Legion of Occult Heroes #3

Well, it takes place before UN #13...

Oh yeah, and some of it might not seem to have much to do with the
LOH. Stick with it. It makes sense in the end.



                     Marmalade Dalek Productions Presents
                     ------------------------------------


           -*  T H E  L E G I O N  O F  O C C U L T  H E R O E S  *-

                                 Issue Three

                            "Character Revelation"

                                By Paul Hardy

                              An ACRAPHOBE title

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Catalyst Lass was beginning to suspect something. Oh, nothing
really nasty, like the sudden return of Acton Lord or something, It
was more on an ordinary everyday kind of level, brought about by bits
of gossip here and there, and the odd few sightings. At the arena, she
had, along with lots of other people, seen Andrew and Kirsty holding
hands as they left, but she`d been to overcome by the experience at
the time to make very much of it. She`d started to wonder what the two
were up to when Kirsty had declined to join her and some others on a
trip to the cinema- although, she had reasoned, it may have been out
of some weird English notion of politeness. But them Kirsty didn`t
seem too much like the aristocratic or eccentric kind of English
person; she seemed more like an ordinary girl, just with a different
accent (and powers, of course). She had been rather mysterious about
what she was doing in preference to the cinema, though- Cat could
smell some serious gossip emanating from this situation. So she`d
started to keep her eyes open on the subject. And there were
definitely grounds for suspicion. So Cat decided to try and find out a
little more; she would invite Kirsty to the slumber party, and try and
drag the conversation in the direction of whether or not she was
getting it together with Andrew.
	She found Kirsty one afternoon, having coffee and chocolate
cake in the cafeteria. The chocolate cake was one of those
multilayered delights that cost far too much and never last more than
five minutes once prepared. Kirsty was enjoying it rather a lot,
munching happily away whilst reading a newspaper from England. Cat
grabbed a slice of the cake for herself and went over to Kirsty`s
table. "Hi Kirsty! Mind if I sit down?"
	Kirsty looked up and smiled as she recognised Cat. "Sure. Have
a seat." Cat seated herself and dug a fork into the chocolate sponge
and icing, breaking a piece free and tasting it.
	"Good cake, this," she said.
	Kirsty grinned. "Apparently, Cheesecake-Eater Lad was trying a
few new ideas this morning."
	"They worked," said Cat as she munched. "Listen. I`m holding a
slumber party in a few days. Do you want to come?"
	"Ah... when exactly is it?"
	Cat told her. Kirsty thought about it.
	"Er... no, I`m afraid. I`ve got something else on for then."
	Cat smiled and looked inquisitive. "Something good?"
	Kirsty smiled as well. "Yeah."
	"Go on, then....?"
	"Weeeelll... I`m going out with somebody."
	Cat perked up. "Really? Who?"
	"Well... you remember when we all went out to see Constellation?"
	Aha! Thought Cat. "Yeah?"
	"It started then. I`d known him for a while, but, well,
nothing had ever happened before."
	"Demon Boy?"
	Kirsty grinned conspiritorially. "Yeah, Andrew."  She
shrugged. "I`ve been working with him since I started all this,
but... I don`t know. Maybe we`ve suddenly got a lot more in common."
	"So what`s he like?"
	"Oh, he`s so _cute_! And he`s really nice, too... I used to
just think he was annoying, but it turns out that all the film stuff
is his way of making contact with everything... underneath he`s just a
sweet guy."
	Ah, young love, though Cat. She deserves it, after what she`s
been through. "Yeah, but... what`s he _like_?" 
	Kirsty smiled and turned red. "Ooohhh... fun." Kirsty`s eyes
flashed. Cat grinned.
	"Mm. Don`t do anything I wouldn`t do. Well, not too much of
it, anyway..."
	"Of course..."
	"You wouldn`t want to tire yourself out, after all..."
	"Hey, I`m more worried about him than I am about me..."
	"If you keep on like this you won`t even need the
chocolate..."
	Kirsty considered this. So did Cat.
	"Naaaaaah," they said in unison.


	"So what`ve you been up to, then, guv?" asked Bicycle Repair
Lad before he gulped down some tea.
	"Oh, this and that... bits and pieces... here and there..."
replied Andrew, his eyes happily somewhere else, and his tea staying
in it`s mug. They were sat down of an afternoon in BRL`s workshop; a
flight.thingy engine was sitting, partially dismantled and throughly
begreased, upon the workbench, and BRL had clearly been wrestling with
it for most of the day.
	"Sounds a bit round and about, dunnit?"
	"Oh, what? Yeah. Sorry, I`m a bit distracted, really..."
	"Go on, then."
	"Oh, well...." Andrew looked to one side and smiled to
himself. "I, uh... I started going out with somebody."
	"Yeah?"
	Andrew had a swig of tea and nodded. "Yeah." He grinned and
looked into his mug. "I`ve... well. I`ve been having a lot of fun."
	"Anyone I know, squire?"
	"It`s, uh, Kirsty. You know. Leviathan Lass."
	"Nice one."
	"Nah, it`s..." Andrew furrowed his brow. "It`s more serious
than just that. I really like her a lot, you know?"
	"So ow`d it `appen, then?"
	"Oh... you remember that thing with Constellation?"
	"Yep."
	"We sort of realised a few things that night. I thought she
was, I dunno, a bit bitter and twisted before that... but I think
she`s changed. She was all hung up over her mum dying... it`s like
I`ve known her all this time and only just found out what she`s really
like, you know?" Bicycle Repair Lad shrugged. "She`s really nice, as
it happens."
	"Bit of a looker, too..."
	Andrew smiled. "Yeah, that as well. I think I`m in love."
	"You`re not sure?"
	"Feels like it. Yeah, I am in love."
	"I`ll raise a mug to that," said BRL. They did so.
	"Cheers," said Andrew, raising his chipped mug before slurping. 


	In a quiet and deserted warehouse on the edge of Net.ropolis,
a woman had set up a corner as a watching post. No one ever came to
that corner; what was stored there was being stored for a long time,
and dust felt safe to settle. She had pulled in a sleeping bag, kettle
and a few bits and bobs, but the main items were pointing out of a
window at an apartment building not far away. A camera, with a
telephoto lens, stood on a sturdy metal tripod and looked out upon the
city. It was early evening, and the streets of Net.ropolis were jammed
with hooting cars trying to get back from work. The woman stood with a
mug of hot chocolate in one hand, and raised the other to look at her
watch. She was dressed warmly in a thick coat, for the warehouse
didn`t include luxuries like heating. It didn`t include bathrooms,
either, but the woman had ways round that. She lowered her arm, having
checked the time, and leaned forward to look through the viewfinder of
the camera. She was quite tall, a little over six feet, and looked to
be somewhere in her thirties. She wore no makeup, and looked intent
upon what she saw through the camera. The lens was already pointed in
the right direction, and had been for some time; at the window of an
apartment that was sandwiched into a building housing many similar
living spaces. The building looked quite new, and was home for dozens
of people who worked in banks, in insurance, in publishing, in
finance, and many other jobs of that nature. Through the window, the
woman could see an apartment that was tastefully furnished according
to modern designs, a place that looked as much a home as a showpiece
for furniture. 
	Someone moved across the window. A woman. The woman
behind the camera narrowed her eyes. The woman in the apartment looked
happy, watering a few plants that rested upon the windowsill; she was
dressed casually, in sweatshirt and leggings, and seemed to have
recently been exercising, if the ragged way that her hair was tied
back was anything to go by. The woman in the warehouse took a few
shots of her as she stood framed in the window.
	She stopped, turned her head; she`d heard something, perhaps
the doorbell. She smiled, put the watering can down, and headed for
the door of the apartment, which was visible from another window. The
woman with the camera turned it slightly to find the front door, and
got there in time to find a man in a suit entering and smiling at the
sight of the woman. She took some more photos. The two people in the
apartment embraced, warmly, closely. And then kissed. Very
deeply. More photos were taken. Grinning, the woman led the man, who
looked suspicious and amused, out of shot. The camera was moved to
another window. They passed it, and the woman was unbuttoning the
man`s shirt. There weren`t any more windows.
	The woman in the warehouse leaned back from the camera, trying
to control her features. But she couldn`t stop a tear from escaping
her eyes.


