by Matt Cowper
He sighed again. He was worrying too much, as Gillespie had chided him.
“Sure,” he replied, putting on what he thought was his best smile. “I'd like that.”
Gillespie looked both relieved and frightened. She'd probably thought he'd decline with typical gruffness. Now that he'd accepted, she was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Good,” she finally said, as curtly as if she were giving an order to a staffer. “We'll schedule something soon. I'll be in touch.”
Nightstriker only nodded and stepped out into the hallway before things became even more awkward. As he shut the door behind him, he looked back inside at Gillespie. She'd already returned to her desk and buried herself in paperwork – though her face was crimson.
Smiling in a way that clearly unsettled the people in the Capitol Building more than his normal stern gaze, Nightstriker departed, to return to Z City, to his team – to rebuilding.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Blaze
“Wow,” Siobhan gasped, wiping generated sweat from her forehead with a bedsheet. “That was...something else.”
Blaze snuggled closer to his girlfriend and rubbed her bare belly. “I thought you can't feel...you know, physical sensations.”
“It...different for me. I don't register sensations like a normal person. But I can feel what you feel. I mean, I know when you...really get into it...and...you know what I mean?”
Blaze laughed. “Not really. Not that it matters. I'm here with you – that's what matters.”
Siobhan gave him a long, deep kiss, so that he felt himself becoming aroused again, though they'd had sex only a few minutes ago. “You're a sweetheart, Sam Boyd. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Blaze said, forming a heart in the air with his fire powers.
Siobham turned her hand from flesh-colored to silver and grabbed at the floating heart. “I never get tired of hearing you say that.”
They lay there for a few minutes in silence, Sam running his fingers across Metal Gal's curves.
She was warm, damp, her skin pinkish-white. Her mouth had white teeth and a moist tongue, her blonde hair was matted to her face, her eyes were blue pools. She even smelled like a human – a human that had just had a great deal of sex.
On the surface, she was indistinguishable from a normal, attractive young woman. But of course, she was really a mass of morphing metal with a data bank and a power core.
He'd been making love to a machine run by human consciousness – or, as someone with a penchant for cruelty would've said, to a sexbot.
Did that bother him?
Sam had pondered that a lot lately, and his answer had always ended up the same: no, it didn't.
He couldn't imagine being with a more intelligent, caring, and brave woman. Sure, Siobhan still had some quirks, after-effects from her torturous transition from human to robot, but Sam knew he had plenty of quirks of his own that drove his girlfriend crazy – she told him so often.
And then there was the whole powering up and nearly destroying Washington, D.C. incident....
But she'd forgiven him for that, like she did for everything. And he, in turn, forgave her when she wanted to spend an all-nighter working on her Zeta Cores or when she said something inadvertently insulting.
They truly loved each other – and he didn't want that love to flit away.
He cleared his throat and sheepishly poked Siobhan in the ribs. “Uh – Sibby? Been meaning to talk to you about something....”
“Yeah? What is it, Sam?”
Those blue eyes...god, they were beautiful.
“Well, a lot of stuff's happened lately, and I...I've been thinking about our relationship.”
She waited, a wide smile on her face.
“My parents are gone, Sib. Losing them...you know what it did to me. I don't want to lose you, too.”
She hugged him tightly. “You won't. I'm durable, you know. It'll take more than your run-of-the-mill supervillain to destroy me. Plus, we'll be fighting alongside each other, right? You'll save me if things get really dicey, and vice versa.”
“Yeah, that sounds good on paper, but...I mean, the team may have to split up, go on separate missions. We may not be able to watch each other's backs.”
“Sam, you're ruining the moment.” She pinched his nose. “We just had a...beyond fantastic experience, and now you're worrying about superhero stuff.”
“I know, I know, but...will you marry me?”
Siobhan's jaw dropped, and for a moment her face turned back to its silvery color. The generated sweat on her body tripled in volume, until it looked like she'd just stepped out of a pool.
“Did I...did you just say....?”
Sam shrugged and tried to smile reassuringly. “I was getting all tongue-tied, so I figured I'd just go ahead and ask.”
“But...but...but...we've only known each other a few weeks!”
“So?”
“But...but...but...this isn't how this stuff works, Sam! Two people should get to know each other before tying the knot!”
“I do know you. You're sweet, kind, funny––”
“Don't you dare butter me up during this...this thingamabob!”
“I'm only telling the truth, Sib.” He kissed her cheek, which had turned as red as a fire hydrant. “Life is precious. I had to learn that the hard way. I don't want to waste time waiting for the perfect moment to get married. Let's do it now.”
“Dammit, Sam!” she shouted – though her eyes were twinkling.
“You know these past few weeks have been great. Working together, sleeping together––”
“I do not need a recap of recent events, Samuel Johnson Boyd. I need to think about this!”
“No, you just need to say yes.”
“I will not!” She sat up in bed and morphed her hand into a sledgehammer. Sam slid away from her, eyeing the hammer warily.
“Uh – why are you....?” he asked.
“I ought to knock you over the head with this...” waving the sledgehammer “...for putting me in this...this tight spot!”
