A Warrior's Soul

Leo can hear Pneuma enter the house. He knows from the furious footsteps that she's coming his way. He knows from the cadence that she's angry. He knows from the timing that she talked to the Aleph Team and knows what he asked them to bring. And she knows what he helped fight. The awareness floods his mind with clarity.

And when she storms into the gym, sees him, and starts to speak, he turns and simply looks at her. Some ineffable human ability, some unconscious instinctual skill, condenses an entire argument into a single steady gaze. He watches the cascade of emotion on her face, notes the stages of anger and fear and panic reach a crescendo. He calmly observes the descent into bitter resignation and deeply felt worry.

He's surprised when she rushes at him anyway and gives him a tight, lasting hug. All he can do is pat her back in what he hopes is a reassuring way, and listen to her cry into his shoulder. She draws back and actually says something at long last, voice quavering with restrained tears. "Okay. What are you doing about it?"

"It". The risk. The gamble he was prepared to make. Letting the alien Leviathan parasite take control of his mind, in order to study and defeat it. The unspoken communion he just experienced oddly reminds him of Leviathan itself. Two entities who completely understand each other. Humans don't need a hive mind from space. We're doing fine already. The thought makes him crack a grin.

Before she can misinterpret his amusement, he speaks quickly. "Yes. Alright. You're just in time for that, actually. We were about to do it." Pneuma backs off, surprised. She looks over at the third occupant of Leo's home gym, the robot Sam.

Today, Sam is dressed in loose-fitting Japanese clothes. He wears two swords thrust through a sash, in the style of the samurai. He has the stern, no-nonsense expression of a warrior. It's all an act - Sam has never struck a living being in anger and never will - but Leo humors his physical trainer's quirks for the quality of his work. Sam's purpose is to train Leo in all forms of combat, to keep him physically fit, and to teach him the mental qualities of the warrior.

Sitting beside Sam is a decidedly non-Japanese computer, the mind-scanning machine itself. Leo steps forward, shares a bow with Sam, and kneels on the gym mat. Sam places the scanning halo on his brow, and Leo pronounces the oath he has taken: "Before the omnipotent witness, I pledge never to use this power for evil."

The machine comes to life and Leo sits still. Sam walks gingerly around him and stands beside Pneuma. As the minutes pass, the girl leans in and whispers. "Just what is happening?"

"The master is making a copy of his mind," Sam explains, unnecessarily, and Pneuma's brief glare reminds him that she knows as much. He continues. "In case something happens. In case he is taken over and we need a pristine copy to study, to reverse the effects. That sort of thing."

Leo doffs the metal halo and rises. Sam steps away from Pneuma, toward the paired samurai swords mounted on the wall of the gym. He lifts the upper, longer one - the katana - from its resting spot, and presents it ritually to Leo.

Leo pops a capsule out of the mind-scanner and unscrews a hidden compartment in the hilt of the blade. The capsule slides into the space and latches home. This done, the sword is returned to Sam, and he places it back on the wall with reverence.

"They say the katana holds the soul of its master," explains Leo as he turns to Pneuma again. "I thought of hiding places for this - something my friends would know about me, but my enemies might overlook. They'd check the workshop computer and its hard encryption. This they'll have to really work for."

The Aleph Team takes a day off

Trans-Pacific cable repair is tricky. Most of the time, you have a boat on the surface do it, because people can't survive the water pressure at the depths where the cable lays. Well, humans can't. Not all people are humans.

The Aleph Team - Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Bob - drag themselves through the door of the Ilium, Inc. office and let out a collective sigh of relief. They aren't physically exhausted; they can't be. The time they spent underwater was the most relaxing part of the job. The rest of it - lost luggage at the airport, difficulty with the contracting company, language barriers, questions about Ilium's methods and casual insults about "arrogant Americans" - wore at them until it was almost too much.

The robots have well-defined patterns. Today is Tuesday. That means cards. Without a word, they divide themselves up. Alpha gets the pretzels, Beta brings the beer, Gamma fetches the playing cards from the cupboard, Delta cleans the table, and Bob prepares the poker chips. The robots don't need to eat, but they don't need to play cards either. They do both things because they derive enjoyment from doing as they wish, when they wish, in the company of their closest companions. They like Pneuma, and the newcomer Niki, and their elder Otto, and they like Leo too. But sometimes, they want time just to themselves.