	It was morning in the LNHQ, and somebody needed a
flight.thingy. So, the giant doors to the flight.thingy launch bay
were being rolled open, letting in the morning light, a thin bar at
first that shone down in a great line across the bay, but which
widened, creeping across the many and varied forms of the larger
flight.thingys to the accompaniment of the grinding motors that pulled
the roof open. The light travelled steadily across the bay, until it
reached the walls, and began to creep up. The light at first picked
out gantries and fire exits, but travelled higher and illuminated a
row of windows, windows that kept the launch bay seperate from the
many residential rooms of the LNHQ. The light climbed yet higher,
throwing light onto another row of windows; most of them had the
curtains drawn at this early hour, though some people were already up
and about. Yet higher, and another row; and, soon enough, the great
mechanism came to a halt, and the launch bay was completely exposed to
the morning sun.
	Kirsty snapped awake, dragged from her dream by the light that
beat upon her eyelids. She opened her eyes and blinked at it, not
really sure of what it was, or how it fitted into the story of the
dream; but the dream faded, and she recognised the light as being that
of the sun. She looked to her right and remembered where she was. Laid
beside her, snoring gently, was Andrew, still fast asleep. She looked
over at him, and smiled at the way he looked cuter when he was
sleeping. A shadow passed over the room, and Kirsty looked out of the
window to see what it was; a flight.thingy, just leaving the bay. The
sun returned, and she looked back at Andrew. She was still a little
surprised by his presence; a little surprised by what had been going
on recently. She remembered first meeting Andrew; about a year ago,
when Israishus had brought together five heroes to make up the LOH- he
had her struck as a bit of a geek, though he didn`t look too bad. She
hadn`t noticed that for long, though; back then, she could hardly ever
shake from her mind the image of the last time she had seen her
mother, the formal identification in the mortuary of the Royal College
Hospital... terrible things had been done to her, and the image came
back once more.
	She closed her eyes and pushed the image back; she could,
now. Her mother was gone, and there was nothing left that could be
said. Though there was much that should have been said. But it was too
late for that; she was gone. If her mother had only told her, Kirsty
would have rested easier at nights, those first few months; now, at
least, she did. She could never have imagined living without being
able to talk to her mother, to see her, to trust in her; these
days... well, she hadn`t quite gotten used to it. But it hurt less.
	At least she had a life now, and something else to live
for. The something else was lying beside her, feeling warm against her
skin, and had one arm laid across her, holding onto her; she could
hardly believe how nice he`d turned out to be. Okay, he still quoted
enough to drive her nuts, but that seemed to have acquired a little
charm; and he had a few other charms as well. She remembered last
night and how he`d put them into use. She smiled and closed her eyes. 
	She thought about her mother again. She thought about the
burial; of all the strangers that had turned up one sunny summer`s day
to say goodbye to a friend. So many of them, clustered around the hole
in the ground; she hadn`t known that her mother had known so many
people. But, with what she now knew about her mother, it had made
sense. They were all the people who she had worked with; fought
alongside. They had lined up to offer their condolences; some had
turned up in costume, figures she knew from newspaper headlines and TV
news reports. One after another, they shook her hand and said that
they were sorry. Most of them seemed surprised that Kirsty existed;
they didn`t know that her mother had borne a child. One had said a few
words:
	"I... am sorry for your loss. Your mother was a great
woman. You... have a difficult path ahead. But it is one that shall
lead to happiness. I wish that I could say more, but... I must remain
a stranger." His eyes had been filled with such pain. He looked away,
and left, pulling his trenchcoat around him, even in the August
heat. Another man, tall, dressed formally and correctly, his beard
trimmed and cropped, had spoken to her next.
	"My name is Israishus. Later, we must talk." She had looked at
him blankly, as though the idea of talking were something
incomprehensible. He passed on, and the line of famous strangers
continued. Kirsty looked at Andrew again. Yes, he was real. She ran a
finger down his face; stubble was beginning to grow out of his cheeks,
and it made his skin rough as she trailed her finger along it. His
face twitched. She thought back to the grave; perhaps it was time to
say goodbye, properly. Yes, that would be a good idea. It felt
right. But did it still exist, with the way things were now? It didn`t
matter; she still wanted to go.
	She felt like getting up. The doors to the launching bay were
beginning to close now, and the sunlight slid away from the room; the
darkness returned. She looked around, and blinked until her eyes got
used to the darkness. Yes, time to get up. The only problem, of
course, was that Andrew was in the way.
	She pushed his shoulder. He kept on snoring. She tried it
again, rocking his body back and forth, but he managed, stubbornly, to
remain asleep, though he mumbled something almost incomprehensible
about barge tarriffs. He really wasn`t going to be easy to wake
up. That left one solution. Not one that he would enjoy, but it would
get him up. Smiling, Kirsty reached down under the covers to a lower
portion of Andrew`s body.
	"YAAAAHHHHH!" His eyes opened wide, he flailed about, looked
in panic, and fell off the side of the bed, dragging all the covers
with him. "ooooooohhhhh....." he moaned. Kirsty sat up, and then
leaned over the edge of the bed to see if he was alright. Andrew lay
there, looking bleary and half-awake; but he certainly wasn`t sleeping
anymore. He opened his eyes, blinked, and looked up to see Kirsty
leaning over him. His eyes went wide. "REVENGE!!!" he cried, leaping up.
	Kirsty shrank back, but it was no use; he was already tickling
her half to death, making her laugh and giggle as her sides tried to
split away from his deadly fingers. "Stop it.... No, stopppp it!!" she
cried amongst the giggles. Andrew grinned, and stopped. Kirsty looked
at him with playful wrath. "Just for that," she said, finger wagging
at him, "you can make the tea."
	"Okay," said Andrew, bounding off the bed to grab the kettle.


	Half an hour later, they were washed, dressed, infused with
tea and generally feeling a lot more awake. They were wearing normal
clothes, since Kirsty had already told Andrew that she wanted to visit
her mother`s grave; Andrew had looked understanding and agreed without
hesitation. Kirsty swigged down the last of a second mug of
tea. Andrew thought of something.
	"But what if it isn`t there?"
	Kirsty stayed silent for a moment. "I don`t know. I just hope
it is."
	"Yeah. I suppose there`s every chance, what with the way
things are right now."
	"Right, then. I need to get some stuff from my room-"
	"VILE HEATHEN!!!" 
	The voice came from outside, and belonged to the lungs of the
Self-Righteous Preacher, who was, for some reason, rather annoyed at
something. "You PRESUME that the Legion will take you back after your
SHAMEFUL absence! Well let me tell you IT IS NOT SO!!"
	"But Preacher-"
	"I knew from the moment you entered this place that you would
be a vile and corrupting influence upon this saintly assemblage! And
now, like the Lord did unto Satan, I cast ye OUT!"
	"I was stuck in the past-"
	"You and your mutant brethren shall not gain the summit of
your diabolical plans, for I, the MORAL GUARDIAN of this honourable
organisation, am vigilant enough to DISCOVER your devilish trickery!!"
	"It was the Stranger-"
	Andrew and Kirsty looked at each other. "You know, this sort
of thing can be really annoying," said Kirsty.
	"I was just thinking the same thing," said Andrew. "Mind if I
do something about it?"
	"Feel free."
	"Here." He removed his t-shirt, handed it to Kirsty, and put on a
dressing gown.  The Preacher was in mid-tirade:
	"OH YES! And I will stand STEADFAST against your
MINISTRATIONS-"
	Andrew flung open the door. "DO YOU MIND? People are trying to
have SEX in here!!" The Preacher was stopped in mid-sermon, looking
like a ten-ton lorry containing Satanic icons had hit him.  Andrew
withdrew and slammed the door. Kirsty laughed. He`d only seen the film
last night, and already he was quoting it. Outside, there was the
clear sound of Self-Righteous Preacher fuming and blowing his top,
shortly before stomping off. Andrew and Kirsty laughed
hysterically. There was a knock on the door. "Come in!" said
Kirsty. The door opened, and a leopardgirl wearing a blue one-piece
costume and a collar came in.
	"Panta!" said Andrew. "What was all that about?"
	Panta shrugged. "The usual. He`s always on at me for one
reason or another. Thanks for stopping him."
	"No problem," said Andrew.
	"Cup of tea?" asked Kirsty.
	"Milk?" Panta asked hopefully.
        "Nope. Sorry."
        "Oh well," Panta sighed. Then she brightened. "Thanks for your help
on the train."
        Andrew and Kirsty looked blank. "Train? What train?" asked Kirsty.
	"Uh... you remember! On the train? In Net.si Germany?"
	Andrew pursed his lips and looked at Kirsty. "Can`t say I`ve
ever been there. You?"
	"Not really," replied Kirsty. "What exactly are you talking
about?"
	Panta looked like she`d realised something. "Oh! Um,
nothing. Just a bit of confusion while I was time travelling, that`s
all. Well, see you later..." she scooted out the door.
	"Well, I`m confused," said Andrew.
	"You think she was talking about something that`s going to
happen in our future?"
	"Or past. Possibly."
	"Weird. Remember the last time we went time travelling?"
	Andrew grimaced. "Yeah. Messy."
	"Well, anyway. I`ve got to get a bag packed from my
room... I`ll meet you down in the cafeteria in quarter of an hour,
okay?"
	"Sure." They kissed. "See you then..."
	"See you."


