Mar-Sa

The Ultra-Girl

Book One/Part Three

The Girl of Tungsten Steel

A HEROINE IS MADE, NOT BORN

by

Jim Robert Bader

September 4, 2001

(First Copyrights Only)





          00000000
       000        000
     000   vvvvvv   000
     000VVVVVVVVVVVV000
     000 VVVVVVVVV  000
     000  VVVVVVV   000
      000  VVVVV   000
       000  VVV   000
          00000000


























Mar-Sa
The Ultra Girl

by 
Jim Robert Bader

Book One/Part Two

The Girl of Tungsten Steel

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Retribution



Henry Wallace Schiller stared at himself in the mirror as he prepared to go out 
and deliver himself before his loyal flock, confident in the knowledge that he 
had a very good show planned out ahead of him, one that was certain to take in a 
hefty sum in donations and get a good ratings share for his cable program, Hour 
of Evangelism, on the 600 Club network.  People loved to flock to his sermons 
when he bearded the agents of Satan and their works, and this time should be no 
exception in his not-too-humble estimation.  The message had to be sent both far 
and wide that flouting the Word of God would bring the wrath of Heaven down upon 
the heads of the sinners.  Those who championed Satan's banner of Secularism had 
to be pulled down from their ivory towers and shown for the wretched unbelievers 
that they were, and only then could the way be paved for the coming Kingdom of 
God and Christ's return in full glory.

He smiled as he saw his trusted Deacon, Geoffrey Taylor, standing attentively at 
his side already draped in the cloth of gold that marked his stage persona as 
Godsend the Evangelist, waiting for his mentor's word that they were to begin 
their message of deliverance to the faithful on this perfect Sunday morning.  
The younger man often looked uncomfortable before going out before the cameras 
dressed in a costume that even he regarded as archaic, but Schiller had long ago 
convinced his ward that the outfit symbolized the banner of the Lord's gift, the 
silver tongue of the born Evangelist that Geoffrey wielded with mesmerizing 
effect every time he stood before the podium pronouncing anathema and doom upon 
the Godless who dared refuse the message of Jesus.  Even Schiller found the 
young man's voice hypnotic when he unleashed it upon a crowd, and the presence 
of his Charisma was such that their minions would loyally march into Hell behind 
him if he so ordered them to battle.

Of course their organization had long ago divided the Wheat from the Chaff of 
their normal congregation, and they did indeed command a loyal army that trained 
out in the hills of Oregon and Montana for the day when they would be rallied to 
exterminate the poisoned filth of society that contaminated what passed for 
culture in this much-benighted country.  Geoffrey had been brilliant in 
organizing these cadres into a ready on-call citizen militia without alerting 
the Jew-run forces of the ACLU and the ATF, those evil minions of the Anti-
Christ currently residing in the White House, who in the past had been so quick 
to snuff out the burning torch of liberty when it was raised against the powers 
of darkness.

"Soon, Geoffrey," Schiller murmured as he put the last-minute touches to his 
appearance, straightening out his tie then nodding in satisfaction at the image 
which he created, "Soon we will begin the long march to the promised land, the 
battle that may take years to eventually win, but which surely ends at 
Armageddon."

"Yes sir," Geoffrey respectfully replied, "All is happening as you predicted it 
would, and all is moving in readiness for the day of Judgement, as it is 
written."

Schiller turned to his right-hand minion and said, "It is as God wills it, my 
Son, I am but His servant doing the Lord's will.  It is his commandment that we 
fulfill this day when we expose the Whore of Babylon to ridicule and bring down 
the faithless."

"It is inspiring to know that you put to flight the Harlot before she could 
begin her reign of deception," Geoffrey noted, "I would have enjoyed it had I 
been there to confront the Beast directly."

Schiller clapped the younger man on the shoulder and smiled, "No doubt you would 
have exposed her fraudulence to the masses for her powers would been as nothing 
to your faith.  It would be as it was for the foul sorcerer, Simon Magnus, when 
he challenged the faithful and was exposed for his demonic ways.  But surely 
your time will come soon enough to show the Godless what a true son of the 
church can do, but for now...time to go out there and inspire the masses."

With their purpose clearly stated the two men turned and left the alcove heading 
for the Nave of the church even as their music was cued to alert their staff 
that the show was about to begin and that everyone in position should be ready 
for their part in the overall performance.

It was the kind of stage-managed event that only money could buy, money tempered 
with influence and proper organization skills to insure that a good show would 
be presented to the masses.  A humbler church might have shunned the 
ostentatiousness of such a display of opulence and showmanship, but the Assembly 
of The Divine Order was no mere church, being larger than a cathedral and 
designed to be a giant stage for an international broadcast media conglomerate 
of stellar proportions.  It was so big that the Chartres cathedral of Notre Dame 
itself would have easily fit inside it's dome-like ceiling with room enough to 
fit the bleachers and the choir on the sidelines.  It was intended to give a 
massive impression of the vaulting roofs of heaven itself and had cost millions 
of dollars raised from pledges by the devoted, but the effect it created was 
well worth it.  People who attended these sermons could expect a show worthy of 
a major rock concert, and all in the name of God and his Infinite Glory.

For that effect to be achieved, however, no expense could be spared, no detail 
could be left to chance or overlooked, and the needs of the faithful had to be 
catered to with a performance that would uplift them and inspire them to donate 
their weekly tithes to Jesus and his modern-day Disciples.  The Choir had to be 
drilled on a daily basis, the singers had to polish their gospel hymnals and the 
band had to be coached to play family-friendly tunes that would add to the 
atmosphere of revelry.  No spontaneity or artistic creativity could be tolerated 
unless it was carefully grilled under the lens of the overall Message, and every 
ounce of human flaw had to be squeezed on the wine press of Directorship so that 
the Sins of the faithful would not eclipse their virtues.

