Episode 44
Vengeance Out of America - Part II
... from the Files of Hydrogen Guy
11:30 PM EDT, April 2nd
County Road 11, Avalon,
Ontario
A tense standoff. Our heroes - the indefatigable Hydrogen Guy, the idiosyncratic Deuterium Boy, the imperishable Chuck War, and the irrepressible Reaper - face Americana, a peeved and powerful popsy in the red, white and blue. She directs her hard glare at Chuck War, as well as her left arm - recently restored, and now bearing a bolt launcher with two nasty-looking sharp-tipped bolts aimed at Chuck War's throat. She covers the other three with the energy blaster mounted on her right arm.
Chuck War
Aren't you out of your
jurisdiction?
Americana
Democracy is my jurisdiction.
Hydrogen Guy
What are you doing in Canada,
then?
Americana
Stay where you are. Any intervention and
you'll be judged as accomplices.
Deuterium Boy
If you don't want us involved, don't
shoot at us.
Americana
Who are you?
Hydrogen Guy raises an eyebrow.
Hydrogen Guy
Hydrogen Guy, at your service, madam. Over
yonder is Deuterium Boy.
Deuterium Boy
We're friends of Chuck's.
Americana
You can't intimidate me by force, War. That
data belongs to the American government. Hand it over now.
Chuck War
I can't be intimidated by force, either,
Americana.
Deuterium Boy
Good, so there's no point in any more
shooting, right? Right?
Chuck War
What's this about the death of a motorist in
Washington, D.C.?
Americana
Another example of Galactic Custom's
disregard for law and human life, I'd say.
Chuck War
Sure. Pull the other leg, it's got bells
on.
Americana
The Federal District attorney is going to ask
the Government of Canada for your extradition. Tell your alien bureaucracy that
we're not inferior savages to be slaughtered like animals whenever it's
convenient.
Hydrogen Guy
I think someone's watched "Independence
Day" a bit too often.
Americana
Shut up.
Hydrogen Guy
Hey, whoa, let's remember our civility,
okay?
Chuck War
Lemme guess, you'll be willing to negotiate
if I hand over the data, right?
Americana
I don't negotiate with terrorists. But if you
comply, the Court may be lenient.
Chuck War
Don't deviate from the script much, do you?
Except when you lose your temper and a civilian gets in your way.
Reaper
[critical silence]
Deuterium Boy
You tell'er, Reaper.
Americana
Stop wasting my time, War. You won't lose me
again. Give me the data. Now.
Chuck War exchanges glances with Hydrogen Guy. HG shrugs.
Chuck War
Well, I guess I don't have any other choice,
do I?
He drops the pistol on the ground and reaches into his jacket pocket. Pulling out the CD case and backup tape, he holds them up for Americana to see. She gestures for him to place them on the ground and back away. Chuck complies.
She steps forward and crouches to pick up the objects, carefully keeping her weapon trained on Chuck War and the others. She grabs the stuff, stands and fires.
With super-atomic speed, Deuterium Boy knocks Chuck War out of the bolt's path. But even so, he's not quite fast enough - the bolt plunges through his own right shoulder. Deuterium Boy yelps as he and Chuck War hit the ground.
Hydrogen Guy and Reaper spring towards her, weapons drawn. Americana leaps a three meters into the air from standing, and they only catch a glimpse of her satisfied smirk as she fires up her jet-pack and streaks away into the night.
Hydrogen Guy
Dammit! Where are those Vikings when I
need them?!
Chuck War
Hydrogen Guy!
He turns and races over to where Chuck kneels over Deuterium Boy. The isotopic avenger lies on the side of the road, Americana's crossbow bolt protruding from just below his right shoulder.
Hydrogen Guy
Great Feynman's Ghost!
Deuterium Boy
I'm okay. It didn't hurt after the first
second or so...
Hydrogen Guy
There's hardly any blood
either...
Chuck War
The bolt is coated with analgesics and
coagulants. I don't think killing's its primary purpose...
Deuterium Boy
Well, you could've fooled me...
Hydrogen Guy
Stay where you are, you still might go
into shock.
Deuterium Boy
I know that, I'm the one with first aid,
remember?
Chuck War
Look at this...
He points to a point of the shaft just above where it protrudes from DB's body. There appears to be some kind of mechanism attached to it.
Hydrogen Guy
What is it?
Chuck War
This isn't just a crossbow bolt, it's an
implant grenade. It's meant to stay inside the body. It's got about 100 grams of
plastic explosives packed inside the shaft, a few sensors, and a timer. If
anyone tries to pull it out, boom. If it's not deactivated by a radio signal
within 18 hours, boom.
Deuterium Boy
I don't like the boom.
Chuck War
No one within a 12 meter radius is gonna like
the boom.
Deuterium Boy
Sorry, I'm thinking about me right
now.
Hydrogen Guy
Damn it! Next time I say we don't be so
gentlemanly, and gang up to beat the stuffing out of her.
Reaper
[concurring silence]
Chuck War
Not without reinforcements.
Hydrogen Guy
I guess this is Americana's idea of
insurance, huh?
Chuck War
Yeah. When she finds out that tape and CD are
empty, this is gonna be her bargaining chip.
Deuterium Boy
Why am I always the one who gets
shot?
Hydrogen Guy
Maybe your Cosmic Pie has it in for
you.
Deuterium Boy
That isn't funny.
Hydrogen Guy
I never say anything funny. All right, we
can be in Ottawa in a couple hours. I'll put in a call to the League dispatch
and have a couple reservists meet us at the Sparrow's place. I know one who's a
doctor. DB, can you walk, do you think?
Deuterium Boy
I feel like I can... how much can I move
before this thing explodes, though?
Chuck War
It should be all right, unless you start
yanking on it.
Deuterium Boy
Ha ha... super. Okay, let's
go...
Hydrogen Guy and Chuck War gingerly help him to his feet, an the group resumes their way to the War Rig.
2:57 AM EDT, April 3rd
The Sparrow's Loft,
Ottawa, Ontario
Chuck War comes down the stairs into the abandoned monastery's central atrium, where the others have set up a command centre. Hydrogen Guy and Reaper, now dressed again in his comfortably familiar black cloak, have hooked up the portable generator, lights, and a lap top computer from the War Rig. Deuterium Boy sits at a round table nearby, with two eccentric-looking strangers. These, Chuck thinks to himself, must be the reservists.
