In celebration of our librarian's birthday, I thought I'd drop a little story here.
Means to an End
by Shadar
(To celebrate Woodclaw’s birthday)
The two costumed crime fighters stood side by side, staring at a huge display screen. Filling the screen was a slightly shaky image of a young but powerfully-muscled blonde woman with a long red cape. She was flying. Very fast.
"The Batdrone is really coming along," said the tall, bulky man. He spoke with a flat Mid-Western accent, his hair cut in an old-fashioned way, one lock of black hair falling low on his brow. His cheap, ill-fitting business suit was typical for a City Desk reporter. "What's she clocking?"
"Just over Mach 2," his companion replied, his voice very low, bordering on gravely. He was expensively dressed, his clothing tailored to his muscular form. "But that's no problem for the Gen 3 drones, Clark. Optics are much better too."
He touched a button on the small screen next to him, and the camera zoomed into a closeup. The supersonic shock waves streaming off the flyer's body were faintly visible as condensation lines. Her short hair and cape were streaming straight back, free of any turbulence.
"Kara is becoming erratic," Clark continued. "Using unsound tactics."
"Has she failed in any way?" Bruce asked. "Anyone hurt or killed. Any perps getting away? Property damaged unnecessarily?"
Clark shook his head. "Nothing like that. Just watch, my friend."
The two old friends and fellow crimefighters watched as the young woman dove for the ground, flashing into an alleyway in a bad neighborhood of Gotham City, still supersonic. She hit the ground hard enough for her blue boots to shatter the old concrete, the shock wave and blast of air flipping a trash dumpster down the alley.
Back in Batman's expensive headquarters, the massive speakers on either side of the screen reproduced enough of her shockwave to flatten the observer's clothing against their bodies as well.
"That'll let the bad guys know she's there," Bruce offered. "Very powerful. Dramatic. Probably smart in a hostage situation like this. Take control. Those perps want to get paid, not die."
The drone's camera zoomed in closer yet, and the beeps and honks and general traffic noise of the downtown of a large city flooded the room.
“Your new system has impressive sound," Clark said, one eyebrow raising. "Just like being there."
"I added the audio maser to this version. Adjustable focus and beam width. Ultra-fidelity. Subsonic to supersonic response curve.”
Clark chuckled. "Guess I'll start coming to you to get my ears checked."
"The trick is to make it real, my friend. Everything but the pain."
"Well, its the closest thing I've seen or heard to being there."
Bruce turned to look at his old friend, wearing one of his rare smiles. It was hard to impress Clark. He'd seen things, felt things, done things that a human could only imagine, but never truly comprehend.
The girl on the screen was his cousin from another dimension. Which should have been a radical concept, but after knowing Clark for all these years, few things surprised Bruce Wayne anymore.
The two men watched as the girl slowly walking down the alley. The three patrol cops who'd been hunkered down at the end of the alleyway saw her and began to retreat, their commanding officer ducking behind the overturned dumpster as she approached. She paused, standing in the open just beyond the end of the dumpster.
The officer hiding behind the dumpster looked very uncomfortable as he struggled to focus on the girl’s face, his mind racing as the jitters from a combat-sized dose of adrenaline made his hands shake slightly. Yet his first thought upon seeing her standing there was that no girl with a face as young as hers should have a figure like that. Not to mention showing it off so salaciously, legs bare, the huge cutout over her chest, muscles that were the feminine equivalent of Superman's. She was truly a female Superman, far more so than Superman's wife, who looked more like a model. He found her combination of muscle and youth unsettling, intimidating and dangerously distracting all at the same time.
So much so that he had to smack his head against the dumpster with a clang. Knocking some sense into himself.
"Ah... yeah, its really good to have you here, Powergirl," he finally managed to say, searching for words. "We, ah, we got some perps in the building at the end, and they've got some serious artillery. Full auto, large caliber. They're holding a bunch of hostages, most of them girls. A middle-school soccer team."
