Across the Denny’s table, Terry Kestler grins at Proteus. "I told you they had a lot of books!" she says. "I thought we’d never finish." She settles back into the booth, and scrutinizes the menu. "I’m starving."
Moving her brother’s things had taken quite a while – they’d left Cassie’s house around 5, and it was nearing midnight on Sunday. Proteus had learned quite a bit about the young PRIMUS agent, though – her brother, Tad, a physical chemistry graduate student at Stanford, had accepted Proteus’s appearance with relief. "Oh, good," he’s said. "I was wondering how we were going to move the piano." Proteus doubted they’d need too much help -- like his sister, Tad Kestler was in great shape, and had also competed as an undergraduate for Stanford’s gymnastic team.
Also like Terry, Tad was supremely organized, and everything had been boxed and ready to go when they arrived. Once he’d found out that Proteus knew something about physics and chemistry, he’d gotten excited, talking about his research:
"I'm doing theory for femtosecond spectroscopy, looking at how the energy of a pulse is partitioned between different vibrational modes of a molecule. It's worked pretty well -- We've run some simulations that -- " he then cut off with a guilty look at Kestler, who was rolling her eyes.
Proteus had also learned that Kestler hadn’t really intended to become an assault agent, when she first joined PRIMUS after graduating from Stanford at 21 – a scant two years ago.
"I had been hired by their accounting division," she said. "You have to have two years of full-time work experience before you’re eligible for the academy, usually. So I didn’t think about it, until BC Thurmond noticed me working out at the base. Without my knowing it, he recommended me for the academy. He called me into his office to talk to me about it, and I realized it was something I wanted to do. Shocked my family to death, though," she’d chuckled. Proteus had learned that their parents were both professors at Stanford – her father in the English department, and her mother in biology. All four were musicians of one sort or another, and got together frequently to play.
The waitress approaches – and jumps at the sight of Proteus – but without noticing, Terry says, "OK, let’s see. I’d like mozzarella sticks, a dinner salad, and a Dennyburger deluxe, no mayo. Regular fries. And a chocolate shake -- and key lime pie for dessert."
"Yes, I'd like an order of buffalo wings for an appetizer, and could I get the Grand Slam? Great, with English muffin and eggs over easy."
After the waitress leaves, she adds to Proteus, "Ever since the Cyberline treatments, I eat so much. It’s just incredible. I think our doctor said it was something like 5500 calories a day."
Looking appraisingly at the trim girl, Proteus comments, "Well, I don't know where you put it. You look great! So, you have a degree in accounting? That will take you places!"
She gives him a patronizing look. "Like where? The GAO?" She smiles sweetly. "So, when do I get to hear your story? Or have you always looked like that?"
Proteus pauses for a moment, while looking seriously at Terry. If I tell her I was an astronaut, she will probably be able to figure out which one pretty easy. I wonder if the government already knows . . . ?
"Well, I guess that depends on how much you know about me? What does PRIMUS have on my file, hmmm?"
"Surely you realize all that information is classified," she says. "If I told you, I’d have to kill you. And I’m too hungry for that now. Oh, shoot," she adds, pulling out her pager. "I’ll be back in a second."
A few minutes later, an apologetic Kester returns. "I’m really sorry," she says, "But it’s an emergency. "You won’t have any trouble getting back, will you?" She smiles, and waves as she leaves.
Proteus phased into the living room, only to be pounced upon by Spice. "Ah, you got used to that quickly, didn’t you girl?" he smiled and sat down upon the couch, shifting back to his normal form. Pulling back his mask, he tossed the beeper on the coffee table. ‘Well, that was a pain." He had spent the majority of the day establishing a P.O. Box with the Post Office and getting a beeper. So many questions for such a small purchase. But it was his free and clear, and now Proteus even had a mailing address. *As long as I don’t have to move out and get my own place,* he thought, grinning to himself. He picked up the phone and beeper and dialed a number in. Sighing at reaching a recording, he left a message. "Hello, Odyssey, hello Tony. I just wanted to leave you my beeper number. It’s 555-7682. If you need to get in touch with me at any time, go ahead and call. Thanks for the party, again. See you around."
Setting down the phone, he began paging through his planner, looking for the number Primus had given him. <<Beeeeepp, beeeepp>> Proteus looked at the beeper curiously. Picking it up, he looked at the number. "Well, that was fast," he muttered. He didn’t recognize the number, but thought, *Maybe she checked her messages from work, or something.* Dialing the number, he spoke at the sound of some picking up on the other end. "Hello?"
