GAIA: Rogue State (A Girl Power Novella)

by P. T. Dilloway

  Even after a year Melanie is still surprised to see Alan Bass instead of Allison Bass. She had never known Alan the first time he was a man, which perhaps accounts for her inability to accept him as a man. Or maybe it’s that she fought beside Allison so many times first as the adult Velocity Girl and then later as the teenage Velocity Kid.

  Alan is hunched over a table. He doesn’t look up as she approaches. “I’ll be with you in a moment, General,” he says.

  Melanie wonders if the coolness of his voice isn’t the real reason she has trouble seeing him like this. Allison was far gentler and kinder than this man before her. The change she knows isn’t her imagination; his wife Sally has talked about it. Allison and Sally had gone forward in time twenty years, but then Allison and Robin’s clone were flung forward much farther, fused into the same cloud of molecules. So in a literal sense Alan is not the same person; he carries the clone’s memories with him. That combined with sixty years spent alone in a desolate future would be enough to change anyone.

  Even his smile doesn’t have the same warmth to it. “What can I do for you, General?”

  “It’s Melanie,” she says. “Remember?”

  “Of course. I thought perhaps this was an official visit.”

  “In part. How are Sally and Jenny getting along?”

  “Very well. Jenny’s a natural. The hard part is getting her to not push herself too much.”

  Melanie nods. About six months ago Jenny Bass had developed the same superspeed as her parents. Unlike them, hers was apparently the result of genetics, not a laboratory accident. She has yet to make her debut as a superhero, but it’s only a matter of time before the whole Velocity Family is called into action.

  Alan leads her along rows of workstations where scientists—all carefully vetted by Melanie and Robin—study the alien technology recovered from Omega’s minions, as well as that modified by Stanford and Dr. Roboto. The process would go easier if Earth’s scientists could access the Peacekeeper database, but that’s not allowed since Earth hasn’t officially accepted Peacekeeper protection. To do that would require a unified world government, something unlikely to happen even after the invasion.

  His office is as small and tidy as Melanie expected. She sits on a hard vinyl chair. She accepts a cup of water from the water cooler in the office. Alan takes one for himself and then sits down. “I don’t suppose you came down here only to ask about Sally and Jenny, did you?”

  “No.” She tells him about her discussions with Sunny Moon, Robin, and Kila. “I need to know if it’s possible for humans to use Peacekeeper technology.”

  “That’s hard for me to say at present. Our knowledge about those staffs of theirs is very limited.”

  “But is it feasible?”

  “I think so, but it would be very difficult. Kila said each staff is coded to its user. In theory there’s probably a way to ‘hack’ that system. The real problem would be the staff is designed to amplify magical abilities. From what I understand the level of aptitude necessary is very rare, which is why there are relatively few Peacekeepers.” Alan pauses to take a sip of his water and let his words sink in. “The reason Kila was able to become one is her father had the aptitude and passed it along—like how I passed my speed to Jenny.”

  Melanie sips from her own cup to buy herself some time to think about this. “Humans can’t do magic. Not the kind of magic the Peacekeepers do.”

  “That we know of.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “There are people who claim to have supernatural abilities: precognition, telekinesis, and so forth. If you give one of those people a Peacekeeper staff, who knows what they could do?”

  Melanie shoots to her feet. Part of the security for the lab includes no lines to the outside world, only a landline to Building Services for maintenance or security issues. “I’ve got to go,” she says. She shakes Alan’s hand briefly.

  She rushes out of the office, but it’s easy for Alan to catch up to her. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Not yet. I might have some information for you later.”

  “It was good seeing you again, Melanie,” he says as they hurry back towards the elevator. “Sally and I are proud of the work you’re doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If you need anything—”

  “I’ll let you know.” She nods to him and then gets into the elevator.

  Once she’s back on the surface she takes out her cell phone. She types in the secure number for the bunker. She’s glad when it’s Robin who answers, not Jessica. “I need you to do something for me. It might be a little difficult—”

  Robin snorts at this. “Just spit it out, kid.”

  “Those people who disappeared, I’ve got a theory. I think they have latent supernatural abilities. Can you check on that?”

  “That really might be difficult. Fun too. What are you going to do?”

  “I have to pay a visit to Gitmo.”

  ***

  In the dark everywhere looks the same. Dr. Pierce shoves her way through some of the brush, certain she’s making far more noise than she should. She doesn’t have any idea where she is; the mapping gadget Diane gave to her got lost somewhere along the way. A lot of her equipment has gotten lost, but at least she still has the guns. If only she knew how to use them.

  She’d waited for hours at the edge of the jungle, trying to see what was happening with Diane. She tried using the binoculars, but she couldn’t see much besides hulking men with guns and the trucks that had raided the village. The more the light faded, the more she knew to expect the worst. Diane would not be coming back. They had taken her along with the others.

