A little background on this one:

This story takes place between Roxanne's return to Seattle after her trip to New York, and just prior to current (& upcoming) events on the board. It's a canon event that will affect Roxy just a little... or a lot.

It is not recommended for wee ones - there is swearing, and either violence or sex (I will not say which, to keep you in suspense.) It briefly mentions Endeavor in one capacity, and mentions her at greater length in another (quite altered) capacity. I think I stayed within the lines on this one - but, Endeav, let me know if I fooked it.

Inspiration for this one comes from lots of places - mostly, from thinking about how security-sensitive jobs would deal with superpowers, and how normal-but-geeky folks would relate to novas. There are several stabs at humor - it is up to you to decide if they succeed.

Discussion should be directed <a href="http://www.nprime.net/cgi-bin/forum/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=28;t=000151">here.</a>

EDITS: Some spelling, added URL for discussion, paragraph spacing.

And now: on to the story!

* * *

The LCD monitor hung in front of her, patient as a brick as it displayed the choices available to her. The options were, sadly, extremely vanilla. About the only movie she hadn't seen was the animated musical version of Memento (now in full color with a happier ending!) and she wasn't altogether interested in it. The Team Tomorrow online RPG (100% VirGog compatible!) didn't interest her - she didn't see much of a point in paying 20 bucks a month to play something she got in real life for free. The news tickers were going through a slow news day in which idle commentary on the sales figures of upcoming novox albums were considered 'news.' And all of it was only to stave off boredom for the twenty minutes to go before they landed, anyways.

The man next to her had dozed the whole flight, but was beginning to stir. She stared gently out the window, restless and tired. It had been a draining time in New York, working with the victims of the Blackburn's slave trade. Progress was possible, but best left in other, more capable hands. Utopia had even managed to swallow a little pride and bring in a few elites and corporates that were specialists in this area. Roxanne's role, for the moment, was over - or at least, until Roxanne got a little training in psychology under her belt.

The cabin didn't feel real. Very little did, ever since she'd learnt how to internalize her othermist and pass through 'real' matter. She was tempted, sorely tempted, to just fan the quantum flames into being, to transform right here and now and slip out the sides of the craft, abandoning her luggage, her gear, her limitations.

She squelched the thought, however. It would lead to more questions than she could comfortably deal with. Besides, it did her good to remind herself what it was like for a person without her powers. It kept her feet on the ground, and helped her help those she needed to help.

It was a good life. And it was hers.

The man next to her stirred into consciousness. He grunted, scratching the back of his neck. "Have we landed yet?" he said with a low grunt.

"Not yet."

"Uhggg. Long trip... you live in Seattle?"

"Most of the time. I was in New York on business."

"Oh yeah? What do you do for a living?" The man waved a flight attendant over, beckon for liquor.

"Lots of different things. I was consulting on a few cases of psychological trauma."

"You're a shrink?"

"Not... exactly. I am a doctor, however."

"Wow, that's good. Good for you." The man took a swallow of booze before setting his cup aside. He looked at her askance for a moment, and blinked. "Wait, a minute... uh... is that your real hair?"

Roxane nodded, and brushed a white lock of it out of her face. "Long story."

"Did something scare you halfway to death, or something?"

"A lot further than just halfway, actually."

The man nodded. Then his eyes shot open. "Wait, wait, aren't you-"

"Shhhh." Roxanne raised a gloved fingertip to her lips. "I'm incognito."

Most of the time, when Roxanne told someone to do something, they listened to her. Even dormed down, she had a silver tongue sharp enough to cut someone. So most times, she could talk someone out of freaking out and broadcasting who she was to everyone within five miles. Sadly, today was not going to be one of those times.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed the man. "You're a nova!"

And suddenly, as the entire first-class compartment stopped dead and turned its collective head to look, the temptation returned, stronger than ever.

She yielded to it.


Mitch checked his watch for the fifth time, and sighed. Why the hell weren't they getting off the goddamn plane?

The terminal was the universal terminal, the distillation of the essence of airport terminals everywhere: hot, uncomfortable, and filled with people who wanted to be somewhere else and employees who really wanted to be somewhere else. He was no different - he wanted nothing more than to get home and collapse into bed and to never rise again. He was just finishing up a brutal term at the university and he wanted to enjoy a few scant weeks without having to mark any papers.

He held up a sign that said "Dr. Richardson," mostly because if he used any other name for her everyone in the terminal would be clustered around him, being a nuisance - more so than normal - and peppering him with questions he didn't quite feel in the mood to answer. He wondered if he even needed the sign - her eyes were sharp enough to find him.

Ah, finally. People were disembarking from the plane. He watched them stream past, and he unconsciously drifted to their hair. Brown, brown, blonde, blonde , redhead, brown, brown, brown, brown, black, blonde, brown... green... brown, brown, blonde, brown, blonde, blonde, redhead, blonde, brown.

He frowned. No white.

"No white," he muttered, as the last of the passengers streamed past. "No white? That's so... this is her plane, right?"

Mitch proceeded to the information counter that was situated across from the gate. He coughed, to get their attention. "Excuse me, uh...?"

"We'll be with you in just a moment, sir."

"I'm just looking for a-"

Mitch shut his mouth as several men with body armor and bomb disarming gear stomped past him, onto the plane. He watched incredulously. "What's this about?"

"Nothing to be alarmed over, sir..." The desk clerk didn't seem to believe himself.

"All right, okay. Listen. I have a friend on that plane I was here to pick up. Roxanne Richardson. Is she-"

"Roxanne Richardson? Seat 3-E?"

"Yes, that's her."

The clerk glanced at the security guard standing next to the counter. "Uh..."

