Timing

Timing was the most important thing, here. Hell, timing was the only thing that mattered at all once the sequence started. One misstep and the operation could fall apart.


Aaron Dunnet, inter-dimensional private investigator, thief, spy, saboteur, and courier, checked the time on his wristwatch. It was a Timex. It cost about twenty dollars at K-Mart back home. It was probably the least hi-tech piece of equipment he had. It was scratched up a bit, but it still worked. He just couldn't see any reason to change to anything else. It was 12:57 A.M. In precisely three minutes, if his hired men were as good as they said, tonight's sequence of events would start.


Perspiration beaded on his brow. Aaron was nervous and he didn't mind admitting it to himself. He had seen all manner of strange, miraculous, and disturbing things in his travels, but this comic book style world possessed beings who defied all laws of physics from any world he'd been to. And this was Earth! It was an Earth like none he had ever seen, and he had seen many. One day he planned to find an Earth to settle on. One where he could live a comfortable life on the proceeds of jobs like this. On that day he would find a microwave oven, shove the transporter in it, set the timer for ten minutes, and walk away.


He drew a sleeve across his forehead and checked the Timex again. 12:59 and ten seconds. Almost time. He pulled the transporter remote from the reinforced pocket where it lived and double checked the coordinates. Always have the emergency exit ready, he thought.


Just then, the wall of the vault collapsed inward below him. He shoved the remote back into the pocket. They were almost half a minute early. Not too bad. Thirty seconds was more precise than most hired thugs were. Nothing like Aaron, of course, but nobody was precise the way Aaron was. He pulled the hood over his face and leaned forward to look down through the catwalk railing. Five men dressed in black were picking their way across the rubbled remains of the vault wall. They moved with confidence, quickly but not rushing, in a manner that spoke of their years of experience.


Aaron reached for the camera, a smooth metal tube that no one on this world would recognize. It hovered a foot above his right shoulder and pointed itself wherever Aaron looked. A touch from the flesh on the tip of his finger and it began recording. Later, it would replay this morning's events as a life sized, three dimensional hologram.


The job was simple. Come to this world, find his quarry if she was here to be found, and bring back evidence of her existence and abilities. It had sounded ridiculous. A world full of superheroes and super villains? He'd been to Earths where America was still a British colony, where most of the planet lay frozen and only a thousand mile band along the equator was habitable, where the League of Arab Nations dominated the planet, where electricity had never been discovered, but never a comic book Earth. The aliens who "hired him" had provided the coordinates. Hell, he figured, might be fun. Not that he had any choice in the matter.
Now that he was here, he only wanted to leave.


His hirelings, a group of professionals whose members hailed from various countries around the world, were breaking into certain numbered cabinets and chests in the vault. As they got them open, they were rewarded with a number of unusual and powerful weapons. They looked at each other, smiling. Only their leader, a former Israeli wetwork man, maintained the hard facade that was probably his natural state. He went to the final prize, a simple wooden box said to contain the most powerful device in the place. It was, Aaron knew, not locked. The man flipped it open. Inside, he found only a slip of paper containing one word.


Sorry.


The mercenary spun around. "We have been set up!" he barked. His men reacted instantly, forming up and heading for the exit. Aaron checked the Timex. 1:08. It was going to be close. The first of the men was just reaching the destroyed wall when she arrived.


There was a whoosh of air followed by the tremendous sound of thunder as her boots struck the ground. The building shook with the impact. Aaron could only see the mercenaries falling back into the vault at first. Then, she floated into view. He had seen her before, but never this close. She stood, when her feet were on the ground at least, over six feet tall. The grey and black uniform clung to her just like you'd expect in a comic book character. She could be called statuesque and it would be short of the mark. Her black hair and cold blue eyes were exposed to the world. No mask here. She looked just like Superman would look if Superman was the sexiest chick you'd ever seen. The red image of a hammer and sickle and the red cape that billowed out behind her completed the look. Here was his quarry: the Soviet Superwoman.