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Is this Proteus?"
"Uh . . . yes it is."
"Great! This is Lauren Davidson, from the San Francisco Examiner and I was wondering if I could set up an interview? Great, let’s start with who you really are!"
D.J sat looking at disbelief at the receiver. "How did you get this number?"
"Well . . . that’s no really important. Let’s just say we have a mutual friend. So where do your powers come from?"
Suddenly the beeper began to beep again, with another number. "I have to go, Mrs. Davidson."
"That’s Ms. Davidson, honey, I’m single. How about you?"
"Good BYE, Ms. Davidson." He hit the off button on the phone. Pushing the clear button on the beeper simply resulted in another number being displayed. Sighing, he slapped himself in the forehead. "Guess that was pretty stupid leaving my beeper on her answering machine. So much for that idea. Gritting his teeth at the obnoxious beeping noise, a clenching of the fist is all it takes to quiet the small device . . . permanently.
Two hours later, Proteus slumped onto the couch once again. This time, he purchased a vibrating beeper with volume control and voice messaging. "Now I can hear who’s calling me. I think I’ll wait until next time I see Odyssey to give her this number. Think that’s a good idea, girl?" Spice licked his hand in response. "I wonder if I should call Terry with it? Ah, maybe later." Glancing at his watch, he sees that it is almost one o’clock. ‘Cripes! It’s almost 1300! I’ve got a tee time with Jim and John. I promised I’d be there on time or I’d take their students for tomorrow!"
Sunday morning, Proteus sat thinking about how much he hated golf. Doesn’t even require a lick of athletic ability. Or maybe I don’t have a lick of athletic ability. Damn game. I could be home watching basketball. March Madness coming up.
"Uh, sir, are you ready for me to start?" The shy young girl smiled hesitantly through her long bangs. "Hmm? Oh, yes, please, Cynthia, go right ahead. I was thinking about something else."
"Was it a girl, sir?" The young lady smiled again as she opened her checklist and began to check her instruments. At the mention of a girl, DJ had an image of Terry Kestler wiping ice cream off her noise. "Sir?"
"Hmmm? Oh, well, I guess you could say that. Did you check your amps?"
"Of course, sir."
"Good, good. Well, press on, young lady, please. You’re doing a great job." Cynthia proceeded to perform a very professional flight. Not as good as some of D.J’s students, but good.
When D.J got home, he plopped down on a chair in the back yard. It was a beautiful evening. After finishing up his flight, he had made John, Jim and a few of their friends go play some basketball. His revenge was sweet, outscoring the both of them. He had worked up a real sweat. In his hand he twiddled around Terry Kesler’s card. *Well, I can give her a call, and if it doesn’t go well, I can just pretend I was giving her a number to reach me. If it goes well, maybe she’d like to go to the movies." Going back inside, he picked up the phone.
After a few seconds, he was transferred to her voice mail. "Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Agent Terry Kestler. I’m on the phone or away from my desk, so leave a brief message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks. BEEEEEP."
Ever since the growing sightings of Dragon Fist with Odyssey, Cassie had been given the task of heading special tours in the Asian Art Museum. This current group was so well-behaved – a rarity indeed – that she’d been able to slip into autopilot and let her mind wander as she showed off the museum’s most prized possessions.
"This print is entitled Fujiwara No Yasumasa Playing the Flute by Moonlight," Cassie says, standing to the right of the famous Japanese woodcut so as not to impede the viewing of it. "It was completed in 1883 by artist Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. The picture depicts the medieval bandit Yasusuke. A notoriously ill-mannered fellow, he swore that he would kill the next person he met on the road to obtain warm clothing so he could survive the coming winter."
Cassie gestures to the figure in blue gripping his weapon. "Now who should come along next but a nobleman, playing his flute in the moonlight. Legend has it that Fujiwara was so transfixed by the beauty of the nobleman's music that he did not strike."
"This print was so popular that in 1883 two leading Kabukii artists
performed it as a living tableu in a dance play." Moving on Cassie
points out another Japanese woodcut. "Now this is a prize. An original
Utagawa Kunimasa..."
Maria had not been happy with the postcard Cassie had shown her – indeed, pissed would have been a better word, and she’s called the Golden Avenger up right there. "You’re where?" Cassie had heard. "What are you doing camping in the middle of winter? Oh, they do? I didn’t know that. Anyway, listen to this."