“It won't hurt me,” Sam said, forming a Fire Shield around his head. “You'll never get through my defenses.”
“Well, you certainly go through mine – oh, Sam. Come here.”
She wrapped him up in a hug, her arms altering until his entire upper back and arms were covered in her being. Sam extinguished his Fire Shield and hugged her back.
“Fine,” she whispered into his ear. “I'll marry you.”
Sam felt heat rush through his body. Metal Gal's body rippled in turn.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Yes, seriously, you dolt!”
He kissed her passionately, then jumped out of bed. “Awesome! Let's go tell the others!”
“What?! Now?! We just––”
“It's not official until you tell your friends, right? C'mon, Sib – you know they'll be happy for us!”
“I know that! But...what about rings? And what will I wear to the wedding? I'll have to study the webbing magazines so I can morph into a really beautiful gown....”
“Forget about that right now!”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of bed. As he hurriedly put on his costume and mask, Siobhan morphed into her silvery Metal Gal form – though, in her excitement, certain parts of her body kept changing color, and generated tears ran down her face like she had faucets for eyes.
“Are you OK?” Sam asked. “You're––”
“I know what I look like. Don't worry, I'll compose myself. Not like I have a choice – nothing's gonna stop you from dragging me out there and announcing to everyone that we're engaged.”
“See? We already know each other perfectly!”
They exited Sam's quarters and bustled down the still-unfinished corridor. Exposed wires hung from the ceiling, and the lighting was still spotty.
Hiring a construction firm to assist them would have accelerated the building process, but none of them wanted outsiders in
side their base of operations. Nightstriker especially was adamant that they build this HQ themselves, so that no one else would know its secrets.
And, Nightstriker had reasoned, the Beacon had been too large, too powerful, too technologically incredible. It had nearly destroyed them, then nearly destroyed the Midtown section of Z City.
They wouldn't make the same mistake again. Now they were staying earthbound, and constructing their new base from the remains of a relatively small hot dog factory in Bootheel. There would be no tours, no visiting diplomats, no scientists conducting experiments – there would only be the Elites.
Nightstriker had suggested this new, smaller HQ be called Spearpoint. The point of a spear was a small object, but if properly sharpened and wielded, it was lethal.
Everyone had agreed that the name fit – though Slab insisted they construct a giant spearpoint on the building's roof to really illustrate the point. Nimbus countered that this would actually defeat the entire metaphor, and a light-hearted argument had ensued.
Sam didn't care what they called the place, or whether they built a hundred-foot-tall phallus-like spear on the roof. They were constructing an amazing new home, working together as a team, making the world a better place – and two Elites were now engaged.
Life was good, and getting better. No point quibbling over details.
But after a few minutes of wandering through the corridors and not encountering any other Elites, Sam began to get anxious. He had important news! Where the hell were they?!
“Did they fly to Mars or something?” he said, heat pouring off him.
“Calm down, Sam,” Siobhan replied. “Here, I'll increase my hearing, and maybe I can...yeah, there's some noise coming from this way.”
She led the way down another half-finished corridor. Sam knew where they were heading: to the hard-light training center, one of the only finished parts of Spearpoint.
Nightstriker, being Nightstriker, had demanded they finish this room even before they finished their own corridors: “If you're uncomfortable sleeping here, go stay in a hotel until your quarters are done. But a training room is essential. Blades need to be sharpened, or they become dull.”
Buckshot had said something about Nightstriker being an “obsessive jackass,” but their leader had his way. The hard-light training room had been completed, and they'd already had numerous training sessions within its potentially limitless environs – many of these sessions occurring after they'd already worked twelve-hour days building Spearpoint.
Blaze was fatigued from all this activity, but unlike the ordeal with Lancaster, the ICE suit, and all the rest, this was a good sort of tired. Plus, Nightstiker was now human enough to give them all days off. He'd established a rotation so work never ceased. That was why Blaze and Metal Gal had been having passionate sex at ten in the morning instead of welding together beams or trying to figure out how to properly install the plumbing.
As they neared the training room, they saw all their teammates were inside, though the room's reality-altering tech wasn't active. They were looking up at Nimbus, who twisted through the air in a manner that everyone knew meant she was agitated.
“They must be trying to help her transform again,” Metal Gal said.
“Yeah,” Blaze replied, “but doesn't look like they've succeeded yet.”
When Nimbus had informally joined them, Nightstriker had been the sole person trying to help her revert to human form. With his expert knowledge on superhumans, and drive to get results, no one questioned this.
But Nimbus remained stuck in her smoke form, so Nightstriker had asked for the assistance of the other Elites.
(He'd looked mighty peeved when he said this, but everyone – even Buckshot – declined to needle him or criticize him for his lack of accomplishment.)
The team often gathered here to encourage Nimbus and try to come up with outside-the-box methods to help her transform. Blaze and Metal Gal had attended most of these meetings, though neither of them had solved this puzzle.
With Metal Gal's morphing ability, and Blaze's energy-manipulation powers, they should've been able to help Nimbus transform. But nothing anyone suggested worked. Either their instructions weren't pertinent, or Nimbus had a mental block that held her back – or perhaps she couldn't transform at all.
