WARNING: This story is unfinished and will remain so, unless the author comes back to complete it.
If you are the author of this story, please contact the webmaster of SPECTRUM HEADQUARTERS at spectrum_hq@hotmail.com
A Captain Scarlet
and the Mysterons Multiverse Challenge Story
By Tiger Jackson
As instructed by
Captain Ochre, the medics who came to help Lieutenant Olive wore protective
clothing and breathing apparatus and had brought kit for him as well..
Instead of sending
for another agent to back him up, Captain Ochre chose to check Melody’s suite
alone. He was afraid of what he
might discover, but he wanted, he needed to know whether — He bit his
lip. He’d been attracted to Magnolia Jones for a long time. She hadn’t
discouraged his attentions. And lately, he’d begun to hope she was feeling
something for him, too. But he knew, for certain, that the other four Angels
were dead; at least three of them had been duplicated by the Mysterons. Melody —
Magnolia — was the only one unaccounted for. He radioed Captain Grey that he and
Lieutenant Olive had found Destiny Angel in her suite, dead, and that he was
going to check on Melody.
Captain Grey swore
under his breath as he listened to Captain Ochre. “S.I.G., Captain Ochre.” Grey
added that although Destiny presumably had a mysteronised counterpart, although
so far no one had reported seeing her since last night, and he hadn’t seen her
in the shattered room. “Destiny could be there, buried under the debris but we
can’t count on that. Melody was definitely seen entering the breakfast room this
morning. She’s unaccounted for now. Be careful.”
“S.I.G.”
A “Do Not Disturb”
sign hung from the doorknob of Melody’s suite. Captain Ochre used the passkey to
open the door. Just like with Destiny’s, he discovered the door’s deadbolts had
not been thrown. He stepped carefully into the foyer and looked ahead into the
living room. The curtains were drawn and it was dark. Remembering Captain Grey’s
warning, Ochre scanned the room for movement, his pistol at the ready. After a
few minutes, he decided that the sitting room was clear. He nudged open the door
to the bedroom; it was also dark inside. He waited and watched for a while.
Nothing moved. There was no sound. Cautiously, he entered. The room was
apparently clear. Captain Ochre reached for the curtains and pulled them open.
He turned around.
“Oh God, no.”
The warm light
flooded over the bed in which Melody slept her lasting, dreamless sleep. Ochre
knelt beside the bed and stroked her cheek gently. “Oh Mags. I didn’t get to
tell you I’m sorry about last night.” He tried to control himself but his voice
was husky with unshed tears. “I never got to say I love you.”
In each of the other
Angels’ suites, the investigators reported the same sad discovery. Each woman
had died, without apparent cause, in her sleep.
There were no doubts
and no hopes left. Captain Grey radioed Cloudbase. When he finished his report,
he waited for a response. The silence stretched for more than a minute.
“Cloudbase, are you receiving me?”
“Yes, Captain Grey.”
There was a heaviness in the Colonel’s voice that Grey had never heard before.
“Carry on with the investigation. We must presume that there are two more
Mysterons at large. Find them as soon as possible.”
“S.I.G.” Grey signed
off.
Lieutenant Green’s
jaw had dropped. He could not believe that all the Angels were dead. He had
overseen every suggested arrangement for their protection. They had reached
their destination safely. And yet they had been killed by the Mysterons. For
once, the Mysterons’ cryptic threat made less sense after the attack than it had
before.
“Lieutenant Green.”
The commander’s brisk, steady voice broke through the young man’s shock. “Recall
Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue from Moscow. They are to proceed to Chicago
immediately and rendezvous with Captains Ochre and Grey. How long will it take
them to arrive?”
Lieutenant Green had
worked alongside his commanding officer for several years now. He knew that
Colonel White would grieve for the Angels, but his duty to Spectrum would always
come first. Concentrating on his task, Green determined how long it would take
Spectrum Moscow to prepare an SPJ, then calculated the flight hours and the time
of day Captains Scarlet and Blue would arrive in Chicago. It was good to keep
busy.