Oh boy, Cassie worried. I wonder if telling Maria was such a good idea. I had no idea she'd be this upset. No, it was right. We've got to find Protector and get him some help.
Maria had read the postcard -- now incased in a plastic baggie – to him over the phone. "Yes, I already did that. We’re calling the handwriting techs from the FBI, and they’re going to take a look at it. No, ours were cut back when our budget was slashed by the last Congress, remember? You’re just spoiled, being in Washington. It was sent to Cassie, er, Odyssey." The Silver Avenger looked over and said to her, "He says hi and thanks for the invitation. He had a Boy Scout thing to do, or he would have come."
"Tell him I understand," Cassie had said, trying to smile, but feeling out of sorts with the whole situation. "I know some kids who could benefit from being in his troop," Cassie adds, thinking of Anna, Thad and Tom. "Does the Boy Scouts accept girls now?"
The Silver Avenger shook her head. "Nope, they don’t accept girls yet. Frankly, I can’t imagine that anything without girls is worth doing." Cassie imagined she heard the Golden Avenger’s sigh from across the desk.
Later after Maria got off the phone with the Golden Avenger, Cassie asks her about the whole Protector thing. "I'm not trying to defend Protector's actions of late, but I just can't believe he'd do this. I know he was really in love with this woman - American Weapon - and I think it may be coloring his judgment. And well, she sounds just terrible anyway, what with the possibility she's been twisting people's minds. I just don't think the Protector I know would do anything bad. I mean he was so law and order. Is their anything I can do to maybe get him to come back talk to PRIMUS and get this all straightened out? I don't know - take an ad out in the Tahitian newspaper. Maybe skywrite a message - Protector call home - something. I really think this woman must be mind controlling him."
"We’ll start looking into the Tahiti angle," the Silver Avenger says. "You’re welcome to try to get in touch with him, but I imagine he’s not going to be easy to find. Then again," she looks at the postcard. "Who knows?"
"Well, maybe I'll get an invitation to the wedding," Cassie replies. "Though my inclination would to tell them to revive the Tahitian fire ceremony and toss her into the volcano. If he's doing something this crazy, maybe he's registered for a china pattern at Macy's? Well, I'll keep my eyes open."
Perhaps in gratitude, she’d allowed Cassie to see Knightblade, who was being held at PRIMUS until the court order came through allowing him to be moved. The cell he was in had no access to the sun – most of the PRIMUS building didn’t, either – but the light that filtered through the ceiling looked natural. Soothing music played on a system that was piped into the cell, but Tyler just sat on his bunk, staring at the wall. "If he tries anything, don’t try to use your powers, Cassie," Maria Chow had explained quietly. "It would be very bad – the cells are designed to suppress all sorts of powers."
"OK, it's just he looks so out of it," Cassie sighs. "Did that woman do this to him?"
The Silver Avenger shrugs. "I’ll be out here if you need me."
Stepping into the cell, Cassie felt a wave of guilt that she had not seen what was happening to Knightblade. She hadn't even paused at his strange behavior. If I'd been more attentive, maybe I could have helped. Healed or helped him like I helped Maria. Stopped it all before it went to hell.
"Oh, Knightblade," Cassie whispered, putting a hand on Tyler's shoulder. "What happened to you? It's me Odyssey. You remember me don't you?"
The man looks at her blankly, and cocks his head, but then goes back to staring at the wall, humming slightly to himself.
Not good, Cassie thinks. Sitting down next to him on the bunk, Cassie tries to get him to turn around. Even without the Knightblade armor, Tyler is an unmoving hunk. She decides to try another tact.
"Tyler, what in the hell are you doing here sitting on your butt," Cassie says in a stern voice. "Your supposed to be helping us, but instead I find you lollygagging around. So what is going on."
Maybe that'll snap him out of his reverie. However, it didn’t seem to have any affect, other than causing him to wrinkle his forehead, then turn back to his contemplation of the wall.
Back in the present, Cassie sees Carl Ponte watching her as she wraps up the tour. When he approaches and says, "Mrs. Salvatore, I would like to speak to you for a moment." Cassie notices that the sweet old lady who’d reminded her of her grandmother twists her mouth into a frown, and moves off, where before she looked as thought she’d had a question.