The last possibility was the most troubling, but since she'd gotten her powers from the Giftgiver, and no one knew exactly what she'd been thinking at the time, it was possible.
“I'm sick of this!” Nimbus wailed, floating away from her teammates. “Nothing works! You all just stare at me like I should just snap my fingers – erm, my smoke – and turn human!”
“We're only trying to help you,” Nightstriker said, though his voice was tense. “And we've only been here ten minutes. Please try to concentrate, Anna.”
“You'll get there soon, I can feel it,” Buckshot said. “Ain't your form changed color a bit since we started? That's something.”
Nimbus formed into something like a spiked mace, which probably indicated she disagreed.
“Hey, at least you ain't stuck as a giant gray rock man,” Slab said. “Believe me, I've tried changing back, but it just––”
“Slab. That's not helping,” Nightstriker growled.
“Oh. Yeah.” He cleared his throat, which sounded like a backhoe starting up. “I meant to say: you can do it, Anna! We believe in you!”
Nimbus formed a giant middle finger, which left no ambiguity about her thoughts on Slab's cheerleading.
Blaze hesitated at the door and wrapped his hand nervously around Metal Gal's waist. It seemed wrong to intrude into this tense situation with their sunny news.
Nimbus would of course tamp down her frustration and congratulate them, because that's the sort of person she was. And the other Elites would have nothing but good things to say, once they got over the initial shock.
But later, once she floated to her quarters, what would Nimbus think?
Would she think about how she may never have an intimate relationship like theirs, even though theirs was certainly unorthodox? How could one make love to smoke or clouds?
Metal Gal sensed his concern, and leaned in close to whisper to him.
“What is it, Sam?”
“It's...it's Nimbus. I just feel...well....”
“I understand. It's not a good time. We'll come back later.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “You're just trying to avoid the big announcement.”
She giggled. “Maybe that's part of my reasoning, too. C'mon – let's go back to your room and...celebrate some more.”
“As much as I'd like that, I...uh...think we should stay. For a few minutes, at least. Nimbus does need our help, right? And it is our day off. We've got plenty of time to do whatever else we want.”
“Oh, you're so selfish, Sam,” she said jokingly. “Why am I marrying you again? OK, in all seriousness, we should help.”
They stepped into the training room, and the other Elites turned to acknowledge them.
“Well, well, well, if it ain't the two lovebirds,” Buckshot said. “You two been spending your day off...ahem...holding hands and reciting poetry?”
“Uh....” Sam managed, blushing.
“Leave them be, Buckshot,” Nightstriker said. “They're adults in a consenting relationship. We all know what that means for intimacy. So, you two: as you can see, we're again trying to help Nimbus transform, and again we're not making much headway.”
“Correction: not making any headway,” Nimbus said.
“Do you two have any new ideas?” Nightstriker said, ignoring Nimbus's outburst.
Metal Gal didn't reply, though Blaze could see she was earnestly trying to come up with something.
Blaze also had nothing to offer. He could think of little besides his engagement, about the union of two people....
Wait...they hadn't considered this problem from that angle....
“Uh, I've got an idea,” he said. “It's kind of wacky, though.
”
“Any ideas are welcome,” Nightstriker said. “We've already tried the straightforward methods. Perhaps wacky, as you put it, is what we need.”
“OK...well...we've been trying to help Nimbus transform her smoke back into her human form, right? But suppose it's not about transformation, actually, but about...knowing yourself.”
“That sounds like philosophical mumbo-jumbo to me,” Buckshot said.
“I know, but...think of it this way: technically speaking, there's no way smoke or vapor can turn into a human, right? You'd need to form blood vessels, lungs, a brain, a heart – how are you going to get that from a bank of smoke? And even if you could, you'd have to be an expert on human anatomy to know exactly what to do, right?”
“I dunno, Sam,” Slab said. “Like Buckshot here, you've lost me.”
“Well – think about this: I shouldn't be able to almost turn into fire – but I can. I don't have to think about rebuilding my body from scratch after I'm finished using my powers.”
“I think I'm beginning to see where you're going,” Nightstriker said. “Continue, Sam.”
“Yeah, OK – so when I use my fire powers, I don't think, 'OK, time to cast my body aside and turn into fire.' Or, 'OK, I'm done being a fire guy, now I gotta get my body back.' I just...do it. The fire is a part of me – all the time. Just like...just like an athlete! An athlete doesn't forget how to juggle a soccer ball just because he hasn't practiced in a few days. The ability is there, just waiting to be used.”
“I still don't get it,” Nimbus said, though she'd drifted closer to him. “What do you want me to do? Practice turning human, like an athlete playing soccer? I can't, Sam!”
“No, I want you to realize you are this smoke-form, just like you are a human. You've been trying to replace one form with the other. You can't, because you're both.”
“So...I should....”
“You should stop trying to transform and...and instead just focus on a different aspect of yourself. Like an athlete. On the soccer field, he had one role, but then when he steps off the field, he might be a teacher, or a construction worker...or a husband.”
