The Seed Unplanted

[Druid]

In between the physical world and the realm of the subconcious, It drifted. It was hungry. It was always hungry. However, not much out there could satisfy It. Since It had been released into the world, Its tastes had grown...more refined. It longed to feed off the being of light that had driven It off in Its first attempt to feed. The small amount of energy It had gleaned off her before she had expelled It from her mind had been the only thing It could remember to take the edge of the hunger. Her fear had tasted sweet, her anger delicious. But she had been too stong, It too weak. The imprisonment had kept It from feeding for many a long century. In Its haste to satisfy the hunger, It had made a costly mistake. Still, It had grown stronger in the months following Its failed attack. This city was full of so many motions, so much vitality. Each was unique and exotic to Its palate. It had just finished feeding off of a young woman. Though blind from birth, she had been gifted with the ability to see what was hidden from others. The future, the past, even the present were as open windows to her. It had been far too easy to corrupt her sight. She feared some of what she saw, It had caused that fear to grow and to consume her. In her final moments she had seen through his deceit and through his guile, but what was revealed to her had proved to be far worse then anything It had shown her. Her final pangs of fear had been exquisite.

But the hunger was not satisfied. It stretched Its awareness through the subconcious minds of the people of this city. Searching, seeking the next meal. What It found proved far more pleasing then It had anticipated. She was dreaming. No ordinary dreams these, however, but divine messages. If It could have smiled it would have. Already It could envision the emotions that would pour out of her. It could see the end of Its hunger. Her fear of what her patroness was showing her would be easy to manipulate. It settled into position, lurking in the deepest recesses of her subconcious mind. There It began to loose the corruption, like a squid shooting ink, it began to obscure, and tweak the visions. Ever so cautiously, ever so carefully. Then It waited.

[Alumette]

--TWO MONTHS LATER--

“Ms. Courbier?” the suit asked. An ID was briefly flashed, although for what agency or organization, Grace could not tell. “May we come in?” The two men looked at her gravely. Grace nodded gently and stepped aside, gesturing them into the foyer. “Please.”

The men in nondescript navy-blue suits stepped past her awkwardly. Making social calls, or even visits that could remotely pass for them, were obviously outside their regular skill set. “I’m Kurt Yahn,” the talkative one said. “And this is Agent Torrance. We’re here on business. Perhaps you should sit down, Ms. Courbier.”

Grace was a bit bewildered, but she did as Kurt suggested. “What’s this about?”

Kurt pulled up a chair across from her, without being invited to sit, and leveled his gaze at her. The other agent remained standing. “Ms. Courbier, I regret to inform you that Dominic Jackson is dead.”

Grace stared at him blankly. “He—what?”

Yahn slipped a manila envelope out of his briefcase as he spoke. “He’s dead, Ms. Courbier. Killed in the line of duty while on an assignment for us.”

The room started to spin, and Grace began to tremble. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears, willing herself to maintain her composure. “Glass of water?” Yahn offered.

“Please. Thank you.”

Torrance crossed to the kitchen and procured a glass of water, which he brought to her and presented mechanically. Grace sipped. Torrance proceeded to examine the room for listening devices. “It’s not bugged,” Grace said dully. “Dominic was always very careful.” Yahn eyed her carefully, with a slight smile, and then added. “Standard operating procedure, Ms. Courbier,” he said. “I’m sure you understand.” Grace nodded, numb.

Yahn opened the envelope and slipped out a sheaf of papers and a large tabbed folder. “We are here to carry out Jackson’s last wishes, outlined in his will, that you are entitled to full disclosure of the details of his life and his activities.” He slid the folder towards her, and for the first time in her life she saw the Watchlight logo. “It’s all in there,” he said. Grace flipped open the folder, her eyes lingering on the steely grey eyes in the ID photo on the cover page.

“Jackson, or rather, Fletcher, was one of our best agents.”

Grace was unsurprised at the mention of Fletcher. Tom had told her his real name ages ago; and the fact that he lived at least a double life was not a surprise to her either. What was a surprise, was that he had still been working for Watchlight all this time. “How did he die?” she asked quietly.

