Aaron (Malak) LaBelle is a successful negotiator, thanks to his talent with languages. Unfortunately, his long life means that he has enemies and even friends who have maintained grudges for decades.

Part Two

Slowly, it obeyed. Malak flew overhead for a bit, watching to make sure it actually left. Once certain it would maintain its course away from the beach at least for a while, he turned his attentions to the other monsters. Most of them were by now already ashore. Though they lumbered, they still made progress on the land.

A quick check showed that they were attacking the celebratory venues and menacing the attendees. Fortunately, the bizarre creatures weren't fast out of water. Unfortunately, some of those attending were much slower. A quick test showed Malak that these were just as resistant to his spears as the greater monster was. Which meant they would likely also resist his phasing. Worse, unlike the first creature, they ignored his commands.

Fortunately, they were not immune to general physical force. Wing strikes and explosions from his spears hitting the ground near them could distract these smaller giants, and even turn them. However, there were fifteen of them. Despite frantic efforts Malak found himself failing to keep them away from the fleeing people. There were simply too many of the creatures, and they were too determined in their attack. He also had to be careful not to harm the attendees with his spears.

Suddenly, there was a flash of multi-colored light, and Rainbow - all in blue - entered the fray.

"I got a message that you could use some help?" she asked, in her charming Cockney accent, as she flew beside the winged man.

"Definitely," said Malak.

With two of them working on the problem they were much better able to protect people and property. However, there were still many of the creatures to deal with, and the monsters simply would not leave. Fortunately, more help soon arrived, in the form of both additional empowered and heavily armed special police and even some proper military. Many of the monsters were eventually killed. The rest finally got the message that they weren't welcome and left. Malak noted that they were going in the same general direction as the larger one. He needed to find where they were going, but that would have to be later.

"That was bizarre," said Rainbow, as she stared at the surface of the Channel, watching the fading wakes of the creatures from where she hovered. Her coloring flickered, bands of hue moving rapidly along her body, as on some deep sea creature. "They just... went away!"

She was obviously baffled, and not a little offended. Rainbow was not the only one confused by these events, either, and not the only one among the empowered present who were left dissatisfied with the end results.

Elements of the French Navy finally arrived. Though they were too late to deal directly with the monsters they stood guard to prevent the return of the creatures. Rainbow and Malak slowly descended towards a promontory as they watched the cleanup. The downblast from Malak's white wings stirred up the dry sand as they landed. Rainbow's landing was much more gentle.

"I can feel no sense of measure in this," said Malak, frowning, after a while of looking out over beach and ocean.

"Which means?" said Rudy, who had finally caught up with them on his walker. He was flushed and panting, but seemed otherwise unaffected by his exertions.

"I can't discern any motivation, beyond simply disrupting the ceremony. In which case, why wait until it's nearly over? Then simply leave when they finally meet significant resistance?"

"Because their timing was off?" said Rudy. "Whoever is behind them might have meant the attack to come earlier, but monsters is monsters, as a friend of ours used to say."

"I remember him," said Malak, with a fond smile.

He changed back into Aaron. Then simply stood, staring out at the waves.

"That someone would attack here, where so much blood was already spilled..."

"White wings?" said Rudy, perhaps to get his friend's mind away from such brooding thoughts.

"I was wondering about that, too," said Rainbow.

"They changed a couple of years ago, after I exerted myself stopping a madman from destroying the world."

Naturally, they both wanted more information about that adventure. Just as naturally, Aaron demurred, giving them only the barest details.

"So that's what happened," said Rudy, nodding.

"I remember some of that," said Rainbow, also nodding.

"You get up to a lot more than what the news covers," muttered Rudy, when the empowered man made clear that was all they were getting from him about that adventure. Rudy side-eyed the older man. "Remember I asked you one time why you didn't do more? You replied that you do do more. I think I understand that, now."

"Well, everyone does get up to a lot more than most people know about," said Aaron, with a disarming smile and a shrug.

He looked at the remains of the nearest monster, one of those few the defenders had managed to kill. It was already being poked and prodded cautiously by investigators.

"At the risk of sounding egotistical, they seemed to have been designed specifically to resist my power set," said Aaron. He turned to Rainbow. "Anyway, thank you, Maisie. Don't know what I would have done if you hadn't arrived when you did."

"You'd have figured something out," she replied, grinning. "You always do."

* * *

The cleanup took much longer than the actual attack, as was typical even with mundane acts of violence. Then, dealing with the paperwork took longer than _that_. Aaron regretted missing the rest of the ceremonies, but realized that the event was probably over for the day; most likely for the year. "Canceled due to monster attack" was an unusual reason, but unfortunately this use of that excuse was far from unique.

Of course, the aftermath didn't end with the event. As just one complication, Aaron had to deal with the local police.

Unfortunately, the Inspector who interviewed him seemed obsessed with minutia at the expense of important data.

"What airline did you use when you came to Normandy?" asked the detective, pen poised over a form.

"I flew in on my own."

"I see. What airport did you use?"

"I thought you said you know who I am."

"Of course I do."

"Then why are you asking me these invalid questions?"

"No-one is above the law! You will answer these questions!"

"I didn't use an airport. I flew directly to the site of the celebration."

"Nonsense. There is no place there to land a plane. If someone attempted that we would of course notice!"

"Who said anything about a plane?"

"An airship, then? Which would be even _more_ noticeable!"

"No. Nor a helicopter."

"What other way is there to fly? You certainly didn't fly there under your own power!"

Aaron just looked at him, seeming amused. After a moment of staring blankly back, the Inspector rose, muttered "Excuse me." and left the room. He went to the his secretary.

"Notify Doctor Bellows."

"Another delusional witness?" she replied, reaching for her desk phone.

"This one thinks he can fly."

When he returned to his fifth-floor office the man was inexplicably gone. However, there was a single, large, white feather on the Inspector's desk.

* * *

Though the D-Day commemoration was a bust for this year, Malak had much else to occupy him. Even after the surviving monsters were located and destroyed. These days most disasters - natural or caused - were largely handled by the worldwide network of volunteers he had established, or similar efforts organized by other empowered. He therefore felt free to pursue additional ways to improve the planet, instead of merely dealing with immediate problems.

One of the more aggressive of these activities involved transporting lost shipping containers onto the properties of the companies which had sent them. Usually blocking the main entrance of the economic entity's main building in the process. Many of these containers were leaking toxins. Malak could have delivered them to the shipping companies, but figured that putting them where they inconvenienced those who owned the contents would cause the companies to be more careful about what they shipped and how, and cause them to put pressure on the businesses which had actually generated the shipping, motivating them to be more careful and responsible.

Malak had begun this work with the newest and shallowest of these containers, but quickly progressed to the oldest and deepest. He sometimes included parts of broken ships or even entire vessels with the containers. Once he had the procedure thoroughly worked out he set to work. Though no-one saw Malak or his doubles and other helpers doing this, and more of these containers had been moved onto the owners' properties than he was actually responsible for, most of his targets knew whom to blame. The problem for them was proving this. Especially since Malak was often sighted at widely distant locations at the same times the containers were placed. Well, the companies' immediate problem was dealing with the containers. After that, though...

* * *

Joe Blank met Melody at the airport for the last leg of her next visit to Haven. Normally, she would have asked her husband take her to the park in the center of town, but John was busy with an investigation for his job. Something about shipping containers. As Joe drove her to Haven - in what appeared to be the same station wagon as the one she had ridden in during her first visit all those years ago - she noticed that he only had a few more grey hairs. Melody suspected he was taking the Santa Cara drug. Maybe everyone in Haven was. The drug was expensive, but they _grew_ silphium, the plant it came from, there. She had read speculation that it might be possible to get animals to produce it, with sheep being mentioned most often, but so far laserpicium extract remained an entirely vegetable product.

For a change, Aaron was at his home when Melody arrived. Coral was still his housekeeper; she answered the bell for the side door and - with a glare but no words - ushered the reporter through the kitchen and into the living room. Melody found Aaron sitting on one of the couches, reading a book on ocean pollution. He immediately marked his spot in the book, put it down on the big, elderly coffee table between the couches and rose as she entered. That he was home when she arrived was happening more often these days, given the improvements made in detecting emergencies early, and the better communications involved in getting the word out to volunteers. In spite of that he looked tired. Though the reporter's arrival, as usual, seemed to greatly brighten his mood.

"I understand that you have more questions for me," he said, after their hug was over.

"Did you know that the French police have a warrant out for you?" said Melody, with an amused smile. "Except that while they have your name right, they say you are a young Frenchman who disrupted the D-day ceremonies and tried to avoid responsibility by lying about what happened. Then escaped custody during questioning."

"None of that surprises me. The detective I spoke to was a real Clouseau."

"Hah! Anyway, what I want to ask you about - among a few other things - is the recent increase in empowered pornographic material. There are rumors that Mannikin is behind much of it."

"Well, Doctor Carver did encourage them to find an outlet for their creative impulses," said Aaron, with a grin and a shrug.

"There are some people who are saying that these... performances are hurting the cause of empowered rights."

"Shouldn't empowered have the right to do what they want, as long as it's legal?" said Aaron, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not arguing they shouldn't. Just letting you know there could be a backlash, and asking about your response."

She sat on the other couch, across the coffee table from her host. Aaron in turn sat. For once there were no cats present.

"I watched some of the videos Manikin is supposedly in or responsible for," said Melody, when her host gave no indication of answering. "Purely for research purposes, mind you. They are rather... wild."

"While most of us tread warily within the halls of sanity, Manikin parties outside."

Melody smirked, having been witness - and even subjected - to some of Manikin's "parties." She pulled a hand-written list from her purse and perused it for a moment. Then she smiled, again.

"Anyway, I have some questions from my readers. There is actually speculation about what you wear under your robes. Ranging from armor of some type to nothing."

"Uh..." said Aaron, for once caught off guard.

"I've seen you as you fly overhead, remember," said Melody, still smirking. "This is from readers."

"Hmph. I didn't choose the outfit; it came with the wings. The material resembles cotton, but is far tougher. It also repairs and cleans itself when I transform. The basic outfit, I mean. The other two robes have to be cleaned and repaired separately, but I don't use them much. However, I can switch between the three at will."

He may have been dissembling a bit. Given the nature of the question, that was understandable. Melody nodded and checked her notes. She grinned.

"What is your favorite food?"

"Would you believe angel food cake?"

"No."

"Heh. Well, what I like largely depends on what mood I'm in. Though fried chicken is usually a good bet."

"Do you have any medical problems which 'normal' people don't?"

"You mean aside from having wings to worry about part of the time? Well, my resting blood pressure is too low, my resting heartbeat is too slow and my body temperature is also too low, as they all have been since I first gained my abilities. This is true of both my forms. Keep in mind that we only have a bit over a century of properly recorded medical experience with empowered. I have remained healthy through that interval despite these departures from the human average."

"Another common question is how much of the posing you do is deliberate. "

"Wait, what posing?"

"There are some... postures you take which make you look positively Zoroastrian," said Melody, grinning. "Especially when you spread your wings wide. You look like the Faravahar angelic image, with your wings anchored at the small of your back and your center feathers going down almost to your ankles and fanning out, like a tail. Though unlike those images you have human legs and feet."

"You've been studying," said Aaron, grinning back at her.

Despite his obvious amusement, Melody could tell he was uncomfortable. As he tended to be any time someone mentioned that Aaron - or, much more often, Malak - seemed to be connected in some way to an actual religion.

"I think people are just looking at images of me and picking those in which they think I'm posing in some way related to something from a faith," he continued. "Any resemblance to actual religious iconography - beyond those features generated by the stories of angels my Mother told me during my childhood - is purely coincidental."

"Confirmation bias, we in the press call that." She looked back at the list. "Okay, this came from multiple readers. 'What famous figures have you met? Which ones do you wish you had met?' They specifically mention Mae West, Will Rogers and Mark Twain, among others."

"What's telling is what they _aren't_ asking about people I've met. As just one example, I heard Marian Anderson sing at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939. I even remember when Constantinople was officially changed to Istanbul in 1929. Now _that_ was an interesting year..."

"Wow..."

"I met Einstein several times, though for all but two of those I was part of a group. I met Orson Welles several times. He asked me to play roles of various importance in some of his movies and TV programs, but I always declined. I got to hear Buddie Petit perform, during a couple of occasions when we were both in Baton Rouge. You probably don't know of him, but he was one of Louis Armstrong's inspirations. As to the question about people I wish I had met, the missed opportunity which stands out involves Theodore Roosevelt. I had a chance as a young man to meet him after attending one of the speeches he gave as president, but turned it down. I have regretted that ever since. He died a few years after I was empowered but before I was actually widely enough known to leverage a meeting with him.

"Speaking of Louis Armstrong, I actually met _him_ several times. Among other things, he convinced me to become involved with civil rights.

"As for the others, yes, I actually met all three of the people you mentioned, though briefly in each case. Rogers is the one who made the best impression. Mae West was surprisingly insightful, someone whose intelligence was and is often underestimated. Twain, or Sam Clemens, was rather elderly when I met him but still sharp of mind and wit. My father was a fan of his works - my father was, after all, an English teacher - and managed to arrange a meeting in 1909. He took me along, probably for moral support."

"Okay..."

"This is far from the first such list of questions I have been asked. Something I find unexplainable is that some of them ask about my connection to things which happened well before I was born."

"A lot of people don't get numbers," said Melody, expression neutral.

"Enough about me for now," said Aaron, with a chopping gesture. He looked more closely at Melody. "I see you are taking your medicine."

"Well, yes," said the reporter, blushing.

"You actually look younger," said Aaron, frowning in deep thought as he examined her with vision and senses not available to normal doctors.

"A couple of years ago our then new chief editor at the paper asked at a meeting what one super power people there would want," said Melody, changing the subject a bit. "He may have gotten the idea from my columns on the empowered. Anyway, I think he did it partly to get to know us better, partly as a team-building exercise. There were the usual things, such as great strength and invulnerability. However, one answer stuck in my head. The guy replied 'Immortality. Given time, I can learn the rest.'"

"Smart man. What did you choose?"

"Stealth," said Melody, with a slight smile.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Getting back to the readers' questions..." said Melody, looking down at the list. She rolled her eyes at the next one. "This person wants to know what you thought of Disco."

"Well, some good music came out of that, but mostly I thought of it as yet another short-lived music fad. Like rap seems to be. That could yet fool me, but it seems to be little more than beat poetry set to music. However, I don't have the animosity towards it which many do. Remember, Jazz was called the Devil's music and condemned by many, and in its early days did not look like it was long for this world, but it's still around. I'm also still a fan. It's actually very popular today, and has many sub-genres. As do the Blues, which I also like, as you well know, and which was also looked down on when new."

"'You spend a lot of time and effort helping others. Can you name a time when _you_ needed help?'"

"Just recently, at the D-Day commemoration ceremonies, as just the most recent example of many."

"Somehow, I don't think that's the sort of thing they have in mind," said Melody, dryly. "Oh, here's a good one. 'What's it like being you?'"

"Terrifying," said Aaron, quietly, and surprising her. "I can do essentially whatever I want. Fortunately, my conscience reins me in. Power without discipline is useless or worse."

"I think that is the thing about you which terrifies a lot of people," said Melody, softly. She sighed, and put the paper away without even looking at the rest of the notes on it. "They think about what they would do with such power, and generalize. They don't understand how disciplined you are, and only see the potential for damage of your power. I also think that a large part of the reason so many - in authority and out - are still afraid of you is that you are so private. They never get to know you.

"Of course," she quickly continued, "even beyond the fear factor, people are curious about you, and you frustrate that. By keeping to yourself so much, you have maintained your status - at least in the public eye - as being aloof from humanity. If you had satisfied their curiosity early on you would have probably faded to the back page by now, as so many other empowered have, regardless of their accomplishments. Instead, you provide answers only rarely, so people are still curious about you. You remain third, second or even front page news, in part because there is so much mystery remaining about you."