The world suffers from a capricious allotment of super-powers. Some, such as the Diatomic Duo or Captain Toronto, find themselves with full suites of powerful abilities far beyond those of mortal persons. But others find themselves with only a small amount of the installation - perhaps one or two unusual abilities, useful only in unusual circumstances, or in combination with other powers that they do not possess. Sure, the ability to turn yourself into a horse may be cool and all - but who needs a horse?
People in this situation may become reservists in the League of Heroes - not full-fledged heroes themselves, but available to be called upon by full-fledged league members should the need arise.
The need having arisen, Chuck takes stock of the individuals before him. They remind him strongly of characters from a fantasy novel - a party of adventurers had stopped by, and apparently left behind their dwarf and ogre. The "ogre" is a strapping man a good two inches taller, and broader, than Chuck himself, an impressive feat as Chuck War is no small individual himself. The man is completely bald, lacking even eyebrows. He is dressed in jeans, a T-shirt proclaiming his allegiance to a local brewery, and a leather jacket. The other man, the "dwarf", may lack in height - he comes up only to the middle of Chuck's chest - but he makes up for it in hair. The hair on his head is full and wild, but not unkempt; he has a full, bushy beard, and his single eyebrow looks as if a large caterpillar had fallen asleep on his forehead. He is dressed in grey slacks and a pressed white shirt, as if he had been called away from the office, his only concession to the absurd time of day being his lack of jacket and tie. Beside him is a black doctor's bag.
Hydrogen Guy
What's the word, Chuck?
Chuck War
This is a good place. Built solid, defensible
- I wonder who the monks thought they had to defend themselves from. Sparrow'd
already blocked off most of the additional entrances, but we'll have to secure
one on the west side, and then one in the basement. There's no way to get in
from the river side. There's plenty of places to set up snipers.
Hydrogen Guy
So in other words, we can bunker down
until GC shows up, if we have to.
Chuck War
Yeah. Though there has to be some other way
to get out of this...
Hydrogen Guy
Let me make the introductions. Chuck War,
Dr. Joseph "Medusa Joe" Clingwater, a surgeon at CHEO I worked with last year on
the Von Bunbury case.
The short man springs to his feet and pumps Chuck War's hand.
Medusa Joe
Howdy, Chuck. My specialty's hair.
Chuck War
You're a hair surgeon?
Medusa Joe
Heh heh heh... no, no, my super-power. I can
grow and contract my hair at will. Allow me to demonstrate.
He closes his eyes and twitches his nose. Like it had a life of its own, his hair and beard suddenly start growing by the foot. When they stop, Joe and Chuck War are surrounded by what must be feet upon pounds upon gallons of bushy brow hair.
Chuck War
Holy -- how the hell does that
work?
Medusa Joe
Beats me. Been able to do it since I was a
kid.
Chuck War
Puberty must've been interesting.
Medusa Joe
Hey, I was popular. I was the only kid in
eighth grade with a decent mustache.
He twitches again and the hair begins to recede. In a second he's resumed his normal appearance.
Medusa Joe
It's not that useful for fighting crime,
I'll admit. But when it works, I get a kick out of it.
Chuck War
Huh.
Hydrogen Guy
And the garrulous chap to your right is
Gash. This is our first meeting.
Chuck War
Hey.
Gash
Hey. Invulnerability.
Chuck War
Really?
Gash
Uh huh. One hundred percent. Ain't nothing that's
broken my skin yet, and I've been through a lot. The only thing about me that
ain't invulnerable is my hair and fingernails, cause they're dead tissue.
Chuck War
Pretty handy.
Gash
[shrugs] Yeah. Been through a couple car crashes,
a train wreck, had a bomb dropped right on toppa me once. I never get sick,
cause viruses can't pierce my cells and my immune system kicks the crap outta
everything. Ain't ever had a shot, cause there ain't a needle made that can
pierce my skin. If I ever do get sick, though, I'm a goner. Can't operate on me,
either.
Deuterium Boy
You have no idea how jealous of you I
am.
Chuck War
How you doing?
Deuterium Boy
I feel fine. Joe can tell you the rest of
it.
Medusa Joe
I had a look at'im. Basically, what you told
him was right - that thing's not coming out. It's shot some kind of fibres into
his body, pretty deep, too. Even if we could disarm the bomb, removing it would
be akin to deboning a fish. Sorry, Deuterium Boy.
Chuck War
Huh. Must be carbon nano-wires, or something
similar. I'd heard the Thyrix used something like that in implant grenades, but
I wasn't aware Earth technology could do it yet.
Hydrogen Guy
Maybe they can't.
Medusa Joe
Blows me how weapons like this are even
allowed, though.
Chuck War
They're not, as far as I know, but
Americana's not a stickler about the Geneva Convention. No sign of the little
darling yet?
Hydrogen Guy
Nope. She must have gone back to her
masters at the No Such Agency.
Deuterium Boy
Or maybe she wants us to sweat a
little.
Chuck War
Whatever. Jeez, what time is it? Three
o'clock? Okay. I've got some extra sleeping bags in the Rig --
Hydrogen Guy
You have everything in there, don't
you?
Chuck War
Just the essentials. HG, you and I will take
the first watch, while the rest of you get some sleep.
Deuterium Boy
I'll take the first watch.
Hydrogen Guy
Are you sure, DB? After what you've gone
through.
Deuterium Boy
Sure. I brought the "Hydrogen Cave:
Elemental Fury" along, I'll play it on Chuck's laptop.
Hydrogen Guy
You and me it is, Chuck.
9:22 AM EDT, April 3rd
Hydrogen Guy bounds into the atrium - or, as moves with the closest approximation to a bound that someone who'd had four hours sleep can manage - carrying two paper bags. Reaper, who had been manning the entrance in anticipation of his return, glides along behind him with a tray of styrofoam cups.
Hydrogen Guy
Hey ho! Caffeine and McMuffins for
everybody!
Medusa Joe
I'll pass, I prefer my arteries
unhardened.
Hydrogen Guy
Man cannot live on coffee alone, my good
doctor. Grease is good for the soul.
He passes out the cups and McWrappers. Medusa Joe, looking considerably more rumpled, puts down his newspaper and takes his coffee gleeful. Chuck War and Gash, locked in a fierce struggle over a chessboard, do not look up as they receive their goods. Deuterium Boy pauses his game and devotes himself to breakfast.
Hydrogen Guy
How's the patient?