  It had been a foolish thing for the girl to do. As capable as she might have seemed, even she couldn’t hope to take on that whole army by herself. At the time it had seemed like a good idea to try to negotiate for the release of the villagers, but as time wore on, Dr. Pierce realized how bad the idea had been.

  She might have waited in the jungle all night, but around sunset she saw some of the men from the camp coming down the hill—towards her. Diane must have told them about her. Dr. Pierce could imagine the torture it must have required to get that girl to talk. She didn’t have much time to imagine it as she had to begin her panicked flight into the jungle.

  Maybe it’s her imagination that she can hear them behind her. It must be her paranoid imagination telling her they’re gaining on her, that they’ll soon reach through the darkness to grab her arms. Then again it might not be those dreadful men; it could be an animal behind her, one of those vicious nighttime predators.

  This is all like a nightmare. Even in her old age she had dreams about this place, fleeing through the dark jungle with a monster on her trail. She never saw the monster, but now in real life it has a face—or faces.

  A branch snaps behind her, far too close for her liking. They’re behind her. They’re gaining on her. Even as a young woman there’s no way for her to outrun them. If they catch her, they’ll take her to their camp to join Diane and the rest. She’ll never escape. None of them will. They’ll be murdered or sold into slavery.

  There’s only one thing she can think of to do. She jumps into the air, her hands reaching for a branch. She barely catches one. She had never been plump, but she had never been muscular either. There was no reason for a GP in the English countryside to have the muscles of an athlete. Her regained youth didn’t change that fact.

  Despite all this, she pulls herself up onto the branch with only a slight grunt. She knows she can’t stop there; she has to get as close to the top as she can. It would be hard to do at any time, but especially in the dark. Dr. Pierce begins a frantic climb. The higher she goes, the more she feels like a child again, like Khala, not Dr. Pierce. She’s pushed down her old life, hidden it away in a secret compartment within her own mind. That compartment opens now and the memories rush back to her.

  She’s done this before. She sees herself as a scrawny child dressed in rags, scampe
ring expertly up the tree to search for hidden treasures: food, water, or maybe one of the gods or goddesses the elders in the village spoke of. She climbed so high she could actually see the moonlight through the branches.

  The problem now is she is not that child anymore. Her body isn’t as lithe, or as little. She climbs onto a branch only for it to snap beneath her weight. She tumbles backwards, but those childish instincts save her; she snatches another branch, this one strong enough to hold her.

  As she dangles from the branch, she hears voices below. “I heard something,” says a gruff voice. The accent sounds Australian.

  “I didn’t,” says an almost identical voice.

  She continues to dangle from the branch, afraid to make even the slightest move out of fear she’ll draw their attention. Her scrawny arms are beginning to burn from the effort of keeping her grip on the branch. Any moment she expects her fingers to slip, to plunge through the branches to land at their feet. Then she won’t have to worry about being sold into slavery; she’ll be dead long before that.

  “Come on, let’s get back. I hate this fucking place. Especially at night.”

  “What about the boss?”

  “He said to look for someone. If we ain’t found no one by now, we ain’t gonna.”

  “Yeah, sure. But you’re the one telling him.”

  “Pussy.”

  Their voices fade until she feels comfortable enough to let out a sigh. Then she swings her feet until she finds another branch. Her entire body starts to quiver as the adrenaline drains from her. She presses herself close to the trunk. So long as no snakes or big cats come up here she should be safe until morning. Then she can continue her journey.

  Chapter 9

  Guontonimo Bay is still home to the world’s most dangerous criminals. Unlike in the past, ninety-nine percent of those prisoners are women now. The felons recaptured after the alien invasion didn’t get changed back to men, the belief being they would be easier to control as women. It’s a view Melanie didn’t share, but she couldn’t get anyone to listen.

  For new criminals, part of the “processing” for male criminals involves having a portable version of the alien weapon used to make them female. The constitutionality of this is still pending in the Supreme Court. If asked, Melanie would testify against it. She’s fought against numerous feminized supervillains; for those of a certain stripe the alien weapon doesn’t hamper their evil urges at all. For some it makes them worse.

  Werner Klinsmann hasn’t been “processed” yet. “Big shots don’t want to risk scrambling his brain yet,” the warden tells Melanie. The weapon itself probably couldn’t scramble Klinsmann’s brain, but the psychological trauma of changing sexes could cause a psychotic break or put him into a catatonic state. For her sake she’s glad those “big shots” haven’t authorized the procedure yet.

  Despite that Klinsmann doesn’t look capable of harming anyone over the age of five, he’s shackled and chained to the table in the interrogation room. The dark circles around his eyes indicate he hasn’t gotten much sleep since being taken from the Outback. Melanie looks over at the two burly guards. “Excuse us please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” one mumbles.

  Ordinarily she would have needed to show them her badge, but to help grease the wheels Melanie changed into the powder blue-and-white catsuit with matching cape and beret she wears for missions—and promotional appearances—as General Gaia. In a place like this it’s a symbol of her authority, of which side she’s on.

  Once the guards have gone, she turns back to Klinsmann. “Would you like anything? A drink? A cigarette?”

