Fat Girl in a Strange Land

by Leib, Bart R.

  They’d fought their way through double their number in Ahmani soldiers grabbing weapons as they went. Donna wouldn’t have tried to escape if she’d doubted her comrades. This was no time to start.

  Donna walked. The battle played out in the sands in front of her.

  The raiders must have been lost in the storm. Donna’s men had stumbled in among them, and that was the best thing that could have happened. Raiders knew the deep desert and if they’d had a chance to prepare an ambush, Donna’s band would never have had a chance.

  As it stood it looked about even. And bloody. The heat made for sloppy fighting. Men dropped their guards, and exhaustion led to fatal mistakes. Donna could make out Thomak, who’d thrown three guards from the wall in the escape. He stood in place, staring down at the end of the spear that a raider had plunged into his gut. Donna counted her steps. She took five before he fell. The raider who’d killed Thomak stood over him admiring his work a moment too long and another of Donna’s men cracked his skull with a club. Wellin, maybe? Donna thought it was Wellin. Not one for tactics, but strong as an ox.

  Gut or skull? How do you want to die?

  Donna measured each step in blood and death. Neither side was backing down. They were in this to the end. Half the distance and men were dying every few steps, but it was still too far to break into a run.

  Her side was winning, but the raiders refused to back down. And Donna suddenly realized something else. Winning could mean losing.

  Now Donna did hurry her step. She coughed dust as she reached the edge of the fighting.

  Wellin was being driven back, barely able to defend against a flurry of slashing attacks from a cloaked raider with a curved sabre. Wellin swung the club in a wide arc to try to make some space, but the raider ducked inside his guard and cut a bloody line down Wellin’s arm from the elbow to the wrist.

  Donna caught Wellin by the shoulder and flung him into the sand to get her own body into the path of the raider’s attack.

  Fighting to protect my friends. That’s how. Or at least it’s good enough.

  The sabre swept at her head, but Donna caught the raider’s wrist. She probably had fifty pounds on him, and she knew how to use it. Her shoulder took the impact of his chest and she shifted her body just enough to get him off his feet. The blade of her knife slipped between his ribs as he came back to earth and she wrenched his wrist to make sure he dropped the sabre.

  It was over. A quick glance around her showed her a dozen of her men still standing.

  Then she saw Jaxian finishing one of the last of the raiders.

  “No!” Donna was running again. Jax was lost to rage, raising his sword over his head as he stood over his foe. Donna used her shoulder again, hitting Jax from the side. He stumbled three steps and spun, ready to attack. Donna stared him down.

  “Fight’s over, soldier!” She barked the order like she was drilling recruits. It worked. Jax stood panting and lowered his weapon.

  Donna looked for Wellin. One of the other men was wrapping Wellin’s arm.

  “You speak their language?” Donna asked.

  Wellin stood and pulled away from the man who was treating his wound.

  “I picked up some in the markets.”

  Donna pointed to the surviving raider.

  “Ask him how he wants to die,” she said.

  Jax came to stand beside Donna as Wellin knelt to speak to the man.

  Wellin stood to translate the response.

  “He says he wants to die an old man. With his family.”

  “That’s a good answer,” Donna said. “Tell him it’s a good answer.”

  Donna turned and patted Jax on the shoulder as she went to check on the rest of the men.

  As she stepped away, she looked back at Wellin and said, “Now ask him where we can find water.”

  Rick Silva has been involved in writing and small press publishing since his college days. He published and edited Kinships magazine. Along with his wife Gynn, Rick is a partner in Dandelion Studios, a small press comic book company. Rick co-writes the Dandelion Studios comics Zephyr and Reginald: Minions for Hire, Stone, Kaeli and Rebecca, and Perils of Picorna. He publishes his own print zine, Caravan, and writes a comic book review blog. Rick was a featured contributor for the fiction webzine The Edge of Propinquity where he wrote two serials, Luminations and Four Visitors, over a five year period. Recent prose publications include stories the Apex Books anthology, Close Encounters of the Urban Kind and in the Space Tramps (Full Throttle Space Tales) anthology from Flying Pen Press. Rick Silva grew up in Boston, Massachusetts, attended Cornell University, and currently teaches chemistry at a high school on Cape Cod, where he resides with his wife and son, and three cats.

  Nemesis

  by Nicole Prestin

  * * *

  Liberty Force’s logo stretched across the uniform fabric, the golden scales of justice glittering underneath the bright fluorescent lab lights. Flux shot a bewildered glance over at her new teammates, Calculus and Silhouette, who both looked like they expected her to burst into praise. When Silhouette’s bright smile grew more and more awkward as the moments passed in silence, Flux realized this wasn’t part of the tour for the newbie. This was a uniform made for especially for her.

  Her lips flattened with the effort of trying to repress a tired and frustrated sigh, but she couldn’t keep it from breaking free. “You’re kidding me.”

  Calculus cleared his throat and squirmed inside his crisp white lab coat. “I’m sorry?”

  Flux pointed at the uniform. “I hope you didn’t make that for me, because I’m not going to wear it.”