***********************
It was almost
midnight in Moscow. So far, everything had been quiet but Captain Scarlet was
certain that would change very soon. Usually the Mysterons carried out an attack
within twenty-four hours but there had been exceptions. It appeared to him that
this would be one of them. Spectrum Moscow’s network of agents had found Captain
Black’s hideout but, unfortunately, missed the man himself and recovered no
weapons or clues as to how he would carry out the attack. Captain Scarlet was
double-checking the security arrangements at St Michael’s Cathedral when his
epaulets flashed green. As he listened to the message from Cloudbase, his
expression was grim. He acknowledged the new orders and radioed Captain Blue.
“What’s up?” asked
Captain Blue.
“We’ve been
reassigned. To Chicago.”
Captain Blue caught
his breath, but when he spoke his voice was steady. “Then the Mysterons carried
out their threat.”
“Lieutenant Green
didn’t say.” He didn’t have to.
Neither man spoke to
the other beyond the necessary exchanges during the long flight. Each wanted to
keep his thoughts, hopes, and prayers private for as long as possible.
*********************
Captains Grey and
Ochre made reports to Cloudbase throughout the day.
The investigation
into the cause of the Angels’ deaths began with frustration. There was a lack of
overt clues, apart from the same curious maltreatment of the flower arrangements
that Lieutenant Olive had first noted in Destiny’s rooms. There were no signs of
a struggle anywhere. None of the Angels had ordered a meal from room service or
apparently consumed anything from the in-room mini bars. They had each unpacked
some of their personal things before changing into nightclothes and going to
sleep for the last time. Some of their luggage was missing, including the
special bags they carried their Spectrum flight suits in, but the helmets had
been left behind. The Mysteron replicants had been wearing the uniforms; but
where had they taken the bags and why?
The rooms were all
similarly decorated, right down to the disarranged flowers and their vases. The
furnishings were removed for testing in a Spectrum laboratory. Samples were taken of the water, the
dust, the air, the soap, everything. Spectrum’s scientists were grimly
determined to discover how the Angels had died.
Security guards
scoured the hotel, searching for signs of the remaining two known Mysterons.
They made no progress; no one had seen either of them since the early morning.
All day long, search-and-rescue teams combed the debris for survivors and
recovered bodies. Nearly one hundred people had attended the breakfast. Only six
were found alive.
The remains of the two unaccounted-for Angels,
Destiny and Melody, were found that afternoon in the debris. They had apparently
been blown to pieces by the bombs, as many others in the room had been. There
was little doubt that they, too, had been Mysterons, and that the replicated
Angels were the actors behind the catastrophe. When and how the real Angels had
been murdered and replaced remained a mystery.
The Angels’ missing
luggage had been discovered during the search. The room had been registered to a
Mr Black some three days before the conference had begun. A desk clerk
immediately identified the photograph of Captain Black as the man to whom she
had given the card-key. She was certain she had not seen him again. The
housekeeping staff reported that Mr Black’s room had been attended to daily but
appeared never to have been occupied before they discovered the pile of
suitcases and garment bags belonging to at least five people. On investigating,
Spectrum Security found a few blasting caps and bits of fuses scattered on the
room’s desk. Doubtless this was where the bombs had been prepared.
“So there was
a connection with Captain Black,” growled Captain Scarlet. “He was here before
the conference began. Then the Mysterons sent him to Moscow to lead us on a wild
goose chase.”
“It seems so,”
nodded Captain Ochre.
It was evening
before Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue arrived in Chicago. Captain Grey had
been anticipating their arrival with a measure of dread, which he had kept well
hidden. Captain Ochre had spent some time briefing them about the events of the
last two days and the discoveries that had been made up to that point. In the
morning, he continued, they would have some test results, as technicians would
be working through the night on the samples they had collected from the Angels’
suites. Until then, there wasn’t anything more they could do except plan to
continue the investigation based on what they learned from the lab reports.
