Avie and I went downstairs to the Observation Booth. Koz was already there; some of the Y+Thems who knew him were glad to see him and were petting him. Ordinarily, Koz abhorred being petted, but he was basking in the limelight. “My God,” I said. “This is just like show business.”

The space we occupied resembled a control booth for a TV recording studio or a theater. An olive-skinned woman with a short, spikey mohawk sat at a control console at a bank of windows with a view down into what appeared to be a vast gymnasium. She was clad in a black leather bikini, thigh-high boots, and matching gloves, all articulated with studs. The board in front of her appeared to control the lights, sound, and other technology for the room below.

The woman, who had no pupils or irises in her white, staring eyes spoke into a mic: “Are you guys ready to run another routine? We’re locked and loaded up here.”

A saber-toothed tiger-man, seated next to the woman behind the controls, turned to us. “We’re running tech right now,” he explained, “taking advantage of the holiday week to reload all the training programs for our team drills.”

“This is exciting,” said Avie enthusiastically, as if the lights were about to go down on a Broadway premiere.

“Tell that to the recruits who left here on stretchers last week,” said the leather-clad woman. “Some of them went home to their folks for the holidays in body bags. The lucky ones.”

A couple of faceless Y+Them recruits who had been petting Koz over in the corner suddenly remembered they had to catch the Long Island Railroad and snuck away.

“How many are on the team?” I asked.

“Just us die-hards, now,” said the leather-clad lady. “I’m Domina; this here’s Sabersnag. You’ve already met Tempy, I take it.”

Kavanaugh Kleinfelter was now brushing Kozmik Kat’s fur tenderly.

“Kav, yes,” I said. “And Chuck. And some redhead. Who is she?”

“No idea,” said Domina. “They come and go around here so fast, there isn’t time to learn their names.” She made it sound like we were hunkered down in a Vietnam jungle.

“Those were the last of the freshman class Domina just scared off,” said Sabersnag. He spoke into the mic. “We’re almost ready.”

Domina turned and looked at us for the first time, studying us with a quick once-over. “Watch out for Chuck,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere alone in this building alone, if you know what’s good for you.” She glanced appraisingly at Avie’s curves—a little too long, I thought, than was necessarily appropriate. “Especially you, dearie.” Then she looked at me. “You, you won’t have much of a problem,” she said, frowning at my flat chest. “You’re not his type.”

“Chuck’s a tit-man,” I whispered to Avie, shrugging my shoulders. “Good to know. And everyone on this team is an enabler.”

Avie shrugged, still eager to watch the proceedings unfold. “That’s show biz.”

We peered over the control console, down into the gymnasium below. The steel walls had deep seams every few feet marking panels that concealed hidden compartments; the floors also had sections separated by grooves. There were deep scars and gashes in the metal as well as scorch marks—as if violent explosions and collisions of heavy objects took place routinely. On the ceilings were banks of lights and ventilation grates that were also banged up.

Down below, in the middle of the large chamber, stood a freckled white girl with pig tails; she was diminutive—and no more than sixteen or seventeen, Avie’s age. She wore one of the plain, simple Y+Thems body suits—this one, two shades of blue—with the team logo on the torso, panties, boots, and wide trim around the collar.

She was also as pregnant as a house.

“Who is that?” said Avie.

“That’s Kiddo,” said Sabersnag. “Our team mascot.”

“She doesn’t look old enough to be out of middle school,” said Avie, now uncomfortable. “Who did that to her? Chuck Roast?”

“No,” said Domina. “You’re looking at the handiwork of the Original Golden Age Megaton Man.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. “He’s got to be anicent.”

Kav had alluded to such misbehavior in the hallway upstairs, but I couldn’t believe someone named the Original Golden Age Megaton Man could be capable of seducing—raping—a child.

And to think—the child that child was carrying might be related to me.

“After Professor Rex revamped him, Farley was feeling spry,” said Sabersnag.

“And that makes it okay?” said Avie, shocked.