She surveyed the room for a few seconds before speaking. "What goes on here?" Hell, even her accent was sexy. "I do not think those belong to you. Put they toys down, boys, or things will not go well for you. One chance."


There was a tense moment when nothing happened. Aaron had given the men the specs for the weapons. They knew what each one did, but they hesitated. He didn't blame them. The Soviet Superwoman was intimidating. She floated, a picture of calm, her arms extended straight down to either side. Her hands weren't even clenched into fists. She might have been having a conversation with her best friend. This wouldn't do.


Aaron reached to a rectangular panel lying at his feet, feeling along the rows of buttons without taking his eyes from the scene below. He had spent almost two weeks setting this up. He had acquired the weapons. He had infiltrated the Guardians' headquarters (no easy task) and determined a time when he could be assured that Soviet Superwoman would respond to a call. He had set up this vault and hired these men to break into it. All of this to film her in action for those damned aliens. There was no way he would let a failure of nerves on the part of some hired thugs, however good they were at their job, ruin all that work. The aliens had made it clear that coming back empty handed would result in more than simply not getting paid. No, he had prepared even for this. Finding the button he wanted, he gently tapped it.


The Particle Decelerator fired, shocking the mercenary holding it. It was the Spaniard, Aaron thought. He looked down at his weapon with wide eyes as a spray of green burst forth and seemed to dissipate. In fact, half the room, including the heroine, had just been coated with a slowing agent. Let's see how fast you are with that stuff all over you, Aaron thought. The Soviet Superwoman was dropping into a defensive crouch with her arms brought up to fend off the attack as Aaron tapped a second button. Only a fraction of a second had passed.


This time it was the Plasma Rifle. A super-hot stream of ionized gas blazed forth, catching her across the chest. She cried out in surprise and pain. Aaron doubted the plasma was penetrating her skin, but couldn't be comfortable. Now everyone began to fire. The Freeze Rifle, and the Diamond Flechette Launcher all pummeled Soviet Superwoman. The Spaniard even fired the Particle Decelerator again, though repeated applications were useless. Only their leader did nothing. There was one weapon left for him, sitting by his feet where he had left it when he opened the box.


The Soviet Superwoman lunged forward, but between the slowing agent and the relentless assault it would take far too long to reach even one of her attackers. Twin lasers burst from her eyes, striking the Plasma Rifle. It should have erupted in an explosion that would maim or kill anyone nearby. Instead, the beams refracted away from the surface of the weapon, startling it's wielder but otherwise not doing him any harm. She switched targets, this time seeking to disable the Flechette Launcher, but getting the same result. Aaron smiled. He hadn't wanted this to be too easy, or too fast. The weapons were coated with a special alloy usually reserved for the hulls of space faring combat ships. A highly concentrated beam of heat or light would eventually do damage, but that wouldn't help the Superwoman at this moment.


She changed targets again. The deadly beams cut into the Flechette wielder's leg. He screamed and fell, clutching the already cauterized wound. The others reacted quickly, moving to fire from cover, ducking behind chests and pedestals. The Freeze Rifleman began aiming for her face instead of her body, rapid bursts of super-cold forcing her shield with her hand. She seemed at a loss for a moment. Aaron could see the men smiling. Frost was forming on her face, icicles in her hair. At the same time, the plasma bursts were punishing her torso and her cape was in flames. Aaron wondered if he had done his job too well. The aliens hadn't wanted her dead.


But no, she wasn't finished yet. She dropped to one knee, driving a fist into the floor. She must have used a burst of her greatest speed, enabling her to move at a normal pace. The blow opened a crater in the marble floor and shook the entire place more than her landing, only a minute or two ago, had. There was a great cracking sound as the floor shattered. Aaron, already squatting, tumbled to the floor of the catwalk, grabbing the railing with one hand and reaching for the control panel with the other. Below, the men reeled, their weapons firing wildly about before they released the triggers.