“He was on a mission to investigate a substance known as Vitriol. He had followed the trail to South America, Europe, and then Asia. We lost him in North Korea. We believe our operative within Crey compromised him.”

[Magna Harrier]

"Please, take it easy, grace." Alex said, handing her a glass of ice water.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can help Lara with?"

"No, no... she's determined to prove to her idol just what a domestic diva half a year of marrige has made her."

Grace gave him a look. "I thought you said you still did the coo..."

Alex gave her a slashing throat motion. *She wants you to think she's the ideal wife. Who am I to ruin it?*

His mental stammering got a smile. *She isn't?*

*Oh, she's more than adequate, trust me.*

Grace waved frantically. "No mental pictures! I concede."

Alex grinned. He had nearly soiled himself when the Dawn Patrol had called him in to inform them of the bad news. Alex had'nt known Jackson fantastically well. The man was less than verbose when he WAS around, which had'nt been much at all, since Alex had joined the DP. Still, Grace WAS his friend, and he could'nt help but feel her loss. Especially when he tried to contact her mentally.

Sitting down next to her, he put a hand on her knee. "Grace... is there anything Lara or I can do to help you?"

[Alumette]

Grace chuckled somewhat weakly at Alex's attempts to cheer her up; the first sign of mirth since she'd invited Agents Yahn and Torrance into her apartment. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Lara was busy bustling about, and bittersweetly noted the slice of domestic bliss she observed.

She gazed at her engagement ring, still feeling a touch and hearing a voice that was no longer there; that would never be there.

"Grace... is there anything Lara or I could do to help you?" Alex asked kindly.

Grace stifled the tears that welled up in her eyes. It seemed she had been crying nonstop for days; and she was almost surprised that she had anymore tears left in her. "I don't know, Alex..." she stammered, sniffling. "It's just all so-- I can't believe he's gone."

Alex handed her a tissue, which she accepted gratefully. "I just... I have this feeling..."

Alex looked at her intently. 'Having a feeling' was something he, as a psychic, took somewhat more seriously than most. "What is it, Grace?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "He can't be dead," she said, with a resolution that surprised even her. "I just, I'd feel it. If he were really dead, I'd have known it even before those suits showed up."

Alex considered her comments. "Grace, I know this is hard, but you just have to accept it." He took her hands in his, trying to comfort her. "You know what kinds of risks both of you took in your jobs as heroes. He's gone. We'll be here, all your friends, to help you with whatever you need. But Dominic..."

It was striking that Alex had used Dom's real name--or at least the realest name he knew for Grace's fiance--as opposed to his usual epithet, "Buckethead."

"...he's not coming back, Grace." In all his years counseling the bereaved, in carrying out the King family business of maintaining Moth Cemetary and being caretakers to the deceased, this was one of the most difficult cases. If anything could be said about Grace and Buckethe--Dominic, they had something together. Theirs was the real deal, the stuff poets write about. Still, something about his death bothered Alex too. Something felt "off."

"Tell you what," he said. "If you'd like, I can see; I can try to contact him..." Alex tapped his temple, indicating his intention to try to reach Dom mentally. "Korea... that's way too far. I don't know if I'll be able to detect anything. But I'll give it a shot."

[sheld0n]

"Don't bother..." an echoing voice scattered across the room.
The armchair in the darker corner of the room started to burn, and the fire's purple flames slowly took on a humanoid shape. It was Enigmus.
"Hello, Grace, Alex." he nodded to them. Lara didn't even seem to realize he was there.
Enigmus looked at Alumette's face. She was tortured, her eyes filled with sorrow and mourn.
Millions of questions, all wanted to be asked at once, but she didn't have to say one word. "I would have told you, had I known." Enigmus replied to Grace's thoughts. "I must have been too preoccupied working on your dreams. Either that, or someone knew exactly what they're doing."
Alex gave Enigmus a concerned look. "This may not be the best time for you to visit. The…"
"I'm not here on behalf of the Goddess." Enigmus stopped him. "I came here as a friend, just like you. I also have information.", words which gave way to a minute of heavy silence. Everyone knew what it meant when Enigmus came with 'information'.
"Well?" Grace inquired finally.
"Dominic isn't anywhere on the material plane. Something which is not at all surprising for someone departed.
The unusual detail, however, is that he has shown no presence on the other side either.
Neither alive, nor dead, Dominic simply isn't." Both Alex and Grace raised an eyebrow at the same time.
"I don't fully understand it myself" Enigmus added. "It could mean many things, and there are ways of fooling me, but I believe it is too early to say anything yet.
Except maybe, that there still is hope…"

