Out of the Ashes, Part 4

Out of the Ashes by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. I took a deep breath. "I'm metahuman." He shrugged at that. "I expected something of the sort, or I wouldn't have invited you in. You are... unbalanced. In here." He pointed at his chest. "What is inside you does not match the outside. Why do you think I can help?" Just a trace of impatience, a hint of master dealing with a dull student. Executed to perfection. I lowered my eyes, studying the fine wisps of steam rising out of my cup. "I have new abilities, that I am still getting used to. Strength. Speed. I am very difficult to hurt." I raised my eyes to his. "I'm a blunt instrument. It would be very easy for me to kill a person with a single blow. I don't need anyone's help for that. It is very hard for me to not kill a person with a single blow, and that's where I hope you can help." Ben Turner offered a half-smile. "I believe I can help. Do not strike anyone. Thank you for coming."

---

The deadliest master of the martial arts in all the world poured the tea. Oh sure, I know he was maybe just in the top three, according to the reports we used to get from the feds back when I was a cop. But trust me, if you ever have to choose which assassin to fear most, the deadliest one is the one pouring your tea.

"What do you hope I can do for you, miss…?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Umm, if you don't mind, I'd rather not use my real name. I don't want to lie to you, but some things I would prefer not to disclose."

Ben Turner studied me over the steaming rim of his cup. I added milk and a little sugar to mine, and studied him back. What? It wasn't some fancy oriental ceremony in some incense-smoked candlelit pavilion at the center of a Zen garden. It was Orange Pekoe. In his kitchen.

Ben Turner was a tall black man, possibly on the late side of forty, with close-cropped hair that was just starting to grey at the temples. He wore dark slacks and an open-necked loose white shirt that hinted at a broad, well-muscled chest. He had a smooth, flowing economy of movement about him, as if everything he did was rehearsed and polished a thousand times. Perhaps it was. A walking-down-the-hall kata. A studying-strangers-in-your-kitchen kata.

For this meeting, I had relaxed into my Miss Mars shape, but with a normal skintone and light blonde hair, cut short and pixyish, a little like Tinkerbell's, with a ponytail. Okay, fine. I go with what comes to mind and I hadn't built up much experience with hairstyles just yet. I wanted it short, and blonde, and that's what I had. The main thing was, I didn't look like Megan, and if he accepted me as a student, I would be using the form that would be most like Miss Mars. If that was important; I didn't really know.

He executed a perfect raise-an-intrigued-eyebrow kata. "Let's come back to that, then. Why are you here?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm metahuman."

He shrugged at that. "I expected something of the sort, or I wouldn't have invited you in. You are... unbalanced. In here." He pointed at his chest. "What is inside you does not match the outside. Why do you think I can help?" Just a trace of impatience, a hint of master dealing with a dull student. Executed to perfection.

I lowered my eyes, studying the fine wisps of steam rising out of my cup. "I have new abilities, that I am still getting used to. Strength. Speed. I am very difficult to hurt." I raised my eyes to his. "I'm a blunt instrument. It would be very easy for me to kill a person with a single blow. I don't need anyone's help for that. It is very hard for me to not kill a person with a single blow, and that's where I hope you can help."

Ben Turner offered a half-smile. "I believe I can help. Do not strike anyone. Thank you for coming."

I gave him a pained look. "If that was an option, I wouldn't have wasted your time, Cap'n Obvious. Do people really buy this act?"

He chuckled, genuinely amused. "More often than you'd think. Anyway. You wish to be able to strike people but not kill them. Tell me why."

I sighed. "About three weeks ago, do you remember there was an incident at a shopping mall…" I proceeded to recount the events at the mall, and the moral issues that had been bothering me ever since.

"So, you see yourself as above the law?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't want to be a vigilante, a replacement for the law. But, I can't hide and not help when there is a need. Outside the law, perhaps. Not above it."

"But not answerable to it."

I shook my head. "I won't be at the beck and call of the politicians. But I believe that most of the time the law should be left to follow its course, and that I should do my best not to interfere. There are many people I could kill, and leave the world a better place -- but my list would be different than the next person's. What makes mine more valid? If I ever started down that path, I'm not sure I'd know when to stop."

