REPOST: Dvandom Force #49 - After The Fact
Dave Van Domelen
.|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED
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#49 - "After The Fact"
copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen
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[Cover is split into four sections. The first three contain
reproductions of the covers for #46-48. The lower right hand
quarter is the medallion form of the LNH insignia with a domino-
mask-shaped shadow falling across it.]
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"Three days ago, Sig.Lad died," typed a pair of gloved hands. Then the
typist backspaced over the last two words and corrected them.
"Three days ago, I killed Sig.Lad." Squidman paused and then continued.
"Since then I've seen half the team leave for one reason or another and have
become the leader. The LNH has been informed of the circumstances and briefed
by Iron Eagle as to what could have happened, but many still rightly resent my
actions. I didn't know at the time what would happen if Sig.Lad were to
succumb to Master Workload's powers...I only knew it would be bad. Something
deep inside me said a world would die if I didn't act. I hoped that the arrow
would only damage Sig.Lad's containment suit enough that he could escape, but I
knew the AtomiCheeez arrow would probably kill him.
"Why don't I feel guilty about what I did? Has dying and returning from
the dead made me insensitive to the deaths of others? Or have I worked so hard
to become the decisive superhero that I've left my humanity behind me in the
process? I do know that before I can deal with the rest of the LNH, I have to
deal with myself."
Squidman closed the file and turned off the computer. Maybe a workout
would help loosen up his thoughts, shake something out. He stood and grabbed
his cowl from the desk of his room before exiting and turning out the light.
In the darkness a dimly glowing wisp of what seemed to be smoke reached
out towards the terminal....
* * * *
Anyone who didn't know better would think Kat wasn't doing anything. Of
course, such a person would also wonder why she was holding five phone cords in
her hand.
Squidman did know better. "How're the arrangements for the...service...
going?" he asked.
Kopikat split her attention a sixth direction to talk to him, leaving the
rest of her mind occupied talking to various people on the phone. "Well, I
ruled out religious institutions immediately," Squidman nodded at this. While
of a mystical bent, Sig.Lad had never really embraced any of the world's
popular religions. "Also anything in a heavily populated area. After reading
about Lost Cause Boy's funeral I decided I'd rather not risk any kind of sneak
attack killing too many people. Right now the best option looks like the
Talk.esha County Expo Center, although it's a little close to some of the newer
suburban sprawl...the insurance people are having fits."
"Try to get that one if you can. He may not have remembered it himself,
but during one period when the Net.astic Nine were disbanded from bankrupcy,
the Franklins lived in Talk.esha, trying to establish some kind of normal life.
It would be somewhat fitting."
"Gotcha. Oh, and any way we can make sure Self-Righteous Preacher doesn't
attend?"
"Not without exiling him to another dimension or something like that.
Don't worry, he may be there, but he's not going to deliver a eulogy or sermon.
Preacher didn't care for anyone who associated with you too closely...or with
Panta. Or...well, half the Legion. Wonder if Doctor Stomper could explain how
it is that Self-Righteous Preacher is still in the Legion?"
"Probably something to do with writers wanting a whipping-boy, I'd guess.
Well, I need to concentrate on these other calls for a while. Oh, could you
take out the kitchen trash? It's getting a bit overfull and we don't exactly
have a butler."
"Sure, I'll drop it in the chute on my way to the gym."
Squidman left the room, noting that Kat hardly seemed bothered by
Sig.Lad's death. Of course, she had a lot of experience with coping with the
loss of friends...and even more experience at denial. Maybe she also took the
attitude that Iron Eagle was a sort of replacement.
Or whatever he ends up calling himself, that is. He couldn't call himself
Acton Lord now, that was certain. And he didn't want to keep using a name
taken from someone still alive in this time...a Writer, no less. Nor could he
call himself Sig.Lad, he didn't have the Sig.Force nor was he terribly
interested in taking that name. Right now he had holed up in Bludwulf's
rooftop quarters and was working on a replacement for the now less-than-useful
CheeeZeppelin.
Reaching the kitchen, Squidman pulled the plastic trashbag out of the can
and lifted it up, only to have it burst and scatter its contents across the
floor.
Cursing under his mask, he started picking up the garbage, noticing what
had caused the break in the first place. It was a copy of Pengwyn #1, the
Image book the Penguin of Goon had gone off to star in the other day. They
certainly were getting better at meeting deadlines, he noted. Of course, the
chobham-style armorplate cover enhancement was a tad on the stupid side, and
had been what made the bag break. He made a mental note to find who bought the
comic and warn them about proper disposal of hazardous waste, setting the thick
tome aside for later.