Alpha shuffles, and Bob cuts. It's Beta's turn to declare the rules. "H.O.R.S.E.," he decides. "Texas Hold 'em to start." Chips are distributed around the table and the game begins.

A few minutes of dealing and playing are enough to get them limbered up. Alpha is the first to say something unrelated to the game.

"Otto's birthday is coming up. What are we getting him?"

Delta throws in some chips. "What did you have in mind?"

Gamma deadpans, "how about some rims?"

It takes a second, but everyone at the table cracks up at that. The quips come in bunches - "Leo'd kill us-" "-because Otto died of shame!" "Sitting on 22s-" "He'd look so ridiculous!" - until they get it out of their system.

Beta rides the wave of general amusement to make a more reasonable suggestion. "He's a big fan of Top Gear. Let's get him something from the show."

"Yeah, that's not bad." "Sounds good." "Okay. Like what?"

Bob shows some cards and scoops up a pile of chips, to the general consternation of his fellows. "Looks like I'm paying for whatever it is," he gloats.

Gamma snorts. "T-shirts are right out. Coffee mugs, same thing. Human-centric merchandise is a pain."

"Unless he got himself a human shell, like Niki did," Delta points out.

"He'll never do it." "Yeah, not him." "He's too stubborn." "He just wants to be the biggest guy around." General consensus is loudly echoed.

"What about a CD? The Stig's always listening to some goofy music. They did a driving music competition or something. They have to have something." Gamma throws a few chips into the pot and fools with his cards.

"You seem on top of this more than the rest of us," Beta suggests. "How about checking their website and finding something good? We'll get it for him as a group."

Gamma nods. "Will do."

Issue 8 prologue - Business Dinner

Leo is hard at work in the workshop. Suspended in the repair harness is a perfectly spherical ball of... something. It's black, and periodically it bubbles or twists as he makes adjustments from his keyboard. But when those cease, it returns to its resting shape.

He only notices Pneuma's presence when she's standing right beside him. "What is it?" she asks, hesitantly.

"Lambda. You have a Kappa-class shell. Your old Theta-class is what Niki is using. This is the next generation."

"It's a big ball of tar," the girl observes wryly.

Leo snorts. "It's not tar. It's Lambda. Watch." He keys in a few commands. The sphere flattens itself out, slowly and fitfully shaping itself into a miniature replica of a mailbox.

"Oh. So, a shape-shifting fluid. I see. Some sort of micro-electro-mechanical utility fog?" Pneuma knows as much about robotics as Leo did when he made her, and she's kept up, for the same reasons humans know CPR and first aid.

"Basically. It's the same stuff as your joints and modular transformation systems use already, only I've incorporated most of the big subsystems into tiny cells. Quorum's tactical sensor suite, armor, musculature, the works. This is the shield with which I'll protect the city."

Pneuma hums. "Good. We need to talk about that anyway. Come on. There's a new restaurant mentioned in 'Catching up with Max'. I've made reservations."

----

The pair make an appearance at the restaurant in question, Ms. Aria Newman wearing her evening dress with her customary grace and poise, Mr. Leonard Snow trying hard not to look out of place in semi-formal wear. The two are seated in a private booth - what they have to talk about is nobody else's business - and ask for drinks while they think about their food order.

Finally Pneuma produces a notepad and pencil from her bag and begins transcribing in shorthand. "First. Your civic infrastructure plans."

"Mostly negative." Leo looks glum. "Okay, from the top: electricity. All I have right now is the Casimir fractal. The old man's technology, not mine. I discussed providing power to the city grid using these systems. They asked a lot of questions - which is fair, I admit. When I told him who invented the thing, the city manager just gave me a look. Plugging a villain's invention into the mains wasn't going to happen on his watch. At this point, even if I come up with my own power source, I think I may have poisoned the well. They may not ever listen to me."