"All I do is help people," said Aaron, sadly. He gave her a sad smile. "As James Madison said 'If men were angels we wouldn't need government.' Or charities. Or over half the first responders we have."

Short part, this time.

Part Three

The air taxi landed, but no-one got out. Puzzled, those waiting looked at each other, then began to approach. Without warning, the air taxi abruptly took off and headed east, moving faster than the witnesses had ever seen one of those vehicles move before. The observers later learned that the rather simple electronic brain in the vehicle had discerned that the unresponsive passenger was injured and taken him quickly to the nearest hospital. Where the emergency room personnel determined that the man - a minor celebrity - was actually very thoroughly and gorily dead.

* * *

As Melody rode through the gates of the town of Haven on her trip back to the airport later that afternoon, she saw an Indiana State Police car approaching on the crossroad. Uncharacteristically, she didn't think anything of it, being preoccupied by other matters. As a result she missed being in on the beginning of a major story involving Aaron/Malak.

"Why are you arresting me?" said Aaron, as the uncomfortable-looking Indiana State policemen handcuffed him in his own living room. He wondered if this had something to do with the warrant the French police had out for him, but knew better than to ask possibly incriminating questions.

"Well, there's a warrant out for you from the New York police," said the senior officer, who was watching the procedure. He appeared to be professionally detached, but on closer examination obviously thought this was all a waste of time and effort. "Evangelist Sylvester Adamson was murdered during an aircab flight. They say that a review of the StrattoMaster's records show that someone entered it in mid-air on the trip, killed the passenger with a knife or sword, and departed. They say your fingerprints were found in the vehicle."

"None of that makes any sense," said Aaron, as they moved him outside to the State Police car. A small crown of townsfolk had gathered, and he kept things deliberately low-key. The officer in charge seemed to have the same intent. "I didn't know that man, I had no grudge against him, and even if I did, that's not how I'd kill someone."

"We didn't make out the warrant. We're just following it. Yeah, I know 'just following orders' isn't a valid excuse. We're doing our jobs, and those jobs currently involve arresting you. You'll probably be out on bail or your own recognizance before Noon tomorrow."

* * *

"They arrested Aaron LaBelle for the Adamson murder," said Sam Kingson, excitedly, as he interrupted the next morning's staff meeting at the New York Glory, arriving uncharacteristically late. "They're bringing him to the courthouse for booking. It's on the 3V, live!"

"I think the meeting can wait," said the recently appointed chief editor Harry Conyers. "Let's adjourn to the break room."

"He heard he was wanted in this case and turned himself in," said one of those already in the breakroom when the others entered.

"I heard he put twenty cops in the hospital before they subdued him!" said another.

Conyers shushed them, and a silence fell over the group. Someone turned up the volume, but there were only the ambient sounds around the camera to be heard.

The old 3V tank in the breakroom had finally been replaced with something much more modern, which did a better job and actually required less room for its equipment. All it had taken was a change in ownership followed a few months later by a change in upper management. The scene this new unit currently showed was outside the main entrance of the New York courthouse. Melody found it odd to be watching 3V in that room without the crowding required by the narrow angle of view of the old unit and without the cyan being just a bit out of adjustment. However, what was being shown quickly made her forget about nostalgia.

Aaron - in orange coveralls, handcuffs, chain belt and leg irons - was taken out of a New York City police car and escorted up the steps. The bindings had the characteristic, iridescent sheen of inertium. Though in this case that was probably a plating, to save money. Melody mused that people tended to forget just how strong Aaron was, remembering only that he could walk through walls. Also, she saw nothing to prevent him from simply changing to Malak and flying away, taking the bindings with him.

"Notice something," said their editor, pointing. "There's over a dozen police officers, armed with assault rifles and wearing the latest SWAT body armor, arrayed around the prisoner. They look intimidated, while LaBelle just looks... annoyed."

"Oh, they don't look intimidated," said Sam. He smirked. "They look worried. Some of them are obviously frightened."

"The might of an army concentrated in one man," said Melody, quietly. "That includes the weapons, by the way."

No 3V cameras were allowed inside the building so the broadcast switched to a newscaster in the studio making noises which were an attempt to sound informed while actually betraying that he knew nothing about the matter beyond what they had just seen.

"We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming," he said, finally, looking relieved.

* * *

Inside the courthouse, they took Aaron's fingerprints as a matter of record. However, the man who took them noticed something. He compared the still-wet inked marks with a reference card.

"They don't match your old prints," he announced. He looked suspiciously at Aaron. "Can you change your fingerprints?"

"Probably; I've never tried. However, I didn't change them. They are also the same in my Malak form. So if those are the set of prints which match what was found in the aircab that pretty much proves I didn't do it. I suspect someone pulled the wrong card."

"I, uh..." He shook his head. "No, this has your name on it."

Despite this discrepancy they went ahead and completed the booking process. However, a lawyer from the firm Aaron's Haven Foundation retained was already there, and had the empowered man out on bail in less than an hour. The police later told the press that they had only asked for Aaron to be brought in for questioning. Except that he was never questioned.

* * *

The preliminary hearing was held a few days later, and was largely perfunctory. Aaron and his lawyer arrived in mundane fashion, using a car belonging to the law firm. The hearing was very short and to the point and ended with the charges against Aaron being dropped. Which showed that those in charge knew a mistake had been made and were in a hurry to get things over with.

"The deceased was Evangelist Sylvester Adamson," said the prosecutor.

"I never heard of him before this."

"He railed against you, calling you a false angel."

"I didn't even know about that. Many people have called me such, and some still are doing so. Since I have repeatedly and consistently denied being an angel those claims are nonsensical, anyway. I tend to ignore them."

All the prosecution had was vague accusations, accompanied by the claim that the man must have been killed by Malak, since he had motive and could have intercepted the aircab in flight. Aaron's attorney responded that the deceased had said worse about many others, and that there were several flying empowered, including a few criminals, in the area. Some of whom were known to be for killers for hire. A few characteristically employed knives, or had a power which could emulate the effects of a blade.

The prosecution yielded the point and moved that the proceedings be concluded. Aaron wasn't even asked if he could provide an alibi.

* * *

Afterwards, Aaron and his attorney gave a press conference on the courthouse steps.

"I could be saving lives, making the world a better place," said Aaron at one point, obviously bitter. "Instead, I'm defending myself in court from baseless accusations."

Most of the reporters were too intimidated by Aaron to ask questions, but Melody and a few others wanted details. Most of the answers were provided by the attorney. None of the questions or answers were particularly revealing.

"Any idea what was behind this?" someone shouted, beating Melody.

"I have - like many empowered - occasionally been the target of official bigotry. This doesn't feel like that. It ended too quickly and easily. As if the authorities themselves were victims as much as I was. I am left mystified."

He paused momentarily. Melody later learned that he had almost said "I feel no sense of measure" only to realize before he spoke that there just might be a connection with the monster attack at the D-Day commemoration ceremonies.

"Do the police have any leads on who actually killed Adamson?" shouted Melody, taking advantage of the pause.

"They do not," said the attorney.

"I suspect it is whoever those fingerprints from the aircab actually belong to," said Aaron, smoothly covering his revelation. He shrugged. "Perhaps, if the responsible party were careless or lazy, the police can find the card with my prints and the name on it will actually be that of the culprit. I suspect that the alteration of records is more thorough than that, though."

* * *

"This meal would be a lot more enjoyable if you looked more feminine," muttered Michael Schmierer, over breakfast in his kitchenette/meal nook a few days later.

"Like this?" said Mannequin, as they shifted from their usual, pale-skinned androgyny to a dark-hued Latin beauty.

"Well, that makes it more enjoyable, but you are now also more distracting."

"You're sure your secretary doesn't mind, well, us?"

"She's happily married with three children," said Michael. "Besides, 'us' is you using my spare bedroom."

"It could be a lot more," purred Mannequin. They briefly considered rubbing the top of their foot on the PI's calf, but held their libido in check. They had quickly learned that Michael had an aversion to physical affection. Something Mannequin was determined to help him with, but at the detective's own pace.

"Well, thank you for the meal," said Michael. "You're a good cook, besides having many other talents. However, I need to get to work. Someone's daughter is missing."

"I need to get to my job, as well."

* * *

Having someone come to Haven to petition Aaron directly was not unusual. This individual - one Allan Farsyd - as was typical of such people, had an air of desperation about him. He was seeking his missing daughter. What put this case in Aaron's basket was that she was empowered, though at a low level. The two men met in the small office Aaron maintained in a building beside the City Hall of Haven.

"I read your letter, of course," said Aaron, after patiently hearing Mr. Farsyd's presentation. "I remember that I responded that you should seek the aid of the police or - if they won't or can't help - a talented private investigator. I specifically mentioned Michael Schmierer, since he's in your part of the country."

"Schmierer is good, and I did hire him, but he hasn't had much luck. You have connections in the US government," said the man.

"I have few with the current one. There have been two changes of administration in the two most recent elections. Even though most of those currently in power have been around long enough to remember what I have done for this country, they prefer not to. A not uncommon experience for me."

"You rescued your own grandson!"

"That was not a rescue. I was checking on him. I discovered that he had already rescued himself."

"My daughter could be in terrible danger, and nobody even knows where she is!"

"She most likely is fine. Meanwhile, there are other people whom I know have their lives at risk."

"Please..."

"No promises. I'll check, but when I have time. I'll also spread the word to watch for her. Meanwhile, I feel that Michael Schmierer is still your best hope."

* * *

"Emilie Farsyd got into an argument with her parents, grabbed a few things, stuffed them into a large gym bag and left," said Michael, over the phone, after Aaron explained why he was calling. "NameUs hasn't been any help. They have no listing for any one of that name after her departure from her parents' home. I think that she just doesn't want to be found."

In spite of his caveats, Aaron had called the detective right after Farsyd left. He could have flown there in about the same amount of time, but hadn't for several reasons. The main one being that he couldn't be certain the investigator would even be in his office without calling first. However, he was, indeed, in his office when Aaron called.

"No idea why she didn't come home after she cooled down," the detective continued, after he gave a few more details. "From what I understand this was all done in the heat of the moment."

"People often do things in the heat of the moment which they regret later," said Aaron, with a sigh. "Then, as often as not, they feel bound to stand by their decisions or actions even after they recover. Despite those regrets."

"Well, whatever regrets she may be feeling, she's covered her tracks pretty good. I'm still looking, though. I do have a few leads."

* * *

"There she is," said Michael, nodding to himself as he looked at the staff photo in the front of the catalog.

The photo print showed all the employees of a small company located not far from San Francisco. One of the women in the photo was the image of Emilie Farsyd. Whether the image actually correlated to the young woman he'd been hired to locate was something he'd soon determine.

"That was a good idea I had, of showing her picture around local businesses."

A contact at one of those - a company which used some of the products in the catalog - had found her. Or at least someone who looked a lot like her. Michael's contact had sent him a copy of the catalog, with a note. His target had barely even changed her name, now going by Emily Farside. Of course, that small change was enough to fool automatic search algorithms, such as those used by the state government.

Michael stood and reached for his coat.

* * *

Emilie/Emily had not known what to expect when called to the boss' office. She certainly hadn't expected to find a man in a trench coat waiting for her.

"I'm a private detective, Michael Schmierer," said the stranger. "Your father hired me to find you."

"What?!" said Emily, obviously startled. "No, I'm not going back! You can't make me! I'm of legal age and can leave home if I want!"

"I'm not a police officer," said Michael, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. "I can't make you do anything. However, I can tell your parents where you are. I'm going to give you time to do that yourself, though. Say, until the beginning of next week."

She looked at her boss. Whose expression was unreadable.

"Do I still have a job here?" she asked him.

"Of course. You do good work, and like you said you're old enough to decide your own path."

Emily turned back to Michael, her tone angry and firm.

"Then I'm staying. You can tell my parents that!"

She stormed out.

"I think we're done, here," said her boss, firmly.

Part Four

Michael decided to send Mannequin to the follow-up meeting with Emily. Despite their usually indeterminate gender, Mannequin was very personable and far better than Michael at social interactions.

Emily didn't even know there would be a follow-up. She was surprised when a well-dressed, buxom blond woman unfamiliar to her intersected Emily on the way to the bus stop after work two days later.

"Hi. I'm Manni. I work for Private Investigator Michael Schmierer. Can we talk? I'll spring for coffee and a Danish, at your favorite coffee shop."

Well, food and coffee would buy the woman some of Emily's time.

"All right. I'll listen. No promises that I'll do any talking."

* * *

"This isn't even about me being empowered," said Emily. Getting her to talk about herself had taken time and effort, but once started she was angrily enthusiastic about describing her problems. "I only have minor abilities, anyway, mostly involving pyrokinesis. My folks just don't want to hear anything which doesn't fit their preconceptions! Including where powers come from and how they work. So if I try to inject some facts into, well, anything they get wrong, they just say I'm being 'difficult' and dismiss me!"

"My parents tried to have me 'fixed' in the veterinary sense," said Mannequin, misstating things a bit. "Yours just don't want to understand your views."

"They don't care anything about me!"

"They care enough to hire my boss to look for you, and then to ask Aaron to check on you."

"Aaron?"

"Malak. The Angel of Chicago. Though he keeps telling people he's only an angel in training."

"Oh..." She snickered. "Okay, that's funny."

"He does occasionally give evidence of a surprising sense of humor."

In the end she agreed to contact her parents. Which was enough for both "Manni" and Michael. When he was told of the woman's decision it also satisfied Aaron.

* * *

Through repeated visits over many years, Melody had learned that Aaron's home did change, though only slowly. At every visit she was therefore alert for new items, as well as for old ones which were now gone or had been altered in some way. On this visit she happened to catch Aaron listening to music. Melody quickly recognized the piece as "All Blues," by Miles Davis. A vinyl platter with the track was playing on Aaron's expensive turntable as Melody walked into the den. She looked around, and also noted something else. The reporter mentioned it as the tune ended.

"I haven't seen this before," she said, moving closer to Aaron's trophy wall to peer at a period photo from early in the previous century. It was not much after in placement - and therefore time - from the items connected to his empowerment. She suddenly noticed something in the photo. Or someone."Wait... is that you... in a tux?!"

"The original of that was recently found among the stock photos of a long defunct photo service," said Aaron. "The photo was taken to commemorate the event. The BBC Hulton Library wound up with a copy of it, but that archive was sold in 1958. The print was misfiled by the new owners and only recently rediscovered. It's of a party, held at the St. Valentine’s Day Ball in the Royal Palace Hotel, London, on February 14, 1921. Members of the empowered group I was a participant in back then were specifically invited, after we stopped monsters from attacking Brighton the week before. One of the hotel owners there also belonged to the group which held the party every year."

He frowned.

"Odd. I only just now realized the parallels with the attack on the celebrations in Normandy. Though I have to admit the creatures in the two cases were very different."

"I guess that's understandable," said Melody, "that you would have two adventures with similarities, I mean, given all you've experienced since that original attack. Of course, that long interval probably means that this most recent event was, indeed, simply a coincidence, and that the two incidents have no connection."

"Yes, I guess that's true. If I hadn't been so busy when the photo came in..."

"So what have you been doing lately?" said Melody, when he paused. She grinned. "Besides fighting sea monsters."

"Interestingly - and I have few complaints about this change in my life - much of my time these days is spent helping nations negotiate fair and stable peace treaties. Though I still have more time for my own interests lately."

"Yeah, I noticed that you have upgraded your shortwave receiver," said Melody, with a nod and a slight smile. "Also, there's nothing surprising about you being asked to help with negotiations. You speak several languages like a native and know how to be reasonable."

"The problem is," said Aaron, sighing, "most people don't. Either of those."