The guard took his cue. "Sir, would you mind coming with me?"

"Er... why, what's going on? What happened?"

"Just come with me, sir. There's no need to be alarmed."

There's every need to be alarmed when someone tells you there's no need to be alarmed, he thought. "All right. All right. This way?"

The guard nodded. He led Mitch across the terminal, into a back room that had a bad, noisy fan in the ceiling. The security guard motioned towards one chair, and then sat in the other. "You're a friend of Roxanne Richardson?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"She's not on the plane at the moment."

"Oh, is that all? Okay. I guess I must have the wrong flight. Which flight is she-"

"You misunderstand." The security guard folded his arms across his chest, in an attempt to look serious. "She boarded the plane. About fifteen minutes before landing, she exited the plane."

"She... wha?"

"The bomb squad is turning the plane over, examining her luggage and the clothing she left behind. From what we're hearing from flight attendant crews, she... I'm not sure how to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Is she a nova?"

Mitch nodded, suddenly understanding what was going on. "She is."

"What are her powers?"

"Subconscious manipulation of quantum energy via the Mazarin-Rashoud node, the effects of which are determined by the individual's psyche."

"What does that mean in English?"

"It means she can do anything she puts her mind to."

"I'll rephrase the question, sir." The security guard glared at Mitch with a look that could melt steel. "What can she do with her node?"

"Jesus... a lot. She can fly, I know that. She has this weird mist-stuff that can let her slip through solid matter, and she can turn invisible. Maybe some other stuff. I dunno. She looks like - a bit fuzzy -"

"Oh. The Vixen."

"Yeah." Mitch scratched the back of his neck. "And she's not a terrorist."

"I never said that she was."

Naw, the bomb squad spoke up for you. "So what do you need to talk to me for?"

"We just want to know why she exited the plane the way she did."

Mitch's blood temperature was steadily rising. He knew that wasn't the reason. The real reason was that they were scared that a woman who could throw lightning from her fingertips and could stand up to a tank shell at point-blank range might start deciding to tear the plane at several hundred of its occupants apart. Never mind she wasn't like that. Never mind that she treated all those powers as side benefits to just being normal. Never mind all that... she was a nova, and we all knew about them, didn't we?

He was about to tell all of this to the security guard, to really give him a piece of his mind, when suddenly he felt something inside of his mind.

Don't be afraid, Mitch.

"I, uh..." Mitch regained his calm. "I couldn't tell you. Maybe she just decided she wanted to be on the ground that much faster?"

"She wasn't cleared a path in our airspace. Accidents could happen very easily."

Relax, Mitch. I'm right behind him. See?

Mitch blinked as Roxanne faded into view, just behind the security guard. She was quite naked, and looked exceedingly nervous. The security guard didn't seem to notice, and so, Mitch fought to keep his cool. "Sir, she can turn intangible. Phase right through solid matter. I don't think collision's an issue."

"Well, the airport's policies disagree with you. And until we can get a statement out of her, a look at her Rashoud grade and any piloting clearance she might have, we're going to have to retain her belongings at the very least."

Boy, he's long-winded. By the way, Mitch, my eyes are up here. Want me to jump up and down for you a little?

Mitch chuckled. The security guard raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason you find this funny?"

"I just had a funny thought. She can turn invisible - she could be right here in this room."

Oh, ha ha. You're a riot, Mitch. Once I'm done turning this guy into a toad I'm coming after you.

"That's the thing, of course..." The security guard shrugged. "With all the powers these people show off, there's always a security risk."

Resist the urge to be a smartass, Mitch - these people have no sense of humor whatsoever. Just think about where the car's parked. After he lets you go I'll meet you there.

Mitch quietly projected the thought of his Beamer into Roxanne's head, while he nodded to the security guard. "If she shows up, I'll tell her you need to speak to her. Is there anything else you need me for?"

For a moment, the guard seemed to hesitate - and then, relaxed. "Yeah, you can go. Just tell her to talk to us."

"I will." Mitch gathered his sign, and resisted the urge to wink at Roxanne. She grinned a toothy grin at him as he exited.

You can't really turn people into toads, can you? he thought.

The response came, as if from nowhere: Oh, relax, Mitch. If I'm going to mutilate you with quantum energy you'll be the first to know.

</CENTER>
He wound up having to sit in his Beamer for forty minutes, but eventually, Roxanne made her way out - luggage in one hand, coat in the other, seriously pissed off expression on her face.

Mitch switched off the chip he had playing - a rapping duel between Mephistofoleez and Will Smith, with the backdrop of "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel. Like matter versus antimatter, anything recognizable and sane was obliterated in the resulting explosion. Mitch liked listening to it anyway. It was catchy.

Roxanne stormed over to the car as Mitch got out, a garbled sound effect playing as the sound system spun out the last strains of rap. "That's the last frickin' time I do that..."

"Did they thank you for flying United Air?"

"Ho ho ho. Watch me laughing. Give me a hand with this." Roxanne struggled with her bags until Mitch liberated them from her grasp. "It took restraint. I'll say that now. It took restraint."

"What exactly happened?" The trunk flipped open. Mariachi music played - the car had initially been a talking car that would inform Mitch that yes, the door was open. Mitch, armed with a soldering gun and a collection of freeware sound and music, had altered the car's personality somewhat. He placed Roxanne's baggage in the trunk.

"Some guy on the plane recognized me. He flipped out."

"Ut oh."

"And I freaked. I powered up my node and slipped out of the cabin."

"Ut oh."

"And I forgot to attune my clothes, and, uh..." She blushed.

"You basically mooned United Air? Cheeky little nova." He shut the trunk and opened the door, the sound of a crypt opening and an organ playing ringing out from within tinny speakers within the car.