“I’m just saying the rejuvenated Original Golden Age Megaton Man was a little rambunctious, feeling young again,” said Sabersnag. “It’s understandable.”

I remembered all that Megaton megapower coursing through my body when I first broke out as Ms. Megaton Man; it had made me horny as hell. But still—Trent’s Uncle Farley? No, I’m afraid it wasn’t understandable.

““He certainly left a bun in the oven,” said Domina. “Then he felt so guilty about it he sacrificed himself in the Rift in the Cosmic Fabric to save the universe.”

“Just like Kirk Douglas in that John Wayne war movie,” said Kav. “That was so sad.”

“Poor Kiddo was heartbroken,” said Sabersnag. “The tragedy is, she still loves the sonuvabitch—now more than ever, since he got himself lost in the Cosmic Rift.”

Avie’s opinion shifted quickly. “You’re romanticizing away a rape with some cockamamy act of atonement?” she exclaimed. “What bullshit!” She leaned over to me, whispering, “You’re right, Sissy—enablers, every last one of them.”

From the floor below, Kiddo gave the high sign; in the Observation Booth, Domina started turning knobs on the control panel in front of her.

“What’s going to happen?” I asked. “What does a training session consist of, exactly?”

“They’re going to throw everything at her but the kitchen sink,” said Koz. “It’ll make your typical firing squad look like a welcome wagon—that’s what the Y+Thems consider training.”

“No way!” said Avie, but not as a positive affirmation; my sister was now genuinely alarmed. “That girl’s pregnant—it’ll be double murder!”

“Kiddo’s a tough cookie,” said Sabersnag. “You’ll see.”

The lights dimmed; panels in the wall began to slide open; banks of laser cannons, projectiles, and flamethrowers swung into position, locked into place.

Avie and I looked at each other in horror. There wasn’t time to do much except stick our fingers in our ears.

It’s beyond my powers of verbal description to convey what followed next. Gunfire erupted; tracer bullets let loose; armor-piercing shells exploded in the room below—and that’s just for starters. Killer robots emerged from side walls; a giant wrecking ball from nowhere and swung through the middle of the room. We expected the bulletproof glass of the observation booth to shatter any second.

Kiddo, quietly chewing gum, stood motionless as everything bounced off of her, or rather off of some protective force field that enveloped her body at a distance of about two or three feet. Metal, flames—everything was deflected, stopped by some invisible, impenetrable wall. All the while it was going on, she smiled and blew bubbles with her gum.

After about five minutes of this—it seemed to last forever—the assault stopped. Kiddo stood in the middle of a circle some six feet in diameter; inside the circle, the floor was bare; outside the circle, smoldering shrapnel and twisted wreckage was piled up as high as her shins. She had withstood a barrage equivalent to the artillery payload of a small tank.

Domina turned a few knobs; guns and flamethrowers retracted into the walls; panels closed. Above, acrid smoke was sucked into fast, efficient ventilation grills by powerful, unseen fans. Momentarily, short robots on wheels—Sabersnag called them Broombots—appeared, efficiently sweeping and scooping up the wreckage.

After a few moments, the Devastation Chamber appeared no different than it had a few minutes before, except for a few additional scuffs and abrasions on the walls and floor.

Kiddo appeared none the worse for wear.

“How long has she had such megapowers?” I asked.

“Since she was in kindergarten,” said Sabersnag.

“Then she must have really had the hots for the Original Golden Age Megaton Man,” said Avie. “Nothing could have gotten through that force field if she hadn’t.”

The two Y+Thems—Domina and Snag—began shutting down the control panels of the Devastation Chamber. Domina—Dana—turned to me and said, “If you’d like us to put you through your paces, Ms. Megaton Man, let us know; but give us a day or so, so we can let the place cool down.” After they shut off all the lights, we all filed out of the Observation Booth and took the stairs down to the floor of the gymnasium. Avie and I were particularly interested to see whether Kiddo was as unscathed as she appeared. Koz was already down on the floor with Kav and his clipboard, who was assessing her.

