Part Two

"You seem down," said Vic's boss, the next Monday, after the usual group briefing. He had waited for the rest of those in his charge to disperse, subtly signaling for Vic to stay as they left. Bruno Drake was a grizzled man in his late fifties, though he dressed like someone much older. He was of average height, and had short, grey hair and a conservative manner. As was his usual habit, he wore dark pants, a white shirt and a bowtie. He and his sole empowered agent stayed behind in the federal building conference room as the others headed back to their office. He favored her with a smile. "Remember, it should be a quiet night, tonight; the Red Wings are out of town."

"It's just..." Vic began. She sighed. "There's all these volcanic eruptions and earthquakes and floods around the world I'm not qualified to help with."

"You don't have the powers for handling the major components of such disasters. Nobody can do everything," said Drake, philosophically. "Not everyone can be America's Guardsman or the Walrus. Of course, even they have problems they have to call in help for. You do very good work as it is. Work which someone without powers - no matter how well trained - or with inappropriate powers or training would either not be able to do at all or would do badly. Or perhaps die trying to do."

"Yeah, I know," said Vic, with another sigh. "It's just..."

"Oh, I definitely understand," said Drake, with a wry chuckle. "Just keep in mind that even with Lady Green on the Detroit payroll, the city still keeps asking us for help. Though, again, tonight will hopefully be quiet."

"Lady Green doesn't like needing help at all," said Vic, laughing. "I understand there have been a few spats between her and her city government handlers."

However, when she was called to Drake's office only a couple of hours later, Vic was wondering if she had done something wrong.

"Things are quiet in Detroit just now," said Drake. "They also have Lady Green to help with super related problems. How would you like a paid, two-week vacation to train some people in anti-super criminal measures?"

"Do which?" said Vic, having a bit of difficulty switching mental gears.

"The Bureau of Special Resources has an agreement with the UN to aid their T.O.W.E.R. branch when requested. Recently, they - the UN - relayed a request from T.O.W.E.R. for more and better training in certain areas. Their troops are having unexpected trouble with low-level supers."

"Okay, is this in New York, or..."

"At the new UN base on an island off the west coast of Africa, actually," said Drake. "Used to belong to the Democratic Republic of Congo, which tried to build a luxury resort there. The UN acquired the island few years ago, intending to use it as a base for medical missions in the area, including vaccination efforts, which they are already doing. There's a lot more resources there than they need for that, though, and T.O.W.E.R. convinced the Higher UN heads to let them have a big chunk for their own use."

"Whoah!" said Vic, impressed. "Uh, I don't know...

"Did I mention they want two trainers?" said Drake, innocently. "An expert and a partner used to the expert's methods. We'd like your recommendation on who the second could be."

"So Michelle and I could both go."

"You told me she has her teaching certification, now."

"That she does," said Vic, nodding. She grinned. "She's also been talking about taking a vacation. I'll run this by her and see if she wants to go."

"Well, it won't be for another couple of weeks," said Drake. "Just let me know by the end of this one."

* * *

"Another island?!" said Michelle, rolling her eyes.

"Well, yeah," said Vic, a bit awkwardly. "We're both included in the offer, though. It will be a nice, warm vacation during a cold, Detroit Winter"

"That sounds both interesting and fun," said Michelle. "However, I need more information."

"I'll get it. Meanwhile, what do you want to do about supper?"

"Wok on the Wild Side?" said Michelle, hopefully.

"Always a safe bet!" said Vic, with a laugh.

As Vic's Corolla wagon pulled into the parking lot she noticed something. Something she gleefully pointed out to her wife. Once inside, they placed their order, then chatted with the co-owner, Charlie.

"So how are things?" said Vic, after their order was sent back to the kitchen.

"Well, Xian and I are now worried about having a kid ready for high school," said Charlie, with a sigh. "Also, you remember that upscale restaurant on the other side of the parking lot?"

