The following is a work of fiction created and written by Jim Robert Bader, with ideas and suggestions provided by my good friends, Bill Guiroff and Kate Norcross (the REAL-life Katie). No other persons living or dead are intended to be reflected here (save for purposes of obvious parody and/or social commentary), and any resemblance to other creations of popular fiction are purely coincidental. This property is the work of Jim Robert Bader and is a rough draft copy, to be revised and altered should I one day find a friendly publisher willing to help me out. It is presented here for the express purpose of gaining friendly recognition and/or creative commentary and may not be duplicated or published elsewhere without express permission of the author. Mar-Sa The Ultra-Girl Book One/Part Two The Girl of Tungsten Steel by Jim Robert Bader September 4, 2001 (First Copyrights Only) 00000000 000 000 000 vvvvvvv 000 000VVVVVVVVVVVVVV000 000 VVVVVVVVVV 000 000 VVVVVV 000 000 VVVV 000 000 VV 000 00000000 Mar-Sa, The Ultra-Girl by Jim Robert Bader Book One/Part Two The Girl of Tungsten Steel Chapter Fourteen. Superhero "Would you care to explain for me just how a thing like this like this could happen?" "Mr. President," Secretary of State Addams began, "We know that it looks bad that we have so little to add at this time, but the fact remains that our people have been on this matter since the very beginning and we're still no closer to understanding this phenomenon..." "Then will somebody please volunteer me an explanation," President Thomas Jefferson Parker demanded, "Make something up, anything! I'm getting asked the same question over and over at press conferences... 'Who is this flying woman?' She's going up and down the great state of California rescuing people out of burning buildings and stopping bank robberies for pity's sakes! It sounds like a bad weekend TV movie, and no one's given me a clue yet how any of this is even happening!" "I know it sounds incredible, Sir," Addams replied, "But the reality of her existence is incontrovertible, and there are now hundreds of witnesses who can attest to her recent activities..." "I'm not asking about IF she exists or not," Parker replied, "I want to know HOW she could exist, let alone do all these...things the press has been going on about for almost a solid week now!" "More like five days," Carl Monroe replied, "Mr. President, we have our best minds on the job trying to figure out how something like this can be explained scientifically. To the best of our knowledge no paranormal phenomenon this impressive has ever been recorded in history..." "Unless you go by mythology," Addams pointed out, "In fact...Mr. Richardson has his own theory that might account for this extraordinary young woman." Parker turned his one-eyed gaze upon the man sitting farther down the table and said, "Why am I not surprised? Weird happenings tend to be your specialty." "Mr. President," Richardson replied with the same quiet dignity that he always displayed at such meetings, "My people have been observing the activities of this woman almost from the moment of her arrival, and so far the best model that we have been able to construct is that she is an extraordinarily powerful Telekinetic, a person who can move objects with their minds or---in this case--- affect solid matter with her thoughts, which may explain her ability to fly and lift heavy objects. We also believe that her physical construction differs fundamentally with our own as she has twice the mass of a normal Earthwoman, which may imply that she is accustomed to very different environmental conditions than what is typical for our planet..." "In other words she's an alien," Parker said dryly, "Thank you, but I have managed to stay awake long enough to pick that up in the briefings." "Sir," Richardson resumed, "It is true that her sudden and rather dramatic appearance upon the scene is reminiscent of an old Hollywood matinee serial, but it seems apparent that she has decided to employ her abilities in a constructive endeavor, perhaps as much to drum up favorable opinion towards her existence as a genuinely altruistic gesture on her part. After all, you must admit that it is a rather forceful way of making the point that she is basically friendly." "Then what about those men she killed?" Parker countered. "Sir, so far three men have perished at her hands, but under circumstances that would suggest that their deaths were not intentional on her part," Richardson explained, "For the first week that she was here she sought to maintain a low profile, no doubt to refine and develop her abilities, but now that she has a firm grasp upon what she can do she has determined a course that puts public opinion firmly on her side...a rather clever strategy if I may say so, if she intends to reside here on any permanent basis..." "Or," Monroe countered, "She might just be the vanguard for some hostile power that means to send other agents like her to take over. Wouldn't be the first time somebody came to us posing as a