“Stronger than ever,” he pronounced. “It’s important to stay fit, even in the off-season.”

Avie and I introduced ourselves. Kiddo was a bright, sunny kid, all of fifteen, she told us.

“Here, feel it,” she said, taking each a hand from each of us and placing it on her stomach. “He’s kicking.”

It occurred to me that the child Kiddo was carrying was a relative of baby Simon back in New York—and perhaps, as I said, a relative of me. I wondered if Dr. Quimby would have to neutralize this child’s megapowers as well. No wonder Preston had to divide his time between Ann Arbor and Detroit; these megaheroes were spawning like flies.

“He?” asked Avie. “Are you sure it’s going to be a boy?”

“I can sense things,” said Kiddo, smiling brightly. “His father was such a masculine presence.”

I remembered the impressive figure Trent cut when he strode past me the first time as Megaton Man in the house on Ann Street. I wasn’t going to argue.

Kiddo could also sense Avie’s and my discomfort with her predicament.

“I’m not naïve, despite what you may think,” she said. “I wanted the Original Golden Age Megaton Man’s baby; I wanted him to make love to me.” She saw that Avie in particularl remained skeptical, indeed horrified. “Don’t you believe Stella Starlight wanted the Bronze Age Megaton Man’s baby, at least subconsciously? Or that your mother wanted you, Clarissa?”

Kiddo slowly encircled her protruding belly with her arms: one above, the other below.

“Furthermore, I knew Farley Phloog would be going into harm’s way—that he might never return. I realized I was awfully young—but I also knew the chance would never come again. I believe my baby is a child of destiny.”

I wondered what that made me, or baby Simon.

Avie looked like she was about to explode into one of her consciousness-raising tirades.

But before she could, from a side door, Chuck Roast entered, now dressed in his yellow and red Human Meltdown costume. His wavy blond hair had an impertinent bounce that put Trent Phloog’s wispy fleece to shame. He had a big movie-star smile, and even if I hadn’t known it, I would have pegged him as Stella Starlight’s half-brother.

“Hello, girls,” said Chuck, a bit too jovially. “You must be Avril and Clarissa. Bing’s told me all about you.” He looked knowingly at me. “All about you. Sorry I was otherwise engaged earlier; now you have my complete attention.”

As he said this, the Human Meltdown sized up each of us with a penetrating, salacious look.

And when I say sized up, I mean he was frankly staring at Avie’s chest the whole time.

“Are you both looking to join the team, the pair of you?” he said, still staring at Avie’s bustline.

“Neither,” I said, trying to get him to make eye contact, or at least to get him to take is eyes off my little sister. “We’re just here on vacation—and some fact-finding.”

“That’s a shame,” said Chuck, whose staring at Avie’s cleavage was starting to make Avie red in the face—both from embarrassment and fury. “Because you, young lady, have some real potential.” He turned and looked at me—at my modest top, to be more precise. His smile faded perceptibly. “You, not so much.”

“Really?” I said. “Because I’m the one with the megapowers, and I’m about to kick your ass.”

Chuck smiled his most charming smile. “And they call me a hot head,” said. “Us Megatons and Meltdowns are like the Hatfields and McCoys—Megaton Man and I got into it the very first time he came to New York. Did Trent ever tell you? The Bicentennial Battle over the Statue of Liberty—those were the days.”

“Where’s the recruit you were interviewing?” asked Avie curtly. “The one who had her legs wrapped around you on the couch?”

“You didn’t get along with Farley, either,” said Snag.

“Too much alike,” said Domina, now hovering protectively around Kiddo.

“How’s Felicia?” asked Koz, coolly. “You’re wife?”

“Fine,” said Chuck. “Geneviève’s doing well, I’m happy to report.” He looked again at Avie. “I have little girl myself,” he said, charmingly.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” asked Avie, with narrowed eyes. “The leggy redhead on the casting couch?”

“Who knows?” said Chuck, not even blanching. “Probably on a train to Connecticut by now, to spend the rest of her Christmas vacation with her parents. Or boyfriend. Whatever.”

