Smersh

XVIII - The Savior Machine

The computer was up and running. Tatyana, while she had some computer savvy, was nowhere near the expert that Yevgeny was.

Still, she knew that the security on the computers was at a high level, and that the information that was displayed on the screen should not have been accessible to normal individuals. Yet, somehow, the machine had broken through the layers of encryption and passwords with almost no trouble, as it had not been in the building more than five minutes.

The screen displayed the data on the Potemkin, including its location and capabilities.

Yulia said, “That’s not good, is it? We should tell dedushka.”

Tatyana scowled as she replied, “Da, we should. And I need to call the Potemkin.”

***

Natasha slung a flew blasts through the hatch, forcing the commando team to take cover. The communicator on the console chirped, the standard supergroup frequency spewing out information.

“Attention Potemkin contingent, there is a hostile robot that is on its way towards you. Its intentions are unknown, but it is extremely powerful. Proceed with caution.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Could anything else possibly go wrong today?

She would worry about an evil robot trying to attack the Potemkin after she worried about the commandos who were trying to take over the ship.

Some days, it just did not pay to get out of bed.

***

Yevgeny knew that he was very likely going to die in the next four seconds.

The knowledge did much to focus his mind. He was running through recent events at lightning speed, with perfect recall impinging itself on his consciousness.

He knew what he had to do. He held his left arm out in front of him at an angle.

“Initiate transport protocol Gamma Chi Nine Nine Zero Zero.”

It was the last suit he had completed, the heaviest suit of armor he had built to date. The power shield extended and flickered to life just as the spike reached him.

Yevgeny Korsakov had, once again, become Comrade Smersh, wearing his Soviet Shield class armor. It had to be the shortest retirement on record.

Comrade Smersh lunged in, striking at Maya with the edge of his suit’s shield. On his communicator, he began to issue instructions. “Comrade Strike Leader, take Yulia and whatever agents you can gather. Get to the Potemkin as fast as you can. I am… a bit tied down at the moment, but I shall go when I can.” Smersh ducked under an arcing strike of Maya’s natural weapons, and came up with a double-fisted blow that drove his shield into Maya’s face.

The power behind that strike had been known to send Lord Nemesis and his several thousand pounds of brass flying into the air; Maya barely budged, taking only a half-step backwards.

Maya responded by throwing out a few pulsing pods that expanded rapidly into entangling vines, and the battle was rejoined once more.

***

Tatyana led Yulia out the front door. Merry asked, “Babushka, how do agents normally get to the Potemkin?”

Tatyana frowned momentarily. “We usually have to take a boat out there, because we are always delivering supplies as well as agents. There is no rapid transport there. I can fly, but…”

Yulia shook her head. “That’s no good unless you can carry me.”

Tatyana began to raise her communicator to her lips once more when all sounds were smothered by an intense localized windstorm. Tatyana looked up, and saw a large red helicopter nimbly lowering itself to the street, avoiding power lines and buildings with incredible precision.

Tanya Palmer, the People’s Pistoleer, waved her hand from the pilot’s seat, motioning the two to get inside.

Yulia and Tatyana clambered in, each pulling on the helmet that contained a headset and mike. This was necessary to communicate, even within the confines of the chopper.

“So, where are we going?” Tanya asked cheerfully. “I heard the order on the communicator thingy. What’s a Potato-kin?”

***

The Spetznaz commando had broken into the engine room. He had volunteered, telling his fellow soldiers that he could distract the enemy. He raised his rifle, sighting along it to shoot the smaller of the two, the blue-clad ninja.

Faster than the eye could follow, two events happened near simultaneously. The commando’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan slung a steel spike down the barrel of the rifle.

The muzzle of the rifle became a steel flower with a loud bang.

The commando looked at his rifle for a moment, and then threw it aside, drawing his knife to close in on Ivan. The knife was not designed as a utility tool; it was a weapon, plain and simple. The blade was coated with a non-reflective black paint, to prevent the user’s position from being given away. The handle was a special polymer that would not slip in a user’s grip, even when covered in blood. He held the blade as a fencer would, fingers curled under, thumb aligned with the blade.

The commando had been looking forward to this. While he was extremely competent with his rifle, as were all the Spetznaz he served with, he was even more skilled in personal combat. He served as his platoon’s instructor in close quarters combat, and he had never fought a super-powered individual with just a knife before. Adrenalin rushed through him as he began to weave back and forth, striking out like a cobra a few times just to get a feel for his opponent. He would never pay for another drink again in his lifetime with the story of this fight.

Ivan’s metal spikes served as well as the commando’s knife. It was more knife-fighting than fencing, with the two constantly maneuvering around each other to try to find an advantage. Ivan managed to corner the commando, and laughed aloud, knowing he was going to win.

The commando knew that he was in a bad spot, too, but he also knew exactly what to do. He was, after all, an expert. He rapidly turned his body to the left, showing his shoulder to Ivan. He leapt forward, throwing his body at the wall, and planted his combat boot at about waist height. He pushed off, twisting his body to the right, and bounced with both feet off the other wall, tucking his body into a tight ball and flipping over Ivan’s head. He raised his knife to strike at Ivan’s unprotected back.

Toma brought a boxing glove the size of a bowling ball down atop the commando’s head.

Ivan turned on Toma. “For why you do this? I WAS AWESOME! He had knife, I had me, and I was all like ‘cosmonaut ninja chop!’ I would win!”

Toma shrugged. “Bonk,” he said, philosophically.

***

Smersh came in with a rapid right cross to attack the bizarre pod creature. It was not unlike the one he had fought in the hospital. The creature tried to bite onto his armored gauntlet, and Smersh shook it for a moment, trying to get it away.

He had to hunker down behind his shield for a moment, as the whipping vines that Maya had created were lashing at him. Merry was doing her best to keep them pruned, but it seemed that for every one she hewed in twain, two more replaced it.

Maya had them hemmed in; their escape routes denied them. It was a moment out of Sun Tzu: On deadly ground, fight.

Smersh stood and started punching the wall rapidly and forcefully. The structural damage would be costly to repair, but it was simply not a factor at this moment. The pod creature twitched and fell to the ground, still. An armor integrity warning flashed up on the display that was patched into Smersh’s sunglasses – one of Maya’s deadly spikes had found its mark.

Smersh stomped on the floor with one of his heavy boots. The hydraulic pistons took his movement and amplified it, causing cracks to appear all across the floor. Employing the technique known to the ancients as ‘hiding behind the shield,’ he dug his armored fingers into the concrete at his feet. The piece of rock that came out must have weighed nearly two hundred kilograms, but to Smersh and his heavy armor suit, it was easily manipulated. Smersh brought his improvised club above his head, and charged in at Maya. Maya attempted to bring up an arm to block the attack, but the sheer momentum of Smersh’s rough-hewn weapon knocked the arm aside. Smersh struck again and again, striking his attacker in the head and torso.

Maya had not foreseen this, not predicted this method of attack. Smersh should be in an entirely different place, using an entirely different set of tactics. The abilities that served her so well in combat were simply not equipped to deal with this independent Smersh. The probability lines were askew.

The boulder of concrete was coming for her again. She launched a needle of chitin into the rock. The needle sprouted, its roots finding microscopic fissures within the concrete block, winding through before expanding and growing. It was a weed coming through a driveway, sped up to one thousand times the speed.

The chunk of concrete crumbled and was rendered useless, and Maya launched her counterattack. A vine whipped out and lashed Smersh’s feet out from under him. Maya came in close after, a spine aimed for Smersh’s throat.

***

Special Forces teams are trained to be flexible in their thinking and their tactics. While they are deployed with a specific mission in mind, their commanders are granted a great latitude in how the particular objectives are achieved. The practical upshot of this mindset is that both SEALs and Spetznaz carry a variety of heavy weapons for any given mission.

This becomes important when, in the midst of a moderately heavy firefight raging across the upper surface of a space battleship floating in international waters, a new challenger arrives.

The robot landed lightly on the deck, barely making a sound. It carried a package under one arm. The robot swept its gaze from stem to stern, surveying the damage and the damagers.

Shots rang out from both factions, peppering the robot with small arms fire. The impacts appeared to have no effect. The robot merely stood, a monolith of steadfast resilience.

Heavier weapons were called in. First, the grenade launchers. The shrapnel had less effect than the rifle rounds. Next, heavier machine guns mounted on tripods. Nothing.

The rocket launcher deployed by the Russians was likewise ineffective. The Americans were discussing whether mortar rounds might be advisable or whether air support should be called in when the machine began to move.

Smoke and confusion reigned on the Potemkin. Muzzle flashes and glowing fields of energy surged in and out of view. Occasionally, there would be a thud or a yell of pain. Within three minutes, the deck was cleared, save for the machine.

The commandos found themselves treading water, uncertain what had just happened.

The robot found the hatch, and entered the Space Battleship Potemkin.

***

A blade slashed out, and the tip of the spine went flying off into the distance. Fate’s Champion leveled her Godcutter at Exodus Hunter Maya.

“You think I’m bad, you should meet my sister,” she quipped.

