Girl Power Omnibus (Gender Swap Superhero Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  No, her name wasn’t Starla. Her name was Gor-Bul. She was from Kor-Gan. Her father had only compounded his guilt by sending his son away from his dying planet. He had cowardly left his son—now his daughter—to stand trial for his crimes. That was not something that would sit well with the Elders.

  Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. Perhaps she could put Starla—Gor-Bul—on the stand. The Elders could see then that the young woman was not an evil menace; she was sweet and gentle and yet courageous. She had tried to stand up to an Ix’Lx and a Sqed despite their advantages in size and strength. Even afterwards instead of bitterness or fear she had joked with Kila.

  If the Elders could see that, they might realize Gor-Bul of Kor-Gan was no threat to them or the rest of the universe. They might decide on mercy for her. She could spend the rest of her life in a work camp, making up in some small way for the crimes of her people.

  Would that truly be mercy? She would face even more threats in a work camp than the prison cafeteria. How long would the young woman last in there? Months? Perhaps only days.

  Kila wrung her hands. It might be best to simply let them kill Gor-Bul outright, to save her some pain. Then Kila thought again of Gor-Bul’s bright smile and her “gallows humor” as she called it. No, she didn’t want Gor-Bul to die or be forced into a work camp.

  She needed to make the Elders see her client was innocent. To do that, she would need some help.

  ***

  Allison spent the rest of the night huddled under a half-dozen comforters in the penthouse. Without anyone to supervise her, she had broken into the minibar to consume all of the tiny bottles of alcohol. Even as a teenager her high-speed metabolism kept the alcohol from doing more than giving her a slight buzz for a couple of minutes.

  She found Sally down in the hotel’s kitchen. Sally tossed something yellow at her. Allison caught it and then turned it over to see it was a Twinkie. “Apparently these do last forever,” Sally said.

  Allison opened the wrapper and bit into the snack cake. It tasted a little stale, but much better than baked beans. “Thanks,” she said. “And I’m sorry about last night.”

  “I’m sorry too. It’s stupid of me to keep thinking of you as Alan. You’d think after four years I might finally get it that you’re not.” She tousled Allison’s hair. “You’re a sixteen-year-old girl. If you want to crush on some guy named Roland there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “We can still be partners, can’t we?”

  “I don’t see where we have much choice right now.”

  Besides the Twinkies, they found a couple of cans of peaches that hadn’t turned black yet. Allison supposed if they were here much longer they’d have to look for some seeds to plant crops. They could have their own little farm in the Midwest, just the two of them—to do what? They were both girls; there was no way for them to carry on the species unless they found some frozen sperm they could inject into themselves. Even then, humanity would probably die out in another generation or two.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “I was thinking about if we really are the only two people left.”

  “I’m sure we’re not. There have to be survivors somewhere. We need to find them.”

  “I hope so.”

  Sally came around the table to wrap an arm around Allison’s shoulders. “We have to stay positive. We’ll find someone.”

  An explosion rocked the hotel. Allison and Sally turned to see the lobby was in ashes. Into the blasted room came a trio of robots, each one vaguely humanoid with gunmetal gray armor and glowing red eyes that were probably scanners. Instead of hands, each sported what appeared to be laser guns.

  “We found someone,” Allison said. “What do we do?”

  “Let’s give them the slip. There should be an exit through the kitchen.”

  They sped through the kitchen, out a back door, into an alley. There they found another trio of robots waiting for them. Red light from one of the robot eyes washed over Allison. “Identify: human female. Sixteen years old. Genetic modification detected.”

  Another eye ran over Sally. “Identify: human female. Thirty-nine years old.”

  “Thirty-seven!” Sally protested.

  “Genetic modification detected. Detain subjects.”

  “Like hell,” Sally said.