Chuck put his arms around me and Avie—that was the kind of expansive guy he was.

“You’ll have to let me take you two to dinner,” he said. “On the team, of course.”

Kav coughed.

“What?” said Chuck, giving Kav a dirty look. “Surely that old bag of fluid left a credit card lying around.”

“Actually, most of our budget this year has already been consumed by the Devastation Chamber,” said Kav. “Keeping it stocked with ammunition and so forth.” He shrugged at me and Avie. “I’m also the temporary team bookkeeper,” he explained.

“So what? The year’s almost over,” said Chuck.

“The fiscal year,” said Kav. “We’re broke until April. Unless you want to eat artillery shells—we’ve got plenty of those.”

“Well, we’ll go Dutch, then,” said Chuck. “I want to hear all about my nephew—what’s his name?”

“Simon,” I said, wresting myself from his arm. “Actually, Avie and I have other plans.”

“That’s right,” said Avie, breaking away from Chuck’s other arm.“Is that so?” he said, putting his fists on his hips. “That’s too bad. Looks like me and Kozmik Kat will have to go stag.”

“You touch me, Meltdown,” said Koz, “and I’ll scratch your Goddamn eyes out.”

Chuck let out a mirthless laugh. “You guys kill me,” he said. Suddenly, the Human Meltdown became very hot, very quickly; his body began to glow. “Guess I’ll just have to go and find my own fun this evening.”

“Wait, Chuck,” I said. “Have you heard anything from Yarn Man?”

Chuck glowered at me, but—reluctantly—answered my question. “Bing said he’d drop by while you were here, but didn’t say when. Knowing that guy, he might show up, he might not. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

A side door slid open. Through a dark passage shone daylight from the street outside the building. Chuck took a few steps away from us and stood alone in the middle of the gymnasium, even as Broombots swept away the last remnants of Kiddo’s training session.

“Critical mass!” Chuck cried.

Suddenly, his entire body became a mass of pulsating, pyroclastic globs of protoplasm.

With a running start, he flew down the passage and soared out of the building.

A cold blast also came in from the street; more severe winter weather was on its way. One of the Bots brought down our coats from our dorm room for Avie and me. Another brought the Y+Thems some coats, jackets, and scarves with the team insignia. We all put them on and followed the same passage Chuck had left by to leave the Y+Thems headquarters.

Domina pulled her leather jacket tightly around her against the cold, but it left her thighs bare. She shivered. “There’s a place to eat not far from here,” she said.

We walked around the corner to a burger and brew, aptly named Burr, Ger & Broo in quaint Victorian script—a sign with a frothy mug and hamburger graven on it hung from a wrought iron bracket, the vestige of a time when the neighborhood was friendlier. We found plenty of seats in its dank interior.

Sabersnag, who preferred a fur coat that he now shed and hung on a hook, told us his real name was Soren Sneed. He went by the moniker “the Smilin’ Sabersnag,” because, apparently, the prehistoric saber-toothed tiger was of the genus smilodon. When Domina excused herself to hit the can, Soren told us her real name was Dana Dorman—it seemed doubtful we would have learned this information otherwise; she was the leather-clad dominatrix of the group, and preferred that people didn’t know too much about her sordid past.

“What could be more sordid than the stories we’ve already heard?” Avie whispered to me.

Kav had already shared more than we wanted to know, which left Beatrice “Kiddo” Bryson, the overly-sensitive force-field girl who’d been knocked up by the revivified Original Golden Age Megaton Man before his disappearance. She had come to New York as a teen runaway to escape an abusive family in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

“We’re the core members of the group,” Sabersnag explained. “We’ve been around the longest—survived the most ordeals—from Youthful Permutations to X+Thems to Y+Thems and back to Youthful Permutations again, although we’ll probably stick with the Y+Thems logo.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“In the first place,” said Kav, “we can’t afford new uniforms.”

“In the second,” said Snag, “I’m kind of partial to ‘Why them, not me?’ as a slogan.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Domina. “Besides, it was a tribute to Yarn Man, and now he’s gone.”

