Epitaph
November
18th 2012
The Tourists liked London.
As
with most of the major cities scattered around the Looking-Glass Earth, it had
its fair share of secret streets, impossible rooms linked to other realities via
wormholes, and moving buildings with a spiteful will of their own. Such an
invisible spider's web of fickle things allowed the orange-suited
time-travellers to set up their power bases freely and without prejudice.
Saint Alice in the Fields, a perfect example of a square-towered
Norman church, caught between busy modern streets and blighted by air
pollution, loomed over the far end of that most secretive of places, Methuselah
Square. It was Summer Breeze's first mission into the past and she was understandably
rather nervous.
Crouching
down, Polaris re-buttoned the nine year old's coat correctly, checked she'd got
a bottle of drinking water with her and some candy in case her blood sugar
dropped.
"Now,
you are sure you're alright with this?" said the stunning young goddess kindly.
"It
needs to be done," chirped the girl with white-blonde hair. "John Savage has
got himself lost inside the Ouroboros.
Someone has to jaunt inside the belly of the beast and lead him back out."
"It
should be me..." began Polaris.
Almost
maternally, Summer Breeze placed one hand on her friend's shoulder. "We don't
know how Ouroboros would react to you
doing your thing inside of it. That's why I'm going. I'm smaller... I'll create
less fictional back-wash."
"Heather
could go, or Zen, if we can sober him up for long enough."
"There
are only five of us in the Looking-Glass Earth who can naturally travel through
Time at the moment, who understand what the Void is saying and who can answer back.
But mum says the Enemy has been doing this for 200 years and is trying to erase
her rivals. I'm too small to register in her black mirror thingies!"
"When
did you grow up and get so clever?" asked Polaris with a smile.
As the
two conversed, literally within their own spatial-bubble, the world moved
around them as if they weren't there, while Polaris tightened the straps on
Summer Breeze's backpack.
"I'll
be fine," the girl repeated. "Besides, you've forgotten, I've got a special
friend."
Slipping
off her pack, Summer unzipped it and delved inside. With a flourish, she pulled
a raggedy blue object, which promptly let out a violent sneeze. It looked like
a well-loved toy rabbit, until it objected rudely to being hidden in the
backpack.
"You
try being folded in freaking half!" complained Mr Snuggles, Summer Breeze's
constant companion since being small. "It smells of freaking cheese and old
peoples' socks... and I can't stand cheese!"
"This
is why I hid you, Snuggles," said Polaris. "That mouth of yours! We're still
not sure where you came from, but in this Reality and the ones surrounding it,
toys can't move and talk!"
"That's
your loss, sister," grumped the bunny, staring far too long at Polaris'
fabulous cleavage. "Anyhoo, what the kid says goes for me. We're a team. When
the chips are down, I can deal the rough stuff, sweet-cheeks."
"Being
a pervert doesn't make me warm to you one iota."
"Well
you shouldn't be built like a Victoria's Secret model of steroids! I yam what I
yam, to quote a famous sailor - end of story."
"This
isn't helping John Savage one little bit!" shouted Summer Breeze.
Polaris
closed her eyes and counted to 10. Never
work with children and animals - even toy stuffed ones.
She
summoned up Power 3 from her arsenal of 99 super-human abilities, total global wisdom, then she opened her
eyes again. "Go. Get gone, now, before I change my mind. If your mother trusts
you to do this, who am I to doubt you?"
Cuddling
Mr Snuggles close, Summer Breeze waved a cheery bye-bye, and with hardly a
sound, vanished.
Polaris
stood up, praying to all the gods that she'd done the right thing.
This
was a Game of two halves, with two star players. John Savage, aka The Sentinel, re-tooled for the 21st
Century as a feisty fighting-machine only to be gunned down before his time.
Then after three years in a morgue draw, along with four team-mates, he'd come
back from the dead.
Now
E=mc2 had hired a paranormal detective to track Savage down. Anthony
Leibowitz, known to the precious few as, Leibowitz the Younger (on account of
his dad did this gig before him - long before
him), was an obsessive collector of the strange. Aged about 128, and he kept
exotic wildlife in his pockets.
Especially
very smart mice.