The briefing
concluded, Captain Grey excused himself. Captain Blue made a move as if to
follow him, but settled back into his seat when Captain Ochre held up a hand and
shook his head. He waited until Grey was out of earshot.
“I know what you
want to talk to him about. Take it easy on him. He’s not saying much, but I know
he’s having a hard time.” Captains Blue and Scarlet both nodded.
When Grey returned,
he said, “I guess you have some questions for me?”
“Maybe we should get
some dinner first,” Ochre suggested, but Grey shook his head.
“No, thanks. I’d
rather get this over with.” He turned to Blue and Scarlet and waited.
Captain Scarlet
spoke first. “Just tell us what happened, Brad.”
He took a deep
breath and slowly recounted what had happened. He closed his eyes as he
described his encounter with the mysteronised Angels and their deaths at his
hands. “I was certain they weren’t human. They’d sustained too many injuries and
they were healing before my eyes.”
“But the way they
spoke to you before they died. Could they have been like . . . ?” Blue glanced
at Captain Scarlet.
Captain Grey’s face
was as ashen as his uniform. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ll be wondering
for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Blue, Scarlet. I really am.” There was an
awkward silence before Grey spoke again. “I did what I thought I had to.” His
voice dropped. “But I don’t know if it was right.”
***************************
In the morning, the
technicians reported that the mystery of the vases had been resolved. Bits of plastic explosive
had been found at the bottom of each one taken from the Angels’ suites. Traces
of the same plastic explosive had been found in each of the handbags that the
Angels had been carrying when seen, unchallenged, on their odd nocturnal
wanderings. Presumably, the Mysterons had told the newly replicated Angels where
to find it. The investigators learned that the hotel owned the vases in its
rooms, but routinely sent them to the florists when special floral arrangements
were ordered. The old arrangements were discarded first by the housekeepers.
Because it was possible one or more of them had planted the explosive materials,
Spectrum checked all of the hotel’s staff members with the Mysteron detector.
Everyone passed. So the plastic explosive could only have been placed inside the
vases while they were at the florists.
The flowers were
easily traced. Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue obtained a Mysteron detector and
a Mysteron gun and immediately drove to the shop that had supplied them. The
astonished florist, Mr DiMarco, proved to be human.
“I bid for the
contract to supply the Driskill Hotel with all the flower arrangements and
welcoming bouquets for the entire Air Mach conference. But I didn’t prepare any
of the arrangements personally; the order was massive!” DiMarco explained.
Although the temperature in the shop was quite cool, he mopped his brow
nervously. There had been a terrorist attack right there in Chicago yesterday.
It was all over the news. The Spectrum agents hadn’t told him why they were
there, but the florist guessed that his flowers were somehow linked to it. “I
designed how the flowers should look and hired a bunch of temporary assistants
to do the actual arranging.”
Captain Scarlet
showed him a picture of Captain Black, but DiMarco shook his head. “I don’t know
him. I’m sure I’d remember a man that distinctive looking.”
“What can you tell
us about your assistants?” asked Captain Blue.
DiMarco scratched
his head and mopped at the sweat on his face again. If it got around that
Spectrum agents had been in his shop because of the tragedy, it could devastate
his business. “I asked each of them about their backgrounds when I hired them,
but immediately forgot most of it. I am an artist; I care more about the flowers
than the people. But all of them did magnificent work. I could look at a picture
of an arrangement and tell you who did them.”
Captain Scarlet
raised an eyebrow. “Do you have such pictures?”
“I make a picture of
every arrangement for my portfolio,” DiMarco said proudly. “Satisfied customers
often ask for similar arrangements to be sent to friends and business contacts
in other cities.”
“Are they labelled
generally with the customer’s name or more specifically?”
“Oh, specifically!”
Now that he was explaining his art, DiMarco felt more confident. “You see,
people have very strong feelings about what they like in a foyer, or a bedroom,
or a living room. I keep meticulous notes about precisely where the customer
intends to display the flowers I provide.”