"The one that kept making anonymous complaints to the Health Department and getting you inspected?" said Michelle, with considerable snark. "Yeah, we noticed they'd closed."

"They got a C grade on their own recent inspection," said Charlie, nodding. "Worse than trying to get us in trouble with the city health inspector, though, was that they kept telling people to park in our lot. Many of their customers would do that, despite the signs saying we'd have anyone not a patron here towed. When we did, both the car owners and the staff at the restaurant would come over here and complain. As well as occasionally make threats. We upgraded our security cameras and put in some additional ones, thanks to them."

"Oh, yeah," said Vic, nodding. "Nasty, snooty owners, staff and customers, some of the latter possibly with organized crime connections. My contacts in the Detroit police department have a lot of stories about them."

"Well, after all that, the place went out of business. Only partly due to their health inspection, rating, too. They were actually trying to blame us, for 'presenting an anti-family atmosphere' for their drop in customers, when they were the ones with the drunken parties and two shootings. One of them in our parking lot!"

"I hadn't heard about the shootings," said Vic, startled.

"Both of those were just in the past couple of days," said Charlie. "Fortunately, they happened after our business hours, when we were closed and our place was empty. I think the second one was an attempt at revenge for the first one. Both seem to have been gang related."

"Yow," said Vic, alarmed. Partly due to not knowing about all this ahead of time. "Yeah, I need to catch up on local law enforcement gossip."

"Anyway, your order is in and your food will be out shortly."

"Thank you," said Michelle, smiling sweetly. "Meanwhile, I think I see a table with our name on it!"

As usual, the food was quite good. Fortunately - since they were wanting a quiet meal - this was not a karaoke night.

"I think I actually have room for desert, for a change," said Michelle.

"That's what happens when you try to keep up with me in our workouts," said Vic, teasing. "You want to get something here, or stop someplace on the way home?"

"We usually just eat and run," said Michelle. "Let's try... Oh, hello, Sheila. We were just deciding to look at the desert menu."

"I personally recommend the apple pie," said Sheila, smiling, holding the desert menus but not offering them, yet. "It's from a bakery, but they're family owned, like this place, and I know the family. It's really good pie."

"Well, you've sold me," said Vic, with a bit of a laugh. "I'll have a slice a la mode."

"Ooh, that sounds good," said Michelle. "I'll have that, too!"

* * *

"You up to a trip to Sawbucks tonight?" said Michelle, the next evening, shortly after Vic got to their apartment.

"Yeah. We haven't been there in a while."

"You driving?" said Michelle, needlessly, since Vic was the only one with a car.

"Huh?" said Vic, startled as much by the question being asked as what was being asked.

"What's got you so distracted?"

"Sorry. Just... lost in thought."

"About what?" Michelle persisted.

"We had a bad situation with the local police today," said Vic. "Guy had a MedicAlert wrist band advising that he was a regenerator. He got seriously injured as a bystander in a robbery, and the police officers who arrived first ignored the band, then called him in as dead, without actually checking. He almost did die before the coroner arrived, realized what was going on, started treatment and called an ambulance. The officers are defending their action, saying they had no reason to believe that the guy wasn't already dead. Since this involves a super, our agency is getting involved. I had to interview the guy - who is already fully healed and back at work and not happy over almost dying from the officers' negligence - and the supervisor of the officers. Who, themselves, are always mysteriously unavailable, so I can't interview them.

"Anyway, this isn't the first time that particular pair of local LEOs have nearly gotten someone killed through not doing due diligence, though it is the first time involving a super. I don't even understand why they're still on the force. They are completely unrepentant, and refuse to learn from experience; they even violate the Detroit PD use of force rules and in some cases blatantly break the law, themselves. It's only a matter of time until they do kill someone. Yet we can't get the police department to get rid of them or even to limit them to desk duty while they're investigated."

