The Seed Unplanted

[sheld0n]

Upon entering the coffee shop, Alumette spotted Enigmus right away. Not that he was hard to spot. On the contrary. In a somewhat eery way, his white suit seemed to almost emanate light.
"Greetings." he said, and pulled a chair for her.
Alumette smiled and sat down. It was clear that she was tense. "Hi." she replied.
"You've seen it..."
"Yes, I was there."
"Oh, you were? Well, you know what happened. But that wasn't me, and I don't know what's going on.
Thoughts of a global program did vaguely cross my mind, but it was more of a 'one day' thing. It's much too early for something like this right now. The local program is hardly on it's feet, and with Dominic being gone..." her eyes watered.
Enigmus put his hand on her arm and looked at her with sadness.
"Yes, it is early." he admitted. "The entire situation is quite unique. I can tell you that we are far from the best possible scenario, but we have to make with what we have."
Alumette chuckled bitterly. "And what is it that we have, exactly?"
"Support from the higher powers, for one." Enigmus said calmly. "I know, he smiled, that it may seem as interfering at this point, but you are destined for great things, and this is the path that leads to them."
Alumette looked at him questioningly for a minute.
"You know, you keep telling me that, but how can making things harder possibly help in this 'mission' of mine? If it was so important for the Goddess, why did She let Dom..." she felt a weight in her throat and her lips started shaking. She took a deep breath. "...it doesn't make any sense."
Enigmus' face suddenly became very serious, yet still warm. "Your assumptions are completely understandable, but what if we couldn't locate him in the afterworld because She kept him from dying?
The truth is, we don't know what happened to Dominic, and as I'm sure you know, worrying is as useful as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum." he blinked.
"As sudden as his departure was, I believe it would be wise to put that problem aside until we gather at least some information.
In the meantime, you can focus on your projects and continue to fight for the well-being of millions. May I use this opportunity to congratulate you on your progress so far..."
"Thank you." she replied, somewhat absent.
"Plunging into work did help a little, but my fear for Dominic isn't something I can just fend off. It doesn't work that way... I love him..."
"I'm not saying you should forget about him. Just don't let it take over." he replied.
"Do you remember the reaction of the audience when you mentioned the global program? This planet needs you."

[Alumette]

“Grace, the Foundation doesn’t have the resources to start a global program. What are you doing?” Max asked. They were in the Courbier Foundation’s modest conference room.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest,” she said quietly.

“Is this another one of those ‘the Goddess will provide’ things?” he asked skeptically. He was the Foundation’s director of finance for a reason.

Grace shook her burgundy-hued curls. Since Dom’s death she’d taken to wearing her hair in its natural state, since he’d always preferred it that way. “No,” she said.

“Good. So now we need to simply work out how PR is going to fix your on-air blunder. You know we can’t move too quickly.”

“Max…” a college-aged accounting intern poked his head in the door. “You should take a look at this.” The go-getter crossed to where Max was seated and handed him a file folder. “Since Ms. Courbier’s announcement, donations are up 500%.” Max raised his eyebrows in surprise. “They’re still coming in,” he said. “We’ve had over $10,000 in walk-in donations just this morning.”

See? Grace heard a voice in her head. It was Enigmus. You inspire people.

You know I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, Enigmus.

What? The inspiring, or me in your head?

Yes. She smiled.

“Max,” she began, as he and the intern were going over the figures. “I need to get some air. And I have an assignment with Dawn Patrol. I’ll have my pager on if you need me.” Max nodded and waved her off. Grace headed to Dawn Patrol HQ, if only to reacquaint herself with simpler times.

************************************************** **********************
VENEZUELA, SEVERAL MONTHS PRIOR

Stalking Shadow clung invisibly to a crossbeam in the warehouse. His hunch on the shipment in Independence Port a few weeks prior had been right. Operatives, from which organization he could not tell, paced around inside the warehouse. Likely they were just hired thugs charged with protecting the crates. They have no idea what they’re guarding, Shadow thought. It was worth millions, billions, quite possibly: a serum that could make any man into a total killing machine. Governments and criminal organizations would pay a premium.

He winced, gritting his teeth. The Vitriol burned his veins once more. He had been trying to stave off the frequency of the injections, to put up with the pain for as long as possible since, despite the relief they provided, the injections only served to speed along his demise. He had to find an antidote soon. The Watchlight lab crew, for all their expertise, wasn’t exactly coming through with breakthroughs on the subject. Shadow realized a lot depended on what he could dig up for them, though; and up until now, when he had traced this shipment to Venezuela, he hadn’t had a lot to give them.

He gripped the crossbeam, knuckles white, trying to steady his breathing and get control of the pain without revealing his position. The diesel purr of a forklift starting up provided a very temporary distraction.

“Muevelo!” a voice called out. “Es el momento!” The milling personnel sprang into activity, getting into position and loading boxes, some standing guard. Shadow knew it was time to act if he were to keep on the trail. If he let this shipment go now, who knows how long it would be before he’d find it again? He took a deep breath and thought of Grace, and then let himself succumb completely to the Vitriol.

He picked off 6 of the guards with ease: on full auto it was cake, although full auto was hardly necessary under the circumstances. He took advantage of the momentary chaos his overkill of raining bullets provided to swing down off the crossbeam and land in the center of a group of very surprised mercenaries. “Just doesn't look like your day now, does it?” he asked, a disembodied voice from the shimmering, vaguely man-shaped translucent form that was Stalking Shadow with the stealth mechanism activated on his ARES suit.