In the
Grand Scheme of Things, both men were as important as each other. Both had
individual paths to blaze from the moment Savage smashed his way out of that
morgue draw. Right from this precise second, as Polaris stood alone in
Methuselah Square, through to the Time Wars of 2022 and into the blind-beyond.
People
like her and the mysterious Tourists, those orange-suited Chrononauts that were
beginning to make a nuisance of themselves, were stood behind these two
players, cheering them on.
But
the moment was rapidly approaching when Polaris no longer needed to hide and could
be her true self. Hell, she was the woman
of the stars after all. The girl with 99 powers, and counting.
Standing
tall, the secret heroine shot up into the sky at Mach 1, breaking the sound
barrier as she reached escape velocity. Then she took a left turn and jaunted
back to the year 2003, when all the fun had begun.
<Look out, Black Isis...> she 'pathed into the void. <I'm coming for you!>
Chapter 1 - White Light
September
3rd 2003
The
President visiting Dallas was turning into a whole PR nightmare.
These
were the boom times in the United States of Amerika, no matter which way you
spelled it, but as the mid-terms were coming around and Arnie had his eye on a
third stint in the Whitehouse, it had been decided to make a grand show of
things to erase bad memories from the past. Losing one good President to the
gun in Dealey Plaza had left a scar across the heart of the nation. It was time
to erase that mark.
Litta
Graff had been assigned to the on-air team at CBS, as a program researcher. She
was to be based in a downtown office in contact with the live crew, to feed
them facts and figures about the Kennedy's and every minutia that happened on
November the 22nd 1963, as and when gaps appeared in the live
broadcast.
"Christ,
the eyes and ears of the world are on this thing today and I'm shuffling papers
in the research team like a fucking intern!" she groused to her co-worker,
Arlene as they logged in to their individual work stations.
"Watch
your mouth, Litta," hissed Arlene, a thirty-something bottle-blonde who was
looking forward to becoming a Cougar in the very near future, what with all
these young stud executives filling up the company. "You nearly got the axe
over that crap with Senator Greystoke. Think yourself lucky you've still got a
job!"
Litta bit
her bottom lip and nodded. She'd gone up against the might of international
corporation, E=mc2 on the trail of corruption, and lost, big time.
On reduced pay and her career in tatters, she still sensed Greystoke's eyes on
her, all of the time. Those odd clicks on her home phone when she picked it up
and a series of dark cars sitting outside her apartment were beginning to freak
her out.
"I
just wish we were out in the open, where we could see the cavalcade live,
rather than stuck in this pokey office, that's all," she said bitterly.
Arlene
squeezed her arm. "Never mind, honey. You'll catch yerself a real cute guy
someday soon with a fat pay check, and then you can kiss this crappy job
goodbye. With those sassy Chinese eyes and your tanned complexion, you tick all
the right boxes!"
Litta
nodded, tying to ignore the slightly racist comment. I don't want to give up the job... I want my old life back, she
thought bitterly, logging on through the infranet to the live crew.
The
hour of the parade grew nearer. President Schwarzenegger's Show-biz chums had
done him proud as dozens of interviews were being held in the strobes of the
paparazzo's cameras. The latest estimate said there were 317 individual camera
crews from TV companies all around the world. It was the largest live televised
event of the decade. Just the time and place to make a statement.
Since
her obsession with bringing Senator John Clayton Greystoke to some sort of
justice had only been aborted by her fall from grace, Litta had not slowed down
in her quest for knowledge one jot. In fact she had blown a large part of her
personal savings on various bits of hi-tech kit. The irony of it being, most of
it was from the One Stop Science Shop, E=mc2, of which the Senator
was CEO.
In the
bag between her feet as she tapped away at her keyboard, trying not to lose the
will to live, was an Ultrawave
Tracer. She had paid a fortune for the illegal parts of this device and was
still struggling with the science behind it.
Not
working on any normal satellite phone network, this seemed to be a private
wavelength of communication for various secret law enforcement agencies and
VIPs such as Greystoke. She had first seen the CEO use one of these whilst
spying on him the previous summer. It was normally a TV phone as small as a
wristwatch, but Litta's contraband unit was a hand-held set as big as a games
console. She had it scanning the strange airwaves permanently on days like
this, trying desperately to hack into something important.
The
device picked that day to suddenly burst into life.
"Samaritan
5, this is 17. We have the green light for the Terminator. He's on the move..."
crackled a clear voice suddenly from under the table.