I met his gaze. "I'm no idealist, Mr. Turner. I know there may be times when I have to kill, I'm not squeamish about it. But there will certainly be times when I do not have to kill, and I would like to have that choice."

He studied me without expression. "Interesting philosophy coming from a -- what, sixteen-year-old girl?"

I sipped my tea, and gave him a sardonic smile. "Your words, Mr. Turner. What is inside does not match the outside. And, seventeen."

His eyes crinkled, and he raised his cup to me. "Touché." He took a final sip and set his cup down precisely in its saucer. Then, "Come. Show me."

He stood and I followed him deeper into the building to a large open space at the back, one the seemed more suitable for a warehouse than a gymnasium. A metal staircase ran up to a second floor catwalk. The floor was concrete, although there were mats hung on the wall. A rack of various bladed implements stood in one corner. Spread around the edge of the room were an assortment of devices obviously meant for punching and kicking.

He stood in the middle of the room, watching me take it all in. "Spar with me. I want to see you move. You don't know what I can do, I don't know what you can do, so we'll keep it light. Just touch me for now."

I nodded and without warning moved to touch him on the shoulder. Except he wasn't there. I felt a light tap on my face, and I turned to face him, crouching to slap his leg, but it wasn't there anymore, either. Inertia overcame me and I lost my balance and fell, quickly climbing to my feet and feeling a slap on my backside in the process.

For the next fifteen minutes I chased him around the room, never once laying a hand on him. Every time I attempt a touch, he wasn't there -- and where he was, was always a place I couldn't reach him without getting tangled in my own limbs and tripping over myself. I spent a lot of time just rolling to my feet. And my butt got slapped a lot. Also arms, legs, and face.

Moving at my top speed was actually counterproductive; I'd overshoot the point I was aiming for, or overbalance and wind up sprawled on the ground and butt-slapped.

Finally, he called a halt. "I've seen enough." He led me back to the kitchen, where he produced a pad of paper and scribbled something, before tearing it off and handing it to me.

"That's the name of a good aikido instructor. Aikido is a good skill set for what you want. I'm going to suggest to her some things I want you to learn, but to start, you'll need to learn the same base skills as any newcomer. I want you to see her three times a week. At least."

He held up a hand as I started to protest. "I believe you can trust her, but you must decide for yourself. But don’t lie to her, she'll know. She doesn't need to know who you are, except that you're a student I've referred. And you need to learn without using any of your special abilities. This is important."

I nodded, slowly.

He pointed at my stomach, then at the center of my chest. "You move like a man, your center is all wrong. Not just your center of balance, although that's off, too. Your whole center. That's part of why your inside and your outside don't match. You're still trying to fight the way a man would.

"You need to learn to move like a woman, get comfortable in your body, not just use it to lug around your man-self. I want you to take a dance class, I don't much care what, just spend a couple of hours a week focused on how your body moves."

My heart sunk, and his lips quirked at my expression. "See? You resist the idea, even now. That is your greatest obstacle."

He walked me to the door. "Your aikido instructor will know when you are ready to see me again. Perhaps six months, if you are diligent. I must admit you pose an interesting challenge for me."

His eyes sparkled. "In fact, since you don't have a name, I believe I shall call you Eliza Doolittle."

~o~O~o~

Dolores had been asleep for awhile, now. I enjoyed the sound of her soft breathing for a little longer before I slipped out of bed and padded through the dark house -- not dark to me, of course -- and stepped outside into the back yard.

The moon was in its waning phase, a slivered Cheshire-cat grin suspended in the sky. I gazed up at it and smiled back, enjoying the night sky and the still air, and for the first time I really looked at the moon.

I wonder if I could go there.

I turned the idea over in my head. I hadn't really flown much, the farthest had been across the city. How high could I go? How fast?

I shapeshifted to Miss Mars in her 'fetish outfit', as Dolores teasingly called it, a shiny leather-looking sleeveless bodysuit, cut high at the hips, in a shade of teal blue that went well against my green skin. Thigh-high boots in red leather, with a matching red harness. She never complained too much, or suggested anything better, so I guess she didn't have too great a problem with it.