The girl the world called Powergirl looked up to scan the building, her eyes flashing a brighter shade of sky blue. She blinked her eyes as she slowly turned to look down at the officer, her irises fading back to normal brightness.
"To be precise, Captain Pettigrew, there are sixteen hostages including four adults. Weapons are FN-FAL 7.62 caliber assault rifles. Austrian. The best. The shooters are in body armor and they have fragmentation grenades and a dozen spare magazines each. Also six IED's made from plastic explosive arranged in a circle around the hostages with a radio-link detonator. Gas masks with rebreathers too."
"Damn," Pettigrew cursed. "We aren't ready for this. Didn't consider the explosives. Didn't figure this as terrorism, but rather some kind of super-rich kid abduction. These kids go to an exclusive private school here in Gotham. Not exactly local goons, are they?"
She shook her head. "They're wearing identical tactical suits with excellent Russian body armor. They have military haircuts and all are in excellent physical condition with no identifying tattoos. These men have been seriously trained. They are also all Caucasian with light eyes, so likely northern European origin. Not skinheads though. Very high-end mercenaries or maybe ex-special forces."
"Foreign terrorists or homegrown?"
She looked back up at the building, eyes brightening again. "OK... given that their weapons and explosives and ammo are all European origin, including the plastique, likely foreign. They aren't speaking or carrying any kind of ID, not even labels in their uniforms. I can't narrow it down further."
Pettigrew shivered. That description fitted the Russian irregulars who'd been operating in the Ukraine. His brother, who worked for the CIA, had whispered that a number of them had dropped off the map during the last year. Nobody knew where they'd gone, but his people thought they'd gone rogue. He key'd his radio to speak softly into his neck mike, relaying what she'd told him. His face turning gray as he listened to the reply through his earpiece. He looked back up the Kryptonian girl.
"A full combat response is on the way, but these guys are ready for that. Anything you can do to defuse the situation before it gets ugly?"
She shook her head, short blonde hair flying, a worried look in her eyes. “Not with the usual rules of engagement. Once bullets start flying, I can't guarantee anyone's safety. Especially not with the explosives."
“What if you forget the rules? Can you confine the casualties to the perps?"
Her eyes flashed brightly again as she scanned the building a second time, and then stepped around behind the dumpster to stand beside him.
Pettigrew found himself staring levelly at the dramatic cut-out in her white costume. She might be young, but she towered just as tall as Superman.
"There is a way, Captain. The hostages will survive but will likely be temporarily blinded. Probably some minor burns too."
Pettigrew's hopes grew. Superman had never been willing to use lethal force, which had led to more than a few hostage deaths over the years. There had been a lot of critical discussion over that among law enforcement and military in this age of terrorism.
Most uniformed officers believed there were times when overwhelming lethal force was the safest solution, both for the hostages and police.
"And the perps?"
"They won't cause any more problems," she said quietly.
Pettigrew's blood ran cold. She was talking about killing them. He couldn’t authorize this.
The distant wail of sirens said they didn't have much time before the situation was out of his control.
“Just do it," Pettigrew said, knowing he was throwing his career away. “Go save those kids. Nothing else matters."
She nodded. "No video, OK? I need to get their attention. Draw them to the windows. They’re all young men.”
Pettigrew wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He could only stare in rapt attention as the Kryptonian girl stepped out into the open.
She called out in a voice that was unnaturally loud: “If you men want to shoot girls, then why not me?”
To Pettigrew’s astonishment, she reached up to grab the insides of her famous cut-out, and and pulled it open to spill her large breasts out. She lowered her hands to her hips as she dared them to shoot at her.
“Jesus,” Bruce exclaimed as he and Clark watched her baring herself in the alley. “What the hell is she…”
“Told you,” Clark interrupted grimly as he spun around and flew toward the tunnel exit from Bruce’s bat cave. His civilian clothing disappeared in a cloud around him as a flash of red and blue disappeared down the tunnel.