  They both knew better than to try to punch robots; even at superspeed that would break their hands. Instead they bolted past the robots. Soon they were on a highway out of Denver, the robots far behind—or so Allison thought until a missile sent her tumbling forward, over the hood of a rusty minivan to land hard on the pavement.

  She rubbed the side of her head as Sally came to a stop beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Just got the wind knocked out of me,” Allison said.

  “What was that?”

  Allison was going to say she didn’t know, but then she heard the whine of jet engines. She pointed up towards the sky. A half-dozen craft that vaguely resembled V-22 Osprey cargo planes hovered in the air. Each plane rippled with weapons, including missile launchers like the one that had sent Allison sprawling.

  “We’re in trouble,” Sally said.

  They managed to start running again before the aircraft opened fire. This time they zigzagged around to make themselves harder targets. Somehow the aircraft managed to keep pace with them. Allison gritted her teeth and forced herself to run faster.

  She screamed from a pain in her left shoulder. She stumbled over the pavement as she came out of superspeed. Allison tumbled again, this time rolling a good quarter mile down the pavement. She finally came to a stop, her body too battered for her to get back to her feet.

  Sally knelt down beside her again. “Come on, Ally, get up.”

  “Leave me,” Allison whispered. “Slowing you down.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I need you.” Sally grinned at her. “We both know you’re the one in charge.”

  “I’m not. I’m just a kid.”

  Against Allison’s wishes, Sally scooped her up in her arms. “I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

  Sally took off running. As Allison knew, she was slowing Sally down, making it easier for the aircraft to target her. Missile hits came within inches of them, but somehow Sally kept her feet. Allison knew this could only last so long. Then the human race would be extinct for good.

  Two of the aircraft exploded, seemingly on their own. Another two soon followed this. Allison didn’t understand what was happening, not until she saw the black arrowhead shape swoop down from the clouds. A pair of missiles blazed out from its weapons bay. The last two aircraft went up in a plume of fire.

  Sally came to a stop. They watched as the black plane set down on the road in front of them. The cockpit opened. From it emerged a woman, her long hair white and back stooped like an old woman’s. She was clad in Midnight Spectre’s uniform, its material patched in dozens of places.

  “You girls better hurry,” the old woman said. “Unless you want to stay here and get blown to bits.”

  “Robin?”

  The old woman nodded. “I imagine there’s a lot we need to catch up on. It’d be better to do it at home. There are some bandages for Allison too.”

  Sally looked down at Allison, who shrugged her good shoulder. They didn’t seem to have much choice except to go with this spectre of Midnight Spectre.

  Chapter 12

  The jetcopter was somewhere over Nevada when Melanie ducked into the cargo compartment to check on her team. It was about what she expected: Hitter sulked, Neanderthal gorged on a bag of potato chips, and Ion Girl was back at work on her suit. Hitter looked up at her and asked, “Where’s this carnival off to next?”

  “Atomic City.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Ion Girl said behind her welding mask.

  “You really think that TV stunt accomplished anything? There probably wasn’t anyone watching,” Hitter grumbled.

  “Maybe not, but anyone who saw it will hopefully pass on the wo
rd.”

  “Including any of our enemies.”

  Melanie sat down beside the assassin. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She was glad Hitter didn’t try to shake it away. “I don’t like doing PR either, but we have to make ourselves visible. People need to know they aren’t alone.”

  “At least you gals got to show your faces. Here I was making my TV debut and I’m stuck wearing a helmet,” Ion Girl said. “Maybe next time we can dress you up in the armor.”

  “I’m not a goddamned cheerleader,” Hitter said.

  “Come on, I think you’d look cute as a cheerleader,” Ion Girl teased.

  “Knock it off—” Melanie stopped as she realized she didn’t know Ion Girl’s real name. She sighed and then said, “Look, we’re going to be together for a while. We ought to know what to call each other. Ion Girl, what’s your name—your real name?”

  “Thomas Patrick Kinney.” In a fake Irish accent she added, “Me parents hailed from County Cork in the old country.”

