# 214
The All-Star Legion of America in "The Secret Emperor, Part Four"
By Mikel Midnight (suggested by a plot from Dashiell Hammett)

"Gotcha!"

Miss Wonderly's wire cord loops around the ankle of the winged woman. The woman cries out, her elevation halted, and drops the parcel she is carrying. "Volto, don't let it break!"

Volto smiles, "Remember, my right hand attracts." He draws the parcel towards himself, and catches it with a deft hand. He unwraps a corner, to reveal the Maltese Shofar: an 8th century ram's horn crammed with jewels, and smiles to himself. Suddenly, he finds himself under attack by a sonic barrage. He falls to his knees, and glances up to see another winged woman soaring at him, mouth open in a deadly song.

He raises his left hand, magnetically repelling the woman from him. A third swoops in, and adds to the attack. Miss Wonderly, being dragged across the ground, gives a fierce cry and pulls hard on the cord, pulling her opponent into the flight path of the third woman. The pair collide mid-air, and flutter to the ground. Miss Wonderly groans, falling to her knees and clutching at her right shoulder in pain.

One of the winged women she had grounded walks over to her. "You're lucky the Swans aren't killers," she says, and opens her mouth to again emit her 'swan song,' collapsing Miss Wonderly to the ground. She stumbles to her feet, wincing at the pain which courses through her head, and at the sensation of wetness at the side of her head, touches a fingertip to her ear. She pulls it away to see it spotted with blood.

Volto repells the woman, before the remaining Swans focuss their joint attention on him, and he too falls to his knees.

Miss Wonderly falls again, vision blurring, when seemingly from nowhere, a baseball beans her attacker on the skull. She looks up, puzzled at the alleviation of pain, to see 'U.S.' Royal jetting in, Captain Tootsie riding on the handles of his bicycle. One of the Swans attacking Volto turns her attention to the intruders, but Captain Tootsie's jet-accelerated right hook downs her and her still standing companion before she has time to prepare.

"Sigla Syzik and her little gang are past due for a spell of incarceration," Volto says with a smile as he rises to his feet. He walks over to Miss Wonderly, assisting her as she stumbles to her feet. "Good to see you again, my friends. It has been too long."

"The longest month of my life," replies Captain Tootsie.

'U.S.' Royal returns the smile, wanly, knowing the alien never felt completely comfortable with the human ritual of shaking hands. "We probably shouldn't even be seen together, although when we learned you were engaged with the Swans, we felt we had to step in."

Volto draws the Maltese Shofar to himself. "I shall return this to its rightful owner, and we shall all meet anon."

R.C. says, "No." He glances at Miss Wonderly. "She'll do it."

Volto looks puzzled, and starts to object, but Miss Wonderly waves her hand dismissively. "It's okay, I'm sure they just want to do some 'boy talk.'" She glances at Captain Tootsie with a puzzled and slightly hurt expression. "I can get that dingus back to the museum on my own ... heck, if I have to, I'll call a cab."

She bundles up the antique, and watches as, after a mumbled word from Captain Tootsie, Volto generates a gold sphere from a hidden compartment in his belt buckle, encasing the team within the sphere which soon becomes airborne. She sighs.

Within the sphere, Volto looks at his teammates quizzically. "Was there some reason for excluding Miss Wonderly? She has been a valuable ally during your ... incarceration. With Bazooka and Thom McAn in hiding with Captain Tootsie's Secret Legion, we've even had to employ an outside contractor, private investigator Ted Shane, to assist us."

"I remember Shane, he's a good man, we've employed him before," says Captain Tootsie.

Volto nods. "And Miss Wonderly?" "She ... " Captain Tootsie looks at R.C. helplessly. "You say it. I'm going to recuse myself on this matter."

R.C. says, "She may have had an ulterior motive for associating with the team."

"She's risked her life several times to save mine, while you people were in lockdown," Volto says. "Even the first time we all encountered her, she risked her life. Surely you can't be suggesting she's in cahoots with our enemies?"

Captain Tootsie shakes his head. "I certainly don't think she's the one who set the bomb."

R.C. says, "But we have reason to believe she may not be entirely trustworthy, either."

"Those reasons being ... ?"

'U.S.' Royal reaches into the rack of his jet-propelled bicycle and pulls out a newspaper, Capital Whispers. "This scandal sheet ... and that's a dignified expression for the trash they publish ... is owned by Leonidas Doucas. He also owns a chain of private detective agencies. He's also Miss Wonderly's father."

Volto raises an eyebrow. "That's hardly conclusive."

R.C. says, "No, it's isn't. But do you remember Anthony Travers, the clerk from the Continental Options Bank who led us into battle against Dr. Power and Dr. Narsty? He was apparently a hireling of Doucas."

"I ... see. So what are you proposing?"