"It was horrible! I had to talk to that guy naked for half an hour!" Roxanne opened her door as well, and slid into the car, paying no mind to the bizarre sound scheme that the Beamer exhibited. "So humiliated... he kept going on about how I seemed so nervous, and well, of course I was nervous, I had a dipshit on the plane wanting me to sign autographs and some security guard wouldn't make eye contact with me... " She leaned her head back onto the headrest. "And you wouldn't believe the shit I got into by leaving my Project passport behind. All the grades that Dr. Locke gave me... they had to call him up too, just to confirm that yes, I do know how to pass through solid matter safely..."

"They seem to have confiscated your bra. Did you try to take over the airport with it?"

Roxanne gasped, and grabbed her jacket, stretching it over her blouse. "Ohhhhhhgggg! I was so pissed off..."

"Seems to be your day for forgetting clothes. Straight home, then?"

"Yeah... I'm sorry, Mitch. I don't mean to be getting so bitchy with you. I really don't."

"All's forgiven." Mitch coughed. "Uh... how about I take you out? There's a good club I know, should be opening right about now..."

"Naw, I... huh."

Roxanne got a thoughtful look on her face for a few moments, then she spoke. "Mitch, I haven't hung out with you once ever since I erupted. Damn right, I'm gonna go to that club with you."

</CENTER>
"No. No. No. No. Changed my mind. Wanna go home."

The Beamer's body rested quietly in front of a warehouse that had once been used to store stock for an OpNet shopping site, and now had been bought out and renovated into a club. A temporary banner hung in place:

</CENTER>
"Mitch, this is the worst idea you've ever had, and that includes trying to grow a Fu Manchu mustache."

"I knew you'd like it, Roxy." Mitch went digging in his trunk, mariachi music putting a spring in his step. "And I'll thank you not to call me Mitch - for it is only by day that I am a humble university professor. By night, I am: the Mighty Ampersand!"

He pulled out a jet-black spandex shirt with an & symbol boldly emblazoned on the front of it. "Neat, eh? I erupted while trying to draw the perfect ampersand and that's the source of my powers."

"You don't say." Roxanne folded her arms and stared at Mitch. "Mitch, first of all, I'm a nova. Dressing up like one is kind of redundant. Second of all, I really need a break from being a nova, just for a little while. And third of all... third of all, Mitch, how long have you been going here?"

"Answer Three: about five weeks. The M-R Mixer and the Paxina Colada are the best drinks. Answer One: Novas don't dress like this, Roxy, and I know in particular you don't. And Answer Two... this is a break from being a nova. No one's gonna stare at you here. No one's gonna figure you're a nova 'cause if you were a nova you'd be out doing big, larger-than-life nova things, instead of attending a nightclub in the shittier side of Seattle..."

Roxanne frowned, and furrowed her brow, the expression she always got when she was faced with what seemed like a bad idea that was slowly becoming a good one. Being a scientist, she tested for weaknesses. "I don't have a costume."

"You can rent one. They have those glowing eye contacts that run off body heat."

"I don't have a silly name."

"Do what the Japanese do and string a few weird words together with single letters. Bingo, instant nova handle."

"I don't..."

Roxanne stole a look at Mitch, and she suddenly felt lower than a worm's belly button. Mitch knew that if Roxy kept at it, that this was an argument that he'd loose - that he couldn't hope to match her when it came to this. But he wanted to come here, and he wanted her to come with him, and she could see the hurt on his face, plain as day...

"I don't have a good reason not to. Okay, Mitch - I'll give it a nice and fair shot. But the moment someone recognizes me-"

"You can leave. No problem. You can leave."

Roxanne nodded. "Okay, Mitch. Let's give it a shot. But could you do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Could you shut your damn trunk before I get mariachi music burnt into my brain forevermore?"

"Anything for you, faithful sidekick."

</b></b></CENTER>
The first stop was the costume shop, where the local shopkeep praised God for finding a woman as beautiful as Roxanne to work his miracles on. Mitch alternated between sniggers and baleful stares as they went around rigging up a costume for the evening.

Black spandex from head to foot, combined with thick gloves and boots, was the first step. Next came shoulder pads that an NFL linebacker would have issues with, and a black-and-red cape attached to said pads. Roxanne felt a brief but tangible contact rush as she realized the outfit was synthetic eufiber, complete with a few built-in color change options, and a programmable symbol set. All-white eye contacts completed the look - they were tough to see out of, but she could manage. The mask was one of those feathery deals you expected at older costume balls - it hit more than half her face.

"So what shall you be? You are with Ampersand? Are you Accent Lass, then? The Schwa? The Trademark?"

Roxanne examined her options. Any alphanumeric character was available, along with clipart and public domain fonts and symbols. For a moment she hovered over a symbol of a null terminator - but no, not even as a joke could she stick that on her chest. She settled for a custom animation she found after a brief visit to an OpNet site, and after a few false starts for the conversion, it appeared on the outfit.

"So what are you, then?" Mitch was leaning on the wall, arms forded across his & symbol.

"I'm the Hypercube."

Mitch stared at the symbol - a four-dimensional cube revolving and receding, going through eye-watering contortions. "A hypercube. Yes. You are not a geek at all."

"You're one to talk, Ampersand. You are simply too educated (stupid) to enjoy the beauty of nature's perfect timecube."

"All right, okay. You got me. Thanks for the outfits, Jerry." He waved to the shopkeep, and then led Roxanne out into the club proper.

Already, it was starting to buzz - and Mitch was right. No one would peg her as anything but a wannabe here. Her white hair was nothing compared to the styles before her - rainbow hues to her left, glowing hair to her right. Domino masks and padded outfits. Buccaneer boots and utility belts that, in all probability, only holstered drugs.