Maya laid down a wall of brambles between herself and Fate’s Champion, temporarily isolating herself with Comrade Smersh. Maya needed, desperately, to kill Comrade Smersh, and to do so quickly. Spines flared out of her palms in a rapid-fire burst, only to impact on Smersh’s shield. Smersh took the hits without flinching, rushing in at Maya with the intent of crushing her between shield and wall.

Maya responded by sending a shower of thorns all around her. They extruded through her chest, her back, her thighs, and her arms, creating a lethal fragmentation pattern all around her. Smersh’s glasses showed a number of alarms, indicating hits all over the thighs and lower legs. Maya struck again, this time at the very center of the shield. If she could pierce the power field, she could disable the shield entirely, rendering Smersh much more vulnerable.

The point pierced, but very slowly. Maya pressed on, as Smersh held his ground, trying to trap Maya in a place where he could decisively end the battle.

There was a flash behind Maya, and Fate’s Champion struck down on Maya’s leg, biting deep. “We got a few tricks from our mama, too, *****.” Merry had cut a hole in the bramble wall just large enough that she could see through it, and had teleported herself back into the battle.

Maya howled in pain, turning on Fate’s Champion. This was all the opportunity that Smersh needed.

He grabbed Maya by the throat, and slammed her through the wall. Before she could recover, he continued on, smashing through all sorts of architecture, finishing by throwing Maya down to the street outside the KGB’s Headquarters at 1917 Industrial Way, King’s Row.

Maya looked up at the juggernaut that was Smersh, saw the anger in his eyes. And then she saw the battering ram that was his fist, coming from on high towards her head. She jerked her head aside, feeling the tectonic force as Smersh’s piledriver blow impacted the asphalt.

She could not predict his movements, and she could not face him and this new Eternal Templar. The Eternal Templar she had known must have died, for a new one to have risen in his place. No matter. The last time she and the previous Templar had fought, it had been a draw. This new one could not possibly be as strong.

She would return for this Templar, and then for Smersh.

Escape and evasion were her only options now. She laid a hand almost gently on Smersh’s fist, almost a lover’s touch. Within her own body, she created the lifeforms she needed, a rapidly-growing vine with tendrils stronger than woven steel. The orifice in her palm irised open and pushed the seed out into the open air. In a thousand other universes, a thousand other lifeforms were weakened as they gave some of their matter and energy for this one. The vines set down roots quickly, digging deep into the ground as it simultaneously grew upwards, enfettering Smersh’s gauntlet.

Maya got to her feet, leaping away impossibly fast. Smersh swore bitterly, and wrenched his fist out of the ground, heedless of the excessive strain to his armor’s hydraulic systems. He attempted to leap after her, engaging the thruster-assisted leaping abilities built into the suit.

His leap carried him about three feet across the street. A steady stream of hydraulic fluid dripped to the street in accusation. He looked down, and saw the spike transfixing his leg armor, piercing the pressure system. Better than his leg, but still not easily repaired.

Merry came out to join him. “It’s okay, dedushka. We won this time. Now we have to save the Potemkin too, right?”

Smersh stamped his foot in frustration. “Nyet,” he said. “We have no method of getting there. It would take too much time to set up the teleportation network. The boat is too slow. And all of my armor, save for this, is locked away, inaccessible.”

Yevgeny fixed his granddaughter in the eye as he reached into his armor’s utility belt, pulling out a lighter and a battered pack of unfiltered cigarettes. “It is out of our hands now, Merry. All we can do now is hope.”

***

The machine was an implacable force. It headed directly for the bridge, striking down any who stood in its way, whether they be American or Russian. At the hatch that led to the bridge, it paused a moment, before reaching out its free hand, and laying a palm on the gunmetal grey surface.

Natasha watched in surprise as the bolts disengaged themselves and the machine strode in. Its red, laser-like eyes met hers. Natasha prepared another burst of cosmic power, one that would probably be ineffective. Still it would be better than facing defeat without even attempting victory.

Natasha did not know where this machine had come from, nor did she know its purpose. But, when she saw it, it was with a shock of recognition.

The machine, too, recognized her, and stopped.

The machine spoke to her in a language that she did not recognize, an ancient, eldritch tongue from the depths of antiquity. Natasha did not know the language, but she understood it. It was as though it had been hard-coded into her linguistic cortex, bypassing the normal methods of acquisition.

“Permission to proceed.”

Natasha laughed, a harsh, bitter little thing. “You are… asking my permission? Permission for what?”

The machine replied, stepping closer, looming above her. “Permission to carry out primary duties.” Natasha shrank back, almost involuntarily. She could sense the sheer power of the thing.

Natasha shook her head. “What are you? I do not know you.”

“I am the Savior Machine. You have known me since the time before time. I must proceed for the good of humanity. Permission to proceed?”

“Time before time? The 1960s were not that long ago, comrade Savior Machine.”

“Your origin is much more ancient than that; more ancient than I. Permission to proceed?”

“I do not know what your primary, ah, directive is.”

“In sixteen of your minutes, an Imperial Combine war fleet will sterilize the area known as Paragon City, and attempt to disable this unit. Should this occur, humanity will be doomed. This unit’s primary duty is to defend humanity against the Imperial Combine. I require this vessel. Permission to proceed?”

“Comrade Savior Machine, if you wish to take this vessel, you must… you must take me with you.”

“Condition accepted. Permission to proceed?”

Natasha sighed. Smersh would likely have her head for this, but the thought of riding on the cosmic winds in the finest space vessel she had ever set foot in, to save the Earth or die in the attempt, was intoxicating.

Natasha threw caution to the wind. It was a bad day for dying, but no worse than any other.

“Permission granted.” The ancient language flowed from her, weaving an intriguing sonic web. Natasha stepped aside, permitting the Savior Machine to set down the device it carried and place its hands on the helm. Its fingers glowed, and the ship shuddered and began to change.

XVII - A Bad Day for Dying

Merry and Yulia were just arriving at the headquarters of the Section when the meteor struck it, burning through the sky with stupendous force.

Incredibly, the celestial apparition seemed to slow as it crashed through the roof. Dimly visible within the blaze of energy was what appeared to be a humanoid figure.

Merry cried out, “Dedushka!” as she sprinted towards the entrance. Yulia followed closely behind as the red warning lights began to flash. This must have been the time when their grandfather had died.

They only knew that he had died the day Paragon City had been put to the sword.

***

Tanya Palmer felt rather than heard the impact, a concussion washing over her body. The cloud of pulverized concrete followed an instant later, coating her in dust. She cowered under a heavy table, certain that there was some sort of bomb or attack going on.

A heavy crunch, the sound of a heavy footstep crushing gravel into powder. Then another, slow, determined.

Tanya reached down, loosening her pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh. This was what it really was to be a hero, right? Facing impossible odds and prevailing?

Tanya scrambled out, aiming her pistol in the direction of the sound. A cloud of particulate concealed the shape within, but it was huge. At least eight feet tall, and massively built. She began to tighten her finger on the trigger and called out, “Freeze!”

The figure turned towards her, and impossibly bright glowing eyes stared out at her, their luminescence piercing the dust and the darkness.

Tanya’s nerve failed her. She turned and ran.

The shape did not pursue her.

***

Yevgeny looked to Tatyana, and broke away from her.

“We must go, now. Run.”

He moved rapidly, dragging her by the hand towards the elevator shaft. He practically threw her at the lift, as the blast doors were beginning to lower.

Yevgeny had to crouch to get under the first, and rolled on his side to get under the second. The doors locked themselves into place, solid walls designed to keep everything inside undisturbed for years if need be.

“Yevgeny, what is happening?” Tatyana demanded. She was a bit discombobulated by recent events.

“The Section is under attack. Send out the alert, all available agents immediately.” Yevgeny looked grim as he opened the lift gate. “We have to get up there.”

***

Exodus Hunter Maya watched the events with amusement. This attack, of whatever nature, would be devastating to the coordination and tactics of her enemies.

In the confusion, she would complete a portion of her mission. She laughed to no-one and nothing in particular. Who would have thought that a paragon of order would find chaos so delightfully helpful?

***

Natasha’s communicator was blaring loudly, an alarm that required all agents immediately respond. Ivan and Toma had similar alerts.

They were two hundred miles off the coast, and unable to respond. Natasha cursed bitterly. Anything would be better than sitting here with these two defective heroes.

Ivan called over from a console, “Ah, is much activity going on sonar! Is for looking like we are to have company!” Ivan’s Russian was truly atrocious.

Toma grunted from the other console. “Radar,” he said, pointing to the screen. Natasha looked at the signatures, probably helicopters.

Ivan grinned like a four year old who had just worked a masterpiece in crayon on the living room wall. “I will be AWESOME!” he cried out.

Natasha rolled her eyes and mentally steeled herself. Apparently, she was going to get her wish.

The telephone rang. Natasha picked it up and asked the caller to identify themselves. “This is Lieutenant Jones, Vanguard Shield, for Natasha Popova. We have multiple spacecraft of unknown origin on our long-range sensors, and we need all available pilots. How soon can you report to base?”

Natasha swore with great feeling. “I am on a derelict craft that may be under attack by commandos in just a few moments. Can I call you back later, as soon as I am able? I must make certain that the two idiots I am stationed with survive this encounter.” She slammed down the receiver.

Toma nodded to her, and grunted out, “Ready.”