"What
the hell...?" Litta's friend gasped, as the diminutive reporter grabbed for her
bag and stumbled to her feet. "Cover for me, Arlene. Something I've got to do!"
Then she was away through the fire door and heading up towards the roof via the
stairs.
"Honey,
you'll lose your job!" the blonde shouted after her, but it was too late, Litta
Graff was already becoming part of history.
The
sun up on the roof of the office block was blisteringly hot as she burst out of
the fire escape door, her custom-made machine in hand. By the sound of things,
she had picked up a waveband being used by the President's secret service,
although she'd never heard of Samaritan agents before. Leaning over the
parapet, Litta had a perfect view down onto the route for the cavalcade. Crowds
already lined both sides of the road, waving their stars and stripes and
blowing plastic horns like it was a public holiday.
She
grinned at her illegal device, as coded messages moved backwards and forwards.
"You beauty!" she laughed. But boy was it hot up there.
She
shielded her eyes from the sun and blinked up into the clear sky through her dark
fringe. Was it her imagination, but was
there a dark spot hiding in that solar disk? Eyes streaming, she had to
look away, as the convoy of cars had begun to ease its way down Dealey Plaza.
Switching the camera on her device to magnify, she zoomed in on that familiar
craggy face, as Arnie sat in the back of an open topped limo, performing to the
crowd.
The
first gunshots came from a building directly opposite from where Litta was
watching. She actually saw the flash before she heard the sounds. Three swift
shots in close succession. The bodyguards instinctively hauled the President
down to safety, as his driver slumped forward over the steering wheel. Then the
armoured fold-back roof began to rapidly close over the president's car.
The
Police escort moved in, but even as they did so, a second maniac appeared out
of the crowd with an automatic machinegun opening fire on the line of VIPs. He
was joined by a third, then a fourth from further behind the convoy, catching
the Police out, at least one officer going down and not moving.
Then
more terrorists opened up from shop-front positions, because that was what this
was; a terrorist attack and it was turning into a bloodbath.
Breathless
with shock, Litta Graff had already hit 'record' on her device. All she could
do was watch with the detached eagle-eye of a reporter.
Then he came out of the sun, gliding on the
rays of light.
A man
standing in the air as if it was a natural thing to do, clothed all in white
with an impossibly long, folded metallic cloak slung over the right shoulder
and a massive solar ray shield holding it in place, glinting like the sun
herself. Swinging down over the city, the man-with-a-purpose passed right by
where Litta Graff was hiding.
She looked
into the face of one of the secret world's most powerful posthumans. His black
muscular face, head totally shaven, was ringed with a golden mirror visor. The
way he looked down over the thousands of faces lining the roads below him, was
unfathomable. As if they were just ants
beneath him, was what flashed through Litta's mind.
Standing
on light, he soaked it all in, picking up wavelengths the reporter couldn't
even imagine. Then, in a flurry of movement, adjusting the golden visor, he
began to fire tight laser beams into the crowd, cauterising the gunmen like the
cancers they were.
Touching
down right next to the President's car, he bent over a wounded policeman as
another hail of bullets rattled off the roadway. Several must have hit him as
he protected the man, but they seemed to make no impression on the stranger. It
was only now he was in scale with the rest of the world that everyone could see
how tall he was - well over six foot eight, probably heading towards seven foot
when he stood tall and proud.
There
was a flash of light from one open hand and a ball of fire rolled across the
road and engulfed that particular gunman. Then he went in search of the rest of
the group; 13 terrorists in all, taking them out one by one.
Job
done, caught by the world's cameras, he rose majestically back into the air,
flicking that insane cape behind him. As he retraced his steps and flew right
over Litta, she suddenly found the courage to cry out to this man in white.
"Hey!
Big guy! What's your name?"
He
looked down at her as he drifted by. It
was as if he could see right through her flesh and bones and into her very
soul.
"You
can call me, Corona. Or maybe, the Solarnaut is better... How's that sound, Ms
Graff?" Then he was away back into the blinding sun, already a living legend.
With a
trembling finger she clicked an open channel on her homemade device. "This is
Litta Graff reporting for... well, just reporting. If you can hear this, if
anyone can hear this, the mystery-man in white's name is, the Solarnaut, and he
just saved the President's life, right here in Dallas, Texas. We've waited a
long time for a hero like him, and as an Amerikan citizen of mixed race, I am
proud to tell the world... the Solarnaut is black!"
