Like Earth, Mars has an axial tilt which results in the passage of seasons. The fact that its tilt is roughly equal to Earth's means that it experiences seasons roughly as varied as Earth's. Of course, Mars is much farther away and has much less atmosphere, so most of the variation falls between "cold" and "damn cold." Hence, for all practical purposes, it really doesn't matter which season it is on Mars to someone from Earth, since warm clothing will always be a good idea. Which turns out to be quite lucky for purposes of figuring out continuity, because not only does the Author not have to figure out what season it is on Earth, he doesn't have to dig through a half-dozen Astronomy texts to find out what season it is on Mars. It's enough to say it's cold out. Cold enough that Jonkatta was grateful not only for his own natural coat of fur, but also for the heated cockpit of the small pressurized buggy he drove across the landscape. Yes, pressurized. Didn't you see _Total Recall_? Oh, yeah, the green squirrel from last issue. Well, the natives are used to it. Just like people from Detroit develop a resistance to giant robots, or Wisconsonians deal with the cold (which isn't quite as bad as the Martian cold, of course). Jonkatta was headed for a canyon, the sort of place a sane human explorer would avoid like the plague, because even in reduced Martian gravity, that sort of fall could really raise your insurance rates. But Jonkatta wasn't human, and he knew things that no number of mere human-made surveyor satellites could ever discover about the planet whose surface he traversed. He only hoped he reached his destination before the air in his buggy ran out. His contacts had supplied him with a list of possible destinations, knowing that his arrival would be nearly random given the delivery system employed [see last episode - Ed]. Suddenly, so as to avoid wasting a perfectly good foreshadowing from the previous episode, an energy blast sizzled through the thin air in front of his craft, and Jonkatta swerved hard to the right to try and see who attacked him. He almost wished he hadn't. Dozens of savage, six-legged green squirrels poked their menacing-yet- still-somehow-cute heads over the nearby rocks, waving small rifles in their many forelimbs and generally carrying on in a hostile manner. Jonkatta snarled in contempt. The Greys, at least, were adversaries worthy of some grudging respect. The Greens, who had never made it to Earth in the first place, had degenerated into savagery. Only their vast stockpiles of weapons from the Old Wars made them even a marginal threat, and Jonkatta had come prepared to deal with them. With the press of a button, the buggy started to twist and change, the undercarriage garbage unfolding into arms, legs and a tail bristling with slim, needle-like blades. A small helmet descended over Jonkatta's head as control interfaces hummed to life. The Hudsonicus-X suit lacked the raw power of its destroyed cousin [see #15 - Ed.], but standing a full meter tall it loomed like death over the Greens. To their credit, the Greens didn't run. Whether this was courage or stupidity Jonkatta would leave to the philosophers. He extended the flexible whipswords from their forearm housings and commanded the armor to charge into the thickest concentration of the Greens, slashing away with the lethally sharp blades. Energy rifles fired almost wildly, most shots coming nowhere near him, but a few glancing hits lit up his console like one of the humans' Christmas trees. Ironic, since much of the wiring for this battlesuit had been scavenged from outdoor holiday lights. But Jonkatta had no time for irony, he needed to finish this fast, before he cut too deeply into battery power. The Sun's rays were too weak this far out to sustain full activity. And soon it was over. A dozen or so half-corpses littered the ground, red blood mixing smoothly into the red soil of Mars. The remaining Greens had scattered back to their hiding places or had gone to find reinforcements. Jonkatta hoped it was the former as he converted his conveyance back to wheeled mode and continued on his trip. Batteries were low, and one of the lucky shots had taken out his reserve air supply. His only hope of survival now lay in reaching the entrance. The entrance to...The Hollow Mars! Coherent Comics UnInc. Presents: ___ __ __ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ _ _ CRAZY GUY #23 / '/ | / | / \/ / ' / / \/ "Should Old Acquaintance..." / /--' /--| / / / __ / / / copyright 1998 Dave Van Domelen `___ / | / |/__ _/ `__/ \__/ _/ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ People that you know tend to fall into one of several categories. First, you have those you're always glad to see, and welcome with open arms and a smile. Then there's those who you don't mind seeing again, but probably won't make a big fuss over unless it's been a while since you last met. A lot of relatives fall into this category. Next you have people you don't really care one way or the other about, who generally get a nod and a quick "Hello" before