[Magna Harrier]

Alex gave him a rather disbeleiving look. "You'll forgive me if I don't take you at your word. I'm not very accustomed to folks stopping by uninvited..... I think I'll keep my own council on this one."

He closed his eyes, and focused. Over the next five minutes, his face contorted slightly. After seven, he began to sweat.

At the ten minute mark, his body began to tremble. Lara put her hand to his cheek. *Alright, overacheiver. Wakey wakey.* The clarity of their mental bond cut through his focus.

Opening his eyes, he shook his head. "I can't find him in the realm of the living... which does'nt say much. All it means is that he's not close by... I'm only able to probe slightly as far as the outskirts of the city. If he was supposed to be in Korea, I doubt it's a big surprise I can't sense him. And as for the realm of the dead.... I'm not finding him there either. But that might just be my limitations." His face fell slightly. "I'm sorry Grace... my powers can't find one soul amongst the billions yet. I'm not as strong as my mother. If we had a grave..." He trailed off.

"So I suppose that leaves us exactly where we were. it appears none of us know anything, conclusively."

He squeezed Grace's hand gently. "if you want your answers... and I think you know this... I don't think you'll find them in Paragon. Or with us." He gave the entire room inclusion in this. "Dominic is the focus of your life. This isn't a job for Alumette, grand high muckity muck of the goddess... this is a job for Grace... Dominic Jackson's fiance."

[Alumette]

Alumette stood before the Dawn Patrol in the large conference room. Almost the entire roster was present, and all of the command staff. It was obvious that Grace Courbier hadn't slept all night. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles and her skin was pallid.

"Fellow patrollers," she began, her voice cracking with emotion. "It is with a heavy heart that I break the news to you that Leftenant Dominic Jackson, aka Stalking Shadow, was killed during an investigative mission in North Korea." Grace gripped the sides of the podium to steady her emotion. She still wore her engagement ring.

She looked around the room at the assembled heroes, her family; their family--in their blue and white uniforms. She had so much to say to them, but the words caught in her throat. The silence seemed endless. Tears welled up in her eyes and she finally said simply, "He will be missed," and stepped away from the podium, into the sisterly embrace of Shan, aka Endless One, one of Dominic's best friends.

Shan's red eyes found the Major's and for a moment they were simply their natural deep brown seen only when deep emotion overpowered the effect of the mutation. There was so much pain the Major had to look away to keep from jumping up and going to her. His position required him to be in control, for the moment.

Shan closed her friend in her arms resting her cheek against the woman's shoulder. I will not break down, not here, not yet. So many people were watching. It did no good to grieve publicly, they all share my grief, mine wasn't special...She caught Chance's knowing gaze and she couldn't lie to herself anymore. One of the most important people in her life was gone. She was about to skip denial.

It was calm in Shan's arms; peaceful and loving. Grace was grateful for Shan's friendship and she knew she understood how she felt. Suddenly Shan was yelling. She was angry. It was overwhelming for Grace; for whom just getting out of bed and getting her uniform on to speak to the Patrol had been a Herculean effort. She was still numb from the shock, still too coccooned in an ocean of sorrow to be able to process any kind of information beyond the minimum to keep her body functioning.

Shan had released Alumette and kissed her cheek very calmly before she turned to the room, eyes once again deep brown and filled with fury. "He will be missed? That's it? I'm sorry for your loss but its part of the job? Next someone is going to tell me he was brave and wonderful and...f*@k that beaurocratic bulls@%t! I want to know why and who was responsible and I want them to answer to us personally and when they're done I want my crack at whoever was responsible for killing him."