Bruce could only stare at the screen. Karen was an incredibly well-endowed young woman.
Pettigrew struggled to tear his eyes from the half naked girl to peek around the corner of the dumpster. He saw four men’s faces in the windows. A rifle barrel stuck out a fifth window, and a shot rang out. He turned in time to see her left breast undulating slightly, a large dimple disappearing. She smiled. Another shot. Another dimple. More undulations. Then another. Her smile grew broader as if she was enjoying herself. He forced himself to turn away to look back at the building. Five faces were visible in the windows now. He suddenly realized what she was doing, but couldn’t cover his eyes in time.
A blinding glare exploded from beside him as two blindingly bright red beams traversed the front of the building, leaping from window to window, the shooters exploding into flames. A small detonator fell out the third window, only to be vaporized by yet another heated glance. He was seeing spots when a blur of red and blue crashed into the alley just in front of Powergirl, the impact knocking Pettigrew off his feet. But not before he saw her powerful beams reflecting from the big “S” on Superman’s chest.
“Karen!” the Kryptonian crimefighter shouted, his voice as strong thunder. “That’s enough!”
Pettigrew gawked as her eyes faded back to their normal blue. Powergirl calmly reached up to brush the lead spots off her bare chest before stuffing herself back under her costume, which took some doing.
“What the hell are you doing?” Superman demanded.
“Saving lives,” she said, an insolent look on her face. “The rights of the guilty do not override the rights of the innocent. I liked the odds.”
“This isn’t a fucking game you can score, Karen.” He leaped forward to grab his young cousin’s arm. He looked furious.
Pettigrew had never heard of Superman cursing before. He’d always displayed an inhuman sense of control over his anger. He realized he was seeing something that was not intended for human eyes. Anger.
The girl slowly flexed the arm he was holding, astounding muscles flexing large enough to spread his grip open. She reached up to grab his fingers as she tore his hand from her. “You forget who is stronger now, cousin Kal.”
“This isn’t the way we do things, Karen,” he seethed, teeth clenching as he tightened his fists. He looked like he was going to hit her.
“You mean you don’t,” she said. Her hand flashed up to slam her palm into Superman’s chest so hard that he flew down the alley to smash through the front of the building, creating an ad hoc doorway that the hostages began streaming out of.
Pettigrew was slammed against the alley wall by the shockwave of her blow, his ears ringing.
She turned to look at him, a fierce look on her face now. “Any time you need my special help, Captain, just push the button on the back of this buckle.” She undid her blue belt and tossed it to him.
He held the warm metal buckle tightly in his fist, feeling the button on its back. A Kryptonian device?
Before he could say anything, she turned her back and bent her knees, then jumped upward so hard that she sent broken bits of alleyway flying in a shower over him. Her deafening sonic boom echoed between the buildings, and she was gone.
He got back to his feet to stagger out into the middle of the alley. Superman was doing the same as the soccer team ran past both of them to meet the caravan of SWAT vehicles that were gathering at the end of the alley. Two of the adults paused to shake Superman’s hand, one woman embracing him briefly before they ran after the children they were supposed to be protecting.
Pettigrew slipped her blue belt beneath the dumpster before walking toward the man in blue. He knew he’d seen and heard more than he should have. But this was Superman. He had nothing to fear from him.
“Seems you have a bit of a challenge, Superman,” he offered, trying to sound sympathetic. Yet inside he was thrilled. Things were going to be different now. But he couldn’t share that.
“You have anything to do with this, Captain?” Superman asked.
“I was just aa surprised as you. But you have to admit, it ended well. Means to an end?”
“Killing first is never the means,” he said grimly as his feet lifted gently off the ground. “Remind your people of that.”
And with that, he flew off.
Pettigrew returned to the dumpster to retrieve her belt, stuffing it into his pocket. It was still warm.
He smiled.
Everything was going to be different now.