Medusa Joe
Wearing thin.
Hydrogen Guy
"Patient", not "patience".
Medusa Joe
The wound's starting to weep a bit. He
should start to feel some discomfort in the next few hours.
Hydrogen Guy
At least until 11:30, presumably after
which he will cease to feel the troubles of baser clay.
Deuterium Boy
Actually, I anticipate a great deal of
discomfort when I'm blown to smithereens.
Medusa Joe
[points to HG] Make sure you have this
bastard locked in a brotherly embrace at the time. He deserves it for keeping me
up half the night.
Hydrogen Guy
How are you feeling, DB?
Deuterium Boy
Not bad, all things considered. I just
wish Americana would do something.
Hydrogen Guy
Same here. We're going to have to get
proactive within the hour if we don't hear anything. Speaking of which,
shouldn't you be keeping the computer free in case she tries to contact
us?
Deuterium Boy
It's okay, I'm in single player mode. The
outside line's free. Joe, can you pass me a napkin?
Medusa Joe
The bag's two feet in front of you, you lazy
ass.
Deuterium Boy
I'm mortally wounded!
Hydrogen Guy
I think someone's milking this for all
it's worth.
Deuterium Boy
Your collective bedside manner leaves a
lot to be desired... Reaper, is there any Coke left in the cooler?
Reaper
[unmentionable silence]
Deuterium Boy
Et tu, Morte?
Medusa Joe
Point of clarification...
Hydrogen Guy
Hm?
Medusa Joe
Is there a good reason you can't use your
hydrogen chemical voodoo to make this explosive inert?
Hydrogen Guy
That's an excellent question, one I've
been wrestling with for hours. First thing is, the plastic explosive in the bolt
actually contains a lot less hydrogen than you might expect. Chemically, it's
predominantly nitrogen and phosphorous. Second thing is, even if I can move
enough atoms around to make a difference, I'm not sure my control is fine enough
not to cause a massively exothermic reaction in the process. And that's exactly
what we're trying to avoid.
He polishes off the last of his breakfast and lobs the wrapper at Reaper's noggin. Reaper, in top form as always, deflects it with his scythe without any noticeable movement of muscles.
Hydrogen Guy
It's one thing making acid from air and
water vapour, quite another for delicate chemical transmutation like this.
There's a lotta energy in those chemical bonds, and you have to be careful about
breaking them.
Medusa Joe
Yeah, I figured that was way too simple an
answer. If you could work that kind of miracle, you could go into medicine and
make a mint.
Hydrogen Guy
Or go to Tennessee and start a
religion.
The whole group starts as the laptop beeps loudly. Chuck War and Gash leap from their seats and rush to the computer, their contest suspended.
Hydrogen Guy
Is that the game?
Chuck War
It's the GC comm link. That's either
Americana or my backup.
Hydrogen Guy
DB, get behind Man Mountain there. If it's
here, I don't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.
Deuterium Boy
Get over it.
Chuck War taps at the keyboard, deaf to Deuterium Boy's protests over closing the game, and pops open a QuickTime window. Americana's face, backed by an office of some kind, looks back at them. She smiles, reminding Hydrogen Guy of a shark.
Americana
Good morning, gentlemen.
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
[sing-song voices]
Good Mor-ning, Miss Dan-dey!
Reaper
[raspberry]
Americana
I appreciate a good joke as much as the next
girl, gentlemen, but enough is enough. Where's the data, Mr. War?
Chuck War
Oh, "Mister", is it now? Decided you can
catch more flies with honey?
Hydrogen Guy
There's only one transmission we want to
receive from you, Americana, and that's the one that disarms the implant grenade
lodged in my partner's chest.
Her smile fades.
Americana
Hydrogen Guy, I deeply regret having to use a
weapon like that, but I didn't see myself as having a choice at the time. This
is a vital issue of national and global security.
Deuterium Boy
If you regret it so much, turn it
off!
Americana
I'm sorry. Deuterium Boy - I can't. I owe you
that much to tell you to your face. But unless Chuck War sends the data back to
me, or the appropriate authorities at the U.S. embassy, I have to let the timer
run. Again, I'm sorry.
Chuck War
I don't negotiate with terrorists,
Americana.
She smirks briefly.
Americana
Not even to save Deuterium Boy's
life?
Chuck War
I'm not the one endangering it.
Americana
We both are, I'll admit it. Look, War, all
you have to do is give us the data! Keep a copy for GC, share it with the
Canadians, I don't care! Look, you've been following this mess in China over the
spy-plane? We metahumans are supposed to set an example for the rest of
humanity. Why don't we?
Hydrogen Guy had a crawling feeling on the back of his neck. He hated the tendency of many superheroes - predominantly American ones - to refer to themselves and each other as "metahumans" - implying, he thought, that they were somehow "beyond" the average human. No one who knew the details of this mess, he thought, could ever seriously consider that.
Chuck War
Do I have to remind that all of Earth's
governments, yours included, have agreed for the present to defer to Galactic
Customs on any --
Americana
Okay, okay, enough. This isn't getting us
anywhere, and the rates on this GC channel aren't exactly Sprint's
"dime-a-minute", you know. Talk amongst yourselves, come up with a
reasonable offer, and I'll meet Hydrogen Guy on top of the Westin Hotel
at 10:30 sharp. Alone.
Hydrogen Guy raised his eyebrows in surprise. Chuck War and Deuterium Boy both looked at him. Ignoring the ever-strengthening crawling feeling, he nodded his assent.
Hydrogen Guy
I'd be charmed. You bring the picnic, I'll
bring the wine.
Americana
Over and out.
Her image winks out, and is replaced by the crest of the U.S. State Department. Chuck War closes the window, and turns to Hydrogen Guy.
Chuck War
This has "bad idea" scrawled all over it in
red marker. You're not going alone.
Deuterium Boy
Damn straight.
Hydrogen Guy
Don't even consider it, pin cushion. If it
gets rough, the bolt could get banged around and go off. Anyway, by that time
you may be going into emergency surgery and demolitions disposal with Joe and
Chuck.
Gash
I'll go.
Hydrogen Guy
Good man, Gash. You'll go far in this
organization.
Deuterium Boy
Speaking of emergency
surgery...
Medusa Joe
Chuck, if I open the wound up, do you have
the expertise to disarm the bomb?
Chuck War
Depends what we find when we go in, I guess.
Assuming I can find all the motion sensors, I can deactivate them. The timer
won't be that hard, unless it's hard core alien tech.