Something in the remaining garbage caught his eye. It was a pizza box,
probably the one Sidewinder had brought back the day...Sig.Lad died. He'd
certainly gone pretty far out for pizza...Squidman couldn't recall ever hearing
of Bunzai Pizza before.
Bundling up the waste, he dropped it in the chute, where it fell down into
the dumpsters outside.
* * * *
Even in late spring it was cold in northern Ca.net.da. And Buffer
Island's tundras were especially cold thanks to the kink in the jet stream
which was making O.hi.o colder than Fair.biz Alt.laska. Few people called this
grey and unpleasant land home and even fewer visited for pleasure.
Of course, DeFacto and his minions were not there for pleasure, they were
there to hide out and recover. The inhospitability of Buffer Island meant less
people around to possibly see them and bring down interfering net.heroes. And
to beings comfortable at altitudes of thousands of meters the winds did not
bite particularly deeply.
Dug into the side of a hill with camoflage netting strung overhead, a
strange trio saw to their repairs after a pitched battle. Steelwind and
Darkheart had repaired all but the most cosmetic damage they had sustained, but
their leader was engaged in far more than routine repairs. It was obvious that
he was completely overhauling his robotic form, and given his insane
determination, he was almost done with the job. What had once been a gigantic
spider now resembled some sort of huge lizard, or perhaps dinosaur.
Steelwind broke the relative silence. "So, what do we do now, boss? You
haven't said much since the battle...how bad off *are* we?"
"Our future is denied us, how much worse can it get?" snarled the humanoid
form attached to the neck of the lizard. "However, it's not a total loss.
Thanks to the vagaries of alternate timelines, our future still exists in some
dimension. The trick is to find a way into the right future, which means both
time travel and dimension travel are needed."
"Can't you do that yourself? I mean, you built time machines to send the
Temporal Army to different eras," noted Darkheart.
"Unfortunately, no. Those devices only aided in the use of powers granted
to me by Master Workload. Without his aid to empower them, they are large
piles of abstract art. However, should we find *any* alternate method of time
travel, that technology should act as a booster like it always has. I may even
be able to modify it to amplify a dimension-rending effect should we find any
here. The general level of technology may be primitive compared to what you're
used to, but the extreme leading edge was perhaps even farther ahead of ours,
thanks to hundreds of insane geniuses. In fact, the LNH should have one of my
father's Time.thingies in their headquarters now, since it was recreated as
part of the attempt to cure me before I ascended to my current form."
"So, we're going to take on the entire LNH?" asked Steelwind, somewhat
skeptically. Just a small subset had proven slightly dangerous, and they
didn't even have any of the "cosmic" heroes he'd heard of.
"No, without the power of Master Workload behind me, even our great might
wouldn't be enough to ensure victory. If nothing else, they could hold us off
long enough to destroy the Time.thingy and all records of how to make it. But
we will have a chance soon enough...Sig.Lad was one of the more prominent
members of the LNH, his funeral will probably be attended by most if not all of
the LNH. With only minor resistance, I should be able to get the device with a
minimum of trouble."
"What about us? And with you stuck on your RoboVector, how will you get
inside without bringing down the entire LNHQ?" inquired Darkheart.
"You will provide a diversion, to draw away any LNHers who may have
remained behind. And don't worry, I've taken that problem into account. I may
need to stay attached to this huge frame in order to maintain all of my memory
systems now, but that doesn't prevent me from creating remote units." With
that, the partly-completed Robo shifted forms until there stood a powerfully
built humanoid protruding through the camo netting.
"Nice form," commented Steelwind. "What's the buttbag for?"
Indeed, around the waist of the robot was what for all the world looked
like a buttbag or "fanny pack."
"This is where my remote units are stored until needed. I call them my
Rear Guard," he said as two rectangular slabs of metal sprang toast-like from
the compartment. The slabs quickly transformed into a lion and a condor.
"Powerful scavengers to do my more delicate tasks for me. They are incomplete
as yet, as are the weapon systems on this form, but all will be in readiness
before the funeral services."
"Ahem," came a voice from outside the netting. A human voice. Steelwind
tore the netting away and fired his plasma gun at the source of the sound. It
responded by holding up a simple piece of paper. The plasma rolled off the
paper like water from a well-waxed car [Ha! Bet you thought I was gonna say
like water off a duck's back? Well, why a duck? - Ed.].