Natasha shrugged. “Stand fast to repel boarders.” Nothing in her cosmonaut training had prepared her to ever make such a statement seriously.

***

The lift opened, and Yevgeny and Tatyana stumbled out. Yevgeny coughed in the dust and smoke that filled the hallway. Yevgeny stumbled away, his hand trailing along the wall as he coughed.

Vision was impossible and breathing not much easier. Yevgeny tapped the side of his glasses, cycling through to thermal vision in hopes of being able to perceive something, anything.

There was a flash of motion, and suddenly Yevgeny felt himself falling to the ground. A shower of shrapnel, bits of brick exploding under a thundering impact, rained down upon him. Above him stood the machine.

It was humanoid, a massive blue and gold monstrosity. It was all armor and muscle, a hint of organic design principles under plates of shining, impregnable metal. Glowing red eyes peered out from a massive turret of a head. Massive forearms terminated in huge fists sheathed in blazing energy. One of those fists was embedded deeply in the wall where Yevgeny’s head had been mere seconds ago.

Yevgeny looked down, and saw his granddaughter with her arms wrapped around his knees. She had saved his life.

The two of them rolled in different directions, to confuse this new and unexpected enemy. Yevgeny asked, largely to himself, “What the hell is that thing?”

Tatyana was peppering it with radioactive attacks, but the machine ignored them. Yulia, his other granddaughter, lunged in with her bronze-colored blade. Yevgeny decided to take this opportunity to prepare better for battle.

“Initiate transport protocol Rho Chi Seven Eight Dash Two!” he called out, the code sequence that would activate the KGB’s teleportation network, sending his armor hurtling through space to instantly equip him for combat in a fine example of Soviet engineering, lovingly restored and improved by his own hand.

His communicator emitted a loud click, and nothing happened.

Belatedly, Yevgeny remembered that he had been installing the teleportation locks on his armor suits. He ducked under a roundhouse punch that would have been devastating.

Yevgeny was desperately trying to remember if any of his suits were still unlocked. He had been distracted during the process.

Click.

Click.

Click.

***

“Shield Six to Shield Ops, we have visual contact.”

“Stand by, Shield Six. We’re going to try to open communications with them.”

The Vanguard space fleet was dwarfed by the strange craft that had suddenly appeared in the moon’s shadow. A few large craft and a handful of fighters were travelling to communicate with these new visitors. And, if necessary, to combat them. Vanguard believed in negotiation from a position of strength.

The V.S.S. Light Dragon, flagship of the fleet, was approaching with its weapons and shields powered down. A sleek vessel, thrumming with barely controlled power, it was the finest space vessel ever fielded by humanity.

The fleet before it was clearly never designed by any human. Insectoid, with a bio-organic profile, the massive vessels dwarfed the Light dragon. The smallest among them was estimated to be eight times the tonnage, and the various spines and protrusions stretching out into the void from the central spire gave the illusion of even greater size. They could be peaceful, Captain Lewis thought, but they certainly looked dangerous.

“Open hailing frequencies,” Lewis barked.

A lance of brilliant, crackling energy snaked out and struck the V.S.S. Solar Wing. It was as though a chef at a fancy restaurant was filleting a fish – the beam sliced back and forth rapidly, cutting the Solar Wing into eight equally sized pieces. The sections drifted, slowly, horribly, for three seconds before the chain reaction of the multiple generators sent a ripple of explosions along the fuselage and vaporized the entire hull.

Lewis allowed himself half a second to gape before barking out orders. “Weapons free, weapons free, engage at will! Take the bastards down! Never say die!”

The Vanguard fleet began firing at the gargantuan starships, unleashing particle hell and railgun fury.

“How the heck…” Lewis choked out. Tactical doctrine posited, in fact demanded, that vessels of that size would be unable to maneuver like fighters, nimbly pirouetting and dodging their way through fields of fire.

Those were his last words before the Light Dragon left this plane of existence.

***

With a casual, backhanded blow, the robot sent Merry flying into the brick wall. The twins were both glowing with a blue nimbus, protective abilities granted by their heritage. Yulia’s blade struck in, sparking off the heavy armor without effect. Yevgeny called out more transport codes, hoping to find one that would work.

Tatyana’s transport code had worked flawlessly, of course. She was staying at standoff range, pelting the machine with a mixture of radiation and ice.

The machine was impervious, unstoppable. The combined attacks seemed as efficacious as a mosquito attacking a battleship. Merry was trying to gather herself again for another attack, but the strike had left her weak.

“Stay back, dedushka!” Yulia called out. The momentary distraction cost her, and her blade went flying away.

Unimpeded, the artificial being stepped into the lift. The cables gave way instantly to its immense mass. The lift fell to the bottom of the shaft with a crash.

Yulia looked to her grandfather as she retrieved her weapon. “What could it be going after down there?”

Yevgeny scowled. “Oh, just the Korsakov Device, a potential weapon of mass destruction. Nothing important. Bah.”

The shaft was filled with the whine of a turbojet spooling up, and the small portal revealed a flash of the machine rushing past.

“Damn it!” Tatyana cried. “Where could it be going?”

Yevgeny snapped out an order. “Look for some clue, where it came from, where it might be going. And quickly, we have not much time.”

Tatyana and Yulia went to inspect the point of impact, while Yevgeny and Merry stayed where they were.

That was the moment the Exodus Hunter chose to strike.

***

The upper deck of the Space Battleship Potemkin had become a free-fire zone. Neither of the commando teams had expected to encounter the other, and they were trading bullets across the way. The Russians had managed to insert a team headed for the engine room, and the Americans had a squad headed for the bridge.

Cosmonaut Alpha stood in the bridge, ready to handle anyone who came in. The concussion grenade tossed inside was wrapped in a cocoon of dark matter and rendered inert. The first SEAL who entered after the explosive was stunned with a blast of concentrated cosmic power; the bullets that came her way were slowed by an incredibly concentrated gravitational gradient. It was as though the SEALs were trying to hit a target atop Everest.

The Russian commandos were faring little better in the engine room. Ivan was frightening enough, with metallic spikes covering his entire body, conducting lethal amounts of electricity. Toma was merely quiet and huge, slamming helmeted heads together hard enough to crack the protective covers.

Still, they were but three, and the commandos would eventually overrun them. They made their stand, knowing it to be eventually futile. Natasha shut the hatch and locked it. It would not stop a determined enemy, but it would slow them down.

Natasha remembered a boast from a Red Army engineer she had once known. “Walls are nothing but doors with a different sort of key,” he had said, bragging about the power of explosives.

***

Maya dropped to the floor silently behind the pair. Yevgeny and Merry were distracted, unprepared for the assault. Maya smiled behind her mask, preparing to pepper them with lethal spines.

A sudden sense of wrongness filled Merry’s brain, and she spun, whipping her Godcutter across the path the spine took. She dropped into a combat stance, drawing her second, completely normal blade, and prepared for battle.

Maya’s eyes widened. “You are not the Templar,” she screamed. “How!?!”

Merry allowed a small smile before she moved in to strike. Maya ducked the blow, and threw a spore pod at the unarmored Yevgeny Korsakov. Or, at least, where she thought he stood.

Her perception of the probability lines should have allowed her to predict Yevgeny’s movements; he was a very order-oriented individual. He should have been utterly predictable. The bright crimson probability line should have been two feet to the left.

The vines spread out across the brick wall, harmless and ineffective.

Merry pressed the attack, locking a two-foot long spike into the crosspiece of her weapon. The point was mere centimeters from her throat.

Maya snarled, withdrew the spine with a rapid flick of her wrist. Merry stumbled a moment, the resistance she was facing suddenly evaporating. With an almost casual gesture of her fingers, Maya sent a cloud of choking spores into Merry’s face.

Merry coughed and staggered a moment. That moment was all that Maya needed. She ignored the probability lines, focusing instead on the man before her. She would enjoy this. First, the Russian, then the Savior Machine. Success was assured.

She savored the moment, lining up her shot with care. Her arm drew back, preparing to drive the spike through the Russian’s heart and into the wall behind him.

XVI - Divergence

Yevgeny descended into the vault once more, a bag full of equipment bursting at the seams. It was time for a change, and he would do so now, before his nerve failed him.

The lift clearly needed some work, and Smersh put it on his mental to-do list. He would have more time in the near future, and this could be one of his projects.

The lift rattled and shuddered to a stop, and Yevgeny used his free hand and hip to push open the accordion-style metal gate. It was an annoyance, to be certain. Perhaps he would put automatic doors on the thing.

On the other hand, he mused, he would not be spending much more time down here, once this task was completed.

Walking down the short hall into the vault, he passed under the heavy blast doors that would seal the vault in case of an emergency. He had tested them after the vault had been built, and ignored them ever since. The sort of emergency that would require their use was not terribly likely. He just liked to be prepared for any eventuality.

The eventuality he was not prepared for down here was company, even though he had set those events in motion.

Tatyana was humming tunelessly to herself, a bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor beside her, a rag in her hand. She was dressed casually in capri pants, a tank top and sneakers, her hair tied up under a red bandanna. She had accomplished a great deal on her mission to create a clean working environment down here, but there was still more to do. As always.