  “That’s a nice name,” Melanie said. “Maybe a little too masculine now. Have you considered a girlier name?”

  “Not really. You got one of them baby books on here?”

  “Afraid not.” Melanie thought it over. “How about Tonya? That’s close to Tommy.”

  Ion Girl shrugged. “Tonya Kinney. Not bad.”

  Melanie patted Hitter’s hand. “What about you? Have you thought of a new name?”

  “I don’t want a new name.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun. Is there a name you always wanted to use on a fake passport or something?”

  “Not a girl’s name.”

  “Remember what I told you? Try to embrace this.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you go first.”

  “I did. The name on my birth certificate—the original—is Melvin James Amis.”

  The newly-christened Tonya snickered at this. “No wonder you changed it.”

  Melanie’s cheeks warmed as she thought back to when she’d woke up in the hospital as a girl. She had been aware of the change before she passed out inside Dr. Roboto’s monster, but when she woke up she hoped perhaps it had been a dream. That idea lasted the two seconds it took for her to look down at her chest. “It was my mom’s idea. She thought it would keep people from recognizing me if I had a ‘normal’ name. My grandma was named Melanie, so that’s what she decided to rename me.”

  “Aw, that’s so cute,” Tonya said.

  “So, maybe you have a grandma whose name you could take?”

  “No,” Hitter said.

  “Well, what’s your real name?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  “Come on, all I have to do is use the computer and I can pull it from the files.”

  Hitter glared at her for a moment. She finally relented to say, “Darrien Giordano.”

  Melanie considered this. “What about Darla?”

  “No.”

  “Deanne?”

  “No.”

  “Danielle?”

  Hitter glared at Melanie as if she were about to pull out her gun. “No.”

  It was Tonya who finally suggested, “How about Diane?”

  “That’s nice,” Melanie said. “How about it?”

  “Fine. If it’ll get you off my back.”

  “All right. That’s two. Now, what about you?” Melanie asked Neanderthal.

  “Me Garlak,” she said through a mouthful of chips.

  “Good luck with that,” Diane said with a snort.

  “Well, how about—”

  “Me Garlak!” Her voice left little room for argument.

  “All right, you’re Garlak. Now, when we get to Atomic City—”

  “Sorry, boss—I mean Melanie, but you think we could make a stop somewhere first?”

  “You got to potty?” Diane teased.

  “No. I’ve done all I can here, but this equipment isn’t much good. You think we could make a pit stop?”

  “Where?”

  “At my old workshop.”

  ***

  Tonya’s old workshop turned out to be in suburban Detroit, in an old mechanic’s shop. Melanie set the jetcopter down on the roof of an elementary school at the end of the block. She looked down at the fuel gauge. “We’re going to need some gas. Think you can keep an eye on Tonya while the rest of us hit the airport?”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Why not? Diane and Garlak aren’t going to hurt me. If they’d wanted to they could have done it already.”

  “The airport is about fifteen miles away. If there’s trouble—”

  “If there’s trouble we’ll handle it.” Melanie forced herself to smile. “We’re a team now, remember?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t worry so much. I think we’re starting to gel.”

  “For the world’s sake I hope so.”

  Paul and Tonya stayed behind while Melanie lifted off in the jetcopter. Diane slid up into the co-pilot’s seat. “This is pretty fancy,” she said.

  “Midnight Spectre tends to think of everything.”

  “Uh-huh. You sure splitting up is a good idea? Detroit was already a nasty place before that weapon.”

  “We don’t have much choice about it unless you want to walk to Atomic City.”

  “Why are we going there next?”

  “It’s a high-profile target. You remember the Doolittle Raid on Tokyo?”

  “History wasn’t my strongest subject.”

  “In World War II, General Doolittle led a group of B-25 bombers from an aircraft carrier in the Pacific to attack Tokyo. There wasn’t a lot of strategic value; it was more to send a message that we could hit Japan where they lived, like Pearl Harbor.”

