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killer shrike hopes this is all OK with Triple J
Mon Mar 28, 2005 at 11:38:39 pm EST
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The Adventures of Alcheman #17, Part One
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The Adventures of Alcheman #17


“Pitfalls of the Profession, Part One”



Read Baroness #27 before this if you want things to make sense. Well, more sense, at least.


Agent Lester Dawes downloaded the phone log for his partner to hear on her workstation computer:

“Hello: you have reached the Office of Paranormal Security Emergency Hotline. Please be aware this call is being recorded for security purposes. How may I help you?”

“Yes, ah, I have information about an attack on your organization. Someone plans to break into your headquarters at midnight tonight.”

“I see. Which headquarters are you referring to, sir?”

“Well, I… the one in Paradopolis I suppose.”

“Sir, may I have your name, please?”

“I’d rather not. But, the person planning the assault is Elizabeth Von Zemo.”

“How are you aware of this ‘assault’, sir?”

“I overheard her discussing it with one of her minions in her castle’s dungeon.”

“Wait: you were in her dungeon. Were you a prisoner?”

“No. Ah, I was investigating. I’m a superhero.”

“You’re a superhero who doesn’t want to leave his name?”

“That is correct.”

*Sigh* “OK then, sir. I’ll pass that information on.”

“Thank you. Oh, she also mentioned that she planned on using OPS resources to pollute every national park in the United States, if that’s any help.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a big help. Thanks.”


Special Agent Abby St. Germain gave her partner a quizzical glance, “So? As cranks go, I’ve heard better.”

“Yeah, but you know Boss’s orders: any stuff on Zemo needs to get cleared by the Epitome Division,” Lester reminded as he sat.

“What do we know about the caller?” Abby fiddled with her pen.

“He was using a payphone in Strumpet’s Alley, which is in Downtown Paradopolis. His voice doesn’t match anything we’ve got on file.”

“And the Baroness’s nefarious plot?”

Lester smirked, “I seem to recall Dr. Blight pulling a caper like that on an episode of Captain Planet.”

“Ooh, I remember that cartoon. With the kids and the magic rings and the weird villains,” Abby enthused.

“Looten Plunder.”

“Yeah, and Duke Nukem.”

Special Agent Dawes shook his head, “Nope.”

“He was the yellow guy in the Hawaiian shirt,” Abby explained.

“No way. Duke Nukem was the video game hero.”

“Google it. I’m telling you he was on Captain Planet.”

“What are we going to do about the call?” Lester brought the conversation back to business.

Abby thought for a moment, “Let’s contact Zemo. Tell her about a possible home invader and his accusation that she’s plotting to attack OPS. If Zemo really is up to something that should scare her off,” she steepled her fingers, “You think we should let Epitome know what’s going on?”

“Better to wait until we have something concrete to tell him. He’s still teed off from the ‘Tenth Caphan’ fallout.”

“Losing an intergalactic terrorist and a dozen nukes will do that,” Abby agreed as she reached for the phone, “Claire, get me the number for an ‘Elizabeth Von Zemo, Paradopolis,’” she smiled to her partner, “Think I should address her as ‘Your Highness?’”

*****


Michael Wooster put the phone back on its receiver and adjusted his hood. He could tell the OPS agent did not believe his claim. Perhaps things would have gone better if Michael had admitted to being Alcheman, but after his less than genial encounters with the Yurt Busters and SPUD he wasn’t even sure of that.

He had debated contacting the Lair Legion about what he had learned; assuming at least Hatman and De Brown Streak would vouch for his reliability, but ultimately decided that as a solo superhero he could not run to others in the profession every time he came across a snag. Besides, the Baroness had some form of relationship with the team- why else would Sir Mumphrey Wilton invite her to Christmas Dinner?- and might not appreciate his peeping-tomfoolery.

No, Michael realized it was his responsibility to investigate Miss Zemo further, and stop her plan if he could. That would require a more direct approach.

*****


“So, Uh! how was Paradopolis?” Donald Branson asked.

Honoria pushed the hair back from her eyes and answered, “The same as I left it. Ugh!”

“Arh! And your family?”

“They are well. Mum and Harn! Dad send their regards.”

“Yes, we must Ack! have them to the Coast at some point.”