She
joined in the cheering and the waving from the insane crowds below as her hero
vanished back into the solar glare. Then the Ultrawave crackled in her hand and sprang into life again.
"Miss
Graff? Well done, Miss Graff... We got your report, short and sweet though it
was, loud and clear. My name is Aaron Baxter... I own a little outfit named,
Global News. Do you fancy a new job?"
And the Looking-Glass Earth would never be
the same again.
Chapter 2 - Tighty Whities
Still September 3rd 2003
It's
one of those solid facts of history that when the Solarnaut drifted out of that
clear blue Dallas sky and saved the President's ass, everyone knows where they
were and what they were doing at that precise moment when the news broke.
Anthony
Leibowitz, very uncharacteristically, had taken a day off from his busy life's calling
to potter around his father's House. That would have sounded quite a normal
thing to do, if; a) Anthony hadn't been the self-styled, self-employed curator
of all things strange on the Looking-Glass Earth, and b) His father's House
hadn't have been a semi-sentient entity that could move at will around the
secret world, and all points west.
He had
been rummaging about looking for several things that he hadn't seen for some
while. You know how it is, you put something down and a short while later it seems
to have moved all by itself.
The
books in question, Volumes 3 and 4 of Troughton's
Essays on Parallel Species had so far eluded his search in the meandering
four-storey house. Volumes 1 and 2 he had found behind the cistern in one of
the WCs on the third floor and surprisingly, they were in almost pristine
condition. Volume 5 had not fared so well, sitting too long in one of the side
ovens of an old auger cooker in the back kitchen. It was a little crispy around
the edges, but still readable.
But
volumes 3 and 4? Who knew?
Then
it had been over 90 years since a young Leibowitz had put them down in the
overspill library kept in the attic.
When
the first pictures of the Solarnaut came on the TV, the black hero drifting
through the air majestically dressed in white with that impossibly long
metallic cape flapping out behind him, Anthony was just indulging in a Pot
Noodle for lunch. Still standing, those reconstituted dried noodles almost to
his mouth, he had frozen, entranced.
It was
the end of an era. No more secret heroes. But, far more importantly, it was the
beginning of a new age. Now the extraordinary people of the world; those with
special abilities and extended lives would have to learn to play nice with the
mortals of the planet.
Anthony
Leibowitz was amongst their introverted ranks.
Later,
when Shi-Kane joined him for their usual round of TV, heated conversation and
the odd video game, the two of them camped out in the Parlour to watch the
circus. Clearing some space amongst the textbooks, scrolls, copious note pads
and general ephemera, to sit on that massive horsehair couch and clutch
cushions to their chests, watching the endless coverage of Man's first official
superhero revealing his whole genre to the world-at-large on an old portable
set.
They
looked like a married couple on a Saturday night, TV magazine front and centre
to plan their evening's entertainment. The obviously Jewish Leibowitz, his
short curly hair a little in disarray, dressed in a sleeveless khaki shirt and
wide Bermuda shorts, and short white socks. The obviously Korean Shi-Kane, her
hair its usual curtain of ironed-straight black, in an old blue cardigan over a
pale grey T, denim short-shorts and long white socks with old black sneakers,
which she had kicked off the moment she entered the Parlour.
"I
just can't take it in," the Seer repeated yet again as that now historical
footage was streamed a tenth time in all its stark glory.
"So
you keep saying. And no one in your professional circle had any inkling that this
was going to happen?" asked Leibowitz, helping himself to another slice of cold
pizza.
"No!
Fucking nothing! A blank slate! That just doesn't happen, Tony. The future is
our book... although it's slightly blurred at times and still needs a copyreader.
But we see all. No one around the world predicted this happening. No one!" She pushed her long dark hair
angrily behind each ear, glued to the screen.
"Interesting,"
the curator mused, chewing another mouthful of gluey cheese and anchovies.
"Hey. You said on the phone earlier before all this insanity kicked off that
you wanted to discuss a proposition with me?"
The
skinny Korean woman looked a touch embarrassed. "It'll keep."
Leibowitz
glanced across the wasteland of the couch at her. "No it won't. You know I hate
secrets. Spit it out, Shi."