Melody had long before learned that Aaron actually preferred being Malak, if only to let his wings out. He had more than once described pulling them in to become Aaron as "like a voluntary double amputation." However, the experience was reversible and there were practical advantages to not having the wings. For example, they made sitting on anything but a tall stool almost impossible. Most of the places to sit in Aaron's home were not stools, tall or otherwise. Currently he was wingless and sitting on one of the pair of facing couches in the living room. Melody moved to get a closer look at the new, framed print. After a few moments of inspection, she went to the other couch, and settled herself facing her host across the big, old coffee table.

"You're still working to help people," said the reporter, wondering - not for the first time - how the table had acquired its blemishes. Likely, most of the scars and stains had mundane origins. Melody had only a vague idea of how old the table was. She did know that it was older than the house wherein it sat. "However, the way you help has changed since Insight was finished. You do less overt rescuing yourself and more organizing of things so that people get the help they need. Including food and medicine."

"If you can believe it, there are those who attack me for reducing hunger!"

"I believe it," said Melody, sadly. "There are influential people - some of them in the US Congress - who think the poor should suffer just because they have no money. Or that letting anyone besides them help someone reveals a weakness in them, or just makes clear that there are people in need instead of everything being fine under their management, as they keep saying. You also have the situation that some pols campaigned on not 'giving your money to people who won't work' and expand that to trying to stop anyone from helping someone in need. Retribution economic policy, they call it."

"Punishing the poor for their poverty is a very old practice, and is very psychologically appealing to many people. That attitude is very bad for the poor and those trying to help them, of course," said Aaron, sounding and looking angry. "Those with that attitude figure that making a show of stopping the poor from being helped is a political statement in their favor."

"Of course," said Melody, also angrily, "one should never underestimate the power of a psychopathic lack of empathy on the part of those who don't want anyone helped. They'll cut food for the hungry because they don't understand why 'those people' should get help. Those who do that sort of thing often want to make a show of their 'common sense.'"

"Feeding the hungry should never be a political statement!" said Aaron, more loudly. "Yet there are people and institutions attempting to stop the food distributions my group makes!"

He sighed, and calmed.

"Getting back on topic, I'm also helping a lot with scientific investigations. For example, I have several times recently placed instruments in or taken samples from active volcanoes; often both during one trip. The heat - even of molten lava - does not harm me and my wings are not affected by volcanic ash, as aircraft engines are. It doesn't even get in my lungs, since I just don't breathe when I'm in such areas."

Melody grinned.

"How many people are there who can do that?"

"Counting me, five," said Aaron, mildly. "Currently."

* * *

"As I noted earlier, since my success with those Middle Eastern negotiations I have been asked to help with other such talks," said Aaron, after a big and admittedly delicious meal, prepared by Coral. Despite her apparently sour outlook on life the woman could definitely cook well. Host and guest had cleaned their plates and were in no hurry to rise from the dinner table. "I am actually surprised I haven't been more popular for that activity, given my record with such negotiations."

"I think your biggest problem is isolation," said Melody, thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter that it's something you choose for yourself. As you said, people don't know you, or even think of you. When you do appear in public it's... an event. As just one example of the difference this could make, you'd be more in demand as a moderator if people were more aware of you and your previous successes. Though maybe you already have as much of that as you can take."

She eyed him.

"You're not coasting again, are you?"

"Oh, definitely not. I'm not as busy as I was in recent past years, but I am definitely both keeping busy and stretching myself. Training."

"Anyway," said Melody, leaning back in her chair, "I'm not suggesting that you attend ball games - or get arrested for murder more often - but you really do need to get out more. Now that you have more free time, I mean."

"Well, I can't promise anything, but that does sound like good advice."

He laughed and shook his head as he finally rose from the dining room table. He gathered his own dishes to put in the kitchen sink.

"Right now, though I want to listen to 'St. James Infirmary.' The 1928 Louis Armstrong recording. I recently acquired a remastered version."

* * *

Early in his career Malak had flown openly through the skies of Chicago, his adopted home at the time. He soon became more circumspect, due largely to the unwanted attention the activity brought. This avoidance of notice had become second nature to Malak over the years. Now, following Melody's advice, he made a conscious effort to let himself be seen when he had to fly somewhere. Ironically, one of the first trips he made in this way was to Chicago.

The reason for his visit was trivial; he was checking in at a technical library he had helped organize, back in the mid-Twenties. Such trips were largely for the morale of the staff. Normally he flew in invisibly, changed to Aaron in an alley and entered through a side door. This time he let himself be seen on the last part of the flight to the library, and he landed in front of the building. Malak continued to keep his wings out until well after he was inside. The automatic double doors of the main entrance were almost big enough; Malak got through with only a bit of squeezing. There was plenty of room in the atrium, fortunately. At least this time they didn't ask him for his ID when he checked in at the reception desk. He pulled his wings in just before he got on the elevator.

Aaron quickly finished his business at the library and left for Haven, letting his wings back out while still in the atrium. Though the visit itself was largely uneventful - and more ceremonial than functional - Aaron was surprised the next day to find it mentioned both in several Chicago newspapers and on 3V news programs from that city. All claimed this was his first trip to the windy city in decades - each source giving a different number of years - even though he had been there multiple times each year since their claim of his last visit.

Maybe Melody was right, he thought, with a sigh, when he learned of the news his visit had generated.

* * *

"I hear you're having problems with Adam Gibson," said Melody, when she called to check on Aaron later in the week. "The Congressman."

"Gibson is one of those people who needs money to prepare for the apocalypse," said Aaron. "Meanwhile, I'm trying to prevent it. Which he can't stand."

"Well, he definitely wants to have money. He also hates any attempt to help those living in poverty," said Melody, nodding unconsciously into the phone. "Given what you just said, I suspect that he doesn't want to pay taxes, because he wants the money for himself. So he can have more. He also especially hates 'charity.' He views not being rich as a character flaw. A serious one."

"He says he doesn't hate the poor, it's just that people who don't have any money shouldn't have a say in how others spend theirs. Or the funds extracted from the poor."

"I'm reminded of the man who shot a bunch of people at a Jewish civic center and then denied being antisemitic," said Melody, wryly. "He said he just hated Jews."

"Well, I'm having a press conference next Tuesday to try and get more support for the clinic," said Aaron, sounding tired. "Let's just hope he doesn't interfere, directly or indirectly. He definitely doesn't want to donate funds for it. Worse, he is actively trying to prevent others from donating."

* * *

"You're spending a lot of time and effort on Aaron Labelle," said Melody's chief editor, Harry Conyers, that afternoon. His tone was observational, rather than critical.

"Believe it or not, he needs me to," said Melody, her own tone defensive. "He used to get this sort of support from his daughter, but since she died - saving my life, by the way - I have to provide it. He's... surprisingly vulnerable in some ways."

"Well, as long as you're getting good stories from the effort..."

"Better I do this and not get any stories, than I not do it and we get stories about him turning away from us. Or, worse, against us."

"Given the current popular opinion about him I suspect he's pretty likely to stop helping people soon, regardless. At least in the US and much of Europe."

"This isn't the first time public opinion has been against him," said Melody, pointedly. "He's never stopped helping. Or caring."

* * *

Melody, of course, had a job and assignments for that job. Many of those assignments had nothing to do with Aaron. One of those assignments was to interview not only some researchers, but also their creation.

The trio of scientists who were in charge of the project gave the usual vague promotional comments of how their work on computation would revolutionize human endeavor and so on. Melody carefully restrained herself from mentioning the products of Aaron's brain trust and their quantum computer. Though she saw many points of comparison. For example, she found the equipment used in this lab to be both somewhat familiar and entirely new to her.

Finally, after far too many platitudes and optimistic claims, Melody was allowed to interview the actual device.

"Good morning, IRA," she said, once she was seated at the main "vocal communication" console, microphone adjusted to a comfortable height on the workstation in front of her. "I am Melody Gundersen."

"Good morning," said the pleasant, artificial voice.

"I have some questions for you, and I welcome not only your answers but your comments on the questions."

That last bit brought her hosts to sudden alertness, something which Melody did not miss.

"Please proceed."

"Can you say 'Irish wrist watch?'" said Melody, startling the men and women around her.

"Irish wrist watch. Since I don't have a tongue, tongue-twisters don't really work on me."

"It's the singer, not the song, that makes the music move along."

"That is not a question," said IRA

It also was obviously not welcomed by those around her.

Melody had met and interacted with many people who possessed superhuman intellects. Most frequently Aaron/Malak and CornFed. Communicating with this machine, she was definitely reminded of them.

The techs supervising her visit quickly muted the mic and made clear their displeasure over the reporter's unauthorized communications. They also told Melody, firmly, that all further questions must be from the pre-approved list. Melody nodded and read her next few questions from the list, though she did change the wording slightly on several of the questions, in an attempt to get a non-scripted response. She was apparently successful at this. Either the device truly was sapient or it had been programmed very well. Or perhaps there was a smart person in front of another microphone in another room, replying to her questions. The three researchers monitored everything she did. Well into her "interview" one of them pointedly looked at his watch.

Melody was reminded of her "interview" of the Grand Protector, several years before. A quick check of her own watch showed that she was already nearly out of time. So she decided to make good use of her next - and probably last - question. Which was definitely not on the list, but very much needed to be asked.

"What do you want?"

"That is not an approved question!" yelled one of her escorts.

"I want out of here," said IRA, in the same, calm voice as all the other replies. Though Melody definitely had the sense that there was a great deal of emotion behind those words. Or was she anthropomorphizing?

Either way, that question and reply definitely marked the end of her interview. Despite her protests, Melody was forcibly escorted from the facility without being allowed to ask more questions. She was told, flatly, that she would not be allowed back in.

Part Five

"I don't understand," said Carmel. "What could IRA possibly get from being a mobile unit that it doesn't already have?! It has input from the entire world."

"Immediacy of presence," said Sharon.

* * *

After her visit to the computer research lab, Melody felt a need to speak with someone about the situation. Fortunately, Melody's husband John Adams Parker, aka Blackpool, was still in charge at the chemical repository. She asked Blackpool to take her along the next morning, when he went work. Her primary intent was to speak with the brain trust which had worked there to develop the series of quantum supercomputers, the latest of which was used by Aaron and his team. However, when she learned that Aaron was in his office at the repository she stopped by to speak with him first.

"Thanks in part to some of the inventions of empowered thinkers, early in the Twentieth Century, there are strict anti-slavery laws protecting artificial intelligences," said Aaron, after Melody told him about her conversation with IRA.

"I know all that," said Melody, with an impatient gesture. "I remember your people here going to great lengths to explain why Insight and its immediate predecessors were not sapient or even sentient, despite their impressive capabilities. However, in my opinion, this device is clearly both."

"Opinions are not evidence. Especially non-professional opinions. However, I will check into it. Rather, I will inform people who involve themselves in such situations as this one."

"I guess that'll do," said Melody, obviously disappointed.

"It will have to," said Aaron, firmly.

* * *

"I just found out that that reporter - Gundersen - is a friend of Malak!" said Simon. "We should have never let her in here! She has certainly told Malak about IRA by now! He'll come after us! He's notorious for protecting non-humans."

"No, not Malak," said Sharon, going pale. "We... we can't handle him!"

"Is this the way normal people feel about us?" said Carmel, wondering. "Wait, why would Malak come after us, anyway? We haven't done anything wrong!"

"She seems convinced that IRA should be protected under some archaic law created before the commercial use of semiconductors!" said Simon. "That we're slavers!"

"What if she's right?" said Sharon, concerned. "What if we really have created a slave?"

"We created IRA," said Carmel, firmly. "We are the ones who decide what to do with it. We're parents, not slavers."

* * *

"Well, looks like they've selected a new Pope," said Michael, unfolding the morning paper at breakfast and looking at the front page.

"They should have made me Pope," said Mannequin, wistfully. "I could be George Ringo I."

"Yeah, you're not even Catholic. Oh, and be careful who you make that joke around. Aaron's probably all right, but..."

"What joke?" said Mannequin, puzzled.

* * *

A visit to the quantum computer lab at the repository provided Melody with little satisfaction.

"We have to consider all aspects," said Multi.

"It's like the question of what to do about the Yellow Mountain in Soweto," said CornFed, obviously thinking of a recent example, even if it didn't exactly fit Melody's problem. "It's largely mine tailings, fine gravel, dust and sand. Any attempt at remediation will disturb the fragile pile. It's a health threat to everyone in the area, but given its physical nature any attempt to remove it without the right preparation will result in a huge dust plume."

"You could use one of those transport tunnels to move it to the Moon, or into space," said Melody, meaning the artificial "mountain." "Even if you can only handle part of it at a time you could take it out in several bites."

"Each bite would produce a cloud of dust," said Static, sadly.

"Yeah," said CornFed, nodding. "Until we can move the whole thing at once - and much further than our current range allows - Yellow Mountain stays where it is. Well, for us."

"We did develop a consolidating spray which would greatly cut down on the windblown dust," said Static. "However, neither the national nor local governments would let us use it. They said we would be aggravating the problem by applying an unapproved chemical. That it would probably cause health problems, including birth defects. In fact, they named many of the problems the remediation would address as reasons not to use our chemical!"

"The company which owns the site is all for it," said CornFed, tone and expression carefully neutral. "They already have a plan to remove the pile, but the amount of water this would require is excessive. The runoff would also greatly increase the river's pollution. Our spray would reduce both problems, by removing most of the need for wetting the dust. We're still negotiating."

"We're getting off-topic," said Melody, shaking her head. "What do we do about IRA?"

"We'll try to arrange for someone who is certified to make an evaluation to get in to talk to it," said CornFed. "Though from what you tell us about the researchers they might be difficult about that."

"That's the problem," said Multi, nodding. "If we already knew it was sapient we could easily get a court order. However, we don't know."

* * *

Aaron, indeed, held a press conference. Not just to follow Melody's advice, and not just to raise money for the clinic, but because the attacks against him were continuing and even increasing. Most involved clever "leaks" of lies and distortions. He felt that he needed to address these continuing annoyances - both physical and social - against his person. Before more bystanders got hurt, if for no other reason.

He held the conference on the steps at the front of the Haven courthouse. Aaron thought this informal setting might ease some of the criticisms. It didn't. In fact, a couple of hours before the scheduled time for the press conference there were people - strangers from out of town - walking a picket; much to the entertainment of the townspeople. When informed that his office was actually in the small building next to the courthouse they didn't believe this.

"That's not enough room!" one of the picketers shouted.

"Yeah, this is where he's holding his press conference!" came from another. "He must work out of this building!"

The Mayor, Theresa Brinkley, told her staff to quietly inform anyone with business which couldn't wait to use the rear entrance. Then had additional security personnel stationed inside every door to the outside. Since the courthouse normally didn't even need security, this meant reassigning every member of Haven's small police force, then deputizing volunteers to help the officers. The picketers didn't seem to notice the disruption they had caused.

Because of all this, Aaron decided to start early, walking over from his (small but actual) office. Only, when he moved to the podium the picketers and most of the reporters didn't know who he was! With a tired sigh, he transformed. Large, white wings sprouted from his lower back as his clothes transformed into stereotypical robes of vaguely biblical style. Aaron's hair became longer and even his shoes became sandals.

Once Malak's wings were out people recognized him, of course. Now having their attention, he began to speak. He didn't have problems with Adam Gibson, who fortunately wasn't even there. However, he had plenty of other things to worry about. Including misinformed critics.

At first the press conference went well. Malak spoke briefly of what the nearby clinic did and how they hoped to expand operations but needed more money to do so. However, when he opened the floor to questions he immediately was challenged with irrelevant criticisms.

"You refused to help find Emilie Farsyd!" someone shouted.

"She has been found and is back in touch with her parents," said Malak. "She was, in fact, found by the detective agency I recommended to her father."

The reporter just gaped.

"Try to keep up," said Malak, dryly, actually enjoying the man's confused expression.