	"So," said Andrew, "where exactly are we going?" They were sat
down in the LNH cafeteria once more, munching through bowls of cereal.
	"The cemetery`s in East London. Near Epping Forest."
	"What, Essex?"
	"Not quite. Nearly as bad, though. Once we get into Heathrow,
we take the Tube-
	"I thought the Tube didn`t go to Heathrow?""
	"Does these days. Has for quite a while."
	"Oh, well. That`s what I get for not living in London."
	"All we have to do is get on the Piccadilly line, go all the
way up to Holborn, change onto the Central line, and Epping`s at the
end of that."
	"Sounds simple."
	"Central Line can be a bit nasty at rush hour, though. We`ll
have to be careful."
	"When do we land at Heathrow?"
	"Mid afternoon."
	"Good planning."
	Kirsty grinned. "UCL`s got an Underground map on it`s WWW
server now. Makes life easy."
	"Right then. Better get a move on, I suppose."
	"Mph. Give me a chance to finish my cornflakes, first."
	"Right." Andrew looked around whilst Kirsty munched. A little
trip to London seemed like a good idea; he hadn`t been back to England
in ages. Not that it would be the same England, but, he thought, there
was some truth in the phrase "there`ll always be an England." It might
not look exactly the same, but it was bound to be there.
	Once we`ve been to the grave, he thought, maybe we could go
north. To Coventry, where he`d grown up; he really had spent far too
long in the States, for one reason or another. Israishus had had him
transferred here the moment he`d left his foster parents, and since
then he`d hardly had any time to go back; and almost every time he`d
gone to England, he`d only had time to visit London. London was all
very well, but it was getting hard to breathe in the centre. A small
city like Coventry was more his taste, though there were prettier
places to live in. Coventry had a nasty habit of recent architecture,
thanks in large part to the Luftwaffe; still, it was a good place to
be.
	He looked at Kirsty again. She`d really been through it in the
last year; he felt a little ashamed for thinking of her as bitter and
aloof, now he knew better why. She`d opened up since the thing with
Constellation; she seemed almost a different person, and Andrew wished
he`d known her before then. But then she probably wouldn`t have looked
twice at him; by the sound of it, she`d actually had a life before her
mother died, and that was something Andrew could never really claim to
have had. He`d always been too busy escaping from foster parents he
didn`t really get on with, and then the difficulties of being a
superhero, by watching films as though there were nothing else to
do. Truth to tell, he hadn`t been close to anyone for a long time; not
since Lisa, way back in Coventry; he remembered when he told her that
he was leaving, and about what it was that he could do. She was a
christian, too much of a christian to accept it. They had parted at
Birmingham airport; but he didn`t want to remember any more of it. At
least Kirsty could handle the life, since she lead it herself; and she
really was somebody he was getting close to. Plus she was rather cute
and good-looking, especially since she`d started taking care of
herself again. He found his eyes wandering downwards and enjoying
themselves even more. Especially when he added in memories of the
night before.
	Kirsty finished the last of her cornflakes, and gathered up
her coat and bag. "Okay, let`s get a move on."
	"Righto." Andrew grabbed his own stuff, and they rose from
their seats, and headed for the exit. Unfortunately, leaving was not
going to be that simple. Framed as impressively as he could manage in
the entrance to the cafeteria was the wrathful form of the
Self-Righteous Preacher, who looked none too happy.
	"What is it _now_?" asked Kirsty.
	"I quarrel not with you, but with your companion. He who has
torn down the barriers of good taste. He who has besmirched the good
name of the LNH. He who has violated the codes by which we live. He
who has mentioned the existence of _SEX_ in a comic book! He is no
better than Deja Dude."
	"Preacher. This isn`t a comic book. This is real life. So get
one," said Andrew. Kirsty remembered a few of the things that Cat had
been trying to explain to her.
	"Ah... apparently it isn`t, Andrew..."
	"It matters NOT!" thundered the preacher. "Acraphobe or no, I
cannot tolerate this profanity that you espouse!"
	"Oh, sod off," said Andrew. "Just let us get past, will you?"
	"Not until you mend your ways."
	"Oh, bugger this," said Kirsty. "Andrew. This is a god-fearing
christian, right?"
	"Has all the classic symptoms."
	"So why not put some fear of the devil into him as well?"
Andrew grinned. And then said a name.
	"Nhor`mann." His eyes glowed a dull red as he did so. To his
side, a creature appeared from nowhere, smelling of things that are
best left undescribed, though it`s probably safe to mention that a few
people in the cafeteria were put off breakfast quite severely. It was
about seven feet tall, quadrupedal with stumpy legs, had a lengthy
snout and was covered in bristles everywhere but it`s chest and
stomach, which would have been of fine brown fur if it hadn`t been
matted with stinking ichor. The Preacher raised a cross up to ward
himself and looked aghast
	"This had better be good," said the creature in a deep,
rumbling voice. 
	"Oh, but it is," said Andrew. "See this bloke?" He indicated
the Preacher.
	"What manner of pit has this creature been summoned from?"
whimpered the Preacher. Nobody paid much attention.
	"Yeh," said Nhor`mann.
	"Think of him as Dinsdale."
	"Look, just because I bear a resemblance to that joke in Monty
Python is no reason to keep using me as comic relief-"
	"He`s a christian evangelist and a right pain in the arse."
	"-although on the other hand it could be quite fun." Kirsty
and Andrew stepped aside, and the creature looked at the aghast
Preacher. "You`ve got five seconds," it leered. The Preacher looked at
it in terror.
	"Be-begone, fuh fuh fuh foul demon!"
	"He`s the only one who can dismiss me," said the creature,
gesturing at Andrew. "Four seconds." The Preacher gulped and
ran. After a couple of seconds Nhor`mann went after him.
	"DINSDALE!" it cried.
	"I think we can leave now," said Andrew.
	

	The doorbell rang. It was one of those buzzer kind of
doorbells, the ones that really grate at three in the morning when
you`re just getting to the really interesting bit of the dream. It
buzzed it`s way around an apartment that was empty of people. It
penetrated through every cubic inch of air that could be found, but
there were no ears to hear it. The apartment was furnished in a modern
but tasteful manner, and was situated in a building that contained many
similar dwelling spaces, all situated in a comfortable part of the
edge of Net.ropolis. The doorbell rang, or rather buzzed, once more,
and yet again found no one at home. The buzz subsided. 
	There was another sound. The mechanism of the lock turned, and
allowed the door to be opened. This was strange, given the lack of any
sound that might indicate the entrance of a key into the lock; it
simply snapped open. The door was pushed open, carefully, and a head
poked around it. The head belonged to a woman, who looked around to
see if anyone was at home. No one was. Ascertaining this, she stepped
into the room fully, and closed the door behind her. She was dressed
simply; jeans and sweatshirt, hair loose and face empty of
cosmetics. She went over to the window and looked out; a few blocks
away, she could see the window out of which she`d been watching this
apartment for the last few weeks, though she could see nothing
within. Which was, of course, the whole idea. She turned back to the
room, and looked around it. She looked at it not in the way that
someone new to the place would, but as someone who`d returned from a
long absence would; picking out certain things that provoked memories,
gazing around to get back into the feel of it. She walked over to a
small shelf full of trinkets, and picked up one; a small black enamel
elephant, that she held and smiled at. She put it back, carefully, and
started off for the bedroom.
	As she was passing through the door, another noise stopped
her. The telephone was ringing. She looked back to where it lay, and
waited for the answerphone to pick it up. There was a click, and it
started.
	"Hi there!" A man`s voice. American accent. "You`ve got
through to Martin and Vicky`s place!"
	"Only we aren`t in just now." A woman`s voice. British accent.
	"So, when you hear the tone, leave your name and number..."
	"And, you never know, we might even get back to you."
	BEEP.
	"Uh, Vicky? It`s Martin." The woman had to lean against the
table that the phone sat on, as she recognised the voice. "The
computers have gone down and everyone`s being sent home early, so I`ll
be there in half an hour. Just thought I`d let you know in case you
get back between now and then. Love you."
	The woman`s face looked strained. She walked over to the
answerphone, and rewound the tape. And played it again. And
again. Tears escaped her eyes, and she looked glad, like someone
reunited with a loved one after many years. She almost laughed with
the happiness. "Oh, Martin..." she said, and her voice was the same as
the woman on the answerphone`s. She wiped hair back from her face and
laughed tiredly. "Martin." She wiped away the tears, blinked, and
headed back for the bedroom. To change.


	The hedgehog poked it`s head around the Slurpee machine. 
	"DINSDALE?"
	Self-Righteous Preacher leapt, terrified, from the sofa that
he`d been hiding behind and ran for the elevators.