Hydrogen Guy
So once it's disarmed, then what? You
debone the fish?
Medusa Joe
Nothing that subtle. I'll yank it out by
force and stabilize him enough to get'im to a decent hospital.
Deuterium Boy
I did NOT need to hear that!
Medusa Joe
You just hope I have enough local anesthetic
in my baggy. Failing that, I'm sure Chuck has a bullet you can bite.
Chuck War
Okay crew, enough chatter. Let's get
ready.
As the group moves off to their prearranged tasks, Hydrogen Guy catches Chuck War's arm.
Hydrogen Guy
Chuck...
Chuck War
I know what you're going to say. I'm sorry,
HG, we can't give her the data. If you knew what was on the CD, you'd agree that
this info does not belong in the hands of anyone on Earth.
Hydrogen Guy
Well, maybe that's what's frustrating me,
Chuck. If I DID know what was on the CD, I might be able to sound a bit more
convincing when I take the hard line with her. But staying in the dark like
this, I'm wondering if this bloody thing is worth David's life.
Chuck War
Look, you agree with the wisdom of keeping
Earth isolated from the rest of the galaxy, right?
Hydrogen Guy
Sure. I grew up watching "Star Trek".
Prime Directive, the Columbus effect, all of that. And I sure as hell don't want
some of the technology you use in the hands of any of the world's current
superpowers.
Chuck War
The stuff they give me is outdated,
too.
Hydrogen Guy
But Chuck, what's this data? Plans for a
warp drive, an orbital mass driver? If we're going through all this just over
some blurry camcorder shots of a UFO some guy shot in his backyard...
Chuck War
Let me just say that if the people
Americana's shilling for got hold of this stuff, you'd never be able to look up
at the sky without feeling fear again. Okay?
Hydrogen Guy
So it's Cthulhu's genome?
Chuck War
HG, promise me you'll toe the line on this. I
know it's asking a lot, but the Fate of the World depends on it.
Hydrogen Guy
All I can promise you is that I'll do what
I can, as far as truth, silliness and the Canadian Way goes. And I'll remember
that Gash can beat the tar out of me.
Chuck War
Good man.
Office of the Ambassador, Embassy of the United States of America, Ottawa
Americana cut the transmission. She turns to her audience.
The U.S. Ambassador is here, along with the Embassy's nervous-looking Chief of Operations, Gerald Wainwright. The two other people in the room - one man, one woman - are dark suited members of an organization that everyone knows exists but no one will admit to.
Agent #1
That could have gone worse.
Agent #2
Could've gone a lot better, too.
Americana
Is the Emergency Response System
ready?
The Chief of Operations fidgets.
Wainwright
The, uh... it takes a direct order from the
President before that can be used. The Embassy's brand new, I --
Ambassador
I'm afraid that Americana has a carte
blanche from the President, Gerald.
Wainwright
How is that possible?
Agent #2
You're not permitted to ask that question, Mr.
Wainwright.
Wainwright
I'll, uh... make sure everyone's out of the
building.
Ambassador
I hope you know what you're doing,
miss.
Americana
I'm sure Hydrogen Guy hopes so as well, Mr.
Ambassador.
She turns in the chair to look out the window. She looks out at Confederation Boulevard, across to the glass arches of the National Art Museum.
Americana
Nice view.
She smiles pleasantly. Mr. Wainwright is not in the least reassured.
10:29 AM EDT,
Top of the Westin Hotel,
Ottawa
Hydrogen Guy
Comfy?
Gash
No.
Hydrogen Guy looks out over the city of Ottawa. From 24 stories up, he can see all of the major landmarks - Parliament, the Chateau Laurier, the National Art Gallery, the Rideau Canal - and of course, the American Embassy. Hideous thing, he thinks. An enormous grey box, low to the ground, looking something like a cross between a battleship and a nuclear power plant, particularly with the odd tapered octagonal cap on the roof that looked remarkably like a cooling tower, or something that you launched missiles from. Surrounding the building is a seven-foot piked fence. The only apparent concession to aesthetics (or what the architect believed was aesthetics, anyway) was an attempt at a sculpture on southwest side; he had heard it was supposed to represent the prow of a ship, but it looked like nothing much more than a flying stick. Trust the Americans, he muses, to build an embassy like a fortress in what was probably the friendliest country on Earth to them.
Gash is spared looking at this architectural disaster, owing to the fact that he has crammed himself between an air conditioning unit and a bit of apparently superfluous masonry. A tight squeeze for his considerable size, but he remains hidden from view.
A reflection catches Hydrogen Guy's eye - light glinting off of a piece of body armor.
Hydrogen Guy
Here she comes. Try to rein in that
constant chatter of yours, will you?
Gash
You better hope I can get outta here if you need
me.
Hydrogen Guy looked up, watching Americana descend onto the roof in front of him. As she touches down and kills the hover-jets, he walks towards her, and assumes a stance like a gun-fighter. His hand stays away from the Ruler of Elendil, but it is there, visible in its scabbard.
Americana approaches him confidently. She extends her right hand.
Americana
Hydrogen Guy. This is the way we should have
met in the first place, rather than with me threatening you like
criminals.
He warily takes her hand. She has a firm grip. In actual fact, the hand and most of the arm he is shaking is largely artificial, and could crush his easily.
Hydrogen Guy
I'm fairly big on rooftop-detentes,
myself. I should tell you about my trip to New York someday.
Americana
Maybe after this is sorted out. Time's
running short. What do you have for me?
Hydrogen Guy
You're not going to like it.
Americana
Oh, not you too?
Hydrogen Guy
Sorry. That data's too dangerous for any
government on Earth to have.
Americana
Don't tell me you feel more comfortable
letting Galactic Customs decide what's best for us?
Hydrogen Guy
Actually, yes I do.
Americana
God, you people love your
bureaucracies!
Hydrogen Guy
I suppose so. It's just that GC, really,
wants nothing to do with developing worlds, and wants to make sure no one else
does either. I agree with that.
Americana
Don't you think the free governments of Earth
should be able to make those decisions on their own?
Hydrogen Guy
No offense, but I don't trust the United
States to act responsibly about global matters. Does the name "Kyoto" ring a
bell?
Americana
Touché. But, taking that as an
example, don't you think it's better we find a way to sort out our environmental
problems ourselves, rather than have some extraterrestrial officials come and
impose a solution on us?