I shot up into the night, fast enough that hopefully I wouldn't be seen. Once I could see the city spread out below me, I put some oomph! into it and shot up until I could see the entire disk of the night side of the Earth below me. Dark as it was, the shape of North America was clearly visible to my eyes, looking a lot like it did on the maps, which was pretty impressive when you consider the originals were drawn without the benefit of my current perspective.

To the east, the sun was coming up over the mid-Atlantic, but wouldn't reach the coast for a few hours yet. The whole continent glittered like it had been dusted with fluorescent diamonds; I could pick out a few major cities by their massed lights, joined together by delicate spiderwebs made up of smaller communities. Chicago was easy to spot, at the tip of Lake Michigan, and Miami, near the tip of Florida; Houston on the Gulf, with Dallas above it.

On the west coast, I think I picked out Los Angeles, with a smaller dot that must have been Las Vegas just to the east. On the east coast, the splotches of light formed a nearly solid border from Boston down to Washington. I guessed the centermost splotch would be New York City.

I just hung there, for a few minutes, awed by the spectacle. So that's what a planet looks like. Just one, out of an entire universe.

It came to me suddenly that I shouldn't be able to do this. My breathing had stopped, but I hadn't particularly noticed any discomfort. My skin told me it was cold up here, but that was intellectual fact, it wasn't painful or debilitating. I just felt… normal. And exhilarated.

Okay, time to see what I can do.

I looked to the west and let 'er rip. I stayed well above the atmosphere, passing into daylight over the Pacific, streaking across central Asia and Europe in moments, and back into darkness as I crossed the westernmost tip of Africa below me to the left, followed shortly by the lights of the eastern seaboard of North America.

I was still accelerating when I passed Los Angeles the second time.

I need some room to open up.

On a whim, I slingshotted around the day side of the planet again and headed straight for the Moon. I thought I'd circle it once or twice, and then maybe look for the Apollo landing sites. I could bring home a moon rock, at least. I suppose the lunar buggy should probably stay where they left it.

As I grew closer, the cratered face of the Moon quickly dominated my view of the stars, and I changed course, aiming for the edge of the disk, so I could orbit as close to the surface as I could manage, just high enough to skim the tops of the mountains. The Earth quickly disappeared as I rounded towards the mysterious back side of the moon, the side that only a handful of Apollo astronauts have ever directly seen. It looked even more desolate than the front to me, as I blazed across the stark terrain, faster than the proverbial speeding bullet; a flash of green and red against a monochrome of light and dark, about as far from the Earth as any human being had ever travelled.

So when a giant green octagonal STOP sign suddenly blinked into existence directly in front of me, I was understandably surprised. I tore through it like tissue and lost control, plowing into the surface of the Moon at unbelievable speed, skipping and tumbling and gouging a trench across the plain for several miles, before a mountainous ridge thoughtfully brought me to a rather abrupt halt in a pile of rubble.

What the HELL was that?

Climbing quickly to my feet, I reflexively grabbed the nearest rock with one hand -- a boulder about ten feet across -- and flung it sidearm back the way I came, at the ominous green glow that was rapidly approaching.

If I run, they'll follow. Hide.

I crouched in the shadow of the nearest boulder and shapeshifted to match the terrain; I took on a mottled gray color, looking pitted and aged to match my shelter. My body became more angular and sharp-edged, to blend in with the harsh lines of the smashed rock surrounding me.

From my hiding place I could see a green beam of light sweep the landscape, like a giant searchlight. It swept over my spot but I remained in shadow, and it moved on. I counted to ten, slowly, shifting back to my normal self before leaping up and hurling the huge rock directly at the back of the glowing green form, only a half a mile away. At the last second she spun, and the rock was smashed aside by a giant green baseball bat, but I was right behind it, and before she could react, I caught my attacker by the throat, fist drawn back, ready to punch her lights out.

She? Her?

For the first time I got a good look at the startled face of my opponent.

That woman on TV.

Well, shit. I've just picked a fight with Jade. Way to make a first impression.

I let her go and raised my hands, in surrender.

I'm not sure what she hit me with but there was a sudden flash of green and then I was skidding backwards on my ass across the lunar surface.