“As you can see, we still have a few disagreements,” said Snag. “But we’re a tight-knit bunch, practically a family.”

Snag explained that they had gone through three leaders: first Professor Rex Rigid—Liquid Man—who revamped the Original Golden Age Megaton Man, but was ousted for failing to provide proper oversight when Kiddo became pregnant; Bing, who—in Snag’s words—“was off boffing some groupie up in Detroit, probably”; and finally Chuck Roast, whom, as we had seen, was only interested in a certain type.

“And he gives each of them a Y+Thems bodysuit for their troubles,” said Kav. “Those outfits cost money—and dilutes the brand.”

“How many members strong are you, when the team’s at full strength?” Avie asked.

“This is about it,” said Domina, returning to our table. “We’ve survived the longest—Chuck’s full of shit about other recruits; he drove the last of them off before Christmas.”

“Looks like the Devastation Chamber would have done that,” said Avie. “I thought this was supposed to be a School for Gifted Permutations.”

“You see what it actually is,” said Domina. “It’s a for-profit fleecing mill that sold us all a bill of goods. As a megahero team or anything else, it’s never gotten off the ground. And with a has-been nuclear-powered hero as it’s nominal leader—well, you can see he’s more interested in quim than fighting crime.”

“That’s terrible,” said Avie, her social advocacy instincts coming to the fore. “You guys are bullied, exploited, and traumatized into complicity—why do you put up with it?”

“What, and quit show business?” said Sabersnag, smiling wanly—which is an absurdly uncomfortable expression on a saber-toothed tiger.

“We’re thinking of starting our own team,” said Domina. “What’s holding us back is Kiddo here. As you can see, she’s about to become an unwed mother; she needs to keep her team health coverage at least until she gives birth.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Avie. “You have a lousy team that tries to kill you in the Devastation Chamber, but great health coverage? And that’s why you put up with this?”

“You can’t beat it,” said Sabersnag. “Even if we could get into the Devengers, they don’t offer pre-natal or child care. I’m tellin’ ya, ya can’t have a megahero team at all these days without good medical and dental.” His saber-fangs glistened in the dim light of the dank bar.

“At the very least you need to oust Chuck,” said Avie. “What he’s doing is outright predatory.”

“He knows better than to lay a hand on me,” said Domina. “I’d bust his balls so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. And he obviously knows better than to mess with Kiddo; her force field won’t let Chuck with ten feet of her.”

“But you can’t let the Human Meltdown just keep preying on the new recruits,” said Avie. “Where do they keep coming from?”

“They answer want ads,” said Domina. “He picks them up in bars. Maybe they’re call girls. All of them fall for his bullshit line about fucking America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero. Few of them, if any, have any sincere desire to fight crime. That redhead you saw likely was never genuinely interested in becoming a Y+Them.”

I thought about Snag’s description of me as a groupie and wanted to crawl under the table.

“But it’s not working like before,” said Kav. “Word gets around.”

“Still, you can’t let the Human Meltdown go on this way,” said Avie. “You have to send him packing.”

“We’ve tried, believe me,” said Sabersnag. “But Liquid Man still pulls the strings—he want to keep an old Quartet member running things. And then there’s Bart Gamble—his money’s still behind the Y+Thems.”

“Bart Gamble?” asked Avie.

“Bad Guy,” Snag explained. “One of Megaton Man’s old foes.”

“But isn’t Bad Guy a megavillain and Liquid Man a megahero?”

“Nominally, yes,” said Sabersnag. “Both Bart and Rex hold quite a lot of real estate around New York City; they’re rivals in a lot of ways, but partners in this. Bart’s the one who enticed Rex to start this group, or rather take us over—that last All-Death Team-Up really depleted our ranks—”

“I read that issue,” I said. “It was pretty good.” Then I felt stupid.