Ponte's sense of timing always had a way of annoying Cassie, but she wasn't in a position to disagree with him now. God help Mark if he ends up with this man as a father-in-law, she thinks. "Yes, Mr. Ponte. I'll be right with you." Cassie tries hard to control the displeasure in her voice, but to her it sounds false.
In her office, Ponte moves piles of magazines from the stuffed chair, in order to sit down. "We on the board are concerned about your activities," he says to Cassie. Before she can protest, he says, "I’m not going to debate the issue of being a paranormal," he says. "But the City Council is concerned that your being here is a further danger to the museum. They’ve just given us several million dollars – ostensibly for renovation, and now for rebuilding. Now, we’re not going to fire you," he says. "That would open a can of worms we don’t want to get into. But you have to keep a low profile, Mrs. Salvatore. While we’ve seen some increase in ticket sales because of you, it’s not enough to justify another attack."
"By can of worms I take it you mean the lawsuit I'd slap you with for unfair firing," Cassie says, unable to control her annoyance with Ponte anymore. I'm sorry Mark, she silently thinks. I know I promised to try and be nice. "Or perhaps your worried about the bad publicity it would bring. I'll have you know that I never knowingly did anything to harm this museum," Cassie fumes. "Hell, I even risked my life trying to get the museum's property back. Which, may I point out, we did. I have always been dedicated to my job and tried to make this the best museum any city can offer."
Ponte stands. "Just please try to bear this in mind. I would hate for the de Young to have to close its doors permanently – because of one junior assistant curator." He leaves her office.
"Great, just great," Cassie practically spits the words out, she's so mad. "Now I'm to blame if we have a bad tour season."
The phone rings, a few minutes later. "Cassandra Salvatore," Cassie says.
"Hi, Cassie, this is Moira Rennie. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?" she asks. "It’s about those museum pieces I told you about that the British Museum was displaying."
"Hi, Moira," Cassie replies, shifting the phone to her shoulder as she rubs her throbbing temple. "I'm sorry. It's been a hell of a day. I can't seem to remember which pieces you were talking about."
"The pieces that were similar to your amulet," she says. "Well, the entire exhibit from the Museum in London was stolen. What makes this even more interesting is that I was, ah, speaking to a friend of ours here in Europe who was saying that these amulets are part of a set, and that he believes yours would complete the set." She pauses. "It’s far more complicated than that, but I really would like to speak to you in person. We’ll be flying into San Francisco the day after tomorrow, and we’ll be staying at the same hotel. I’ll call you when I get in, but please be careful. There’s more at stake here than just your amulet."
"A matched set, what do the others do?" Cassie asks.
"Nothing, not on their own – there are two control pieces that can possibly work with them, and yours is one of them."
"Sure I'll meet with you. Give me a call when you get in," Cassie adds. "Do you have any idea who stole them. I was recently in a firefight against VIPER and they mentioned trying to get ahold of my amulet, unharmed. Do you think it could be them who stole yours?"
"No, not VIPER," she says, the tone of her voice sounding worried. "They might have been contracted to hit you, but VIPER London isn’t strong enough for what happened here. I’ll talk to you about it later – not on the phone. Do me a favor, Cassie – don’t mention my visit to anyone, please – especially PRIMUS. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll be there soon."
"Umm, OK," Cassie says, a bit puzzled. Well, PRIMUS probably doesn't want to see me around for a while anyways between Protector's postcard and Knightblades weirdness, Cassie thinks. I hope whatever Moira's worried about with PRIMUS isn't serious.
"You have a safe flight and give my best to your mom and Ellen. I'll see you soon." Getting off the phone with Moira started Cassie thinking. She sounds really worried. Maybe I should call Tony. Reaching for the phone, Cassie quickly dials Tony's cellular number.
Cassie’s next tour isn’t scheduled for a few hours, and her stomach growls loudly, just as the door to her office is thrown open. "You will not believe this," Mark says, coming in like a storm. "But my friend Matthew – you know, you met him at the museum party – is dating Silver Avenger Chow!"
Cassie first thought was that somehow she'd wandered onto the set of the Bold and Beautiful. Any second a masked gunman would pop into her office and take both her and Mark hostage. It would be the only way to explain everything that happened to her in just a few days.
"This must be the Friday cliffhanger," she muttered. Louder, "Now Mark calm down. Maria is a wonderful person and it's great that she and Matthew are dating. Though I'm curious to hear how they met." I wonder if he's told her he's Dragon Fist, Cassie wonders to herself. Or that he has a dragon inside him. I wonder if she's serious. I hope so, for both of them. They'd make a great couple.