  “Cigarettes give you cancer. Only fools smoke those.”

  “You don’t need to worry. In a few days, once they’ve extracted all the information they want, they’ll make you into a cute young girl.” She pauses to let this thought sink in. “I bet you’ll end up looking like that girl on the Swiss Miss box. Or maybe like Heidi.”

  “And I suppose you could stop that from happening? If I agree to help you.”

  “It’s possible. If you agree to help me.”

  “And now I am supposed to ask what information you require.”

  “I need to know about Peacekeeper staffs. My agent says your people were working on adapting them for human use.”

  Klinsmann looks into her eyes, about the only part of the upper half of her face that’s visible behind the white mask she wears. “You suffer under the false assumption that becoming a female holds the terror for me that it does for so many others.”

  “I see. How long have you been a woman trapped in a man’s body?”

  “Ah, now you attack my manhood. You are quite entertaining, General Amis. How old are you: nineteen? Twenty? Much too young to be given such weighty responsibilities.”

  “The rest of the world disagrees.” She leans back in her chair to give her an excuse to break eye contact with him. She had hoped the fear of becoming a woman would be enough incentive for him to talk. Now she sees it will be more difficult. “If you aren’t afraid of becoming a woman, then what is it you want?”

  “Freedom.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Did your feeble American educational system ever tell you about the Paper Clip program?”

  “It was the program after World War II where the American government brought over Nazi scientists to work for them.”

  “Very good, General. What I want is my own Paper Clip. I will grant your government my expertise in exchange for the information you require.”

  “That’s a tall order. I’ll have to consult with the chain of command.”

  “Of course, General.”

  “They might require changing you into a woman as part of the deal.”

  “That’s not unexpected.”

  “And you’d agree to that?”

  “If it’s a necessary sacrifice.” He leers at her. “I did make for a striking young woman during the alien invasion.”

  Melanie tries to see it, but she can’t. “In the meantime, how about you give me a sample? Something I can use to prove you’re cooperating.”

  “Very well. You’re laboring under another false assumption. You’re assuming we’re trying to retrofit Peacekeeper staffs.”

  Melanie considers this. “You’re trying to build new ones. Who gave you the specs? Who’s behind this?”

  “All in good time, General.”

  She could try to beat the information out of him or otherwise torture him for it as Midnight Spectre usually did. She knows this room is being monitored by video cameras and microphones. Beating up a shackled criminal could land her in here in chains.

  Instead she nods to him and then goes outside. “Take him back to his cell,” she tells the guards. Then she goes to speak with the most powerful people on Earth to get a criminal released.

  ***

  Walking through the jungle is much more difficult without Diane along. It felt so good to have someone to talk to, even if the girl hated to talk. Khala hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she talked when she got nervous. That peculiarity is part of the reason she became a GP, not a surgeon as her father would have liked. There’s no way she could have kept a scalpel steady in her hand while her patient was dying.

  In her practice she had largely dealt with minor problems: colds, flus, and all those old person afflictions. On occasion someone came in with a deep cut she would have to stitch up. Those were the worst. She would start chattering about anything that popped into her head to distract her from the thought of making the cut worse.

  This task Diane has given her is clearly beyond her capabilities. She’s not the sort who can go behind enemy lines, who can endure the pressure of cloak-and-dagger games. Why hadn’t she given herself up to those men?

  She lets out a yelp as a snake slithers along the path in front of her. She puts both hands over her mouth to keep from making any other noises that might draw its attention. Her zoology classes are long behind her, so she can’t remem
ber if it’s the kind of snake that’s poisonous. In this jungle it’s best to assume everything is dangerous.

  Another childhood memory comes to her. An old woman squats on the ground in the village. A snake is coiled up in front of her. “You must not fear the snake, young one. Fear is the enemy.” Then the old woman expertly grabbed the snake just below its jaws. The snake’s body wriggled, but its head couldn’t move.

  The old woman holds the snake up to Khala. The snake’s tongue flicks out of its mouth while its body continues to thrash. Khala is working up the courage to touch its head when the old woman hurls the snake at her. Khala squeals as she tries to back away. As she scampers away, she hears the old woman laughing.

  It’s no wonder she’s afraid of snakes after such a ghastly incident. And no wonder she tried not to think about this place all those years in England. She had become a different person, one who believed in science, in reason, not superstition. She had accepted God, not gods.

  She had become a proper young woman; only her skin and hair testified to where she had come from. That was the one thing she could never erase, though she had wished desperately for it until she met Walter. His gentle love had reassured her that her past, her skin, and her hair didn’t matter. In time she had come to believe it, only doubting it when the occasional new patient or person on the street would give her a look or make some obscene remark.

  The snake has returned to the trees, where it belongs. Khala tries to move faster. Those nasty men might not be on her trail anymore, but she still needs to find someone she can ask to help. She needs to contact that General Amis Diane mentioned. Surely a general will be able to rescue Diane and the others.