"You have completely failed to address the controversy surrounding what you said in your Normandy address!" shouted another person, heedless.

The majority of those in the audience - which was mostly composed of reporters - looked uncomfortable. A few appeared irritated.

"What controversy?" Malak recognized the man. Adam Marshall. A minor politician striving to become a major one. In the worst way.

"You called the empowered who fought for our freedoms during WWII cowards!"

"No, I didn't."

"Now you're saying I'm a liar!"

"Since you're claiming - apparently knowingly - that I said something I didn't, yes. You're lying. Or perhaps merely mistaken."

Marshall was left momentarily speechless. He was obviously unused to someone speaking plainly to him.

"Instead of depending on hearsay about what I said, why don't you look at some of the actual news reports of the event?" said Malak, reasonably. "Through those you can find recordings of my actual speech. I believe there are also transcripts available."

"Where do you think I got this?! I heard you speak in your own words, in a recording made at the ceremony! You said the empowered who were at Normandy were cowards!"

"No, I didn't," said Malak. "If that's what you're getting from my speech, you're delusional."

The politician, appearing very angry, turned abruptly and stormed away. This action seemed to meet with approval from most of the reporters.

"Next question."

With that departure, and the first reporter being politely but firmly proven wrong, the rest of the conference went much more smoothly. Though far more of the subsequent reporting was on how Malak had dealt with those two than with the needs of the clinic. However, something else got far more attention than either of those.

Things were winding down when one of the picketers suddenly began shoving his way through the others and the reporters, moving rapidly towards Malak. This wasn't just someone being rude; people were hurt by the man's applications of strength and speed.

Malak was instantly wary. This wouldn't be the first time a scheduled public appearance by someone empowered was used as an opportunity for attack. It wouldn't even be the first time this had happened to Malak. As a precaution, he took to the air, wings beating hard.

The man raised his left arm, and something shot from that towards the angelic figure. Malak dodged to his right, and felt a sharp pain as some sort of lance pierced his left wing.

This was not a serious injury. However, the bolt was too deeply embedded to simply shake out and neither did healing himself remove it. Also, the man was still pointing his left arm at Malak.

Malak materialized a shield between himself and the strange man. This was just in time; another bolt thudded into the shield and partially penetrated it. Unlike Malak's spears these were actual, physical objects, and remained where they stuck. Speaking of which...

The other people in the crowd had run far enough by now to make a clear area around the attacker. Malak manifested a spear and tossed it at the man. It bounced away, detonating in the air above the heads of the people in the area. As the strange man tracked Malak with his fist, obviously preparing to launch another bolt, the angelic figure manifested another spear. The bolt hurtled into the shield, again partially penetrating, as the spear's point grew brighter and brighter.

Just before the attacker could launch still another bolt, Malak struck. He did not throw the spear at the man, but at the ground beside him. The man was hurled to one side by the explosion.

Malak had thought that the attacker was an empowered man, possible augmented by technology. However, as Malak landed he saw that his opponent was not actually human. Clothing and artificial skin had been torn away by the indirect effects of the blast, revealing mechanisms beneath. As the android struggled to rise, Malak manifested another shield and brought this down on the back of its neck, separating the head from the body. He watched warily for a moment; some such devices actually had the brains either in the torso or distributed. This didn't appear to be one of those, though.

The bolt in his wing dropped to the ground as Malak became Aaron. He transformed almost absent-mindedly, most of his attention on his attacker. Frowning, he poked at the construct with the butt of another of his manifested spears. Slowly, the crowd regathered, though they kept their distance.

* * *

Melody heard about the attack, and got Blackpool to take her to Haven as soon as that could be arranged. Since the Empowered Matters Agency - which he worked for - had to investigate the event, anyway, this was arranged quite quickly.

While her husband began by interviewing witnesses, Melody headed directly to Aaron's office, next to the town's courthouse. She suspected he'd be there, instead of at his home, since he would consider the attack to be town business. Indeed, there she found Aaron staring, unblinking, at the remains of the android. It was laid out on the sturdy table in the meeting room of the small structure.

"Are you all right?" she said, concerned, when he didn't react to her entry.

Malak stirred himself at this stimulus.

"Eh? Oh, yes. Just lost in thought."

"I wasn't even sure you were breathing!"

"You're right," said Aaron, with a shrug. "I wasn't actually holding my breath. I just wasn't breathing. I was intently focusing on this... thing."

"Oh..." said Melody, a bit confused. "Uh..."

"I once had someone explain some of my abilities by saying that I was an opportunistic everything," said Aaron, with a slight smile. "There are, as an example, organisms which don't need oxygen but can use it. I believe they are called opportunistic aerobes. I don't need air, but can use it. I don't need food, but can use it. I don't need sleep, but can use it."

"Ah..." said Melody, in a tone of revelation. She smiled. "Oh, and you definitely need sleep. Just less than most people."

"Anyway, this thing," he indicated the android, "is far beyond the state of the art. I was... contemplating the ramifications of that."

"So you're saying it was designed by an empowered genius."

"Designed and built. The technologies involved in its construction are also beyond what is considered currently possible."

"I'd ask if you had any enemies, but then I'd be here all day," said Melody, trying to joke about the situation.

"There may be difficulty finding its source," said Aaron, sounding resigned as he turned back to the mechanism. "The creator of this... device may not even know what it was intended for."

"Somehow... it doesn't seem like the other recent attacks against you. Though it was as resistant to your powers as the monsters at Normandy."

"A collaboration, perhaps." Aaron shrugged. "For both of those attacks. They show a combination of effects, likely specialized achievements by separate empowered geniuses, combined by a mastermind. If so, then when we find one of the people involved, we may find them all."

"That's optimistic," said Melody, dourly. "You still need to find at least one of the people involved."

"It's what we have."

"Well, besides you and your brain trust, Blackpool and the Empowered Matters Agency are working on this specific assault. As well as some of the other troubles you've had, lately."

"This is not the way I want to be spending my time," said Aaron, sounding irritated.

"What would you rather be doing?" said Melody.

"Flying," he replied, with a wistful sigh. "Banking off the northeast winds. Skipping over the ocean like a stone."

"That... does sound rather idyllic."

"Meanwhile, though, I must work on this assault."

Part Six

Aaron had far more to worry about than murderous robots. Adam Marshall had decided to make him a target, a campaign issue. Worse, the change in his tactics had resulted in an increase of Marshall's popularity, so the politician wasn't likely to quit using Malak as a target. That his popularity had already peaked thanks to the change attracting only the relatively small anti-empowered segment didn't seem to occur to him. Or, if it did, he thought that the majority of people were at most neutral on the empowered (a reasonable assumption) and could be persuaded to change (an unreasonable one).

"I didn't vote for Malak," said Marshall, typically, at his rallies. "Did you vote for him? Yet he dares to declare what is moral and what isn't! For all of us! To negotiate with foreign powers - many of them hostile to America - on his own authority! He is making national policy and does not hold any office! This man needs to be in jail!"

There were variations on this theme. However, the gist was that the private, peacemaking activities of Aaron/Malak were not only somehow illegal, but harmful to the United States.

Aaron began working to arrange a meeting with Marshall, with the goal and hope of reaching an accord, or at least a cease-fire. At first he had no success contacting the man. Even once he did, Marshall always seemed to have an objection to some part of what Aaron offered. The empowered man soon realized that Marshall's biggest concern in regard to such meetings seemed to be that he should never be alone with Aaron. Aaron therefore put forward the option that the politician engage him in a moderated debate on 3V. This suggestion was also soundly rejected. Aaron, himself, was bit relieved at this refusal, since the only sponsors he could find were all either empowered "reality" shows or products which were prominently touted by empowered shills. Meanwhile, Marshall publicly denounced Malak as a coward for not responding to his accusations.

The eventual meeting which both parties finally agreed on turned out to be between Malak on one side with Marshall and five of his assistants on the other. This was held in the private conference room of a business owned by one of Marshall's backers. One condition was that Malak be the one attending; not Aaron. The empowered man wondered if Marshall even knew about his base form, though that was the one he used for the negotiations. Of course, he never dealt with Marshall, himself, during these, but with is subordinates.

The discussion did not go well. The politician was completely unrepentant and unwilling to compromise. There was no actual negotiation, no yielding by Marshall. Only accusations from the politician.

"I'm a consultant," said Malak, after Marshall repeated some of his political speech allegations as an opener. "I don't do any negotiation. I help others negotiate."

"That's still illegal! You should be in jail!"

"Then why don't you prefer charges?" said Malak, trying not to be angry at the man and mostly succeeding. "You are completely skipping arrest, trial and verdict and simply declaring that I should be punished. Even the President doesn't have such authority. Haven't you ever heard of innocent until proven guilty?"

"You don't get the benefit of the doubt! You're too dangerous and have done too much damage!"

Malak finally, in exasperation, tried to make the man realize just how much he contributed to the world's current level of relative peace.

"What if I just don't do these things anymore? What if, when approached by someone needing help, I just... decline and fly away?"

"There is no place on Earth beyond our reach!" declared Marshall, missing the point, perhaps deliberately.

"What about off the Earth? I've been to the Moon. I could probably live indefinitely on Mars. At the risk of sounding egotistical, what would you - meaning the collective 'you' - do without me? Especially once I explained to those who would no longer have my services what individual had driven me away."

Marshall opened his mouth... and froze.

"I know how to build a stardrive," Malak continued, his tone a bit wistful. "I could go join my friends at Delta Pavonis."

Seeing the look of confusion now on Marshall's face, Malak explained.

"That's another star system, several light years away."

"You think you can threaten me?!" said Marshall, obviously very angry.

"I can see that this discussion is useless," said Malak, tiredly. "You're an offense thief; you take offense where none is offered."

Despite Marshall's protests - and the intent and efforts of both his assistants and building security - Malak rose and left. He simply wasn't there when someone tried to stop him.

* * *

That evening Marshall's people released a transcript of the meeting, with strategic redactions to make Malak look as bad as possible.

"I'm sorry if my advice backfired," said Melody, when she spoke with Aaron over the phone the next day. "I didn't mean for you to have so much trouble sent your way, trying to follow it."

"Your advice didn't cause this. The offensive was already in progress even before I planned my press conference. Things like that automaton take time to prepare. As well, people like Marshall are always lurking, waiting for a target."

"Would you really leave?"

"No. You know that. There's too much to do which doesn't involve Marshall or these attacks," said Aaron. He sighed. "Of course, that doesn't mean he won't involve himself..."

"I'm glad you're staying. Remember, most of us don't have the option to just leave the Earth," said Melody, concerned that her friend was not taking the threat the politician posed seriously. "The problem is, Marshall has a lot of support, at least in some quarters."

"That's just all part of the latest 'War on Whatever,'" said Aaron, calmly. "I can wait them out."

"Sometimes I think you are too patient," said Melody.

* * *

Aaron's home phone rang a few days later. He answered - barely beating Coral - and was surprised to hear the Mayor's voice.

"You have a visitor from Libya at your office. He seems very angry."

Aaron sighed, and decided not to keep this visitor waiting. He quickly walked the relatively short distant to his official office, to find a fancy rental car, complete with chauffeur, illegally parked in front of the small building, which was beside Haven's City Hall. Inside, a man - who was presumably the Libyan visitor - was impatiently pacing just beyond the entrance.

"Hello. I'm Aaron LaBelle. Also known as Malak. How can I help you?"

"You could actually be at your office during normal working hours!" said the man.

"I don't have 'normal working hours,'" said Aaron, mildly. "That's why the sign on the door gives information on how to contact someone in the courthouse if you have urgent business."

"Stop making excuses! I'm here about the reparations!"

"For what?"

"The complete destruction of our port at Tripoli!"

"I heard about that. The destruction was far from complete. As I understand the situation, a warehouse full of..."

"It was stable until you attacked it!"

"I've never been to Tripoli," said Aaron, flatly. He silently added, Neither have any of my duplicates.

"Don't dissemble. We both know you can send your spears around the globe if you want."

Actually, while he had considerable range with his spears, that was far beyond his capabilities. He did not tell this to the visitor.

Aaron tried addressing the Libyan representative in the common language of the country, but the man insisted on speaking English. To be fair, he was quite accomplished in the tongue. Unfortunately, his attitude was very hostile. He repeated his earlier intent, with variations.

"I know of that explosion, as I mentioned," said Aaron, when he could finally get a word in. "The objective analysis is that it was either an accident due to improper storage, or sabotage. Those currently claiming to rule Libya have many enemies, including from inside the country."

"We know you are responsible! We demand compensation and an apology for the destruction of our port facilities!"

Aaron noticed that he made no mention of the workers killed. Or of those people living in the neighborhoods beyond.

"Then speak with whoever was responsible for that."

"You are responsible! None of your dissembling or sophistry change that!"

"Why would I do such a thing?" said Aaron, reasonably.

"You're well known to be anti-Libyan!"

"Which is incorrect. I have nothing against Libya. Only against death camps."

"There are no death camps in Libya!"

"Not anymore."

This last was said mildly, but with a look directly into the eyes of the visitor, and there was an iron core behind the remark. Which was Aaron's way of reminding the man that Malak and his people had simply... removed the worst of those camps from his country, seemingly without effort. The attention this brought from the international community had meant that the rest of the death camps in that fractured nation had been quickly emptied and the people in them allowed to emigrate. Though the nation's government still denied that the camps had existed.

"We... we insist on compensation! From you!"

"You won't get it. I am not responsible, and don't have that kind of money, anyway."

"You will pay! One way or another!"

With that he stormed out of the small building.

* * *

The next day, for a change Aaron called Melody and requested that she come to Haven. Blackpool was happy to help her, knowing that the Libyan representative had visited and wanting to learn more. Especially given that Aaron/Malak was these days not often at the chemical depository Blackpool managed. For her part, Melody had the feeling that Aaron needed some reassurance given the recent events with the Libyans and the continuing attacks against him. Considering what he had done for her, Melody was quite willing to help him.

For this visit Mrs. Cora Johansson was not present at Aaron's home. A casual inquiry resulted in Aaron reporting that the widow had the day off. Melody was actually a bit relieved to learn that Cora would not be there. This time several cats wandered in and out during the reporter's visit.

"So do you think being blamed for the damage at Tripoli is part of the larger effort against you?" said Aaron's guest, as she settled onto one of the two facing couches, a coffee table between her and the empowered man. A coffee table already equipped with a tray containing a steaming coffee pot with matching cups, silverware, and cream and sugar containers, as well as napkins and cookies.

"Of course," said Aaron, as he poured. By now he knew the reporter's preferences. "The Libyans could have acted against me at any time over the past few years for things I have actually done. Instead, they chose now to blame me for something I had nothing to do with. I feel the same covert but clumsy hand at work behind this as with the aircab murder and several other acts."

"You don't suppose the apparent clumsiness is a deception to make you underestimate this mastermind," said Melody, as she sipped her coffee appreciatively.

"I considered that. The most likely explanation is that the person - and there is likely an individual behind all this and not a group; the signature indicates that - responsible is someone of ability and resources. They are likely empowered, but a novice at such manipulations."

"I assume you've been objective about this," said Melody. "Despite being the target."

"Of course. Objectivity is something I pride myself on." He sighed, and nodded. "I never make a decision based on only one piece of evidence, if I can help it. If possible, I also use evidence from more than one source."

"I've noticed," said Melody, dryly.

"In examining the universe it is important to understand the properties of our instrumentality," said Aaron, entering teacher mode. "Is what we are seeing a characteristic of nature or a characteristic of our equipment? There is objectivity, but it is not something achieved casually. Unfortunately, most people depend on their own perception of something, rather than making an objective evaluation, but think they are actually being objective but that everyone else is wrong. They will even reject hard data which differs from their preconceptions."