"The three of us have all done jail time over this. It's best we not be seen in public together ... even today's outing was a huge risk. Volto, as a foreign national, you should continue to carry the All-Star Legion banner alongside Miss Wonderly and Ted Shane, but keep those pointed ears of your open and report back to me if she lets anything slip. 'U.S.' Royal is going to investigate Dolliard; that's where this all started. R.C. is going to keep an eye on some of Capital Whispers' golden boys and judas goats and look for patterns. For my part," Captain Tootsie steps up, "I am going to interview Leonidas Doucas."

Dr. Power adjusts the collar of his new suit, and snaps on his cufflinks. His current work had been quite renumerative, and he allowed himself this minor indulgence, the rest of his funding being devoted to his physiological research. With what he'd learned from the Travers project, he ought to be able to create a new strain of bulletproof men, much superior to the originals. He steps out into the lab and into the city street, when he suddenly finds himself whipped into the air at a dizzying speed.

He screams as he finds himself suspended above the city, and when his acceleration slows, he looks up to see the person holding him by his shoulders. "Thom McAn!" he growls.

The boy looks down at his arch-foe. "Hello again, Dr. Power. I thought this was a nice place to go for a little chat. What do you know about Leonidas Doucas?"

Dr. Power sneers. "As if I would tell you anything? Put me down, now!"

Thom McAn shrugs, "Suit yourself," and releases his grip.

Dr. Power barely has time to scream his objection before he finds himself plummeting earthwards. At the last minute, he is caught by Bazooka, the young boy drawing him skywards again though the power of his bubble gum. "We can keep this up all day, you know," he says out of the corner of his mouth. "Ready to talk yet?"

"It's not worth my ... no!" Bazooka lets him fall again, and he is once more caught by Thom McAn and pulled skyward. "You know, you've been putting on weight, Dr. Power," he says, "Bazooka's arms and mine are going to get tired eventually."

"Why don't you both go to ... no!" The boys play their game of catch for several more iterations before the vertigo starts to overtake him completely.

"You're looking a little green around the gills, Dr. Power," Thom McAn observes.

"Okay, please ... no don't let me go! I'll tell you what I know."

"Akoozab," says the other boy, and is lowered to the earth, the others joining him.

"So, speak up," says Thom McAn, bazooka shoes pointed dangerously at Dr. Power's head.

"Okay, okay ... let me get my bearings, please." The scientist takes a few deep breaths, clutching at the ground gratefully. "Okay, Doucas hired me and Dr. Narsty to cut off your investigations. We ... hid Anthony Travers, and used our scientific genius to disable the alien technology at your headquarters and burn it down."

"What? That was you? If Volto hadn't been a r-"

"Shh!" Bazooka silences his teammate with a knowing look. Some things are meant to be circumspect. "Miss Wonderly is let off the hook, anyway. That's good."

Thom McAn nods, chastised. "What does Doucas care about Travers? How was he connected to Dolliard?"

Dr. Powers shakes his head, "I don't know ... no! really!" he looks panicked as Bazooka blows out a large pink bubble from his bony jaw. "Look, all I know is that Dolliard had some papers in his lockbox that Doucas wanted access to. Travers used his position at the bank to remove them, photograph them, and send Doucas the prints ... but I don't know why."

Thom McAn furrows his brow. "Okay. That's all for now, I guess. We'll be in touch, so don't go anywhere."

The night is warm, but Helene Dolliard still feels a chill. She pulls her jacket tighter round her, as she enters the garage from the interior door, hoping a drive will clear her head. She stops in her tracks, breath caught, when she sees the bicycle leaning against the car.

"Royal," she says tersely. "You're going to stratch the paint." She reaches her hand out to tip the bicycle over on its side.

'U.S.' Royal rushes forward, catching it before it hits the ground. "Hey now, no reason to be crude."

"I had hoped you'd leave me alone, now that Dolliard's gone."

"You certainly tried your best to ensure that I would, didn't you? Thirty days in jail was quite an incentive."

She sighs. "I admit sought advice from Lt. Pollock, but I swear, I just wanted him to speak to you. I had nothing to do with what happened."

"You seem to specialise in having nothing to do with anything, don't you? Mady Brefina, Helene Dolliard ... you were calling yourself Valerie Purvis when Don Dolliard first met you, weren't you? I'm not going to leave you alone to play more games with men's lives." He gripped her arms tightly, hard enough to make her wince, "What do you know about Leonidas Doucas?"

Her face turns pale, "You know about that?"

"I don't know enough." He releases her, and she crumples against the side of the car, arms folded gingerly over each other where he'd bruised her.

"Doucas was trying to blackmail Dolliard. Dolliard had somehow gotten hold of evidence about some of my ... activities during the war. He was trying to keep them under wraps, but Doucas discovered them."