"Shan, please..." she croaked, looking up at Shan with hollow eyes. "That's not it..." she said wearily, choking back sobs. Grace didn't know how to tell Shan that she had said so little, not because she didn't have anything to say, but because she had so much; so many things to tell them about what a light he had been to her, what a hero. How he was her sine qua nihil... things to tell them about Provence and the sound of heavy boots and a morning routine and a stone in a shoe. How he'd thrown up after she'd proposed. How he took his coffee. And the exquisite balance between the order of his life and the chaos of hers, that still seemed a miracle to her. There were so many things she wanted to say about the unshaven feel of him and the intensity and the messy handwriting and even the silence.

But it all just caught in her throat every time she tried to articulate it.

"Shan, all I know is, he's de--" she still couldn't bring herself to say it. "I don't know how or why or..." she cried again; having stopped only just long enough to break the news to the Dawn Patrol. It had been less than 24 hours since Yahn's news had shattered her world. She was still trying to make sense of things.

And yet, a doubt lingered. Alex King and Enigmus both had had difficulty contacting Dominic in either the material or the spirit planes. From that standpoint, he had, Enigmus said, simply ceased to exist. Yahn had told her...what was it that he'd said, "We lost him in North Korea"? True, he was not in the material plane, so he wasn't alive; but he was not in the spirit plane either, so he may not be dead. Still, Enigmus had been careful to point out that while there was hope, there were also a lot of possibilities as to why; not all of them favorable or pleasant.

There were definitely other things Grace wanted to say, but not until she could be sure, and not until she could get the sucking, painful void in her heart to ease.

************************************************

Those hollow, frightened eyes peered up at her again. Hundreds of small children, between the ages of six months to 6 years, crowded around her, grabbing at her clothing, holding their hands out in supplication, crying. Their swollen bellies were in sharp contrast to the pronounced relief of their ribcages...Thousands of young, raspy voices called to her, in languages she did not know, but she could understand. They called her by name, they knew her. They were crying out for Grace. Mothers with skeletal babies at their sagging, milkless breasts looked at her with a quiet and resigned plea. Hope was absent here, and despite her divine mandate, Grace could not feed them all. She could not even feed one.

Grace tossed in her sleep; feeling overwhelemed and fearful and helpless and...

...in her livingroom. Yahn slid the folder towards her, and for the first time in her life she saw the Watchlight logo. “It’s all in there,” he said. Grace flipped open the folder, her eyes lingering on the steely grey eyes in the ID photo on the cover page.

“Jackson, or rather, Fletcher, was one of our best agents..."

The scene played itself out again in her mind: Yahn delivering the news, the glass of water, the disbelief.

Grace’s eyes skimmed the contents of the folder, not really reading. The silence became awkward. Yahn shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, reaching into his breast pocket. “We also found this in his locker at headquarters,” he said, proffering a small box towards her. “I can only assume it was intended for you.”

[Druid]

It had come close to sleep, hiding in the deepest reaches of her mind. However, even there the pain reached It. It awoke with a tingle of excitement. Next to fear, pain was the most delicious thing it had ever tasted. This pain far exceeded any It had sampled before. The pain reached deep inside her, filling her up until she seemed ready to explode. It couldn't control itself any longer. There was too much, and It was so very hungry. It began to gorge itself, swallowing vast amounts of her pain. For a long while there seemed to be no end to the emotion, she just kept generating more and more of the hurt. It thought that it may not even have to wait, perhaps it had finally found a never-ending food supply. The hunger was actually abating, but as It gorged, the pain slowly began to lighten, then slow, then stop coming all-together.

Then the pain was gone, sucked into the vastness that was It. Satisfied by It's meal, It suddenly realized that It's greed may have comprimised It's plans. Swift as thought, It raced back to It's hiding place in the deep recesses of her mind. There It began to craft suggestions and thoughts, covering the absence of pain with doubts and hopes. Then It settled down again to await the fruits of It's labor. The hunger had returned.