A momentary rain of bullets and grenades later, the warehouse was silent. Shadow had beaten them to the man in less than 7 minutes. The euphoria that had come from inflicting wanton violence on them, with the aid of the drug, was short-lived. Shadow fell to his knees, grimacing in pain, momentarily blinded by the pain and fire in his veins. “Graah!” he grunted, clutching at his tac belt to find the syringe of palliative serum the Paragon doctors had given him.

“Nicely done, soldier,” a cool, feminine voice cooed. She stepped out from the shadows and put a hand on his shoulder. Shadow froze, ready to snap her neck if need be.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice impassive even as his body tensed against the pain.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Don’t let me distract you. Do what you need to do.” She nudged the syringe towards him gently. “I know how much it hurts.”

Stalking Shadow looked up at her through the blur of his pain, and saw an elegantly-featured blonde in what looked like a high-tech field medic’s uniform. He examined her out of the corner of his eye as he administered the injection, trying to locate and identify any insignia she may have worn.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” she asked, as Shadow completed his injection and let the soothing salve make its way through his body. “The Vitriol? Not many people can handle the rush. Most of our test subjects die within a few months. It was a failsafe that the client wanted, actually. To keep the infected troops from taking over completely.”

Shadow snapped his gaze to meet hers, getting to his feet. “Who’s the client?” he asked, not really expecting her to answer.

“Someone who pays very well,” she said, pressing a sheet of paper into his hand. “Look in docking bay 42,” she said. “And good luck,” her voice echoed as she vanished, the air around her popping with the familiar signature of a teleportation device. Shadow looked at the paper in his hand. It was some kind of chemical formula.

He loped to docking bay 42, formula in hand, keeping an eye out for stragglers and surveillance equipment. The crates in this bay were smaller than the ones in the rest of the warehouse. He grabbed a crowbar and pried one of them open. Raw materials. He rifled through the contents, noting the components and searching for any corporate logos on any of the vials. It looked as if they were supplied from various sources; nothing in the crates, by itself, was unusual. Very likely the organization bought directly from chemical companies that supplied universities and pharmaceutical companies; but in such broad spectrum and to such varied destinations that it couldn’t be traced. He pocketed a couple of shipping manifests, and a few vials of some kind of compound.

He scanned the chemical formula in his hand. Most of the components listed in it were in the crates. Shadow slid to the ground, resting his back against the wall. This case was turning out to be so huge he had no idea if he would ever find the end of the rabbit hole. He pulled off his mask and scanned through his PDA, decrypting a few files to compare the formula in his hand with the Vitriol formula Meursault and Kurt had given him for the investigation.

It was similar… but not quite.

“Está aquí!” a voice could be heard outside the warehouse. The dockworkers who had been waiting for the warehouse to be unloaded onto the waiting boat had caught on to the fact that the crates were taking a while to emerge, and that this might have something to do with the sounds of bullets and explosions that had, moments earlier, echoed from within the warehouse. Shadow slipped his mask back down and activated his cloaking device.

************************************************** ***************
“Señor Black,” the bellhop smiled, setting the room service tray on the table in Shadow’s room. Dominic, in his hotel bathrobe, handed a few bills to the porter and gave a curt, “Gracias.” Dom tucked into his dinner, missing Grace’s cooking terribly. He downed half of his gin and tonic in a swallow, reviewing the day’s events in his mind. He took another glance at Doctor Spellman’s message on his PDA:

I can’t tell you conclusively without analyzing the compound myself, but from what you’ve told me it’s a safe bet that this is, indeed, the basis for an antidote. We have McCormick’s people analyzing our archives for a match on the scientist you ID’ed. Yahn has been briefed. Proceed as per mission protocols.

Shadow took cold comfort in the message. Antidote or no, he’d have to head back to the warehouse once more to try to get more clues. He was starting to learn plenty about Vitriol—more than he ever really wanted to know, frankly—everything, it seemed, except for who was behind it all.

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

DAWN PATROL HQ, LATER TODAY

Grace continued to file her mission reports for the day. Alex was in her office, helping her fill in details as they’d been teamed on assignments for most of the afternoon.

“Yes, I saw, Grace,” Alex said. “You definitely got people enthused about all this do-gooding. But don’t you think you’re biting off more than you can chew?”

She paused in her paperwork and rubbed her temples. “Alex, I didn’t want the Foundation to be global for another 10 years. She’s rushing things along for some reason.” Grace suspected she knew full-well the reason, but she wasn’t about to share that with Alex. Given his mind-reading abilities, he probably already knew, but still.

“I have a feeling I know why,” Alex ventured. “And it’s got a little something to do with an immortal suddenly getting a taste of mortality, and being rather put-out by it all.”

[Magna Harrier]

Alex drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. Alexander King had so many nervous habits that if you blended the sounds from all of them together, it would probably rival a philharmonic orchestra in complexity.

"Lord, Grace.... I realize this must be rough to listen to, but think about this... she MADE you say something you had SPECIFICALLY not planned to say. No dreams to the effect, no 'leaves blowing in the wind to form the pattern of words'... she just hitched a ride and shoved her way into the driver's seat." His lips were practically twitching with rage.

"... does it really bother you that much?" Grace's usual calm look was getting a little incredulous.

"Of course! I mean, there's the moral aspects to it... she infringed on your free will. I don't care how pleasing the short term effects might be... what happens if your new, generous donors find out your expansion plans for the Foundation are TEN YEARS away from where they think they are? Not to mention the other aspect of the issue."

"Which is?"