  Calculus’s eyelids fluttered in a series of puzzled blinks as though that would somehow help him understand her objection. But Flux figured if the resident scientific genius couldn’t see the problem with putting a formfitting bodysuit on a forty-five-year-old, size fourteen woman, no amount of blinking would clear it up for him.

  “It’s made with my new experimental fiber and protects the wearer from subzero to 300 degree temperatures, high voltages, and wind burn. I wove sensors into the mesh to monitor your heart rate, assess any injuries, and track your location. Also, I’m ninety-seven percent certain that it will be able to withstand the stress of your molecular manipulation field if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Flux did her best not to let her irritation get the better of her, instead spreading her hands wide to acknowledge the scientific prowess that must have had gone into making such a high tech body condom. “Look, I appreciate that you went to all of this trouble and some of that sounds really useful, but I have my own gear.”

  Silhouette gaped at her. One slender hand fluttered against the hollow of her throat, punctuating how aghast she was with each birdlike twitch. “The rest of the team wears this uniform. You can’t be the only one who doesn’t.”

  Flux crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not? Epsilon didn’t say that I had to wear one when he recruited me.”

  “But what about the brand?”

  Flux’s golden eyebrows arched ceilingward. “The brand? You mean want me to wear this thing so all of the action figures will match?”

  She’d seen the Liberty Force toys in the stores, of course, but it never occurred to her that she’d have anything to do with them.

  “Goodness, no! Your age and…” Silhouette’s critical gaze swept over Flux from head to toe. “…other factors make you unmarketable to the youth demographic. Tie in merchandizing is out of the question. The problem is the damage you’ll do to the team’s image.”

  Flux’s temper began to simmer, but she focused on her goal. “The team’s image will be a lot worse if I run around looking like an idiot. There’s no way that uniform is going to look good on me.”

  “But changing your weight is your metahuman power, right? Between that and a makeover, the team’s image should stay mostly intact. I can do damage control for the rest.”

  Even Calculus looked taken aback at that, but it bec
ame clear that Silhouette’s scientific ignorance was the cause as he explained the difference between density and weight and how Flux’s molecular manipulation field would have no effect on her looks. Silhouette’s frown deepened as she listened, almost a mirror image of the scowl on Flux’s own lips.

  “Well then, we’ll just have to get you active and put you on an exercise regimen.”

  The heat of Flux’s anger seemed to make all the words she wanted to say stick in her dry throat. Of course she exercised. Staying in shape was how she’d managed to stay alive fighting crime on her own before she joined Omega Force.

  “We’re done here,” Flux snapped as she turned her back on the pair and made her way for the door.

  Silhouette’s tone went from condescending to ice cold. Her high heels clicked against the tiled floor in her effort to catch up, the sounds echoing like gunshots. “We are not done. We need to discuss the plan.” When Flux didn’t even bother to answer or slow down, Silhouette started to sputter. “You can’t just go out in public looking this way.”

  “You mean fat and middle aged? That’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last decade.”

  “In Omaha. This isn’t flyover country, Flux. This soccer mom thing might play well in middle America, but this is the big leagues and the tabloids are going to eat you alive.”

  “I’m not changing for you or for anyone because I happen to be fine with how I look.”

  The look of surprise on Silhouette’s face would have been hilarious if her attitude wasn’t so frustrating. Disgusted, Flux waited until the last second before turning from the door and making for the wall. Flux’s molecular manipulation flared around her and as she stepped through the wall. The last thing she heard was a shrill “I’m going to speak to Epsilon about this!”

  * * *

  Silhouette’s attitude stung, but she wasn’t wrong about the press. When a picture of Flux hit the newsfeeds a few days later, the media frenzy over Liberty Force’s newest member began.

  Even though the photo was taken at a distance, it was obvious that Flux wasn’t shaped like a typical skinny athletic metahuman. The caption underneath read: “Liberty Force Gambles City’s Future on Midwestern Soccer Mom.”

  Flux’s stomach dropped to her toes as she scanned through the rest of the feeds, especially when she read that the mayor and three city councilmen promised to form a committee and demand answers for why she was chosen in the first place.

  Worse, there wasn’t a public statement from Epsilon, the leader of Omega Force, defending his decision. It made her wonder if he was thinking about sending her home before she even got the chance to prove herself on an actual mission.

  And then she made the mistake of scrolling through the comments, growing more and more numb as she read. Some were juvenile like: “WTF? Is she going to save the doughnut shop from getting attacked?” and “Maybe she can sit on the bad guys, lol.” The worst were the articulate ones like: “This is just political correctness gone too far. There should be standards to be on a metahuman team — a decision like this puts the city in danger.”

  Flux turned the screen off, wondering if the picture had been released by Silhouette as some sort of petty attempt to prove her point. She sat at the terminal for a long time, chewing on her lip as she tried to figure out what she wanted to do. She was tempted to just go back to Omaha. The only thing that stopped her from packing all of her stuff was that she couldn’t bring herself to quit before she’d even started.

  She was still sitting at the terminal when the alarm went off.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Flux stared out the air transport’s open floor hatch and prepared to jump into the evening sky. Around her the team listened to the briefing, even as several of them glanced at her as though they thought she might start freaking out. Flux squared her shoulders and when the red control light turned green, she dropped into the sky.