Hydrogen Guy
Two entirely different cases, my dear. We
know how to deal with greenhouse gases. Extraterrestrial contact and technology
we don't. You saw how people dealt with something as trivial as a rollover in
the calendar. We're not ready for it.
Americana
Personally I agree. But I don't think it's
anyone's right to decide that but ours.
Hydrogen Guy
But you don't want "us" to decide. You
want a shadowy organization with a bad reputation in your government to decide
for you.
Americana
I prefer that to a shadowy organization with
no reputation at all from another planet.
Hydrogen Guy
You make some good points. But I can't
give you the data.
Americana
Hydrogen Guy! Your partner's life is
at stake!
Hydrogen Guy
Thanks to you! I'm not the one
holding him hostage! That's all you! There's nothing stopping you from shrugging
your shoulders, admitting it's a fair cop, and sending the deactivation
signal.
Americana
Nothing but an oath I swore to defend my
country from outside menaces, Hydrogen Guy. I'm sorry that Deuterium Boy got
caught in the middle, but I can't back down. That bolt was meant for War, if it
means anything to you.
Hydrogen Guy
Okay, then how about you deactivate DB's
bolt, and come back to our place and you can shoot another one at
Chuck.
Americana
Ha ha. Nice try, but no. Hydrogen Guy, do you
even know what that data is? Do you know how unimportant the information
is that Deuterium Boy is dying for?
Hydrogen Guy
If it's so unimportant, why not just let
it go?
Americana
Because it's important to us. It's Air
Force film of extraterrestrial spacecraft seen in various points around the
U.S...
Blurry camcorder shots of a UFO some guy shot in his backyard, thinks Hydrogen Guy.
Americana
There's been some debate that this might be
scout missions as a prelude to an invasion. As you know, GC's mandate only
covers trade, if some alien force wanted to occupy us, they couldn't stop it. So
you see, this information means nothing to GC, but it might mean everything to
humanity.
Hydrogen Guy
I heard a slightly different version of
the story.
Americana
War told you something to scare you, is that
it? Told you about the horrors that the bad Americans would unleash on everyone
who doesn't buy enough Nike products from Wal-Mart?
Hydrogen Guy
He put it a bit more eloquently.
Americana
I'm being ironic.
Hydrogen Guy
No, you were being sarcastic. What is it
about this city that promotes a misidentification of irony?
Americana
What I'm trying to tell you is that War has a
stake in making sure I don't get that data. Whereas you and Deuterium Boy have a
stake in making sure I do.
Hydrogen Guy stares out over the Rideau Canal. The water is still low this time of year, and it looks muddy.
Hydrogen Guy
You're acting awfully reasonable all of a
sudden.
Americana
What are you talking about?
Hydrogen Guy
It seems as if you've decided that the
homicidal intimidate-the-bejeezus-out-of-us approach isn't working, so you'll
try to sway who you consider the weak link in the chain with selective pieces of
logic.
Americana
You make me sound like some kind of
sociopath.
Hydrogen Guy
I'm just -- OOF!
As Hydrogen Guy and Americana had debated, Gash found himself growing ever less comfortable. While keeping one steady eye on the Enemy, he found that he could stretch his legs out one at a time behind the air conditioner in such a way as not to be visible. Should Americana move in such a way that she might be able to spot it, he drew his leg back. However, he neglected to watch Hydrogen Guy, trusting that he would be intelligent enough not to exclaim "Oh look! A leg!" should he spot him.
However, during the course of this last speech, Hydrogen Guy had begun to pace a bit about the roof. So intent was Gash on keeping tabs on Americana, that he neglected to watch Hydrogen Guy's progress; and so intent was Hydrogen Guy on his witty, insightful argument, that he failed to notice Gash's leg.
In short, he tripped.
Gash tried to pull his leg back in, but Hydrogen Guy sprawling across it made this difficult. They try to disentangle themselves, but not quickly enough.
Americana rounds the corner to see Hydrogen Guy scrambling to his feet. She pushes him aside, and reaching between the building and the air conditioner, she hauls Gash out and lifts him up like a recalcitrant puppy.
Americana
A spy.
Hydrogen Guy
Er... no fresh towels just now, my good
man, although we will be wanting something from room service in a bit. I must
say I'm impressed with the service at this hotel.
Americana glares at him.
Americana
I specifically instructed you to come
alone.
Hydrogen Guy
Oh, you meant alone alone? Oh
ah.
Americana
I will not tolerate SPIES!
Putting her back into it, she hurls Gash off the roof. She fires another icy glare at Hydrogen Guy, and her hover-jets come to life. Rising into the air like a goddess scorned, she delivers a parting shot.
Americana
I will not be taken for a fool, Hydrogen Guy.
You want reasonable? I'll give you some very reasonable arguments you'll
never forget.
She spins and blasts off in the direction of the Embassy.
Hydrogen Guy
Damn.
Traffic on Colonel By Drive, which runs beside the Canal and directly past the Westin, has come to a sudden and confused halt. Hydrogen Guy arrives on the scene just as Chuck War, Deuterium Boy, Medusa Joe and Reaper do, leaping out of the War Rig pointed the wrong way down the left hand lane.
Hydrogen Guy
What are you doing here? Why aren't you
all in surgery?
Deuterium Boy
Reaper started doing his Lassie routine,
we figured you needed help.
Reaper
[urgent silence]
Chuck War
It didn't go well?
Hydrogen Guy looked down at the unconscious Gash, who had landed in the middle of the road, making about a half centimeter impression in the pavement.
Hydrogen Guy
Just like all my lunch dates. We chatted a
bit, I fell for her, she tossed off another guy and left angry. He
okay?
Medusa Joe was on his knees, poking and prodding Gash's back, and periodically listening. He raised his eyebrow incredulously.
Medusa Joe
Perfect. Think he got the wind knocked out
of 'im. I'll bet it hurts like a bitch, though.
Deuterium Boy
Cool, he really is
invulnerable.
A small crowd of people, of varying degrees of curiosity and pique, had formed around them. An authoritative voice was calling out for them to make way, and a member of the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police elbows his way to the front.
Policeman
All right, what the hell's going on
here?
Hydrogen Guy
This chap was thrown off the building by
his girlfriend. Lover's quarrel, nothing in it, really.
Policeman
Hydrogen Guy. You mind telling me what this
is all about? I gotta three-car rear-ender back there and a guy who says Stone
Cold Steve Austin nearly fell on his cab. Hey, that your truck?