friend only to turn out to be an enemy later." "Granted," Richardson replied, "But until such time as we know for certain her true motives it would be wise not to prejudge her. That is why I strongly recommend that we take no hasty actions at this time that might prejudice her against us, and I have instructed agents in the field not to interfere in any way until such time as she does prove herself to be a genuine menace..." "That may be good strategy for you," Parker replied, "But it's lousy politics to let a thing like this continue to spiral out of control. I've got Congress on my butt on this one, Ben, and I want to know if we're prepared to deal with this if it does become a crisis situation." "Mister President," Richardson replied, "In the event of such a thing I will have people ready who can deal with matters should they be needed. Be assured that our resources will be marshaled to see to it that the public's safety is ensured. In the meantime I council patience, just as I have in the matter of the other young individual who seems to have become involved in these heroics..." "You mean the fellow calling himself Action?" Addams sniffed, "What a remarkably poor fashion sense that fellow has, such a garish use of colors. Young people these days..." he sighed. "I want a full report detailing what measures you intend to take on this, Ben," Parker glared with his one remaining good eye, "This whole thing has too high a profile for us to step out of line in any way, and if any of your people tread into questionable legal areas..." "There will not be any political fallout for you, Sir," Richardson replied, "You have my word on it, everything will be done in strict accordance with protocol. Let us err on the side of the angels with this one, Gentlemen, and let posterity judge our actions for good or ill." "All right, Ben," Parker somberly nodded, "I'll let your people continue to manage things...for now, but that's only because the NSA and the Pentagon have no idea what we're dealing with here. I know you have resources that you refuse to tell the rest of us about..." "Mister President," Richardson said with a faint smile on his normally taciturn expression, "You know that I would never deliberately withhold anything from you that it was in your best interest to know about, and be assured that, even as we speak, my best men are moving into position in order to properly manage this affair, and we hope to obtain favorable results from this in the very near future." "I won't ask for details...yet," Parker replied, "But whoever you've got on assignment had better be good at his job or we could all wind up on the front page of the New York Times with egg on our faces." "He is among the best that one could ask for, Sir," Richardson's smile deepened as his dark-dark eyes took on a hint of amusement, "In fact he has the virtue of being so good that even he doesn't yet know that he is about to enter our employment..." "You know, Shepherd," the managing editor said gravely, "The only reason we're even having this conversation is because you used to be a pretty damned fine reporter. You just lost your objectivity and took things personal when the shit started to roll downhill..." "Yeah, tell me something I don't know," Rick sighed, "But believe me, two years in journalism hell can teach you a lot about maintaining a perspective." "But not about humility," the other man noted, "You chase UFOs for a living, you don't have much of a reputation left around here. It's Gonzo journalism like that which can be the kiss of death in this profession..." "Look, I only worked for the Sun because it paid the bills and kept me off of unemployment," Rick replied, "And what have I got to show for it? I live out of my car for Chrissakes, and motels across the country got my name and picture tacked on their walls like it was the Post Office. I need this job, Harry, and I'm willing to do anything to get my good name back. I've got a major lead on a hot story that I know you'd pay anything for to get an exclusive, and I'm pretty sure I can come through on this..." "You'd better," the other man said stiffly, "Because this ain't no Affirmative Action post you're applying for here. You come on board for the Chronicle, then you'd better deliver." "Hey, did you hear me calling you a Brother?" Rick asked innocently, "Seriously, Harry, I'm not some guy from the sticks. I earned my degree at Stanford..." "Journalism major?" "Corporate Law," Rick admitted, "But I got over it and changed my major in my second year so I could get a real job." "Welcome to the club," the other man sniffed, puffing on the cigar that he held in one hand and making a point to blow rings in Rick's direction before resuming, "Your Dad was a bird Colonel in the service, right?" "Air Force," Rick replied, "Air Police." "And he's retired down in Florida," the editor glanced at the resume in front of him before looking up again and saying, "So, you think you got what it takes for investigative journalism, huh? Well, we'll just see about that. Since