"You know what I mean. My family is specifically charged with keeping the barriers between this world and the Beyond firmly in place. No one goes between the two beyond the usual channels of life and death, and the OCCASIONAL exception."

"Well, how do you know this isn't one of those exceptions?"

"Because if it was, it would'nt be so.. blatent! She's not suggesting.. she's DOING. SHe's making the call, and using you as an outlet. This is the realm of mortality...Outsiders are supposed to PERSUADE mortals to do their biding, not just take over when they're feeling like doing a slapdash job of it. I... just a second."

His cell phone was beeping frantically with the tune of the tv series "Kung-Fu". Only one person that ring could belong to.

He smiled faintly as he talked into the phone for a few minutes, quietly... then said goodbye to the person on the other end.

Grace gave him a little grin. "So how is Lara?"

Alex gave her a mock glare. "Who's the mindreader here?", he said, before breaking into a smile. "She's doing fine... I just need to leave in an hour to take her to the doctor's."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, no... just a little prenadle checkup. Maybe an ultraso.... crud." It took him a second to realize what he had said.

[Alumette]

112 WILLIAMS SQUARE, FOUNDERS FALLS, TODAY, EARLY MORNING

Grace tossed and turned. The dreams were more intense now. As she walked among the children, she could feel every ounce of their fear, their loneliness, their hunger. It pulled at her, something she could not deny; something she could not ignore. It had been hard-wired into her since birth. Their eyes, she saw them; saw them like no one could. She knew each and every one of them as if they were her own children.

She knelt beside one who lay on the sand in the makeshift clinic, too weak to move, and too dehydrated to even cry tears. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right," she said. No, She said. It was the goddess who spoke now, not Grace. And yet it was Grace. The line between the two was blurred now, particularly in the dreams. As the child stared up at her, Grace saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes...just the faintest spark, but it was enough.

If there was hope, there was life.

"It will only hurt for a moment," he said. Grace turned and saw...an old friend.

"RoboMD?" she whispered, tears catching in her throat. "Is it you?"

He turned to look at her, pausing in his preparation of the IV line, and nodded. "Grace," he said. "I've missed you."

She awoke with a start. Within seconds it had all vanished: Robo, the sand, the dying children--everything but the sinking ache in her heart at the devastation she'd seen in her dreams; the same ache that accompanied most of her waking hours since the dreams started. But this time... Robo was there.

After discovering he had a soul, he'd sort of...vanished. And yet in her dream, he had been Real. Grace hadn't realized how much she'd missed his presence, and she wept. For a glimmering moment, all her challenges of 'saving the world' as the goddess seemed to want her to do, seemed a step more possible.

It had to be a sign. The big question in her mind was, had he seen her too? Had she really gone there in her dreams?

She needed to track him down; and soon.

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

MAGI HEADQUARTERS, PARAGON CITY, LATER THAT SAME DAY

The Dream Doctor embraced her warmly. “Grace,” he said with a smile. “I got your message. It’s good to see you.” He held her shoulders for a moment and gazed at her. “I’ve been following your recent work in the news,” he said. “It is more than I could have dreamed for you.” He gestured to a chair in his office and closed the door. “Why this urgency? You knew there would be visions. You’ve had them before.”

Grace recounted everything: the dreams, Enigmus’s talk of prophecy, that the goddess was becoming more aggressive in her use of Alumette as an avatar… even her inability to conceive. The Dream Doctor steepled his fingers.

“I see,” he said pensively. “Then perhaps I was wrong in my re-interpretation of the texts.”

“What do you mean?” Grace asked, a little panicked. She had the feeling she was on a train that was pulling away from the station just at the moment she’d realized she’d boarded the wrong one.

“Emptiness and Fullness, Grace,” he said. “Surely you remember. In your training, I told you that She is the fulfillment of what is Empty.” Grace nodded, recalling the years of meditation—that in the earliest days of her use of her powers, the focus of her meditation had been an empty vase. “Then when you and Dominic fell in love…” Grace winced. His death was still too fresh, too recent. The Dream Doctor patted her hand, “…and She suspended your powers briefly, we reinterpreted her response to that. Remember?”

Grace nodded, a bit fragile. “Yes, you said that it was a question of Fullness; of Abundance.”

“Yes, and it seemed to fit. I always had a problem with the classic interpretation of the texts, which said that a goddess of the Hearth, of Familial and Maternal Protection, should be characterized by emptiness, but there is enough in the literature about feminine energies being symbolized as vessels… I digress. In any case, it makes sense in light of this information.”

“What does?” With the sum total of her education having been high school (barely passing), MAGI training, and the school of hard knocks, Alumette needed a lot of help here.

“The line ends with you, Grace. She has no one to pass to when you die. So She is attempting to fully manifest in you. When that happens, there will be no other room for anything in your life except Her will. You will become immortal.” His eyes glimmered at the possibilities. “She will be here, on this earth, working through you, for eternity.”

His articulation of what she had suspected made her worst fears more potent. “But, what if I don’t want… what about my life? What I do to help children isn’t enough for her?”

“It’s Her will, Grace. Your destiny is to become the hand that executes her work. It’s why She removed Dominic from your life. There isn’t room for him.”

Grace stood abruptly. “I’ve heard enough,” she said.
“Sit down!” his voice boomed. Grace knew he was using a glamour to make himself more imposing; but it still had its effect. She sat.

“You can’t possibly tell me you’re going to turn your back on millions of suffering children because of a petty romance.” Grace said nothing. “These dreams, Grace, they’re messages from Her. She is sending you where She needs you to do Her work. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the power in those dreams; the need that’s out there.”