She
put her head in her hands and ruffled her hair, madly. "Oh... This seemed so
logical this morning when the idea came to me in the shower. I'd rather discuss
it another time with all this crap changing our lives!"
"Oy-yoy-yoy! Spit it out, Shi!"
"Listen...
Right. This is my great idea. We both live very busy, sometimes extremely
dangerous lives. Forming relationships of any depth is kind of hard - shit,
it's totally impossible. The last long-term boyfriend I had was a super-soldier
and he's been dead for three years. You do the math!" She looked at Anthony,
hoping he was beginning to guess where this was going. He hadn't a clue.
"God -
Jesusss, this is so embarrassing! I
think I saw beer coming into this conversation this morning. Beer iron's out
the kinks. Beer is good at a time like this!"
She
looked at him again, hands wide with anticipation, waiting for the penny to
drop. It didn't.
"Shit,
shit, shit. Let's try this from another angle. Have you ever heard of the phrase,
'friends with benefits'?"
"No,"
he answered woodenly, not a clue what she was aspiring to.
"This
is why we sit here, or at my place once a fortnight, and only play crappy
shoot-em-up games and discuss medieval politics! Jesus, Tony! Neither of us has
a sex life beyond the odd fumble in the dark now and again. Why don't I stay
tonight, of all memorable nights? Stay with you. Sleep with you."
"But
there are plenty of spare beds..."
She
let out a little squeal of frustration and grabbed him by the shoulders,
shaking him hard, making him drop his slice of pizza. "I want us to have sex!
Become fuck-buddies! Do the horizontal mamba! Is that totally clear now?"
Leibowitz
did his slow blink. "Totally. And... no, Shi. You're my friend. It would be so...
confusing!"
"No?"
Shi-Kane sat back and looked gob-smacked. "No?" She shook her head and sat
further back into the monster couch.
At
that perfect moment, Keighley wandered in, looking like a battered crash-test
dummy, wearing only black boxer shorts.
"Is
this shite still on?" he groused, referring to the Solarnaut doing his debut to
the world.
Plonking
himself down between the two stunned, silent figures, the Yorkshire
soldier-for-hire captured the TV remote and started to channel-surf. On
auto-feeding-pilot, he also picked the slice of pizza his friend had just
dropped off the floor, and began to devour it.
"I'm
going to get some beer. Lots of beer. You want some, Yory?" snapped the Seer,
glaring at Leibowitz. 'No?' she mouthed at the befuddled curator of the strange
and stalked off in a huff.
"Beer
- grand idea, lass. Beer for me, please."
On
every channel they were showing the Dallas Event, as it was now being dubbed.
Or they were discussing the Dallas Event, or trying to get an interview with
some C-list hero to comment on the new way of the world. Or they were
announcing a press conference by the eminent Doctor Kristine Sun to reveal more
about the posthuman community that had just been outed to the world.
"What
you done now, Tony," said Keighley, cracking a smile.
"What?
Me? Nothing!"
"Bollocks.
Shi-Kane looked as if you'd just squeezed her boobs... you didn't grope her, did
you?"
"No!!
Why is everyone obsessed with sex and... sexual things at the moment?"
"Because
it's fun and it makes t'world go round. If old Mordecai Leibowitz hadn't got
jiggy with your mum - whoever she was - you wouldn't be sat there looking like
a bolloxed rabbit."
"Shi
asked me to sleep with her, and I said no."
"Tit."
"Pardon?"
"I
said, tit, Tony. As in the bit fat one that you
are!"
"That makes
no sense at all, you illiterate bugger."
Keighley
shook his head in frustration, scowling at his life-long friend. "You turned
down a hot Japanese lass who wants your skinny, underdeveloped body, genius.
Proper sex. Proper, proper sex.
Consequently, you are a tit."
"But
I've this thing going with Lucille Tarot... I told you that in confidence. Even
though I think Shi is very attractive and everything, it would feel wrong, it
would be a betrayal of Lucille's trust in me!"
Keighley
grabbed the last slice of pizza from the box balanced on the couch's arm and
crammed in another mouthful, spluttering something incomprehensible at the same
time, spraying Leibowitz with crumbs. Shi-Kane made her reappearance with fists
full of bottled beer and a face like thunder, followed closely by a short
blonde girl still shrugging herself into a skin-tight grey Lycra body suit.