The music started up. Of course, this being Club Quantum, they only played novox music - and unfortunately, she estimated that she'd hear the same music five or six thousand times that night alone. Still, there were worse ways to start off an evening than hearing Alejandra's "The Heavens Parted." Roxy had heard it a hundred times, and she would still be tearing up when it hit a thousand. It was a song about how Alejandra felt upon erupting as a nova, and it was a feeling that Roxanne could relate to.

'Ampersand' took Roxy into his arms, and they danced slowly, back and forth. Roxy looked around, to watch everyone - the surreal nature of it all, men and women in tights and costumes slow-dancing to the music of a woman they'd never met but that they all worshiped.

It wasn't the Amp Room, that was for sure. What she wasn't sure of, was if she liked it or not.

"Having fun yet?" asked Mitch.

"Yeah... I am... just, er... don't be surprised if I step on your toes."

"... of course. Of course. You've never danced before. Sorry, Roxy, I kinda... forgot."

"There's worse things to forget, Mitch. You know that I don't miss the chair one bit."

"Yeah... yeah, I guess you don't." Alejandra's haunting voice washed over the clubgoers as they danced. A glint of greenish laser sliced through the air. Someone cried, somewhere in the club. "Roxy, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Mitch..."

"What are they like?"

Roxanne paused, as the music began to wind down. "They? Who's 'they?'"

"The novas. The ones you met at the Amp Room. the ones you work with when you take an assignment from the Project. The ones you spend chatting away with on your computer. What are they like?"

Roxanne frowned. "Mitch... you know what my answer's gonna be."

"Just like everyone else?"

"For the most part, yeah. Despite what the Project might tell you, we're not all altruistic self-sacrificing individuals working for a brighter tomorrow. We're not all elites, carving out a paycheck - we're not all Teragen, seeing ourselves as more than human. We're just as varied in what we want and what we do as anyone else." Roxanne clucked her tongue. "That being said, well... I have noticed a tendency towards large, large egos when it comes to novas."

"I guess it makes sense. All that power... all those people worshiping you..."

"You begin to buy N!'s own hype about you. What they come up with to boost their revenue and market share, you actually start taking seriously. It's no way to live, Mitch. I would have gladly tried to keep it all separate, but, well..."

"That's life, Roxy. It happens when you're making other plans."

Alejandra's voice came to a close. Suddenly, a chorus of voices screeched into the microphone: "Thiiiiiiiis, is the moment you've been waiting foooooooorrrr!"

"Oh, Christ," said Roxy with a roll of the eyes. "Tommy Orgy."

"Is it true what they say about him? About how he likes to have sex with his own clo-"

"I wouldn't know," said Roxanne sharply. "I could not tell you. I have never met him - or them. Let's uh, sit this one out, okay, 'Ampersand?'

"Sure, 'Hypercube.'" Mitch and Roxanne slid into a booth, where an obedient LCD screen slid up full of menu choices. Roxanne examined the menu, a smirk on her face blossoming into a full-grown smile.

"What is it?"

"The Lance Stryker Screwdriver? Pursuer's Paralyzer? Three Mile Island iced tea? And look, I can have an Apollo Kid appetizer, or how about Corbin's Own lager?"

"Oh, yeah. I just sorta screen that out... it's a little too weird for me. I agree it's a bit cheeseball... so you can stop commenting now..."

"Not a chance! Ha! This is insane." Roxanne cackled as she proceeded down the menu. "The Shooter's Shots! Wee. Kikjak's Official Licensed Sports Beverage - that guy is not gonna stop until his name's on everything... uh... and, uh..."

Roxanne's finger hovered over an entry. Mitch craned his neck to see, and fell silent.

Geryon-Grilled Chicken blinked back at them.

Roxanne exhaled, and noticed her hand was shaking. She withdrew it from the menu. Mitch, too, seemed to have lost a little pep.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Tommy Orgy's duet wound down. A waitress came up to their table, festooned in glitter. "Hi! I'll be your server today."

Roxanne looked her up and down. "Sure. I'll take an M-R Mixer."

"Thanks! And you, sir?"

"Paxina Colada for me."

"Coming right up!" She practically skipped away. Roxanne watched her go, and shook her head.

"That, Mitch, was something I could have lived without for a while."

"Sorry, Roxanne. I think it's in poor taste, too."

"I still see him at night, Mitch... towering over me... I know he looks big and cool on TV and all but in person, he just looks big. He's like this big brown mass of muscle with this pinhole human head on it, like a bad cartoon of a bodybuilder. And he... he smells, so bad..."

"Has he contacted you since?"

"No. No, he hasn't. He could contact me again any time, though... he could use you, or Nicole, or anyone to get to me. It... hurts me. To see you have to suffer through that because some giant turd thinks he knows what's best for me in life."

"I know. Always wondered about that. You would think that if your central tenet is anarchistic in nature, you wouldn't recruit."

"They say it's only anarchistic now. That once a nova society with nova laws and governments is established, that said government will be what is followed." She shook her head. "I dunno if I believe that theory. Genetic engineering, I can get my head around - but social engineering? You've got me there."

"Wasn't my strong suit either." She leaned back in her chair, stretching a little. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before the server deposited two drinks on the table in front of them, and they both nodded their thanks. Roxanne examined hers with a grin.

"What, what is it? Something floating in your drink?"

"This drink better taste good because I'm not gonna be getting a buzz off of it." She downed a third of it in one swig, an then coughed loudly, her eyes watering. "Ohhhggg... ow. It's bitter! I thought-"

"You do this." Mitch reached forth and grabbed the straw, swizzling it around inside the drink. "You stir the drink before you drink it, instead of sucking all the alcohol off the bottom like you just did."