  There were ten long seconds of heart stopping free fall as they cleared the transport and then the anti-grav packs strapped to their backs kicked in. Saved from becoming a smear on the streets below, they broke into two groups and streaked towards city hall.

  Underneath her leather, Flux was soaked in a cold sweat. This was her first air drop — her crime fighting transportation in Omaha had consisted of a much more comfortable motorcycle. She was grateful for the mask that covered the top half of her face and was careful not to let her fear show in the line of her lips. Nevertheless, her legs trembled and she heaved a sigh of relief when her feet hit the roof.

  February shrugged off her own anti grav pack and left it on the rooftop. Then she turned and gave Flux an appraising look, before nodding and saying, “Pretty good for a first drop.”

  Flux shrugged and murmured thanks. Out of all of the Liberty Force members, the tall blonde was the most famous, partially because she was one of the founding members and partially because she could have had a career as a supermodel.

  February turned to Silhouette and smirked. “The first time you did a jump like that, you screamed like a three year old the whole way down.”

  Silhouette’s mouth turned down into a disapproving frown that Flux was all too familiar with, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she snapped, “Well at least I was wearing the uniform while I did it.”

  “Are you still bitching about that?” February said with an eye roll that ended with her glancing down at the material stretched across her chest. “I like her gear. It looks a lot better than the stupid shit we wear.”

  “Our suits were designed by Nike. If we don’t wear them, we’ll lose our corporate sponsors.”

  “So?” February said. “When we get back I’m going to get one of my own. I’m sick of not being able to eat a slice of pizza now and then because it might show up on my ass later. This goddamn material shows everything.”

  Silhouette’s glare bounced between them as her mouth opened and shut. Whatever she wanted to say seemed to catch in her throat. Flux couldn’t tell who Silhouette was angrier with: Flux for introducing the rogue idea or February for to defecting to the enemy camp.

  Before she could find out which it was, she took both women by the hand and phased, dropping them all through the roof.

  Three stories down their feet hit the carpeted floor. February shot Flux a grin over two thumbs up while Silhouette jerked her hand away.

  Epsilon’s voice came over their earpiece. “We have a problem. All communications in the conference room have been cut off. They’ve blocked the security vids. We’re going to have come up with a way to find out what’s going on in there. Any ideas?”

  There was silence over the comm until Flux said, “I have one.”

  As she explained her plan, she removed her mask and unzipped her leather jacket.

  * * *

  With some help from Calculus, who used uploaded schematics to guide her, Flux found the office right underneath the conference room. Silhouette rolled her eyes at the plan, but Feburary helped her stack the furniture high enough for Flux to climb to the top and phase her head slowly through the ceiling. When she saw that the large conference table shielded her from view, she heaved a sigh of relief and shimmied all the way up.

  From her vantage point all she could see were black high heels, expensive Italian loafers and four pairs of out-of-place combat boots roaming the large room. Flux adjusted the tiny camera she’d attached to her shirt and murmured as loudly as she dared, “Are you getting this?”

  “Perfect,” Epsilon said.

  “Okay, here I go,” she said as she took her earpiece out and stuck it up under the table where she hoped it wouldn’t be found. Then she screwed her face up and did her best approximation of a frightened sob. Maddeningly, it took a couple of tries to catch the gunman’s attention, but finally stomping boots and angry shouts were followed by people scrambling to get out of the way. A rough hand grabbed her by an ankle and jerked her out from underneath the table.

  “Who the hell is this?” demanded the man acros
s the room holding the cell phone in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other.

  “I swear I checked underneath there before. I don’t know where she came from.”

  The leader’s gaze raked over her form and Flux held her breath. “Right. Like she just came out of nowhere.”

  Flux figured that it should be obvious to anyone with half a brain that she had come out of nowhere; her white tank top and pants didn’t exactly scream business casual. But they didn’t seem to notice, even when the hostages themselves gave her puzzled stares. So she was declared harmless, shoved towards one of the office chairs, and told that if she moved again, she’d get a bullet through her skull.

  After that, they forgot about her, the leader returning to his ransom demands, the rest continuing their heavy pacing in a circuit around the room watching the double doors and drawn blind windows. Flux made sure not to draw any more attention to herself when she shifted in her chair to make sure that her teammates got a good look at the room and everyone in it.

  Minutes dragged on as the leader became louder and more terse on the phone. The room started to stink of sweat as the mayor, city council and the rest of the hostages picked up on their captor’s anger. Some tried as hard as Flux not to draw attention to themselves; others were crying.

  As more minutes passed, it became harder and harder for Flux not to act. She glanced at the table, wishing she’d been able to keep her earpiece so she could at least hear what was going on even if she couldn’t talk. The team should have been here by now, and she figured that they must have run into some unexpected trouble somewhere.

  When an explosion shook the building and rattled the windows, she knew that she was right. The leader yelled into the cell phone in a red-faced rage, “You tell those spandex wearing assholes if they don’t back off, we’re going to start killing people.”