and go straight to Chapter 7. I’m telling you right now, you’re the smartest lady I’ve ever met so, y’know, don’t be stupid just because it’s a novelty. You feel guilty over being rich, give some money to save the whales or whatever. Just don’t do this.”

She stood. “It’s not about guilt, Sidney.”

“Okay, then what’s it about?”

“Do you remember asking me what all my traveling was about?”

“Yeah, you said you were ‘finding yourself.’” He emphasized his last words with air quotes.

“You’re being sarcastic – ”

“What gave it away?”

“You’re being sarcastic, but that’s pretty near the truth. I learned who I am. I’m someone who fixes things. And the Tomorrow Foundation is going to be a tool for doing that. I’m going to make things better. It’s that simple.”

“Why Paragon City?”

“Can you think of someplace that has more problems to solve? It was ground zero for the Rikti Invasion, and it’s nowhere near back on its feet. If I can really make a difference anywhere, it’s there.”

“I still think you’re crazy.”

“Draw up the papers, Sidney. Move the money.”

Zweibel threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. Anything else?”

Tesla nodded. “Quit your job and come work for me full-time.”

“I’ve got a big office, a big salary and a big expense account. What are you offering?”

“A small office, a tiny salary and no expense account. But, hey, it’ll be good for your soul.”

“Uh-huh. Pass.”

Tesla shrugged as she opened the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask again in six months.”

Zweibel snorted softly as he watched her hobble past his secretary.

“Six months?” he muttered as he returned to work. “I’ll be drawing up those Chapter 7 papers in three.”

It was the tingling that lured Tesla back toward consciousness. The barest of tickles, like a gentle breeze on exposed skin. And yet, it wasn’t a physical sensation; she was certain of that. Somehow she simply knew she wasn’t actually awake as she tried to pinpoint the source of the feeling. But she was getting closer...

“...waking up...”

“...have what we need...”

There was pain as Tesla’s eyes fluttered open. Every kind of pain she’d ever experienced and a few agonies she hadn’t even imagined. Pain when her muscles twitched as she tried to turn her head. Pain when she managed to lie still. And the constant pain of reliving those last moments on the rooftop.

Her vision came slowly into focus on a man standing in the corner of the pale green room. His arms were crossed over his chest and he leaned against a wall as he watched Tesla with grey eyes. If she’d been given to such descriptions, she might have called him dapper, with his tailored suit and Italian shoes. More likely, though, after meeting his gaze, she’d have called him dangerous. She disliked him instantly.

Next to her bed, in the room’s only chair, sat a woman who was quite possibly the most beautiful person Tesla had ever seen. She was tall, with perfect features and skin. Perhaps she shopped at the same high-class clothing store as her male companion, because she too was dressed in a very stylish suit that did nothing to hide her athletic body. Her long hair fell about her shoulders in a way that almost looked posed.

The final person in the room was apparently her doctor. He certainly looked like the physicians she’d known during her residency in emergency medicine. He was gaunt, sleep-deprived and harried. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and leaned over her, flicking the beam of a penlight across her eyes.

“Yes, this looks good,” he said. “I’m Doctor Singh. Please don’t try to move, Doctor Morrow. You’ve sustained a number of serious injuries.”

Well, that would explain all the pain, Tesla thought. Her sluggish reflexes and the light fog that had settled over her mind suggested strong painkillers. Moving her lips slowly to make sure she didn’t slur her words, she spoke.

“...how... serious...?” Even speaking hurt. Not surprising; she must have been intubated at one point or another.

“Your right arm is broken. Your left leg, also; that limb in several places. You have several cracked ribs, and one of your lungs was punctured in your fall. Also, you have a mild concussion.”

“...lucky me...”

“Yes, actually. Very lucky you. Little internal bleeding and no spinal damage? You were truly blessed last night.”

“...Lieutenant Lytton...?”

The physician’s eyes moved across to the well-dressed man.

“If you’ll give us a moment of privacy,” the man said. His voice was soft and deep.

Singh nodded and left the room. The well-dressed man took his place by Tesla’s bed.