Good planning and a ruthless coordination of the various parts that contributed 
to the overall whole was needed by Schiller to give the right sort of spiritual 
"fix" to the needy supplicants who came to worship in his Temple.  Everything 
was choreographed to the last chanted Hosanna and even the audience had been 
carefully drilled to know where their applause lines were, at what point they 
were to join in and chant the lines of deliverance, and just how much enthusiasm 
was expected to bring a thunderous clamor that the acoustics of the building 
could convey to the microphones and sound managers operating in the Control Box 
far above them.  Even the line of sick and crippled waiting to be healed were 
formed into a line so that they could one-by-one be called to the stage for 
baptism and deliverance.  In short the entire affair was keyed with the cameras 
in mind so that millions of television, cable and satellite viewers could 
witness Schiller and Godsend deliver the Revivalist message of Jesus into the 
comfort of their living rooms.  They even had printed schedules to inform the 
attendees of just when each sermon, song or hymnal would be delivered with time 
and dates ruthlessly adhered to.

That there was no true heart to this Church never even occurred to a man like 
Schiller, who saw tolerance for diversity as a vice, not a virtue.  That the 
Love being espoused here was dry and airy, devoid of true spiritualism, was 
simply beyond his limited powers of comprehension.  Nor did he see any 
contradiction between the message of Jesus as a God of Love and Forgiveness when 
contrasted against the opposite polar image of a God who hated sin and despised 
all who deviated from the essentially conformist message that Schiller 
delivered.  It was fairly routine for him to denounce Jews, Catholics, Moslems, 
Buddhists, Hindu, Pagans and Rotarians as the minions of Satan.  Even Mormons, 
Presbyterians, Methodists and Quakers were viewed here as spawn of the Unholy, 
and all who took the side of Abortionists, Evolutionists, Homosexuals, Liberals, 
Humanists and other minorities were marked as targets for God's righteous wrath.  
No one escaped the lash of scorn and derision when Schiller stood at the podium 
to decry all things that were not in keeping with his interpretation of the 
Bible.  His verbal shotgun was ready and cocked to target the enemies of Jesus, 
and if you were a follower of any other faith but his then you were guilty of 
Heresy and Witchcraft, fit only for the fires of perdition.

Looking upon the hundreds of bright and cheerful faces in attendance for today 
Schiller was thrilled at his own success, marveling how he could have come from 
such humble beginnings to the lofty heights that he now strode these days, at 
the top of his performance among the rights of Televangelist preachers.  Unlike 
a few of his chosen profession, Schiller did not shun the label, viewing it as a 
mark of distinction that he had arrived as a media powerhouse who could make and 
break politicians.  So what if those mealy-mouthed doubting Thomases of the 
Council of Churches took exception with his financial management practices and 
the stridency of his message?  Schiller was unapologetic for being the robust 
stallion of God that he was and would continue to preach and spend as he saw fit 
until God himself told him otherwise.

And all this having grown up from a small parish in the hinterlands of Georgia, 
when he had been forced to begin his sermons by preaching inside an abandoned 
warehouse on the outskirts of Atlanta, delivering his message and honing his 
abilities as a preacher on the sticky floor that once housed cartons of soda 
pop, hence his early nickname as "Soda Pop Schiller."  He smiled as he thought 
of his critics back then, those who had never dreamed that he would fare this 
well or go as far in his sacred calling, and as he thought of his critics his 
smile turned into a nasty sneer that he briefly displayed before smothering it 
once again beneath the unctuous benevolent smile that he ordinarily wore before 
the public.

He glanced briefly up at the Control Booth and gave a faintly perceptible nod to 
the stage director, cueing that his performance was about to begin.  The crew in 
the booth worked feverishly to meet the eight O'clock morning deadline that the 
cable broadcasters had slated as the show's beginning.  This would be a very 
important event in the history of Schiller's mission and nothing could be 
allowed to go wrong.  Cold-eyed men wearing ties and shirts operated the 
controls to key the automated fountains to begin spraying, the lighting to dim 
around the podium while the spotlights converged on where Schiller was shortly 
to be standing.  Market analysis and test researching had determined the right 
amount of color that could be used to create the perfect halo-like effect when 
cast against the suit that Schiller was wearing, and even the teleprompters 
displaying Schiller's sermon were brought on line for the big performance.  The 
Choir began chanting their opening hymnal while the announcer gave the sponsor's 
line and credited the identity of the station, and then Schiller advanced 
towards the center stage, a general fully in command of his army and preparing 
to order his troops into spiritual battle against Lucifer and his Harlot.
Schiller basked happily in the glow of applause that his congregation paid to 
him as the light came on to signify such salutation.  Geoffrey assumed his place 
near the rear to the stage, not wanting to eclipse his mentor, knowing full well 
that his cue would not come for another fifteen minutes, so he settled back and 
prepared to be bedazzled.  Schiller checked to see that his microphone was in 
place and that the test-light signified that he was being received without 
either distortion or static, and so he made a soft noise to clear his mouth and 
began to speak his opening oratory.

"Dear friends," he began, "Welcome once again to the House of the Lord.  Today I 
must speak about a dangerous menace to our society..."

And that was when everything began going wrong as someone else drowned him out 
in both force and volume.

"REPENT, SINNER, FOR THE HOUR OF JUDGEMENT IS UPON YOU!!!"