“I can,” she said coldly. “And it’s not like I’m not going to do anything about it. Don’t sit there and tell me what it feels like to be there. It tears me to see. Lastnight alone I watched 6 children die. I sat with their parents and comforted them until I woke up. I can’t stop thinking about what I see in my dreams. You have no idea what it’s like,” she hissed. The vehemence in her demeanor was enough to cause a small flash of apprehension glimmer in the Dream Doctor’s eyes. “Damn right I’m going to do something about it,” she said with a conviction that surprised even herself. “But I’m going to do it my way, and on my terms. And hell if I’m going to abandon Dominic’s memory for it. She wants an instrument to do her bidding, fine. I guess it’s me. The ends will be the same. But the means are going to be all my call. Not Hers.” By now Grace was leaning over the desk. “I’ll be in touch, if you need more material for your research. I’m quite certain this isn’t anywhere in the prophecies.”

She turned on her heel and left. It cut her to leave things with her mentor this way; she owed him so much for having saved her years ago. But she felt this was the only way.

************************************************** *********************
Grace peered out the window. The plane was still somewhere over the Atlantic. She fidgeted with a wad of Silly Putty. She’d always been an impatient person, a fidgeter. Being stuck on a transatlantic flight for hours was testing her limits. She’d already tried to pass the time by meditating, but found it difficult given her current conflict with the uppity deity occupying her persona.

The flight attendant brought her another sparkling water. “Thank you,” Grace said with a smile. “How much longer until we land in Benin?”

The flight attendant checked her watch. “It should be at least 5 more hours,” she said. Grace gripped the silly putty tightly in her hands. “We have a good tailwind, and we should be starting our in-flight movie soon,” she smiled and pushed the beverage cart along to the next row.

She didn’t even know if Benin would yield what she’d hoped. But from what she could derive from her dreams, it seemed that was her best bet. Malaria was rampant there, and RoboMD had been appearing more and more in her dreams, treating what seemed, to her anyway, to be malaria. And the goddess had seemed pretty insistent, during meditation, that Benin was where to start. So Grace had booked her flight.

Alumette sighed, took a sip of her water, and settled back in her seat. She gazed at her engagement ring, remembering happier times, many months ago in Rio…

************************************************** *********************
RIO DE JANEIRO, SEVERAL MONTHS PRIOR

The sunlight filled the sky with brilliant midmorning light. Birds made their morning music, filling the still sky with a tropical cacophony as they greeted the day. Tom and Grace’s fingers were loosely interlaced as they lay in a large hammock on the quiet beach. The worries surrounding their work were miles away. Grace gently traced a finger along the scars on the inside of Tom’s elbow, where he’d had to give himself injections to stave off the effects of the Vitriol. He smiled down at her. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

He had never been more grateful for that antidote than when he’d greeted Grace at the airport in Rio. Major Britain had granted her leave, once Shadow had finally wrapped up the first phase of the investigation and was able to come out from the covert shadows for a brief vacation during the downtime. Most of the investigation at this point was in Jerry’s hands anyway: until Jerry had cracked the code he’d found hacking that IP address Shadow had traced, there wasn’t a lot to do. Even so, Tom couldn’t shake the feeling that the organization behind Vitriol was bigger and more sinister than even he, at his most cynical, could imagine. Grace, thankfully, seemed oblivious as far as Tom could tell. And with the Vitriol finally neutralized in his system, he was simply going to enjoy their time together.

“Hey, you two!” a voice called out from the house. It was Elena, Luiz’s sister, coming down the walkway towards the beach. “Coffee?”

[Druid]

It was growing impatient. It had stayed hidden within the mind of the one It had come to know as 'Alumette' and felt no closer to that hunger-quenching power it had felt before. Her emotions are..were sweet, but as one that feasts on only chocolates will grow to hate those same chocolates, so did It come to despise the devouring of her feelings, her emotions. Their sweetness became an unbearable taste to It. So It wondered aimlessly in the deepest reaches of her subconcious.


It had been wondering like this for days, when It spied something, she was dreaming again. This was not one of It's distortions, however, but a 'True Dream' of sorts. Someone was sending her messages. Intrigued, It watched in anticipation. Perhaps this was what It had been waiting for. Perhaps this would lead It to that final feast, the one that would end the hunger. Then something caught it's attention.


The form of Alumette in this dream was more then Alumette. Someone else was there with her. It looked at her closer and could distinguish to distinct shapes. There was Alumette, and another female form, hovering over Alumette like a second skin. She was hazy, etheral in a way. Even in this dream she was not a distinct form, if not for what It was It could not have seen her. The scene began to break up, It could feel the coming of awareness. It watched the final moments of the dream and prepared to go back to It's wonderings, but at the very last moment between slumber and awareness, she looked at It, not towards It, but at It. And the two sets of eyes joined in one and It felt as though it had been pierced. Then the dream was over, all having transpired in such a short amount of time that science had not a name for it. It slunk back into the far reaches of Alumette's mind, and pondered. It had been seen, but had It been detected?

[Alumette]

Alumette stepped away from the baggage claim with her moderately-sized duffle bag in hand. She slung it over her shoulder and proceeded to customs. Her hero ID had certainly made travel easier; particularly in the case of her being able to carry two of Dominic's pistols in her luggage. She wrapped her long purple scarf around her shoulders and over her head like a hood, and stepped out into the afternoon brightness. Under the blazing heat of the city and the desert, Grace started walking.

She simply picked a direction and started to move forward, not really knowing where Robo would be, or even if he was there at all. Regardless, there was work to be done no matter where she was, the world being what it was.