        The officer from HM Customs & Excise looked at Andrew and
Kirsty. Then he looked at their passports. Then he looked back at
them. Then he studied their passports again, this time more slowly and
carefully. Then he reached for a telephone.
        "Cuthbertson here. We`ve got a couple of superheroes. Yes,
sir, superheroes. No, sir, I don`t know. Very well, sir." He looked
back at Andrew and Kirsty. "Nothing serious," he said. "Just
regulations."
        Andrew and Kirsty looked mystified. "Is there something wrong
with the passports?" asked Kirsty.
        "Nothing at all, madam. We`d just like to have a word with
you, that`s all."
        "What kind of a word?" asked Andrew.
        "Sir, I assure you that it`s nothing to be worried about. Just
procedure." He smiled, helpfully, in direct contrast with the rest of
his manner. Kirsty folded her arms and began to fume, whilst Andrew
gazed around for no particular reason whilst irritably fiddling with
the edge of a pocket. A couple of aggravating minutes later, another
customs officer appeared on the scene, and took over from
Cuthbertson. Andrew and Kirsty looked at the short, moustached man
suspiciously and with no small amount of hostility.
        "Are these the two...?" he asked. Cuthbertson nodded, and
handed over the passports. The new Customs officer studied
them. "Hmm. British, eh? Well, that makes this fairly pointless, but
orders are orders." He beckoned to Andrew and Kirsty. "This way
please."
        He led the two of them off to an interview room nearby the
Customs desk, which looked boringly modern and threateningly
sparse. Just a desk, a few chairs, and a tape recorder. The Customs
officer took one side of the desk, and beckoned Andrew and Kirsty to
take the other. "Sit, sit... let`s see..." He opened the folder that
he`d been carrying, and took from it a piece of paper. "Right, well,
this is the usual rigmarole for superheroes entering the country,
especially for members of the Legion of Net.Heroes. Like I say, it
doesn`t really apply to you two, but I have to read it anyway."
        "Can I ask a question?" asked Kirsty.
        "Yes?"
        "What exactly is all this?"
        "You don`t know?"
        "We`ve been out of the country for a while."
        "Oh. Well. New regulations- well, not that new. From April
1988 onwards. All visiting superheroes, particularly those associated
with the LNH, must be read the guidelines for operating inside the
United Kingdom."
        "We`re not here to fight supervillians," said Andrew.
        "Doesn`t matter, I`m afraid. I`ve still got to read this."
        "Oh, get on with it then," fumed Kirsty.
        "Right. Article One: Geography. The UK is a small country, and
any attempt to treat it like the US in terms of size is frowned
upon. Regional accents should be respected wherever possible. We do
not have Freeways, we have Motorways. We do not have Station Wagons;
we have Estate cars.
        Article Two: Institutions. The British Police do not wear
badges upon their uniforms; they have warrant cards which are kept in
wallets. They do not carry firearms except in very special
situations. Fire Brigades have fire engines, not fire trucks..."
        Kirsty and Andrew were puzzled and confused as the list went
on. It didn`t seem to make a great deal of sense. Just a great long
list of very obvious things about British life and culture. They made
obfuscated faces at each other as the Customs officer`s voice dropped
slowly into a long drone, a drone which went ceaselessly on for the
next half hour or so. Kirsty was on the point of falling asleep when
the Customs officer finished. "...and that`s about that. Sorry about
that, I was as bored as you were. I know it all seems perfectly
obvious, but American artists just keep getting it wrong. Especially
the bits about football. Anyway, you`re free to go."
	"Oh. Great." said Kirsty. They exited.
	Some few minutes later, they were recovering in a coffee bar
somewhere in Terminal Three. Andrew had bought a copy of The
Independ.net, and was browsing through it whilst Kirsty laid into a
cup of coffee and an iced bun. "Is it me, or was there something
seriously wrong with all that?" asked Kirsty.
	"Actually, it`s a conspiracy of everyone in the world against
you-"
	"Be serious."
	"There was something seriously wrong with all that."
	"I think it has something to do with what Cat`s been telling
me."
	"What`s that?"
	"That this isn`t a real universe."
	Andrew looked around. "Looks real to me." He looked at
Kirsty. "And you look even more real," he grinned.
	"Thanks. No, I know it looks real... but Cat says it`s
actually a load of stories being written by bored Internet users."
 	"And she believes that?"
	"So does everyone else. Some people even have their authors
talking to them."
	"That sounds... worrying."
	"Yeah."
	"Do you believe it?'
	"Not until I get my author coming down and talking to me."
	"Same here. Shall we call him?"
	"What? Here?"
	"Why not?"
	Kirsty shrugged. "Okay..."
	Andrew stood up and shouted. "Would the writer of the Legion
of Occult Heroes please come to the coffee bar in Terminal
Three... this is a call for the the writer of the Legion of Occult
Heroes to go to the coffee bar... thankyou..." Kirsty looked at him
and giggled. Surely, he was mad. He sat back down and grinned. They
made a show of looking around. 
	"Well, I can`t see anybody..." said Kirsty.
	"Me neither," said Andrew. "I think that proves it, don`t
you?"
	"Don`t bet on it," said a man who turned round to look at them
from another table. He was short, somewhat overweight, and wore his
red hair in a fluffy ponytail that rested on the collar of his long,
black coat. He looked at them with blue eyes, which, they noticed, had
pale blue whites. He drank from his styrofoam cup of coffee, and went
on. "Some of us don`t like to intrude on the story too much." He rose
to leave; they saw that his T-shirt read "UNIVERSITY OF WARWICK FILM
SOCIETY 70mm SEASON" as he did so. "Get back on with the plot. And
remember: you`re as real as you feel. Trust me. I used to be a
philosophy student." He walked off into the crowds that were aimlessly
wandering the terminal. Andrew and Kirsty gaped after him, trying to
sight him again; but he was gone.
	"Was that...?" asked Andrew.
	"It... it must have been..." replied Kirsty.
	"He... he looked like me..."
	Kirsty looked back at Andrew. "Nah. You`re much cuter."
	Andrew smiled, and looked down. "Thanks. But... if we`re
characters..."
	"He had a point. We _are_ real. As long as we think we are."
	"That`s deep."
	"But true."
	"Yeah. I suppose."
	"Anyway. What`s in the paper?"
	Andrew looked back at The Independ.net. "Usual stuff. John
Major challenging the IRA to prove the ceasefire is permanent. Train
strike going on forever. Paddy Ashdown making an idiot of himself."
	"Yeah, but anything interesting?"
	"You mean our line of business?"
	"Yeah."
	"Mmm... Not much... Triomphe`s doing a goodwill tour of
Britain."
	"Prat."
	"A few battles... nothing special. And... hm."
	"What?"
	"Very small article. Paranormal investigator missing, say
friends. Failed to turn up to someone`s dinner and can`t be
found. Bloke called Malcolm Barnstable. Nothing else. Sounds like
something we ought to investigate, but..."
	"Not now, Andrew."
	"Yeah. Well. Shall we head for the tube?" Kirsty nodded, and
they left.
	The Central line, of course, was hell. HM Customs & Excise had
delayed them long enough that the rush hour was already beginning by
the time they started their journey. Though the tube they boarded at
Heathrow was almost empty, it filled rapidly the closer they got to
central London, and by the time they left it at Holborn, they found
themselves having to squeeze through a mass of bodies to get onto the
platform. And getting onto the next train was worse, since not only
was the train already full by the time it pulled into the station, but
the platform was as well. By some everyday magic, the platform
squeezed itself onto the train, making conditions inside even more
difficult to survive than they had been previously. Kirsty and Andrew
jammed themselves into the front end of the train, always the easiest
place to find space to exist, and just about made it. The tube left
for the outskirts of London in it`s rattling, light-failing
manner. Kirsty looked around the adverts for anything of interest;
some few entertaining bits, some bits of usual rubbish, and one of the
ad spaces taken up by something else: Poems on the Underground. Always
the best reason for taking the tube, she thought to herself. She read
it.
	It was about death, and loss. It wasn`t such a good idea to
read it. The author had lost someone, someone close. 

	The sky is empty, now,
	Even of clouds;
	Birds do not fly
	Planes do not roar
	Storms do not rage.

	The sun always sets.

	Kirsty felt a tear fall down her face, and reached up to wipe
it away. The sun had set long ago. But, she thought, maybe the author
implied that grief would end; the sun always rises after it has
set. Or maybe that was too obvious. Whatever. The tube would reach
Epping soon.
	And, soon, Andrew and Kirsty were outside the station at
Epping, and on their way to the cemetery. They didn`t talk on the way;
Kirsty simply led and Andrew followed as she walked out almost into
the countryside, to the very last edge of London, that wasn`t even in
London. She stopped by a building site on the way.
	"This is supposed to be green belt land," she said. "They
shouldn`t be building here."
	"But they always do," said Andrew. "Let`s get on." They
continued; a few hundred yards down the road was the cemetery. They
stood by the gates, made of wrought iron, high, and open, supported by
brick pillars. Beyond were the graves; row upon row, with a small,
modern chapel nearby. It was clearly a recent construction, the local
council`s contribution sometime since the war.
	"Okay," said Kirsty. "Let`s go."
	Through the gates they walked, into the midst of a field of
stone. Kirsty knew her way among the markers; she walked with an aim
between the last resting places to find where her mother lay. Andrew
looked about, remembering coldness and emptiness, and another cemetery
in Glasgow. He followed Kirsty`s straight path, but his eyes and
memory rambled, until Kirsty spoke again.
	"Here," she said. "It should be here." She stood by a grave
that did not bear her mother`s name. She turned to Andrew. "It`s
gone." She couldn`t bear it; she buried her head in Andrew`s shoulder
and wept, whilst Andrew, feeling like the gap where the grave should
be, held her. He looked down at where she had indicated. There was a
grave, and certainly, it wasn`t her mother`s. It belonged to a man. He
read the inscription.

		          HAROLD MICHAEL JONES

	     		       1946-1975

		       Beloved Husband of Vanessa
			  And Father of Kirsty

	Andrew`s eyes widened. Her father? "Uh, Kirsty?"
	"Yes?" she said through her tears.
	"Have you seen the headstone?"
	"No... why..." she turned from his shoulder to see it. "Oh,
god!" she cried, and rushed to it, kneeling before the stone and
devouring it`s words. "It`s dad... It`s my father! But mum was buried
beside him..." She turned back to Andrew. "She`s alive... She`s
_alive_!" Andrew went to kneel down by her, and her face had
transformed; from the emptiness of before to the joy of now. "She`s
alive she`s alive she`s alive..." she cried, hugging Andrew and
laughing.
	"I... I think we ought to check first," said Andrew, his voice
tighter than perhaps it should have been.
	"Oh, yes, go on. But she`s alive!"
	Andrew sat down and disentangled himself from Kirsty. To
Kirsty, he seemed very distracted; hadn`t he got it? Her mother was
alive! Somehow, it didn`t matter how. And Andrew looked so... oh
god. She realised.
	"Andrew... your parents..."
	"I know," he said. "I know," and the tightness in his voice
was almost strangling him. He took his LNH communicator from a pocket
and called the LNHQ.
	"Hello, this is the LNHQ, wReamhack speaking, damsels in
distress a speciality..."
	"Demon Boy here. We`re in England, and we need a subject
trace."
	"Sure thing. Hey, are you okay?'
	"We`re... we`re brilliant. We think our parents might be
alive."
	"Hey, I`m on it. If they can be found, I`ll find them. Gimme
names and places."
	"Vanessa Jones. North London somewhere."
	"Try Chingford," said Kirsty.
	"Okay, Chingford... yep, V. I. Jones, 45 Constable Road."
	"Yes!" cried Kirsty.
	"And... Sean or Martha Garrold. Try Basildon or Glasgow."
	"Okay... ah. I`m sorry..."
	"They`re dead."
	"I`ve got death certificates. Here`s the report... multiple
crash on the M42, all occupants of Ford Cortina killed... christ."
	"What?"
	"One of them... one of them was you."
	"Oh god."
	"I`ve got one Garrold, though, in Glasgow."
	"Uncle Rab?"
	"Yeah. The Gorbals."
	"Christ. Mad Uncle Rab."
	"Look, I`m sorry..."
	"It`s... okay," said Andrew. "They died a long time ago."
	"But this thing has to be wrong... you can`t have been
there. I mean, you`re in England, you`re alive..."
	"Yeah, well, a lot of people are alive who weren`t before."
	"Well, I`ll see you guys later, okay?"
	"Yeah. Out."
	"Out."
	Kirsty turned to Andrew. "Oh, Andrew..."
	"I shouldn`t... well. I always wondered what things would have
been like if they`d lived, if I hadn`t been adopted." He
shrugged. "I`m okay. I got over it a long time ago. It was just the
chance." Kirsty half smiled in sympathy and put arms around him.
	"Come on. Let`s go and see your mother."