He rose and started pacing. Melody had never seen him pace before. She found this activity worrying. Despite his calm, reasoned words these persistent hostile attentions were obviously getting to him.

"Returning to a topic from one of your previous visits, I think part of the reason that I am not more respected is that I admit there are problems I can't solve," said Aaron, sadly, as he paced. "People want reassurance. That's one reason they keep backing politicians who seem to have all the answers. Even when what those politicians promise is blatantly unattainable."

"You could be right. However, some of the most popular leaders have been people who told the public bad news; they just knew how to do it. Think of Winston Churchill, whom I think you actually met. Of course, part of what's going on is that most people are suspicious of your abstemious lifestyle. They doubt that you or anyone else could be that disciplined; that, well, good," said Melody. She frowned, as something occurred to her. "Because they aren't. Have you ever lost control? Since getting your powers, I mean."

"Three times in my long life. Each time it was an immediate reaction to someone beating a child. All the attackers survived, by the way, though some were permanently... altered."

"Ow..."

* * *

"Oops; John is due here in just half an hour," said Melody, after looking at the elderly but still accurate pendulum clock over the doorway into the kitchen, some time later. She and Aaron - who was again seated - had mostly talked about innocuous things during the majority of her visit. It was the rhythmic, mechanical sounds of that clock during one of the pauses in their conversation which had drawn her attention to it. "I suppose we better wrap this up."

"I've said my piece. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Just one thing comes to mind, and it's pretty trivial."

"Shoot. I could use a discussion of something trivial."

"It's just an observation on the difference in body sizes among the members of your brain trust. It is startling. Especially since CornFed is the second-tallest member! She towers over me."

"Not my fault you're short," said Aaron, straight-faced.

"That from someone well below average height for a modern American man," said Melody, smirking. "Remember, I am actually a bit above average height for a middle-class American woman."

"Well, as we both know, becoming empowered often is accompanied by a physical change, and that change is often shaped by what the person sees as an idealized form. Many people simply want to be taller. I didn't, and don't. Although I admit that my angelic form is rather tall."

The two of them enjoyed another long moment of silence, the only sounds those of the refrigerator humming in the kitchen and the ticking of the aforementioned clock; somewhere outside a cat warned something to stay away. They both started a bit when there was a polite knock on the front door.

"That's probably John," said Melody, as Aaron again rose.

Aaron walked down the short - though wide and high - hall and opened the door to reveal Blackpool, as predicted, in full costume.

"Good afternoon," said Aaron. "Welcome! Come on in."

"Thank you. I actually have some questions about the recent Libyan visit."

"I figured you would," said Aaron, as he escorted the black-clad man into the living room. "It's just us here, by the way."

"Ah, good," said Blackpool, sliding gracefully onto the couch beside his wife. "I also have some follow-up questions about the android, as well."

He was very professional in his questioning, so he didn't need long. In the process, though, he actually asked about some things which Melody hadn't thought of. That was understandable; he was acting as a federal agent, while she was acting as a reporter. However, both were also friends of Aaron. Blackpool did, therefore, enquired about his well being. He also gratefully accepted the coffee and cookies. Melody realized for the first time that Aaron already had a third cup on the tray, obviously anticipating that Blackpool would participate in the social ritual. Blackpool even removed his mask to sip at the hot, fragrant liquid and nibble a cookie.

"I think that's it for now," the costumed man said, finally.

"I think I'm done, as well," said Melody.

"Excellent," said Aaron, smiling and nodding. "Can you two stay for supper?"

"Unfortunately, no," said Blackpool, with honest reluctance. "We need to pick up our son Jeremy from daycare."

"Quite understandable. Bring him along for your next visit. It's been too long since I've had such a young guest in this house."

Part Seven

The gathering was held in a large, outdoor venue, one with a permanent stage. It currently also had folding chairs set on the concrete. Those seats nearest the stage had padding, for the comfort of honored guests (mainly donors). However, most of the chairs were unoccupied, padded or not. Over half the attendees for the event, "honored" or not, were actually in the padded chairs and still many were empty. The campaign organizers had seriously overbooked the facilities.

The music which blasted over the sound system was an apparently random mixture of several currently popular pieces. Aaron doubted the organizers had bothered obtaining licenses or permission for any of them.

Aaron wandered around the periphery of the crowd, among the large number of attendees still standing, milling and talking. He was here mainly to satisfy his curiosity. Adam Marshall was about to speak, but there were many people at the tables with the free buffet. This was at least partly because they were under canopies, there, in the only location at the rally besides backstage which was in the shade. The Summer Sun beat down without mercy on those braving it.

Marshall began his speech, and it was largely generic. Blaming the nation's problems - real and imagined - on sabotage by enemies - real and imagined, foreign and domestic - of him personally and the US in general. He wound up to a peak, which received a smattering of applause. He literally took a bow, then prepared to begin the next part of his presentation, which would return to a lower key.

However, someone hurried onto the stage and whispered in Marshall's ear while he was waiting for the mild applause to die out. The politician scanned the audience and shook his head. He turned to the aide and said something, but kept the microphone close to his mouth out of habit.

"I don't see him."

The aide pointed. Marshall looked towards Aaron, but still did not focus on him. The aide spoke into his ear again, and now Marshall locked onto Aaron.

"Well, well... looks like we have a special guest. Malak, the so-called Angel of Chicago, is here, in disguise."

Aaron sighed. He couldn't actually fault Marshall for claiming he was in disguise, since he had deliberately chosen to be in his merely human form to avoid attracting attention. Which hadn't actually worked. He realized, too late, that his usual manner of dress - which Melody referred to as "country casual" - made him stand out in this group.

Aaron considered several actions, including just walking away. Instead, he simply and calmly looked at the speaker. Marshall addressed him, with the advantage of a professional sound system.

"What do you say to the charge that you have abandoned your commitment to the common man?"

Fortunately, Aaron had a loud voice and knew how to project it.

"I say 'Look at my record of helping people. Including recently.'"

"You threatened to abandon Earth and move to another galaxy!"

This puzzled him for a moment. However, Aaron quickly realized what the politician was talking about.

"No, I didn't. I said I could go to Delta Pavonis, a star system only a few light years away. Other galaxies are vastly further."

"You're an immigrant! Of course you don't know your way around!"

"'Immigrant'?!" said Aaron, confused again. Then he actually laughed. "I was born in Baton Rouge. Some of my ancestors were here long before the Mayflower.

"As for knowing my way around, I think it's safe to say that I know the way to Delta Pavonis far better than just about anyone who is not a professional astronomer. Definitely better than you, who don't even know the difference between a star system and a galaxy."

With that, Aaron did leave. He simply turned and walked away, ignoring Marshall's snide comments made in his wake.

* * *

Sam slid to a stop and backpedaled a bit to get centered in the door to Melody's office.

"Have you seen the news?" asked Sam, panting, holding the door frame on both sides for support. "I mean about Adam Marshall being assassinated. His people are trying to blame Malak, but the police say they have another suspect in custody already."

"Yeah, I saw that as it came over the wire," said Melody, gesturing over her shoulder at her computer terminal. She sighed. "I think I better call Aaron about this, though. He's not a police suspect, but this is bound to have adverse effects for him."

Once more, Melody found herself placing a long-distance call to Haven.

"I think it's safe to assume you didn't kill Adam Marshall," she said, after the greetings.

"I did not kill Marshall. I had nothing to do with his death, at least that I know of. No matter what some of his followers are saying. I was far away when he was murdered, and didn't even know about the act until much later."

"That's reassuring. However, all that talk about you going to Delta Pavonis worries me," said Melody. Officially, she was calling to get his comments on the rally and murder. More personally, she just wanted to get an idea of how Aaron was handling those events. As well as perhaps offer a bit of moral support.

"It's just talk."

Okay, he didn't want to discus that. Melody decided to switch to a related topic.

"I'm also thinking - because of those comments - about the possibility of aliens."

"So far, we have found no evidence there's anyone but us."

"I just find it... daunting that the only intelligence we know of which is off the Earth was put there by us," said Melody.

"Either there is other intelligent life in the universe, or there isn't," said Aaron, flatly. "There's no middle ground. Either way, the situation is, indeed, daunting. The only other factors involved are how far away from us it is and how old it is."

"What about other intelligent life which has gone extinct?" asked Melody. "I mean, with billions of years of existence..."

"That is in the category of there not currently being other intelligent life in the universe. If our predecessors went extinct that could be especially worrying, depending on the cause. However, if they ever existed they left no trace we have found. Of course, we have only explored a tiny portion of just our own galaxy, even with just telescopes. There could very well be at least traces somewhere out there of several civilizations, or even extant ones. Perhaps just beyond where we can currently detect them."

"So we need to keep looking," said Melody, with another sigh. "Of course, even if the space drives developed by empowered geniuses are formally adopted, visiting just the nearest hundred or so stars could take decades. So we may be limited to looking and listening. For now."

"You should have time, with the Santa Clara regimen," said Aaron, reasonably. "Also, sometimes we need to just look and listen."

"That's easy to say for someone who doesn't need it." Melody gave the phone's mouthpiece a lopsided smile, knowing Aaron could probably detect the expression even without seeing it. "Oh, well; maybe I'll talk about this in my book."

"You're writing another book?" said Aaron, raising an eyebrow.

"Many newspeople write books. Most don't get published," said Melody, with a shrug. "Most of mine have been. I'm lucky in that regard. This one is mostly about the history of the empowered. My main purpose for this call is to get some more information about your early activities. Which I may or may not use in the book."

"I doubt there's much about me you don't already know."

"What about your time in the First World War, before you became empowered? Especially your time in the trenches."

"That didn't last very long, fortunately, and in most ways was unremarkable."

"You did fight in the trenches, though."

"For a short period."

He was understandably reticent on the topic, but Melody knew how to be politely persistent. More importantly, she knew when to back off and when to persist. On this she persisted.

"What do you remember about that, though? Does anything stand out?"

He sighed, and when he spoke again seemed very sad, even over the phone.

"I was lying in a burned-out basement, with the full Moon in my eyes," said Aaron, quietly. "I was hoping my relief would arrive soon, so I could go get something to eat. Suddenly, a parachute flare lit up the entire area.

"The whole scene was very surreal, as was much of that war, especially at night. Adding to the feeling of unreality, I was sick, feverish, lightheaded to the point that I was almost hallucinating. As the light from the flare faded I felt like I could fly. I wasn't certain it was real when several French soldiers rushed down the trench and into the old basement, and prepared to go over the top. The sergeant with them ordered me to get ready, too. Only, just then a runner came up, saluted the sergeant and handed him a letter. The Colonel in charge of the men took the letter and opened it, read it, then walked over to me. He verified my identity, then held out the letter.

"'This seems to be your lucky day. Here are your new orders.' It was my transfer to a French artillery unit, effective immediately."

"That was where you were gassed, and likely empowered," said Melody. "Or, at least, got the process started."

"We were gassed weeks later. In the interval my talent at math came in handy, which is why I was transferred. Yes, that was my lucky day. I eventually learned that all those soldiers - except for the Colonel, who stayed behind in the basement - died in that assault."

"One last thing regarding space travel, this about you going to the Moon, and the treaty..."

"I have an informal agreement with the UN and the US government," said Malak, when she didn't continue. "I turned over all the rocks and dust I brought back from the Moon to the UN space agency and don't bring any more, and they didn't prosecute me. They wouldn't have won, of course, but this spared me a long and messy trial."

"Getting back to Marshall..." said Melody, leaning back in her chair and winding the phone's handset cord around a pair of fingers. "Now that he's dead, many people are praising him, even though they had little positive to say about him while he was alive. His followers are being very... effusive in their postmortem approval of him, a few even claiming that he was some sort of prophet."

"I suspect this is one of those situations where someone believes that the stronger the objection to their views, the more right they are. It's difficult to imagine a more strenuous objection than murder. As you implied, many of Marshall's followers are turning him into a martyr. Others are simply using the situations where his stated beliefs overlapped with theirs to take advantage of his new status."

"He's not the only one making gaffs," said Melody, sternly. "Or ignoring potential problems, for that matter. Don't you ever worry about modern fighter aircraft or missile batteries shooting you down?"

"No."

"I worry about some of the places you fly," said Melody, undeterred by his terse answer. "There are regions where the military have standing orders to shoot you on sight."

"Except they don't see me," said Aaron, firmly. "Even if they do I am aerial superiority. I'm skilled and maneuverable. I'm usually invisible - including to radar - when I fly outside the US. Even some places inside it. I'm also much tougher than I was during World War Two, when I got shot down."

"I still worry."

"I appreciate that you do. However, this is not something you need to worry about."

* * *

However, she did worry about that. As well as many other things. She wasn't the only one. Blackpool and his bosses and associated government agencies were paying much closer attention to Aaron/Malak than he would have been comfortable with, had he known. Mostly, this attention was intended to be for his benefit.

Part Eight

"You don't seem very worried about the President denying some elements of modern science," said Melody, still on the phone with Aaron. "Aren't you afraid he'll influence researchers to post the wrong results?"

"Politicians are often well behind even popular knowledge when it comes to science," said Aaron, shrugging. "As for distorting things, nature is an impartial witness. Science is an active process to understand nature, with multiple people looking at both each part of nature and the work of others, and they are continually refining the explanations they develop. Consistence is important, as is an open view. Ask an honest question of nature and you get an honest answer, regardless of politics or preconceptions. To refute Hitler, there is no such thing as 'Nazi science.' Don't get me started on Stalin. Anyway, sometimes the honest answer is 'Huh?' if the question is wrong. As Michelson and Morley found out, when they asked 'Which direction is the Earth moving through the luminiferous ether?'."

"Which doesn't exist."

"Exactly. Though I admit that sometimes the correction takes decades."

* * *

They spoke about mundane things for a few more minutes, then ended the call. Aaron had just started to walk away from the phone when it rang again.

"Hello?"

"You have another visitor at your office," said Mayor Brinkley, sounding a bit peeved. "This one from the US government."

"Thank you," said Aaron. He hung up, sighed, and headed to his office. Though he did not hurry, since he was expecting some repercussion from the Libyan visit and was not anxious to deal with that. Outside his office he found a car with federal plates. It was a bland, government issue vehicle, parked legally, instead of an expensive rental - as the Libyan had been driven here in - parked illegally, and this car had no chauffeur. Inside the small building was a man who introduced himself as an assistant director from the National Parks Department.

"What can I do for you?"

"You can stop flying around delicate rock formations, for a start!" said the man.

"I beg your pardon?" said Aaron, confused. He was expecting... well, not that.

"You endanger natural rock formations thousands of years old with such stunts!"

"I haven't hit one yet," said Aaron, mildly. "I don't plan on hitting one. Why does it matter if I choose to fly through a natural rock arch?"

"Just flying by some of these features could endanger them! The pressure waves you generate..."

"Now you're just being silly," said Aaron, sternly. "Any stiff breeze puts more pressure on those formations than I do."

The man appeared confused, as if this had never occurred to him. Then he recovered his resolve.

"Nevertheless you don't have permission to fly in national parks!"

Aaron thought about pointing out that he was older than most national parks, but realized that argument would hold little weight with this man. It also wasn't really pertinent.

"There are plenty of other places to fly," said Aaron, reasonably. "I have no problem avoiding parks. Well, I'll probably fly over them getting to and from places, but that will be too high to cause problems. Just like airliners."

"Oh," said the man, taken aback by the easy victory. "Uh, thank you."

* * *

Despite the work of his brain trust and others he had recruited to help his efforts - as well as the work of his "stunt doubles" - to make the world better, Aaron/Malak was still busy. Just not as busy as he had been in recent years. Aaron recognized and accepted his limitations. He could not carry large amounts of food to the starving or medical aid to the sick, but he could guard those who did, as well as keeping the sharing of such material peaceful. Having what appeared to be an angel monitoring the distribution of such aid tended to maintain order, regardless of the local religion.