you were the first reporter to begin covering this story at the onset, I'm gonna take a chance and hire you on a strictly provisional basis, and that's contingent on you bringing in the full story about this...Golden Goddess of yours. I take it you got a hot lead or you would've been selling this to that rag you work for?" "The Midnight Sun?" Rick sniffed, "They won't pay jack for a story like this...too much evidence it's legit, must give them a rash or something. Half the time their checks bounce anyway..." "So, you'd better be sure of your leads if you want to come to work for the San Francisco Chronicle," Harry Chapman replied, "Because, unlike you, we do worry about our reputation. This better not turn out to be another Bigfoot or Elvis story..." "Hey, believe me, she's for real," Rick assured the other man, "I was as close to her as this and saw her in the flesh, and if you'd seen her take off flying then you'd never be asking that question." "Then show me some results and get that story," Harry demanded, "Before some more ambitious Newsshark gets the drop on you and takes this exclusive away..." "Are you kidding me, Harry?" Rick replied as he started to get up, "I was picked up by covert ops guys on day one of this story and I managed to live through that." "Yeah, but they didn't work for our competition," Harry retorted, "And with the way this lady's been running all over the state saving people, sooner or later someone's bound to get the low down on this Super lady..." "Careful," Rick shot back over his shoulder, "That might be a trademark infringement," and he managed not to chuckle as his new employer said a few choice words on that subject, his mind already turning to how he would fulfill his boldly stated promise of tracking down his ever-so-elusive Goddess... "Marsha, can you hear me?" "I read you loud and clear, Rick," Mar-Sa replied through the two-way communicator that she had rigged up with the probe's assistance, "You're coming in clear, over." "There's a pile up on one of the interstate roads just a few miles from your position. 'Zak says if you follow his beacon you'll find us busy cleaning up a toxic spill, and we could sure use your help because there are a lot of people trapped and injured." "Oh my way," Mar-Sa replied, glancing at her wrist tracking device and noticing the direction in which the homing signal was being generated. It was surprisingly easy for her to levitate to the scene as it was still full daylight and she was having no trouble maintaining an altitude of three kilometers, adjusting her telekinetic field to channel as much Oxygen as she needed at a constant pressure regardless of how high up she flew. In truth the more she practiced flying the easier it became now, just as her landings had vastly improved from her admittedly awkward beginning. In only seconds she came within sight of the new emergency and could survey everything at a glance, immediately locating the greatest emergency where her power could be put to good advantage, even as she noticed how Mark and the probe were combining their talents to clean up some manner of toxic substance that had spilled from an overturned truck, even as emergency vehicles were just coming onto the scene and moving out to help the less injured people upon the fringes. It still amazed her at how these people could be driving such lightly constructed vehicles that could hardly withstand the force of even a casual impact, but she dismissed such critical analysis as she saw that a pregnant woman had become pinned inside one car where the roof structure had been collapsed on top of her. She was badly hurt and frightened, that much Mar-Sa could perceive through her Telepathy, and badly in need of comforting as Mar-Sa sensed her panic when she saw a golden woman descending towards her. "Don't be afraid," Mar-Sa spoke soothingly, as she was learning to do when faced with such a reaction, "I'm here to help, so please trust me..." "My baby..." the woman murmured weakly, "What's going to happen to my baby...?" "Just a moment and we'll see about that," Mar-Sa replied as she studied the severely damaged vehicle at a glance, her senses at once informing her of the numerous points of structural weakness. She had to use her telekinesis to partially merge with the vehicle in order to insure that it would bend in the directions that she wanted, and then she hefted with both hands and tore the roof clear of the collapsed passenger compartment, pushing back the seat and tearing away the dash in order to relieve pressure on the woman's legs, and then she was able to extricate the woman herself with as much delicacy as could be afforded. She laid the woman out on the ground next to her vehicle and set to work probing for injuries with her senses. The woman's legs were crushed and she had suffered severe spinal damage to her lower back, and there was considerable internal hemorrhaging from the abuse her spleen and kidneys had taken, but all of this was well within Mar-Sa's ability to handle. What made things complicated