you go on your way, or at best some forced cheer at the holidays. And, of course, there's people you'd rather not see, who you will cross the street or hide in the restroom to avoid. If you're very lucky, you don't have anyone in either the category of "Didn't expect to see because you thought you killed him," or of "Tried to kill you." Social situations when you run into this sort of person are always rather awkward. Case in point: "What are YOU doing here?!?" gasped two surprised voices at once. "If ya need me, I'll be hidin'," squeaked a third voice a split-second after this, followed by some scurrying sounds. Ben Sidhe fell into a fighting stance, surprised that Jack was still alive, since she'd done her best to kill him a while back [Crazy Guy #11 - Ed.]. Jack fell into a fighting stance, surprised by the sheer level of coincidence involved and not wanting a repeat of his last meeting with this Celtic killer [also Crazy Guy #11, but you knew that - Ed.]. Louie hid behind a wall hanging, hoping he could sneak out in the aftermath of whatever horrible things the previous two ended up doing to the building in the course of their reunion. And the narrator shifted scenes, trying to wring out as much tension from this moment as possible.... * * * * When you watch TV shows and movies, security rooms are almost invariably dimly lit. Partly to make all the nifty monitors look more impressive in their flickering glow, partly to convey a sense of menace, and sometimes partly so that whoever's playing the security guard on duty doesn't need to wear any makeup for the camera. This particular monitor room was dimly lit precisely because the owner had bought into that whole "sense of menace" claptrap, and he enjoyed spending hours on end sitting and watching the monitors and feeling like he was someone dangerous. Boys and their toys, you know. It also helped cut back on the trouble of finding security guards trustworthy enough to be allowed access to some of the dubiously legal security systems controlled from the room, systems the owner also loved to play around with. Whenever he vanished during his own parties, the savvy guests started looking over their shoulders. The owner had been amusing himself for several minutes watching a particular intruder, a rather attractive woman in a dark green bodysuit with a black cloth wrapped around her fiery red hair. She had the walk of a fighter...no, a killer. He grinned. Assassins came after him every so often, which was another reason he liked to spend time in the security room. Assassins always seemed to think that if you spent so much on security, you would be using it to have yourself watched, rather than using it to watch others. It was also the safest room in the villa anyway, which helped when the killers did their research and discovered his preferences. He toyed with the hitwoman, letting her through a few systems that he didn't think she would be able to get through on her own. He wanted her as far from escape as possible when he turned on the alarms...yet not so close as to be able to get to him before fleeing. And while the system was mainly geared towards voyeurism, there were enough lethal elements to make sure she never reported back to her employer. So intently was he watching her that he was actually surprised when the second figure entered the shot. They seemed to know each other. And not like each other. He turned up the audio so he could hear them. No, not good at all. Too much would be destroyed if they fought. Better to play one of his trump cards now, a devilish little system he'd bought from the League of Unconcerned Scientists, a Sonic Genre-Alteration Field. Killers never reacted well to being out of their genre, he'd found. Grinning evilly, he chose a setting and activated the device.... * * * * Rage boiled up inside Ben Sidhe and she launched into a savage closed-fist strike... ...which suddenly twisted into the weak face-slap of a woman scorned. Jack rubbed his face and cocked an eyebrow. "Was it something I said, dear?" he said, a mocking tone creeping into his voice. "Dinnae 'dear' me, ye scum," Ben Sidhe found herself saying, to her horror. Her largely-unprintable retort had somehow been wrenched around into something out of a bad melodrama, and she couldn't stop herself from playing along. "Can' ye stay dead?" she fumed. "Oh, you know me, the bad penny, always turning up," Jack replied, the smile on his face hiding the fact he had *no* idea what that meant. Or why he was saying it. Or, for that matter, why he wasn't running away very quickly from a woman who had both motive and ability to commit serious murder on him. "So, what brings you to this charming villa...business or pleasure?" he asked, helpless to stop himself from turning away from her in mock unconcern. Ben Sidhe shook in impotent rage, unable to make herself take advantage of Jack's dropped defenses. "None of yuir business," she spat. "As if ye dinnae know what I do when we first met." Why was she saying this? Someone was having a game of her, and she didn't like it. "What's