"Is he
using that one-off bonk on the beach with that witch as a bloody excuse not to
sleep with me?" snarled Shi.
"Oh,
aye," Keighley laughed, rescuing two beers and popping the caps off with his
teeth.
"How
does she-?" Anthony suddenly became very Jewishly animated. "You told her about
Lucille?" He turned on Keighley.
"Didn't
know it were a secret. Now, us for example; the whole frigging secret community,
we were a proper secret until that
tit in the white outfit went and blew it all out of the water on live
international TV!"
"You
told her... And what's with the 'tits' all of a sudden? Are you obsessed with
tits?"
"He is
a bit," chimed in the blonde, still struggling to get into her uniform. "Any
pizza going, I'm starving!"
"No.
Tit-man here just woofed back the last slice - as per usual," scowled
Leibowitz.
"I'll
nuke some more in the microwave. The others will have to surface soon," said
Shi-Kane. "You are a piece of work, Tony! A one-off shag on some exotic beach
does not constitute a relationship. Fair enough, you did it with the witch...
then she buggered off on some witchy-quest or something. I'm offering you
regular - well you know what I'm offering you, and you turn me down?" She half-stormed off again. "Oh, Yorkie," she
suddenly came back with. "How long have you known me?"
"Too
long..." muttered Keighley, spraying Leibowitz again with particles of food.
"I'm
from Korea, not bloody Japan!"
"Sorry,
lass." He pulled a funny face as she left the room. The blonde tried not to
giggle.
"Hey,
I'm outta here. Doc Sun's called this press conference thingy in 20 minutes,
and she wants all active members of LifeForce to attend. We're going to be
outed, Yorkie! I finally get to have my own collectable figurine - Earthgirl,
mistress of the mysterious X-Cube!"
She mused over that tagline for a moment. "I'll get some advertising guy to
write something better than that."
She
leaned over and gave the mercenary a deep, smoochie kiss, pizza and all.
"See
you, lover. It was great, as usual, you big Yorkshire shag-monster, you!" she
said. Keighley grinned, mouth still full of half-chewed food, like a five-year
old who was very pleased with himself.
"Bye,
Tony. Thanks for the use of the room. Hey, and give Shi a break. I think you
two guys would look cute together!"
Fluffing
up her hair, an ornate pattern of grey face-paint suddenly appeared over
Earthgirl's features. From somewhere she produced a small grey box the size of a
dice. The X-Cube, an unfathomable
multi-tasking living computer immediately expanded until it became a great,
grey, box-chair that hovered over the carpet. The slim blonde wriggled into its
seat and ran her long fingers over the keyboards set into each arm.
"Ta-ta!"
she cried, and in a blur of motion, the cube shot straight up through the
ceiling like a ghost and was gone.
Silence
ensued as the soldier continued to channel-surf and Leibowitz moped and looked
all fed up.
Another
woman entered, quite tall and slender with a perfectly toned figure. Today she
had long auburn locks that shone like a Hair
and Shoulder's advert, her sharp features taking everything about the room
in. Everything. She wore tight black slacks, no shoes and a black crop-top
showing off her muscular abs. She was doing something odd with her right hand.
"Earthgirl
gone?" she asked either of the men on the couch.
"Just
now. Whoosh, through the ceiling."
"Flashy
bitch. Either of you two fleshies come to terms with this Dallas thing? Worked
out what you're going to do with your lives yet?" She sat between them, still
messing with her hand. A short alien Grey came in through the backdoor dressed
in a light brown suit tailor made to fit. He began to rummage through a pile of
junk in one corner of the room.
"What's
to do? It's business as usual for action-man and me. We execute our best work
in the dark, hidden corners of the secret world. That won't change. It's not like
we're going to don spandex like Jenny - Earthgirl, and parade ourselves in
front of the world's press," replied a bitter Leibowitz.
"I'm
not wearing me undercackers outside me pants for nobody," Keighley quipped,
looking around for something else to eat.
Angela
Steel, one of the world's first humanoid robots, cracked back her wrist at a
nasty angle and began to fiddle with minute pistons and circuitry. "Red can be
so damn rough sometimes," she gave away too much information. "I think he's
split a carbon fibre tendon somewhere."