"So this is all about you. Another man dead at your hands." He looks her up and down, scrutinising her carefully. "But ... this isn't the whole picture, is it? The All-Star Legion of America weren't sent into lockdown because we were interfering with a blackmail scheme. Doucas has enough money of his own that he doesn't need whatever Dolliard was able to pay him. Why else was he interested in the General?"

"I can only guess."

"You're too slick to not be keeping track of whatever Dolliard was up to, sister. What do you know"

She wilts under his eyes, "Haldorn."

"What?"

"Congressman Haldorn. He was on the board of Barabas Inc. when they were suspected of selling faulty goods to the military. Dolliard had knowledge of Haldorn's crimes, hated him, and would certainly have exposed him if he ran for Vice President under Senator Jarboe's presidential campaign. Doucas is backing Jarboe, and that's why he wanted Dolliard silenced."

"Michael?"

Michael Gira looks up from his typewriter at Senator Jarboe's headquarter. "Yes, Miss Murgatroyd?"

"There's a ... baseball player here to see you ... ?"

R.C. enters Gira's office and walks over to the other man's desk. "Hello, Mister Gira. My name is R.C. I'm not really a baseball player. I'm representing the All-Star Legion of America. You may have heard of us."

Gira sucks air through in his teeth, "Yes, of course. Thank you, Miss Murgatroyd, that will be all." He watches as the elderly woman, eyes askance, exits the office and closes the door behind her. He returns his attention to the other man. "How may I assist you? Are you here to volunteer for the campaign?"

R.C. smirks. He leans back against the desk, releases a baseball into the air, and begins to bounce it upwards against his bat in a repetitious movement. "Not hardly. Mysterymen typically are advised to steer clear of politics. But I am hoping you can assist me with some information."

Gira nods, "Anything I can do."

"Are you familiar with the name, Leonidas Doucas?"

Gira's smile stiffens, and rushes of hot and cold flash through his body. "I ... can't say that I am," he says, as calmly as possible.

"Funny you should say so," R.C. continues. "He edits and publishes Capital Whispers, which has run favorable articles on Senator Jarboe for the last several months." His baseball bat strikes out suddenly, knocking over Gira's wastepaper bin. "Isn't that a copy of Capital Whispers right there? Not that that isn't an appropriate place for it."

"I don't, ah, pay much attention to the bylines ... "

"You're a lousy liar, Gira." He bats the ball an inch over Gira's shoulder, at sufficient speed to rend through the cloth of his chair back before careening wildly about the room until R.C. reaches out to pluck it from the air.

Gira ducks and releases a frightened shout, then looks at the Legionnaire with a shocked expression. "Okay, okay, look, I ... this isn't necessary. I have been in touch with Doucas. Or rather, he's been in touch with me."

"Go on," R.C. nods.

Gira sighs, "I've been feeding him advance information about the campaign, exclusive interviews, things like that. There are no official ties between the two, which is why I don't like to make the link public, but Doucas has been very actively supporting the Senator."

R.C.'s repetitious bouncing picks up again, the ball reaching almost to the ceiling, until he palms the ball again, turning to face Gira directly. "I'll accept that for now. But I'll be back with more questions."

He strolls out, Michael Gira watching him carefully. Finally, he lights a cigarette and picks up the telephone, dialing a number he knows by heart. "Mister Doucas?"

The secretaries and reporters on staff at Capital Whispers gape as Captain Tootsie strides through the central offices. A slender man, his deskplate reading 'Kenneth,' stands up as the mysteryman approaches. "Sir, did you have an appointment?"

Captain Tootsie barely glances at him, "He'll be expecting me." Pushing his way through the door labelled 'Editor's Desk,' he stands before the man at the immense, carved wooden desk. "Leonidas Doucas?"

The man seated behind the desk nods frugally. He is approaching fifty, fairly plump but in perfect shape, except perhaps a bit soft, with opaquely glistening eyes whose blackness is repeated with variety of finish in thick and curly hair, freshly ironed suit, and enamelled shoes. His smooth-shaven ivory skin -- ball-round over a tight stiff collar -- is peculiarly unlined in his suavely strong oval face with something in it suggesting an Egyptian drawing. Hawk nose and broad sloping forehead exaggerate his dark, large intelligent eyes. Against this background his tie is half a foot of scarlet flame. "Captain-Tootsie. At-last-we-meet." His voice is low and musical as he speaks.

"Enough with the cliches, Doucas. You've been all but directly challenging the All-Star Legion for weeks now. I want to know what you're after."

Red and crystal glint on the hand with which the fat man takes off his black derby. "Power, of-course. Why-else-does-one-do-anything? You-know-something-about-power, you-with-your-chocolatey-candies." His smile goes away as stiffly as it comes, with as little elasticity. "Let-me-introduce-someone-else-who-has-learned-about-power. You-may-recall-Mister-Anthony-Travers."

A familiar, hideous figure shambles forward, immense hands wrapping around Captain Tootsie's skull. "Aeaea!"

TO BE CONTINUED ...