Yevgeny decided not to make much of an issue of it. He had, after all, given her access to this place, and she had threatened to make it a more usable space. He lit a cigarette and crossed over to the pedestals where his armored suits stood, crimson sentinels waiting for orders to act.

He set down the heavy bag with a thump, which drew Tatyana’s attention. Mumbled greetings were exchanged, as Yevgeny zipped open the brown canvas container and drew forth an oilcloth roll of tools. His knees creaked and popped as he squatted down on his heels.

Tatyana set down her rag and leaned against a low console, reaching back for her own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. They were both old Russians, and the concept of the No Smoking sign was a foreign one – something only to be found around ammo dumps or fuel stations. None of this went through her mind, of course. She had just been working for long enough that she felt she deserved a break.

Yevgeny pulled out what appeared to be a cross-wise chest harness, made of links of high-impact plastic. He stood up, hit the external release buttons for the armorsilk cape, and watched the red and gold stars drift gracefully to the ground. He attached the harness around the torso of the armor suit, the only one he had not entirely built himself, and latched the harness together at the center of the chest into an elaborate buckle that appeared to incorporate several electronic devices. He opened the cover of the buckle, and made a few adjustments with a tiny screwdriver.

He then reclosed the buckle’s cover, and the small indicator lights turned from red to green. He nodded to himself, and pushed the bag over with his foot to the next pedestal.

Tatyana watched with curiosity, and finally broke her silence. “What are you doing, Field Commander?” she inquired, tapping ash from her cigarette into the ashtray.

Yevgeny replied, “I am installing teleportation armor locks on my armor suits. With these in place, the suits will be immobilized, useless, unable to be called up or to be unlocked for use.” As he spoke, he was installing a locking mechanism on his next suit.

Tatyana frowned. “Why would you do that, Field Commander? You will not be able to use them.”

Yevgeny made a few more adjustments. “That is precisely the point. I am retiring from the hero business. I am just getting too old for this nonsense. Perhaps someday I shall find a worthy successor, and unlock the suits then. For now, I am just… removing the temptation, da?”

Tatyana was agape for a moment. She attempted to hide her surprise by stubbing out her cigarette and lighting another; this in itself was an unusual habit for her. Yevgeny had moved on to his third armor suit. When she recovered herself, she walked over to stand over his shoulder as he knelt, watching his movements. “What if there should be some sort of world-threatening catastrophe? Another Rikti invasion? Surely you can release the locks in case of that sort of thing.”

Yevgeny grunted. “Bah. I could, if I had to. Though it will take several hours to be able to remove these things without causing major damage. If the locks are improperly removed, they shall spray a quick-setting epoxy foam into the suit. It will bind the limbs and render the suit completely inoperative.”

Yevgeny was in the middle of attaching the harness lock to a fourth suit of armor when the gravity of the situation finally hit Tatyana. The shock faded and anger, mixed liberally with pity and disdain, filled in the missing pieces. “You are not retiring because you are old, Yevgeny Ivanovich. You may say that, but I know you better than this. What in the world is the reason for it? Have you become a coward?”

There was so much that Tatyana wanted to say, but this thing akin to pain was strangling the formation of words. She wanted to tell him that he was overreacting to some perceived plight. She wanted to tell him that he was the heart and soul of the Section, and that it would wither and die without him leading them into combat. She wanted to tell him… things that she did not even understand, or want to admit to herself.

Instead, she tacked around him, trying to fix his gaze with her own, and let out a heartfelt, “Why?” In that instant, she looked into his eyes, and found herself wishing that she had not left her dark glasses across the room on the opposite counter.

Yevgeny sighed, putting down his tools and rubbing at his forehead. He deliberately avoided meeting her gaze. He felt almost trapped, unable to escape this confrontation, no matter how much he wanted to.

“My reasons are my own. Surely you can give me this much, Tatyana. Let me do this. I need this. I cannot…” His voice trailed off. His own reasons for doing this were clear enough to him, but he could not, would not speak them aloud.

It had been the pattern in these years since they had once again encountered each other. They were completely incapable of real communication. It had not always been thus, even though the world that this Tatyana came from was mere millimeters away from his own. Still, their shared experience seemed so similar that they might as well have been from the same universe. A universe where they had once been young and in love.

It was a different world, now. Too many years had passed, too many worlds had died. The barriers were not easily breached.

Tatyana had spent many years in a monastic, contemplative existence, without any human company, with only her mathematics and the problems of survival with little more than a paper-clip turned into a fishhook. Yevgeny had been a nomad who had been transformed into a leader, head of a bizarre family that had somehow worked for a time.

Tatyana saw what Yevgeny was doing. He was putting himself into his public face. He seemed to believe that he needed to be just as invulnerable and steadfast as his reputation, that he could never show an instant of emotional frailty or weakness to anyone. He was coating his spirit in armor, and letting the insecurity sap his strength and his will from the inside.

Tatyana knew Yevgeny perhaps as well as anyone. His core being had not changed over the decades. He would never show weakness to the outside until he collapsed from the inside.

She squared her shoulders. It was her duty as strike leader to ensure the field commander’s fitness for duty. “Yevgeny, you must tell me what it is,” she said softly.

Yevgeny locked down another suit, and then looked to her. He intended to draw himself up, to rebuff her and close the matter forever. He took off his glasses and looked into her eyes, intending to end the issue once and for all.

And he found he could not.

He could not quantify the effect she was having upon him. He had faced down gods, archvillains and heroes without any fear. But Tatyana was something else again.

Yevgeny took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I must do this, Tanushka,” he said, addressing her by a diminutive that he had not used in over three decades. “I am just so… tired. I know that you have told me that I am not using my resources efficiently, that I am driving myself to distraction.

“It is true, I have been driving myself down into the ground. But that is just it! Trying to do all that I have done is turning me into… into something that I do not want to be. I have driven everyone away. I hardly see my daughters anymore, and I want to be in their lives, however belated or little it may be. Whatever it is, it will be better than what I am doing.” Yevgeny looked away and tried to fumble for the last of the teleportation locks.

“There is more, isn’t there, Zhenechka?” Tatyana asked quietly.

Yevgeny sighed. “Da. Of course there is. They call it the loneliness of command. These old shoulders are not strong enough to carry it anymore.” He dropped the harness, and fumbled for a cigarette.

Tatyana leaned in to light it for him.

“I have no friends anymore, Tanushka, no one who will treat me as an equal. It is as though my position as leader has cut me off from my comrades, and I can no longer stomach it. I am trying to cut out a cancer that is choking out every… single… other… aspect of my life.” Yevgeny said, simultaneously relieved and hating the fact that he was so open right now. So… vulnerable. The armored soul was stripped of its protection.

Tatyana surprised him, and stunned him, by beginning to chuckle. It started deep in her throat, and then it graduated into a full-fledged laugh. “Zhenechka, you are such a fool! You have so many friends you cannot even count them. It is not that your command is driving them away; it is that you have driven yourself from them. You have friends, if only you will let them be your friends.”

Yevgeny recovered from his shock, and grabbed Tatyana by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Bah. You do not know, do not understand. Name even one that could treat me as their comrade rather than their leader. The world can no longer look at me, and see Yevgeny Korsakov. All that they can see is the great hero who will save them all, Comrade Smersh. Knowing that, Tanushka, tell me one who could be my friend,” he begged, looking into her eyes.

Tatyana returned his gaze; her laughter faded as she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, and started listing names of those she knew would welcome his friendship, “Jack could be your friend, if you let him. Natasha. Ludmila. Kohlstadt. Hypatia…” Her voice trailed off as her throat clogged again.

She continued softly, "Me. I would be your friend."

The moment stretched, and gravitational attraction did the rest. There was nothing else for them to do, no alternate universe where it would not have happened.

Neither would ever be able to say who had initiated the kiss, but they would be able to agree that the years of separation and loss were all expressed in it.

The earth moved.

And then the alarms went off.

***

The lines of probability stretched onwards, fading into the infinite. Contortions of time and chaos made the tangle illegible beyond a certain point in the future. The lines on this chaotic world shifted and shimmered, beginning to converge towards a breaking point.

Those who could see those lines began to act, to guide the stream of glittering, multicolored threads into the future they most wished to see.

What none of them could perceive, could never have seen unless they had been looking directly at it at that instant, was a line splitting itself. A bright crimson line unraveled itself and split away from a much dimmer, pale yellow one. This yellow line briefly crossed a brilliant green one, then threw itself away again as the crisis point approached.

The red and the yellow could be traced back, together, for many years. In some ways, one could claim that they were the same line for over twenty years. Now, infinitesimally, they were divided.

That divergence would prove most important.

Bah.

In that case, I would recommend Fire/Stone/Stone, using the crystal power customization to make Stone Melee substitute for your ice powers. You'll do pretty solid damage that way.

Likewise, Fire/Stone/Ice will do a fair bit of damage as well.

Remember PWNZ?

I actively try not to.

I would actually ask what's most important for your concept.

The 'control' type powers for Fire Control are found in the Pyre Mastery epic; but Blazing Aura and Burn from Fire Armor give some of the same feel as Hot Feet.

The Ice epic gives access to Ice Storm, which would give a power that looks similar to Freezing Rain from Storm.