For a moment Schiller was stunned into speechlessness, hearing the projected 
feminine tones ringing out from seeming everywhere at once, even more loudly 
inside his head as he sought the source of this untimely interruption.  He 
briefly glanced at his Security Chief and encountered only vague 
incomprehension, and only then did he become aware of another presence inside 
the hall other than his chosen faithful.

She made her presence known in a rather spectacular way, appearing in the air 
above their heads as though manifesting there and giving off a potent aura of 
golden radiance that drew all eyes to her direction.  She descended in a cloak 
of glory, floating in the air with cape billowing out behind her and setting off 
the gleam of her metallic skin and hair.  She drifted to the far end of the 
indoor pool that Schiller used for communal baptism, and then when her feet 
touched the shimmering pool she halted, refusing to sink below but rather began 
walking over the surface of the water.

"Who let you inside this House of God, woman?" Schiller immediately demanded, 
"Begone at once, Lucifer...!"

"You have no dominion over me!" Mar-Sa declared, "Nor do I recognize the 
authority of a fraud and a huckster!  You are no more a man of the very faith 
you profess than I am a demon, and I can prove that before the very God you 
defame that you are a coward and a liar unworthy of the name of Priest!"

"Blasphemy!" Schiller cried, waving a hand at his security people, "Remove her 
from my sight!"

There was a slight hesitation in the expression of the Security chief, but he 
knew his job depended on his swift compliance and thus ordered his men 
forward...

Only to be met by a wave of force that slammed into them and sent them tumbling 
backwards.

"This is supposed to be a House of worship and devotion," Mar-Sa said as she 
stretched out a hand and caused an object hidden beneath the jacket of the 
Security Chief to come loose from its holster.  The gun flew into her hand and 
she snatched it out of the air before presenting it before the congregation, 
making the magazine and chambered round fall free, then loudly pronouncing, 
"Weapons have no place on holy soil!  Let those who take up the Sword in arms be 
mindful that they blaspheme against the Prince of Peace whom they pretend to 
worship!"

As she said this, the gun began glowing brightly in her hand, turning red-hot in 
her gloved fingers before melting into a pool of metal that hissed when it 
struck the water.  As this happened the various security people started crying 
out in pain and dismay, yanking their own guns out of their jackets and throwing 
them away, disarming themselves with great alacrity without noticing that their 
weapons were not similarly glowing red-hot, the effect created in their minds 
being more the product of telepathic suggestion.

Mar-Sa turned back to Schiller and said, "Let he who is without fault cast the 
first stone, Reverend.  You started this by challenging me with your vile 
accusations.  Are you ready to hear my rebuttal, you foul beast of a man, you 
base pretender?"

"Silence!" Schiller cried, "You have no right---!"

"I have ever right to come here and denounce you," Mar-Sa replied as she 
levitated herself back into the air, putting herself deliberately in line with 
the best camera angle so that her confrontation with Schiller would be broadcast 
live to those millions of viewers whose minds he routinely poisoned, "I sought 
no confrontation with you, nor did I challenge your faith either deliberately or 
unintentionally, but you chose to single me out as your Judas Goat for public 
ridicule.  You defamed the name of a good woman who has shown me only kindness 
and brought shame upon your order.  You have sown the wind...now you must reap 
the whirlwind!"

With that she raised her hand and caused a wave of force to radiate outward, her 
Telekinesis causing the very air itself to shiver and vibrate as she directed 
her energy at the artificial lighting along the sides of the cathedral-like 
dome.  They exploded internally as the forces within them were collapsed in one 
instant, creating a very loud noise whose intensity was greatly amplified all 
around, though the actual structural damage to the building itself was minimal.  
However some panels pushed outward created holes in the ceiling through which 
natural sunlight began to filter, giving the right effect that she wanted to 
create here as she turned this revivalist meeting against its own promoter.

"This House is supposed to belong to your God, Reverend," Mar-Sa declared as she 
floated above the now silent chamber, "But you have turned it into a House of 
iniquity, a House of Mammon where Moneylenders not only have run of the place 
but staff it..."

"Insolent harridan!" Schiller managed to croak out past the tightness in his own 
throat, "I'll have you arrested for this!"

"Go ahead and try to sue me," Mar-Sa replied, "I'll meet you in a higher court 
any day that you like, but you will no longer be able to shelter yourself with 
the millions that you have fleeced from these misguided people.  I know all 
about your spending habits and financial doings, Reverend Schiller.  I know 
about the tax shelters and private numbered accounts that you have salted away 
for your own petty enrichment.  I know about the terrorist camps where you train 
fanatics to kill doctors and bomb abortion clinics!  I know all about that 
mistress you keep, the one with the expensive taste in jewelry that your wife 
tolerates out of blind devotion and a pensioned salary from you, her HUSBAND!"
She stressed the word, watching Schiller flinch in shock and dismay, the guilt 
in his expression as manifest as the disbelief that she could have discovered 
his dark and perverted secrets.

"How could you...there is no way you could know...!" he all but screamed.

"Poor and pathetic wretch of a man, have you idea what you are dealing with 
here?" she taunted softly, "Do you honestly believe that you are more divinely 
gifted than me?  That your God listens to the prayers of a man who defames him 
with every other breath while ignoring one who walks in the path of the light 
and makes her home among the heavens?  Just which of us do you imagine to be the 
sinner here, and which of us the servant of the divine within us?"