"They met when his grandfather engineered a situation where the Silver Avenger would rescue him, and then he invited her for dinner to repay her. That’s how they met. Well, they arranged to spar together, but Matthew was sick, and they left together. I brought her things up to the apartment, and she had her hand over his. They went out to dinner after that, but I haven’t gotten a hold of either of them since."
Matthew's grandfather fixed them up, Cassie thinks. That sly old devil. I should have thought of doing that. Well not the rescue thing - I doubt Maria would have believed me. Well, this is all very interesting.
"Now Mark, I wouldn't be too worried," Cassie says, smiling. "They are, after all, adults and maybe, well, maybe Matthew decided to um stay the night at Maria's place. They probably are just having a good time and forgot to phone."
"If you’re really worried, I'll give Maria a call." Cassie offers.
Mark sighs, and gives her a patient look. "No, no, no." he says. "And knowing Matthew, I doubt he would ever do something so bold as to stay the night the first date. Or the second."
"Well, he probably just got home late and went straight to work this morning," Cassie says. "I betcha if you call him there you'll find that he just had a great date. Go on. Now you've got me curious. Find out how the date went," Cassie says, prodding Mark toward the phone.
"There’s no answer," he says after a few minutes, then shrugs. "I’ll try later. I have to get my filing done for now, though."
"No rest for the weary," Cassie jokes. "I, on the other hand, am starving. I'm going to get something from the cafeteria. Do you want something?"
Mark shakes his head. "Nope. Sarah’s coming by with lasagna later on."
The Comet swoops forward, and catches the figure in the leather jacket with a burst of flame, sending him sprawling to the ground. "There," he says, "that’ll teach you to try to rape women in the park. Playing with fire will get you burned, especially when I'm around."
He bends down to grab the unconscious figure, to take him to the nearby SFPD station. The shotgun blast catches him completely by surprise, and stunned, he watches as the second thug recocks the weapon and prepares to fire again. From the light of the energy, dissipating around the barrel, the Comet can see a PRIMUS logo on the side, with a crude red "X" over it. One of the stolen weapons the Chronicle article had mentioned, he realizes.
An eerie laughter resonates through the air, and grows in intensity. The sound of it is unearthly, and the thug drops the shotgun, and clasps his hands to his ears. He begins to run backwards, away from the sound, only to collapse a few feet away. The sound of the laughter dies.
A dark figure steps from the shadows of Golden Gate Park, wearing an old fashioned trenchcoat and fedora. Piercing eyes look out from over a kerchief, tied around his lower face, and he extends a gloved hand to the Comet.
"Whether thug or cultist, their methods remain brutal. I am the Specter. I thought you might need a little help."
"The Specter!" exclaims the Comet. "My grandfather told me stories about you! He said you were the most feared crimefighter in America." He takes the dark figure's hand in his own. "I have to admit, I sometimes wondered if you were real."
The Comet's hand passes through the image of the Specter's hand as he attempts to take it. "The legend is often enough to prevent the average criminal from plying his trade," the Specter whispers, "but makes the hardened gangster more wary." The Specter's voice seems to come from some place other then the image directly in front of the Comet. "And what is real is often in the eye of the beholder," he says as the first figure of the Specter disappears and a second image appears slightly to its right.
The Comet steps back in surprise. "That's...an impressive trick," he says, caught off guard by the illusion. "Thanks for the assist," he adds. "The second one caught me off guard with the blaster."
"Less impressive then flying or shooting energy beams," the Specter comments. "Hmm..." the Specter says to himself as he picks up the shotgun and examines it. "This is not something you can easily buy on the street." Something about the way he holds the shotgun tells the Comet that he is familiar with them. "Could this have been a trap specifically set up for you?" the Specter asked.
"A trap?" repeats the Comet. "For me?" He frowns. "I really don't see how; I've only been here a couple of weeks. I didn't think I was that well known. Besides, I just happened to be in the neighborhood. It might have been meant for any police that happened by, though...that blast stung me a bit, but it probably would have put a hole in any police officer who got in the way."
"Don't underestimate the intelligence gathering ability of the street; besides a brightly colored flying crime fighter has a tendency to draw some attention." the Specter states as he continues to examine the weapon. "If they could disable you before you become a real threat then...," the Specter lets the question hang as he switches his attention for the shotgun to the thugs themselves. He begins a through search of the two prone figures.