And, assuming that you want to take the Earth Mastery epic for your controller, then Stone Armor would give the same look as the epic armor.

Also, the crystal version of Stone Melee can sub in for Ice Melee very easily.

I could see almost any combination of the powersets working well for your elementalist.

(Special bonus for my loyal readers - Yes, that's all six of you.

http://www.kgbss8.net/Cycles/

Visuals of all the characters! Required backstory reading! And free puppies!)

XV - Status Quo Antebellum

Joe was thinking, in between wracking waves of pain, that he had made a bad choice. It was like spiders crawling around under his skin; spiders armed with blowtorches and belt sanders.

The hero gig wasn’t about being a hero, it was about scoring chicks. Lifting weights and having a nice tight costume helped. He’d figured that the blonde was a hero groupie, the sort that was easy to score with. The Heroic Five must have been making a name for itself, what with that little bust on the Skulls the other day.

It had seemed like an innocent fling, but somehow he had ended up in some kind of tube thingy, with some kind of squiggly monster thing inside of him. He’d heard the word symbiote, before all the hurting had started.

He knew that, one way or another, he’d get out of this alive. He just had no idea what he would look like when he got out.

The blond chick had turned into some kind of weird, green-haired space elf. Somehow, he got the feeling that she was waiting for something. He just had no clue about what.

Suddenly, the pain flared again, and all rational thought left him.

***

On a dark airfield, black-clad commandos were running back and forth, making final preparations. Hard-sided cases and black ballistic nylon bags were loaded into a dual-rotor helicopter, equipment harnesses were checked, knives loosened in their sheaths and night vision goggles adjusted. This mission would be a bit unusual, in that it was legal.

The target was a ship in international waters, flying no national flag. It was, according to their captain, a Russian military vessel whose crew was in a state of mutiny. Their job was to capture, incapacitate or kill the crew, and recover the vessel relatively intact. It was a task for which they had trained many times, though it was new to most of the squad. Only a few of the non-commissioned officers had ever done this for real before.

Even so, the operational plan called for surprise and overwhelming force to achieve the objectives. Their helicopters had the latest stealth technology, and would be virtually invisible to radar or infrared detection. They would fly in low to the water at night, to reduce the chance for visual detection. A first platoon would be deposited in the water, and would approach using SCUBA gear. The first platoon would board the vessel and disable any sentries on the deck, and then fire off a flare to call in the rest of the special operatives.

The commandos would divide into teams, one heading for the bridge and the other for the engine room. A third team would sweep for opposition.

Captain Dmitri Roslov of UNOSOV had been over the blueprints with his men several times. The expected opposition was stiff, but certainly not insurmountable. This would be another notch in his belt for promotion.

***

The SEAL team was preparing for an operation in extremely cramped quarters. They were all hardened veterans, had seen action all over the world. This action was a standard one: captured vessel, unknown number of opposition forces with unknown capabilities, no hostages.

It should be as much a cakewalk as any combat mission can be, Captain Alex Miller thought to himself. The operational profile was relatively standard: nuclear attack sub comes in quietly; the SEAL team is deployed with underwater sleds through the torpedo tubes. The deck should be cleared rather quickly with the element of surprise on the side of the United States Navy. Sweep up and down, deck by deck, capture the power plant and the control center. Locking down communications was a secondary objective. Prisoners were expected, but not exactly encouraged.

The only source of pressure was the time factor. The briefing had said this vessel was an imminent threat to the safety and security of the United States because it had access to some sort of weapons of mass destruction.

The SEALs were checking their breathing equipment and the waterproofing on their gear. It was standard to have a buddy check your gear as well. On a mission like this, having your sled or oxygen fail was like doing a HALO drop and having your parachute fail – messy and probably crippling.

Still, Captain Miller set his jaw and got his team ready. This was some serious ‘secret medal locked in a vault that you can never talk about’ stuff, and that was always good for career advancement in special ops.

***

The People’s Pistoleer was mostly ignoring the twenty-four hour news channel that was blathering in the background. Something was going on about a hazard to water navigation, a volcanic plume in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Something about tsunami warnings. It wasn’t here, so she tuned it out.

She logged into her cell phone’s web browser, feeling a little bit guilty about doing so. They seemed to be really, genuinely concerned about their ideals. The Heroic Five had been a really selfish bunch, but these people really threw themselves into their work. It was actually kind of neat to work in the soup kitchen.

And here she was, sending out detailed security information to spy on them.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She could get some real hero time under her belt, and her dad would get cured from cancer. The lady had promised it, and Tanya had good reason to believe it. The demonstrations had been kinda gross, but still.

After her job here was done, she could leave the KGB and go on to do the real thing somewhere else, under a different and better hero name, and her dad would live long enough to be proud of her. It seemed like a winning combination, and what could it really hurt, anyway?

Now, she wasn’t so sure. The lecture that Iron Joe guy had given about why the security was necessary had gotten her to thinking about why all this stuff was desired by the blond lady, Maya. It couldn’t be for any legitimate purpose.

Still, she’d made a promise, and she was going to keep it. She hit the send button on her phone.

***

Hal the Truckinator was dusting his hands off, looking at the bunch of thugs lying there, groaning in pain around him. He rubbed at his cheek – a chain had caught him across the face, and that had stung – and reached down to pick up his Orioles hat.

Being a hero was hard work, but the Russian had been giving him some pointers. Not a full-on suit of armor, which probably would have been cheating somehow, but just ways to make the job easier.

Which reminded him: he was supposed to meet the Russian for a few beers tomorrow. Best make sure he had his schedule clear.

Hal walked around, depositing teleportation tags on the Hellions, and secured the mystic artifact that they had been messing around with. He’d bring that by City Hall on his way home.

***

The anthropology department at the University of Jamaica in Kingstown had some of the information that Jack had wanted. After all, it was largely theorized that some of the Caribbean Islands’ indigenous peoples were not really indigenous, but descended of the Atlantean Diaspora. Paper and data eventually decay, but stone and gold tend to last a lot longer.

Still, all he had was very fragmentary and inductive. Doctor Pandina, the chair of the Anthropology Department, was holding out some pieces that his department was actively studying. Jack was arguing, to little avail, that what he had might actually be what he needed. Specifically, there was a golden mask that was supposed to be a Machine God cult ritual item, with some of the sacred texts inscribed on the inside.

Jack felt as though he really, really needed to get a look at that mask. Of course, he would then need to teach himself whatever pidginized form of Atlantean it was actually written in before he could really get a handle on it.

This is what Jack thought about while lying on his belly on the hotel room bed. Even SPF 60 had not been enough to keep him from transforming from a mild-mannered scientist to what appeared to be a humanoid cooked lobster. Alisa refused to baby him, telling him that he should have taken better care of himself.

Perhaps when the swelling went down in a couple of days, he could try again. This time, he would promise to allow priority of publication.

***

Natalie was making her rounds. The hospital bore no signs of the Code Atlas that had crippled it for nearly two weeks. Everything was finally getting back to normal.

As a registered nurse, she was constantly working overtime, long hours. She was paid well, but it always felt good to take off her shoes and sit in her chair at the end of an everlasting day. These past two weeks had been even harder, as some of the hospital staff had left in search of safer employment.

When things slowed down, she promised herself, she’d see about following up on that volunteer gig with the Russians. While her father would have been shocked that she would even consider it, she found their philosophy to be harmless, neutered of all the evils that had been a part of the old Soviet Union.

They were genuinely concerned with making the world a better place. And Natalie, as tired and overworked as she was, wanted a part of that.

Plus, it would get her out of having to assist that insufferable Dr. Cottage, if only for a few hours.

***

Exodus Hunter Maya, creature of order, was rushing through the corridors of the temple. She had to work quickly.

Cryovex, theoretically Maya’s underling, stopped her in the corridor.

“Exodus Hunter, you have surely felt the sudden chaosburst in the probability lines. I must communicate with our home dimension. You have failed, Exodus Hunter, and you must be replaced. The Atlantis Event is repeating, though the probability lines show that the Savior Machine is not operating at full power yet. If the fleet can arrive in time, it can yet be stopped.”

Maya sneered beneath her face mask. “Hell Diver, you overstep your bounds. I know precisely where the Savior Machine is headed, and I believe that I can handle it on my own, without outside interference. Your reading of the probability lines is flawed, and you will be reprimanded if you exceed your authority.”

Cryovex replied, completely without emotion, “I have the support of every other Combine operative on this dimension. We have read the lines, and we know that the Savior Machine is headed to Paragon City. The only answer is to destroy the entire city from orbit. It is the only way to be sure. If the Savior Machine is annihilated, it will pave the way for further anti-chaos operations. “

Maya cried, “Out of my way, you fool!” and threw Cryovex aside, charging ahead.

Cryovex called out behind her, “Your pattern is becoming dangerously chaotic, Exodus Hunter. Do not leave the path!”

***

Natasha, Cosmonaut Alpha, smirked as she drew another card. Playing poker against the Cosmonaut Ninjas on duty here was marginally less painful that centrifuge training, but only just.

Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan, contained of boundless energy and little sense of propriety, grammar or tact, was an easy mark. Cosmonaut Ninja Toma, however, was much harder to read, especially with his disdain for spoken communication. Toma grunted, and occasionally graced the conversation with a single word.