"Sorry. I've only ever drunk once before."

"Oh, yeah, at the-" Mitch paused, and looked around. He then whispered in a conspiratorial hush: "At the you-know-where."

"Yep."

"What's it like at you-know-where?"

"Like the Justice League went on a bender."

"Really?"

"No. I wish. No, it was more like... how do I put this. There's an entrance on the roof and groupies clustered around the outside. They play music at high velocity inside, and people dance on the ceiling and in the air. And some of them are a little... tainted. Like, beyond Vixen-level tainted. I met a couple of friends there. I think they had sex via eufiber."

"Uh, is that even possible?"

"I guess it must be." She shrugged. "Nice place to visit once in a while, Mitch, but it's not really my thing."

"What about this?" He waved around. "Are you having fun?"

"Mmmmmm..." Roxanne lifted her drink, swishing it around a little before she sipped at it. To her surprise, it tasted nice - sweeter than she expected. "Yeah, I am, Mitch. Thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It threw me, I admit - but I can see where it's all coming from. The lure of celebrity. It's... interesting, to be on the other side for a change." She drained a bit more of her drink, and looked out into the crowd. "Interesting... you know what I find the most interesting?"

"What's that?"

"All originals out on the floor. I spotted that little rule when we bough our tickets - about how you can't copy a real nova's likeness. We can't dress up at the real McCoy so we invent our own. And do a good job of it. What's that saying? 'If God didn't exist, we'd have to invent Him?'"

"So you're saying that novas are gods?"

"No... I'm saying that people think they're gods, is all." She drained the last of her drink. "Gods don't have to buy shampoo in bulk to make sure all their body hair is clean. They don't have to unconsciously drift towards stools and backless chairs to accommodate extra appendages. They don't get held up at airports for phasing out through the side of a plane."

"You could have walked right out of there with all your luggage and clothes without doing it their way, you know."

Roxanne shrugged. "I could have. There's lots of things I can do. Just because I can, doesn't mean I should." She stood up. "Now, would the Ampersand like to dance with the Hypercube?"

</CENTER>
Five songs later - Chalkline's "All My Killin's Be Fly-Byes," Alejandra's "Springs Eternal," and the heavy metal cover of "Livin' La Vida Loca," plus some others she couldn't place - Roxanne excused herself and went to the bathroom.

She groaned softly as she took the shoulder pads off and hung the cape up, and rubbed her shoulders, sitting on the commode. She didn't need to go yet - she just needed to get the damn things off.

She rotated her neck slightly, trying to get a kink out. The hypercube revolved slowly on her chest until she got fed up with it and turned it off. How did these club kids do this?

She rubbed her eyes, and popped the contacts out. She set them on the counter next to her mask, while she splashed a little cold water in her face. She heard the door to the bathroom open, and paid it no mind.

Behind her, attached to the walls, were old comic covers, boldly lettered and luridly colored, where men with incredible powers and women with incredible bosoms banded together to fight evil. She'd read most of them by now, during her teen years - where you were paralyzed and mute, there was a lot of appeal in imagining you could fly.

She remembered how some of them - usually the best ones - had their problems and pitfalls in everyday life, and how it added to the power fantasy instead of detracting from it. It was easier to believe in a kid who could spin webs when it failed to make his life an easier thing to live. By then, the nova phenomenon had yet to begin, and they were still a bit of an obscure hobby instead of the prophetic images they were today.

As she rubbed the sweat off her face, her eyes wandered over the mirror's reflection of them. They still evoked something within her, even though the world hadn't quite turned out the way they had predicted it would. The X-Men would not be hated or feared. Spider-Man would never have troubles with the rent. The writers had never thought that the real-life descendants of their four-color creations would wind up making millions off of rap records and be worshiped for what they could do.

Then again...

There were many people out there who would hate clubs like this - that spoke out against the 'brewing aberrant menace.' It wasn't all worship and adulation. And Spider-Man had tried to make money off of his powers, an attempt that had cost him dearly.

Maybe they weren't so far off after all.

It was then that Roxanne noticed the sobbing. She frowned, and turned around. One of the stall doors was open, and there was someone inside...

Roxanne blinked. Her? It can't be.

The girl looked up. She was of Oriental descent, and her hair was frosted pink. She was wearing a fuku with a utility belt. Black mascara was running down her face, entrapped in tears. "Hi," she said. "I'm Endeavor."

"Oh... yes. Of course you are. Hi, call me Hypercube. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. God." She shook her head. "Lon & me had a fight..."

"Lon?"

"Boyfriend. He said I was being a ripoff, and I said that no one's seen Endeavor in ages so there's no one to rip off, and he said that it's disrespectful of the dead and I said that he wouldn't understand, I loved Endeavor, and we started yelling, and then he..." She buried her head in her hands. "He's such a jerk!"

Roxanne leaned back on the counter. Endeavor. It would be Endeavor. A ubiquitous final transmission, and then she was gone... something about alternate states of being and the Manhattan Project. Endeavor was like that - she sometimes forgot that others weren't quite in her league when it came to theoretical physics and engineering. And then she was gone, and privately, Roxanne had been hurt. It was like suicide, without the finality. Roxanne would never know what happened to her.

And there was this kid in front of her, dressed like her, with her hair done the same way, pretending to be here at a club for people who worshiped novas without understanding the first thing about them, digging up all these old feelings...

... and all Roxanne could see was a girl hurting over an argument with the one she loved.

She nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that, uh, 'Endeavor.' Uh, you have..." Roxanne pulled a paper towel out of a wall. "There's mascara down your, er."