I stood up, thoroughly annoyed at the cheap hit. A shimmering green cage slammed down over me, as Jade settled gently to the lunar surface just outside, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Who ARE you?" Her voice sounded in my head, seeming as annoyed as I felt. I assumed her ring was facilitating our conversation.

I glared at her as I stepped up to the bars of the cage. They may have looked nebulous, but they felt solid enough. I took a firm grip and began to pull them apart.

Jade's eyes widened as the bars actually began to budge, then frowned, and a look of concentration settled on her face. The bars suddenly became much harder to force, but I bent my head, and strained with all my might; and slowly but surely the bars began to spread, until at last I could squeeze through them and step out of the cage.

I clenched my fists at my sides and raged. "Why? WHY ARE YOU ATTACKING ME?"

She looked momentarily confused, then returned my scowl, with interest. "I never attacked you. YOU threw the rocks!"

"Only because you put a wall in my face at a bajillion miles an hour!"

"That wasn't a wall, it was just a sign!

"Oh! Well, that's okay, then. How was I supposed to know that? I tried to dodge it and wound up scraping my tits across half the frickin' moon!"

Jade had the grace to look abashed.

"Ummm. Okay, I see your point. My Starcruiser spotted you zipping around the Earth; I've been trying to catch up with you ever since. I got here as quickly as I could, but damn! you're fast. At that point, we didn't know what you might be, or what your intentions were.

"I was catching up, but you could have bolted in any direction. I had to think of something quick; the sign was as far ahead of you as I could reach, but I misjudged, it wasn't far enough. I'm sorry."

I studied her face, and began to relax. I unclenched my fists and nodded slowly, making a show of inspecting myself for injury. "Well, no harm done, I guess. Although I've stopped being surprised about that, lately," I admitted wryly.

I stuck out my hand. "I'm, uh, I guess I'm Miss Mars these days. Pleased to meet you, Jade."

She took my hand in a firm grip. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Mars." Her lips quirked. "You've got to admit, that was a pretty spectacular faceplant."

I grinned ruefully. "Lady, you shoulda seen it from MY end!"

~o~O~o~

I sat out on the patio, basking in the early sunshine and enjoying the quiet of the morning. I'd shifted back to Megan as soon as I had arrived home, dressed in a simple t-shirt nightdress. I could hear Dolores stumbling around in the kitchen, scrounging some breakfast before heading off to work.

"Meg? You outside? What's this stuff on the table?" she called out through the screen.

"Just my driver's license, and school transcripts for grades 9 through 11. I met Jade last night, she fixed me up. They're legit, computer records back them up. I'm as real as anyone else in the system, now."

"Oh, you met Jade? What's she like? I want to hear all about it, I'll be right out." I heard the fridge open and close as she poured herself some orange juice.

"What's this rock doing here?"

"It's a moon rock."

"Oh? Where'd you find that?"

Wait for it… She took a sip of juice.

"The Moon."

I grinned at the sound of orange juice being sprayed across the kitchen. Timing is everything.

~o~O~o~

With my newly acquired driver's license, I was hot to roll out my old wheels and get mobile again; but Dolores insisted on getting rid of 'that piece of junk' and trading it in for something more suitable for the new me. Sigh.

The car was junky on the outside, but that was on purpose. As a detective, I needed to be able to park in some crummy parts of town, and not have to worry that my ride would get stolen.

Under the dirt and rust primer and unnecessary smears of body filler purred a twenty-year-old Camaro I'd kept in excellent mechanical condition. Rather than just trade it in, I told her where she could find a buyer; she sold that piece of junk for more than she paid for the ten-year-old VW Beetle cutemobile we bought to replace it.

The cutemobile wasn't so bad, really. At least it was a convertible. And it sure beat taking the bus to school.

"Ummm, hi, I'm Megan Morse. I'm new, I was told to report here for my class schedule?"

The harried grey-haired lady behind the counter flashed me a friendly smile. "Of course dear. Morse, you said?" She flipped through a file folder and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

"Here we go. Your locker is 1432, that's in the east wing, but don't put anything in there till you have a lock for it. There's a bunch of forms here, emergency contacts, health information, and so on. We need those back this week. This is your schedule, home room is English, with Ms. Kranz." She pulled a map of the school from the papers and marked the room. "Upstairs, and down the left hall. Welcome to Joe Shuster Collegiate. It's always crazy the first day, but if you need anything, come back and see us." A final smile and she turned her attention to the next kid in line.