"If you are quite finished," started the mousy little man, "I am here to
deliver a restraining order on behalf of my client, the semi-cosmic being known
as DeFacto, to cease and desist violation of his trademarks in this era." He
proffered the restraining order to De Facto V.
"The great DeFacto V is not bound by your archaic laws, little man,"
sneered Steelwind, trying to figure out how to neutralize the defensive screen
the man seemed to have. "Leave or die."
"I will leave once the injuction has been served, sir. And no power in
this Looniverse can keep me from doing so."
"Hold off, Steelwind. I am familiar with this breed, the Lethal Lawyers.
I would not take them on as foes right now...I'm sure a compromise can be
reached, yes? Exactly what are the terms of the injunction?" asked the former
time tyrant.
"Standard character-likeness trademark usage look-and-feel order. You may
not use any close variation of the name DeFacto in advance publicity,
merchandizing or on the covers of any issue. Nor may you assume a form
substantially similar to my client's own using your shapeshifting powers."
"Other than that, however, I may continue to use the name DeFacto V
within actual stories, so long as the other terms are not violated?"
"Certainly, although lack of a usable tradename will only hurt your
sales," replied the Lethal Lawyer.
"In that case, I agree to abide by the terms of the injunction. Until
such time as I have the power to...negotiate more favorable terms, I will
refrain from use of the name DeFacto V on covers and in advance literature. I
do have an alternate trade name prepared, if you would be so kind as to
register it for me?"
"Certainly, with the proviso that it not be one already registered to
another party, and I accept no liability in the event it proves to be so." The
Lethal Lawyer handed DeFacto V the slip of paper and continued, "Your new
trademark would be?"
Casting aside the remnants of the camoflage netting, DeFacto V struck an
appropriately dramatic suitable-for-splash-page pose and said (in proper logo
not reproducible in ASCII),
"NECROSAUR!"
The Lethal Lawyer nodded. "I believe you are mixing your Greek and Latin
roots, but that never stopped a Trademark from being valid before. My card,
contact me if you need the services of my office." With that, the Lethal
Lawyer disappeared into LoopholeSpace.
"I think I could have killed him after he gave up that piece of paper,"
fumed Steelwind.
"Perhaps, although it would not have been a good idea. The Lethal
Lawyers, whatever their other failings, are a force of Order and Productivity
in their own way, and I may need to have them as allies on the path to
regaining absolute power. After that, though, they will be crushed like I
crushed them the first time...back in the RIGHT future."
The tundra echoed with ominous laughter.
* * * *
At the back of the building housing the Dvandom Force HQ is an alley where
service deliveries and trash pickups are made. Of course, there's also usually
three or four reporters from Tabloid TV "news" shows lurking around as well,
hoping someone throws out an incriminating piece of evidence.
Currently there was no one in the alley...the garbage collectors tended to
find excuses not to go into the Net.Hero part of town very often and the
dumpster was starting to overflow. But aside from some minor littering,
nothing much was happening down here. Yet.
A few blocks away, though, something *was* happening.
A rather large figure wearing a molded beige plastic outfit and with
16-pin connectors replacing his middle fingers was chasing an ambulatory
greaseball down another alley. In its cartoony hands the little thing was
grasping really cheap magazine subscription cards and handbills for the lowest
international phone rates in the world.
"Come back here you little Bisz! I am the VAXX! You cannot escape me! I
am strong! I am fast! I am getting really sick of this chase!"
For its part, the Bisz's mind was reeling with fear. It had very little
mind to begin with, of course, but it wasn't expecting to be attacked by a
large insane sysadmin today. Its master, Mr. Gain, had sent it to Sig.Ago
because the Order of St. Doomas seemed preoccupied with Net.ropolis. Here it
could spread its alloted spam without fear of reprisal.
But it hadn't reckoned with the VAXX. Protector of overburdened and
obsolete systems everywhere (well, within walking distance), the VAXX could see
Biszes for the little scumballs they were, and he cancelled them without mercy.
And without much sanity either, but that was his personal problem.
Finally, out behind the Dvandom Force building (yes, there was a reason
for starting the scene there), the VAXX caught up with the Bisz and slammed it
up against a full dumpster, covering the dumpster in a thin layer of slime and
handbills. The impact rocked loose several pieces of garbage, which rained
down on the somewhat squat VAXX.
Once he realized his foe was dead and he was somewhere unfamiliar (again),
the VAXX looked around for anything he might bring back home. Home was a leaky
box with "VAXX.streetlevel.org" scrawled on the side.