[Alumette]

LONDON, SEVERAL MONTHS PRIOR

The hawklike man bent over his phone, speaking quietly into the receiver. He idly smoothed a crease in his Dawn Patrol officers' uniform, waiting for the call to be picked up. “Kurt? It’s Meursault.” A slow smile crept across his features. “You may be interested to know what one of my Patrollers turned up.” Meursault thumbed through a stack of papers on his desk, trying to find the notes from Dr. Umber, of Dawn Patrol’s UK medical staff. “That superdrug we’ve been trying to pin down? It’s lying on a gurney in one of our infirmaries right now.”

A pause. Kurt was definitely interested. “Of course, Yahn,” Meursault continued. “We’re going to wait until all of the tests are completed, but at this point the profile is dead-on: the aggression, the way it replicates; we even had our agent follow it through a Crey front…well, initially speaking.”

Meursault allowed himself a small triumphant laugh. “Luck must be smiling on you, Kurt,” he chuckled at his longtime associate. “The handoff will be cake. Our agent is also one of yours.”

A short pause.

“No, Kurt. It’s Jackson. Yes… Dominic Jackson. I’m returning him to active duty at our Paragon HQ as soon as I get the green light from our medical staff. And I’ve also authorized him to head up a task force to investigate Vitriol production.”


PARAGON CITY, ONE WEEK FOLLOWING THE EVENTS IN LONDON

The task force Shadow had assembled since his return from London had done well. Heroes from all parts of the city had come forward to help Dominic in his investigation. They had questioned, cajoled, pummeled, and examined shred after shred of evidence. And still there were huge pieces of the puzzle missing. Tom sat back from his desk and rubbed his eyes.

The clock said 3:20 a.m. Grace was sleeping soundly in the bedroom down the hall. Tom glanced at the photo on his bulletin board of the two of them at the Dawn Patrol holiday party a few years back, when they were still tentative around one another. The photo depicted Grace and Tom standing under a sprig of mistletoe at HQ; nervously leaning towards one another for a modest kiss, at the goading of the other Patrollers. They had only barely admitted their feelings towards one another at that point, but you’d never know it by seeing the way they looked at one another in the photo. Tom gave a contented sigh, considering just how far they’d come; and that in a few… well, after a time… she would actually be his wife. As soon as this damned Vitriol case is wrapped, he told himself.

Suddenly he winced in pain, gripping the sides of the desk and gnashing his teeth. It felt as if his veins were on fire. “Grah!” he growled, tearing open a drawer and procuring a hypodermic syringe and a small vial. His hands were shaking as he prepared to inject himself with the temporary counteragent the doctors had given him. The solution was only temporary, and could not be considered an antidote by any stretch. Over the long-term, the counteragent would kill him just as easily as the Vitriol itself. He hated that he had to inject himself like a lab rat; buying a few moments of comfort at the price of accelerating the Vitriol, robbing Peter to pay Paul. Easing the needle out of his arm and pressing a cotton ball to the injection site, Dominic inhaled sharply to try to ride out the waves of pain until the counteragent took effect.

He hunched over the reams of information once more. It had to be Crey. Had to be; with the way things were panning out: the results of the task force investigations, the shipping manifests, the pattern of the transactions. Given his experiences in dealing with them over the course of his career as an operative, this had Crey written all over it. But something wasn’t right. He rubbed his temples, eyes blurring from fatigue, trying to let the missing piece jump out at him. So far the puzzle pieces only pointed to more questions. All he had to go on at this point was that there was a shipment in storage bay 227-A in Independence Port awaiting clearance from customs. Something about its paperwork not being in order delayed the inspection. Dominic had a hunch, and a hunch only, but it was better than nothing.

The pain dulled for the time being, he stood and stretched, then shut down his computer. The clock said 3:42. He’d better get to bed if he planned to be at the Port at sunrise. He armed the apartment’s dual redundant security systems, and applied his stealth training in the most unlikely, but endearing way imaginable: trying not to awaken Grace as he climbed into bed.