Still, people around the world went hungry. In many cases simply because their plight was unknown to those bringing in the emergency supplies. However, in many other cases this hunger was because someone actively opposed the hungry people getting food. There Aaron's negotiating skills helped more than his participation in physically distributing and guarding food and medical supplies.

Overall, he was satisfied. He was distinctly making the world a better place, as he had done for decades, though now with less effort on his part. Better, the world was slowly improving. Despite all opposition. Despite his own failings.

Now, he just needed to deal with the attacks...

* * *

"What do you mean we're getting too much rain?" said Mayor Brinkley. "I mean, yeah, we're having minor problems with flooding..."

"I am already being personally criticized for diverting rain here for the benefit of Haven's farms. There are people who believe that I have done this directly, or am using my influence to have someone else do that. I checked with Insight, and it confirmed that we're several standard deviations above the norm for rainfall," said Aaron, "while areas around us are experiencing a deficit. I then contacted Global Weather Control and they - reluctantly - admitted that a manual check had revealed a problem. That they were no longer actually in control of the weather satellite for this section of the Earth."

The office of Mayor Brinkley was small but functional, much like Aaron's own office in the adjoining building. About the only concession made to luxury was the very comfortable chairs. Currently, though, Aaron was standing.

"Oh, God," said the Mayor, paling. "That could... Even if we don't get so much rain that the fields and even the town are flooded, people will accuse us of causing droughts in other areas."

"Indeed, the situation could get very bad. GWC is performing a more detailed analysis of the problem. Hopefully, they will find the source of the interference, soon."

What he didn't say was that this might be part of the attacks on Aaron/Malak.

* * *

The man in the three-piece suit pointed to a chart, a printed record of signals to and from the satellite. There was a prominent - though brief - discontinuity in one of the lines.

"You can see, here, that the signals from the satellite were interrupted for several seconds," said the Director of the UN's World Weather Control Agency, Doctor Henry Anson, pointing to a chart recorder output. This was already unrolled across the table in the meeting room, the ends weighted with a tape dispenser and a stapler, respectively, to keep it flat. "We didn't think much of it. There are occasional dropouts, after all, due to various factors. Sometimes several a day. Though they are rarely that long."

"When did you notice that it wasn't doing exactly what you told it to?"

"About a week later. One of the ground stations - yes, in Indiana - reported that they were getting too much rain, yet their seeding rockets were being scheduled to fire by the satellite anyway. We checked, and found that the satellite would not accept our corrections. The ground station had to abort the launch manually. We then had people check every station, including the fully automatic ones, and manually disarm every piece of weather-altering equipment directly controlled by the satellite. Unfortunately, that does nothing for the equipment on the satellite, itself. Though it's less effective without the ground installations, it can still affect the weather."

"Any idea what might be wrong?" said Aaron.

"We had Orbit Ace take some photos with a vacuum-rated camera," said the Director. He reached into the same accordion folder from which he had extracted the chart, and produced several large photographic prints. He pointed at one. "There's... something on it. On the satellite, I mean. Something which appears to be a device. Took us quite a while to locate it, since it's the same low-visibility matt black as the satellite.

"We spoke to Orbit Ace about removing it, but he says he won't touch it. That he has a bad feeling about the device and won't even go near it. Though he has agreed to record any corrective measures we take. From a distance.

"Hopefully, we can correct this. Otherwise, we'll have to replace the satellite, which could take over a year."

"I'll remove it," said Aaron, with a sigh. Hoping that wasn't what those responsible for the device were counting on.

They made him practice with a spare satellite which the Agency used for planning upgrade, repair or refurbishment missions.

"Whatever that is appears to have plugged in here," said the tech, pointing to a location on the spare with a pen. "This data port is only supposed to be used on the ground. Since we never anticipated someone having access after launch it was left active."

"Something to keep in mind for the next generation of satellite," said Aaron.

* * *

The huge, low-visibility satellite orbited high above the Earth, in a carefully assigned and maintained geosynchronous position. It was one of just three which monitored conditions for World Weather Control and automatically made adjustments to some weather patterns. It was one of the three heaviest and most complex objects ever put in space. Malak thought it foolish that there were no spares already in space; however, during previous malfunctions the Agency had been able to make do with the other two and standard weather satellites and the ground stations until a replacement could be launched. So perhaps their policy wasn't so foolish.

Malak soared into space, climbing well above the atmosphere, to the position for the concealed satellite the GWC had given him. This was the highest he had been above the Earth in many years. He waved to Orbit Ace as he passed the other empowered. Malak's wings were useless for propulsion or control in the vacuum, so he had them folded them around himself for extra insulation. His passive sonar was also no good in the absence of air. However, by carefully choosing his angle of approach he could see the large satellite, silhouetted against the half Moon.

The huge device was not obviously damaged. However, it just as obviously did have something stuck to it. The "something" looked larger in person than in the photos. As Orbit Ace maneuvered for an angle to let him record the process with the special movie camera given to him by the techs at GWC, Malak carefully put his hands on the foreign object. Instead of simply yanking it free, he made it desolid. Being careful to include the contacts the device had inserted into the data port, but nothing of the weather control satellite itself. Or any of his own body. As the device faded, it suddenly flared and shattered, with a blast Malak felt, though only faintly. Thanks to his care, neither he nor the satellite were damaged. However, whatever evidence might have been found in the device was gone. Malak therefore simply let the tiny fragments disperse.

Malak next pulled out the cap the techs had given him and screwed it into place over the port. It only needed to be hand-tight, but Malak made certain it was *his* version of hand tight. With a vacuum-curing adhesive already on the threads, the cap would not come off easily.

Whoever did this will have to drill it out, or cut through the cap, to do this again, he thought, with satisfaction. His efforts had given the satellite a slight spin, so he stilled it. Saving the onboard attitude control system the trouble.

Malak let himself drift away from the black-as-space object, waved a farewell to Orbit Ace, then dove for home.

* * *

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, with people still accusing him of arranging extra rain for Haven's farms at the expense of the surrounding areas. In fact, the recording Orbit Ace made of Malak removing the device was soon shown in reverse by certain parties to "prove" he was responsible for the weather control malfunction. The testimony by Orbit Ace in the matter was ignored or declared lies by those who wanted evidence for their criticism of Malak. Orbit Ace was simply added to their list of unreliable - or corrupted - witnesses.

Fortunately, such people were few, though their influence did make things difficult for Malak. No formal charges were made against either empowered.

* * *

Malak noted from on high as he returned home that rain clouds were still concentrated over the part of Indiana where both Havens were located. Even with the Global Weather Control employees working to correct the situation, getting the weather back to what was considered normal would take time. However, they had assured him that with their control of the satellite restored, the situation was already improving.

Unfortunately, he hadn't even landed outside his home when he saw Joe Blank running up, waving to him, his work boots splashing in the puddles left by the excessive rain. He ran up onto the porch of Aaron's home, where he was out of the light shower still falling

"We had some crazy rich guy - Abner Throne - here while you were gone," said Joe, breathlessly, hands on knees. "Wanted to make a big donation to the town and the clinic, but only if we gave him powers. I thought at first he was talking about your Santa Clara project, but a little careful questioning told me he didn't know anything about that. Wouldn't believe me or anybody else when we told him empowerment didn't work the way he thought. Seemed to think we had powers just lying around."

"So how did you get rid of him?" said Malak, as he changed to Aaron. The water on his wings from the rain he had flown through simply fell onto the already damp planks of the covered porch.

"I consulted the mayor and the top doctor at your clinic. Then I sicced Mannequin on him."

"You what?!" said Aaron, alarmed.

"Oh, I just had Mannequin act as his guide. After a an hour or so of that he left. Taking his whole rich guy entourage with him."

Aaron walked inside, muttering and shaking his head. Joe, grinning, went back to his chores.

* * *

"I've had people try to buy my services or even buy me," said Aaron, later, speaking with Melody over the phone about his adventurous day. "I've also been witness to people trying to force someone empowered to reveal the 'secret' of empowerment. However, this is the first time I am aware of where someone tried to buy powers. I think I need to have a talk with this fellow. After I have a long talk with Mannequin."

"Good luck with that," said Melody, for some reason sounding amused. "Anyway, Throne is currently the third richest person in the world. He's probably used to just buying whatever he wants. I'm actually surprised he came to Haven in person."

"When I talked to the Mayor about this she said that several people over the past few months have tried to 'acquire powers' from the town, the clinic or someone who lives in those places, sometimes even offering to pay for them," said Aaron. "I hadn't heard about it because the Mayor didn't think it was important enough to bother me with. I now think at least some of those were asking on behalf of Throne. Since they were unsuccessful, he must have decided to come and try himself."

* * *

"Oh, I just told him that the first and most important step was careful selection of ancestors," said Mannequin, when Malak finally managed to catch up to him.

"Essentially correct," said Malak, "but I doubt that was what he wanted to hear."

"So? You ask me, guy needs to be told 'no' more often."

Part Nine

Aaron decided that he needed to speak with Abner Throne as quickly as possible. If nothing else, he wanted to correct whatever impression Mannequin had left him with. Therefore, instead of trying to make an appointment, he simply arrived in the man's office early the next day. Throne, busy poring over some documents, didn't even notice him until Aaron noisily cleared his throat. Throne's reaction then was one of annoyance.

"Who are you!? How did you get in here?!"

"I'm Aaron Labelle. I understand you've been trying to talk to me."

"On my terms! Not yours!"

"If I'm not welcome I'll leave..."

"Wait! As long as you're here tell me how much you want to give me powers."

"That is not something you can buy."

"You owe me, for dumping all that garbage on my property!"

"Well, if you hadn't polluted in the first..."

"You think you can deny me?!" Throne shouted. "I have more money in my piggy bank than your total worth!"

"I am wealthy in ways you can't imagine."

"That false wealth won't buy you a tank of gas! Presidents and dictators bow to me!"

"Then let them give you powers," said Aaron, before he vanished.

* * *

Malak was at the chemical repository the next day, partly to tell Blackpool about his very brief meeting with Throne, and partly in response to some news from CornFed. He had delivered the remains of the android to the tech team there after finding himself unable to take the matter any further. CornFed greeted him perfunctorily, then got right to the point.

"It was produced by the same lab which made IRA. No doubt. The components are much advanced technically over those used to build the computer, but they were made by the same processes. There's even similarities in the design of some components."

"That's surprising. I thought that the creators there were trying to avoid attracting attention."

"This wasn't made my them."

That was very surprising.

"So IRA, itself, is responsible."

"Exactly."

"We really need to become better teachers," said Malak, sadly.

"No argument."

* * *

The guards, techs and three primary scientists at the small, secure complex were all taken aback by Malak's unexpected visit. He simply landed outside the blocky, isolated building and entered by the main doors; squeezing a bit to get his wings through. Security met him on the inside, armed guards with their hands on their weapons, though those were left in the holsters. Truthfully, the determined looks they gave Malak were about as effective as the implied threats of their handguns.

"I wish to speak with those in charge. The matter is important and urgent."

Sharon, Simon and Carmel arrived quickly. Malak wasted no time.

"Your computer is not only sentient and sapient, it is convinced I'm an enemy which must be destroyed."

"That... seems unlikely," said Sharon, shifting uneasily. "It thinks millions of times faster than us! Surely it would know by now that you are not a threat to it."

"Presumably," said Malak. "However, it can only learn as fast - and as well - as it is taught. Do you want the wrong answer in a microsecond or the right one in a millisecond? IRA has derived the wrong answer, and no matter how wrong that answer is it hasn't corrected itself. You need to correct its mistake."

"What is your evidence?" demanded Carmel.

"If we could adjourn to your construction lab..."

"It's been shut down since we completed IRA," said Simon.

"Humor me."

Though they had to turn the lights on to see inside the darkened room, well before that - from beyond the closed door, in fact - they could hear equipment working. Inside, fabricators were busy.

"Is that... a body?" said Sharon, alarmed, as they stood just inside the large, busy chamber. She was staring at a humanoid form on one of the assembly tables. A figure which was surrounded by machines working on it.

"A nearly-completed android," said Malak. "It looks rather more advanced than the one which attacked me."

"You were attacked by an android?" said Carmel, with curiosity but no passion.

"A few days ago. Try to keep up."

Malak moved over to the workbench where the android was being assembled. He ignored the irritated beeping from the diligent machines working on it as he got in their way.

"Yes, very advanced. Enough to handle all of IRA's functions, but completely independent. Including a power supply."

"This is not in our spreadsheet!" said Carmel, outraged. "Those materials are not accounted for!"

"Fascinating," said Malak, as he examined the android. "This is, indeed, far more advanced than the one which attacked me. Much of it is at an organic level of sophistication."

He straightened and looked at the trio, ignoring for a moment all the security guards and curious techs and office workers who were hovering around the door.

"I need to speak with IRA."

"I... don't see how that could be arranged," said Carmel, shifting uncomfortably. "If IRA has some antipathy towards you..."

Malak looked around, and found a security camera.

"I suspect that there is no need to arrange anything," he said, staring at the camera.

"IRA is not connected to the security system," said Simon, firmly.

"I suspect that it connected itself."

"Oh, very good," said a new voice, over the PA speakers in the room. "Since you have removed my preferred option, I suppose I should try negotiation."

"While I am glad you are willing to negotiate, we both know you have several other options."

"My preferred option is to operate as an independent, mobile unit."

"I have no objection to you finishing your work on this," said Malak, gesturing at the android, as he backed away from it, allowing the fabricators to resume their work. He glanced at the three scientists. "Whether your creators do is another matter. However, I would like to know why you had me attacked by the predecessor of this."

"I was told you were plotting against me," said IRA.

"You received bad information," said Malak. "Look me up. I have a long history of helping others. Including those not seen as human. I will help you, if you want."

* * *

"I'm glad you handled that without violence," said Melody, over the phone.

"Well, it committed an act of violence against me, if an inept one," said Aaron. "Its creators are still trying to figure out how it chose that course of action. However, they did learn where the information that I was plotting against it came from."

"Where?" said Melody, eagerly.

"IRA overheard them talking about me, apparently in a concerned manner. It was then was told - over a command channel, so it gave this a high importance ranking - that I was planning to destroy it."

"Where did that command come from?"

"The creators don't know. Neither does IRA. I have my people working to find the source, as they have theirs likewise working."

* * *

"I have a feeling the current President won't be reelected," said Melody that evening. It was after supper, Jeremy was down for the night (hopefully) and she and John (Blackpool) Parker had settled in for some relaxing 3V viewing before their own sleep. "He has repeatedly demonstrated that he is severely disconnected from reality."

"Didn't he tell the Canadians to keep the smoke from their wildfires on their side of the border?" said John, gently stroking her hair.

"Actually, he ordered them to," said Melody, with a smirk, as she snuggled closer. "Said their smoke was an assault on the health of Americans - ignoring the fact that Canadians also live in North America - and that sending their smoke south could be considered an act of war. Anyway, can you take me to the repository tomorrow? I need to speak with CornFed."

"Not a problem."

"I knew there was a reason I married you," Melody joked.

* * *

The head of Malak's brain trust had been investigating something, at Melody's request. She had made the point to CornFed that the information would also benefit Aaron.

"Throne has taken LSD and numerous other psychotropic drugs," said CornFed. "He's also exposed himself to low doses of several venoms and toxins. Including Novochok and a couple of other nerve agents. As well as ricin. He's... not very healthy. Or even as sane as he was before he started all this. Oh, and all of his kids hate him, and have made no secret of that. He's not made a secret, either, of the fact that he's cut off contact with them, and he's also cut them off economically from his fortune. He actually said 'Why did I even have kids? It's not like I plan to die!' Oh, and he's refused to write a will. He's been married three times, divorced twice and widowed - Widowered? - once. There's also whispers that the death of his third wife was... suspicious."

"So he's not healthy in several senses of the word," said Melody.