"Oh! Yes, thank you." Endeavor stood up, and took the offered towel. She went to the sink, wetting it and dabbing away. "I just... I don't know. I don't know why, he's such a jerk..."

"Men do that. 'Course, they tell it differently." She grinned.

Endeavor didn't smile. She just continued to dab away. "And besides, she's gone. Missing. I just... I didn't want people to... I don't know why I did it."

"You didn't want people to forget her."

Endeavor shrugged, and then, sighed. "She was wonderful..."

"Yeah. She sure was."

"So... full of life... I loved watching her, I loved reading about her. I just... I don't want people to forget. God, but Lon wouldn't understand. He's all about Lance Stryker. 'Durrrrr, my dick's so big that it tickles my knees when I walk, and that's a damn fact,'" she rumbled in a none-too-bad 'Stone Badass' impression.

Roxanne chuckled. "Is Endeavor popular around here? It's my first time at the club."

"Oh, it depends, I guess. I mean... some people, they just sorta, glom onto a nova, right? That's how it was with me. I just glommed onto Endeavor. Lon's all about Lance Stryker. This other guy, one of Lon's friends, he's a nice enough guy, but he's, like, so into Superbeast. It's so freaky."

"Ones like Superbeast are less popular?"

"Yeah, a little. It's like... look at him, okay? He snarls and growls all the time. He's got teeth like knives, you know? That's sorta... urrgggh. That's what I feel when I look at him. Urrrgggghhh."

"He's probably not like that normally."

"No, I guess not." Endeavor dabbed the last bit of mascara away. "But it's all you see of him, you know?"

Roxanne nodded. "Yeah, I see what you're saying. You going to talk to Lon now?"

"Yeah... yeah. Yeah, I'll... yeah, I think I'll talk to him. He's a jerk, but... he's a really sweet jerk."

"Okay. Take care, Endeavor."

"You too, Hypercube." Endeavor exited the bathroom. Roxanne exhaled, and grabbed her cape.

She strapped it on, and looked herself in the mirror. In the harsher lighting of the bathroom, it was tougher to believe the illusion. The pads didn't hang quite right. The symbol flickered slightly at the edges. The illusion was cracking, showing signs of wear.

She thought about the airport. About how she'd thought the security guard had been staring at her body because she was naked, when looking back on it, it hadn't been that at all. It was because she was weird. Alien. Strange. Not something he was used to.

She thought about Superbeast growling on XWF, and how he was probably the nicest guy imaginable when not on camera, and how no one would know that but the people he was friends with because he chose to keep that side of himself hidden.

She thought about that, and then, reached a decision.

Exiting the bathroom, she scanned the club, and found what was certainly the manager's office. She proceeded towards it.

</CENTER>
"Hmmmmm." Mitch checked his watch. "Why the hell do women take so much time in the bathroom?"

Another song ended. The DJ announced that he was going on a break for a bit, but that more music would be forthcoming "here at Club Quantum, where everything is super!"

So the Ampersand sat at his table, sipping his recently refilled drink, not dancing, and politely declining offers to dance from the various tightly-clad ladies that approached him. A tiny little nugget of bitterness was being nursed in his stomach, the notion that Roxanne wasn't having a good time and was just tolerating all of this for his amusement. She could put up a good front when she wanted to, but he couldn't shake that feeling.

He sighed, and tapped his fingers on the table. On the stage at the front of the club, the manager came out, looking like he was suffering from a heart attack, eyes wide as saucers, stammering and shaking. Mitch ignored him, and stared daggers at the bathroom.

It wasn't like he thought all of this was anything but cheesy and stupid. He knew that. But it was fun to buy into it, to enjoy it for what it was, the way she and Roxy and the others had all laughed at old, horrible movies and newer, equally horrible ones. He could do it, just fine. Why couldn't she do it? Why couldn't she just enjoy herself?

Because, sad as it was: her idea of fun was things he couldn't do. Flying around. Passing through walls. Shooting cans off a fence with balls of blue flame. He couldn't do all of that, and she wouldn't lower herself to doing what he though of as fun. Totally different worlds. First she'd been in a wheelchair for half of her life, and he'd gotten used to looking down; now, she was a nova, and he'd have to get used to looking up -

He blinked, and turned back towards the stage. His eyes widened, as a woman with white hair was standing next to him. Roxy had changed her outfit - she was wearing something out of her suitcase, a white tank top, a denim vest, and blue cutoff jeans. He'd never seen her wear it, but it looked worn nonetheless... it looked looser... it looked like...

It hit him a second before the manager announced it. He grinned, and sat back, his hands poised to start clapping.

"This is, er, usually the part where we, uh, give the DJ a break and give you all a break, but, ah, we have a surprise last-minute guest..." The manager looked like he was ready to run the four-minute mile, hopping from foot to foot, full of nervous energy. "She's, uh, a bit of a local celebrity, uh, and trust me - she's on the level. Uh, give it up for, uh..."

Flustered, he handed the microphone over to Roxanne, who took it with relish. "Thank you, Mister Winkerton. Hi, everybody. Welcome to Club Quantum. Tell me: how many people out there know who I am?"

Quiet reigned in the club. Then, from a corner, clapping could be heard.

"Hmmmm. Could I get a spotlight on that guy?" A lamp overhead clicked on, and zeroed in on the lone clapper. "What's your name?"

"I am, the Ampersand. I erupted while trying to draw the perfect ampersand. Now I battle the OpNet hordes and teach them how to spell correctly, use punctuation, and the ins and outs of proper sentence structure."

"A noble goal, Ampersand. Nice to meet you. You can call me the Vixen."