Pneuma nods, taking notes, refraining from commentary. Leo goes on. "Infrastructure defense and repair. Nanabozho undid the damage he caused, but I can't count on everyone else being so considerate. That's what Lambda is for. It'll be deployed in battle and should screen people, buildings, vehicles, you name it, from attack. Purely a defensive measure. I'm not really going to ask permission on this one. They'll just have to see for themselves."

Pneuma taps her pencil against the notepad and bites her lip. "I worry about that approach, Leo. You want to work with these people, not around them."

"I know. I know. And I will. I'll use Lambda in a limited capacity, just where we're fighting. After that, if they come to me, I'll see where else we can deploy it."

Pneuma smiles. "Okay. And are we getting a rebuild?"

"Eventually. I want to do a lot more testing with this stuff first."

"Alright." Pneuma scans down her list. "Niki. ACTION provided the rest of us with legal identities. Now that she's got a human shell, she'll need one too."

Leo nods. "Oh sure. I hope to hear something from Agent Waters pretty soon. I'll ask about it then. In the meantime, though, she's safe with Solar Girl and the new intern. They're not going to get into any trouble."

Pneuma stares. Eventually Leo withers under the assault. "Alright, alright. I'll take care of it. But seriously, they're at college. How bad can it get?"

Give me a Hand

Arvin Sontag spent eight years in the slammer. He could have been there a lot longer, but he got out for good behavior. And what was that good behavior? Not ratting out his employer, the rich and powerful businessman who'd hired him to do a complex job. In trade, the invisible influence his employer possessed was wielded at the lawyers, the judges, and the wardens who'd had a say in his sentencing.

Sontag didn't talk. He knew he'd be well paid for his silence. It was all part of his professional reputation. Prison hadn't been so bad. He knew people, and people knew him. Besides, he'd gotten overconfident after the Enforcers disappeared, and that was his fault, not his employer's.

No, there was someone else who could be blamed. That vigilante who'd nabbed him. He'd been hit by a car that had no driver - he'd seen that clearly enough - and the grappling hook system that had knocked away his pistol were details that had stayed with him over the years. When he saw the Ice Pirate's attack on the bank on the news, and saw the hero named Link combine with his car robot and use his grappling lines to deflect an ice blast aimed at the news chopper, he had a suspicion. Several hours of investigation later, he was satisfied that he'd found the man who'd stopped him all those years ago.

Stopping that hero was out of the question as he was now. He'd powered up significantly, that much was clear from recent news reports. He'd have to stage an attack in a direction the hero would least expect. At home, perhaps, while in his civilian identity - presumably he had one, and facilities for building those toys he used. All that was needed was to learn his name.

He still had many useful phone numbers and email addresses. The big movers and shakers of the underworld changed their contact methods, but those who patronized their services weren't so careful. Sontag worked his way through a chain of thugs, operators, and middle-men until he found the name he remembered from the old days.

The man he was looking for worked on the waterfront, near the Halberd Hotel. He took the bus and walked the streets, looking for a particular sign. And there he saw it, clustered among many similar ones: Psychic readers, Tarot card consulting, divination. It wasn't hard to place some faith in extrasensory perception and magic, when the most powerful super-team on Earth had included a supremely powerful sorceress. Sontag's contact was the only one on this street who could really walk the walk.

"Come in," said the calm voice, well before Sontag had opened the door. Yes, this would be him. Sontag turned the door-knob and entered the little hole-in-the-wall office tucked against a larger office building.

The Hand sat calmly at a desk, the trappings of fortune-telling spread before him. Most prominent was a spread of playing cards, but crystal balls, wands, and all manner of other psychic or mystic paraphernalia were in evidence. Sontag knew these props were mere window dressing for the rubes. He smiled, sat down, and spoke.

"I'm here to find a man. I need a man of your particular talents to do so. I want the secret identity of a superhero."

The Hand folded his fingers together. "Superheroes are dangerous. This will cost you. Who did you have in mind?"

Sontag slid a photo across the desk. The Hand picked it up, turning it this way and that, pretending to study it.

"How much?" Sontag asked.

The Hand named a price. Sontag blanched.

"If you can't afford it, my friend, I'll wait patiently until you can," the Hand offered with a smile.