Her only saving grace was that the Potemkin was spacious. She felt she was far enough away from the two of them that she was unlikely to catch whatever mental disease they had contracted in deep space.

Watching and waiting for some event here on the Potemkin that would never come was infuriating.

Bah.

***

Merry looked to Yulia, and Yulia looked to Merry. Today’s date was one they had memorized well.

It was the day that was the beginning of the end.

It was the day that Yevgeny Korsakov, their grandfather, would die.

Their efforts to find the Exodus Hunter and her crew had failed miserably. The Exodus Hunter struck when she willed and faded away completely, a ninja crossed with a king cobra. Likewise, the Savior Machine had not revealed itself to their searches.

Their communication was wordless, their minds set.

They had to try to save their grandfather. It was possible that he might be able to turn the tide of the war that the Earth had lost so totally in their own future. It was possible that the Imperial Combine could be stopped with his aid.

Even if their father, veteran of the Combine Wars, had been able to save a few thousand humans, had been able to fight a few Exodus Hunters as equals, he could not do enough on his own.

There were so many others that could be saved, so much potential in Paragon City that needed saving if the future was to hold any hope.

There just was not any way to save them all.

With heavy hearts, they made all haste towards the KGB Headquarters. They might save their grandfather, and their sorta-grandmother. Maybe the Space Battleship Potemkin could be used to buy some time.

So many maybes, so few certainties.

And the rules were that they couldn’t tell anyone about what was coming.

Godcutters in hand, they prepared for a date with destiny.

KGB Special Section 8, May 10 2004 on Virtue.

I wasn't the official founder, as my friend managed to hit level 10 before I did, but I've always been the leader of the group.

Still going strong, too.

Hi, I'm @Smersh, and I've been around a while.

I've got a half-dozen versions of my main character, Comrade Smersh. He's a Inv/Fire tank in his main incarnation, but I've got a few other versions.

I also have fun with my other favorite, Dr. Paladin. He's mostly a DB/SR scrapper, with occasional forays as a Kin/DP defender.

And, of course, I have a bunch of other characters that are fun to play.

Most of my characters are members of KGB Special Section 8, which is to be expected since I'm the guy in charge. It's a themed RPing supergroup that's usually within the top 50 on the server. We have fun.

If you see a friendly Soviet-themed hero, feel free to send them a tell as it just might be me, or someone else who's associated with my supergroup. We're all good people, honest.

I'm not a communist, I just play one on television!

Never happening, red names have said as much in the past.

Sorry, Regeneration is one powerset that is unlikely to ever proliferate any further. I'd be willing to bet Castle would take the powerset out back and shoot it if he could.

You'd be better off building on the defense already present in the build, and that's typed defenses, not positional.

Be a dictator. Trust me.

If you're the leader, the buck stops with you.

Be right or be wrong, but one thing you should never be seen to be is unsure.

Must be east coast.

I say that because those durned east coasters always expect everyone else to conform to their time zones.

I feel like I should point out that ToF is clearly superior to its counterpart in Martial Arts: Cobra Strike.

ToF, unenhanced, lays down 22 seconds of mag three fear on an 8 second recharge. With some careful juggling, you can keep two bosses locked down in fear indefinitely.

Cobra Strike, on the other hand, has a mag 3 stun that lasts 12 seconds, and is on a 20 second timer.

XIV - R&R - Recruitment and Relaxation

It was almost capitalist, the forms that are required to join KGB Special Section 8. The application was several pages long, with multiple narratives about knowledge, skills and abilities, ideological concepts, and prior achievements and awards. Multiple attachments were required, from a copy of the hero license to a standardized power indexer to (optional) school transcripts and references. The only concession to those who would disdain such things was the availability of the application in Russian as well as English.

This particular application that was being slaved over was in English, and the writer was developing a severe cramp in her arm. Who knew that transcribing your entire resume by hand was such an onerous task? The People’s Pistoleer certainly had not had a clue.

The harsh fluorescent lighting and uncomfortable chair only added to the discomfort. She guessed that this was some sort of hazing ritual.

The old lady who had given her the form had been kind enough to point out that the secret identity version of the form was shorter. The Pistoleer shuddered. Why would anyone deliberately torture themselves by filling in the non-secret version?

She signed her hero name on the eighteenth page of the form, and flipped back to the first page, checking each section to make sure that she had not missed any places to initial or boxes to fill in. She was studiously careful flipping the pages. Why did they use a pin to hold the application together instead of a staple or a paperclip?

Finally finished with the fiendish form, the Pistoleer set in to wait. As she did so, she looked around, taking in all the details. The security station had twin scanners, which would presumably set off all sorts of alarms and potentially intruder countermeasures if she went through as she was, loaded for bear. There was a rather large portrait of a bald man she recognized, resplendent in his black dress uniform. His face was unscarred, which indicated either a forgiving artist or that the scar came after the portrait was made.

The walls were brick, the floor uncovered tile, and the air a bit chilly. The magazines were all far out of date and well-dog-eared. Disregarding this, she picked up an old sports magazine – from June of the previous year – and began reading an article about how free agency was destroying baseball. Neither free agency nor baseball was terribly engaging to her, but it was a welcome change from that application.

Some minutes later, a polite cough drew her away from a deep discussion of the Cincinnati Bengals. Her gaze rose up, and there was the old lady again. She was full-figured, with small streaks of grey in her hair, wearing the official-looking black uniform that seemed to be standard around here.

“Privyet. I am Strike Leader Tatyana Stepanova, and I will be handling your interview,” she said when the Pistoleer met her bespectacled gaze.

“People’s Pistoleer. Um… space-eye-bah for meeting with me,” the camouflage-clad candidate replied. Tatyana chuckled.

“Perhaps you should leave the Russian phrases to the Russians,” the Strike Leader said. The Pistoleer smiled back sheepishly. Tatyana continued, “Come, follow me. I shall show you around the base.

“This is our security station. I am admitting you with your equipment on my passcard, which is of course operated on an RFID system. You will be issued your own, and it will prevent the countermeasures from activating when you bring in your equipment. I suggest that you keep it up to date if you ever start carrying more or different items; comrade Agent Ravage has run into that a few times.

“This is the main atrium. The hall behind us, as you know, leads back to the entrance. To the north, you will note the banners with the globes; that hallway leads primarily to the teleportation network. Rapid transit throughout the entire city is available. The secure area at the end of the teleportation hall leads to the Rikti War Zone – as the teleporter pads are based on Rikti technology, we do not want any unwelcome surprises coming in the wrong way, da?

“Also, of course, the locker rooms are here. It is nice to be able to shower after a sortie to a swamp dimension or a sweep of a sewer system.

“On the other end of that section are our power generators and the holding cells. They are Category Five holding cells, which can supposedly hold any threat. We have taken to posting guards when we have high-value prisoners, because the supposedly totally secure cells just aren’t. Outstripped by technology.

“The hallway directly across from the entrance leads to the administrative and residential wing. There you will find our meeting hall, the common room, the barracks, and the gymnasium. Do not worry, if you should wish to stay in the barracks, it is not actually a barracks – they are actual private rooms.

“Further on down that hall, you shall find another security station – Beyond that point are the publicly accessible areas. The soup kitchen where you will do two shifts a week, the free clinic, the job placement area, and all of that. Outside, of course, I am certain that you have seen the community garden and playground, and the swimming pool.

“Naturally, we support the community in ways other than just hero work!

“The final hallway is access to the workshops, the medical bay, and the hangar. The Field Commander keeps trying to get a Hind for the Section, but they seem to be difficult to acquire on the open market. Additionally, I know of no members of the Section who would be capable of flying one.”

Tatyana was checking off a list on her clipboard as she spoke. Boredom was evident on her face.

“I, um, can fly one,” the Pistoleer volunteered.

The Strike Leader’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, you shall certainly want to mention that to the Field Commander when you meet him, then.

“Our weekly meeting is on Wednesday night, at 10:00pm EST. Attendance is highly encouraged.

“And now, unless you have any questions for me, I shall begin your interview in earnest…

***

“Babe, you seen my socks around?”

Jack Paladin, Ph. D., was looking around at the bedroom that looked as though a concussion grenade had been rolled into the middle of it. Clothing was strewn all around, over the backs of chairs, piled on the dresser and the bed. An open suitcase was piled high with black and white clothing.

“They were in the laundry basket when last I saw them, dorogoi,” Alisa Paladin called over her shoulder, yanking her head away from the infant trying to grasp a tendril of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

Jack considered himself an expert packer and traveler, having circled the globe solving problems with nothing more than his old green Samsonite two-suiter. He liked to call it Old Bombproof.

Of course, Alisa’s packing put his to shame. She had packed everything she had needed within half an hour while juggling two infants. He was still running around like a chicken with his head cut off. Jack had had to leave town in a hurry before, certainly, but Alisa was capable of preparing for international travel within minutes. Difference in training, he supposed.

Travelling with the children had increased the difficulty of preparation by a couple orders of magnitude. There were diapers, formula, wipes, bottles, clothes, blankets, a few select toys, car seats, burp cloths, a portable changing pad, and a spare shirt, and that was just for his diaper bag. He’d had to make the diaper bag himself to his own personal specifications, and it still never stayed organized beyond the first time he reached in.