She saw confusion turn to horror as he stared up at the radiant vision that she 
presented, a fearful man confronted with something beyond his understanding, and 
Mar-Sa was almost moved to feel pity for the fool, but knew full well that he 
was little more than a child masquerading as and adult and lacked the proper 
supervision of a conscience.  A man such as this could rationalize anything, and 
if left to his own devices he would continue to exploit the masses.

Unseen by Mar-Sa but hovering at the side of the stage Geoffrey Taylor stood 
immobilized, held rooted to the spot by a power unlike any that he had ever felt 
before, torn between loyalty to his mentor and a sense that he, too, was out of 
his depths.  The golden woman was an unearthly beauty to torment the mind and 
torture the devoted, tempting one to bask in the glow that she radiated, and yet 
leaving him feeling very much like the moth to her flame.  He felt the power 
contained within her vessel and trembled in wonder at it all, power such as he 
had never known before, and yet oddly thirsted for as he continued to look on, a 
helpless, hopeless witness.

"Poor sinner," Mar-Sa allowed herself to drift down towards the central stage, 
remaining only a few meters beyond Schiller's reach as she confronted him, 
letting the imposing measure of her size add to the effect created as she looked 
the terrified man in the eyes and too his full measure, "Did you truly believe 
that you could hide from me the dark recesses of your heart?  The true reason 
why you taunted me and said those awful things about both me and Heather 
Holberg.  Shame on you, considering that Heather spends millions on charity 
while you spend less than five percent of the riches you tithe upon the poor and 
the needy.  And those so-called religious schools of forced indoctrination that 
you sponsor?  Shame on you!  You spreader of hate and disseminator of vile 
nonsense!"

"You...you cannot threaten me in my own House...!" Schiller protested while 
cowering away.

"Your house?" Mar-Sa said, "I thought this was a house devoted to your Lord, or 
has the ownership passed into your personal possession?"

"It's mine!" Schiller declared, "I am the Lord's chosen servant!"

"Oh really?" Mar-Sa asked, "Did He choose you or did you choose to associate 
with Him?  It's easy to idolize with a power greater than yourself, but you 
bring no credit and only shame to the teachings of Jesus.  Did he not tell you 
to respect the law and leave questions of Justice up to Heaven?  Who gave you 
the authority to act as judge and jury for your fellow human being, or to 
demonize people of a different faith, or to preach indifference towards those 
who cannot defend themselves against tyranny?  AND YET YOU HAVE DONE ALL OF THIS 
AND MORE WHILE PROFESSING TO BE A SERVANT OF JESUS!"

Up in the control booth the director was going wild, seeing his employer being 
humiliated on the airwaves, and so he frantically called out, "Go to commercial!  
Cut the feed!  For God's sake, CUT TO A COMMERCIAL!!!"

"We can't!" one of the technicians reported while desperately working his 
keyboard, "We're locked out of the system!  We can't control the feed or the 
transmission!"

"Someone's hacked into our system!" another controller reported, "Our passwords 
aren't being accepted, and the main relays are off-line!  The transmissions are 
going out directly!"

All at once a spark flared up and shorted out their keyboards, and the monitors 
at their stations were next to go haywire, the image briefly being replaced by 
the synthesized aspect of a woman who wagged a finger in their direction and 
said, "NO YOU DON'T BOYS...THIS TRANSMISSION IS GOING OUT LIVE AND WITHOUT 
COMMERCIAL INTERRUPTION."

"You dare profane the Lord's name with your Harlot's lips?" Schiller declared 
with a hopeless quaver in his voice.

"You are a very sick man, Schiller," Mar-Sa declared sadly, "I can see into your 
mind and it is twisted, full of perverse images and delusional rantings.  I can 
see a pattern of abuse and neglect that you experienced in your childhood, 
leading you to hate homosexuals as you identify them with a crime committed 
against you by a kinsman.  Yet you joined the ranks of the clergy to escape the 
draft years ago but have spent your entire career urging others to go to war 
against everything that you label as evil.  Yet why do you pick targets who are 
weaker than yourself and your organization, with all the riches that you harvest 
from pensioners and widows?"

Schiller forced himself to look away from his accuser, belatedly becoming aware 
that he had an audience for his denouncement, so he frantically waved a hand and 
cried, "Do not listen to her lies, my people!  Her falsehoods are meant to 
mislead you to the very Gates of Hell...!"

"You speak to me of falsehood, you purveyor of lies and bearer of false 
witness?" Mar-Sa asked, "What about that girl you abused in your office?  Or 
that woman you raped in that hotel down in Florida?  I can see it all in your 
thoughts, even evil, disgusting little thing that you have ever done while 
claiming the authority of Heaven.  But who are you to say if I am a servant of 
Heaven or Hell, you who can rationalize anything while preaching violence to 
your extremist colleagues.  I think that I will leave you to the judgement of 
your peers and the legal authorities from now on.  I have said my piece, but I 
can no longer stomach probing through your psychotic ramblings looking for the 
fragments of the truth that you bury.  Make your peace with your God, if you 
truly believe in him at all.  I pity you, Sir.  If anyone is in need of 
forgiveness it is you, and that is not in my jurisdiction."

She turned her back to Schiller and addressed herself at his congregation, "And 
you people...what are you doing here in this place listening to the rantings of 
this hate-filled fool?  Are your lives so empty and barren of meaning that you 
cling to his robes and shun the company of your fellow human being?  How many of 
you walk over a poor person without thinking, or speak condescendingly to a 
neighbor?  How many of you waste the riches of the Earth to sate your own self-
indulgence?  When was the last time that you committed a kind act towards a 
stranger?  Or have you ever spoken to a family member and told them that you 
appreciate them with all their imperfections?  How can you fail to do any of 
this and still call yourselves followers of Jesus?"