	"DINSDALE?"
	wReamhack had been lost in thought after the conversation with
Demon Boy, but now he jumped. He turned. He gaped. The hedgehog left,
grinning.


	Something good was cooking. It sizzled in the pan and wafted
aroma around the apartment, and the woman who had entered earlier
smiled as the scent of it reached her nostrils. Just a couple of
steaks, really, spitting and crackling in the pan, but it made the
mouth water just to be near it. The woman shoved it round a bit, and
then turned to the pile of vegetables lying on the worktop, which
needed slicing. Potatoes were already bubbling on the hob, which was
one of the newer, ceramic kinds that looked embedded in the
worktop. The woman took a knife and began to deal with cauliflower and
sprouts. She`d changed into rather more feminine clothes that looked
like office clothes, as though she`d just come back from work. She`d
also applied a little makeup, though not a great deal as there wasn`t
time; she`d been rather hurried about it, but had managed the
transformation quite well- though there were some flaws, she noted as
she saw that her blouse wasn`t tucked into her skirt properly, and
dealt with it.
	The cauliflower was broken up, and the sprouts were relieved
for their outer leaves, before being sliced at the base. A pot of
water was prepared, and the woman looked happy, looking safe and at
home, although perhaps a little surprised at that. The steaks came on
apace, and the spitting began to get annoying; she placed a mesh over
the pan and got back on with the rest of the meal. It was coming along
well. She dumped the vegetables into seperate pans and set them going.  
	There were footsteps outside, down the hall. The woman grasped
for a knife, and held it at her side. the steps came briskly up to the
door of the apartment. The woman held her breath. There was a jangling
of keys, and a moment`s wearing. Male swearing. The woman looked
relieved; and then even more flustered. This was it. He was here. He
was outside the door. She grasped for composure, but it wasn`t
forthcoming. She put the knife to one side, and rushed to the door,
taking hold of the handle. She paused. Behind the door, there was more
jangling, and fuming that sounded like him. She closed her eyes and
tried to steady herself, but her hands stayed nervous and shaking;
enough. She opened the door.
	It was him. Him! Standing there in his suit and looking baffled
at why the key wasn`t on his ring, looking gorgeous and wonderful and
everything. He looked up as the door opened, and smiled in relief, and
looked even better.
	"Martin!" she cried, and leapt at him, to hold onto him and
make sure he was real. He was, though a little surprised. 
	"Hey..." he said, "It`s only me. How are you?"
	She looked up at him through tearstreaked eyes, face mad with
happiness. "I`m fine, Martin. I`m fine!" She hugged him again, and
drew him inside. He sniffed.
	"Steak? But weren`t we saving that...?"
	"Oh... I thought we might as well have a quiet night..." She
looked deeply at him, and kissed him, closing her eyes as she made
contact with his mouth, feeling everything at once. She broke off and
took a few steps back, in the direction of the bedroom. "Hey. You
coming?"
	"What about the...?"
	"Plenty of time. Come on..." She retreated slowly into the
bedroom, smiling evilly at him, and, grinning, Martin followed.


	Master Blaster and Doom-Monger were having a great deal of fun
in the Peril Room, which had configured itself to look like a typical
cityscape, though it wasn`t going to be looking that way much longer
if the armoury mad duo had anything to say about it.
	They stalked down the street, watching intently for any sign
of movement. The air was hot, like the middle of August; the tarmac
was steaming, and they knew, oh, they knew, that something in here
wasn`t friendly.
	And then it happened. A dozen shadowy forms leapt down from
high positions to encircle them. "Ninjas!" hissed Master Blaster,
turning up the setting on his big gun. Doom-Monger pulled out his
chaingun. "Dead ninjas." he said. They attacked all at once. But
missed.
	Doom-Monger had sped out of their range and turned to
perforate them; whilst Master Blaster had simply cremated his way
through. Between them, there were a lot of dead bodies on the street
in only a few seconds. As the steam writhed around mangled body parts,
they holstered their weapons and checked the situation. "Reckon that
was it?" said Master Blaster.
	"I don`t usually fight ninjas," said Doom-Monger. "Keep your
eyes open."
	"DINSDALE!"
	They looked up in astonishment at the gigantic hedgehog that
was peering over a skyscraper at them. "Dios..." said Master
Blaster. Doom-Monger pulled out his rocket launcher, and, hoping that
gigantic hedgehogs liked rockets as much as cacodemons did, fired. The
rocket impacted on the spines of the hedgehog and scarcely singed it.
	The next thing they knew, they appeared from the transmat
booths in the control room. Surprised, they rushed to the window to
see the hedgehog stomping messily on their bodies. Behind them,
Self-Righteous Preacher dashed for the stairwell.


	Kirsty pressed the doorbell, and a pleasant clang
resulted. The house was one of a long terrace in a road overshadowed
with occasional trees; Constable Road was like any other street in the
North London borough of Chingford. A few hundred yards away, the A406,
the North Circular, cut through the city on it`s way to other parts of
London, a road long overused, even with the creation of the M25 London
Orbital. At least the traffic didn`t roar down this road; though
plenty of cars lined it`s tarmac-scarred pavements, making the passage
of two vehicles going in opposite directions a definite squeeze.
	There was no immediate answer from within. Kirsty looked
apprehensively at Andrew, drew a breath, and tried again. BING
BONG. They waited. There was a sound from the back of the house; the
back door hurriedly opening, and somebody rushing through the
house. Kirsty held her breath. Her mother? A shape was visible coming
towards the door, made indistinct by the patterned glass. Whoever it
was reached for the lock, pulled it, and opened the door.
	And it was her mother. It was! A little different, but still
her. "Kirsty?" she said, puzzled.
	"Oh, mum!" cried Kirsty, almost leaping forward to embrace her
mother.
	"Oh, you should have told me you were coming!" remonstrated
Kirsty`s mother has she held her daughter. They disengaged, and
Vanessa Jones saw her child`s face; Kirsty was breaking down in tears
at the happiness of it, barely able to believe that this was
real. "What is it?" asked Kirsty`s mother. "What`s wrong?"
	"Nothing! Everything`s perfect and wonderful," said Kirsty,
through her sobs.
	"Oh, well, you`d better come in, then." She noticed
Andrew. "Oh, I`m sorry, you are...?"
	"Ah, Andrew. Andrew Garrold," said Andrew, feeling worried.
	"Ah." said Kirsty`s mother, raising an eyebrow.
	"He`s my boyfriend, mum. Hope you don`t mind."
	"Not at all, not at all..." but Vanessa Jones looked
dubious. "Well, come in, before all the heat goes out of the house..."
	Kirsty`s mother led them into the house, into the front room,
where Kirsty and Andrew sat upon the settee and looked around; it was
your usual sort of place, homely and well decorated, and quite small
by the American standards of housing that they`d encountered whilst
working with the LOH. In the fireplace stood a gas fire, looking like
the latest model from the Gas Board showroom, and on the mantlepiece
were photographs: mostly of Kirsty. But there was one of her father as
well. "Well, I`ll just make some tea," said Kirsty`s mother, leaving
the room in the direction of the kitchen. "And then you can tell me
all about it," she said as she receded towards the tea making areas of
the house.
	"You grew up here?" asked Andrew.
	"No," said Kirsty. "Mum used to move around a lot. Didn`t know
why at the time, but it makes sense now."
	"This house doesn`t look exactly, er, temporary, does it?"
	"No." Kirsty rose and went over to the mantlepiece to study
the photographs; her as a child, all pigtails and big pink dress; her
as a schoolgirl, lined up with all the others from her class; her as a
baby, gurgling over a dummy; her as a student, supporting herself by
hanging onto a man with one arm and a drink with the other, and making
a foolish face at the camera; her as a graduate, smiling in mortar
board and robes.
	"This is wrong," said Kirsty, holding up the graduation
picture for Andrew to see. "I didn`t graduate. I left university to
join the LOH. Why is this here?" Andrew looked worried.
	"I think-"
	The phone rang, and Andrew stopped, turning to listen. At the
back of the house, they could hear Kirsty`s mother picking up the
phone, pulling out the aerial, and answering it.
	"Hello? ...Kirsty...? But... where are you? Yes? Well, I... I
don`t... hold on a moment..." Kirsty looked at Andrew with fear in her
face. Footsteps came back to the front room. Vanessa Jones entered,
with the cordless telephone in one hand, and a hard look on her face.
	"Who are you?"
	"I`m... I`m your daughter..."
	"My daughter`s at Loughborough. Who are you? I don`t have any
money. There`s nothing here to steal."
	"But... mum... it`s me! I`m Kirsty!"
	"Kirsty`s on the other end of this phone! You aren`t her! Now
stop lying and tell me!"
	Andrew sighed. "I think I know what`s happening," he said.
	"Well?" asked Vanessa Jones.
	"We _are_ in a parallel universe after all."
	"But Green Trenchcoat said-"
	"Yeah, I know. But there`s no other explanation."
	"Okay." said Vanessa Jones. "Get out in five seconds or I`m
calling the police."
	"No, listen!" said Andrew. "We`re from another dimension,
okay? Another dimension where duplicates of everyone on this world
exist. You must have heard about this sort of thing. It happens all
the time to superheroes."
	Vanessa Jones looked thinly at Andrew, but didn`t stop him
speaking.
	"On that world, we both became superheroes, okay? Here, we
didn`t. Kirsty had a normal life, and I... I died in a car crash at
the age of six." Kirsty`s mother softened her features at the obvious
pain in Andrew`s voice. "The thing is... in our world, you died. About
a year ago. It almost killed Kirsty. She`s only just getting over it."
	"Can... can you prove all that?"
	"I... our powers are a bit destructive."
	"Powers?"
	"Yeah. I can summon demons, and Kirsty can turn into a
gigantic lizard creature. I know it sounds stupid, but there it is."
	Vanessa Jones looked at Kirsty, who looked desperate. "Is this
true?" she asked.
	"Yes."
	"You`re... superheroes?"
	"Yes."
	"From another dimension?"
	"...Yes."
	"How did you get here?"
	"Mum, we don`t know. Something happened a few weeks ago and
everything changed. We didn`t even know we were in another universe
until, until just now."
	Vanessa Jones sat down, and spoke into the phone. "Hang on a
minute, Kirsty." She turned back to the other Kirsty. "But... how can
you...?"
	"I think I can prove it," said Andrew. "We`re with the LNH at
the moment. They gave me a flight.thingy, so..." he activated it, and
floated calmly into the air.
	"Oh, god..." said Kirsty`s mother.
	"We`re real, mum. We`re telling the truth."
	Vanessa Jones searched for a way to deal with this situation;
one daughter on the phone, and another, here, here where she shouldn`t
have been. She stood up, and took a few steps towards Kirsty. Kirsty
rose, unsure of what her mother would do.
	And then, her mother reached out and embraced her, arms around
her daughter, and still hanging onto the phone. Through sobs she said,
"Two daughters... I`ve got two daughters..."
	Kirsty laughed and cried and hugged her mother. "Twins," she
said, oblivious of the phone that was still in her mother`s hand, and
none too far away from her mouth.
	"What?" said the other Kirsty. "What`s going on?"
	Kirsty`s mother brought the phone back round to talk into
it. "Oh, I`ll tell you later. Don`t worry. It`s wonderful. See you."
She hung up the phone, and held on to her daughter, who held on to
her. Andrew lowered himself to the floor, and smiled, though he
couldn`t help but remember his own family. He headed for the door.
	"I`ll make the tea," he said as he left.