Chuck War
Yeah.
Policeman
Move it!
Gash
Uhhh... sonofabitch...
Medusa Joe and Hydrogen Guy kneel and help Gash get to his knees. He shakes his head groggily, then waves off further help.
Policeman
Oh, it's you. Gash, is it? What the
hell were you thinkin'?
Gash
'scuzeme?
He gets to his feet.
Policeman
Jesus Christ, you superheroes!
He does a double, then a triple-take as he spots first Deuterium Boy with a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest, and then Reaper, looming silently and ominously.
Policeman
It's like an SCA weekend on crack.
10:50 AM EDT
Lobby, Embassy of the United
States of America
Americana pushes guards aside and storms into the embassy. The two agents rush to meet her.
Agent #1
Negative?
Americana
You bet your sweet ass, it's negative. I'm
going to the control center.
The agent yanks a walky-talky to his mouth.
Agent #1
Engage ERS preliminaries. Thirty
seconds.
Agent #2
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! EMERGENCY POSTS! WE ARE
GOING TO ERS MODE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!
Americana disappears into an elevator. Lights start flashing, sirens whoop, people in and out of uniform scurry around like beetles.
Something in the basement rumbles.
Policeman
Listen, you people have to act a little
more responsibly. You can't just go throwin' yourself off buildings whenever it
pleases you! What if you hit somebody, huh? What if some kid saw you?
Gash glares at him. He winces as he plucks a piece of asphalt off his skin.
Policeman
You may be invulnerable, but what if some
dumb-ass kid throws himself off a thirty-story building thinking he can do it
too, huh?
Hydrogen Guy
It's only 24 stories.
Policeman
You think it matters? "Gee Billy, we can't
jump off this 30-story building, it's six stories too tall." Honestly, you
people are role models, God only knows why, you should start acting like it. You
gonna move that truck, or do I have to run the whole bunch of ya in?
Hydrogen Guy
Officer, I'm really sorry about this.
We...
Gash
Holy shit...
Hydrogen Guy follows his gaze past the policeman's shoulder and his jaw drops. The other stare, shocked. A deadly hush falls over the crowd. The policeman just looks at Hydrogen Guy impatiently.
Deuterium Boy
Uh... Jim...
Hydrogen Guy
Yeah. Uh... yeah.
Policeman
Well?
Hydrogen Guy
Sorry, officer, can't talk now. The U.S.
Embassy is transforming into a giant robot.
With super-atomic speed, Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy sprint the two blocks to the corner of Sussex and George, a millisecond before the cop could start spluttering and ask him if he's off his rocker.
Unfortunately, he wasn't. The blocky, fortress-like Embassy building had somehow pulled itself up from its foundations, and was slowly rising to stand erect. The building had split like a kind of fiendish Chinese puzzle box, the individual blocks arranging themselves into arms, legs, and a torso. The octagonal cap had shifted to become a head, now sporting a bank of laser cannons which suggested eyes. The stick-like sculpture now dangled from an enormously thick chain, fifteen stories above the city street, dangling from an arm as long as a city block like a gigantic flail, the sculpture itself now enveloped by a glowing violet force field. The behemoth stands a good ten floors taller than the Westin.
Deuterium Boy
What did you SAY to her?!!
Hydrogen Guy
Um... "No"?
Deuterium Boy
When we were ten, this would've been
really cool.
Hydrogen Guy
Yeah, but when we were ten, "Ambassatron"
would've been six inches high.
The War Rig screeched up behind them, sirens blaring. Medusa Joe and Reaper leaped out, and Gash and Chuck War leaned out the window. The behemoth stood perfectly still, for the moment, standing astride the now-empty foundations of the former Embassy. Tourists ran screaming everywhere. Hydrogen Guy couldn't help but notice a lot of them seemed to be Japanese.
Hydrogen Guy
Is that *possible* with Earth
technology?
Chuck War
NO!
Hydrogen Guy
Didn't think so. You didn't bring the
mecha suits, did you?
Chuck War
Left the trailer behind! I gotta back-up, but
it voids my warranty. Gash --
They pull their heads back in the cab. Chuck War speaks quickly, gesturing; Gash nods. Chuck calls "Stand back!", and Gash hits a little-used switch in the glove compartment.
The War Rig practically leaps into the air as it seems to split apart, and reassemble itself into another, much smaller robot. Chuck War is still visible through the canopy, now in the robot's chest; he and Gash are sitting back to back. Chuck War's voice booms out over a speaker in the robot's (rather familiar) head.
Chuck War
I don't known what I'm gonna be able to do
with this; annoy it, maybe.
Deuterium Boy
Woo! Go, Chuckimus Prime!
Jump-jets on the War Robot's legs fire and it takes to the air. Hydrogen Guy looks around, taking stock.
Hydrogen Guy
Great Feynman's Ghost. I can't think of a
worse place for this to happen. Is there anything around here that isn't
an priceless national treasure?
The giant robot continued to stand absolutely still; perhaps picking its target. Immediately behind the Embassy was the castle-like Ministry of National Revenue; next door to that, the Chateau Laurier. Directly in front of the Embassy is the all-glass National Gallery of Canada, housing hundreds of irreplaceable artworks. Next to that, the Notre Dame Cathedral Basilica. The Parliament buildings were just a short distance to the west.
Hydrogen Guy
And it's just a block from the Earl of
Sussex. That's one of the best pubs around here!
Medusa Joe
What the hell is that idiot doing?
Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy suddenly realize that Reaper is no longer with him. They spot him, scythe strapped across his back, climbing up the Ambassatron's leg.
Hydrogen Guy
REAPER! Are you out of your ever-lovin'
mind?!
He turned and waved, then continued climbing.
Deuterium Boy
HG, we have to do something.
The giant creaked and began to move. As the War Robot circled around behind it, it started turning, raising the sculpture-force-flail.
Medusa Joe
It's going for the Gallery.
Hydrogen Guy
DB, you remember last week, that
conversation we had at the Dewdney Perk?
Deuterium Boy
Now's not the time for your latest crush,
HG.
Hydrogen Guy
No, the other thing!
Deuterium Boy
The water figure?
Hydrogen Guy
Let's get to the river. C'mon, Joe, keep
up if you can!