His CRT-faced mask shifted into a grin as he picked up a pizza box. "This
should fix that pesky leak," he said out loud to himself. Tucking the Bunzai
Pizza box under his arm, he set off towards where he was pretty sure his home
alley was.
* * * *
At the best of times, Demon Boy's room was a little cluttered. It wasn't
the "hit by a tornado and then hit again when the tornado realized it hadn't
done enough damage the first time" look that Leviathan Lass's room had, but it
wasn't anywhere near Captain Cleanup's quarters either.
This wasn't the best of times, order-wise. Andrew had invited one of the
Alt.er.Net.ives over for an all-night movie binge before Sig.Lad's memorial
service, and he and Mr. Matinee had spent until the wee hours of the morning
watching each other's favorite films. Andrew had hoped to expand the other
hero's repertoire of powers by exposing him to something other than action-
adventure films while Matinee had tried to get Andrew to broaden his tastes to
include that very category. Kirsty had left around midnight, wanting
to get some sleep and leaving the two to argue over the relative merits of the
American Action-Adventure Film.
As a result, she'd been awake in time to make it to the memorial service
on time [see Dvandom Force Annual #1, on sale soon!]. Since Andrew had
mentioned not wanting to go to another funeral, she hadn't bothered trying to
wake him.
Now, keep in mind, the sleep he and Mr. Matinee slept wasn't your ordinary
sleep. This was "Totally Zonked After An Evening Of Too Much Adrenalin" sleep.
This was "You'd Have To Blow Up The Flight.Thingy Bay Outside The Window To
Wake These Guys" sleep. Thus they slept right through the alarm klaxons which
sounded when two jets started strafing the harbor area.
Of course, then someone *did* blow up the Flight.thingy Bay.
"AHHHH! Facehuggers! getitoffGetItOffGETITOFFAME!!!!" shouted Andrew as
he flailed at the sheets covering his face. Maybe letting himself be talked
into watching Alien at 3AM (followed by falling asleep during Aliens after) was
a bad thing.
Mr. Matinee's reaction was a little more sedate. He jumped straight out
of the armchair he'd been sleeping in and fell right over as a cramp hit.
"Ow." Whump. "Are we under attack?" came his muffled voice as he did a
faceplant into the covers Andrew had just thrown off.
Regaining a little composure, Andrew opened the window and looked out. He
immediately regretted it, considering that a REALLY big metal Dimetrodon had
landed in the Flight.thingy Bay. Fortunately all the vehicles were gone,
taking LNHers to the memorial service. Unfortunately, all the LNHers were gone
in the vehicles, leaving him and Mr. Matinee, plus whoever else was still
around to deal with this...thing. And to top it off, he had a splitting
headache that told him this story was taking place in uncertain continuity,
which meant a crossover. And while he still wasn't too happy with his own
writer, that didn't mean other writers were any better. Definitely not a
good...early afternoon, he checked his watch...for Andrew.
"Yes, and it's huge!" Andrew shouted. "It just sent two smaller units
inside, see if you can find out what they're after! I'll try to distract the
big guy."
Mr. Matinee nodded and ran off down the corridor, keying into the LNHQ
secsystems to find out where the intruders were headed.
Andrew pulled out his "little black book," the Demonimonikeron, and
started paging through it. "It's mechanical...gremlins, gremlins...where's
some gremlins...aha!"
Calling out the true names of the antitechnological demons, Andrew called
up a trio of small green beings with wool hats and stubby wings on their tails.
"Hi. I'm L'rii, this is my broodmate D'ryl and this is my other broodmade
D'ryl."
"Hi, guys. See that big mechanical lizard out there? Go for it!"
"Oh goody," said L'rii. "I've always wanted to take apart a giant
mechanical dinosaur, right guys?" The other two nodded mutely, with big silly
grins on their faces. "Let's get 'im, D'ryl!"
With that, the trio streamed out the window and started making themselves
a nuisance.
* * * *
"Okay," Mr. Matinee said to himself, "it's just me against two killer
robots who the computers say are going after Doc Stomper's time machine. Who's
good at fighting robots?"
Skynet was about to fall, but they wouldn't fall easy. HKs were
everywhere in the complex and he had to keep them from finding the time
machine, or they'd send a Terminator back in time to kill his leader. Gripping
his pulse rifle tightly, he made best speed to the time lab.
He was in time! The two nonhumanoid Hunter-Killers were baffled by the
locking mechanism. But...this was their own base, right? They should know how
to get in...never mind. Skynet was panicking, they probably changed all the
locks to keep guys like him out.