"Anyone
seem my briefcase? Aluminium... initials on it? I left it right her yesterday,"
said the Grey from the back of the room, with a strong British accent.
"It's
the House. It likes everyone to stay as long as they can, so it's started to
hide things," explained Leibowitz. "I've been looking for two books off and on
for a week now."
"Wonderful,"
muttered Mr Small. "I need to be at the UN for LifeForce's press conference. I
hate being late!"
Suddenly
a small aluminium briefcase tumbled off a pile of dusty old periodicals from
the 1950's and landed at the Grey's feet.
"Thank
you," the little alien said to the House. "Anthony, if you see your sister
today, tell her I'll meet her in the Top
Hat, Little Transylvania about six. A few of us exotic types are having a
last hurrah before someone tries to put us in a cage. I've done that before,
it's no damn fun!" Then Mr Small left.
"You
and he okay?" Leibowitz whispered to Keighley. "You know, after you tried to
assassinate him back in WW2?"
"Aye,
we're sound... sort of. I try not to mention it. Those were strange days,"
replied Keighley, looking a little embarrassed about his past sins.
Angela
reattached her hand, Shi-Kane came back with two fresh, steaming hot pizzas and
a massive red, horned daemon entered the room in just his shorts. Scratching
two fresh grooves in the door-surround with his horns, he sat on the end of the
couch and helped himself to food.
Shi-Kane
slapped his arm as the daemon tried to take a whole half in one go.
"Greedy!
It's bad enough feeding Keighley without you starting!" said Shi.
"You
okay, Greg?" asked the robot.
"I'm
well okay, Angela. You okay? Sorry about the hand, babe... you know me when I've
got my love-on!"
"Hand's
fine. It was a simple fix. I probably won't sit down for a week without..."
"Please!" shouted Leibowitz. "Please... I'm
trying to watch this. Doc Sun will be on in ten minutes and you are all being
far too personal."
The
room went rather quiet.
"It's
called, being human, Tony," said Shi-Kane softly.
"Human?"
Leibowitz rose to his feet. "Human? We've a posthuman bimbo - no offense to
Earthgirl, but she is a bit thick - having it away with a Long-life soldier.
Then there's a robot screwing a Daemon, for Krom's sake! I've Earth-aliens
using the place like a coffee shop and my elder sister who appears only
biologically 13, who drifts in and out just when the comedy moment is right!
What's so bloody human about all that?"
When did my life turn into an episode of
'Friends', he screamed inside his
head.
"Sit
thee down, Tony. Have a beer. Rest your brains. It's been a weird, weird day,"
said Keighley, being used to his best friend going off on one when things grew
a little tense.
"Right,"
agreed Leibowitz, stunned by his own level of crassness. "I'll have a beer. Sorry
about that."
These
strange people were his friends. All of them came to the House for sanctuary,
free food and his company.
"Sorry.
Sorry everyone, I'm just being an arse. Its..." he gestured at the TV as the
Solarnaut came on to save the day - again.
"I'll
do my running repairs in the Little Girl's Room in future, Tony. I forget it
freaks you fleshies out," said Angela Steel gruffly.
"Just
forget what I just said, Tony... about us. Bad idea. It would ruin our friendship
and you obviously aren't up to any sort of permanent relationship in any sort
of adult way," said Shi-Kane.
"That
was workin' right up to t'part about Tony being an adult," said Keighley.
"Anyone else want some pizza before I be me usual greedy self?"
"I'll
get a Gnome in to repair the grooves in the tops of your doors, Anthony," said
the Daemon, eyeing up the last of the pizza just as Angela swiped it. "And the
holes in the wall... and the ceiling..."
"Cheers,
guys. You know you're all welcome here whenever," sighed Leibowitz, taking a
long pull on his bottle of Bud.
Just
then a young teenage girl wearing rather old-fashioned clothes walked in
through the door. Rachael Leibowitz, the older, born-again half-sister to
frazzled Anthony, stared open mouthed as the Solarnaut did his thing for the
13th time on TV.
"Who
the fuck is he and what the fuck is he doing?" she rather caught the gestalt of
the moment, the zeitgeist of the whole, historical drama.
It was
Day One of a grave new world. The secret people of the Looking-Glass Earth had
just been outed.
Let
the madness commence.