"But I'd be taking down someone who threatens your business," Sontag protested. "Surely that's worth something to you."

"No," countered the Hand. "You'd be receiving information from me and attacking a target. Your success is not guaranteed. Indeed, if his success against Ice Pirate is any indication, a man with your typical M.O. won't last a minute. And if you failed, and it was traced back to me..."

Sontag frowned. "Fine. I'd hoped to settle some old business and be done with him. I'll need to do some... jobs... to afford what you're asking. I understand you enjoy certain connections, and may be able to give me a referral."

The Hand nodded politely. "Your point about a threat to my business is well made. If you are motivated - and you bring your chance of success to virtual certainty, mind you - then our interests do coincide. I'll see what I can do for you. And who shall I say is looking?"

Sontag smirked. "Link. The Hand. It seems code names are the order of the day. Do not mention Arvin Sontag. Instead, say... Arson."

Some men want to watch the world burn - age 19

Leo spent his last night as a civilian making the final adjustments to his first practical creation since moving to New Troy. He made incredible strides thanks to the contents of his father's workshop. But it's not enough to decipher the Gnome's brilliance. Leo felt more proud of this little pistol than any of the super-science sitting in the vaults behind him.

The pistol itself wasn't really a weapon, though it could be. It didn't fire bullets. It was like a grappling gun, only the head was made of programmable matter. It could turn itself into a grappling hook, a cutting edge, a flat panel, a vacuum-sealed adhesive grip, or anything else the young man programmed into it. A simple voice-control interface controlled the shape it took, and miniature verniers mounted at the attachment ring allowed it to automatically correct its trajectory while in flight. The head connected back to the gun proper by means of bundled carbon nanotubes, stronger than steel and more flexible than rope.

Leo inspected his other supplies - a black ski mask, a vest of Microtech personal body armor composed of biomimetic arachnofiber weave, a flashlight, and a notebook. The notebook was the most important thing. The Gnome's notes were extensive, written in a nigh-indecipherable hand or encoded into the computers of the lab. They implicated any number of people, some of them movers and shakers within New Troy's power structure. People who had bought weapons from the Gnome, or sold him parts on the side. Executives and workers at big companies like Touchstone Solutions - Judson Snow's old employer - or simply independent criminals operating in the vast power vacuum left behind by the Enforcers' disappearance. And Leo had taken note of all of it.

Tonight, he was going to really do something. Tonight, he was after a man who used the Gnome's revolutionary explosives to get away with untraceable arson, and profit from the suffering of those whose lives he disrupted or ended. Tonight, he was going to start making his father pay.

----

"Otto," he called out, holding his wrist to his mouth. The radio watch he wore connected his voice to the car, and tires squealed as Otto pulled up in front of the junkyard entrance. None were there to see Leo throw his duffel bag in the back seat and hop in.

The drive felt longer than it really was. After this, there was no turning back. Leo wouldn't be able to pretend he was just a kid, or just a regular citizen. He was doing the things that vigilantes did. People like the Shroud, or Fractal. People in masks who weren't accountable to anyone or anything but their own conscience. Is this how they started? he remembers thinking. Is this what they did, just throw some gear together, get self-righteous, and kick someone's ass?

The comforting rumble of Otto was a distraction. Maybe they did it alone. I won't be.

----

"Arvin Sontag. Hold it right there." The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. The man in the cheap suit froze where he was, hands still gripping the explosive putty he'd been setting.

"Arvin Sontag! Stand up. Let go of the explosive."

Sontag looked around in the darkness, trying to spot the source of the voice. The Old Town tenement didn't have many people living in it, but none of them should have known his name. This was someone else. But he did as he was instructed, stalling for time.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the darkness.

The voice ignored his question. "You were planning to bomb this building. Innocent people were going to die. Now step away."

"Like hell!" Sontag's hand reached into his jacket for the pistol he kept hidden, and he dashed for the door. No good. Out of the darkness, a black shadow leaped. Sontag screamed as something cold and metal cut a gash in his hand on the way to knocking the pistol loose from his grip. The weapon spiraled and spun across the concrete floor, into a far corner. He clearly saw the cable and hook that had done the deed.