The audience milled about, confused and uncertain of what to do.  They were used 
to being led about by the nose by carefully scripted lines and choreographed 
stock phrases, so this wholly unscripted speech left them blinking their eyes 
and showing faint traces of actual human emotion.  The glassy-eyed, trance-like 
state of the fervent believer was replaced by faint traces of doubt and 
uncertainty that bordered on critical self-examination, and some found this a 
very frightening concept, while others had a flicker of hope and inspiration 
replace the gloom of their own lives, and a few more actually started to listen.

"Think well of what you do when you give yourself over to a false prophet, 
letting him decide for you what course your lives are to take and what meaning 
there is to be found in your existence," Mar-Sa continued, "Remember that it is 
your deeds and not just your words that can determine if you are a good or a bad 
person, and that people who live in glass houses should not cast stones at 
another."

With that she thrust her hand upward again and once more released her power in a 
wave of force that was directly skyward.  She projected a psychokinetic blast at 
the ceiling tiles, blowing them outward while leaving the structural frames 
intact, and instantly gave the place a new sun-roof, being careful to send the 
shards flying off in different directions so they would not fall upon the 
people.  Her violent action caused many to cry out and throw up their hands in 
terror, but when only sunlight descended upon their heads they started to look 
up and see the blue heavens and the light that felt warm and different from the 
artificiality of the Temple dome itself.  This caused more than a few to cast 
new looks towards Mar-Sa, and more than a bit of awe found its way to their 
expressions.

"A church should be a place of life, not a place where you wait to die of 
boredom," Mar-Sa said, "Be good to each other and be kind to yourselves.  Pause 
and reflect before you judge people and remember...you are all the sons and 
daughters of one spirit, children of the Earth and sun that give you life.  
Don't concern yourself with the imperfections of others, live happy lives and 
appreciates the gifts that you have already been given.  Above all else...to 
your own selves be true."

And with that she rose into the air, hovering slowly over the crowd as she let 
the sunbeams shine against her, at which point she began glowing once again as 
her aura intensified, giving her entire glistening body a radiant halo.
And then she was gone, rising up into the sky, leaving only a cowering Schiller 
and a bedazzled crowd to stare up at her passing.
Geoffrey blinked his eyes, the spell finally broken, and he turned to see his 
mentor huddled on the ground, weeping like a small child while security people 
and church staff milled about like actors on a stage who had no lines and no 
direction.

Finally the director in the booth far above broke his own silence over the 
matter, closing his mouth and coughing a little before saying, "Now that was a 
performance...I wonder if she already has an agent...?"





Her friends greeted her back at the Playmate office in downtown San Francisco, 
and there was a carnival-like atmosphere already underway with the women on 
Heather's staff toasting champagne and breaking out the cheese and crackers.

Naturally enough it was Phoebe who summarized the general consensus here as she 
greeted Mar-Sa with an enthusiastic hug and a cry of, "You did it, Marsha!  You 
goddamned beautiful pagan Angel!"

"Thank you," Mar-Sa replied as she embraced Phoebe in return, "I'm feeling much 
better now, in spite of the...unpleasantness that I discovered in the mind of 
Schiller."

"You really cut him down to size," Katie commented with a smile, "You made him 
look like a hypocritical fool in front of his own people..."

"A brilliantly played strategy and a treat well worth the wait," Heather agreed, 
"I would have paid good money to have televised that event myself."

"Heck with that," Cathy said, "I'd have paid big bucks to see it live!  And that 
walking on the water thing?  That was a niiiice touch!"

"Of course by blowing a hole in his ceiling you did leave yourself open to a 
lawsuit," Fiona duly noted, playing the Devil's advocate.

"Let him sue," Heather folded her arms and smile confidently, "I've already 
prepared a counter-suit for slandering my client and causing financial loss by 
his antics of yesterday.  Considering that I am also about to release a 
devastating series of exposes highlighting the many crimes that can be alleged 
against Schiller, AND I am simultaneously making available my evidence to the 
police, including a number of sworn depositions that have been signed by some of 
his victims, I rather imagine that he will be much too busy to deal with us.  If 
anything he may well settle out of court in our favor, at which point I will 
request a formal public apology for slandering Mar-Sa."

"If you had that much evidence against him why were you withholding it?" Katie 
asked.

"Hey, we weren't withholding anything," Cathy explained, "The police have known 
about a lot of stuff regarding Schiller for some time now, but they didn't have 
enough to make a case, let alone ward off the political and public flak that 
they would have taken."

"But Mar-Sa's rather public display will give them the impetus that they have 
long needed," Heather's smile became more predatory, "Schiller has often boasted 
that he has the means to buy politicians...let us see if he can buy his way out 
of a jail term.  After all, statutory rape laws are very strictly enforced in 
the state of California."

"Then good riddance to him," Phoebe smiled up at Mar-Sa, "Let's hope we heard 
the last of that creep and his legion of Fundies."

"Yes," Mar-Sa agreed, "Let us hope that it is so.  And yet...I fear that there 
are some who will find fault in my actions.  It was necessary what I did, but I 
take no enjoyment in having to publicly expose such a man to the light of 
ridicule.  Truly he has a very disturbed mind, and I fear that some of his 
people will be provoked to seek retribution for his undoing."

"Let 'em come," Katie snorted, "If they come looking for us then they're gonna 
get more than they can handle."

"Hope you're right about that," Cathy said, "Schiller was a clown, but I hear 
that Taylor guy, the one who calls himself Godsend, he's a real piece of work, I 
tell you..."