	Self-Righteous Preacher cowered in a flight.thingy. Eight
hours now, and it still hadn`t let up. Surely it couldn`t find him
here.
	Of course, he was wrong.
	"DINSDALE!"


	Martin burped. Steak had that effect on him, but his general
state of absolute contentment looked to have had something to do with
it as well. The woman looked at him carefully, as she had done all
through the meal; he had simply enjoyed it, as he munched his way
through, and seemed happy. Although that might have something to do
with what had happened immediately prior to that, something that she
was rolling around in her memory and enjoying retrospectively
herself. It had been so long, so long since she`d been with him; weeks
and weeks and weeks. It was good to be home, back in her own place, in
her own clothes, real clothes; the dressing gown she was wearing now
felt soft and wonderful, not like the things that she had been wearing
before. This was it; home, somewhere to hide and be safe.
	She looked at Martin again, and remembered how she`d first met
him, way back before everything that was strange had begun; just a guy
on the same train every day, in a city that was alien to her, American
and strange. She`d moved over from Birmingham (not the one in Alabama,
as she kept having to explain to people) for the job, which had worked
out, but the city was a great unknown, empty of friends and faces; and
one day, he`d stood by her on the El and plucked up the courage to ask
her to dinner. Normally she wouldn`t- definitely never in Birmingham,
what with all the crazies on the West Midlands buses- but here, any
link to people and the world was welcome. She thought back through the
memories of their relationship, the hook to sanity that kept her safe.
	There was a key in the lock, turning. No, thought the woman,
no no no not now when it`s all so good...
	Martin looked at the door, puzzled, and then remembered. "Hey,
it`s gotta be Matt- I lent him my key. Christ, how did I forget that?"
The door opened. It wasn`t Matt. It was Vicky.
	Martin gaped. Vicky was there, standing in the doorway with an
enormous potted plant under one arm, just back from shopping in
Net.ropolis... and Vicky was sat at the table, in her dressing gown,
the Vicky he`d just made love to. "Oh, shit," he said.
	The Vicky at the door looked first at Martin, and then at her
counterpart. Then at Martin again. "What the hell is going on?"
	"Who are you?" asked the woman, coldly. 
	"I _live_ here!" said Vicky. "Who are you?"
	"_I_ live here," said the woman.
	"You`re... not twins, then?" asked Martin.
	"Don`t be stupid," said Vicky. "I`m an only child. And what
are you doing messing around with her, anyway?" She turned to the
woman. "What do you want?"
	"Look, I don`t know who you are or what you`re after, just get
out of my house."
	"_Your_ house? This is _my_ home. This is _my_ husband. Tell
her, Martin."
	"Er... well..."
	"Go on, tell her," said the woman.
	"I can`t," said Martin. "I can`t tell the difference between
you. You`re exactly the same."
	"Right, then," said Vicky. "Let`s find out. Questions."
	"Questions," agreed the woman. But there was fear in her
heart. 
	"Okay," said Martin, looking confused and worried. Who was
who? he couldn`t tell; they looked the same, they spoke the same, they
had the same manner; this was turning out to be a really weird
afternoon. He sighed. "Take a seat."
	The two women sat on the couch, though they refused to sit
close to each other, and hugged the opposite ends. Martin sat opposite
them and tried to look carefully; to see if there was anything, now
they were side by side. And still there was nothing. The makeup was
different, and the hair was tied differently; but those faces were
both the same, and wore the same look: fearful, hunted, worried. What
to ask first? Start at the beginning.
	"When were you born?"
	"May the 23rd, 1961," they said, together.
	"Heh," he said. "Gemini. Where?"
	"Wolverhampton," said the woman.
	"Wolverhampton General, as a matter of fact," said Vicky.
	"When did we first meet?"
	"On the El," said Vicky.
	"You were there every day," said the woman.
	"You had a job in Waterson`s."
	"And one day you asked me to dinner."
	"Where?"
	"Cordiglione`s, on fourth street," said the woman.
	"Converted into a mall since then," said Vicky.
	"When... when was the first time we made love?"
	"A week later," said the woman.
	"I was drunk," said Vicky. "I didn`t remember the next
morning."
	"I remember it..." said Martin, mind back there, in the
past. "I was drunk too... could barely open the condom... when did we
get married?"
	"16th of August. 1989," they said.
	"Where did we go for the honeymoon?"
	They both spoke at once. "Hawaii," said Vicki.
	"Net.xico," said the woman.
	Vicki and Martin looked at the woman in the dressing
gown. That was it. The woman was wrong. Vicky rose. "We went to
_Hawaii_!"
	The woman felt her guts slide away. Wrong. She`d got it
wrong. She hadn`t researched enough. She`d lost him.
	"Who are you?" asked Martin.
	"I`m _Vicky_!" shouted the woman
	"No. You`re not," said Vicky.
	"I`m calling the police," said Martin, and made for the phone.
	"No!" shouted the woman. "Please. I am Vicky. I am!  Just... a
different one..." Martin didn`t stop. He reached the phone, and began
to dial.
	The woman fled. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It was over. She
rushed through the door and out, down the hall, running as fast as she
could manage, until the hall ended in an elevator. Behind her, the
door to the apartment was closed. The woman, Vicky, turned and leaned
back on the wall. "I am Vicky... I _am_..." she said as she slid to
the ground and began to sob. "Oh, Martin... I should have married
you..." She cried in misery, and, shakily, removed her wristwatch,
turning it round to reveal a small pad on the back, which she
pressed. The world flashed around her, and then she was somewhere
else.
	In a dark room lit only by a monitor, she materialized inside
a phonebooth-like machine. Vicky picked herself up off the
teleportation pad, and walked over to the bed, to cry some more. She
couldn`t stand it. He was gone, she`d screwed up, it was over, it was
her fault and what had she done? What had she done? Tried to replace
someone who had as much right to him as she did- no, more. What was
she? What had she turned into?
	There was only one way to find stability, and stability she
needed, or she`s be in pieces for always. It hurt too much. So she
rose, and walked over to the desk; over the chair, was draped a green,
one-piece, skintight costume, that looked like spandex, but
wasn`t. She took off the dressing gown, and reached for the costume;
it rose and reached for her. the moment it touched her hand, it flowed
away from the chair, and onto her body, covering her almost
instantly. And then she changed; her hair grew back into her head, her
hips narrowed, her torso widened and flattened, her muscles grew more
pronounced, her face grew harder, the spandex grew a bulge between her
legs; and she was a man.
	Green Trenchcoat, his face impassive and empty of emotion, but
churning inside, walked to the wardrobe and took out his trenchcoat,
slipping it on. He pulled on his boots, and then left the room and
went out into the LNHQ.


	There it was, standing in front of him, grinning.
	"DINSDALE!"
	"Lord preserve me-" whimpered the Preacher. He knew, now, how
lunch felt. This was it. He was going to die. And then the creature
stopped.
	"Hey! That was just getting interesting!" It cried, before it
vanished in a puff of brimstone. The Preacher hyperventilated in
relief.