The room barely had time to develop a murmur before everyone gasped with shock.

Roxanne reached inside herself, fanning the flickering candle in her mind into roaring, seething life. Quantum fire shot through her veins and energized her muscles. Fur sprouted from every pore in orange, in white, in black. Her tails bulged and slithered into being. Her head reformed into a muzzle. Her eyes glowed green, and she lifted off the stage, levitating in place, majestically.

"So!" she shouted into the microphone. "How many of you recognize me now!?"

The thunderous applause nearly blew the roof off. The entire club became a wall of sound. Roxanne grinned. "That's more like it! I'll put your DJ back on in a second, but first, I've got a little number for you all, so if I could get a little quiet please..."

The applause died away. Roxanne coughed a bit, and breathed in and out slowly, and then, she began to sing.

Everyone started to get in position for a slower dance, but five seconds in, they stopped, their minds suddenly elsewhere, as the ethereal music, sweet as fresh honey, rolled over them.

It didn't have words. It was mostly tones and pitches. But everyone swore they could hear her speaking, somewhere inside of the song, and that she was singing about something, and that something was something they cared very much about.

Within the crowd, a man broke down in tears, yet was laughing. A tall man hugged the pink-haired oriental woman next to him. A young girl ran her fingers over an old picture from her wallet. Her friend looked lost in thought.

Roxanne floated over the crowd, as the song continued. Mitch looked up at her as she floated past and gave her a thumbs-up symbol, as the song conjured images in his mind, of blue skies and green grass, a place where drudgery was forbidden and happiness reined. He saw it in his mind's eye and knew it could be a real place, if only he looked hard enough. The song reminded him of it. From a quick look around, he wasn't the only one who was enraptured by the music.

If asked, he couldn't hum the tune. If pressed, he couldn't remember the lyrics. But the song? He'd always remember the song.

She ended it. There was no applause. Everyone just stared up at her.

She smiled down at them. One of them, in particular. Mitch couldn't be sure, but he'd swear she saw one of those glowing emerald orbs wink for a moment.

"Now!" she announced. "We're gonna play a couple of my favorites for a while then I'm gonna give the DJ his club back. First up is an old Jimi Hendrix tune - can you guess which one?"

The laughter of the crowd was all the confirmation she needed. "All right! 'Foxy Lady' on three, two, one -"
</CENTER>
Several hours had passed. After Roxanne exhausted all the songs she knew how to sing, including T.V. theme songs, she pulled a literal vanishing act, leaving them wanting more.

Mitch took his cue and took his leave. He waited out by the Beamer, back in civilian clothes. He took out a small plastic stick, pressed a stub in the middle, and blew in one end. The light came up red - yep. Over the legal limit for sure.

He heard a noise from behind him. "Please tell me you know how to drive, Roxy."

"Uh..." She grinned. She was back in her civilian clothes, her hair hidden carefully under a hat, her eyes concealed by sunglasses. Her suitcase was at her feet. "I have my learner's. Is that good enough?"

"I don't think so, no."

"Darn. Well, give me the keys away."

Mitch nodded, and tossed them at her. She plucked them out of the air and put them in her pocket. "Sorry I kinda abandoned you there, Mitch. I just... I dunno. Got a funny idea in my head."

"It was a funny idea. And no, I didn't mind. It was good to see you having some fun out in public."

"Don't get too used to it. I was so nervous! Public speaking... I can see why people are so scared of it."

Mitch nodded. "Well, I guess we're gonna catch the bus, now..."

"Naw." Roxanne started locking the car up, high-tech locking sound effects emanating from the Beamer. "No bus for us."

"We're walking? Roxanne, it's about twenty miles back to my house. My legs are gonna fall off."

"They won't." She grinned. "Just cover for me while I change, okay?"

Mitch blinked, then realized what was happening. He took a quick look around while out of the corner of his eye, Roxy changed. A moment later, he heard the sound of clothing as it cascaded to the floor.

Would you be a dear for me, Mitch, and pick it up for me? Just put it in my suitcase.

Numbly, Mitch did as he was told. The suitcase's locks snapped open, he deposited the clothing inside, and he resealed the case. Okay, Roxy, he thought. Now what?

Just hold on.

"Hold on?"

A second later he was airborne, as a pair of furry arms wrapped around him and bore him aloft. He yelped softly. "Roxxxyyyyyy...!"

She faded into view, her head resting on his shoulder. "Quicker than the bus. And lots more fun. And it's 'Vixen' while I'm sporting more body hair that the East German Olympic team."

"Vixen, Jesus, Jesus! " He stared, wide-eyed, at the ground far below. "I'm gonna fall! God, don't drop me! I'm gonna-"

"You are not. And here's why. See how I'm gripping you? Special grip. Special Project Utopia grip they taught me. I can hold onto ya perfectly fine for at least ten minutes this way. I can hold onto ya better if you stop kicking around."

Mitch took the hint, and forced himself to calm down. "Okay. Okay, I'm good. I'm good. Wow. Look, I can see my house from here."

"It looks nice from up here. How did the move go?"

"Oh, it went fine. I didn't have enough stuff in my old house to really call it a 'move...' It's nice out there. Good neighborhood."

"I'm glad." A seagull darted by the two of them. Cars honked below. A low roll of fog could be visibly seen rolling in from the coast. "Hmmm... fog. I think I'll be taking the bus from your place."

"You don't fly in the fog?"

"Too risky."

"But you can turn intangible, and invisible, and all that other stuff..."

"Yeah, but... well, Mitch, you know how other novas look normal, and some of them look less normal, and there's ones like me who don't look normal at all?"

"Yeah..."