"I guess you would know more about that sort of thing," acknowledges the Comet.
"These are the same weapons that Knightblade is accused of giving to VIPER, aren't they?" He chokes on the words a bit.
"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "I believe these were on the list of stolen items. Nice touch," he says pointing out the crossed out PRIMUS symbol on the barrel of the weapon.
The Comet looks at the weapon grimly. "I'm going to stuff these popguns down their throats," he says with a half-snarl. "They're not going to get away with this!"
"Hmm... What is this?" the Specter queries as he pulls out two passes matching the faces of the two unconscious figures, admitting them to Rubicon Technologies. "Are you familiar with this company?" he says passing them to the Comet.
Comet's stomach goes cold (relatively) as he sees the passes. "It's a subsidiary of Duchess Industries. They do a lot of bio-chemical and biophysical research. Apparently they're also dabbling in genetics, but that's only a rumor." He does his best to keep his voice steady, but Stephanie's face flashes in front of him. What have you gotten into, Steph?
As he ponders the meaning of the attack, the Comet hears sirens in the distance. As the sound of sirens approach the Specter fades from view, continuing his investigation without being disturbed by the police. The Comet hears a whisper as a card materializes before him, "If you wish to contact me, call the number on the card."
"So what's your story?" asks one of the officers.
"These two tried to mug this young lady over here," explains the Comet. "They had other plans in mind as well, but I dissuaded them. They were armed with those," he adds, nodding toward the rifles. "I haven't touched them, so they should be fine as evidence."
"Excessive force," notes another officer to himself.
"Not mine," interrupts the Comet, startling the officer with his enhanced hearing. "The Specter showed up as well. While they were trying to ventilate me with those, he appeared and scared them half to death."
"Sure. The Specter. Everyone blames the Specter when weird things happen." Several officers chuckle privately, but the Comet pays them no mind.
"Is there anything else you require, officers?" asks the Comet politely.
"I don't suppose you'd consider giving us your name and phone number?" asks the officer in charge.
"Call me the Comet, and you can reach me through PRIMUS, just like the other superheroes in San Francisco."
"I meant your real name."
"Do you even have to ask?" With that, the Comet flies off, leaving the officers to clean up in the park.
"Hi, babe," is the reply, as Stephanie comes out of the kitchen. "How did your meeting go?"
"Hah! It wouldn't be a big city without a mugging somewhere."
"Oh?" asks Steph with a raised eyebrow. "Did the Comet see some action tonight?"
"He did." Chris paused, then seemed to stumble over his words.
"Steph, we have to talk. About Rubicon."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"The two muggers had Rubicon ID and stolen PRIMUS weapons. The same kind Knightblade was accused of selling to VIPER."
Steph's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Some kind of energy shotgun. They tried to blast me with them. It stung a bit, but they weren't that powerful." He tells her the details of the incident.
"So this Specter person is some sort of detective?"
"I don't know what he is," admits Chris. "He's just too weird for me. I'm glad he's on our side, though."
Stephanie thinks about the Rubicon workers. "You didn't get names, did you?"
"Damn!" Chris slaps his thigh in frustration. "I knew I forgot to do something! I can't believe I was so stupid!"
"It's all right," says Steph soothingly. "I'll just check it out when I go to work in the morning. I'll see who's not working, and that will be that."
"In the morning? You still want to go there?"
"What choice do I have?" she points out, her tone somewhat sharp. "You're still not working, and I have a good career opportunity with Rubicon. They may have some bad apples, but that doesn't mean the whole company is corrupt or criminal."
Chris holds her hand. "I didn't mean it like that," he says quietly. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. I mean, what if they're doing some really gross experiments and you find out about them? What if they decide to get rid of you?"
Steph smiles at him. "That's why you wear that costume, remember? You get to rescue me."
"I'd rather not have the opportunity," he says wryly.
"I'll be fine," she assures him. "It has nothing to do with my department anyway; if anything, it would be a production thing. They haven't got anything else to do except look at other technologies. If Rubicon really does have anything to do with it, that's where the link would be."
"I hope you're right," says Chris.
"Aren't I always?" She kisses him, and they hold each other close for several minutes, not speaking.
"Chris?" says Steph after a while.
"Mm?"
"I'll be careful."