Several days passed. Grace had been wandering in the desert; finding shelter at night among small groups of nomads, or alone under the stars, as circumstances dictated. She never felt afraid or alone. On the contrary, she felt completely serene. She was no longer tormented by the dreams that had possessed her in recent weeks. Occasionally she dreamt of Robo...and once, she dreamt of... she thought... a being of shadow and darkness. All she could sense from it was a Hunger, and it puzzled her. Still, rather than feel fearful, she felt an overwhelming compassion for It.

On the eighth day, Grace spied a series of what looked like field hospital and relief tents in the distance. She closed the distance in short order, and peered around to find children and families in various states of treatment, and then, a familiar armored form in the distance. She quickened her pace. "Robo?" she called out, pulling her scarf from her head to reveal her face. "Robo, is it really you?" Tears of joy pricked at her eyes as she approached, emotion catching in her throat.

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

CRACK! General Wing's meaty hand clocked Dominic's jaw with a powerful backhand once more. Did he have to wear so damn many rings?

"I admire your persistence, Mr. Jackson," Wing smirked, looming over Dominic imposingly. Stalking Shadow looked up at him coldly and replied with utter detachment, "Thank you." His eyes were flat, empty, and icy cold. Their grey emptiness resembled the surface of the moon. Wing returned the stare for a moment and then crossed over to the drab steel Mao-era desk. He flipped open a file folder. "Our intelligence places you in Cuba, Hungary, Afghanistan, Chechnya..." Wing tossed grainy black-and-white surveillance photos of Dominic onto the floor in front of Shadow as he listed off the countries. "What are you looking for, Stalking Shadow?"

Emotionless but for a tinge of sarcasm, Dom replied, "A mail-order bride?"

Wing guffawed, "Like any woman would have you." He levelled his gaze at Shadow once more and strode across the room to stand over him. "Now, let's try this again: what brings you to our fine country?"

[Alumette]

FOUNDERS FALLS, PARAGON CITY
TODAY

“…so you see, authentic Beninese ingâme pile is très facile to make, and can add a delicious dimension to roast lamb or chicken. Thank you for joining us, and bon appétit!”

The camera panned back, showing the kitchen that was the set of Bonjour Cuisine before fading to the show’s logo and credits. Alumette took off her apron and set it on the counter as the crew began striking the set for the day and preparing it for tomorrow’s taping. “Where are you off to now, Grace?” Pamela, the show’s assistant director asked.

“I thought I’d head in to Dawn Patrol HQ for a bit, get a couple of assignments out of the way. My caseload is huge since I’ve been gone.”

Pamela nodded. “Understandable, but I really think you should get some rest,” she said as the two women headed towards the green room where Grace could gather up her things and take off her makeup. “Since you’ve gotten back from Benin you’ve hardly had a chance to catch your breath. The press has been all over you, wanting details of your trip and the Foundation…you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself.”

Grace smiled, “Of course, Pam,” she said. “And that’s okay. People need to know what’s happening in the world, and hopefully they’ll be motivated to try to do something about it, no matter how small. In the meantime, crime hasn’t stopped in Paragon just because I’ve been gone delivering medical supplies to a third-world country.”

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

INDEPENDENCE PORT
LOADING DOCKS—MISSION COMPLETE

“Ick! How….how can you….” Grace sputtered, spitting, her face turning a little green. “I’ll…be right back.”

“Sure, sister.”

Alumette dashed to the shoreline, rinsing her mouth out with seawater from the Port, letting its saline astringence wash the bitter taste from her mouth. She willed herself not to throw up.

“Here,” Torrance said, handing her a flask. “Vodka. Might take the edge off.”

“Thanks.” Grace sipped daintily, regaining her composure, and wincing at the bite of the vodka. She handed the flask back, still getting her bearings.

“Well, now I know that’s something I don’t need to try ever again,” she said with a self-conscious laugh.

“I’d imagine not, sister,” Torrance said with a smile, placing another wad of chewing tobacco in his lip. Chew, Grace had just learned, was not something she enjoyed. As a matter of fact, it was beyond her how anyone could choose to put that in their mouth. And the spitting was gross. But despite that, Torrance, aka Corner Stone, was good people and he’d already saved her bacon three times against Malta. He was competent in battle, which she could respect, and he seemed to “get it”—why they did what they did. Why Grace had gone to Benin; why she ran the Foundation. It meant a lot to her, and talking to him about it, she didn’t feel so damned Pollyanna; the way she often did talking to other people. He’d been all over the world, seen things, worked in war zones as a UN Peacekeeper… he knew what it was about.

“Well, thanks again for your help,” she said, her face returning to its normal color.

“Of course,” he said. “Take it easy, sister.”

She watched his teleportation signature fade across the horizon, and was happy.

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

NORTH KOREA
A SECRET GOVERNMENT PRISON IN A REMOTE MILITARY OUTPOST
CELL 42

Dominic lay on his Spartan cot, not knowing if it was day or night. The darkness was always the same. The only way he knew what time it was, was when the food slot opened at the bottom of the door, and a half-rusted metal tray of sludge was shoved inside his cell. Dominic had learned long ago not to even bother trying to fight the rats for it. He simply lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling, emotionless.