I smiled my thanks and headed back into the crowded halls to find my locker.

Only to find someone else using it. "Oh, hey, excuse me? I think that's my locker. 1432, says so right here." I held out the paper from the office.

The kid currently jamming his backpack into my locker didn't bother turning around. "Yeah, well, it's just a number, honey, find another one."

My eyes narrowed. "You got a name, tough guy?"

He slammed the locker shut and slapped his lock on it before turning to give me a victorious smirk. He was a husky guy, probably football team. Not quite six feet, but that still gave him almost a foot over my height. His face sported a few irritated blotches where he'd had to shave over his acne. I remember doing that. Acne sucked.

His smirk widened as his eyes took me in, although against Dolores' urging I'd deliberately dressed down for my first day. Jeans and a soft pink scoop-neck tee shirt, denim jacket over top. Sneakers. Hair in a ponytail. Nothing special. Okay, the tee was a little snug. And the jeans, but that's just how they fit.

I snapped my fingers up at him. "Hello? Name? You got a name, tough guy?"

His expression darkened. "Mike. Mike Thornton. What's it to ya?"

"Not a thing, Mikey. You win, big guy. You stole a locker from the new girl. You can run along now. Go tell all your friends."

By this time we'd attracted a crowd. He looked around uncomfortably, at a loss for how to recover the situation. I wasn't too worried. I may have been smaller and looked weaker, but I'd had twenty-five years as a cop, dealing with punks like him every day.

His brow furrowed, searching for a parting retort. Finally he pointed farther down the bank of lockers. "There's spare lockers down there."

I let him get halfway down the hall before I called him back. "Hey Mikey!"

He turned to see his backpack in the middle of the busy hall and his open lock dangling from my fingers. I slammed the locker shut and snapped my own lock closed, flashing him my sweetest smile. "You got a broken lock."

I arrived at home room in plenty of time, so I chose a seat in the back half of the room. Not all the way back, because that row winds up getting as much attention as the front, if high school today was anything like I remembered it. Besides, back row kids can be territorial. So I wound up about two-thirds of the way back, a little to one side. I wish I knew if the teacher was right or left-handed. I chose the right side, to be on her left. Assuming she was right-handed.

Okay, perhaps you're overanalyzing.

I sat slouched at my desk, tapping with my pen on the desk as kids started to trickle into the room. I shuffled through the multitude of forms I got from the office. I cringed when I saw a space for 'Parent or Guardian'. Fabulous. I'd have to ask Dolores to sign some of these.

Somebody slid into the seat next to mine. "Ummm… hey. I probably should be mad at what you did to Mike, but I wanted to say thanks."

I blinked at the girl, startled back into the moment. "I'm sorry? Oh, I didn't do anything, except notice his lock was broken," I chuckled. She was about my height, wavy black hair. Pretty.

She grinned. "Well, he's my boyfriend, so I should be on his side. But he was being a jerk. He took your locker so he could be next to mine. He gets possessive, y'know? And just between us, it was creeping me out. I like the guy, but I could use a little space, " she confided. "So I'm glad we're neighbors. I'm Deb."

"Hey neighbor," I smiled shyly. "I'm Megan. He's going to be pissed at me for awhile, isn't he."

She giggled. "Nah. He's not a bad guy, he's just… such a guy. He'll get over it. He'll take some ribbing, but he'll laugh about it, too." She gave me a look of admiration. "I love how you stood up to him, though. That was awesome."

I shrugged, embarrassed, and slouched a little more, toying with my pen. "I, uh, well, it just kinda happened."

She shook her head. "Nah, you've done it before. Brothers, am I right?"

Fortunately, the start of the class saved me having to respond.

~o~O~o~

"S'up Ben? Still pretty?"

The big man had stepped out back of the bar for a smoke. He was getting on in years, his thick arms scarred from many a knife, or broken bottle, or razor. He took pride in the fact that he'd never taken a scar on his face.

His grizzled face lit up, showing a row of crooked, stained teeth. "You betcha," he grinned. "You're lookin' pretty good yerself, fer a dead guy."