Sontag was prepared. He had a second weapon, a small AMT Backup, in a pocket. His hand was pulsating with pain, but he snatched the little pistol and opened fire in the direction the skyhook cable had come from. Several rounds ricocheted off concrete, but he heard a satisfying thump and grunt of pain. He'd tagged somebody. Good.

"Burn in hell, y'bastard!" Sontag shouted, taking advantage of the hit to go for the door.

----

Leo felt at his torso with both hands for a few scant seconds, finding that the vest had absorbed the hit. This was the first time he'd ever been shot, and he felt a tremendous thrill that it had done little except slow him down. But slow him it had - his quarry was getting away.

He ran for the door through which Sontag had left, only to find the man beating feet down the street. And behind him, a beeping noise started - the explosive was armed! Sontag must have carried a remote detonator.

"Otto! Get him, buddy," he shouted into his radio watch. "Will do!" came the electronic voice, and the unobtrusive parked car roared to life and launched itself into the street.

Leo turned around. He'd prepared for the process of disarming, but his practice runs took about a minute to complete. There was no time - but, he knew, the device was very stable. It could stand some jarring, and was light besides. It was across the room. It was seconds away from going off. Out of time...

"Skyhook, grab," he shouted at his pistol, and fired. The device configured itself mid-flight into a grabbing claw, snatching up the explosive. Thumbing the reel control, Leo ran from of the apartment and out onto the street. The cable snapped back into place, fully retracted - and with Leo staring a volatile bomb in the face, one capable of annihilating an entire apartment building.

With no time to spare he pointed the gun straight up at the night sky, and squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. The gun's mass driver, scaling its power to the trigger pressure, delivered the maximum possible power output. The entire bomb went with it, launched high into the sky of New Troy. And Leo thumbed the cable release switch, detaching the skyhook cable, and covered his head with both arms.

A blossom of red-orange fire erupted in the sky over Old Town, a pyrotechnic display that shattered windows and triggered car alarms. Leo raised his head and scanned the street. In the brilliant light of the bomb, he was able to see Otto catch up with the fleeing Sontag, who had emptied a few rounds from his backup pistol into the car's windshield - a useless gesture when there was no driver to injure. The car door popped open just in time to check the criminal and send him sprawling.

Leo walked purposefully up the street, adrenaline giving him a poise and a confidence he wouldn't lose for hours. In a single smooth motion, he punched Sontag squarely in the jaw as the man rose to his feet, a punch from which there was no second recovery. Only when the unconscious bomber was bound and blindfolded and in the trunk of Otto did Leo return to the tenement building to recover the pistol. One more piece of evidence.

----

Police found Sontag trussed in front of Old Town's NTPD precinct building the next morning, along with a thick sheaf of paperwork. There was enough detail to firmly connect Sontag to the bomb, receipts showing his purchase of explosives from the Gnome, and chemical details of the explosive that would match the residue found at previous bomb sites.

Back at the workshop, Leo peeled off his mask and body armor, and spent a few minutes refitting the skyhook gun with a new head and new cable. The expense was minor compared to the value of the lives he'd saved - never mind the property as well.

There were so many other people to stop - and so many others to save. He would need to be more careful about getting shot. He'd need more planning. This time, he'd been lucky. But there would be time for that. For now, he was really beginning to like this place called New Troy.

New Troy - age 18

The day had come. Bob was at the wheel of the U-Haul truck, with Leo's furniture in the back - along with Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Pneuma sat in Otto's passenger seat, running down a checklist of items for the departure. Leo remembers looking back at the old house in the rear view mirror, but not for long. His life was ahead of him, literally and figuratively. "Road trip!" announced Otto with gusto, and Leo patted the steering wheel affectionately. "That's right, buddy. Road trip."

He'd said goodbye to his foster parents. They were appropriately shocked when he revealed the robot squad he'd built, hidden away in a cave a half-mile from the high school and its machine shop. They were dazed when those robots dutifully carried Leo's few material possessions out to a truck and loaded them. He didn't think they'd want to keep in touch, but he left a forwarding address anyway. His real family was coming with him.