Jack had originally wanted to head to Greece, but Alisa had ruled that out. “It is probably best if I do not return to Europe,” she had said mysteriously. She had refused to enlighten him further. So, instead, their vacation was headed to the Caribbean.

The things Jack wanted to know might be there. Greece would have been a better bet.

Jack had sold the idea of a family vacation with only the promise that his working vacation shtick would only be a small portion of it. Jack sighed. Back before he’d gotten married, he would have just hopped a plane to get into some rare archives without a second thought. Now, it would be harder. He would love to spend a few weeks digging through moldy papers to find a single reference, but he would hate to do it these days without his wife and kids.

On the whole, he considered it a more than fair tradeoff.

Jack wandered across the house, past where his sister, Jaqi Paladin, was rocking his other son to sleep. He was wearing his special black and white aloha shirt and a nice pair of black Bermuda shorts. Jaqi made a pithy remark, and Jack made a witty reply. It was almost like when they were kids again.

Doctor Jacqueline Paladin was a godsend, a happy coincidence that was an immense help. Though they were separated by almost a decade in age, they had always been good friends, siblings who had helped each other out. After Ma and Pa Paladin had disowned Jack, they had lost contact until about two years ago.

Now, Auntie Jaqi was happy to housesit, and to babysit occasionally when her duties at the museum permitted. Jack and Alisa both loved these little breathers, time when the twin boys did not consume every waking moment, and most of the not-really-quite-awake ones as well.

Locating the wayward tube socks, he began pairing them and folding them.

The local resources had only fragmentary references to the Savior Machine. It was hard to have any clue as to what it was, let alone where it was.

What little he had gathered was that it was some… artifact? Person? Title? From an era long before the modern one. The Machine was credited with wondrous powers and abilities that were described in only the vaguest of terms. A cult devoted to its worship apparently sprung up in Assyria about a thousand years before the common era.

Jack had asked his daughters, the ones from the future, what they knew. He figured it would probably be a good insight into what he knew some years in the future. After all, if he knew himself, he would have equipped the girls with as much information as he could get his hands on.

When he had asked, it was a bit frustrating. Apparently, they knew then about what he knew now. The Savior Machine was unavailable for comment in the future, it seemed.

Jack wondered briefly why that was. He was back in the bedroom, putting his boots on top of his duffel bag. He half wished that his hero license would allow him to carry on his blades, but airport security was impossible these days. He didn’t even bother to have them shipped, because of the hassle. He hoped it wasn’t a mistake he would end up regretting, but he could count on one hand the number of times that he had needed to fight for his life while digging through the collapsible stacks.

Anyhow, Jack was hoping to do some research and see if he could find out more about this Savior From Atlantis thingy. And maybe to soak up some rays on the beach with his wife, kids permitting.

***

There was a high pitched whine hitting its sensors. It was a sound that it had not heard for thousands of years.

It was like a signal, a clarion call. A siren’s song, drawing it in.

For the world, it had to move, to acquire that thing. That weapon.

Old subroutines and self-diagnostics ran. For the first time in millennia, it knew itself.

It was the Savior Machine. It was tasked with the defense of Earth by any means necessary. Its goal was the destruction of Earth’s enemies.

Power, long stored against this day, began to flow through it. Some of its relays were burnt out by the sudden surge. It was no matter.

A flash of light, and the long-immobilized limbs empowered their weapons, and began to claw their way through millions of tons of igneous rock.

The Savior Machine began to rise once more.

So, um... who's the artist on that one?

Only if they take Leviathan Mastery.

XIII - The Vault

Tatyana screamed wordlessly in frustration.

All the work she had done, and still she needed more data. She had shuffled and reshuffled the figures, but the data showed three significant gaps.

It was just too much to think about. The equipment she needed was half a country away, and it would be at least nine months before she could be scheduled in to use it. She threw down her pencil in frustration and stormed out of her quarters in KGB headquarters.

She located a mug in a cupboard in the communal kitchen area, and reached for the coffee pot. Of course, no one had made a fresh pot when they had used the last of the previous one. The percolator labeled with the biohazard sticker was brewing away merrily, but she was not desperate enough to try any of Dr. Paladin’s coffee. She had heard Mavis, the cleaning lady, talking about how it sanitized the toilets better than bleach ever had.

Muttering, a dark cloud hanging over her head, she started the coffee maker and waited.

“Are you making the coffee, or are you cursing bitterly its absence, comrade Strike Leader?” a voice behind her said.

“Someone seems to have walked off with the last without replacing it.” Tatyana did not want to talk to Yevgeny tonight. She was not in the brightest of moods.

Smersh sat down at the table with his empty coffee mug, drew an ashtray closer to him, and lit up a cigarette, all to Tatyana’s dismay. Clearly, he was settling in, and to leave without her coffee would be an admission of defeat. To cover her feelings, she lit up a cigarette of her own.

The silence between them was a palpable presence, a specter of a shared past filling all available space. The little sounds that filled the void were setting her on edge: the hum of the generators, the ultrasonic hum of medical equipment, the steady sounds of traffic outside. And the drumming of Yevgeny’s fingers on the table were the final straw. To say something seemed the only recourse, so she chose a topic, a random choice out of infinite variations, and spoke.

“You know, Field Commander, I had quit these for seven years when you showed up. I had no way of getting cigarettes on the Hydra world. And then, you arrived, and offered me a cigarette, and it was as though I had never stopped,” Tatyana mused. Almost at once, she cursed whatever subconscious impulse that had chosen those words.

Yevgeny rubbed at his head and smirked. “I am completely incorrigible, da?”

Tatyana tapped a finger on the table, willing the coffee pot to work its magic faster, just to put an end to this awkward time. She felt that any silence would be misinterpreted, so it was a void that had to be filled. The interdimensional spaces between people did not propagate energy waves in the same way that the barriers between dimensions did; the spaces between people were much more prone to interference patterns.

Her thoughts had taken too long, so another wave of energy was sent into the void by Yevgeny. “What seems to be the trouble? Something seems to be bothering you.”

What was bothering her? What wasn’t bothering her today? The list was endless. The dissertation had decided to unilaterally take a leave of absence. She had a new applicant for the Section – she hated doing the interviews and tours. The coffee was out, and her quarters were in a messy state that she did not want to deal with. There were several dozens of papers to read and grade for the class she was covering for Professor Davis. She had a shift in the soup kitchen in an hour, and her apron was still in the wash.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Bah. You can tell me what you need, and I shall do my best to provide it, Tatyana,” Yevgeny said as he glanced to the coffee maker. “So long as it does not involve my drinking Dr. Paladin’s coffee.”

Against all expectations, Tatyana laughed. The flippant remark was, apparently, just what she had needed on a terrible day. “Not unless you have a six terawatt inter-dimensional phase modulator with trans-liminal subduction accelerator functionality, and a thousand-meter deep copper mine to shield it from cosmic rays, just lying around on your workbench!”

Yevgeny chuckled as he crossed to the coffeepot. He poured a cup for himself, and then one for Tatyana, splashing a bit onto the worn tabletop. “Bring your coffee and follow me, da? I have something to show you.”

Tatyana raised an eyebrow. “You have a thousand-meter copper mine?”

“Nyet. But I may have something that shall do the trick in a pinch, da? Come.”

Tatyana wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic mug and set herself into following Yevgeny. Trailing behind by two paces, she walked the familiar corridors, the brick walls covered in old propaganda posters. On other days she felt disdain for the socialist realism school of art so prominently displayed, but today they did not impinge upon her awareness. They walked past the frosted glass partitions that contained the meeting room, past the cubicles and offices.

They ended at a security station, where Yevgeny tapped a few commands into the computer. The monochrome green and black screen displayed Cyrillic characters in rapid succession. He left the computer, and walked over to one of the framed posters, which slid aside of its own accord. He removed his glasses and gazed at the newly-revealed retinal scanner.

A section of the wall, a solid mass of brick, drew back and rolled aside, revealing a small lift. Yevgeny drew aside the articulated metal gate and smirked. “After you,” Yevgeny said, indicating to Tatyana that she should step inside.

This was a portion of the base that Tatyana had never seen before, and she felt as though she was intimately familiar with the entire sprawling complex. The lift was tiny, clearly designed for the transportation of only one person. Shoulders and knees bumped as they attempted to arrange themselves in the cramped space. Finally, Yevgeny drew the gate closed, pressed a button that sealed the wall once more, and pulled the lever that began to lower the open-framed elevator.

Nervous at the closed-in space and the overwhelming sense of proximity, Tatyana said, “Please tell me that this lift is rated for our combined weight?”

Yevgeny looked up, involuntarily, at the straining pulley system that was lowering them down. “Trust me, it should be fine.” He did not seem all that certain.

After an eternity of anticipation and dread of a sudden acceleration, the lift settled down lightly. Yevgeny opened the gate once more, and laid his palm on the black surface of a scanner. A bright light swept over it, and a heavy vault door opened.