“The arrangements
you sent to the Driskill Hotel. Are your notes thorough enough to identify where
each one was placed? Those for the VIPs at least?” Captain Scarlet kept his tone
even, though he was skeptical.
“Yes!” DiMarco’s
answer was unequivocal. “I gave special attention to the flowers for the most
important guests and designed each arrangement especially to fit the place it
was assigned to. Unless the hotel’s manager changed her mind and put them
elsewhere, I can show you exactly what they were like.”
Grimly, Captain Blue
produced a list of the suites the Angels had been assigned to. It took DiMarco
only a few minutes to find the pictures on his database.
“There they are! Ten
arrangements in all.”
“Do you remember who
worked on them?”
DiMarco toggled a
key. “I have the assistant’s name encoded beneath the picture. Ah! Steven! Yes,
him I remember! He was such an unusual applicant; he had plenty of experience in
flower arranging but he was a full-time graduate student in history. He said
that he was working on his dissertation and wanted the job because it was
relaxing to work with beautiful things.” DiMarco readily supplied the young
man’s name and address to Captains Scarlet and Blue.
Steven Morrissey
lived in a flat at the top of a private house. He wasn’t at home when the
Spectrum officers arrived. His landlady was shocked to learn that they wanted to
search his rooms; Steven was a quiet, studious young man, she told them. She
couldn’t believe he could possibly be connected with terrorism! But in the end,
she agreed to allow the Spectrum officers to search his rooms. She led them
upstairs, chattering constantly about what a pleasant tenant Steven was, no
trouble at all, unlocked the door, and stood aside to let them in. She remained
on the landing, watching.
The flat was untidy,
with partially filled glasses, empty dishes, and papers strewn about. Captain
Scarlet and Captain Blue looked at each other. The young man’s slovenly habits
apparently extended to every bit of his life.
Scarlet shrugged.
“We’d better get started.”
To their mutual
surprise, the search was a short one. While Scarlet began pulling boxes down off
the book shelves, Blue chose to begin with the desk drawers. He picked up a
shirt that was draped over the desktop and partially obscuring the drawers.
“Captain Scarlet!”
There on the desk,
in plain view, sat a white, clay-like lump. A sniff confirmed what both captains
suspected; it was plastic explosive.
“Funny thing to use
as a paperweight,” Blue commented. He read the page the lump had been sitting
on. It was covered with handwritten edits. “Looks like Mr Morrisey’s
dissertation has something to do with Italy.”
Scarlet had been
scanning the desk, noting the titles of the books stacked on it. Most were about
the Italian Renaissance but several were about poisons. All the books bristled
with bookmarks. Scarlet furrowed his brow. Why would a history student have
books on poison?
“I think we should
look at the rest of that paper,” Scarlet said. He looked around at the scattered
pages. “You start reading whatever you can find. I’ll try to pull it up on the
computer.” He booted the computer and began searching. He found the dissertation
files quickly enough but also discovered that they were password protected. He
was still working on breaking the password when Blue interrupted him.
“Captain, I think
you should take a look at this.” He handed over some pages.
They appeared to be
the dissertation’s opening summary. Scarlet scanned the pages quickly at first,
then went back and read them over again, slowly. “My God,” he whispered. The
dissertation’s theme was a study of Italian Renaissance techniques and devices
for carrying out subtle assassinations, including the use of flowers to slowly
release fragrant poison vapours into a victim’s room.
Captain Scarlet and
Captain Blue looked at each other. The Mysterons had threatened the Angels with
“death in the air.” Scarlet radioed Ochre and told him what they’d discovered.
Using that as a
starting point, the hunt for an answer to the Mysterons’ riddle soon met with
success. The lab techs had already discovered that the air in each Angels’ suite
was filled with a deadly airborne poison. Now they pinpointed the source: the
flowers in the arrangements that the hotel had ordered as welcoming gifts for
the Angels. They had been kept in cold storage until they were delivered. As
they warmed up, they had slowly released the sweet-smelling poison with which
they had been impregnated. Further tests on the air indicated that the women
must have died not long after they went to sleep that night and been replicated
by the Mysterons.