"There are plenty of people like him in the world," Fiona noted, "When they 
can't win with words they resort to using bullets."

"Takes more than a bullet to stop an Ultra Girl," Phoebe boasted, adding in a 
more sullen note, "Especially with all the special training we've been getting 
lately..."

"Oh yes," Heather remarked, "How is that going, by the way?"

"I'm making some real progress with these two," Katie replied, "But they still 
have a lot of work to do before I'm even halfway satisfied.  In fact, I think 
it's time to ratchet things up to a new level for the both of you."

Her two primary students received this information with matching, if dubious, 
expressions, Mar-Sa wincing slightly about the cheeks while Phoebe looked a bit 
green and most distinctively swallowed.

"In the meantime," Heather smiled, "I doubt that even your Sensei will object to 
your having a little fun on the side for a day or so, especially seeing as how 
you have more than earned it."

"I think I can go along with that...for now," Katie smiled, "I feel like doing a 
little celebrating myself after seeing Schiller get what was coming to him."

"All right then if we get a little all-girl orgy going on the sly?" Cathy 
grinned.

"Possibly later," Heather answered with a smile, "After we make an official 
announcement and reschedule another debut to make up for the last one.  Oh, and 
contact the governor and the mayor to inform them that this time there will be 
no unplanned interruptions."

"Got it, Chief," Fiona smiled, turning and winking at Cathy, "And dibs on the 
orgy if Big Gold here gets to attend it."

"You got it," Cathy winked, reaching out a hand to hug Heather.

Phoebe turned to Mar-Sa and telepathically asked, **Why do I get the impression 
that we're about to be invited to take part in that party?**

**Just be nice and we'll politely decline the offer, Phoebe-chan,** Mar-Sa 
responded.

**What's the matter, kids?** Katie mused as she joined in on their rapport, 
**Afraid of a little group action?**

**Katie!** Phoebe reacted, **Are you suggesting we should take part in this???**

**Don't have a snit,** Katie replied, **Consider it a new part of your training, 
and with the advanced techniques that I've been teaching the both of you, you 
ought to excel at this sort of action.**

**Um...** Mar-Sa reluctantly said, **An orgy consists of many people having sex 
together, right?**

**That's the basic idea,** Katie mentally responded.

**Then that means that we...and Heather...and the others...** Mar-Sa mentally 
flashed a picture of the twenty-plus other women currently attending the revelry 
in progress and considered what it might be like to make love to every one of 
them, and was surprised to find that the idea was actually quite intriguing...

**Marsha!** Phoebe snapped, immediately sensing the line of thought and where it 
was leading.

**Um...I was just...curious,** Mar-Sa winced slightly, linking hands with Phoebe 
before saying aloud, "But you're the only one I really want to spend time with."

"Hmph, you'd better mean that," Phoebe replied with ruffled humor, "We got 
another show to put on in a couple of weeks, and once Katie here gets us back 
into training..."

"Right," Mar-Sa replied, giving Katie a nod, "Like Sensei said...it's all about 
training..."

"Life itself is training, Students," Katie gave them a wink, "But you should 
learn never to let an opportunity get away from you, and if Heather's throwing a 
party you can bet that I'll be there, orgy or no orgy."

**I think she's serious,** Mar-Sa mentally commented.

**I think you're right,** Phoebe mentally replied before the two exchanged 
smiles and said aloud, "It's all about training..."





The concrete block was four-by-six-by-two feet of unreinforced masonry, three 
tons held suspended above two steel girders that supported it over the stage, 
and Mar-Sa shattered it neatly in half with a single shuto-chop, much to her 
Sensei's qualified approval.  Not content with merely shattering the objects, 
Mar-Sa then reached down and hefted the two halves in either arm, then began to 
juggle them over the stage as though the unevenly balanced objects were made of 
Styrofoam instead of the hardened mixture of lime and granite that they were, 
which earned from her mentor the sly comment of, "Showoff."

The audience applauded the display even as Heather cheered them on with an 
encouraging, "How about that, ladies and gentlemen?  Another world-shattering 
record display of physical might by the Ultra-Girl, our good friend from another 
world, Mar-Sa!"

Mar-Sa finished off her demonstration of raw prowess by hefting the blocks into 
the air then one-by-one reduced them into smaller chunks with rapid punches of 
both hands.  She made certain to extend her telekinetic field so that no stray 
bits of concrete flew into the audience, and then she gathered the chunks into 
her mental net and telekinetically dropped them into a waiting barrel.

"And there you have another demonstration of why recycling is good for the 
environment," Heather pleasantly continued, "And just to show that this applies 
to metal as well as silicon..."

Mar-Sa took her cue and picked up one of the steel girders, holding it out for 
public inspection before bending it double.  She did the same with the other 
girder then deposited them off to the side after fusing the ends together to 
create a single square-shaped object.

Next up she was presented with a new luxury sports car, and Mar-Sa had to pick 
this up with great delicacy, her telekinesis flowing from her hands to make the 
body and frame as light as a feather, and careful not to accidentally dent the 
undercarriage with her fingers.  She placed it at the other end of the stage, at 
which point Phoebe climbed behind the wheel and drove it away to a parking space 
reserved at the rear of the platform.

Mar-Sa next demonstrated her levitation ability by flying around the stage and 
soaring out over the audience before returning to the side of Heather.  
Immediately following this she used her Pryokinesis to set fire to a number of 
prepared paper targets, all the while making it seem both effortless and second 
nature.  Few among the audience would appreciate how long and hard Mar-Sa had 
trained to hone her abilities to this level, but only Phoebe and Katie knew for 
sure the degree of practice that it had taken to insure that nothing untowards 
would occur on this second scheduled demonstration.