was the woman's advanced state of pregnancy, so she had to work carefully in order to insure that no harm would come to the baby. Fortunately the Golden Glow of her touch seemed to know its own business, the power flowing from her hands into the body of the woman as though guided by a will of its own, repairing damage even to nerves, tendons and critical muscle tissues as the woman's body knitted itself back together, drawing on her own internal reserves to replace damaged cells with healthy new ones, and all in the space of a matter of mere seconds. The woman gasped then sighed in relief and murmured a faint thank you, putting her hands over her abdomen and slumping into semi-consciousness as her body required rest to accommodate her healing. Mar-Sa felt a wave of fatigue pass through her, as it always did after a healing, only to feel her reserves get replenished moments later as fresh Bioenergy filtered into her own tissues. She did a last cursory examination to insure that the baby was fine before straightening up once again and glancing around for more people in need of her assistance. "Wow," she heard Mark say, "The Jaws of Life ain't got nothing on you, Marsha. Of course you know that lady will probably want to name her baby after you or something." "Please don't jest about a thing like that, Mark," Mar-Sa said as she sensed someone trapped under another vehicle and went to lift the car off of his body, tipping it over so that she could reach yet another victim, all the while saying, "How are things at your end?" "Almost done converting the toxins into harmless gasses," he replied, still channeling the probe's energies to effect the controlled molecular conversions, "'Zak informs me these guys were illegally dumping industrial chemicals somewhere, so I'm leaving just enough trace amounts to convict them and whoever paid them. 'Zak's managed to keep the fumes from contaminating me, but several people could sure use your help getting detoxified because this stuff is nasty..." "I know," Mar-Sa wrinkled her nose, "I can smell it from here. Why do people do such awful things? Don't they know that spilling chemicals just means they wind up in the water-table?" "I don't think the corporate bosses behind this even care," Mark replied, "It's all about profits. They can live on bottled water while the rest of us drinks their filth like it was soda pop..." "Deplorable," Mar-Sa frowned as she finished healing yet another badly injured party, "Someone ought to do something about that..." "If you mean you, then forget it, Marsha," Mark replied, "I tried that route out early on after starting up in this business and all it does is get you in a mess of legal troubles. Like it or not they've got laws and politicians on their side..." "While we only have ourselves to blame for letting them get away with this," Mar-Sa remarked as she came upon a young girl who was having trouble breathing. A quick examination confirmed the worst, and then she set to healing this child while doing her best to promote the growth of healthy tissues in her lungs, all the while saying, "The law ought to be on the side of the people, not the other way around..." "No argument there...ah, finished!" Mark smiled, "That seals up the truck, now to see what else...uh oh! Marsha, Cops!" "I hear them," Mar-Sa said as she straightened up once more, glancing around to make certain that she had healed the worst of those injured, "Guess it's time to make ourselves scarce again, right?" "You got it," Mark agreed, and then he took off at a dead run, moving over four hundred miles an hour and right past the oncoming police cars and their astonished drivers, while Mar-Sa levitated away from the crisis, preferring to leave the details of the cleanup to the proper authorities. A few moments later the both of them set down in a wooded area, then Mark converted back to his regular street clothes while Mar-Sa raised her disguise back into place. Together they walked on foot back towards an inn where they had a room waiting for them, and minutes later they were both reunited with Phoebe, who greeted Mar-Sa in her usual calm, reserved and aloof manner. "Marsha!" she cried as she all but threw herself into the arms of her lover, "You're back!" "You were expecting that I wouldn't show up, Phoebe?" Mar-Sa smiled back as she took the lighter girl in her arms and gently kissed her. "It's not that," Phoebe murmured as she snuggled in closer to her golden companion, "It's just that I get so worried sometimes. It's almost...like I can see you in my mind when you use your powers...like I know just now that you were on the interstate helping out those people..." "You saw all that through our link?" Mar-Sa was amazed. "Yeah, that and the fact that you guys were on television just now," Phoebe nodded to the set that was on inside the cheap two-bed motel room. "Oh," Mar-Sa replied, then gave her beloved friend a chiding look, "Spying up on us, eh?" "Well, can you blame me?" Phoebe cooed while allowing her hand to play against the soft cheek of