Aaron struggled to keep his gaze, and the camera's on the action. He didn't want to miss anything. Soviet Superwoman stood up in the crater, bringing up a chuck of marble debris in each hand. Before her assailants could resume firing, she flung one at the Freeze Rifle. The projectile traveled faster than Aaron's eye could follow. She had moved past the area blanketed by the slowing agent. The rifle crumpled and tore from the man's grasp on impact, smashing him against the back wall. The Superwoman turned and threw the second piece of marble at the Plasma Rifleman, but he had ducked behind a wide marble plinth, against which this chunk shattered.


The Particle Decelerator operator had given up on it and pulled his conventional machine gun. He fired, spraying useless bullets at Soviet Superwoman. She looked around in annoyance and sent two lasers cutting through both the gun and the hand that held it. He screamed and collapsed, cradling his maimed hand against his body. There were only two men still standing. The leader, who was grabbing the weapon that had yet to be fired, and the man with the Plasma Rifle, who began to fire once more.


The Superwoman lashed out with her laser vision again, slicing through the plinth. The mercenary dove away, rolling behind a statue of a fat man in a toga, its arm stretched forward as if giving a speech. The plinth's top half slid off the bottom and tumbled across the floor, coming to rest almost at Soviet Superwoman's feet. The plasma bursts were punishing her once more, but she reached down and took hold of the plinth's remains. Aaron had no idea how much a piece of marble that size weighed, but he guessed it would be several hundred pounds. The Superwoman pulled it from the floor and spun around, gaining momentum. She spun once, twice, and on the third time around hurled the thing. It flew forth and ricocheted off the fat man's head. The statue lurched backward, teetering, suspended for moment as if it moved in slow motion, before crashing down on the man with the Plasma Rifle.


There were grunting sounds and struggling movements from beneath the statue, signaling that the man was trapped but very much alive. Soviet Superwoman turned to face the last mercenary, the leader. Her hair was wet with melted ice. Her costume was shredded, revealing more of her chest and stomach than she probably wanted to. The exposed flesh glowed a bright scarlet from the heat of the plasma. She still moved slowly. It would take another half hour or so for the effects of the slowing agent to wear off. She stepped toward her last foe.


Just as she did, he finally fired the Gravity Inducer. With an odd "plop" sound, a foot in diameter bubble shot forth, catching her in the abdomen. The bubble seemed to explode into a shower of liquid that, instead of raining to the floor, wrapped itself around the woman, covering her head to toe. She stumbled as the increased gravity took effect. Not understanding the effect, she shook her head.


"Trying to slow me down some more? It will not help."


He fired again. And again. She began to have trouble staying on her feet. Her arms hung down. As she made her way toward the man, she dragged her feet, unable to lift them away from the floor. The man was smart, Aaron thought to himself. He had read the specs. The duration of the Gravity Inducer's effect was much shorter than the slowing agent of the Particle Decelerator, but also unlike the Decelerator, repeated applications increased the effect a considerable amount.


"Plop."


"Plop."


It was amazing she could still stand, much less move. Aaron had thought the Gravity Inducer would be devastating when used against her, given the density that her molecular structure must have. Even one shot would immobilize a normal human. Her face had become a mask of agony. She continued to move forward, though, until she loomed over the mercenary leader. In his panic, he fired one last time. Oh, though Aaron, perhaps he isn't quite so smart after all.


Soviet Superwoman gave in to the massive gravitational force that was trying to crush her. She dropped onto the mercenary with the force of a small moon. A sickening, pulpy crunch could just be heard under the deep THOOM of her impact.


Minutes later, Aaron was almost ready to depart. He had gathered the remains of the weapons, minus the Gravity Inducer, which lay crushed with its leader under the super heavy Soviet Superwoman. He had dealt with the mercenaries with a sedative for each of them and the application of a device that passed a certain radiation through one's brain, erasing short term memories. They would remember nothing of the last month. Aaron had only met them eight days ago, but better safe than sorry. He was about to activate the transporter when he felt a presence behind him.


He whirled to find the Soviet Superwoman floating just off the catwalk. She fixed him with a stare that froze his heart.


"Perhaps you would like to explain what happened here tonight?", her voice was low but shaking with anger. "I do not think this was only a robbery. These are powerful weapons. Weapons that seem particularly suited for use against me. Or someone like me."