It was possible to
reconstruct what had followed. The Mysteron replicants had torn apart the
flowers and retrieved the plastic explosives. They would not have been immune to
the poison, which became more concentrated as time passed, so they couldn’t
remain in the Angels’ suites all night. Instead, they had taken what they needed
of the Angels’ luggage and met in the room engaged by Captain Black. There they
had constructed the bombs, hidden them in their handbags, then gone down to the
breakfast room and planted them. Then they had only had to return to Black’s
room and wait until morning.
Steven Morrissey,
the florist’s assistant, never returned to his job, his flat, or his school. The
young man’s body was found floating in Lake Michigan, almost a week after
Captains Scarlet and Blue tracked down and destroyed his Mysteron replacement in
the university’s library.
**********************
The families of the
Angels had agreed to a joint funeral on Cloudbase so that their friends and
colleagues would be able to attend and say their goodbyes. The chapel was too
small to hold everyone, so the service was to be held in the auditorium instead.
The Cloudbase chaplain, Father Ivory, gazed down from the podium on the five
identical white coffins, distinguished by magnificent sprays of flowers: scarlet
roses for Rhapsody, rare ice-blue roses for Symphony, yellow for Melody, white
for Harmony, pink for Destiny. Portraits of each woman stood before the coffins.
He remembered when, such a short time ago it seemed, the five Angels had
assembled on the stage and been formally presented as new members of Spectrum.
Perhaps it was fitting to say goodbye to them here as well.
Before the joint
funeral began, the grieving families received condolences from the Angels’ many,
many friends on Cloudbase.
Captain Ochre had
never met Melody’s family and had not planned to intrude on their grief apart
from offering his heartfelt condolences. He was more than a bit surprised when
Mrs Jones smiled at him. “Magnolia wrote about you often. She said she loved
your sense of humour. She said you made her happy.” She wiped her streaming
eyes. “I’m so glad to meet you and say thank you, Captain.”
“She was a wonderful
woman, Mrs Jones. My life won’t be the same without her.” He bit his lip and
ducked his head as he felt tears sting his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he took a
deep, calming breath before looking into Mrs Jones’ eyes again. She reached out
a hand and patted him on the shoulder in a motherly fashion, offering him the
comfort he wanted to give her. As easily as if they had known one another for
years, Ochre and Melody’s family found themselves talking for a long time about
Melody’s life and, finally, her death. Captain Ochre reluctantly admitted that
he had been the one to find her body. His voice thickened as he assured them
that Melody had not suffered. “I’d hoped she was only sleeping. She looked so
peaceful.”
At that, Mrs Jones’
brave façade finally crumbled. “My beautiful baby girl is gone!” she cried.
Captain Ochre embraced the grieving mother, blinking hard to hold back his own
tears.
One of Melody’s
brothers, his face wet with tears, patted Ochre on the back. “Thank you,
Captain. I can see why my sister loved you.” For the first time, Ochre let his
tears fall unselfconsciously. When you’re among family, no one minds if you
cry.
Captain Blue talked
for a long time with Symphony’s parents. He’d visited them with his beloved many
times and gotten to know them well.
“We missed you in
February, when Karen came home to visit.” Mrs Wainwright’s voice was shaky and
her smile trembled.
“I’d hoped to go
with her, but I couldn’t get leave.”
Mrs Wainwright
nodded. “That’s what she said. That’s why I couldn’t understand why Karen seemed
a bit upset when she got your letter. I asked her what was wrong and she refused
to say anything. I said, ‘I’m your mother, let me help.’ I told her talking
about something can make it better.” Symphony’s mother shook her head sadly at
the memory. “I kept pushing. I shouldn’t have, but I was so worried that
something was wrong between you two. We, Karen’s father and I, sort of expected
you’d, you know, be our son-in-law eventually,” she said shyly. “Karen and I
ended up arguing. We both apologised, but I don’t know if she wasn’t still a
little mad at me when she left.” She looked at Captain Blue beseechingly, asking
for an answer he didn’t have.