The drive was long, but the weather was good. Finally free of human observation, Pneuma put her face out of the car window and soaked in the sun. Bob and the other workers took turns driving, with whoever was free taking part in a penny-ante poker game in the back. The cops were the biggest concern, but ultimately none of the few state troopers or city cops the convoy encountered decided to take an interest.

----

He'd rented a series of storage sheds until he could find a house. Acclimating to the rainy climate of the Pacific Northwest, and the culture of a new city, would have to wait as well. The government had made it very clear that his first priority was his father's lab.

ACTION was there, with their high-tech gear and perpetual frowns, when Leo pulled up. They gave him a sandwich and a coffee mug and a minder in black sunglasses, and pointed him inside. He spent days studying the paperwork, the files, the gadgets, the half-assembled components of the Gnome's old lair. He made notes, he explained the technology, he made suppositions. The G-men listened attentively, though it was clear that many of them had no liking for the junior Snow.

He was surprised on his final day's drive back. Otto wasn't going back to the hotel. Instead, he was slowly driving through a series of increasingly upscale neighborhoods. Consulting his map, Leo found the label "Paris Hill". Otto's motive became more obvious as well - every time a "For Sale" sign appeared in front of a house, the car slowed down.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"Pneuma wanted you to do some house-hunting," the car rumbled in reply. "She gave me a list of places, so we're drivin' past them. See any you like?"

"We're doing this now? Really?" Leo growled. Back home, "going to New Troy" had sounded so simple. Now work was piling up. After the frustrating time he'd spent at the lab, and the endless round of demands on his attention, he was ready to scream. She could break up with him, insult him, and then try to run his life? It was too much.

"Otto, stop." The car complied, and Leo got out and started walking. It took a minute for Otto to realize that Leo wasn't coming back, and so the car wheeled slowly along behind him. Leo trudged and trudged, stewing in the fragmented feelings of youth, resisting the urge to kick the nearest thing - because that was the bumper of his oldest friend, who'd done nothing wrong. That realization deflated him, and without another word he climbed back into the car. Otto said nothing either, instead driving back to the hotel.

----

Agent Waters paid him a visit the next day. The older man was pleasant, while Leo mumbled his way through the bare minimum of politeness. Waters was invited inside, and took a seat. He set a package out on the hotel room's bare table, and pushed it slowly across to Leo.

"I won't waste too much of your time. I just wanted to say thank you for cooperating. Some of those guys were deliberately trying to get your goat. You kept your cool. You did the job. That, plus a little testimony from yours truly, got the agency to find a custodian for the lab and its materials - well, those that they didn't already box up and ship away. The dangerous stuff."

Leo opened the package warily. Inside were a set of keys and some paperwork. "What's this?"

"The custodianship. The lab is yours. You like building friends. Now you've got a better set of tools with which to do so."

Waters got up, only to pause as Leo raised a hand, a gesture to halt. The agent looked down, patiently, as his young assignment found the words. They came, few in number and simple, but deeply felt. "Th-thank you. This means a lot."

Waters' wrinkled face broke into a broad smile. "I suggest moving that stuff to a secure location, by the way. If the Gnome makes an appearance again, he might go back to his old haunts."

Leo didn't need to be told what it was like to have his old man burst in on the place he called home. "I'll find somewhere good," he promised.

----

The Old Town junkyard was right on the edge of New Troy's industrial area. Leo noted the presence of police tape across several of the doors, but he was most interested in the "For Sale" sign.

With Otto parked, Leo reclined in the driver's seat and made a phone call to the seller. Several minutes of "Yeah... uh-huh... yeah, sounds good" filled his side. He was quoted a number. He accepted. An address was given, a place to come sign the paperwork and receive the keys. That, too, he did.

Only then did he tell Pneuma.

The argument was long, and mostly involved Pneuma chastising him. Leo listened to all of it, too tired to argue back, simply answering questions as they came up. And when she finally subsided, he turned and left to go back to the hotel. An hour later, as he lay in the dark on the bed, the phone rang. He picked it up. "Leo, I'm sorry--" she started to say, but he hung up.