Rick Shepherd, who had been honored by a personal invitation from Heather to 
attend in the front row of the press gathering, sat enraptured as he watched his 
"golden angel" perform the sort of astonishing feats that he had only dreamed 
about in his childhood.  At one point he would have sworn that Mar-Sa even 
looked directly at him and gave a wink, but for the most part she tended to 
spread her attention to the rest of the audience so as to leave many with the 
impression that she was flirting in their direction.

"Harry's gonna love this one," he heard someone say before a bag of peanuts was 
offered to him, "Have some, they're unsalted."

"Huh?" Rick almost jumped out of his seat when he recognized who it was that had 
just made the offer, "You?"

"Why does everybody always say that?" the other man shrugged, "Of course it's 
me, Shepherd, who did you think it was, the Pope?"

"What are you doing here, Major?" Rick asked as he formed himself to be calm, 
cool and collected, all the while feeling the urge to put distance between 
himself and the black-ops specialist, who presently was dressed up as a 
civilian.

"Hey, I'm here with the family on my day off," Brookhurst replied, "My kid wants 
an autograph the worst way, and you know how it is.  She sure is something to 
watch, huh?"

"Uh...yeah," Rick forced himself to return his focus to the activities on the 
stage.

"So, what do you think your chances are?" Brookhurst asked, "Think the big 
lady's gonna succumb to that manly charm of yours?  There's a betting pool going 
on among my boys just in case you're interested..."

"What do you want here?" Rick could not hide his frustration, "You're not gonna 
try and arrest her with all these people watching?"

"Now why would I want to do that?" Brookhurst asked as though the question were 
unthinkable, "It's still a free country, and she's not breaking any laws that I 
can see.  Besides, I'm not a cop.  Let somebody else try slapping her in 
handcuffs.  My job's strictly surveillance."

"You mean you're spying on her?" Rick asked.

"I mean we know where she lives," Brookhurst shrugged, "Wouldn't be doing our 
job if we didn't know that.  So far, though, the folks I answer to back in 
Washington have decided to keep their hands off and let things sort themselves 
out for the moment.  Besides, I'd be lying to say we strictly disapproved of her 
recent activities, especially in putting to rout a certain public nuisance."

"You mean Schiller?" Rick replied.

"That good-old-boy was a major fund raiser for the opposition party," Brookhurst 
noted, "And we've had our eye on him for quite a while now, so the big lady just 
made it easier for us to move in with a subpoena.  We closed down a few of those 
camps where he'd been training terrorists for Jesus, haven't yet got the rest of 
the organization, though, but I hear that Taylor's taken over the outfit and 
disavowed any knowledge of his mentor's financial dealings."

"Yeah, right," Rick snorted, "You ask me, he's a worse threat to public safety 
than Schiller ever could be."

"Won't get any argument out of me on that," Brookhurst replied, nodding to the 
stage again before adding, "Just off the record, though, I'm glad that lady 
seems to be on our side...for now anyway."

"What do you mean for now?" Rick frowned.

"I mean that this goes way beyond Schiller or the Fundies or any other group of 
wackos who might be coming out of the woodwork," Brookhurst said seriously, "My 
superiors in Washington are growing concerned that the people from her world may 
be sending us another visitor sometime soon, somebody a lot nastier than your 
golden girlfriend."

"Another somebody from her world?" Rick found the idea more than slightly 
alarming, "You're kidding?"

"Wish I was," Brookhurst replied, starting to get up, "Well, said my piece, and 
you can quote me as an anonymous source and all that.  Gotta get back to the 
family before my wife thinks I've turned gay on the sidelines.  Wouldn't do much 
for my career, either, if people thought I was consorting with reporters."

"You really mean it...about Washington keeping a hands-off policy for now?" Rick 
asked before the Major had taken more than two steps away from his seat.

"I mean the big lady's got friends in some pretty high places," Brookhurst 
turned and winked at Rick before putting a finger to his lips and adding, "But 
that's our little secret.  Be seeing you around, Shepherd."

"Not if I see you first, Major," Rick softly replied before turning a thoughtful 
look back towards Mar-Sa and adding, "Pretty high places, huh?  I wonder just 
how high up the food chain that is...?"





President Thomas Parker stormed into the office of the Vice-President, waving a 
just-received memo as he thundered, "Would you mind telling me just what the 
hell this is about?  Why am I always the last person to know about these things?  
And why the heck have the wheels of government ground to a complete halt around 
here?  Is everybody on lunch break or something?  I couldn't reach anyone else 
in your office..."

"Calm down, Dear," the Vice-President responded, setting aside the folder that 
she had been reading from to look up at her husband, "Most of the secretaries 
are either on lunch break or are gathered in the common room for a special 
conference meeting.  You mean you didn't hear about it?"

"No," Parker stared with his single icy-blue eye at his wife and said, "I'd 
heard that there was something going on in San Francisco, but I've been too busy 
dealing with the Pakistani treaty negotiations to pay all that much attention to 
the news."

"Honestly, Tom," Caroline Parker sighed, "You really need to climb out of the 
foxhole sometime and get out into the world more often.  Don't worry, though, 
I've set the VCR to record the broadcast, we can watch it later in the West 
Wing."

"Are you telling me that the entire White House is on a lunch break just so they 
can watch some special event of a woman lifting heavy objects?  What if 
something monumental---God forbid---should happen to the rest of the country?"

