Saturday morning, at about the time Scott would normally be turning on Morning Edition on NPR, Thunderbolt woke up because someone was on top of him. It was not Newton, and it was not, as he'd somehow subconsciously expected, Cait Sith. It was, however, someone he recognized from the old days of Lieutenant Photon.
    It was Jack Ketch, possibly the least intelligent member of the League of Nations, kneeling on Thunderbolt's chest with a truncheon pressed against his throat.
    "And who the hell are you, mate? Where's the bitch?" he demanded.
    "The bitch?"
    Jack snarled under his breath. "She's got something coming to her, you let her know. Got that?"
    "Sure." This didn't seem like a time to argue.
    "Good." Jack whacked him solidly on the head.
    Paul regained consciousness a few minutes later, ignored the ache in his skull and leaped out of bed, turned on the light and created a defensive shield. There was no sign of Jack, and his room had not been obviously touched in any way.
    He'd been warned about doing this, but he headed down the hall to wake up the only other active member of the team who was around.

| Top |