  “And what happened to Doolittle and those blokes?”

  “Most of them made it back. They had to ditch their planes, though.”

  “That bodes well.”

  “So you see, if we hit Atomic City, it’ll show the supervillains we’re capable of getting them anywhere.”

  “And what, they’ll throw up their hands and surrender?”

  “No, of course not. Some of their henchwomen might. And like with the TV broadcast, maybe it will help people fight back.”

  “Sounds like a nice story.”

  The airport came into view. There were fires smoldering from where planes had crashed while attempting to land or take off when the alien weapon struck. Melanie tried not to think of how many lives had been lost thanks to that—thanks to Robin. She forced herself to focus on finding a good place to land.

  As she circled over the airport, she saw this wouldn’t be as easy as she’d let Paul think. There were dozens of motorcycles down on the tarmac. These weren’t the kind middle-aged men rode on weekends to seem cool or hippies rode to conserve gas. These were the kind that belonged to actual motorcycle gangs.

  “What’s all that?” Diane asked.

  “Nothing good.”

  There was a thump a foot or two away from Melanie’s seat. She yanked back on the control stick. “Did they shoot at us?”

  “Yep,” Melanie said.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We go down and introduce ourselves.”

  ***

  Melanie landed on the end of a runway. She wasn’t sure what exactly they could expect, but she figured it wouldn’t be a tickertape parade. In the cargo bay she patted Garlak’s shoulder. “I want you to lead the way for us. They’ll probably come out to greet us, so be ready.”

  “What me get for this?”

  “It’s an airport so they should have lots of peanuts,” Diane said.

  “Cut it out. You’re a superhero now, Garlak. We don’t do things for profit.”

  “That dumb.”

  “She’s got you there.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Me want shiny things.”

  “Shiny things?”

  “I think she means your earrings, love.”

  “Oh.” Melanie
patted the studs in her ears. “Sure, we can get you some earrings. Maybe some bracelets or a necklace too.”

  “Good. Like shiny things.”

  “Some people are easy to please,” Diane said.

  “Are we good now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then lead on.” Melanie dropped the ramp. Garlak stomped down it. While they were finding her some jewelry, maybe they could get the cavewoman something to wear that might actually cover her.

  It didn’t take long before Melanie heard the roar of engines. She watched a couple of Harleys approach at full speed. Their owners had mounted grinning skulls between the handlebars to give them a more menacing appearance. Melanie reached into a pocket for a shuriken while Diane took off the safety on her pistol. “Try not to kill them,” Melanie whispered.

  “You want me to try to miss?”

  “Can’t you aim for something nonvital? Maybe a kneecap?”

  “Course I can, love. Just don’t see much point in it.”

  “The point is not to leave a trail of blood in our wake.”

  Diane snorted at this. Melanie hoped she would at least try not to kill anyone straight away. It was bad enough she’d killed Inertia with little Jenny Bass in the room; the toddler would probably be traumatized for life. Such things didn’t seem to bother Diane, at least not that she let on. She hoped after their recent talks the girl might have started to come around.

  As the motorcycles closed in, Melanie saw their riders looked not much smaller than Garlak, a couple of Amazons in black leather with long hair trailing behind them like a banner. To Melanie’s relief they seemed to be only armed with chains at the moment. She put a hand on Diane’s arm. “Let Garlak take them.”

  Diane snorted, but put the safety back on. Garlak let out a primal roar and then beat her chest like Tarzan. That was probably how her ancestors had psyched themselves up for battle. The challenge issued, the cavewoman rushed forward.

  The bikers wrapped their chains around Garlak’s arms. This turned out to be their undoing. With seemingly little effort, Garlak yanked both riders off their bikes. The bikers screamed with surprise before they wiped out at Garlak’s feet. The out of control motorcycles skidded along the runway to finally stop near the jetcopter.