They were going to let him die here. He knew it. They were going to keep him just alive enough to talk, and hell if he was going to do that. Suck it up, Tom, he told himself. You knew the job was hard when you signed up. He had lost hope of rescue within days of being captured. Watchlight would have declared him dead—to them he was as good as dead anyhow, compromised as he was—and by now they had surely delivered the news to Grace, per the instructions in his will, and transferred his estate to her. At least now she knew the truth: the full truth. A small wave of guilt washed over him for abandoning her. He swallowed it, shoved it down inside, and replaced it with bitterness: You should have known it was too good to be true, Tom. You’re a sucker to have thought you might have had a chance to be happy. This is your lot in life—to be alone. Might as well accept it once more and do what you do best: get the job done.

Besides… he could no longer imagine what Grace looked like. She was an abstract concept in his mind; a ghost, a shadow of herself, caressing the edges of his memory, just out of reach. Try as he might, Dominic could not conjure up the softness of her eyes or the curve of her smile. So he just stopped trying.

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

FOUNDERS FALLS—WILLIAMS SQUARE—THE COURBIER/JACKSON RESIDENCE

Grace placed her toothbrush in the holder and switched off the bathroom light. The clock said 11:42. She slipped between the sheets and settled down to sleep, reviewing the day in her mind. Her life was full again: the Foundation’s leap to international humanitarian aid was going more smoothly than she had anticipated, her cooking show was developing a program to deliver meals to homeless shelters and shut-ins, the Goddess seemed pleased. She was even finding a renewed interest in her day-to-day heroing assignments, as her new friendships with Chain Lightning and Corner Stone were beginning to develop. Chain Lightning seemed to “get it” too, and when he’d told her that his father’s company, Sterling Wonder, had chosen the Courbier Foundation as the featured charity at its annual stockholder’s dinner, she was overjoyed.

She smiled and snuggled down under the crisp sheets. She glanced up at the photo of Dominic on her bedside table, illuminated softly by the moonlight and the blue-green glow of the clock radio’s display. “Dom, things are going so well,” she said, her voice bittersweet. “I so wish you could be here to see it. I miss you.”

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

CHECHNYA

“Dominic?” Grace was standing in a dingy warehouse. It was nighttime. Dom turned to look at her, putting a finger to his lips, and then pointing. Grace turned to look. Three men stood in a tight circle, discussing something furtively. What snatches of conversation wafted over to Alumette’s ears sounded like an Eastern European language, but she was no expert. She hovered in the air and edged closer to Dominic, lying prone atop a large crate in a lofted storage area out of direct line of sight. He would have been utterly invisible to her, too, were it not for their years of working together and her complete knowledge of his tactics, given their closeness. “What’s happening?” she whispered, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Dominic said nothing and simply pointed once more to the trio of individuals discussing something nearby.

“…Vitriol…Korea…Wing…” the words floated up towards them. Dominic turned to look at Grace. “Yahn,” he whispered, and then put a finger to his lips once more, gesturing for silence.

“…and it’s a beautiful day in the Falls, Paragon! The time is 7:02, and the temperature is already 60 degrees! Expect clear skies and temperatures in the low to mid 80s today and tomorrow. Speaking of hot, here’s the latest from ‘Frigid Bitch,’ the band of babes fronted by registered heroine Hart…”

Grace opened her eyes groggily as the DJ summoned her from Chechnya. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, and picked up her phone.

“Hello, Mr. Yahn? It’s Grace Courbier…”

“…I’m doing well, thank you; well, considering…I was wondering if you’d be available to meet me for coffee,” she said. “I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

[Alumette]

Yahn stepped into Grace's kitchen, looking uncomfortable. Clearly this was not his domain. But he had said she could call him with any questions, after all.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "Coffee?"

"Please."

She poured him a cup, and then procured a plate of mocha chocolate truffle cookies, setting it before him. "They were Tom's favorite," she said with a small smile. Yahn mechanically took one and gave a curt, "Thanks," as he sat down. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Ms. Courbier?"

Grace sat and folded her hands on the table before her. She leveled her gaze at him. "There are gaps in your file, Mr. Yahn." He seemed unsurprised.

"Security, Ms. Courbier, I'm sure you understand," he said, gesturing subtly to the framed certificate of hero registration that hung on the wall. "I would have imagined you would have an easier time understanding that than most."

"I do," she said. "But Tom's will was clear," she began. "I am entitled to full disclosure."

Yahn smiled. He had expected as much. "Fair enough," he said. "What is it you want to know?"

"How did he die?"

"Fletcher was on a mission, investigating Vitriol--"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the case," she said flatly. "I was on the task force assigned to the investigation."

Yahn held up a conciliatory hand. "I'm aware, Ms. Courbier. Meursault worked closely with Watchlight to see that it was arranged."

"Our Meursault?" Grace was taken aback.

"None other. He has been part of our organization almost as long as he's been a part of Dawn Patrol. It shouldn't surprise you, Ms. Courbier. Dawn Patrol is coalitioned with a number of hero and law-enforcement groups. Why should this be any different?"

Grace opened her mouth to reply, but found none. "Continue," she said simply.

"The trail led Fletcher to North Korea, where he was--" Yahn paused, debating how to frame his words. "...compromised."

"Compromised?" Tom was always so careful. The idea that he could have been compromised was alien to her.

"It happens to all agents sooner or later," Yahn said. "So, protocols were followed."

"Protocols?" Grace narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, 'protocols'?" she asked, although her mind was already forming the answer. Still, she wanted to hear it from Yahn.

"Standard security protocols, Ms. Courbier. Surely you're aware of the fact that the mission is more important than any one agent. No doubt Dawn Patrol has similar protocols in place."

"We do. But you still haven't answered my question. How did Tom die?"

"I told you. When we discovered he was compromised, we followed protocols."