"You," said Michelle, pointedly, "need a break. In fact, we could both use a vacation. You can tell Drake that we're going to that island. I already cleared it with my boss."

"Well, this counts as detached duty for me, and you should be able to use some your built-up leave. There are a lot of cases I'm involved with which are simply on hold just now, due to lack of evidence. I'm mostly working at a desk and doing paperwork. Which is boring."

"As long as we're back in time for the wedding of Solange and Popcorn Dash," said Michelle, firmly.

"Not a problem."

"Okay, with that out of the way, maybe you can provide some more details on something I heard which involved the local FBI."

"Shoot."

"Is it true they are involved in a cold case kidnapping from the Twenties?!" said Michelle, sounding both surprised and uncertain.

"That involves the FBI office, yeah, but we heard about it," said Vic, with a tired grin and a shake of her head. "Weird case. Kidnapping was big business in Detroit in the Twenties, and - as with murder - there's no federal statute of limitations on that crime. Six-year-old first son of a local businessman was kidnapped. He - the father - was told to throw a valise full of money from a certain train at a certain time at a certain spot if he ever wanted to see the boy again. Well, he followed the instructions to the letter, and never heard anything more."

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah. Only, there has been a recent development in the case. Some workers doing maintenance on a trestle a couple of weeks ago found the badly weathered valise in the weeds under it, still full of money."

"So, did he throw it off at the wrong spot or did the kidnappers just miss it, or what?"

"No telling. Since it wasn't found before now, maybe the latter. We'll likely never know, about that or what happened to the kid. However, the businessman's descendants were definitely happy to get the cash back, especially since the bills now have collector value. Seems the family fortunes have taken some hits in the time since the kidnapping. The workers who found the valise are even going to get a reward, too. Which was posted by the father in 1923, and never rescinded! He put that money in a bank account and earmarked it for disbursal to anyone who provided information on his son or the ransom, so it has actually earned a lot of interest. Almost kept up with inflation."

* * *

"We definitely have enough, well, junk for a super museum," said Junker, with a grin. "We are also now a recognized independent state so a lot of the US regulations regarding mad science devices don't apply to us any more. That and our teaching of masks history mean that we're considered a safe and appropriate place to send mad and mastermind creations. Well, by some people...

"Anyway, teams refurbishing their bases or lairs after the Shilmek attack have found stuff they forgot about, or which has just been there a lot longer than any current member, and they finally decided to get rid of some of it. Much of that stuff has been offered to us, since we have lots of room on the island and were one of the few large super institutions to survive the attack without serious damage."

"We already have Dr. Taylor's flying Model T," said Template, pursing her lips in thought. "The Assembly sent us their Rampaging Turk - which was not easy to ship here; the thing is basically a tank on wheels. Those and a few other items can form the core of a super transport exhibit. The computing office here already has several important pieces, including Fremont's century-plus old mechanical data processor, The Woggle-Bug. Those items could be the core of a computer exhibit. We probably need to hire a professional curator, though."

"There's lots more stuff than that, just in what Pine collected," said Junker, nodding. "I guess we better - at a minimum - find a protected place for all of it. As well as getting a conservator."

"First, though, catalog what we already have!" said Eve Hind, firmly. "Determine how much room and other resources we'll need to safely display or store that. Then we can worry about accepting more donations. Though if they come with money..."

"Understood," said Template. The school was doing better, financially, than they had expected a couple of weeks earlier - due in large part to a generous endowment from the late Lysander Douglas - but was still short on resources. Given all the demands of money for repairs, refurbishment and improvements after the war that condition was likely to continue indefinitely.

Actually, the island as a whole, as a new nation which had recently withstood a major attack, was underfunded. They were still trying to create a civilian government, with Eve currently serving as benevolent dictator. Between the local civilian population, those of the school staff who wished to be involved, and the UN personnel based on the island, there were often heated discussions about what form the government should take.

All those at this meeting knew they were in for interesting times ahead.