INTERLUDE

"You canNOT be serious, boss-man. The trail's probably ice-cold by now, and you held us back for...that?!"

Sinister merely raised an eyebrow and stared icily at Arclight until the woman averted her eyes, shifting nervously and wishing that she could swallow the sassy comment of a moment before. The rest of the team was gathered loosely in the sterile cavern of Sinister's east-coast lair, itching to be out on the hunt. They knew that their quarry was loose in Baltimore, lost and helpless. It should have been the work of a few hours -- no, of a few MINUTES -- to pinpoint the treasonous little bitch and bring her down like a pack of wolves on a fawn.

Instead, they were being detained here. Underground. Useless. And getting more irritated by the hour, though only Arclight had the temerity to voice it aloud. Briefly. Now she too stood tensely but quietly, waiting for their master's explanation.

And it had better be a good one, most of them were thinking sourly.

Satisfied that he had once again curbed his feral dogs to heel, Sinister turned and beckoned to the focus of their discontent. The young woman stepped forward immediately with the unquestioning obedience that he so preferred, and as he faced the Marauders once more he set a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. The message was silent but clear: She is MINE and not to be harmed, is that understood?

Aloud, he informed the gathering of assassins, "This is your new teammate -- you may call her Maelstrom. She will be accompanying you on your hunt for your former comrade." His cold gaze tracked from Marauder to Marauder, silently cowing them one by one until he was satisfied that he held their complete attention. He took his time. "I understand your concerns, that this does not seem like the appropriate time for you to be forced to acclimatize to working with a new element. However, while I have tinkered extensively with her genetic structure -- thereby widening the scope of her natural gifts and increasing the performance levels of her physical form -- I assure you that in many respects she is quite similar to her prototype."

"That's what we're afraid of," Scalphunter said, low but quite venomously clear. "What's the point of this? She's no Marauder." Behind him, the others grumbled a general agreement.

Sinister's expression did not change. Then again, it would have been hard for a man to look more glacial than he already did at that moment, majestic and utterly unforgiving in armor and a dark sweeping cloak. "Before you forget yourselves, let me remind you that it is *I* who decides who and who is not a Marauder. Not you. She IS your teammate now. Get used to it.

"And I also wish to make it perfectly clear right now that young Maelstrom here is YOUR personal responsibility now, Scalphunter. See to it that, unlike your last two failures, she receives proper training and conditioning to forestall any more sloppy 'accidents' in battle."

Scalphunter bristled at the implications. "But--"

The master geneticist waved his hand dismissingly. "Yes, yes, of course, after your little bloodhunt. You are all under strict orders to keep this little outing absolutely low-key, so I've arranged transportation and an allowance for food to prevent another string of messy robberies, but other than that you are on your own."

He paused as if finished but then added in a deceivingly offhand manner, "Oh, yes, and in case I neglected to mention it, you are to bring Vertigo back alive."

Every Marauder snapped up straight at that, protesting in a confused angry babble. Sinister merely waited until he had silence once more, which didn't take long under his razor-edged glare. Only then did he continue, calmly, ignoring the sullen growling state of his audience.

"Let me make this perfectly clear, children," he ordered, enuciating every syllable. "Until I can thoroughly examine, test, and if necessary dissect your wayward teammate, I cannot be certain that Vertigo's 'desertion' was NOT the result of psionic coercion. With that in mind, the rest of you are all technically under observation. If you lose any members of the team under mysterious circumstances, you are to drop the hunt IMMEDIATELY and report back to me with all due haste. Understood?"

This ultimatum was greeted by a ragged set of nods, grouchy "uh-huhs," and sulky "yah sures." It would have to do. Despite their indignation and their frustrated bloodlust, he was utterly confident that he would, in the end, be obeyed. He always was. "Well then. You are free to depart for Maryland. Go. But Blockbuster -- a word with you first?"

The Marauders, including their newest addition, were already dashing out of the room by the word "Maryland." For a few moments it seemed as if Sinister's thinly veiled command had fallen upon deaf ears...but then Blockbuster reluctantly lumbered back in. His massive shoulders barely cleared the archway which was the only access to his master's underground laboratory. "Yeah boss?"

Sinister was utterly expressionless. "About what happened at the Baltimore Seaport...?"