“My name is Kingston,” he said. “Lieutenant Theodore Lytton did not survive the attack. My condolences.”

“...don’t know you...”

“I work for the Ministry.”

“...we winning...?”

“Let’s just say the war continues.”

“...want to talk... to Brigadier Balfour...”

“You no longer fall under the Brigadier’s purview.” He nodded at the woman, who’d remained silent but hadn’t taken her eyes off Tesla for a moment. “My colleague and I came by to see if there was anything you needed.”

Even through the haze of medication, the tiny alarm that had begun sounding in Tesla’s head from the moment she’d awoken was growing louder.

“...liar...”

“I beg your pardon?”

“...said you were lying...”

“Now why would I do that?”

“...because she’s psi...” Tesla ignored the spasm of pain as she jerked her head in the woman’s direction. “...felt her... heard you talking... as I was waking up... why were you in my head...?”

“It’s her job.” He nodded to the woman. “Thank you, Miranda, you’re done here.”

The woman nodded back and stood. As she walked to the door, she flashed a smile at Tesla. It managed to be condescending, envious and full of hate, all at the same time. Whatever she’d found in Tesla’s mind hadn’t been to her liking, apparently.

“...what did you take...?”

Kingston shrugged. “Your observations of the alien craft. Theories pertaining to its technology.”

Tesla suspected that “Miranda” had dug much further than that, but had probably done so without her boss’s approval. Anyway, at the moment, that was beside the point. “...won’t help you... years away from replicating their tech...”

Kingston offered her a thin smile. “My job is to take a long-term view. Once this invasion is beaten back, our enemies may think us weak. Your theories will be a tremendous boon in ensuring the security of the United Kingdom.”

Tesla managed to shake her head. “...not what you’re thinking...”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you were psionic.”

“...don’t have to be... with someone like you...” Tesla drew in a long, rasping breath. “...you’re thinking... after invasion... your enemies will be... the ones... who’re weak...”

He said nothing.

“...had no right to... invade my mind...”

“Oh, I have every right. The moment you accepted an order from a representative of this government, you fell under the provisions of the Wartime Powers Act. That gives me the power to retrieve the intelligence you acquired by any means necessary.”

He nodded to himself. “Be honest now, would you really have given it all to us willingly?”

It was Tesla’s turn to remain silent for a long moment. When she finally summoned the strength to speak again, her voice was barely a whisper.

“...I fix things... I don’t break them...”

“A naive attitude for these dangerous times. But you needn’t worry, should any, ah, applications arise from your insights, you’ll be duly credited.”

“...military applications... a bomb... that’s what you’re thinking...”

“Well, one does have to prioritize.”

“...keep your credit... and go to hell...” She struggled to sit up, focusing past the crushing pain and concentrating on the idea of reaching him.

“Matron,” Kingston said calmly.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. As she walked to the bed, Kingston pushed Tesla down and held her there with seemingly no effort at all.

“Miss Morrow is becoming rather agitated,” he said.

The nurse nodded and pulled a syringe from her pocket. At a glance, Tesla couldn’t tell what the syringe contained and had no desire to find out. As the nurse inserted it into the IV tube, Tesla increased her efforts to get free, thrashing in Kingston’s grip. He leaned over the bed to whisper in her ear.

“You needn’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re a hero now. And we don’t kill those. Well... not often.”

He loosened his grip as Tesla’s struggles became increasingly feeble.

“Sleep well,” Kingston told her as her eyes closed. “You’ve earned it.”

And, with that, Tesla Morrow’s part in what became known as the Rikti Invasion was over. But her true journey was only just beginning.

Tesla turned her eyes again toward the panel. A small monitor of some sort was active, its lower half filled with text that might be actually be numerals. Or not. She couldn’t read the alien language, of course, but that wasn’t a requirement. The graphical representation of increasing energy fluctuations in the ship’s drive system told her all she needed to know.

“Yep,” she announced, her eyes riveted to the screen. “This ship is definitely going to blow up.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Lytton said, mostly succeeding in keeping any tremors out of his voice.

“No point.”