"Ah, I . . . I'm just a clean-up guy. I thought you were dead. I couldn't move you." He hadn't tried; hadn't gone near her. The gravitational effect should still be affecting her. He was certain it was, but it must be lessening. As he spoke again he detected a slight tremble across her body and a look of determination in her eyes. She was several feet away and remained airborne, not landing on the catwalk. "I'm glad you're alive. Um, are you injured?"


"No, but one man is dead and you will answer for it." Her eyes glanced past him to the portal generator extension, a two foot tall tripod mounted with something that looked more like a camera than the actual camera that was now stowed safely into another reinforced pocket. The actual generator wasn't even in this dimension. It was too large a chance taken to bring it with him. "What is that? Who do you work for? Answer!"


"Yes, well, it's kind of difficult to explain. Here, let me show you my I.D." He stepped forward to the crate of weapons, reaching into his pocket for the transporter remote with his left hand. With the right he tapped a button on the control panel of the crate.


Timing. He could do this. With Soviet Superwoman still struggling with the effects of the Gravity Inducer and the Particle Decelerator, he could get away. He only needed a distraction. He kicked the crate as its top slid shut and the warning beep of the self destruct began to sound. It rolled along the catwalk toward the Superwoman, who floated toward him with anger on her face.


"That will take out a city block when it blows!" he shouted. It wouldn't. It would only destroy the weapons contained within, but she didn't know that. She altered her trajectory, moving slowly. The effort she must have been putting forth astounded Aaron. It was obvious she was battling massive gravitational forces just to move. He pulled the transporter remote and activated the portal.


As he did, Soviet Superwoman turned her gaze back toward him. The eye lasers flashed, striking the remote. Aaron dropped it in shock as several things happened almost simultaneously. The Superwoman, her concentration having slipped for a moment, dropped to the catwalk by the beeping crate. The corner of the crate crumpled where she placed her hand. The catwalk buckled and tore from its moorings, swinging free from the wall. Aaron left his feet and crashed to floor of the collapsing catwalk, reaching frantically for the remote. It skittered away, heading straight for the Superwoman.


Behind him, the portal came to life. The eerie silence and familiar cold that always accompanied it draped over him. He turned to see the swirling purple vortex. He slid toward it as it began to drag him in. He pulled his eyes back to the remote, resting now against Soviet Superwoman's boot. Looking up to her face, he saw something he didn't expect.


Her eyes were wide, filled with what could only be fear. Fear and recognition. She had seen this before, and it terrified her. In slow motion, as Aaron moved inexorably toward the portal, she flung the crate at the vortex. The beeping metal box flew over Aaron's prone form and disappeared into the portal. He was sliding faster now. In another couple of seconds he would be gone from this place, his mission accomplished. As he left the surface of the catwalk and spun away to another dimension, Soviet Superwoman reached down for the remote, crushing it in her grip.


The portal closed, collapsing in on itself. Olga collapsed as well, dragging the rest of the catwalk from the wall and crashing with it to the marble floor. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to return to its normal pace. It felt good to stop fighting the effects of the weapons. She was glad they had all been destroyed. She would rest here until she returned to normal, then gather these criminals and turn them over to the police. In her left hand was the shattered remains of the device that had activated the portal. She had never expected to see one again. Part of her chided herself for destroying the remote. It could have been studied. Perhaps the portal could be duplicated. Perhaps she could return to her own world. She could return with friends, take revenge on the aliens who had destroyed so much. But no, she thought, this is my world now. She clenched her fist tighter. When she opened it, a fine powder trickled out, mixing with the dust of the broken floor. Olga closed her eyes.

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This story and image are the results of some amazing gifts!

The artwork for this was provided by my dear friend as a gift from ! Thank you both so very much!

The story was written (with very little editing from me) by my best friend in the world and presented for me as a birthday present! He's a fantastic writer I keep trying to get to join AF, so please let him know what you think!

Soviet Superwoman is my property and creation. Aaron Dunnet and the story are creations of

This takes place in