Yevgeny strode forward, and called over his shoulder, “Pardon the dust, da? I am so bad about it, and no one else comes down here…”

Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed as they came to life. Tatyana looked ahead, and saw what appeared to be a secret sanctum to the idols of technology. A second look drew in more details, making it seem half trophy room and half armory. A third look was prevented by a cloud of dust causing a violent sneeze.

Tatyana wrinkled her nose, and stepped into the vault. Against one wall were a series of pedestals, all containing red and gold suits of armor, standing tall and waiting for use. Tatyana counted seven, and room for more. The caped and polished suits seemed imposing. The opposite wall seemed to contain various mementos of victories past: a Rikti ceremonial blade, a blue beret, a Nemesis gear staff, a Roman sword, an old monocle and other, less instantly recognizable junk. The center of the room was dominated by a virtual clone of Yevgeny’s workshop topside, with computer controlled cutting equipment, a pile of old circuit boards and electronic equipment, and enough diagnostic equipment to keep a naval destroyer perfectly monitored.

And much of it was covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Surely, you did not bring me down here just to show me this mess, Field Commander.” Tatyana scanned the room for signs of recent use. The armor suits, hooked into the power grid and prepared for teleportation, were not dusty. There were footprints near the workbench, a tangled cluster of craters in the regolith.

Tatyana ran a finger along a ledge, and then regretted it. She took a sip from her coffee, partly to hide her disgust, and partly to finish it before it became overly contaminated.

Yevgeny was busy moving a stack of cardboard boxes, most of which appeared to contain unruly stacks of files. He was apparently excavating for something specific. Tatyana called out, “While this is nice, I suppose, there is no way that this is a kilometer down.”

Yevgeny called over his shoulder, “Nyet, it is not… but it should not be necessary. Ah, here it is.”

Yevgeny pulled out a rather odd-looking contraption, something like a torso-sized oil lantern. He wrapped his arms around it, and set the base down on his workbench.

The base of the lantern had a variety of input terminals around its base. Presumably, whatever it was, it would have to be hooked up to a computer to function. The globe was some sort of clear high-impact plastic, and contained various metallic bits that appeared as though they would rotate against each other.

Tatyana recognized the principle on which it would operate immediately, though she had never seen so compact or efficient a design. “Yevgeny, where did you get an inter-dimensional phase modulator?” Tatyana asked, professionally curious.

“I, er, built it,” Yevgeny said, with a disingenuous ease that boded he was concealing something. Tatyana knew that tone from years ago, and a world mere meters away.

“Yevgeny…” Tatyana said, slipping too easily into that old familiarity that allowed her to scold him.

“Bah. This is the fabled… ‘Korsakov device.’ I hate this thing, hate everything that it represents. I should have destroyed it years ago, but… I cannot bring myself to do so.” Yevgeny glared at the device, lost in the past. “I built the thing, this is true. But I have no memory of doing so. I do not have the knowledge to create this thing, the understanding of any of the principles involved.”

“Then it was…” Tatyana trailed off, unsure if she wanted to say what she suspected.

“Da. It was the Komisar.

“That was the year that the Section turned on itself, that the city was held hostage by a madman who was one of our Field Commanders. And the Korsakov device was the major threat held in reserve. At full power, it would kill every Kheldian in the city. Theoretically.

“All of it, from the building of the device to the Section nearly eating itself alive, was a direct result of the actions of the Komisar.” Yevgeny beheld the device. “On the other hand, it has saved lives on the few occasions I could bring myself to use it. We were able to speak to Red Star Rising briefly before his death. Little Nadya was able to leave her isolation after I contacted a Peacebringer with this thing.

“I do not know how much of this thing was my own work, and how much was brought in from elsewhere. In any event,” Yevgeny said, shaking his head as to clear it, “this should do what you need, I think. Just be very careful with it, as it could very well have hidden dangers that I do not know of, and if it is turned to full power it could have… disastrous effects, da?”

Tatyana looked at the device, and looked to Yevgeny. “Who else has access to this room, then?” she asked, worried about the implications that this device and its haphazard storage.

“Just myself. No one else is authorized to be down here. That is why Mavis does not dust down here, da?” Yevgeny replied, seeming a bit abashed. “I shall have your data in the security system within the day, and you shall be able to come and go as you need.”

Tatyana ran her fingertips over the plastic casing of the Korsakov device. “You trust me that much, Field Commander?”

He smirked at her as he replied, “I am fairly certain that you are no counter-revolutionary or fascist spy.”

“Good. And I hope you will not mind if I clean up down here a bit. The dust may interfere with some of my readings.”

“Do what you must, Tatyana. Go on up, I should put a few things away down here.” Yevgeny turned away, starting to move some boxes from one side of the vault to the other.

Tatyana re-entered the lift, closed the gate, and threw the switch to head back upstairs. “As you say,” she said as she rose out of sight, a small smile forming on her lips.

Only problem Willpower has is that it's taunt aura is weak. It's been weak since it launched, though.

Otherwise, Willpower hasn't had anything done to it lately, and is still a strong set. Especially if you stack Tough and Weave on top of it.

XII - Human Resources

Exodus Hunter Maya looked into the mirror. It was time to alter her form.

It was a trivial operation for her. Features flowed and shifted. Green hair became blond. Blue eyes assumed a more human hue. Ears changed from long and pointed to rounded and close to the skull.

One member of the Midnight Squad had referred to her as a biomancer, but a magician she was not. She merely had a way of manipulating life at a cellular level, inspiring rapid-fire and completely planned mutations. Any sufficiently advanced science would be, to these cretins, magic.

An Exodus Hunter is a lonely being, isolated from the worlds of pure order that they protected. Their mission was one of external security. Exodus Hunters are rare and valuable within the multiverse, for they are skilled at manipulating chaos to create order, to reduce universal entropy.

The natives of this place called it Earth Prime, and that was not an inaccurate assessment. The principle of conservation of chaos made the multiverse a strange, bi-polar thing. Her native habitat was a series of dimensions of near-perfect order. This Earth Prime was the dumping ground for chaos. A wise man once said that “Everything goes somewhere,” and that somewhere was here. Only here could random time portals, dimensional duplicates, and bizarre mystical accidents be considered commonplace.

Maya beheld herself in the mirror, and changed into clothing that was more suitable to the natives of this plane. Her small contingent of Imperial Combine operatives was the first that had visited this world in over eight thousand years. The stigma of the defeat that had been suffered here still lay heavy over the Combine Navy.

She shook her head. She would try to complete her mission here, and move on. She had no desire to remain here. Even an avatar of the Singularity had not survived here. Most likely, failure and disintegration were the only things she had to look forward to.

This was supposed to be a brilliant move for her career. Instead, it had been an unmitigated disaster.

The chaos was choking, thick, black and viscous, an oil slick that clung to her no matter how she tried to escape it. Her plans always fought their way through, but failed in the end.

Maya pulled down her face mask, and formed her face into one that was pleasingly, though unremarkably, human. She smiled.

If the Singularity would not see fit to provide her with more resources, it was time to do some local recruitment. Partisans. Sleeper agents.

***

Tanya Palmer was feeling rather sorry for herself. The Heroic Six had kicked her out. They’d said they didn’t have any use for someone who cut and ran when the going got tough.

She took a sip from a brightly-colored fruity alcoholic beverage. She’d come to Paragon specifically to be a part of the hero community. All those hours of personal training, all those gadgets and toys she’d bought… She’d even had the guys loaded up in the red helicopter for some rapid deployment a couple of times. Plus all the pizza and beer she’d picked up the tab for. It just wasn’t fair.

It’d serve them right when the Heroic Command Center had the lights turned off and the eviction notice on the door. All American Joe didn’t have a job, and kept pushing her to pick up the tab for everything, and now she’d been kicked to the curb. Served him right for trying to bully her into a date, anyway.

She poked at the night-vision goggles she’d set down on the table with a spoon. She hated wearing them, anyway. And the body armor, and the boots did nothing for her posture, and carrying all that extra ammo was heavy. It totally wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a big old trust fund.

It was just… her dad was such a goof, always going on about family traditions and how she had to excel in something. She wasn’t a brilliant rocket scientist like granddad, she wasn’t a financier like dad, and she wasn’t going to be an explorer like great grandpa. And dad was sick, and the doctors said there was nothing they could do no matter how much money he threw at the problem, so she totally had to make him proud before he died! And there wasn’t much time, and she had to become a real hero soon. The Heroic Six had been her best bet, there was no way she could go solo.

And she didn’t have any idea about how to join with any of the real hero groups. She’d just been to the bulletin boards at the university and pulled off some of those tag fringe things with the phone numbers on them for “startup hero groups.” The Heroic Five had been the only one that had even lasted a month.

So, overall, it had been a sucky week. They kicked her out for not trying to fight a legend who disposed of the (now) Heroic Five without even breaking a sweat.

Tanya sighed dramatically for a nonexistent audience. Twenty one and a complete failure.

She looked up as a sorority recruiter slid into the booth across from her. Blond hair, blue eyes, lots of obvious (and not that good) plastic surgery, college sweater and really short skirt with silly-high heels on sandals.

“I’m totally not registered at Paragon U, so you can, like, go now,” Tanya blurted out.

The sorority recruiter’s voice should have been high-pitched and giggly. Instead, it was low and smoky. “Tanya Palmer, I have an offer to make you…”