        Kirsty and Andrew were back at Heathrow. "Your mother makes a
good cup of tea," said Andrew.
        "This is true," agreed Kirsty.
     	"She makes quite a lot of them, too."
	"Very much the case," said Kirsty.
	"So much so that I`m about to nip off to the toilet."
	"Hey, don`t be too long, you might miss the plane..." said
Kirsty, directing mild sarcasm at British Airways.
	"Only if the queue`s backed up to Scotland..." said Andrew as
he left.
	Kirsty was left on her own in the departure lounge, along with
all the other passengers bound for America (but not in the near
future, if Spanish air traffic controllers had anything to do with it-
not that Spain was actually on the flightpath, but their influence was
spreading), some of whom were erecting tents, though one had gone the
whole hog and applied for planning permission to build a
three-bedroomed house whilst waiting for a flight to Malaga. Kirsty
and Andrew weren`t that badly off, but the expected departure time of
their flight to Net.ropolis had a nasty habit of leaping forward every
few minutes. Kirsty was feeling very warm and happy, and everything
was right with the world; her mother (alright, her alternate universe
mother) hadn`t thrown her out, and almost seemed to have adopted
her. Kirsty had left her address and phone number and promised to call
soon. She had a mother again; that was the important thing. But then
she thought of Andrew, and his disappointment; he had so wanted to
meet his parents, but they were still dead, and him with them- at
least he would never have to meet himself. Something which Kirsty
really wasn`t looking forward to, but her mother was insisting on
it. Ah, well, maybe it wouldn`t be too bad; but looking into mirrors
can sometimes be depressing. Kirsty was mostly worried that she would
envy her counterpart too much; for having the life she`d always
wanted, but had been ripped away from her.
	One thing she couldn`t quite understand; why didn`t Andrew
want to go and see his uncle? He was the only family he had
left. Andrew had just said "no" when Kirsty suggested going to
Scotland to see him, and hadn`t said why. Maybe they didn`t get
along. Maybe he couldn`t face not being recognised by his own uncle.
	Andrew came back from the toilet. Kirsty decided to ask
him. "Andrew... why don`t you want to go to Glasgow?"
	Andrew sighed. "When you have to take a bottle of whisky with
you just to get past the front door, it isn`t fun. And when you can`t
understand a word the bloke is saying, you wonder why you
bothered. And when you do understand it and it doesn`t make the
blindest bit of sense, you just get up and leave."
	"But he`s your uncle."
	"Kirsty, he didn`t know who I was before this. It won`t have
made any difference."
	"What about your foster parents?"
	"Why bother? I`m dead. They won`t have met me. At least you
exist in this world, at least your mother recognised you... here,
nobody knows me. I haven`t got anyone."
	"Hey. You`ve got me."
	"Yeah," he smiled, and hugged her. They kissed, and felt
pretty good about it. "By the way, I`ve got an idea."
	"Mmm?"
	"Why are we travelling by plane when the LNHQ has teleporters?'
	"I thought they didn`t work over a distance?"
	"Hey, the whole thing`s based on Star Trek. You never know."
He pulled out his communicator and called the LNHQ.
	"LNHQ, wReamhack here, damsels in distress desperately wanted..."
	"Hey, have you got aLLiterative Lass in there with you?"
	"Hey, Demon Boy! You know the trouble you`ve caused with that
hedgehog thing? The Preacher`s been getting more exercise in the last
few hours than he has in the last few years..."
	Andrew looked embarrassed. He`d forgotten all about
it. "Oops. I`ll get rid of it. Nhor`mann." His eyes glowed for a
second. "There, that should do it. Listen, can you teleport us back?"
	"Where are you?"
	"Heathrow airport."
	"Whooo. Power drain`ll be pretty hefty..."
	"You haven`t seen how many times our flight`s been delayed."
	"Okay, sure. Gimme a moment to trace you... there. Stand by
for transport. wReamhack out."
	The world flashed around them, and they were in the monitoring
room.
	"Hey, guys. How`d it go? Did you find your mom?" asked
wReamhack.
	"Yep," smiled Kirsty. "It went pretty well."
	"What about that thing with the, er, well, the fact that
Andrew`s supposed to be dead?"
	"Alternate universe," said Andrew.
	"That would explain it," said wReamhack. "Okay, see you guys
later. Have fun..."
	"See you," said Andrew and Kirsty. "What now?" asked Andrew.
	"Well, I`m starving," said Kirsty. "So let`s eat. And then
find Green Trenchcoat and work something out about this alternate
universe thing."
	"Cafeteria?"
	"Where else?" And so they headed there to eat. When they got
there, they found Green Trenchcoat already in residence at a table,
gloomily drinking coffee and looking even more morbid than usual.
	"Green Trenchcoat?" said Kirsty. He didn`t notice, to begin
with, seeming detached and introverted, barely noticing even the
coffee. Then he seemed to snap awake, and notice the two of them.
	"Ah... my apologies. I was... distracted."
	"You commune with the Earth too much, you`ll get Dutch Elm
Disease," said Andrew.
	"Had I a sense of humour, I would laugh."
	"Riiight," said Kirsty. "Back in a moment." Andrew and Kirsty
grabbed food, and returned. Even though Kid Recap was nowhere to be
seen, they managed to recount the story of their visit to Britain in a
reltively short time.
	"Okay, look," said Andrew. "You said there was no way this
could be an alternate universe, right?"
	"Correct."
	"So why are there duplicates of us? And of people we know?"
	"...I do not know."
	Kirsty narrowed her brows. "Is there a duplicate of you? I
mean, I know you don`t like to mention your private life, but is
there?"
	"I... I have not found one."
	"Hmmm. Well, we have. So how was it you thought this wasn`t an
alternate universe...?"
	"The nature of the Earth Spirit would have changed. I have
observed it before, on other such journeys. But it has not. However,
as you say, there is other evidence indicating otherwise."
	"We should find someone who can cross dimensions, get to other
PluRealities," said Andrew. "Any guesses?"
	"Um... Particle Man?" said Kirsty.
	

	wReamhack noticed that the computer was not having a good
time. "Uh, guys? Something`s breaking through into our
continuum... like, about now..." He sounded the alarm.


	Above the table, space ripped apart and a body appeared, a
body that fell onto the table accompanied by a burst of light and
noise that threw everyone in the room back onto the floor, wall, or
anything else that happened to be in the way. When they looked back at
what had appeared, they saw that it had fallen off the table, and was
lying on the floor, looking unwell. They looked closer. Several people
gasped. It was Particle Man.
	"Hey, I thought he was the dude who summoned people by saying
their names..." said California Kid, indicating Andrew.
	Kirsty rushed over to Particle Man`s side, and gasped in alarm
at his condition. He was still wearing his distinctive costume, and it
still fitted him tightly, but the body it fitted had changed. He
seemed to have withered; she lifted him into a sitting position, and
found that he weighed next to nothing. His head felt back, and he drew
in air, his throat wheezing like an old man; he had to be supported,
or he would fall back. He turned his face, slowly, to see who was
holding him, and it was deeply lined and shrunken around his skull; he
looked unnaturally aged, his hair still dark, but falling out, his
skin taut and brittle. He opened his eyes and saw who held him.
	"Kirsty... found you..." his voice was a dry, hollow whisper;
and that was the loudest sound he could make. Andrew came to his side,
and Green Trenchcoat knelt by him, further down. "And the rest of
you..."
	"Person... what happened?" asked Kirsty.
	"Been searching... almost dead... magic keeping me
going. Stranger said... to find you. Why..." He coughed, with no
energy, a dry, slow, exhausted noise. "Why... did you come here?"
	"You remember us...?" asked Andrew. "You`re from our
dimension?"
	"You left... before it began. You`ve got to go
back... needed..." He collapsed in Kirsty`s arms, unconscious and
spent.
	Organic Lass rushed into the cafeteria, and went straight to
Particle Man`s side. "Christ," she said, looking at him. "Clear the
way." Kirsty handed Particle Man over to Organic Lass, who surveyed
his condition briefly before calling wReamhack.
	"wReamhack! Two to sickbay! Now!" Organic Lass and Particle
Man vanished in a burst of light.
	"Shit," said Andrew. "Better get there."
	"Right," said Kirsty. They rose and, accompanied by Green
Trenchcoat, sprinted for the door. To come to an abrupt halt when
someone was in the way.
	"Person?!?!" exclaimed Andrew.
	"What?" asked Particle Man, who had just been entering the
cafeteria, looking puzzled and rather better built than the LOHers had
ever known him to be. "What happened?"
	"You... uh... you just appeared in the cafeteria," said Kirsty.
	"Right."
	"An alt.version of you! Badly hurt. Ori had him transported to
sickbay. You coming or what?" asked Andrew.
	"I`m coming."


	The four heroes bundled into sickbay all at once. Organic Lass
noticed Particle Man with great surprise. "Person! But-"
	"I know," said Particle Man. "It`s an alt.version. Where is
he?"
	Organic Lass sighed. "He`s dead. He only lasted a few seconds,
even in the meditube."
	"What was it?" asked Kirsty.
	"I don`t know. I`m still checking, but there aren`t any
immediately obvious reasons why. What happened down there?"
	"He just appeared," said Andrew. "We think he`s from our home
dimension."
	"Well. I`m not going to have any immediate answers, I`m
afraid."
	The four heroes stood there, shocked and with too much
adrenalin in their systems, though Green Trenchcoat didn`t show
it. "Yeah, I know," said Particle Man to the canary that was perched
on his shoulder. 
	"Did he say anything before he died?" asked Organic Lass.
	"A bit," said Kirsty. "Hang on... didn`t he say that magic was
keeping him alive?"
	"Yeah," said Andrew. He activated his communicator. "Occultism
Kid? Demon Boy here. Can you get up to the sickbay, like,
immediately?"
	"What is it?"
	"Serious problem. I`ll explain when you get here."
	"On my way."
	

