|      
 |     |   "Thanks."
 "I apologize for blowing up the tank. A tactical error," Hans noted in his typical 
fashion.
 "I don't call it a tactical error, I think it worked real good."
 "It would have been much simpler for me just to blow the glass myself without the 
boiling water."
 "Well, we live and learn. Everybody alive?" All present and accounted for, except 
for Scott.
 "Needle?" Lucky said.
 "What?"
 "Are my gloves nearby?"
 Those damn gloves again. "I don't know. Let me look." I scanned out to the edge of 
my range. The walls were thin enough for me to "see" through, although fuzzily.  
I sensed two people guarding the door, nonvariants by the feel of them, and some 
people leaving the area. Powerful ones. No sign of the gloves.
 Lucky sniffed. "Scott?" She could smell him somewhere nearby. We fanned out and started 
looking for him; it was the large metal box No-Name had been sitting on. Lucky smashed 
it without much effort, freeing our amorphous companion, who bounced out, cheerful as always.
 "Hey! You got deathtrapped? How come I didn't get a death trap? Was I unconscious? 
I've never been unconscious before."
 "You'll probably have lots of chances to repeat the experience. There's two people 
outside guarding the door, please don't kill them," I told the others. "They might 
be able to tell us something useful."
 "I'm not going to kill anyone, back off," Lucky growled.
 Hans decided we should lure them into the room and take them out. I didn't point out 
that I could probably knock them both out from this side of the wall; it seemed best 
to let him and Lucky work out their frustrated aggressions. We all hid in shadows; 
I opened the door from a distance.
 They didn't have a chance, two guns apiece or no. They'll survive the day, but that's 
about all to be said for them.
 Outside was a hallway.  With fluorescent lighting.  Scott immediately flowed up to 
the ceiling, yanked out a tube and plugged himself into the socket. Lucky was looking 
at me expectantly. I sighed and headed down the hall, keeping my "eyes" open.
 There. Above us. That wicked creepy sensation, and a person nearby. No one I recognized, 
hard to guess about powers at this distance. No one else within sensing range.
 "Your gloves are upstairs. Let's go get them and get the fuck outta here." My language 
goes downhill in situations like this. All defensive bravado, like a cat trying to 
make itself look bigger.
 Scott took the lead; I brought up the rear as we headed up the stairs. We seemed to 
be underground. Still no one. No guards. We found the proper door.
 "Scott?" Lucky whispered. He slipped a small pseudopod under the door and took a look 
around. Then, much to our collective surprise, he reached up and opened the door.
 We stared at the small Chinese man inside the prototypical wizard's chamber, and he 
stared back at us. Only Scott retained any faculties; he reached out, whisked the 
gloves away from the wizard and passed them through his substance to Lucky. Then 
he reached out a few liquid limbs and pinned the old man against the wall.
 "I'm glad you
 were prepared for you to do that," I muttered.
 "Maybe somebody should call Chandler?" Lucky proposed.
 "What's his number?" Scott asked (his phone being built into his body, he was the 
only one who still had one).
 In the meantime, the old wizard grew to seven and a half feet tall, started glowing 
and flowing over Scott's hold on him, apparently breaking free. It wasn't the same 
terrifying concentration of light which had shut down my mind before, so I could 
compensate for my sudden blindness, but it's still unpleasant. I'm seriously considering 
adopting mirrorshades as part of my  outfit.
 At least I now knew that Scott still had him pinned, contrary to what my eyes had been telling me, and my vision cleared quickly. The wizard fired another of those light blasts 
at Lucky, who blocked it with her staff, then stepped up like a batter to the plate and took a swing. Something cracked nastilyI think it was his shoulderand he was out cold. The light and the illusion faded, leaving the little old guy still 
pinned against the wall.
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© 1999 Rebecca J. Stevenson |  |