“So, Bart drafted the Original Golden Age Megaton Man,” Sabersnag continued, “the thinking being that with a few over-the-hill but still marquee players—and some fresh, young blood like us—could put the Youthful Permutations on the map. Bart and Rex still keep a hand in it—I don’t know the details, except we can’t shake Chuck. Lord knows we’ve tried.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Kav. “I just file the paperwork with an accounting firm in Flushing.”

“Liquid Man has an accountant in Flushing,” said Koz. “You can’t make this stuff up.”

“You gals aren’t looking to get into the business, I hope,” said Sabersnag. “It’s not exactly the glamor profession you thought it was going to be, is it?”

“Honestly, megaheroics was never a career aspiration for me,” I said. “I just happened to find myself with megapowers last summer. We’re just here for a visit—sort of a fact-finding mission.”

“And I’m here to see some Broadway shows,” said Avie.

“We were expecting to find Bing here,” I said. “Chuck didn’t sound so sure if we’d see him or not. Do you happen to have any better information?”

The Y+Thems all looked at one another. “Not really,” said Soren. “How do you know Bing, may I ask?”

“I’m the groupie he was boffing in Detroit,” I said.

Sabersnag turned red. “I see,” he said. “I was just going to say, if you want to break into the profession, you’d be wise to first choose another profession.”

“Does Yarn Man still run with that crowd in Manhattan?” asked Koz. “The old timers from his glory days?”

“They hang out at Club Tudor City,” said Sabersnag. “It’s a bar about a block from the United Nations.”

“Bing’s not drinking again, is he?” I said, concerned.

“No, they just tell their origin stories over and over,” said Sabersnag. “A bunch of pathetic old losers, living in the past.”

“Maybe someone there could tell you who your real father is, Sissy,” Avie whispered to me.

Avie and I rounded up another blanket and convinced Koz to sleep in the office upstairs from our dorm room, despite his misgivings, while we went back to our spartan dorm room to settle down for the night. As we got ready for bed, we engaged in some sisterly talk.

“This Y+Thems is not only a scam,” declared Avie. “It’s a fish-in-the-barrel field day for sex offenders.”

“Don’t tell me you’re souring on Off-Off-Off-Broadway,” I said.

“I’m serious,” said Avie. “The first thing Ms. Megaton Man’s got to do is beat up Bad Guy and Liquid Man. You’re a megahero now, Sissy; you can’t let injustice like this persist—we can’t.

“That’s great, except nobody knows where Bad Guy or Liquid Man are,” I said. “Besides, Snag seems all right. They’re not all predators.” I fluffed my pillow and climbed up into the bottom bunk. “What I’m worried about is finding Bing. If he doesn’t show up, how will we find the Devengers, or that group of old timers who tell their origins over and over?”

Avie climbed into the top bunk and pulled the blanket over her. “I suppose we’re not going to clean up the toxic culture of the megahero business in one visit to New York. We’ll just have to console ourselves with a few days of cheap sight-seeing and expensive theater and go home.”

That was starting to sound like a good idea—to just get my mind off my troubles. After all, I had enough to handle with school, and there was nothing urgent about finding out who my real father was. Besides, Preston had predicted that a search in New York would be a longshot at best, and so far, his prediction had proven correct—this odyssey was looking more and more like a much needed vacation and some quality time with my sister.

I have to admit I didn’t’ take Avie’s concerns about exploitation all that seriously. No doubt, my thoughts were colored by my own experience—I had been swept off my feet by Yarn Man, or swept myself off my feet. I’d been a Yarn Man groupie, to be sure. But if I allowed myself to be used, my attitude was: live and learn. The See-Thru Girl had been impregnated by Megaton Man, and that seemed to be turning out all right; Kiddo Bryson seemed jubilant as the expectant mother of the Original Golden Age Megaton Man’s love child; and I had to believe the women who were attracted to Chuck Roast’s particular line of baloney were getting some kind of satisfaction—he was so gosh-darn suave and good looking, even Avie had said as much.

I went to sleep that night with all of problematic attitudes, none of them sitting particularly well with me. But I was about to have a rude awakening.