"And those are...?"

"None of your business, Ms. Courbier." He fixed her with a powerful stare. She stared right back, and let a pause develop.

"When will his remains be returned to Paragon City?" she asked, grateful that she and Tom both had their dental records, DNA samples, and fingerprints on file at City Hall. She wouldn't put it past Watchlight to try to pass off some poor schmuck's corpse as Tom's. Tom himself had done the very same thing when he became Dominic Jackson.

"Ms. Courbier, I told you, we are working with North Korean officials and the embassy to see that it's taken care of." His face took on a practiced, but insincere, look of compassion. He patted her hand clinically. "I know you need closure," he said. "I know it's hard to accept--but he's dead, Ms. Courbier. We're doing everything we can."

"You're lying." Grace said, her eyes betraying the anger that was welling up inside her. She took a deep breath and gave Yahn a penetrating stare. "Who is General Wing?" she asked.

For a moment, Yahn's eyes flashed a bit of panic. It was almost imperceptible, but it told Grace enough. "I'm sorry, who?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"General Wing," she said. "My information says he's an official in the Chinese military. What's he doing in North Korea?" Grace pulled a file from a nearby desk drawer and held it up.

Yahn had the look of a man debating whether or not to sacrifice his queen in a game of chess for a chance at evading a checkmate. He looked at Alumette appraisingly. "As far as we can tell from the intel that Fletcher gathered, Wing is the enforcer for the organization producing Vitriol,"

"And that organization is...?"

"We don't know. Tom wasn't able to find out. We still have agents in the field trying to determine that."

Grace nodded. "So, General Wing found out that Tom was after him, somehow?"

Yahn replied, looking a little nervous, "Yes."

"Surely Watchlight has protocols to prevent something like this from happening," she said matter-of-factly. "Were those followed?"

"Ms. Courbier, I assure you, every effort is taken to ensure that our agents have reliable intel from trusted sources when in the field."

"I see. So how did Wing find out about Tom?"

"He was compromised, Ms. Courbier, and we made a command decision to put the mission above the agent, as per protocols."

She leveled her gaze at him, her eyes filled with a power that was ancient and awesome. "You don't know for sure if he's really dead, do you?"

Yahn stared at her, speechless for a few moments. "No, Ms. Courbier, we don't. But as far as we're concerned, he is no longer our responsibility. If he's dead, he's dead. If he's still alive, he's a liability. So to us, he's dead either way."

"Thank you, Agent Yahn," Grace said, getting to her feet and crossing to the door. She held it open. "Have a lovely afternoon."

[Magna Harrier]

Alex King toed the water of the lake, hoping stubbornly, aginst reason, that his mystic heritage would give him some sort of vision within it's swirling depths.

Unless panicked tadpoles were the most important thing in Grace's future, the lake was continuing to be obstinate.

"...and, all things considered, I thought it might be best if I asked you about this. Prophetic dreams are "your bag", right?"

Grace was definetly looking a lot more stable these days, that was certain. Or rather, she had been, until she stopped by MAGI earlier that day, meeting him outside city hall on his way home, asking him if they could talk about Jackson.

All things considered, it was proving to be a tricky proposition.

"Grace... you know I'd love to help. Seriously. And I'm glad you came to talk to me... but I don't know how much help I can offer here. I mean, if I was in contact with you when you had the dream, that might be one thing... but as it is, all I can do is guess."

She gave him a frustrated look. "You're skating the issue, Alex. Do you think Dominic was talking to me through my dreams? If he's till alive, then, maybe..."

Alex hated this part. His reputation in certain circles was impressive.... maybe moreso than he deserved. People expected him to provide some sort of Yoda-esque insight into the realm of magic and dreams... but in truth, his powers were much more limited than that of his mother. Half of it was all educated guesses... and he let her know that.

"I know you and Jackson were close, Grace... and losing him's been hard on you. It's possible you were just... dreaming of someone close to you who you've lost."

Grace was trying to put on a tough face, and it did'nt take telepathy to see how shaky it was.

"Then again... maybe he was reaching you in your sleep. You two share a very strong bond... if you felt like it was really him, then who am I to say yay or nay?"

Grace seemed to brighten. At least a little. Which was little more than he had expected, so score. "He and I are destined to be together, Alex. The goddess..."

Alex rubbed his eyes. "Grace, can we keep the talk about meddling patrons to a minimum this time around? You and Jackson love each other. Seriously... that's enough. You don't need the rubber stamp from soem diety to make love special... it's already unique enough as it is, wherever you find it. "

Alex had been making WAY too many of these speeches lately... it was going to ruin his image. Still, he glanced back over his shoulder, at his house, where his pregnant wife was going through her morning stretches, he forgavve himself. A little.

"Listen, Grace...love is love. It's an ideal worth persuing, even if it never comes to what you want. If you think Jackson is alive, then I suggest you find Agent Yani, or whatever his name was, and beat the information out of him. Stop being so refined, and hesitant, and moping around here while the single heroes of the world look to "ease your pain"... and go find your god damn fiance. He's out there somewhere, alive or dead. You keep telling me how what's-her-face is a goddess of protection.... so go protect what's yours. Otherwise.. what's the point of even putting on the tights?"

[Alumette]

GRACE COURBIER'S PERSONAL JOURNAL

Dominic--Tom--is gone.