I gave him a mournful look. "It's not all it's cracked up to be, Benny. The cable TV sucks. The pay channels got no porn on 'em at all."

Benny the Bouncer winced sympathetically. "Them's the breaks, man. Sucks to be in Heaven."

I snorted. "Who said anything about Heaven? No porn? That's Hell for sure, pal."

We shared a chuckle and lit up a smoke. "So, Benny, whatcha hear?"

~o~O~o~

The young whore working the corner was barely older than my new self. Her makeup was heavy and garish, to show up in the dim light of the street. Her fishnet stockings and too-tight dress left nobody in doubt of the business she was in, and the assets she could bring to bear.

"Hey Tina, how's tricks?"

The girl turned in surprise, tottering on ridiculous heels, and held out her arms for a hug. "Danneeeeee!" she squealed.

I gave her a brotherly hug, and checked her arms for track marks. "Girl, you're using again. You promised."

Tina pouted and one crimson-nailed finger toyed with the buttons on my shirt. "Awww c'mon, Danny, don't be that way. You died! I was sad." She giggled and squirmed her body against mine. Whatever she was on, she was flying high. "You don't feel dead to me, Danny-boy."

I pried her arms from around my neck and took a step back, shaking my head. "Not tonight, kid. Save it for the paying customers." I held up a couple of twenties. "You know what I like. Talk to me, babe."

~o~O~o~

Eddie the Face ran a news stand down in the business district; he got the name from an incident in his early childhood. His mother caught a face full of lye from her angry pimp when she answered the door one day. She was holding little Eddie at the time.

At this early hour, he was waiting for the bundles of morning papers to be dropped off. I crossed the empty street in the dim grey light, stepping around the puddles from the previous night's rain.

Eddie looked up at the sound of my footsteps. "Dan? That you?"

"Mornin' Eddie. Got my back issues of Homely Midget Weekly?"

He grinned at our running joke. "Sure thing. I been savin' 'em for ya."

"I won't pay for the sticky ones."

He chuckled as we finished our little ritual. "Nah. You know I get the Braille edition. I only read 'em for the staples. Damn, boy! I heard you was dead!"

I took his hand and gave it a firm shake, clasping his shoulder briefly as I passed him the cash. "I am, Eddie. I am. So what's the word?"

~o~O~o~

Turns out the word was, the Cartel was hurting. They were falling behind in shipments of something, but Eddie had no idea of what, or to whom. The bosses were worried, though. You'd think that would be good news, but the reality was, the Cartel had a habit of passing the pain around.

The Bone Fists had vanished off the streets; Bennie said they weren't showing up at the bar, and the working girls hadn't seen them either. Tina said the girls were expecting them back in a couple of weeks, with enough cash for a serious party.

Tina had another puzzle piece, as well. It seems last week, some of the girls had been hired for a party at one of the better hotels, to entertain some egghead types from out of town. A few bucks to the night clerk turned up a name: Haldibane Labs booked a block of rooms, corporate rate.

Over breakfast, I filled Dolores in on my investigations. "You ever come across an outfit named Haldibane Labs? The working girls say there was a party last week for these guys. One of Tony's boys picked up the tab."

She looked thoughtful. "I don't know…seems I saw something about them, in the paper. I'll check them out when I get downtown."

I frowned. "It's might be a coincidence, but see if they're in any financial difficulty, or if there are any links to the Cartel. Something's up, but I don't know what it is, yet."

She nodded. "One of the guys over in Forensic Accounting owes me a favor. I'll drop the name on him. He's up to his elbows in Cartel corporate records already." She grinned. "If he can link another company to the Cartel, he'll owe me two favors."

I frowned. "I can't find a trace of this Heatstroke kid anywhere, nobody's seen him. I hoped maybe he'd been seen hanging with the Fists. The Fists at the mall knew about him, though. He's probably wherever they are."

"Well, the docs said, judging from the location of the injury, and the amount of blood he lost, he's lucky to be alive. If he even is, in fact, alive. So he could just be hiding out, someplace."

I risked a slapped hand and stole a bite of her toast, then shook my head. "That's too easy. He's a meta, I have to assume he's a fast healer. Find the Fists, and we'll find Heatstroke, I can feel it."

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