“She wasn’t mad at
you,” he told her, hoping it was the truth. “We did talk about marriage. We
needed to keep it a secret for security reasons, and that’s why she wouldn’t
talk about the letter I sent.”
Karen’s father
looked tired and careworn. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders as she
began to cry softly. “I told you,” he said gently. “I told you everything was
okay.”
Embarrassed, Captain
Blue looked away to give Symphony’s parents a modicum of privacy. Not far away,
he saw Captain Scarlet speaking to Lord and Lady Simms. There were no tears and
no raised voices. They were all very decorous, but, Blue noticed, they all
seemed rather stiff, as if they were self-consciously holding up and holding
back.
When the formalities
began, the families were escorted to the front seats by Spectrum’s senior
captains. Father Ivory made a solemn invocation. Led by Colonel White, many
people came to the podium to talk about the women they’d known: friends,
sisters, daughters. The occasion was marked by both laughter and tears as people
shared their memories of the Angels.
Father Ivory finally
delivered the benediction, and the long day came to an end. With due honours,
the Angels’ coffins were carried onto an SPJ and their families escorted aboard
for the return to the surface. From there, individual jets would take them to
their final destinations.
After leaving the
hangar deck, Captain Grey found his knees turning to jelly. He slumped against a
bulkhead and rubbed his face with his hands.
**********************
It was difficult to
accept that the Angels were gone, more so for some than others.
But Spectrum had to
carry on and had done so, with difficulty. Many of the captains volunteered for
extra shifts as pilots, and other officers, who were not trained to fly, offered
to take on extra duties so the Interceptors could be kept manned by those who
were. The arrangements were less than ideal but it bought needed time until
better could be made.
Spectrum had relied
heavily on its elite pilots and had not been prepared for their loss; there were
no auxiliaries who could be brought up quickly. Before the War of Nerves had
begun, there had been plans to establish an Angel academy to parallel the field
agents’ academy at Koala Base and to station squadrons at Spectrum bases
worldwide. But President Pemberton had stymied those plans as unnecessary and
wasteful. So there were no reserves to call up to Cloudbase and take over the
Angels’ roles. None at all.
Colonel White did
not want to hastily replace the Angels, but he also needed an interim solution;
his officers could not be expected to continuing as substitutes for much longer.
After much argument and discussion, it had been decided that temporary
substitutes would be sought to serve on Cloudbase while Spectrum recruited and
trained new, permanent Angels to be stationed on Cloudbase and in auxiliary
squadrons at earthbound bases. This would assure that there would be reserves to
call up, and the present crisis would never be repeated. But the process of
finding temporary replacements had been a difficult one.
Colonel White had
received the personnel files for the temporary substitute pilots, but had not
yet found time to review their qualifications. He was, he admitted to himself,
reluctant to look at them. Very soon, he would have to.
They were arriving
today, to take up their duties.
Lieutenant Green
turned from the console. “The SPJ carrying the new pilots has landed, sir.
They’re requesting permission to come aboard Cloudbase.”
“Permission granted.
Tell them to come straight to the Control Room.”
“S.I.G., Colonel.”
* * * * *
Lieutenant Peach
watched from behind the thick glass while the Spectrum Passenger Jet was lowered
into the hangar bay. It had taken several minutes to pressurize the deck. In
another minute or so, she would meet the new pilots. Although she still mourned
the loss of the Angels, she was excited to be the first to greet their temporary
substitutes. They would have to be amazing women, Peach was sure of that.
The SPJ’s door was
opening. The Lieutenant hurried out, then slowed as she took in the first sight
of the five new arrivals. What will the Colonel say? she thought.
Author’s Note:
Chris Bishop first suggested a
romantic attachment between Captain Ochre and Melody Angel in her Halloween
story, Master of the Night. Thank you, Chris,
for letting me play with that suggestion (again) for this story.
Any comments? Send an E-MAIL to
the SPECTRUM HEADQUARTERS site