[Alumette]

“And so you provide access to education for the homeless?” Paige Parker asked, leaning forward, her hands folded on her desk. Grace smiled demurely at the camera, cradling a warm cup of coffee in her hands.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Often these children have a hard time achieving in school, despite their capabilities, because they’re worried about finding food and shelter.” Grace paused, setting the coffee mug on the edge of the news desk and leaning forward in the cushioned chair that was part of the cheery set of “Paragon Morning,” a local a.m. newsmagazine program. “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs states that we can’t focus on certain aspects of being human, such as learning and being an agent of change in the world, until more basic needs, such as food and shelter, are met.” Grace winced a little as the remnant of a dream from the night before pierced through her mind: a family burying their child, a victim of starvation, in a wintry warzone.

“Grace? Are you all right?” Paige asked.

Grace forced a smile, “What? Oh yes,” she said reassuringly. “I must just need my morning coffee,” she chuckled, picking up her mug and taking a sip.

“So what you’re saying is, it’s unreasonable to expect these children to concentrate on learning the causes of the Civil War, or memorizing the quadratic equation, until we can stabilize their home lives?”

Grace nodded. “Yes, that’s precisely it. The Courbier Foundation is working to address the achievement of poverty-stricken students from both fronts: by providing access to food and shelter through the heavy subsidizing of area shelters; and also by providing continuity of education by providing transportation to school, no matter where the students’ families move within the city. We also will bring the education to the students by providing tutors.”

Paige smiled. “A fine program indeed, Grace.”

“Thank you.”

Paige took on a more serious tone. “Grace,” she began tentatively, patting Alumette’s hand. “It’s been a month since you lost your fiancé, Dominic Jackson. You seem to be holding up quite well: the Foundation is growing marvelously, and you’ve been seen out on patrol in the city. How have you managed?”

Grace took her time formulating a response. Paige nudged the Kleenex box towards her; tears always boosted ratings. “Well, I think the Foundation has helped a lot,” she began, trying to maintain her composure. “It’s been… comforting…to work on something larger than myself. It helps with the grieving process, it keeps me busy.” Grace clenched and unclenched her fists. Paige smiled gently. “Of course,” she said. “And I imagine Dominic would be very proud.”

Grace smiled bittersweetly. “Yes, I imagine so,” she said softly. And then without realizing what she was saying, she added, “We’re in the process of developing a global program.” Paige looked at her in astonishment.

“So soon after the start of the city program?”

“Yes,” Grace said with absolute certainty. “Our global program will focus on food distribution and public health education to address issues such as malaria and AIDS. As usual, our primary focus will be on working with children. We plan to work closely with UNICEF and focus on addressing their areas of greatest need immediately.”

The crowd erupted into applause. “Wow,” Paige said with a winning smile, addressing her studio audience. “A hero in every way, isn’t she?” She turned back to the camera. “More on Grace Courbier’s wonderful Foundation after this commercial break.” The show’s catchy theme music blared over the speakers and Grace stood, unclipping her microphone.

“Excuse me, Paige,” she said. “I need to make a quick phonecall during the break.”

She called Alex, who didn’t answer, and left him a message: “Alex? It’s Grace. I need your help. I’m saying all sorts of stuff on television that I never planned to say. Call me as soon as you can.”

Her next call was to Enigmus, who did answer. “Enigmus? It’s Grace. Are you watching ‘Paragon Morning’?”

“Of course I am,” he said with a kind smile. “What’s wrong?”

“E, that stuff about the global program, it’s not me,” she began. She was very nearly in a panic. “I don’t have any idea where that idea even came from! The Board of Trustees is going to be very confused. We never discussed a global program. We don’t have the resources… we don’t have the… our local program is still getting on its feet. What the heck is going on?!”

“Easy, Grace,” he said in his typically serene fashion. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. I’ll meet you for coffee at the XP Grind after the show. This is definitely an interesting development.”

The stage manager came by to usher Grace back to the set. “We’re on in two,” he said. Grace followed him to her seat and re-clipped her microphone. A makeup artist hovered over her, dabbing a powder puff to her face while a wardrobe mistress adjusted Grace’s elegant red and purple silk scarf.

Paige and Grace made more small talk until the segment was over, and Grace, after signing a few autographs and smiling for some photos, made her way to the coffee shop. Enigmus was waiting for her.