	Two hours later, all the answers that could be gained were
available. Andrew and Kirsty (who had changed back into costume),
Green Trenchcoat, Organic Lass, Occultism Kid, Particle Man and
Catalyst Lass were in the conference room to hear all the details. Cat
was there because Ultimate Ninja refused to come out of the peril
room; everyone knew how edgy he`d been lately, and Cat, in the absence
of Rebel Yell, was the next best person to authorise anything, having
had the job before, however briefly.
	"Okay, here`s the medical stuff," said Organic Lass. "He died
of massive systems failure. And I mean failure. Everything gave up at
once. His whole body looks like it`s been breaking down for a while, I
can`t tell how long; he`s not malnourished, he doesn`t have any
conventionally threatening diseases or conditions, in short, there
doesn`t seem to be any reason at all for what happened. The odd thing
is that everything about him is dead; some parts of the body manage to
stay alive for weeks after brain death, but his hair follicles and
cuticles are as dead as the rest of him. There`s definitely something
weird about it."
	"Right," said Occultism Kid. "It`s definitely weird. And yeah,
magic was keeping him alive. There are faint traces of retcotheric
energy all over him; he should have died about a week ago, but someone
or something kept him going all this time. The breach into our
dimension was also partly magical, but his abilities probably helped
as well."
	"Yeah," said Particle Man. "It looked like my work."
	"Okay," said Cat. "What about you three?"
	"We`ve been finding out a few things that indicated we were in
a different dimension. To the one we started out in, anyway," said Andrew.
	"This proves it, though there are still anomalies," said Green
Trenchcoat.
	"He wanted us to go back," said Kirsty. "Something`s
happened. Something bad. We`re needed. We have to go."
	Cat sighed. She wished she didn`t have to make
decisions. "Okay, well, you`re going to have to go, then. Any ideas on
how to get there?"
	"Me and Occultism Kid have been talking it over," said
Particle Man. "We think we can duplicate the original passage."
	"Basically, I can get us out into astral space," said
Occultism Kid, "and then Person can find the World`s
Address. Shouldn`t be too difficult. The problem is what we find when
we get there."
	Cat mused upon it. It could be bad. Really bad. They could do
with some help, but- maybe whatever it was would beat them, whoever
they sent.
	"Right. I know this doesn`t sound nice, but I`m not going to
send a strikeforce."
	"What?" exclaimed Kirsty. "But it could be-"
	"I know," said Cat, pained. "I know. But I don`t want to just
send everyone in to get killed by whatever. Just the five of you
should be enough for a scout party, and you`re carrying quite a bit of
power anyway; can you set it up so you can get back at a moment`s
notice?"
	"I can work something out," said Occultism Kid.
	"Okay." Cat looked apologetically at Kirsty. "Kirsty, I`m
sorry... but this way is safest."
	"Yeah," sighed Kirsty. 
	"Right, then. Let`s get started."


	Half an hour later, it was done. A wide pentangle was drawn
upon the floor of the peril room, and the five heroes were in the
middle of it, waiting for the go ahead. Ultimate Ninja had finished
his session and retreated into his ready room, barely sparing a word
for anyone, seeming uninterested. Cat had been apologetic about taking
charge for the mission, but the ninja hadn`t cared. Cat had asked some
of the more combat-oriented LNHers to stand by in the peril room, in
case anything came back that wasn`t friendly, and the peril room`s own
systems had been fiddled by wReamhack so that they would attack at a
moment`s notice, without the teleportation failsafe.
	"Well, guys," said Cat. "Good luck."
	"Yeah," said Kirsty. "See you."
	"Express elevator to hell, going down..." muttered Andrew.
	"Hey, anything comes back, we`ll deal with it," said Master
Blaster, accompanied by Doom-Monger, Kid Kirby, Sarcastic Lad and a
few others.
	"Okay. Here goes," said Occultism Kid. He opened the
Ret.conomicon. "Shadyash`thassya... by Omocron, by An`asta, by
Deregga... send us from this plane, to the place between."
	There was a burst of magickal brilliance. And they were gone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CREDITS:

Written by Paul Hardy, with inspiration from caffeine, alcohol, Monty
Python, and other dangerous substances.


Leviathan Lass, Demon Boy and Green Trenchcoat created by Paul Hardy.
Bicycle Repair Lad created by HC61@lafibm.lafayette.edu.
Panta created by Hubert Bartels.
wReamhack created by wReam (Raymond Bingham).
Master Blaster created by Robert Ramirez.
Doom-Monger created by Specter (Patrick Gearman).
Particle Man created by H. Jameel al Khafiz.
Organic Lass created by Rebecca Drayer.
Occultism Kid created by Josh Geurink.
Ultimate Ninja clone created by wReam (Raymond Bingham).
...and everybody else was Public Domain...

All characters copyright and tm their creators.


Thanks to:

Hubert for suggesting the Spiny Norman thing, and correcting the Panta stuff.
Dave for mentioning that every dimension has it`s own Stranger.  
Everybody who keeps saying this is good stuff. Keep going guys! My ego
needs this!  Bwahahahahahahahah!   :-)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

				-PENTAGRAMS-


	-Well, lotsa stuff this time, probably `cos of all the preview
issues I sent out to make sure I didn`t muck up anyone`s characters in
LOH #2. So, here we go...


Stirge:

>Awesome story, man. Blows mine quite out of the water. Looking forward to the
>next one eagerly.
>
>And, now I can write the next issue of Errand Boy, as well...

	-Well, I haven`t seen it yet, but kudos on Miss Ng!
(kudos... what a funny word... I wonder what it means... :-)


Josh Geurink:

>In a word, Wow.  And Long.
>
>Some general comments:
>
>Well, as I said, she's a long one.  You might want to post 'er in
>blocks -- I know I get intimidated by a 2% advance rate. :)
>
>Lordy, I nearly died at Green Trenchcoat's 'Americanisms' dialogue
>with IMWNL.  Hilarious!
>
>On the same vein, Occultism Kid's door is taking on a wonderful
>life of it's own.  I absolutely HAVE to get my writing going to
>take advantage of this...

	-Hey, I`m looking forward to Flame Writer... and remember: if
it`s long, it`s _fun_!   :)


Mongoose:

>Whoooo. That was *good* stuff. I'm majorly enjoying this series. Now...
>Okay, this means I'll havr to do a bit of messing with U-Force 11, but
>that oughtn't to be a problem. I didn't want to finish it until I saw this-
>probably a good call. 
>  Catalyst Lass as smart *and* perky seems to be becoming the default. That's
>how I'm writing her as well...

	-Yeah, that`s how I`ve always seen her- but I haven`t been
here long. I hope I haven`t overdone her as serious and responsible in
this issue. And U-Force: Names was brilliant! Post that sucker!


Dave Van Domelen:

>1666 lines?  AIEEEEE!  Um, I hope you don't mind if I don't get to this for a 
>while....

	-Heheheheheheheheh. Later, Dave wrote:

>     Nosh me snapper and crunge me gondola!  Another Goon Fan!  That means at 
>least *one* reader will get the joke when I introduce the Society of Wireless 
>Heroes in Dvandom Force #37....
>     Dave, still not sure if he should have the Green Slade or the Blue 
>Bottle....

	-My name is Ned Seagoon. (Sound of bomb dropping). Curses!


Marie Antoon:

>Not bad, but Glitch Girl's speech patterns are way off (of course, you 
>haven't much to go on as reference).  However, they're dead on for Jo 
>McKay, a.k.a: Sim-Sorceress.  Even though the Alt.Ter.Net.Tives aren't 
>official LNHers, they still live in the building and interact with the 
>Legion members.  Just a suggestion.  Otherwise, it was a fun read (poor 
>EB! I have friends who shop like that)

	-Me too (groans in anguish). Urk. Put that broken bottle down,
Sarah!


Steve Hutchison:

>In alt.comics.lnh you write:
>
>
>>       The "that" in question was a six foot tall stuffed doll of
>>Totoro, the large sized creature from Hayao Miyazaki`s Ai No Totoro
>>(My Neighbour Totoro, according to the subbed version). It was
>
>Tonari no Totoro.  "Ai" is "love" or "Harmony".

	-Whoops. I plead memory loss. It`s been too long since I saw
it at a convention; the only copies available in this country are
NTSC, and my poor pensioner of a video can only handle PAL. :-(


Russ Allbery:

>Wow.
>
>What can I say...it was even better than #1.  And that's saying quite a lot.
>Fascinating ending...I'm really looking forward to the next issue.  I'd give
>you lots of wonderful feedback on how to improve things, except that I can't
>think of any 8-).
>
>How do you people manage to get this stuff written so fast?  At least Retcon
>Midnight is almost done...

	-Actually, I`m way behind... this has turned out a lot longer
than I expected. Very late nights are the only way I`m keeping up.


Chris Gumprich:

>Brilliant story, and looks to be a brilliant series.  Damn it, you may
>have actually got me to start reading the LNH!!
>
>BTW, thanx for the plug at the end of LOH 1.  The Summoning should be
>finished by the end of next week, in fact, I may actually get around to
>posting Net Force #3 today (if not, then tomorrow for sure!).
>
>I've already finished the first two stories in the VOYD series, so I may
>be able to do this weekly for a while myself!
>
>As for the length... well, it sure makes my 150-line stories look like
>ashcans!
>
>Best of luck with the LOH!

	-Just think of me as Plug-Man. Any title that appears in the
letter pages is heavily recommended. And the NTB lives.



	-Well, that`s it for another oversized issue. Enormous thanks
to everyone else who wrote with suggestions, especially Martin Phipps,
who listed every typo in the whole of LOH #2 :)
	-Even more thanks to all of the people who keep mentioning LOH
in the course of the Debate... I would throw my tuppence in, but the
moment I think of something, somebody else says it. Anyway, I reckon
that unused characters are a great resource, that the Council is a bad
idea, that lurking before writing is a great idea (hey, I lurked for a
year before I wrote anything...), that continuity isn`t life or death,
and that silliness is the main reason for the looniverse. I know that
last bit sounds strange if you`ve just read this issue, but the theme
here is serious characters stranded in a surreal universe, and not
dealing with it too well.


NEXT ISSUE:

"Character Exposition"

Ooooh, it`s serious. And it`s the end of the first storyline. And it
might take a while, `cos next week is Fresher`s Week, and my address
really ought to be changed to: Paul@Guinness.bar.union...

-- 
	  And these are the words of a supposedly literate student of
	       English Literature at the University of Warwick...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
      Paul Hardy - enubf@csv.warwick.ac.uk - BFFS Student Group Secretary