----

Pneuma came out the next night. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Bob were already hard at work. Leo had rented enough tools and machinery to carry out his plan. The junkyard had enough scrap metal to make it happen. And so she found him, sitting inside the office, flashlight held suspended over a set of blueprints.

"Leo?"

The voice shook him away from his study. He turned, and smiled. "I apologize for hanging up on you. It's been really rough. I just needed something to call my own here. I needed to make a decision that was mine. I promise we'll look at houses soon."

Pneuma nodded. "That's good, but.. well, we were both out of line. I'm sorry too. I came to see what you were working on. And yes, I'll kick your butt if you screw this up." She glowered, but both knew it was a joke. And their mutual laughter rang through the office.

Somehow, that laughter drained every bit of tension out of Leo. He slumped down into his chair, the retreating laughter leaving a smile behind. "I won't screw this up. Mr. Dorsey - one of my foster fathers, before your time, but Otto remembers him - anyway, he ran a junkyard. I learned all about it. That's where Otto came from, you know. But what we're doing right now is building a new workshop underneath it. A base of operations. I'm still going to house-hunt, but I want this to be my work area. Nothing should connect the two sites except me."

Pneuma nodded. "That makes sense. A place to store the Gnome's equipment too?"

"Yes. Like it or not, the old man did some really amazing things. The whole place will have its own electrical supply, life support, the works."

The girl nodded again, peering at the plans. "This looks really extensive. Can you really do it?"

"Bob and the others can," Leo answered with a smile. "They're down there right now, digging. They don't get tired. I've already hooked them up to this new power source. A.. a, 'Casimir fractal' I think he called it. They tell me they feel super-charged. No more downtime for recharging, no more power cables. It's going to be great."

Pneuma smiled proudly. "You promised us a perfect life once. I'm happier with a great one. Thank you." And she squeezed him in a surprise hug.

Issue 7 prologue - Fair trade

"Agent Waters? Ted Waters?"

Agent Waters looks up from his office desk. Tea is steeping in his well-worn mug. Paperwork is everywhere. His favorite PC, with the familiar hum of the old monitor, stands in contrast to the holographic displays many of his coworkers in the building have adopted. As he looks at the young man - boy, really - holding out a package for his inspection, he feels older than he's felt in awhile.

"This came for you, sir. The postscript is Leonard Vincent Snow, of New Troy. We verified the sender on surveillance camera and the multi-scan confirms the contents are safe to open. Um, I need your thumbprint, sir."

Waters presses his thumb onto the electronic gizmo the courier holds out. It emits a satisfied chirp, and he wraps his wrinkled hands around the packing envelope. As the courier steps away, Waters turns the thing this way and that, inspecting the handwritten address. "Hmm. Not Leo's writing," he says aloud - more for the benefit of the office's note-taking voice recorder than his own. "Let's see what this is about.."

He tears open the package. Out spills the damaged half of a face mask, enclosed carefully in a plastic bag - and a letter. The letter comes first. He reads it aloud, again for the benefit of the automation watching and listening.

"Dear Mr. Waters,

I'm writing you on behalf of Leo Snow, my friend and employer. He recovered the enclosed object from Lady Destine, the mercenary. My research indicates that she was once a member of the I.S.E., an organization directly opposed to yours. At the time Leo obtained this item, she was working alongside Judson Snow.

I expressed an interest in sending the mask fragment to you for forensic analysis - not Leo's strong suit - and he agreed enthusiastically, saying it would also thank you for a lead he obtained from you recently.

Yours respectfully,

Aria Newman"

He looks further down. There's a postscript. He stops speaking - this part isn't for ACTION.

"P. S. I understand you have a long history with Leo. I want you to know - I promise you - that he is in good hands now, and I will do everything I can to take care of him. Thank you so much for all you've done for him, and the rest of us."

Something seems to be in Agent Waters' eye, something that he rubs away quickly. The mask makes a suitable distraction. He picks up the baggie, turning it this way and that. Skin cells, hair follicles, blood, maker's marks or identifying characteristics - any number of things could be in here. He chuckles, and the feeling of age subsides into nothing. There's time to grow old later. Now he's got a scent, and it's time to follow the trail.