Meanwhile, the War Robot had circled around in front of the giant. Ambassatron swatted at it with its free hand. It dodges easily, brings up the super-sized Argon Blast Cannon and opened fire. Chuck wasn't the least surprised to see it had actual space-grade armoring. Ambassatron returns fire with its eye lasers, sending the War Robot dodging its red beams of death.
Reaper clings onto the back of Ambassatron's knee for dear life, hoping it wouldn't try a sudden crane kick. If he could just make it to the torso...
At the bank of the Ottawa River, at the mouth of the Rideau Canal, Hydrogen Guy, Deuterium Boy and a heavily panting Medusa Joe could still see the battle's progress without difficulty. Each lurching step of the Ambassatron brought it closer to opening up on the nation's cultural heritage, but the War Robot was doing all it could to keep it back. But that was like a large horsefly doing the best it could to stop an advancing wild boar.
Hydrogen Guy
It's our only chance, DB. How else can we
engage the damn thing on an equal footing?
Deuterium Boy
There's no way in hell we could call up
something that big, let alone control it! The energy drain would kill
us!
Medusa Joe
Mind if I ask what the hell you two are
talking about.
Hydrogen Guy pointed to the water.
Hydrogen Guy
Right there. A thousand tonnes of
oxygenated hydrogen.
Deuterium Boy
HG's suggesting we pool our powers to
create a water behemoth that can wrassle that monster.
Medusa Joe's eyes widen.
Medusa Joe
Can you do that?
Hydrogen Guy
I'm betting we can.
Deuterium Boy
HG, you've never made a water figure
bigger than your hand!
Hydrogen Guy
In a nutshell - DB and I were discussing
ways we could use our powers most effectively. Water is 67 atomic-% hydrogen,
and the main binding between water molecules is the hydrogen bond. In theory it
should be possible for us to create a humanoid figure out of water and control
it like a puppet.
Medusa Joe
But the size you're talking about
--
Hydrogen Guy
This isn't surgical work like disarming
the explosive, this is pure grunt work! All it requires is power! On our own, DB
and I could never make and control something that big. BUT -- I think if I can
twig the compounds in the implant grenade to go off --
Deuterium Boy & Medusa Joe
WHAT?!
Hydrogen Guy
-- and with proper concentration we should
be able to absorb the explosive energy into our hydrogen fields! That'll give us
the extra boost we need to make the Water Behemoth possible!
Deuterium Boy
It'll never work! We screw this up, and
I'm strawberry jelly!
Hydrogen Guy
We can do it, DB! We've never tested the
limits of our abilities like this before.
He glanced up. Ambassatron was looming over the Gallery, it's reflection plainly visible in the glass. The War Robot was directing its full fire at the head, apparently trying to take out its brain or optical sensors.
Hydrogen Guy
What else are we gonna do?
Deuterium Boy
Well -- I'm jelly in [glances at his
watch] twenty minutes anyway. Make it so, Geordi.
Hydrogen Guy
Excellent! C'mon, wade in...
They dash into the water, wading in up to their waists. Hydrogen Guy draws the Ruler of Elendil - which has frequently acted as a channeler and amplifier for his powers - and points it out into the open water. They each place one hand on the Ruler, and the other (gingerly) on the bolt protruding from DB's chest.
Hydrogen Guy
Ready?
Deuterium Boy
Ready.
Hydrogen Guy
Okay. This might hurt for a
second.
Deuterium Boy
Ha ha ha...
They reach out with their Elemental senses to the plastic explosive at the core of the bolt. Atoms start moving willy-nilly in the material. Bonds start breaking - and then - a chain reaction is triggered.
Deuterium Boy squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces. They both redouble their concentration. A beam of yellow energy, like tightly contained fire, shoots out from the bolt and into the base of the Ruler. The tip of the Ruler starts to shine a bright blue, and then a brilliant beam shoots out from it into the water in the distance.
The river water starts to churn and boil. A swell develops, which enlarges into an unnatural bulge, which grows, and grows...
Medusa Joe
Hot damn! It's working!
Slowly, the water pulls itself up into a vertical blob. Two great pseudopods pull free, forming arms. A split develops at the base, which then separates into legs. The great, blobby body twists as if looking up at the Ambassatron in stern disapproval. Then it begins to walk.
Medusa Joe scrambles out of its way as it pulls itself onto the shore; Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy follow it with the beam, like two kids with a remote control car. The Water Behemoth starts climbing up the bluff; it pulls itself into Major's Hill Park, and thousands of tonnes of water in humanoid shape, ten stories high, starts walking towards the National Gallery.
The War Robot, at this point, is frantically pulling at the Ambassatron's sculpture-flail, trying to pull it away from the Gallery. If the giant robot had a face, it would be wearing an expression of exasperation. It reaches out and grabs the War Robot with its free hand, and prepares to crush it.
A sixth sense disturbs it. It pauses in its satisfying work, and slowly, ponderously, turns around, to find the Water Behemoth staring at it with a stern but watery glare. The scene might remind one of Medusa Joe confronting Gash, such is the size disparity; but for a second, the Ambassatron suffers a moment of doubt. The Water Behemoth looks steadily up at it, and you can be forgiven if the sloshing of its constituent parts seemed to say - "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?".
While Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy stood debating on the shores of the Ottawa River, Reaper had been busy. Reaching the torso, slashing through an armor-plated window and gaining entrance was the work of the moment.
Despite the fact that floor should have been, by all rights, vertical, Reaper drops neatly to the floor. Apparently the Embassy appeared to come with gravity generators. Chuck War would find that interesting.
Wasting no time, Reaper heads off to what he determined was the control centre. He has the ability to reach into the astral plane, and see the auras of the mortals around him. The aura of Americana, who he would bet heavily on as the controller of this Goliath, was unique, poisoned as it was by a combination of old rage and bionics. It makes tracking her easy.
Stealing down the hallway, he comes to a large, titanium door. Locked and sealed. He shakes his head - in a situation like this, the crew of a giant mecha had to operate as a unit. That their "leader" separated herself from her crew spoke volumes.
The door is torn open with six strokes. Cautiously, Reaper steps into the control centre.
The room is dark, except for numerous blinking lights on unmanned control panels. Up ahead, he sees the back of a chair, which seems to be the nexus of a web of wires and cables from all over, back-lit by a bank of television screens displaying the Ambassatron's view of the world.
He pauses, catching a glimpse of his reflection in one of the screens. There is no reaction from the occupant of the chair.
The images on the screens are steady. The Ambassatron, apparently on the verge of crushing the War Robot which had been worrying it, has stopped.