“I think you should know that I’m starting to strongly dislike it when you say that.”

Tesla gestured at the monitor. “I can’t tell you what sort of drive system this thing uses, but I can tell what sort it doesn’t. It’s not a conventional propulsion system of any kind.”

“Which means?”

“Well, it might be standard atomic... or it could be a fusion reactor... or maybe some sort of quantum system...” She shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, though. Any of those would mean a blast radius a lot farther than we could clear in the next few minutes.”

“We only have minutes?” His tone was measured and calm. Only his expression gave it all away.

“Possibly.”

“Possibly,” Lytton repeated.

“I’m guessing at their system of time measurement.” She tapped the monitor. “I don’t think it’s seconds...”

Lytton drew in a deep breath, took off his cap, and wiped his brow. “How big an explosion are we talking about?”

“Let’s just say real estate prices in a ten-block radius will be taking a massive plunge.”

“Dear god...”

Tesla didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, she was moving from one control panel to another, examining each carefully, pausing only to wipe her hands on her jeans occasionally.

“So you’re...?”

“Thinking.”

“Thinking. Right. Good. Yes.” Lytton nodded to himself and moved closer to her.

“You’re looming,” she told him without looking up from the controls. “Makes it harder to think.”

“Sorry.” He stepped back and contented himself with looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You can go, if you want.”

“You said it wouldn’t matter.”

“It wouldn’t. But I know some people feel better in general if they’re actually doing something instead of just standing around.”

Lytton replied with a small bark of laughter. “You’re a very strange woman.”

“I get that a lot.”

Darkness washed over them. For a moment, it appeared the emergency lighting had failed. But the monitors were still active, so Tesla knew that wasn’t the case. Black. Well, there at least was a color she could identify. Of course, as the darkest color yet emitted by the ship, it also probably meant that the cycle was nearly over.

“I was going to ask you to dinner, you know,” Lytton said.

“You do know there appears to be a war going on?”

“I’d heard rumors of something like that,” he said with a grin. “But that only means I need to make any potential last meal as pleasant as possible.”

Tesla closed her eyes. “Are you as scared as I am?”

“Oh, I’d say that’s a pretty fair wager.”

She let out a deep breath. “There might be a way out of this.”

Lytton grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. “ Right. Don’t keep a chap in suspense.”

“I’m pretty sure this is the navigation panel. It’s still active so there’s a fair chance that the engines could be brought at least partially online. If the ship is high enough when it explodes...”

Lytton nodded. He stepped up beside her and pulled off his gloves. “Right, tell me what to do.”

“What?”

Again, the grin. This time it seemed more than a bit forced. “I told you, piloting runs in the family. I should be the one to take her up.”

She just looked at him.

“Oh, you’re not going to go all women’s equality on me, are you?”

“No, I was actually going to suggest we use the auto-navigation control right here...” She ran her hands across a portion of the panel, which immediately began to glow as various symbols flickered across a readout. “That okay?”

Lytton coughed. “Yes. Quite.”

“Okay, we just need to get clear of the building before we engage.” She pointed at another console. “Stand over there and do exactly what I tell you.”

Lytton hurried to the console. Tesla began making slow movements across her own panel, telling him which gestures to duplicate. The ship lurched suddenly, and both of them clung to their consoles.

“Exactly how much of this do you know and how much are you simply making up?” Lytton asked.

“Do you really want an answer to that?”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” Tesla returned her attention to the controls. Without a full complement of hands – she guessed it would take at least six individuals to effectively pilot the craft – the ship’s movements were erratic at best. They could hear the grinding of metal on masonry outside.

With a final lurch, the ship pulled free of the shattered building. Again Lytton and Tesla scrabbled for handholds as the craft righted itself.

“We’re climbing! You did it!” Lytton rushed across and scooped her into an embrace.

He stopped shy of kissing her, which somehow disappointed Tesla. She cleared her throat and disentangled herself. “We – we should really jump now.”

He grinned at her and took her by the hand back the way they’d come. The hatchway was still open, and they crossed the last few yards braced against one wall. The ship was rising slowly, but the nearest rooftops were already a fair drop away.