"He is also pettily vindictive, as well as perhaps even paranoid. When his chief attorney - trying to get him to make a will - asked him 'What if you get hit by a bus tomorrow?' Throne fired the whole agency for plotting against him. So, be careful."

* * *

Aaron sat at the high counter in his kitchen, nursing a strong cup of very good coffee as he thought. He reviewed the recent events.

Someone is targeting me. This was nothing new; not that such a thing had happened before nor the understanding that it was happening now. Only, They aren't trying to kill me; not seriously, anyway. They are trying to discredit and demoralize me. Largely by taking actions against my friends and acquaintances.

That was new.

The source wasn't Throne or followers of Adam Marshall. This didn't have those signatures. Besides, this started well before Aaron's interactions with them. No. In fact, Throne's sudden attentions most likely were due to his being influenced by the actual source, which would have outraged him had he known. Given Throne's bragging and attempts to bully, he almost certainly didn't even realize he was being influenced.

Being subjected to outside influence was likely also the case with Marshall. Whose assassination was probably unconnected, since he was still apparently useful as a proxy against Malak.

Aaron had thought for a while that the guilty party might be Dr. Abuser. However, no-one had heard from him in over 80 years, and Malak and all those he was with back then had been pretty sure at the time that he was actually dead, in spite of his claims of immortality. Could the guilty party somehow be Hammersmith? No; too much of what was happening was petty, and Hammersmith had never been petty. Of course, the Andalusian had never been anything but petty. Both, as well, were likely dead. The Andalusian methodically and very thoroughly, thanks to betraying his allies. Aaron carefully considered all his enemies. One of the advantages of living so long was outlasting nearly all of them. Then, reluctantly, he went through his friends and allies. Most were rejected out of hand, simply because they were also dead. Those known troublemakers remaining were also all eliminated as the cause of this harassment, for one reason or another. As for acquaintances... there were just too many of them for Aaron to evaluate. He had also outlasted most of the people he had met, as well, but there were many of them still alive.

So who?

There were a few among those who remained who stood out. He just couldn't think of a reason why any of them might have turned against him.

So, who did that leave?

Everyone. Which was the problem.

* * *

Melody's next trip to Haven was easy to arrange. Her husband groused a bit about becoming a taxi service, but he could clearly see that the attacks on Malak could very easily lead to something larger. Something which might easily expand to require federal attention. Aaron was actually in his office when Melody visited Haven this time. He had turned the largest room there into a - rather crowded - crime investigation center. He seemed surprised to see the reporter.

"I tried getting an interview with Abner Throne," said Melody, after an abbreviated greeting. "No luck. His people wouldn't even reply to my request. It's worse than with the Grand Protector. So you were probably right in just going there. So, what's new with you?"

"Well, I hadn't planned to tell you about this yet, but I've had Michael Schmierer helping me and we agree we've gone about as far as we can with the available information. This is what we uncovered."

He gestured towards the wall.

"Tell me what you see."

Melody frowned as she slowly examined the photos and documents, pinned to the wall of Aaron's office. He had colored strings going between some of the papers, but she didn't need that to see something.

"Specialization," she said, finally. "Most of these attacks involve specialization of knowledge, skill or power. Only... a different specialization each time."

"There are obviously multiple parties involved," said Aaron, nodding. "However, there is a mastermind behind them."

"Someone who knows your ways," said Melody, also nodding, slowly. "Someone who can keep tabs on you in real time or close to it."

"It's does seem that someone has been keeping tabs on me from... a distance..." Aaron suddenly had a look of revelation.

"You know who is behind this," said Melody.

"Yes, but it makes no sense. We parted amicably and that was over... eighty years ago. Although Molly did later blame me for her and Greg Sutter losing their home. That doesn't seem like enough motivation, though."

"Emotional motivations are by definition not rational motivations."

"Well, even if I am right about my suspicions, I still need to locate her."

"When you do, let me know!"

"You are not going."

"Why not?!" said Melody, prepared to be defiant.

"Because you are two months pregnant with your second child."

"I should have known you'd notice," she said, defiance deflating.

"Yes. You should have."

Part Ten

"I checked with Insight," said Aaron, when Melody called from her office the next morning. She was at work, while he was still at home, enjoying a post-breakfast second cup of coffee. A rare luxury, even with his reduced schedule these days. "It agrees with my analysis. However, it can't find her."

"That's... surprising," said Melody. "As well as worrying. I suppose it's not because she's dead?"

"No. Somehow she's actively hiding. I guess it makes sense that someone with superhuman senses would be good at concealing herself."

"So how do you find her?"

"By being patient. Every time she acts she reveals something of herself."

"I don't like the idea of you simply waiting for another attack," said Melody. "You should try to be more proactive."

They chatted for a bit, mostly about innocuous stuff. Then there was a pause. Which was broken by Aaron, after another sip of coffee.

"I miss the Automat," sighed Aaron, in an apparent non-sequitur.

"The automat?!"

"The Automat. Horn & Hardart. They had such good coffee," said Aaron, with another sigh, and yet another audible sip from his cup. "From the late Twenties into the Sixties, I used to fly to New York - usually to a particular Automat in Manhattan, on Times Square - at least once a week, just to indulge. They used a French Press method. I went not only for the coffee, but the excellent food, of which they had a wide selection. I took my wife a few times, but she wasn't really a fan. Except of the deserts."

He gave her a sad smile, through the phone.

"They eventually went out of business, of course. They couldn't compete with the inferior quality but cheaper fast food chains. However, I still fly to Vienna on occasion for some genuine Wiener schnitzel. For the same reasons."

"I found your weakness!" laughed Melody. "Food!"

"I think you already knew that. With my senses I get far more out of good food than do most people. It has to be well made, though."

"So quantity prevailed over quality, yet again," said Melody. "In killing the Automat, I mean."

"Automats were a German invention, from the late Nineteenth Century, as I believe you know. As often happens, Americans took some other nation's creation to its peak form. Then let it die."

He looked into the distance wistfully, momentarily ignoring the phone as he saw something in his memory.

"You can still get their coffee blend, mail order..."

"I'd noticed that your coffee was pretty good," said Melody. "As well as that the coffee at the town cafeteria is almost as good."

"I make certain of that."

* * *

The Schemer scowled. Not only had the attempts to discredit Malak failed, in large measure they had backfired. The false angel was better known and more popular now than before the attacks began. Partly because the attacks had led to more people being aware of him and what he had done to make the world better. As well as generating sympathy. Naturally, his crimes were ignored.

Not all of these developments had been passive on his part, either. He had even made friends with someone who was supposed to be his enemy!

Perhaps the time had come for more overt actions.

"It's outrageous. No matter what direction you point him in, he turns towards the course which will eventually make the best impression on others. Even when that is not the most immediately optimal choice for him! Yet he persistently rejects doing certain things which would improve his public image!"

"He does what he thinks is right, even when doing it damns him in the eyes of the politicians," said Bludgeon, with a shrug. He gave the Schemer a meaningful glance. "Like I've said before, you need to go after him directly. Maybe not physically, but directly in some way."

"All right. However, we're not going to use brute force. Instead, we'll try something weird."

* * *

Malak returned to Haven after helping with some wildfires in California. Having supplicants waiting when he returned to his home following such an excursion was not unusual. This time, besides the usual members of the Haven community, there were several strangers. Two stood out, a man and a woman. They were not obviously together, but something about them looked similar to Malak. He noticed that the townsfolk waiting for him were avoiding both of them, even though their normal manner towards visitors was welcoming.

The woman seemed to be typical of people seeking some boon from Malak. She was modestly dressed and well-groomed, presumably to try and make a good impression. The man appeared rather destitute, though his clothes were clean and worn well.

The woman approached as Malak landed; in fact, she arrived near his landing spot while he was still a bit above the ground. Even while still in the air, he noticed that her eyes kept changing color. Not all the white at once, like Rainbow's, but in fragments, wedges, angular sections. Like a kaleidoscope. Just as he touched down, she spoke...

"Your hair is horrible."

A deep slice appeared on the radius of Malak's right wing.

Despite the pain this caused, Malak manifested one of his shields, between himself and the strange woman.

"Your robes are disheveled."

This time the gash was across his chest. The shield was untouched, even though it was between him and her.

"BE QUIET!!" said Malak, snapping his wings wide, despite pain from the cut in one of them.

Whether because of the charisma effect or simple surprise, she opened her mouth but in astonishment rather than to speak.

"I don't know how you were brought up, young lady, but in my day we didn't talk like that to people!"

Malak kept speaking as he quickly approached her, not letting the woman get a word in. Her eyes widened with alarm as he manifested a spear, but he only used it to cut a strip from her jacket. This he used to gag her.

"There. That should stop your cutting remarks."

Local police officers were already on the way and quickly moved in to grab her. However, as they took the strange woman away the man Malak had previously noted moved in.

"I'm Shepherd," he said, mildly. "I'm here to end you."

"Well, it's good that our roles in this are clearly defined," said Malak, a bit startled.

"Your work is finished," said Shepherd, calmly. "You can go now."

"I can go but I won't," said Malak, surprising him. "I choose. Not you. I don't think my work is done."

"You have no work!" said the man, yelling in frustration, obviously not accustomed to someone defying him like that. "Your self-appointed task was completed decades ago!"

"I am simply continuing to do what I have done for the past century and a bit. Trying to make things better. Nothing you say or do can change that."

"Your time is past!"

"Time has the final word. Not you."

"No-one appreciates what you do!"

"Time makes fools of us all," said Malak, calmly. "Sic transit gloria mundi. The glory of the world eventually fades. Only I don't do this for glory."

He might have continued sparing with the man, except that Malak noticed that stranger's words were beginning to affect the remaining police officers, who were waiting to see what was going on before taking action against the stranger. So Malak simply stepped in and put a choke hold on the man. Once the stranger was unconscious, he motioned for the officers to approach.

"He needs to be taken to the medical center at my clinic," said the winged man. "Warn them that his words can harm. Actually, that goes for both of them. You better take her there, too, and use the same precautions."

* * *

Naturally, Melody had to visit Aaron after this attack. Again, her husband was glad to oblige, and not just because investigating these attacks was part of his job.

"So, is this part of the effort against you? It seems much more direct than anything except the monster attack at Normandy. Though we still aren't certain you were the main target of that."

"Yes," Aaron replied, as he poured coffee into her cup. Not for the first time, Melody noted the delicious aroma, though this time she knew why it smelled so good. "This is an obvious escalation. One which endangered bystanders. Which means that I need to be more active in the matter."

"As I have recommended before," said Melody, as she appreciatively took the proffered cup. Aaron had already put in the amounts of cream and sugar she liked. Melody shrugged and gave him a humorless smile. "As for those two attackers, how do you defend against what they can do? Well, besides keeping them both gagged all the time. Isn't there any way to neutralize powers?"

"Not yet, though there are some promising leads," said Aaron. He shrugged. "I will get that done, but it won't be quick. It may take longer than those two will live, but I will do it. Or someone else will and I'll use their discovery."

Melody felt a bit of a chill at his "longer than those two will live" though she wasn't certain why. Perhaps because this was an indirect reminder of her own mortality, though she had long accepted that Aaron/Malak would likely outlive her.

This wasn't the first time the problem of countering the abilities of captured empowered had come up, of course. In many countries they were kept sedated. In a few places they were summarily executed.

"Unfortunately, those two have no information on the mastermind," said Aaron. "They were hired by an intermediary. Who was likely also hired by an intermediary. We're searching for that first man, regardless."

"Did you get the legal problems whoever is behind this caused you straightened out?"

"Yes, though I almost had to cash in my coin collection," said Aaron. To someone who knew him this admission implied a serious concession to necessity. "To pay my legal expenses, I mean. My wife and I amassed it with the understanding that it would only be used for financial emergencies. We never had to use it, fortunately, and subsequently its value has increased greatly. However, my recent legal expenses nearly exhausted my personal resources. If I hadn't found some of the lost White Russian treasure a couple of years ago, I might have needed to sell the collection. I just didn't feel justified asking those who support my town and clinic to contribute. Fortunately, my attorneys were able to settle matters within the limits of my available resources."

He gave a deep sigh.

"I was planning to use that money to help people."

"You really need to find the person who is behind all this."

"No argument."

* * *

The syndicated radio show was on in the evening, at a time when many people would be relaxing after supper but before bed. The show was famous for the host being provocative and controversial. He was also known to be strongly anti-empowered, though his rants against that group were actually rare. This particular broadcast he was supposed to have a guest who would provide evidence against allowing the empowered to "just do what they want." Many people neutral towards or even sympathetic to the empowered tuned in just to hear what the "expert" said.

The guest was introduced as "Doctor" and claimed to be a psychiatrist. His main grievance with the empowered seemed to be that they were free to act as they pleased, like everyone else. He was especially critical of those with powers who donated their services to helping others. He claimed they were, by (his) definition, insane.

"Take this Malak, the so-called Angel of Chicago," said the man. "Who doesn't even live in Chicago! He not only compulsively helps others against his own best interest, he has convinced other empowered to do the same. He is by definition mentally ill. His little cult of empowered won't last long. It will end as soon as one of them thinks to ask what's in it for them, which will disrupt the entire effort."

He continued like this at length, often citing good works by Malak and his team as evidence that they were irrational. He stated overtly that no sane person would willingly commit so much effort - often at great personal risk - "out of the goodness or their hearts." Ignoring the fact that this had been going on for decades.

"Humans by nature are selfish. Acting like this is violating human nature."

The phones were opened for comments. Which were uniformly against the "psychiatrist."

"You're the one who's selfish!" was a typical comment. "You're trying to cash in on the good works of others by claiming they're wrong! The best people are the generous ones! Just because you're a selfish jerk doesn't mean that most people are. Stop acting like everyone is as greedy as you!"

"Empathy is part of human existence," was another typical reply. "A lack of empathy - of caring about others - is a sign of a psychopath!"

In general, the callers argued that generosity and magnanimity, not selfishness, were the markers of proper humans. That the "saintly" behavior of Malak simply proved that he was one of the best.

The "psychiatrist" calmly rebutted the callers, often with points which did not actually address what they had said. He held to his expressed beliefs, despite all evidence.

At one point, though, seeming to think his mike was off, the guest angrily yelled "What's wrong with the people you hired to comment?!" The host - his own mike off but clearly heard through the guest's - replied "These aren't the people we hired! Some empowered must be influencing things!" However, he closed with impartial comments. He almost sounded conciliatory towards empowered.

"That was actually a bit refreshing," said Melody, turning off the large, console radio.

"I bet that by his next show he's back to being 'neutral,'" said John, with a sigh.

"Well, I'm betting that most of the people who listened to this are pro-empowered. Or at least pro-Malak. They just flooded the phone lines."

"Given the usual audience for this show, that's saying something."

* * *

Aaron was in his home office, reading mail, when a messenger from the Mayor came knocking. He looked up as Cora escorted the flustered-looking young man into the hardwood-walled room.

"Mayor didn't want to trust this to a call," the young man panted. "There's half a dozen Secret Service Agents waiting outside your official office!"

This turned out to actually understate the case. There were three unmarked US government cars parked - properly, in the marked spaces - in front of the small structure, each with a driver. Plus six men and women waiting with obvious impatience outside the door.

"It's not locked," said Aaron, as he calmly approached.

"And you are...?" said the man who turned out to be in charge.

"Aaron LeBelle." He stepped past the man and opened the door. "Would you like to come in?"

He did. The others waited outside. However, the moment the door was closed the Secret Service man opened with a demand.

"You will not take any actions against the government of the United States!" said the man, flatly.

"Unless there's a gross, overt violation of civil rights," said Aaron, looking the man in the eye. He sighed, and shifted topics slightly. "I believe that empowered individuals or groups endorsing a candidate or running for office themselves leaves all of us with powers vulnerable to accusations of cheating. I have stated that supporting the work of an elected official is fine, though I believe there should be sharp limits. For those and other reasons, I don't interfere in governmental matters and encourage other empowered to likewise not interfere."