“Speaking of points,” Honoria snatched up the peloton in her cesten and sent it rocketing off one of the fronton’s walls. Donald dove unsuccessfully to retrieve it, “I believe that is game.”

He stood, smiled, and bounded over to her, “Splendid match, darling. And to think four weeks ago you never played jai-alai.”

Honoria accepted a congratulatory kiss and a towel from her beau, “It’s simple physics.”

“Yes. Quite. So, what else did you do while visiting the Big Banana?”

The pair walked off Branson’s private fronton, built on his sprawling estate outside San Diego. Honoria slipped off her headband, “I spent some time with friends of the family. You remember the Woosters?”

“Of course! I built several stores for Malcolm back when he was still running the chain. How is Agnes?”

“She is well.”

“And the twins? Last I heard they were chasing the paparazzi in Milan,” Donald grinned.

“They’re home. Still trying to get noticed by the press.”

“Ha!” the billionaire grew solemn, “And Michael?”

“Michael is doing fine. In fact, he’s working on his getting his Master’s Degree. I spent some time with him, helping him with his thesis,” Honoria explained.

Donald caught note of his lady’s sudden loquaciousness, “Oh?”

“Yes. He’s researching the League of Nations and its role in legislating the activities of post-World War I super humans. It’s fascinating.”

“How considerate of you to help him, after he ducked the night before your wedding,” Donald took her hand in his own, “You are an absolute angel to forgive such idiocy.”

Honoria explicated, “Michael is- was- confused. Too young for any commitment.”

“Quite. Is he still teaching the kiddies?”

“He is still at Hogan Academy.”

“Hmph. And working on his degree to boot. Where does he find the time?” Donald tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Perhaps I can lend Mikey a hand: The Branson Foundation does dole out significant amounts of grant money to those deserving.”

“I’m sure that’s unnecessary,” the blonde prevaricated, “He seemed to have things under control when I saw him last.”

“Still, I feel bad, darling. I was so close to the family when Malcolm was still alive. I feel like I’ve abandoned them. Let me call him and inquire,” he nuzzled her bull-like neck, “The worst he can say is no.”

Honoria closed her eyes and relented, “Yes, I suppose he wouldn’t say anything worse than that.”

*****


Alcheman once again rolled into Schloss Schreckhausen in the guise of simple oxygen. He avoided the dungeons this time, choosing instead to remain on the ground floor. His earlier reconnaissance of the Baroness’s castle allowed him to locate and infiltrate Zemo’s office.

Once behind closed doors Alcheman used his tattoos to assume a sturdier form: one of titanium steel. Then he set about sifting through the contents of her desk.

He found a substantial amount of correspondence, though none of it particularly incriminating: denied insurance claims, hospital bills, stock information. There was no trace of what Michael would consider evidence of Miss Zemo’s super villainy. He then noticed something else was missing: the letter opener she has used.

And a stapler. Hole-punch. Paper clips. All the sundries one needed to run a successful office were gone from the desk top.

The lights flickered and the room began to fill with a low-pitched hum. Michael felt himself being grabbed by an unseen force and carried bodily up to the ceiling, where a dull steel panel thrummed with energy.

Alcheman had been caught in a magnet.

He was stationed spread-eagled above the desk when the door slammed open and three men in baggy plastic coveralls charged in. They covered the furniture with drop cloths and then placed a wicker basket atop the desk.

A basket of kittens.

The air grew cold and forboding as Baron Otto swaggered in, “It appears you have been pinned, Alcheman.”

The Neo-Necromatic Nazi was right. Michael could not pull away from the magnet to touch the tattoos necessary to escape the Baron’s trap.

“This is what you will do, hero. On your honor, you will promise to surrender yourself to me and my…tender mercies or I will cut the power on the magnet. I’m sure the fall will not injure you, but Die KinderKatzen,” he chuckled archly, “Nicht soviel.”

Michael’s alloyed eyes glanced from the gloating villain to his own trembling hands to the litter of mewling kittens. With a sigh of resignation he acquiesced.

“On my honor, I surrender.”

“Very wise, hero. Now, we must see about getting you down and dressed for dinner. Something with sleeves, I imagine,” he held up a set of manacles and shook them, “And cuffs.”

To be continued.





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