"I'm sure that you'll manage just as you always do, Tom," Caroline replied, 
picking up her remote and powering on her own office TV, which immediately came 
online on a major Cable news network.

Parker stared at the picture for several minutes before grudgingly admitting, 
"All right...so maybe that is a little special..."

"How kind of you to notice," Caroline was amused at her husband's attempt at 
nonchalance, leaning back in her leather chair before she added, "Of course it 
would help if you read the intelligence briefings that we receive on her almost 
daily, though I think the more reliable information so far has come from certain 
outside sources."

Parker was about to ask his wife and running mate what she meant when his single 
eye chanced to catch sight of a brown-wrapped object laying on the desk, and to 
this he gestured, "You mean that?"  He reached out to pick it up, noticing a sly 
smile crossing the lovely features of his blonde Vice-President, which he always 
found particularly alarming.

A moment later he found out why, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline.  Almost 
against his will he scanned the pictures before reaching the attached articles, 
taking note of the fact that his wife's staff obviously had been very careful to 
preserve the magazine paper with plastic lamination.

"This is your idea of an outside source?" he asked dryly.

"Straight from the mouth of the alien herself," Caroline grinned, "Can you think 
of a better inside source?  Go ahead and take that with you..."

"No thanks," Parker deliberately set it down as though afraid that it might bite 
him, "If people saw me reading that in the Oval Office there'd be talk all over 
Washington."

"So what's a bit of controversy to us?" Caroline shrugged, "One more scandal 
won't amount to an impeachment."

"I think one of my predecessors said that, and look what happened to him," 
Parker noted as he turned away and took his leave of the office, murmuring to 
himself as he went, "Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to get that law suspended 
on family members serving together...guess we really do pay for our 
sins...sooner or later..."






"Another failure?" Dar-Kem exclaimed, "Haven't your people fixed the problem 
with targeting yet?"

"Apologies, your grace," Gas-Ton replied, "We are trying to fix the alignment 
between stars, but with a distance this vast, over a thousand cycles..."

"I am not interested in excuses!" Dar-Kem thundered, "I need results and soon!  
Our Agent has nearly completed his training and will be ready to deploy just as 
soon as you people can work the details for this infernal transporter!"

"Problems, Councilor?" asked Kas-Par as he strode into the chamber.

"Nothing that cannot be managed, Commander," Dar-Kem all but snarled back, 
"Though perhaps you should use your influence to persuade these Techs to make 
better progress in their working the defects out of their machine."

Said Technicians looked up from their monitoring stations to turn anxious 
expressions in the direction of both men, Gas-Ton visibly paling.

"I see no point in needless interrogations," Kas-Par replied, bringing immediate 
relief to the dozen anxious men all around them, "Not when they are working as 
hard as they are able to meet the Council deadlines, and anything my people 
might do would most likely interfere with...future progress."

That latter part brought back the nervousness, and at once said Technicians 
turned back and buried themselves into their work.

"You are aware that your son will be the beneficiary of the safe and reliable 
operation of the transporter, Commander," Dar-Ken glared, "If I were you I would 
hardly be this complacent..."

"Complacency has nothing to do with it, Councilor," Kas-Par replied, "And I 
would not wish you to distress yourself over the matter.  You are only just 
recovering from your...period of convalescence..."

"That is none of your concern!" Dar-Kem snapped, only to visibly make an effort 
at calming himself once again, "I merely wish to stress that the future success 
of this mission depends on their competence..."

"Chief Engineer," Kas-Par said without turning his head.

"Commander?" Gas-Ton nervously responded.

"Are your people doing everything that they can to insure the safety of my son 
and the success of this mission?" Kas-Par inquired.

"Commander, my Lord," Gas-Ton licked his lips before resuming, "I cannot change 
the laws of physics, not even to suit the wishes of the Council..."

"You will do what we tell you to do," Dar-Kem snapped, "And if we request you to 
perform a miracle, then you most certainly will do it or face the consequences!"

"If the Councilor wishes to make it a direct order, then you are at liberty," 
Kas-Par remarked, "However, as they know what they are doing, and I most 
certainly do not, I am forced to defer to their judgement.  I recommend 
patience, Councilor...the world known as Earth is not going anywhere...at least 
not so far that we could not find it when we wished."

"To within a reasonable percentage of certainty," Gas-Ton timidly added.

Dar-Kem said something guttural and then angrily stormed out of the chamber.

Kas-Par turned to the anxious Gas-Ton and said, "I will speak with the High 
Council if you require more time.  In the meanwhile, carry on with your work, 
Chief Engineer."

"Yes Commander," Gas-Ton replied, visibly sweating.

Kas-Par exited the chamber, pausing only to give a brief glance at the 
Teleporter, feeling a wealth of conflicting emotion, seeing both the promise and 
the threat that the "infernal" machine signified and wondering if this whole 
project would be the salvation of their world or the bane of their existence.  
Either way he knew that events were in motion that would be impossible to stop, 
and so he turned away and headed for a certain meeting with Dev-Or as other 
plans were in the work, plots that would greatly effect the course of history 
and life, as they knew it, in the domed city of Ninjarma...




End Part Three/Book One
Mar-Sa, the Ultra Girl
"A HEROINE IS MADE, NOT BORN"
(Part Four to continue the Series)
by: Jim Robert Bader
October 3, 2001

For comments and criticisms contact me at: shadowmane@ridgenet.net


X
Page 138 of 138		       Mar-Sa, the Ultra Girl
Book One/Part Three		 By Jim Robert Bader
Chapters 20-27          	 First Copyrights Only


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

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.