the gleaming Wolframan. Mark glanced away uncomfortably, sensing yet another rising surge of female hormones in the works and feeling excluded from the matter entirely, not that he blamed either Mar-Sa or Phoebe for ignoring him whenever the mood was upon them. In the week that he had been with these two women he had gotten the strong sense of the growing emotional and psychic ties that had been growing between both alien girl and her paler skinned human domestic partner, and it left him feeling like the proverbial fifth wheel, not wanting to intrude in something that was clearly so special for the two companions. It also reminded him rather much that he was feeling a wee bit jealous of their union and did not want it to become an issue that might spoil their friendship. After all, he liked Phoebe almost as much as he did Mar-Sa, and the idea of coming between them...well...it just did not suit his morals one damned bit. Not that these girls were deliberately flaunting themselves in his presence, but it was rather hard for a healthy man with heterosexual interests to spend any great amount of time around either one of them without needing to take a break now and then so he could find a place to relieve his own growing frustration. With that in mind he said, "Why don't you two freshen up a bit in here while I go rustle up some grub. I assume five pizzas will be enough to go around with you, Marsha?" "That would be wonderful of you, Mark," Mar-Sa replied without taking her eyes off of Phoebe, "And get one for yourself while you're at it." "Yeah, but don't be in too much of a hurry, Guy," Phoebe leered up at Mar-Sa, "Take your time and be sure to knock when you get back." "Right," Mark sighed, knowing better than to argue, so he and the probe left with as much grace and dignity as they could manage while feeling as if they had already been dismissed from the minds of their two lady companions. **Subject Mark,** the probe began, reverting to their own internal link for the sake of anonymity, **Why does Apprentice Mar-Sa seek to actively copulate with subject Phoebe when there is no possible procreative value to their actions?** "You got me on that one, 'Zak," Mark sighed, "But hey, it's their lives, they can live 'em however they like. Me...I think I could really use a cold shower right about now..." **Then why does subject not return to chamber and make use of facilities...?** "Because I'd rather keep my external plumbing right where it is, thank you," Mark shot back, "And besides, I'd need the whole damned Arctic Ocean to cool me down right about now. C'mon, let's go find us some more...Action." With the trigger word spoken he at once reverted back to his hero identity, and then with the probe remaining invisibly by his side he took off at another hurricane-swift run, hoping to throw himself into the middle of something exciting that could take his mind away from visualizing the thought of Mar-Sa and Phoebe writhing passionately together in the middle of the motel room... Meanwhile, no more than two miles away, a technician working a monitor screen said, "Subject B is on the move, Major. Subject A is at ground base with Subject C. Do you need any closer surveillance?" "At ease, Bob," Brookhurst sniffed, "And get your tongue back in your mouth. We're not here to indulge in your voyeurism, we've got a lot more serious business making sure those two stay put for a while so we can marshal our resources to keep tabs on our young Mister Daniels." "Roger that, Sir," the technician replied, "No fears on that front. From the body heat impressions we're getting I'd say those two won't be going anywhere for a while, unless it's to the moon and back. I tell you, though, this is usually the kind of stuff for which they charge big rates at pay sites..." "Save the free enterprise for another time," Brookhurst snorted, "How's our tracking system making out?" "Holding up so far, Sir," the technician responded as he called up another image, "Got a GPS lock on his position...he's really going all out. That guy can sure move when he wants to, be hard to keep up with him with anything slower than a jet at the rate he's going." "Just don't lose him like before," Brookhurst urged, "Took us long enough to track 'em down the last time, and the way they spot our bugs and mobile vans means we've got to be sneakier and more creative." "That's why I recommended the high tech approach, Sir," the technician assured his employer, "Listening devices and car chases are as out of style as the dark ages. These days with the right equipment you can turn any phone into a listening device, and any cable TV into a monitoring system, you just have to know what you're doing, and with the right budget..." "Just stick to the plan, Bob," Brookhurst urged, "We'll admire your genius another time. We got the White House breathing down our necks on this one, and they'll only be impressed if we can turn up the results that will help us manage things back in Washington. Have to say, though, I do have to admire the style of these