The two turned on him and he calmly and efficiently shot them to pieces
with his pulse rifle. Now to destroy the...defend the....
Mr. Matinee shook his head as he broke character. Good thing he stopped
before shooting up Doc Stomper's lab...he wouldn't have liked that. He nudged
the smoking remains of the apparently jury-rigged robots with his sneaker, but
they didn't move. Time to get back to the Bay and see what he could do against
the big guy. Probably not much, but he had to try, right?
He was on the right floor now at least, and it took him only a few seconds
to make it to the Flight.Thingy Bay. He opened the door and saw the robotic
Dimetrodon slicing the last of the Gremlins from Net.Albans in two. It then
fixed him with a decidedly unfriendly gaze.
"You destroyed my Rear Guard, squishy...time to die!"
"GAME OVER, MAN!" he shouted in panic as a headband materialized on his
brow and a machinegun in his hands. But the bullets didn't seem to do any
good....
* * * *
Andrew cursed, but for the sake of underage readers we will omit the
actual text of his rather inventive invective. If you wanna hear him curse, go
read LOH. This is a family book. Well, this issue at least.
The Gremlins hadn't lasted long, disappearing back into Hell when they
were sufficiently damaged. Andrew looked frantically through his
Demonimonikeron, but couldn't find anything tough enough to take on the robot
without also trashing the entire LNHQ in the process. Well, there *was* one,
but by the time Andrew would be able to say its entire name Mr. Matinee would
be meat paste. He looked down and saw Mr. Matinee dodging laser strikes from
the eyes of the beast.
"Maybe...if my powers won't work, maybe I can get him in the right frame
of mind so he can defeat the thing! But what movie...waitaminnit." Andrew
went to his shelves and started rummaging.
Anyone looking on right then would have gotten a major headache watching
Andrew go through his dimensionally...bent...shelves in search of the movie he
wanted. "Orson Welles deserved a better movie to end his career," he muttered
as he searched, "but this one might just save the day after all...there you
are! Did I...nope, it's still right near the end."
Fumbling with the VCR, he ejected Aliens and stuffed in the new tape and
hit it to cue back. While it raced back over the credits, he hauled one of the
extra speakers he'd added to his system over to the window. It wouldn't help
if Matinee didn't hear it. Now, if only he's seen the movie....
Andrew hit play and the robot monster looked up at the source of the new
sounds. It seemed confused by the synth chords, but Mr. Matinee was shocked
back to his normal form by recognition. He knew what was coming, and the
expression on his face was one of "this is gonna REALLY hurt in the morning."
Then the song started up.
"You've got the touch...you've got the power...."
Over it came a strong, heroic voice. "Arise, Rodimus Prime!"
In synch with the voice from the speakers, Mr. Matinee whispered,
"Optimus?" and then a strange glowing object appeared in his outstretched
hands. His skin turned slightly reddish and angular...and he began to grow!
The monster realized the object was somehow dangerous and rapidly changed
form until it was a humanoid as tall as Mr. Matinee's new form. A savage
backhand knocked the object aside and it fell to the ground still glowing
brightly.
Rodimus Prime was unfazed by this, though, as the power of the Matrix
infused every part of his being. "This is the end of the road, Galvatron!" he
shouted, lunging at the villain.
"What? I am Necrosaur, you AHHHHHHHHHH!!" His shout faded in the
distance as Rodimus Prime heaved him out through the hole in the bay doors,
sending him in an arc that ended over the Alt.lantic Ocean.
Rodimus retrieved the Matrix and fitted his fingers into the holes in its
handle. "Now, light our...unnh...."
As quickly as he had grown, he now shrank, collapsing in an unconscious
heap. Grabbing the edge of his window, Andrew dropped down to the floor of the
Flight.thingy Bay and rushed to his new friend's side. A quick check showed he
was still alive, but pushing his powers so hard had been more than he could
take. Hefting the young hero's body in his arms, Andrew started for the
medical bay. "Maybe I should have gone to the services after all," he mused.
* * * *
Squidman was almost ready to leave for the service. He was starting to
feel nervous about it...not just because he knew many of the LNH bore him ill
will, but because he hadn't dealt with his strange lack of reaction to it all.
He hadn't been able to go back to his terminal for days...his last entry
haunted him, he didn't need to look at it to remember it.
On a sudden impulse, he reached over and turned on the computer.
There was a message for him.
And the identity of the sender made his jaw drop....
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TO BE CONTINUED IN DVANDOM FORCE ANNUAL #1
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