"Where do people get this?" I demanded of the ceiling.
    She bit her lip. "Well, the newspapers kept saying, and there was the picture of you and him with your dress falling open..."
    "I got batted across the parking lot, he kept me from hitting the pavement," I informed her a bit tersely. I knew I should have done something about that photograph.
    "So, there's...?"
    "No, nothing, nada, zilch, zip, tell the world." I threw my arms open in exasperation. "Christ."
    "So you wouldn't mind if I...?"
    "Be my guest. Please! Is that what's been bothering you? You seemed kind of preoccupied back at the party." That finally made some kind of sense.
    "Yeah, well. Yeah," she admitted. "Just... I'm sorry. I tried to get his attention earlier, I just don't know how to approach him, but he's so darned cute."
    "Yeah, I guess. If you like the type." I mean, I know he's good looking. So's Phoenix Talon, for that matter. It just never occurred to me to think of that in anything other than intellectual terms.
    "The large, muscular, square-jawed, handsome type? That does for me, oddly enough," she replied archly.
    "He's a nice guy." I shrugged. Far as I can tell, anyway. "He likes baseball," I added vaguely, remembering him saying something about it once in these past few weeks.
    "Baseball? Okay. Baseball," she nodded thoughtfully. "That's a load off my mind, thanks." She smiled much more warmly than she had when I'd shown up.
    Seems like a lot of this stuff going around lately. I thought that was supposed to happen in the spring. Next thing you know Scott'll find a girlfriend.

[Aside: Phoenix Talon]

September 18, 1987

Phoenix Talon and Dawn got back last night; didn't see much of either of them until this morning. Talon seems to be depressed about something. Bad date or something last night, I guess her roommate showed up at a bad time. Dawn was quieter than usual, as if deep in thought.
    He did mention running into Steven while he was down there, which came as a pleasant surprise. It sounds like he's already come out of that defensive shell, now that he's found people who accept him. It's nice to be right about someone once in a while.
    The Image, though? What kind of a name is that supposed to be?

September 20, 1987

It occurs to me that I'm starting to take this personally. No reason for it, really, he's just doing what theme villains do, but it's getting irritating. He's altogether too clever.
    And I thought we were so well prepared, too. When the Japanese team arrived, we thought we had everything covered. Talon was lurking in the crowd at the terminal, and I was more visible, waiting to meet them. Extra security in the form of Thunderbolt had been put on at the hotel. Fenway had been checked and double-checked by a gaseous Scott, who is good at poking in nooks and crannies for things amiss.
    The plane came in smoothly. There was a mass of media people waiting, and a strong security presence. I knew Talon was around somewhere, but couldn't spot him; good. The team came out, waving at the cheering crowd as the photographers' lights flashed. They'd brought fifteen players and a small crew of coaches and various hangers-on with functions I couldn't guess at.
    "We have heard great things about you and your Phoenix Talon," one of them told me. "There are tales of him in Japan; he has his own manga now."
    "He will be thrilled beyond belief to be given that news," I replied. "He speaks endlessly of the time he spent in your country."
    "It is only put out through AMM...."
    "Of course it is." How many arms does that agglomerated octopus have?
    Eventually everyone got organized and headed for the exit where the bus waited to take the team to their hotel.
    Then three explosions went off, releasing clouds of red, white, and blue smoke. Panic erupted, and mocking laughter rang over the intercom.
    "Hey Revolution, you up for your next inning?"
    We had figured that if anything did happen, it would happen at the game. We were quite mistaken. Either we need better plans, or planning is a waste of time with these guys.
    A window was shattered, no doubt by a gravity-propelled baseball. The security men were hustling the uniformed team out of the area; I put an area shield over them and stuck with them, heading for the bus.
    "Oh c'mon, please, take your inning!" the Babe urged.
    Someone in a Yankees uniform jumped out from the crowd and swung a baseball bat at me. I ignored him; there are less effective ways to attack me when I've had time to get my shield in place, but not many. More thugs poured out of the smoke. I left them for Phoenix Talon, who was wearing his rebreather, and any random Red Sox fans in the crowd. Some people seemed to be stunned by the gas; I held my breath. Shades of Javelin.
    I escorted the team to the bus, made sure that the driver was the same one I'd checked out before (idiot, idiot), and went back to find Phoenix Talon mopping the floor with the last of what appeared to be a thoroughly incompetent bunch of thugs. The smoke cleared out slowly.
    "That was a distraction," Talon said.
    "You think?"
    "Where's the team members?"
    "On the bus, I'm heading back out. See if you can track down where he was speaking from." All he found was an unconscious attendant.
    The bus was not where it was supposed to be. I finally found it near South Station. It was the right bus, but... it stopped. The doors opened, and people ran out of it. They were not wearing baseball uniforms. What the hell? was prominent in my mind.
    "Guys, we may have lost the damn team," I announced wearily to the rest of the team.
    "What do you mean 'may have lost?'" Scott asked sharply.
    "I'm here with the bus, it looks like the right bus, but these are different people getting off."
    Inside the bus were a number of unconscious security guards and the driver. I grabbed one of the men as he trotted toward the doors. He started swearing in Japanese and English as the rest of them fled.
    "You. What the hell is going on? Don't piss me off right now."
    "Um... I suppose it's okay now. Uh, we were hired to y'know, impersonate the team."
    "By whom?"
    "The Babe. Y'know, through our employer." He showed me a HENCHMEN card.
    "You're going to regret that," I sighed.
    "Why? He said he needed nine men in Yankees uniforms and fifteen Japanese men in Japanese Olympic uniforms, and in the smoke we all clustered with the security guards...."
    "Guys," I announced over the phone, "we lost them at the airport. Keep your eyes open, I don't know where the hell they are. You are under arrest," I informed my captive.
    "It was the Babe and that old guy." He seemed pretty cheerful about it.
    "General Motors?"
    "Yeah, that was his name."
    "I don't suppose he happened to mention his master plan?"
    "He ranted about showing them all and proving the inferiority of the Japanese automobile" he offered.
    "Right. Doesn't it bother you that you were working for a raging racist?"
    "He paid well. I was more workin' for the Babe, y'know."
    I dropped him on the roof of the nearest squad car. "Take care of him."
    "I have a card for my lawyer..." he was saying as I left, wondering where to start looking.
    We searched around the airport and found nothing. The team had been broken up into small groups and hustled away, god knew where.
    "Check around Fenway," I suggested wearily.
    Just about then, something new came over the radio.
    "Hello, Boston, this is the Babe. Just in case you were wondering what happened to the Japanese Olympic team, me and my good friend General Motors here—have kidnapped them! I know this should come as no great shock, but I figured it was my duty—our duty—as patriotic Americans, to save the Sox yet another embarrassing ass-kicking," he explained sincerely. "Now, if they are insistent on carrying through on this embarrassing ass-kicking, for their own interest, to let them know that they don't really want to do this, the only way they can follow this through, is if we let these people go. We'll do that for a mere quarter of the Sox '87 payroll. I don't feel that that's too much to ask.

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