“You ready?” shouted Lytton over the roar of the wind.

Tesla nodded.

“I know this marvelous Indian restaurant,” he said, edging toward the hatch. “Best curry in the country!”

“As this isn’t India, is that really all that good?” she shouted back.

“Possibly not, but what sort of scientist makes observations without testing first?”

“You have a point!”

“Is that a yes to dinner?”

Tesla found herself nodding. And then he shoved her out the hatch.

Freefall lasted a scant five seconds. She hit the roof of a nearby building with a resounding thud and a shooting pain in her arm. Lytton arrived a moment later with a much more elegant landing. He was on his feet almost immediately.

“A little warning next time,” Tesla said.

“Better if you’re completely relaxed,” he told her, and she couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

They stood side by side as they watched the damaged ship rise into the night sky until it was only one tiny light among many. Then it flared briefly, and that was the end of it.

“I think I broke my arm,” Tesla said finally.

“We’ll get that seen to,” he replied. “And then we can discuss dinner.”

Later, she would have the impression that he was about to say something else. Or maybe he merely intended to smile at her again. Of course, she’d never know for certain because, in that moment, the squadron of alien fighters began their bombing run.

Smoke and dust filled the night air. Somewhere in the distance machine guns chattered in vain against the enemy. There were screams and shouts, orders and prayers, cries for help and pleas for mercy.

And there was death. Above all else, there was death everywhere.

Never let ’em see you sweat.

The catchphrase flitted through Tesla’s mind as she approached the ruined building and the downed alien craft that rested within it. Given that it was well past midnight and rather cool, it didn’t seem likely she’d be sweating buckets any time soon. But there was a certain dampness under her arms, she had to admit.

She didn’t look back at the soldiers or Lytton. That would be an admission of weakness, and she might need their confidence later. At any rate, this was probably all for nothing anyhow. If conventional weapons couldn’t hurt the ships, how would she even be able to enter this one? Knock on the door?

She stifled a morbid laugh at the idea and continued walking. Her eyes were firmly on that building. The soldiers hadn’t seen any creatures emerge, but that didn’t mean they weren’t right around a corner.

She let out a deep breath as she reached the entrance. Only the doorframes still stood, the glass having shattered upon the craft’s impact. No sign of a fire, that was good. Sprinkler system seemed to have run its course as well. Even better.

Just as she prepared to step through the doorframe, something scratched softly behind her. She bit back a scream and spun around.

Lytton pressed his hand to her mouth and made a “sshhing” gesture. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go in alone, did you?”

She calmly removed his hand. “I was under the impression that you thought it was a foolish idea.”

“Oh, it’s not foolish,” he said softly. “It’s downright suicidal. But I said I’d look after you and I will.”

He drew his sidearm and pushed past her through the doorframe. His back was to her, but Tesla was willing to bet that he could still feel her withering stare. She contented herself with checking the Geiger counter one of the soldiers had supplied. As it had been from almost a block away, the reading was normal. Only a faint tic from ambient radiation. She pocketed the device and moved inside after Lytton.

The interior of the building looked as though it had been churned by a hurricane or earthquake. Desks and chairs smashed into kindling. Chunks of plaster and masonry thrown in every direction. The floor buckling in spots.

“This place is probably going to come down any moment,” hissed Lytton.

“You can wait in the car, if you want,” Tesla shot back.

He fell silent, but kept the lead. They froze in place as another wave of color flooded over them. Dark this time. Purple... ish? Tesla frowned. It was incredibly frustrating making discoveries when you literally didn’t have the vocabulary to describe them for posterity.

As the light faded, they moved on again, further into the building. The interior walls and corridors had been completely smashed. The ship’s hull protruded from a deep furrow in the floor; it probably extended down well into the sub-basement.

Lytton approached cautiously, one eye on the strength of the floor beneath him and the other on the craft itself. Nothing moved. It was quiet enough for Tesla to hear his breathing.

He nodded to her. Clear so far...