The sentence still feels alien in my mind; wrong somehow. But I don't think he's coming back. The hope I held out, that he might still be alive... I don't know; it's still there. I don't think he's really dead. He can't be. I'd know. If nothing else, She'd know. I see him in my dreams... he's trapped somewhere; it's dark, he's uncertain. I can almost feel him building all those walls around himself again. I should have listened to him all those many months ago; when he went into hiding after they firebombed his apartment in Skyway. When he told me not to get involved, not to care. Selfishly, I followed my heart anyway, and I guess so did he. But in the end I hurt him beyond anything I could have imagined. All those defenses he spent years carefully crafting...all those walls in place to protect Tom from Dominic, from the truth, from those who were after him...I selfishly tore them down, naively thinking my love would be enough to protect him. I gave him a false sense of security. I should have trusted his judgment. He is a man who will always be running. His life depends on it.

During the day, I can push it to the back of my mind; his absence becomes small, temporary; a mere circumstance of my busy life. Almost like it was before when we both had the busyness of our work to occupy our time--the price for the blissful treasure of the few moments of domestic life we shared. I try to fill up the time with those things: Dawn Patrol assignments, the cooking show, work for the Foundation. I occupy myself with others' pain, to avoid addressing my own. It feels good to hit the streets again; to settle back into the familiar rhythm of protecting the streets, feeding the hungry, sheltering the poor...giving hope to the hopeless. For once, She is pleased with me. And the joy of bringing Her light to the unfortunate is immeasurable. But when I, Grace, can no longer carry out Her work--when my strong but still human body is tired, is yearning for home--the only thing that fills me is the pressing weight of his absence.

I am starting to forget things... the scent of his cologne is starting to fade from the sheets. The sound of his voice now teases at the edges of my memory, its delicious subtleties fade by the hour: his tone, his laugh, the bitter edge behind the wit.

I miss having someone to just talk to, to just be Grace with. The people I see now, it's all business: people wanting me to make a statement about the homeless in the city, or medical access in third-world countries; people wanting me to promote their kitchen ware or their knives; city hall officials wanting me to file paperwork on my assignments, Dawn Patrol overseas officers asking for data on field hours vs. arrests made...I just don't know anymore.

I'm really grateful for Torrance. He's easy to talk to, he has no expectations, and he's being exceedingly patient. And he has a wisdom about things... a sense of place. I know She likes him. I think I would have gone crazy by now if it hadn't been for him.

I just need to get the Foundation to a place where it can run without me for a few weeks. Thankfully, Aaron (crossed out) Chain Lightning was able to really step up the investigation using his resources at Sterling Wonder. We managed--or rather, he managed--to uncover some pretty extraordinary stuff. He really is something.

Foundation work aside, I also need to get the courage to request an indefinite leave of absence--and an uncertain expense account amount--to go find Tom.

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

KINGS ROW, COURBIER FOUNDATION SHELTER

"...okay, now what's the next step?"

Katie crinkled up her nose and chewed on the end of the pencil. "I'm not sure," she said, staring at the math problem.

"Go slow," Grace encouraged. "You know what to do. Think it through," she smiled a little and pointed to a section of the problem on Katie's paper, giving her a little hint.

Lightbulb. "I divide by two!" Katie said happily.

"That's right, Katie. Good job." Grace gave her a little pat on the back and felt the poor girl's bony shoulderblades through her thin sweater. She frowned. "Katie, finish this problem and then go grab some soup from the line. You must be hungry, as hard as you're working!"

Katie nodded happily and set to work on her math. Grace threaded her way through the small crowd of students, aged 7 to 17, as they worked with tutors. There were even a few of their parents there, working on learning to read or finishing their GED requirements. Many of them smiled at her, having been coming to the shelter regularly since the Courbier Foundation had made improvements to the building and expanded its services to include educational support as well as nourishment and shelter. She scanned through her text messages. There was one from Chain Lightning, updating her on his investigation into the bad bread that had been recently donated by Market's Pride, a new bakery company... and asking her to meet him for coffee, again. She smiled a little. Although his attentions were flattering and it was clear he was keeping a respectful distance, she still missed Dominic terribly. Her fiance was never far from her mind.

As if it were fate, there was another text message from the office in City Hall that was arranging for her upcoming trip to North Korea. The North Korean government was skittish about America sending registered heroes onto its soil, and so Alumette had had to couch her visit in a humanitarian effort. Sadly, the North Korean government was also too proud to admit that almost its entire population was starving. So even that was a difficult angle, but City Hall, and US Senator Filburton, were doing their best. It seemed that a few more puzzle pieces had fallen into place, although she would have to make it down to City Hall to fill out some more forms. She sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

Suddenly her Dawn Patrol comm beeped, on the emergency frequency. Grace's hand flew instinctively to the receiver switch. It was Endless One, Dawn Patrol's new Field Commander since Major Britain's retirement: Every member of Dawn Patrol is to report to the conference room immediately. She sounded strong, but Grace knew her enough to hear the tinge of nervousness behind her voice. If only Shan knew how strong the rest of the team knew she was.

"On my way, Commander. I'm at the shelter. ETA 10 minutes."

With a wave of her hand and a whispered incantation, Grace's jeans and t-shirt melted away to Dawn Patrol blue and white leathers. The kids stared at her wide-eyed.Her identity as a heroine was no secret. The kids had seen her at the shelter in her heroing garb before. Still, it wowed them nonetheless. "Trouble, Ms. Alumette?" one of the older boys asked. Grace had long suspected he was hiding an emerging mutation, but it was too early to tell. "Yes, Tyler," she said. "Hold down the fort," already she was powering up her speed. "You're in charge of the tutoring center and the kitchen until I get back."

She sped towards HQ as fast as the goddess would let her.