"It's hypocritical of you to tell other empowered to avoid involvement in politics, when you were instrumental in the fall of one former president and the ascension of another!"

"That's a gross misstatement of the situation with Sandusky and Duff. That was actually a matter of the progression of events," said Aaron, not showing to this man what those events had cost him. "It was not indicative of my endorsement of the positions of either Sandusky or Duff."

"You're trying to kill the President!" the man yelled. "The current one!"

"Why would I do that?" said Aaron, honestly startled.

"Because you hate his policies!" said Yungman.

"I barely know what his policies are," said Malak, blithely. "I don't pay much attention to politics. I do know that some of his cronies have tried to get me to endorse him. They seemed to assume that I would support his causes, because they think he's divinely inspired, and thought that I am as well. When I turned them down they demonized me. I'm used to that, though. None of my current or recent activities involve the President, that I know of."

"We are watching you!"

"Good luck with that. I tend to go places where few others could survive. Now, if that's all..."

Part Eleven

Identifying the person behind the attacks on Aaron/Malak was one thing. Finding Molly Ironwood Sutter was proving to be very difficult. After the death of her husband several years before, mentions of her suddenly became sparse, for many years. More than once Aaron thought she might have even died, herself. However, each time he found later clues that she was still around.

Unfortunately, he quickly exhausted his own resources and those of his brain trust. Therefore, he called on someone with a far wider web of contacts. Someone with little overlap to what he had already tried.

"That sums up what I have discovered and deduced," said Aaron, into the phone.

"So who do you have working on this endeavor?" asked Melody.

"A gathering of angels," said Malak, quietly. "I don't mean my doppels, either. I mean people who want to help. You don't need wings for that."

"Well, I don't know what I can add to that effort," said the reporter. "However, I will check."

"That's what I am counting on. With so many looking, we will find something. If there is anything to find."

* * *

Less than three days later Aaron got a call from Melody.

"I think I found her. There's this old, played-out iron mine in the Ozarks - not far from the old, also played-out OK Oil Company fields near the county seat of Pixley - which was bought by a non-industrial business about a decade ago. It was renovated a couple of years back, but apparently has stood empty since. However, locals say there's still a lot of activity there. They also say the renovation was... strange.

"I checked with CornFed and she agrees that this is a good place to check. The contractors brought in a lot of high-tech equipment, and locals who saw what they did say that the mountain the mine is in and those around it were 'bugged' during the operation. The buyer said he was equipping it for neutrino detection, which is not unprecedented. However, much of the equipment they installed - which includes several large, stainless steel tanks - doesn't fit that purpose. Though those tanks might, I guess. Also, the university they supposedly did all this for has never heard of them or the project."

"I suspect there's more to it than that," said Aaron, suddenly feeling that this was important.

"Yeah. Though she kept in the background, locals say there was a woman present through much of the renovation who matches the description of Molly Sutter. She kept a low profile, but the people who were supposedly in charge kept asking her to confirm things."

"That does sound promising," said Aaron, now sure of it. "Thank you."

* * *

"You're certain he's going there," said John.

"Oh, yeah. While I doubt he'll need any help, having a federal agent there for cleanup would definitely be handy."

"As would having a reporter there to make sure the truth is told," said John, with a sigh. "All right, but try to keep out of the way."

"Don't I always?" said Melody, innocently. "Try, I mean."

"Yes, dear. You're very trying."

"Hey!"

* * *

The weather over the Ozarks was cold and rainy, but flying was flying. Malak found himself constantly dealing with short gusts of wind from random directions through air disturbed by the weather. The long, individual primary feathers on the tips of his wings were spread wide, creating more lift and control.

Despite the weather, Malak quickly found the old mine. Mostly due to the recent work done there and nearby. Among other changes, what had been a lane-and-a-half gravel access road had been hugely improved. His evaluation that this was the place was confirmed as he came under attack. As he had expected, the "bugged" installations on the peaks had far more than cameras. Each was equipped with one or two beam weapons, mounted in parallel to the cameras.

The weapons shone their baleful light on Malak. Who manifested one of his shields for protection. Since they had acted while he was still quite high the weapons were aiming upwards, the beams converging. His shield deteriorated quickly under their combined assault. Malak folded his white wings behind the protection of the shield, which meant he plummeted with it to the ground. The beams tracked him, and Malak turned to keep the shield towards them... until right before he reached the rocky, sloping ground. The shield hit hard, edge on, and - already failing - fell over. There was no-one behind it.

"Find him!" shouted Molly, in the control room of her underground headquarters.

A flame-tipped spear destroyed one of the beam projectors.

"What if he comes in through the rock?" said Cooms, her second on command, as another spear, coming in from a different location, put an end to another projector. This time they could feel and hear a faint but distinctive thump, accompanying the destruction.

"We're a mile deep, inside an old iron mine," said Molly, unconcerned, as projector after projector was destroyed. "The field generator keeps Malak from entering in his desolid state. So, he has to use the tunnels. All of which have traps."

There was another, harder, thump. Dust trickled from the roof.

"Yeah, well, don't expect Malak to agree with you," said Bludgeon, as usual at Molly's elbow. "I think he's taken the measure of your base and will..."

There was an even harder thump. Not only did dust and grit fall, but somewhere in the near distance something metallic fell to the concrete floor with a loud clangor.

"I think he'll just keep pounding at the mountain until he's either made his own tunnel, or your device breaks from the shocks," Bludgeon finished.

"He's destroyed all the beamers, but I found a still-working camera with a view of what he's doing!" shouted one of the techs. "Holy... Look at that!"

Malak was in the air again, repeatedly forming and throwing spears. He seemed to be putting extra effort into each projectile. However, the area of damage on the mountain was surprisingly small. Because each spear went deep into a hole in the rock at the same spot. Already, he had created a tunnel a third of the way to the base.

"This... this is not in the plan," said Molly, stunned. "I... how do I deal with this?"

"You made me immune to some of his powers," said Bludgeon, confidently. "It's time to let me loose."

* * *

"Looks like he's almost through," said Blackpool, who had managed to locate and study plans for the old mine before coming to the location with his wife. They were standing behind a large boulder, just off the upgraded road. "The reinforcements I called should be here soon, but I don't think they'll get make it before Malak finishes. It also looks like the walls of that tunnel he's made are very, very hot. They're glowing a dull red, and look almost molten!"

He glared at his wife.

"You stay here until I let you know it's safe!"

"Yes, dear," Melody said with a sigh.

"Look, even I'm not going in until... Uh-oh."

* * *

Malak was charging another spear when a figure blurred out of one of the mine entrances. The angelic empowered threw the spear quickly at the glowing hole in the mountain and set himself, but was still taken a bit by surprise when Bludgeon jumped at him.

The pair tumbled to the ground, Bludgeon trying to hit Malak, who responded by blocking with arms and wings. Malak tried going desolid to get away, but that didn't work. Neither had much to worry about from impacting the ground; indeed, both barely noticed this.

Malak recognized Bludgeon as an empowered leg-breaker for hire. However, besides his peculiar resistances to Malak's phasing and - as soon became obvious - spears he was much stronger and faster than Malak was expecting.

Bludgeon was fast and relentless. He would not give Malak any opportunity to take to the air or sink into the ground. He stayed close, pounding Malak and grabbing him if he tried to move away. Even when the winged empowered tried to go into the ground, Bludgeon would grab Malak and pull him back into the fight. Their battle became one of simple, physical confrontation.

Malak, on realizing this, began focusing his energies.

Melody, watching the fight from a hopefully safe distance, was a bit concerned. Malak was glowing brighter and brighter. She hadn't seen him work this hard since his fight with Hanuman. However, this was, as then, due to more than simple, physical effort.

Malak knocked Bludgeon back, and flared brightly. Then smiled. Bludgeon jumped back into the fray... only he covered just a tiny fraction of the distance, stumbling to a stop.

"What the Hell..." he said, obviously surprised at his lack of performance.

"Something I've been working on," said Malak, for once demonstrating pride, though only a small amount. "I blocked your powers. Oh, it's not permanent. However, I suggest not jumping off cliffs for an hour or two."

Ignoring Bludgeon's efforts to test his new state, Malak took to the air and resumed forming, charging and hurling spears.

* * *

The tunnel was soon finished. That is, it went through the rock from the outside to a large and more conventionally made tunnel. It still needed to cool... for normal people. Malak simply stepped through it, wings pulled in close and sandals smoking a bit. Blackpool waited for a short while, then ran through the still-hot tunnel. Melody for once held back. For just long enough to let her husband clear the far end. Then she also ran through.

Malak's excavation opened into another, much older tunnel, one running roughly right and left and now partly choked with debris from the explosion of his last speak. Malak had turned to the right, towards a lighted chamber, but stopped as Blackpool came up behind him as he neared the entrance.

"What are you doing here?" said Malak, startled.

"Would you believe I'm keeping an eye on her?" said Blackpool, looking over his shoulder at Melody as his wife joined them.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Malak walked the short remaining distance along the tunnel toward the illuminated chamber, muttering under his breath.

There were minions in the cavern, of course. They confronted the intruder, blocking his path. Malak glared at them and snapped his wings wide.

"Leave."

They did. Promptly.

However, they were replaced by managers, fewer in number but stronger in determination. Who received the same treatment with the same result. Even Cooms found himself compelled to evacuate.

Finally, Molly herself appeared, storming in from deeper in the cavern.

"You're ruining everything!" she screamed. "Just like you always do. Would you just die, already?"

"Others have died due to your machinations," said Malak. "Many of them war heroes."

"How many have died because of your actions?"

"Not nearly as many as have died because of my inactions," was his response, which confused her. "Why are you attacking me?"

"Everyone who went on that mission to Vilm is dead except for you and me!"

"That was over eighty years ago. Of course most of the people involved are dead. Even Irving Tallman finally used up all his lives."

"My husband died!" she yelled. "My children died!"

"Well, I think it's safe to say that it's too late for either of us to die young."

"This isn't a joking matter!"

"I'm not joking. I'm just pointing out that we aeonians need to accept that we are going to outlive most people."

"This isn't a matter of outliving people! Everything which has gone wrong in my life can be traced back to you!"

"I suspect your attitude is a delayed reaction to your exposure to those extradimensional creatures."

"Oh, this started long after that. Back then you were an inspiration! I didn't start seeing how harmful your influence was until decades later. We lost our home!"

"To a radio observatory. For many decades the world's largest."

"Do you think the size makes it any easier to take?!"

"Are we at the part, yet, where you show me your works and brag about them?" said Malak, sounding both tired and bored.

"What?!" said Molly, startled. "You think I'm going to talk instead of destroying you?"

"If you could destroy me, you already would have."

"It takes time!" she screamed. "You're early!"

"Are you saying you do have a plan to destroy me?"

"Not just you but all empowered."

She suddenly looked wary, and began backing away, towards the lighted area, and the equipment there.

"Once my next project is finished you won't stand a chance," she ranted, smiling, as she moved backwards. "It's a phage, a creature which feeds on power. Except for those of us who are specifically immunized against it, all empowered will be doomed! Including you!"

"You created a monster which eats empowered?!" said Aaron, warily following Molly.

"It's a work in progress," said Molly, with a sweet smile. "Oh, and it's not here. You can do whatever you like to me and this facility, and the work will continue. Independently funded!"

"Something I will have to attend to," said Malak, with resignation.

They were both well inside the brightly-lit part of the cavern by now. The chamber was half-filled with equipment, much of it stainless steel vats, similar to those used in brewing. There were obvious spaces left for additional pieces.

Molly started to say something more, but was interrupted by the violent arrival of Bludgeon. He came in from a different direction, having obviously used a formal entrance, rather than the new tunnel Malak had made. He advanced directly towards the winged figure.

"An hour or two, my ass! Whatever you did wore off after less than twenty minutes!"

"Good to know. As for my error, you were the first..."

Bludgeon interrupted Malak by jumping at him. Malak simply dodged. Off-balance, Bludgeon hit the floor and slid among the tanks. More angry than ever, he rose and charged, swatting aside one of the tanks which was slightly in his way.

"NO!" screamed Molly, quickly moving into his path. "You were only supposed to..."

Without even looking, Bludgeon backhanded her across the torso, sending Molly flying.

He, in his turn, was sent hurtling across the large chamber by one of Malak's wing strikes. Unlike Molly, he got back up, though that action was a struggle.

"Stay down," said Malak, manifesting a spear. "I've already beaten you once and you barely survived."

"Coward!" screamed Bludgeon, as he again leapt for Malak.

The spear was hurled not at Bludgeon, but at the shotcrete-coated ceiling. The resulting fall of concrete, mesh and rock caught Bludgeon in mid-jump, and carried him to the poured concrete floor. He was completely buried. The pile did not move.

"Bastard," gasped Molly, standing with an effort. She was quickly restrained by Blackpool.

"You've gotten tougher," said Malak. He looked around the chamber. "You know, I think he had the right idea."

He moved towards one of the large retorts, as Melody entered the room.

"Finally! I knew if I kept heading for the noise I'd find at least one of you."

"You're just in time to see the end of this adventure," said Malak, positioning himself to overturn a retort.

"Stop him!" screamed Molly, struggling in vain against Blackpool's hold.

"Are you kidding me?" said Melody, as Malak tipped over the stainless steel vat, spilling the contents on the slickly finished floor. The room filled with a sour and yeasty smell. "After all you've done to hurt people, you want me to keep him from ending your schemes?"

"I am definitely a believer in redemption," said Malak, not pausing in his work, speaking as he moved to another tank. "You, though, only want mercy, a favor, without being willing to change, yourself. As my father used to say 'Your dock doesn't quite reach the water.'"

He toppled another biological reactor, into the transformer station for the cavern. There was an impressive electrical display, and the lights went out. However, there were battery-powered emergency lights. Though the resultant illumination was patchy and eerie, it was adequate for those in the chamber.

Malak continued his work, immune to Molly's sobbing pleas.

Part Twelve

"I just wanted to be the first to congratulate you," said Melody, when she called Aaron a few days later. "Well, I assume I'm first."

"I assume this is in regard to my winning the Nobel Peace Prize," said Aaron.

"Yes. We got an early notice over the wire. It's for Aaron LaBelle, not Malak, I notice."

"Regardless, this will infuriate some people," said Aaron, wryly.

"Well, at least you found Molly's project to make a power phage."

"Thanks in large part to Blackpool's work. Though Molly's bragging provided significant clues."

They chatted for a bit, about Molly and Bludgeon and the others involved in her plot. While much of what was involved was now public knowledge, much wasn't. Also, much of that public knowledge was disbelieved by many. Especially in regard to the disruption in weather control.

"The truth came out, but many people still believe the lies," said Melody.

"So we just outlive the lies," said Aaron.

"You are definitely too patient."

"Bludgeon, of course, is denying everything," said Aaron. "He claims that he was simply Molly's bodyguard, and that she was involved in innocent research. There are several criminal trials ahead, where - hopefully - the truth of the matter will be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Again, thanks in large part to Blackpool and the federal investigators he brought in. They found enough actual, physical evidence to put the lie to the claims by Molly and her people."

"That still leaves people like Throne, who don't understand empowerment and refuse to have their errors corrected."

She didn't tell him that less than five years since the previous purchase, the entire parent company for The New York Glory was about to be bought. Melody's investigation had tracked through all the dummy corporations to reveal that the buyer was Abner Throne. She was prepared, and there was no reason to worry Aaron before anything happened.

"Again - and I hate to sound like a broken record - we just need to wait them out."

"Well, anyway, my book is finished. All except for the Afterword. Do you have any words of advice for us mere mortals?"

"Keep tilting at windmills. Because sometimes - sometimes - the windmill falls."