# 212
The All-Star Legion of America in "The Secret Emperor, Part Two"
By Mikel Midnight (suggested by a plot from Dashiell Hammett)

In a comfortable Madison Avenue office building, a pair of colorful figures are seated at a large, stained-wood table.

Captain Tootsie smiles engagingly. "So ... Miss Wonderly ... I'm sorry if this sounds like a job interview ... you've proven to be perfectly capable of handling yourself in a crisis ... but we do need to know a little bit about you. There's a lot of secure work the team handles, you understand."

"Of course," she says, her eyes glittering. "Where to start? My grandparents emigrated to this country as refugees. They were Egyptian Jews, and ... " she paused, "is that a problem?"

His eyes widen, "Of course not! The All-Star Legion of America opposes racism in all its forms. We'd have no truck with anti-Semitism here. Hootin' zootz, one of our members, Volto, is an emigrant from the planet Mars!"

She gives a delighted laugh. "Really! I had no idea. Where was I? My grandfather quickly took to the American way of life, he wanted nothing to do with the habits of the old country. He finally settled down in California, and started a ranch, if you can believe it. My father became a newspaper man, and eventually returned to the East Coast. I was raised in both places ... grampa's farm is where I learned the rope tricks."

He nods, "And what prompted you to don the costume, then? Not some personal disaster, I hope."

"Well, if I learned rope tricks from grampa's ranch, dad's newspaper was where I learned about what's going on in the world. When I read about how my people had been treated during the war, I realised that one of us had to do something special to show we weren't all victims ... or Communists. I thought I'd try to be a mystery woman. I never thought I'd be offered entry into a whole team of them though."

"That all makes perfect sense to me," he says. He extends a hand. "As a gesture of trust ... my name is Thomas Stone."

She smiles, and takes his hand in her own. Her touch is warm, and lingers a moment longer than necessary. "Please to meet you, Thomas. My name is Tamar ... Tamar Doucas."

In the dark of the prison cell, two men remove the artificial skin which covered their forearms. Beneath the thin sheaths are, in two halves, delicate electrical components made from plant material and thus completely undetectable. Working together, they construct a transmitter.

There is a delicate rustle, like the sound of the wind whistling through grass, and then a voice. "Yes?"

"Dr. Power and Dr. Narsty reporting to the Secret Emperor," said one of the men. "Our treatments were quite successful. Bruno Gungen is no longer human, and no longer capable of revealing any secrets. Unfortunately, he failed to eliminate the All-Star Legion; however, he is still controllable and remains a viable asset."

"That-is-quite-satisfactory." Sighing puffs of breath spaced the words. "I-will-arrange-for-your-release. Be-prepared-for-your-next-assignment. The-crime-is-mundane, but-the-specifics-are-most-certainly-not."

Elsewhere, 'U.S.' Royal returns to the estate belonging to General Dolliard. He walks up the steps to the door quietly, and pauses, measuring his thoughts. Finally, he rings the doorbell.

A minute later, there is still no response. He raises his hand to knock, and the door opens.

"Mrs. Dolliard?" he says in a clipped, polite tone, before he notices how pale her face is, and how dark the undersides of her eyes are, as if from weeping.

She sucks in air through her teeth. "I thought you people weren't going to come back here."

"This is a serious matter, Mrs. Dolliard. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have to speak to the General. He is involved with some people who have quite dangerous criminals in their employ, and frankly, we fear for his life."

She laughs, dry and humorlessly. "Oh, that's rich. If you people were really so concerned with him, you'd have left well enough alone."

He blinks at her. "I don't understand."

"My husband is dead, Royal. He committed suicide yesterday. I think you should leave, now."

She shuts the door on his face, leaving him to silence and his thoughts.

Volto walks easily through the quiet halls of the All-Star Legion's headquarters. In his hands is a bowl of cereal grains, which he partakes of regularly to recharge his magnetism.

The others, including the curious newcomer, Miss Wonderly, have long since left for the day, returning to wherever they call home. He reflects on the people he has encountered, even considered friends, on this strange new planet, but none of them have made any place 'home.' At least the headquarters, with its extensive security systems augmented by alien technology, allows him some stillness.

Crunching on the cereal grains, admittedly of much denser fiber and more savoury taste than the grains of his own planet, he does not hear anything amiss at first.

Suddenly, the lights flicker. He rises to his feet. He reflects whether this could be part of a practical joke on the part of H, the extradimensional imp which accompanies the team. "Thom?" he calls out, knowing that the silent H never travels in this dimension without his young friend.

He senses no response. The lights flicker again. Odd, he thinks to himself, and proceeds to the back of the building. It might be something simple, like the circuit breaker, although the alien augmentations ought to have prevented any shorts in the system.

Any further speculations of his are cut short as the building explodes.

At the door of a Daghull Street apartment, R.C. glances again at the address Peter Collinson had given him, and then knocks. The door opens, and he is greeted by a young woman whom, he decides, can't be a day over 19 and looks more like 16. She is a little bit of a toy-store window doll with a plump painted mouth and round brown eyes in a dimpled, olive-skinned face. She wears an expensive, Persian orange dress.

"Oh yes?" she enquires, glancing up and down at his uniform, which rather resembled a baseball player's.

"Um," he says, unaccountably embarrassed, "I am looking for a Mister Bruno Gungen."

"Oh yes," she replies, sounding suddenly bored and little disappointed. "That would be my husband. I'm Mrs. Gungen."

R.C. blinks, bemused. Gungen had been 50 at least. "May I come in? I've been sent by Mister Collinson, at the bank."

She steps back away from the door, beckoning with one hand. "Oh yes, please do."

He enters, looking uneasily around the small apartment. It is almost claustrophobically decorated with statuettes and knickknacks, and the scent of incense is equally overpowering. Mrs. Gungen sits down on a brocaded chair, one foot tucked under her, as she picks a still-burning cigarette off of an ashtray. "Mrs. Gungen ... "

"Please," she interrupts, "call me Enid."

He attempts a smile. "Enid," he said, "is Mr. Gungen available?"

She shakes her head, "He's off at one of his interminable errands," she says. "Is he in some sort of trouble?" There is a spark in her eye as she says this, and he wonders whether she relishes the idea of his being in trouble.

"By no means," replies R.C. "He has been doing some specialised work for us, and there have been some last minute contract changes. Unfortunately, Mr. Gungen has been acting as liaison between us and the other party involved, and we need to find the name of his counterpart with our negotiating partners."

She giggles. "Oh yes? and you took time out from your busy baseball game to tell me this?"

He smiles indulgently, "I'm not really a baseball player." He leans forward, and looks from side to side, whispering in conspirital tone, "I go by the name R.C. I'm representing the All-Star Legion of America. You may have heard of us."

Her mouth parts open. "Oh yes," she says quietly, "I most certainly have. Well, if there's anything I can do to help America's mysterymen ... "

"Do you recall any phone calls he may have been making recently? Someone who isn't an old friend, of course, I'm talking about someone with whom he may have had business dealings. Do any names come to mind?"

She furrows her brow. "There was someone ... " she taps out the cigarette in a thoughtful gesture. "Something having to do with a political party, does that sound right?"

He nods, "It very well may be."

"Leo something ... not Leonard ... Leonidas, that's it."

"Yes, that does sound familiar, it must be the same man. I've spoken to him on the phone, myself, but only briefly. Do you recall his full name, by any chance?"

"Oh yes, I have it!" She snaps her fingers. "Doucas. Leonidas Doucas."

TO BE CONTINUED ...