She joined him by the portion of the ship that jutted through their floor. The metallurgy alone was enough to fascinate her. Everything done with a precision she was certain no earthly tool could duplicate. Moreover, some of the metal looked to be, well, grown into its current shape; there was no other explanation that she could see for some of the perfect angles that had been created.

“Intriguing,” she murmured.

Lytton grunted a response that told her he was ready to move things along. Reluctantly, she began to trace her way along the greater structure. She paused in front of a large, circular piece of intricately folded metal on the craft’s surface.

“...I think this is a door,” she said after several moments of study.

“We should back off and wait for reinforcements... get this thing into a hangar...” Lytton replied. “We’ve seen enough. The Old Man couldn’t possibly expect you to do more.”

Tesla started to reply but broke off as the craft pulsed with another new color. This one was darker still, and the effect lasted longer. It left both of them rubbing their eyes by the time it had passed.

“Under other circumstances, I’d agree,” she said at last. “But given these... colors... I don’t think waiting would be very wise.”

She ran her fingertips across the folded metal, literally feeling for inspiration. To her surprise, she didn’t even have a chance to find it before the metal began to spiral in on itself. A hiss of air told her that a pressurized compartment was being accessed.

“Here,” said Lytton, thrusting a gasmask into her hands. He donned the one he’d brought for himself.

She shook her head. “Unlikely they’ll have a very different atmosphere from our own. The one I saw on Westminster Bridge had no breathing apparatus. They either breathe oxygen naturally or they’ve been modified to do so.”

“You’re a very exasperating woman, you know that?”

“I try,” she said and disappeared into the craft before he could stop her.

The interior of the craft was dark. Not even emergency lighting, Tesla thought. Shining Albion must’ve hit the ship very hard indeed. She pulled a penlight from her pocket and swept it over what appeared to be a design quite similar to one the human race might employ. Theoretically possible, she supposed, but odd nonetheless.

Complicating matters was that the craft rested at an angle, so there was more climbing than walking involved in exploration. Tesla scrabbled from handhold to handhold as she moved toward the inner core of the ship.

“Interesting how they have the same basic shape as us, isn’t it?” she murmured to Lytton.

“Right,” he said. “It’s consuming my every thought. Oh, except for the bit where we try not to get killed by – ”

He grabbed her arm and swung her behind him. In one motion, he’d found a handheld and was leveling his revolver at a shape in the darkness. But some instinct stayed his hand. Tesla swung her light around to reveal that the shape wasn’t moving.

It was one of the creatures. Dead.

By the time they’d reached what appeared to be a control area, they’d found a dozen more of the invaders. All dead. Tesla had examined them briefly, but she hadn’t been able to find any obvious signs of injury. Whatever had done them in, it wasn’t the crash.

“We might have a problem,” Lytton said. “Take a look at this.”

Tesla moved to his side. The control area was the one portion of the ship that appeared to have minimal power, and he’d found a working monitor. The image showed another area of the craft, this one with thick walls of plexiglass (or the alien equivalent) and something that appeared similar to an airlock. Lytton tapped the monitor, his finger pointing to an enormous fission in one of the plexiglass walls.

Tesla nodded and pointed to her own discovery. Several dull grey tubes arranged neatly inside that area. One had overturned, jarred loose from its restraints.

“Chemical weapon...” whispered Lytton.

Tesla nodded. That seemed most likely. Radiation levels had been dead normal all the way to the control area. Biological weapons would have been a risk unless they had a tremendous amount of data on the human race. That left a nerve agent of some sort as a high probability.

“Probably jarred loose on impact with Shining Albion,” Tesla said. “Must have been a failsafe in case their more conventional approach didn’t work.”

She turned away and went back to what she’d been studying before the interruption.

“Well, let’s get out of here!”

“No point. It was probably a fast-dissipating agent. We shouldn’t be in any real danger.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because they’re dead and we’re not.”

“What happens if another container tips over?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, either.”

“Can’t wait to hear why.”

Tesla looked up from the panel she’d been examining. “It’s unlikely to happen in the next few minutes, and after that it won’t matter.

“I think that soldier outside was right,” she said. “This ship’s about to explode.”