yuir concern in this house?" "Oh, this and that," Jack smiled, turning back to face her. "I've got a new employer now, thanks to you...he found me where you left me and offered me a hand up. I suppose I should thank you for that, except it's hardly he type of job I wanted." "Nae money innit?" Ben Sidhe taunted. "Oh, the pay's good, but the hours are quite literally Hell(TM)," Jack leaned in close for emphasis. She started to slap him again, something she found she *could* do, but then the full meaning of his words hit, and she stopped, her fair skin blanching even paler. "Y'mean?" Jack rocked back on his heels. "Yes, I do. Mr. Jones made me an offer that, thanks to you, I was really in no position to refuse. Oh, the job description looks pretty good on the surface, but they always do, don't they? I'm sure the loopholes will start showing up eventually. So, frankly, I don't think there's anything more you can do to me that you haven't already done, yes?" Ben Sidhe couldn't help but look ashamed, and for once it was a true reflection of her feelings. Sure, she killed people, it was her job. And if they went to Hell(TM) after that, it was their own damned fault, literally. She expected to go there one day herself. But what shreds of her Catholic upbringing remained told her that she'd just done something far worse to Jack. She'd damned him to Hell(TM) without killing him, just for being, well, a lecherous jerk. So why was killing him for it okay, but causing him to fall into Satan T. Lucifer Jones's corporate clutches not okay? She couldn't answer that question, but neither could she make it go away. "I'm...I didnae mean t'..." she started. "No, you just meant to kill me. And that makes it all right, I suppose. I...urgh, what just happened?" Jack asked, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. Ben Sidhe staggered back against the wall, dizzy as well. "What...?" "Dis happened," Louie said, proudly holding up a small bit of technojunk which looked to have been ripped out of another, larger bit of technojunk. "Somebody here's been messin' wit' yer minds an' gettin' his jollies. Good ting squirrels don't have melodramatic romance, eh?" "Good work, Louie. But aren't you really...never mind. The owner must know we're here, let's go for what we came for and get out before he can call in any muscle." Jack scooped up Louie in his arms and started down the hall. "Wait! Things are nae finished between us!" Ben Sidhe shouted. "This isn't the time or place," Jack shouted back over his shoulder. "Then I'm coming wi' you," she started running after him. "Contract be damned!" "Like ya even had a shot at the guy, babe...he's probably got more security between us an' him den th' Very Hard Ta Get Outta Place," Louie replied, skittering down Jack's shirt and away from an angry swipe from Ben Sidhe. A few moments later, they reached an armored door. By this point, the klaxons were already sounding, but nothing deadly seemed to have shown up. "Here's the vault, we need to get in quick." "So, yuir a thief now?" she asked. "Please, I'm a repo man...I'm recovering stolen property for someone." "Awfully fine hairs ye split...yuir boss is rubbin' off already." "And whose fault is that? Damn, there's no opening large enough for my staff, and no time to crack the keypad code," Jack hissed, looking through his Bag O' Nifty Spy Stuff. "Allow me," Ben Sidhe pushed Jack aside and concentrated for a moment. Then, with an ear-piercing cry, she drove her fist through the keypad, the wall behind it, and several inches of empty air on the other side. The door slid open. "Crude, but effective," Louie judged. "Great, now I just have to grab the stolen Second Brother and...oh, boy." As he looked into the treasure vault, Jack's eyes fell on the Second Brother, nestled into a wall niche. They also fell upon the Third Brother, fitted neatly next to its sibling. "What's wrong?" Ben Sidhe asked. WHAT'S WRONG? IS THE AUTHOR TAKING A SHORTCUT BY HAVING TWO BROTHERS IN ONE PLACE, OR IS THIS ALL PART OF HIS PLAN TO MAKE JACK'S LIFE MISERABLE? MORE IMPORTANTLY, HOW LONG BEFORE THE GHOST OF E.R. BURROUGHS RISES UP AND WREAKS HORRIBLE VENGEANCE ON THE AUTHOR FOR MANGLING HIS WORKS? Some of this, and no doubt more, in the next...SUPERGUY! ============================================================================ Author's Notes: For the benefit of readers who *haven't* seen _Total Recall_, one of the memorable images from that movie was the repeated use of special effects to show people exploding from decompression in the thin Martian atmosphere. Eyes bugging out, tongue swelling, it was really quite gross. Frankly, you might be better off not having seen it, it was pretty disgusting. Not to mention implausible, since Schwarzenegger's character actually survived a minute or so of this. Heck, his blood should have shot out of his open wounds like water from a firehose. Oh, sorry. You were eating, weren't you? The League of Unconcerned Scientists was created by Eric Alfred "Lord Sabre" Burns. Or at least the fact I know about them is his fault.