two ladies." "Don't you mean technique?" Bob retorted. "Mind out of the gutter, Bob," Brookhurst retorted, "I mean it's pretty slick to go on a publicity campaign that's bound to pay off in good public feeling, could have a huge payoff in the very near future. The question is...what's the next step they got planned here, or is there even a plan at all? Are they making it up as they go along or is it just beginner's luck that's kept them going this far?" "What say we find out, Sir?" Bob suggested, opening up a connection on his laptop as the speakers flared to life and revealed the pillow talk going on in the room presently occupied by the subjects under investigation... "Penny for your thoughts, Marsha." "Why bother to ask?" Mar-Sa sighed, "You already know my thoughts as well as any other human." "Maybe with the exception of Mark," Phoebe mused as she played a hand over the smooth golden skin of her lover, "But I'm curious...I can sense you're thinking about something serious...is it about that job thing again?" "Yes," Mar-Sa replied, staring up at the ceiling, "I think it's almost time to take things to the next level." "Oh, gee," Phoebe chuckled lightly, "I'm not sure if I'm ready for that..." "Silly," Mar-Sa gently ruffled the slighter girl's blonde hair, all too aware of how fragile she was in relation to her own body, "You know what I mean...the other commitment we were talking about..." "Oh yeah...that," Phoebe was silent for a few moments before saying, "You really want to go through with this, Marsha? You know I'll back you all the way, but..." "I'm sure," Mar-Sa replied, "I've been thinking long and hard about this, and I've done some background checking, and I think this could be the best way for me to establish myself on your world. After all, it's not like I could get a regular day job in the service sector..." "You mean you flipping burgers?" Phoebe sniffed, "What a waste of talent..." "Exactly," Mar-Sa agreed, "And a job like that would mean that I would have to project my disguise for hours at a time on a daily basis, and that would become very tiresome on a long-term basis..." "Yeah, you can't become somebody else 24/7, Marsha," Phoebe murmured, "Guess I see what you're getting at. You need a job that lets you have time off to be yourself..." "And I need to earn a great deal of capital in a very short span of time," Mar- Sa added, "You and Mark have been wonderful, but we can't continue to live like bandits. The gold strain that Unit 1138 found has been sustaining us this far, but that is just a short-term solution. We need to establish ourselves openly in a way that will gain us what we need, and without having problems with immigration." "Hey, just put in for political asylum," Phoebe suggested, "You can sure make a claim for that, and it's not like they could deport you." "But how would I be able to prove my claims?" Mar-Sa asked, "I'm an exile from a world that your people do not even know exists. I can't go back, not even if I wanted to, and I've come to love it here, so I must take positive action to lay my stakes on your world, to hope that I will eventually be accepted by your people." "Well, you've sure made a good start on that," Phoebe reasoned, "It's like they can't talk about anything else but you on the news these days. Everybody wants to know about the costumed mystery woman who's been saving a bunch of people..." "That's the other thing that I have discovered," Mar-Sa admitted, "Much to my own surprise, I have found that I do enjoy playing the role of the hero. Using my powers to help others is...exactly what Mark says it would be...self- fulfilling, like I have discovered my place in the Cosmos. Healing a child or a woman's broken body, pulling an old man out of a burning nursing home, using my strength to lift heavy objects that are beyond even your strongest industrial machinery to reached trapped victims of a collapsed structure...I feel such joy every time that I sense the relief and liberation of these people. It is like celebrating my own freedom from the tyranny of my homeland..." "So, you see?" Phoebe grinned triumphantly, "I was right after all, wasn't I?" "You were indeed right, Phoebe," Mar-Sa again gently ruffled the hair of her beloved companion, "I should know well enough by now to listen to your counsel, but now I have a greater task on hand, one that I find myself strangely eager to begin." "Which is?" "The Council," Mar-Sa sighed, "What they are, what they did to my world, to my people...I cannot stand to see it happening all over again on your world, Phoebe. I have to speak out, to let others know the path that they must avoid at all costs, the road to desolation and ruin that unbridled greed and blind ambition brought to us. Wolframa used to be a paradise, much like this, but now...I weep to think of it, our people trapped in domes unable to breathe the air of our surface. It must not happen again, and so...I have chosen a forum to make my voice heard." "Well, jeez," Phoebe sniffed, "You wanna do that, call a press