"It's because of over-stressed quantum energy, I'm told. There's quantum energy within my body that is... not totally within my control. It's what causes me to look so weird. It's why all that weird stuff goes away when I shut off the flow of quantum from my M-R node."

"Okay, so what's that got to do with it?"

"I'm told that if you stress your powers too much, this problem can get worse. I think I know my limit at the moment - I get a regular checkup, and Dr. Locke says the energy's holding steady, and sometimes it even goes away a bit."

"Ahh. So, it's doctor's orders that you don't cut loose like this every day?"

"You might say that. Okay, hold on. Landing can be a little weird."

Mitch gulped as the ground zoomed towards him, but Vixen slowed her descent, and coasted gently to a stop in Mitch's backyard. A trampoline sat in one corner and a windmill in the other. The house was done over with a brick exterior, and looked older than it was.

"Wow, that was... wow." He looked around. "Did you turn invisible again, Ro - Vixen?"

"I did." The voice floated from nowhere, and for a moment, Mitch was reminded of her song. "Well, uh... I guess you're... this is good night."

Mitch nodded. 'Want me to hold onto your luggage?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah... I'll come by tomorrow and pick it up."

"Okay. Uh, hope you had fun tonight."

"Oh, I did, Mitch." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I did. Thanks so much for taking me out tonight. I... it was an experience. I learnt a lot."

"Yeah, uh... yeah." He picked up the suitcase. "I had fun too, Roxy. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Stay safe."

A brief pause, then: "Okay. Tomorrow it is."

Mitch opened up his back door, paused for a moment, then turned around. "Uh, Roxy, did you maybe..."

The yard was empty. He didn't hear her... didn't feel her thoughts...

"... maybe... want to spend the... night... okay. I guess not."

He sighed, and opened his door. He entered the house, and deposited the luggage by the doorway. He flipped on a light, and went into the kitchen.

He paged through his machine's messages, mentally prioritizing them. He went to the refrigerator and withdrew an orange. He peeled it quietly, staring out the window, and sighed.

The orange went down quickly. He sat down on his couch, and pulled his ebook reader off the end table. He flipped it on, and read back a bit to recapture where he was in the book. He was at the point where the sorceress Dree was about to confront her mentor about his ties to the Black Hands, and-

Mitch?

He sat upright. "Yes?" Yes?

I....

The sound of her voice was inside his brain. He couldn't possibly pick out a direction. And yet, he knew which way to look, as she reappeared, hands clasps over her chest, tails swishing low, looking shy and vulnerable.

"Mitch... yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Yes, I want to stay the night."

Mitch blinked. "Uh... really? Okay. Sorry, it's such a mess, uh, I wasn't... expecting company..."

She pounced on him. He never got to finish his sentence. And after about ten seconds, he stopped trying.
</CENTER>
Several hours passed. If pressed, there was no way Mitch could ever provide details - for one thing, he'd be a cad to kiss and tell, and for another... well, you couldn't describe the indescribable.

It had started as normally as it ever did, with her dorming down, her bare flesh pressed against his. Then, somewhere around midnight, she'd shifted forms, which was a whole new experience for him, and which she seemed to enjoy more. She growled a lot, that second time. He didn't mind at all.

Around one-thirty in the morning, she got the idea of trying a telepathic link, which was the single more rewarding sexual experience of his lifetime. It practically needed a new name. He could feel everything she felt at the same time he felt it. He would cup her breasts and gasp in joy. She would kiss him and feel lips on her neck.

Around three-thirty was when the telepathic illusions came into play. They made love with a babbling brook nipping at their feet, surrounded by endless green grass and blue sky. They kissed atop the largest building in the world, wind rippling through her fur. In the forest, she altered his perceptions of himself, remaking his mental image into an anthropomorphic male fox, and then, under the sea, he was accosted by three different Roxannes at once.

Hours later, exhausted, he respectfully requested an opportunity to sleep, which she joyfully gave him, but only if he made up for it later.

Just before he fell asleep, it occurred to him that she was a virgin - well, she had been up until last night, anyway. That it was the first time she'd been in bed with another man, and that it still was mind-blowingly fantastic, and if this became a regular thing, it would only get better.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

</CENTER>
She napped for a bit, not bothering to dorm down. Her quantum energy reserves were at a low ebb, and they recharged faster when she was in her Vixen Aspect.

Even after all the activities of the previous day, with the airport, the club, and the sex, she still only needed a couple of hours to be back to normal. Not wishing to wake Mitch, she decided to bake herself some breakfast.

Cooking in her current form was an experience like no other. She could smell the scent of the food as it went from one thing to another. She quietly fixed herself a large bowl of cereal, eight pieces of toast, a large jug of orange juice and a stack of pancakes, and then wolfed it all down.

Satisfied, she thought about last night as she pulled out her PDA, browsing through the OpNet. Sites streamed past the tiny screen as she read them quickly, her mind on other things, such as how much your life could change in one day.

Yes, Geryon was still out there. Yes, he had friends. Yes, many of her friends were gone themselves. At the moment, she didn't care. She had strength of her own - things in her life that were precious. Things she'd learnt about others, and about herself.

So she almost missed it. But highly-trained eyes caught it even though the rest of her brain had already moved past.

She blinked, and paged back. Was it...? No. Yes!

A post on the board.

About a pink-haired girl in the middle of the ocean, in the world's most high tech dingy.

Roxanne laughed. She laughed, and leaned back in the chair, and kissed the PDA's screen. "You crazy, mad, woman. God bless you."

Inside her mind, her spirit soared, through an infinite expanse of clouds. It was potential, infinite in all directions, and she had time, all the time in the world to explore it all.

It was a good life.

And it was hers.

END