Americana
Reaper.
Slowly she turns around. At the same time, he can see that the robot is turning, mimicking her movements precisely.
As she turns, he sees that that all the cables are patched directly into her - into a series of ports on the back of her skull, in her temples, her arms, her legs. One by one, she pulls the cables out, letting them drop to her side. She gets to her feet.
Americana
Come on, then. This is your fault. You stole
the disk. All this destruction, the deaths, the chaos - it all comes from you.
You bastard. I hate your kind.
She grabs the blaster mounted on her arm and pulls it off, throwing it to the floor. She pulls the bolt launcher off the other arm. She walks towards him.
Americana
Let's go.
The Water Behemoth attacks!
It launches itself at the Ambassatron, grabbing it by the waist, and turning it away from the Gallery building. It throws all its weight into the task at hand, and it gets results.
The Ambassatron topples as if in slow motion. It seems ages, 30 (or is it 24) stories falling backwards. At last it crashes to Earth, its enormous feet a scant five meters from the glass walls of the National Gallery, it's head smashing back into its own abandoned basement, the rest of it sprawling across and smashing flat the Peacekeeper Memorial and the (thankfully empty) Confederation Boulevard. The impact is like a small earthquake (the NRC measured it at 2.1 about a half kilometer away), which shatters a few windows, spreads debris flying, and bursts the Water Behemoth like an enormous water balloon. For a few seconds, it's like a flash flood has hit downtown Ottawa.
Then, it's all over.
Peace and chaos reign.
9:47 AM ADT, April 5th
Lockeport, Nova
Scotia
Lydia calls out for her husband as she walks through the kitchen door, arms laden with heather. Getting no response, she wonders if he'd gone back to bed. Impossible, Harold had been getting up at 5:30 every day for years... retirement wouldn't be enough to make a lazybones of him.
She sets down her bundle next to the sink and strips off her gardening gloves. The tea cozy sits on the sideboard. She picks it up experimentally, and finds the still-warm alabaster tea-pot (with the chipped spout) beneath it. Hm.
Just then she spies the National Post on the kitchen table. She goes over and reads the front page - "MASSIVE CLEAN-UP IN NATION'S CAPITOL". She smiles slightly and shakes her head. She should have known, it was the same yesterday.
She pours herself a cup of tea - English Breakfast, neither of them could ever stand Orange Pekoe - picks up the paper, and carries both upstairs. At the top of the stairs, she sees as she expected she would that the steps to the attic had been pulled down.
Climbing the steps into the attic, she could hear him humming - an old English folk tune whose name she could never remember. It's not too dusty up here, and it's fairly well served by natural light from the quaint, nautical windows set into the roof.
The dressmaker's mannequin, she isn't surprised to see, is empty. Coming around between it and her old hope chest, she finds her husband admiring himself in the mirror.
She sighs in spite of herself. She didn't approve, strictly, of her husband's past, but she does have to admit he looks terribly dashing dressed up like that. Black breeches, stockings, shoes with bright brass buckles. He was fiddling with the collar on his ruffled shirt when she came in. He had a bit of powder on his shoulder from the wig, which he had freshly powdered yesterday. And that rakish, serge red coat, which he had spent hours brushing yesterday, and had probably spent a good hour on today.
Her sigh caught his attention, and he turns around. He spreads his hands out in a "how do you like me" gesture.
Harold
Still fits!
Lydia
Of course it does, you had it let out last year,
remember.
Harold
Shaw. Tell me truth, luv, I look as good in it
as I ever did.
Lydia
Oh, I suppose.
Harold
See the news?
Lydia
Quite a mess that girl made.
Harold
Ha! I'll say.
He perches himself on the edge of an old trunk, and bends down to bring up his tea. He sips it and makes a face - it's cold.
Harold
Mind you, giant Embassy robut only messed up the
immediate area. It was that great water monster'at did the worst of it,
'specially out in the Byward Market.
Lydia
Oh? I hadn't read it yet. How is Jennifer
doing?
Harold
Under observation. She got a bad knock,
apparently, when the robut came down. Add to that she came out of the VR too
fast when the Reaper interrupted her - scattered her wits, the doctors
say.
Lydia
I hope she'll be all right. I'll go buy a card
this afternoon.
Harold
Gods, woman, don't do that. Last thing I want is
that woman tramping up here to pay respects.
Lydia
You're terrible.
Harold
You have to admit she's a pill.
Lydia
She's been through a lot, growing up without a
father. She made a lot of bad choices...
Harold
Her father was an even bigger pill.
Lydia
Harold.
Harold
Harold, yourself.
She sipped her tea and looked at the paper. The photo showed bulldozers clearing the remains of the U.S. Embassy.
Harold
Questions being asked in the House. "How could
the Prime Minister allow such a weapon to be built under his very nose." Stern
letters being exchanged with the White House. I imagine Galactic Customs has its
head in its hands, won't find that in the paper, of course.
Lydia
I wish you wouldn't take so much pleasure in all
this. It's a miracle no innocent people were seriously hurt.
Harold
I'm glad nobody was, of course. But you know
that nothing makes my day more than the fruit of Stephen Dandey's loins making
an ass of herself. Ha!
Lydia
How are the superheroes?
Harold
Let me see... oh yes... The GC man, War, had
some broken bones. He'll be all right. The Reaper and Gash were fine, of course.
Deuterium Boy underwent some fairly significant surgery, but he's currently in
stable condition and is expected to make a full recovery. Hydrogen Guy was
released this morning with his hands swathed in bandages and still feeling a bit
under the weather, I gather. There's a rather amusing snap of him waving his
mitts on page two...
He pulls the wig off, revealing mussed hair almost as white. He smoothes it out and regards the wig with affection.
Harold
The Diatomic Duo... I'm quite impressed with
them, I must say. Anyone who can trounce Americana like that is all right in my
book.
He twirls the wig around on the edge of his finger.
Harold
Makes me want to test my mettle against them.
That'd be jolly great fun, don't you think?
Lydia
No, I don't. You haven't got any powers anymore,
anyway. And even if you did, you'd do it over my dead body.
Harold
Don't fret, my sweet. I'm retired, in every
sense of the word.
He stands up and has another gander at himself in the mirror. He strikes his most dashing pose.
Harold
The Red Coat shall never ride again. [pause] Is
there any tea left in the pot?
[fade to black, roll credits]