conference." "And risk a confrontation with your authorities?" Mar-Sa softly countered, "No, I think what we have discussed is the best way of going around official channels, to present my case to a broad audience who might be inclined to listen, to give me a fair hearing. Of course it means shedding the last of my inhibitions as a citizen of Ninjarma, but I am more than ready to do that as a celebration of my liberty, of the freedom that you have taught me. And if in doing so I must take advantage of the one physical asset that I possess that does not relate to my superhuman powers..." "Right," Phoebe grinned, "So...when do we get started?" "Tomorrow sounds good," Mar-Sa replied, "Bright and early in the morning is when we go to meet Heather Holberg..." "Heather...Holberg?" Bob repeated with a dumbstruck expression, "That can't possibly mean what I think it does, can it...Major?" "Holberg," Brookhurst repeated softly, then he smiled, and his smile gave way to a huge grin as he declared, "It's brilliant!" "What is?" Bob blinked, not expecting such a response from his employer. "I gotta hand it to that lady, she thinks big," Brookhurst was still grinning as he reached for his cell phone, "And this is huge...a real mega-publicity stunt worthy of a superstar. This could be just the opportunity we've been looking for and---oh. Hello, Sir? Yeah, it's me...listen...I think we have something here, but you've gotta hear me out before you say anything, because this is gonna knock your Limey Brit socks off when you hear this..." Bob half-listened to his superior make an outlandish proposal as though his Boss had somehow been replaced with one of the Pod people, but then he saw the logic of the notion and said, "Hooboy...if this goes down, then I'd better reserve a copy in advance..." "Make it ten for me," Brookhurst stage-whispered before resuming his phone conversation... Ariel put away his cell phone and just sat there with a most curious expression. A man sitting near to him on the plane said, "Problems at Site Q, Ari?" "No, Michael," Ariel replied, "Not a problem...not really, just...life can seem awfully strange when you try and think about it..." "Why do you think I avoid thinking deep thoughts like that?" Michael replied as he leaned back and closed his eyes once again, "Things will work out for the better, they usually do in the end." "Effendi," the man sitting across from him playing chess with a forth man spoke up, "We are all in Allah's hands in the final reckoning. What matters is how we live until we get there." "Maybe so, Raphe," Michael replied without opening his eyes, "But sometimes how we live makes as much of a point as what we're living for. Ends are means unto themselves you know..." "You guys gonna philosophize or are you gonna make a move already?" the gruff- voiced fourth man remarked, studying his chessboard with the intensity of a general planning out a major campaign. "In a moment, Uri," Raphael replied, looking back at their blond haired leader, "It is rare enough to see you this disturbed about anything, my friend. Would you care to share with the rest of us the source of your current complaint?" "Not as yet, Raphael," Ariel demurred, "Not until after I have had time to consult with Magnus." "Any reason why the big secrecy?" Uriel asked with a glance at their unit leader. "You would not believe me if I told you," Ariel assured them, adding in an undertone, "I can only imagine what Kate herself will say when she learns about this." "Yeah?" the one woman on board the private jet looked up at her male companions, "What's her Highness gonna say when she finds out you been spending time thinking about other women?" "One shudders to think of the possibilities, Gabrielle," Ariel replied, "But I imagine this new wrinkle will surely bring matters to her full and complete attention..." (Chapters 12-19) (First Copyrights Only) Created and Written by Jim Robert Bader, all rights reserved, characters and situations are purely fictitious and are not based on persons living or dead (with the sole exception of Katie, whose voluntary contributions are deeply appreciated). Mar-Sa, the Ultra-Girl, is the creation of Jim Robert Bader with ideas and suggestions provided by his friends and collaborators, Katie Norcross (the REAL Kate Cross) and Bill Guiroff, with additional ideas and suggestions provided by Ed Dear III, who took a liking to Mark Daniels. All rights reserved; the characters and situations here are fictitious and are not intended to depict persons living and dead (other than Katie that is). This is a rough draft, subject to future alterations if I should find a publisher friendly enough to sponsor this series. Any resemblance to copyrighted or trademarked ideas belonging to other authors is purely coincidental. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- If you wish to check out my other works, Please check out my Fanfiction webpage at: http://s11.sexshare.com/~jbader/jimbader.html All related chapters of this series can be found there along with my other works.