Nothing to wear

The noises from the far end of the workshop interrupt Leo's relaxation time. He glances up, picks up his tea cup, takes a sip, and goes back to his newspaper. Maybe he can ignore it.

"Ottooo!" comes Niki's voice. She's wheedling, Leo can tell by now. "Come ooon. I never get to go out without Leo. I wanna go out! Don't you love me?"

Otto is a powerfully built robot, but he has no defense against that kind of attack. Leo sighs. He has to intervene. The newspaper, folded, lands in his chair as he walks toward the robot repair bay.

Pneuma, Niki, and Otto are standing - or parked, in the latter's case - in the bay. The first thing Leo notices is that one of Pneuma's old shells, dating almost to when the group came to New Troy, is prepped in the repair bay's harness.

"What is going on, you three?" he demands.

Niki turns, optics lighting up in hope. Pneuma sighs, and speaks before the younger robot can. "Niki wanted to go out, but as a human. She wanted to transfer her consciousness into one of my old shells, as you see. I'm telling her that it's a bad idea."

Niki slumps, crestfallen. "I just wanted to borrow something. You aren't wearing it, can't you hand it down to me? We're family, and I don't have anything to wear. Please?" She turns to Leo, begging. "Boss? Pleeeeaaase?"

Leo sighs. "The shell is Pneuma's. She gets to decide whether or not you get to use it."

Pneuma rubs her forehead with her hand, looking tired. "It's not a question of permission. Niki doesn't know how to do a safe transference to a new shell. I don't mind as long as she changes the appearance. I don't want a younger me walking the streets doing who-knows-what. But Leo, you need to do the transferal."

Leo nods. "Fine. Just take care of the shell, don't get it dirty, and be home before ten."

Niki jumps up and down excitedly. The wrenches hanging on the wall shake perceptibly. "Thank you thank you thank you!"

Issue 6 epilogue - Seeds

Gamma has pointed a tripod-mounted video camera at the park in Old Town, near the apartment of the woman the New Sentinels interviewed yesterday. What was her name? thinks Leo to himself. Tiffany. The memories of yesterday are blurred by battle and the confusion of childhood crystallizing itself into berserk fury.

The drafting board on his desk is covered with notes. Leo studies them carefully. Not everything he put down makes immediate sense. Some of it seems incomplete. But he gets the gist of it, with the help of coffee.

He looks up at the video feed of the park, watching his robots diligently weed and hoe. He's still watching it, letting the calming repetition of motion relax his mind, when Pneuma peeks into the office area.

"Leo, I want to talk to you about that speeding ticket."

He snaps his head around, an automatic reaction to that you're-in-trouble tone of voice he recognizes. The urge to make excuses surges. He suppresses it with one of the few clear memories he has of yesterday: I swear I'll make this right. "Alright. Let's talk."

"That was pretty reckless. You were street racing a guy connected to a bank robbery. Sure, one step removed. Sure, you got information. Was the cost worth it?"

Leo smiles and sips his coffee. "Niki was happy, but that's not the real benefit. I could have shaken him down, sure. I think Quorum was too smart for him. I was the right level of stupid." Pneuma's glare puts a stop to the humorous self-deprecation, so he grows more serious.

"The fact is that Ice Pirate hired a bunch of guys. They could have been hurt during the robbery. They could have hurt a lot of other people. What I was thinking was, what if that wasn't an option? What if there weren't so many people willing to knock over a bank for a supervillain?"

"And you decided to solve that problem with a street race." Pneuma isn't buying it, but Leo's not done.

"No. I decided to start solving it by establishing trust. Trust takes time. Relationships take time. A decade ago, when I was building you, Agent Waters came to visit me. I would have done anything to get him out of the house. Yesterday I made a phone call to him and got some good information."

Pneuma takes a seat in the spare office chair. "So you were trying to build a rapport with this 'Rip' fellow."

"Solar Girl sort of spooked them, and I'm not too subtle myself," Leo admits. He gestures with the coffee mug at the screen. "But ... just think. That park could be a garden. All it takes is some effort to take out the real weeds, and some time to plant the right seeds."