The behemoth shrugged. "I already toldja, sir, I got to unloading the crates an' when I turned around she was jus' gone. I woulda gone after her but hell, I thought she'd just wandered off t'take a piss or somethin', an' anyhow I knew you wouldn't want me ta leave the crates all unguarded-like on the dock like that..."

"Yes, Michael, I know all of that." Sinister studied Blockbuster's slab-sided face intently for what must have been the twentieth time since his biggest lackey had reported in with four full crates and one empty one. As always, the man's expression was a study in stupid innocence. Sinister's eyes narrowed. He was almost positive that he'd had something to do with...

But no. Not Blockbuster. The very idea was absurd.

He sighed inwardly and gestured toward the door. "Never mind. Go join your team."

"Hey, Vertigo. Toss me those gloves, willya?"

While Sinister spoke to their biggest teammate, the rest of the Marauders were already busy in the antechamber beyond the laboratory, suiting up and stowing their gear for travel.

"Hey. Babe. I'm talking to you."

The voice held a definite sneer, the words specifically chosen to needle her into doing something rash. The newest addition to the team sighed under her breath but didn't reply as she finished stuffing a few things into an overnight bag.

"Vertigo...are you deaf or or what?"

"My name," she said softly but clearly without turning around, "is Maelstrom. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that in mind."

"You look the same to me. Probably think the same, too. Ready to run off or turn on us given the slightest chance. I don't think I like the idea of having you behind me in the field."

Maelstrom gritted her teeth and turned to face Arclight, her fists clenched. Truth be told, Arclight was right: as far as she could tell, her every memory stretching back to the blank dead end that was her "birth" told her that yes, she WAS Vertigo. However, the moment she'd stepped from her tube her master had sat her down and explained in plain English what he had done to this, her new body -- and, in the first sign of...kindness?...she could ever remember seeing from Sinister, he'd actually taken the time to lay to rest her fears of being replaced or abandoned. He'd given her new confidence, a new name, and a new trust to live up to. As far as she was concerned, despite the head full of memories that said otherwise, she was a new person.

The faster she could prove her new worth and lay her previous life to rest, the better.

"I don't care what you think, Arclight," she said sharply, secretly marvelling at her own newfound courage. "I'm not the person you've obviously mistaken me for. I'm me. I know perfectly well that you're planning to make my life hell from this point forward, and yeah, normally I'd just duck my head and take it, right? Wrong. Not any more. I'm not going to put up with this bullshit from you for the rest of the mission. Or ever again."

"Ex...cuse me?" Arclight seemed to loom over her. For a moment she'd looked surprised, but then the glint of emotion was gone, locked behind a thundercloud expression and the shades she always wore. Her eyes were thus masked, but Maelstrom could feel the glare like razors. She didn't flinch. Out of the edges of her senses she could tell that the rest of the room had fallen still and silent; the pack of wolves scenting a brewing confrontation. "Is that a challenge...Vertigo?"

"You're damn right it is, you overbearing bitch."

With a silent snarl, Arclight eased back a step and locked her hands together, as if gaining room for a power strike. Instead of pounding her hands into the ground and setting off her trademark shockwave, however, she abruptly lunged forward, aiming that combined fist for the side of Maelstrom's head in a "disciplinary cuff" which could shatter concrete.

Maelstrom, however, had expected this bluff. She knew perfectly well that Arclight wouldn't dare set off an earthtremor this close to Sinister's laboratory. She was already ducking forward, rolling under the blow and coming nimbly back up onto her feet behind her opponent. As Arclight whirled, her hands apart now and one fist drawn back, Maelstrom...merely narrowed her eyes.

Something crackled in the air, raising the hair on the backs of arms and necks throughout the stone chamber. Arclight suddenly cried out and stumbled, her face twisted in shock, and her momentum carried her forward into a heavy undignified bellyflop. The rest of the Marauders stared in open astonishment as Arclight fought down a whimper of pain (pain?!?) and weakly tried to push herself up on her hands, but her legs would not cooperate. Would not move.

Maelstrom had not budged from where she'd been standing. "That was just a few major nerves in your back and hips, Sontag. And it's just temporary. Next time I'll go for your heart," she said coldly, her words falling one by one into the astounded silence. She glanced around at the others, from Scalphunter to Riptide to Scrambler to Harpoon to Blockbuster, who just moments before had ambled in from his "interview" with their master. "I told her and I'll tell you, and I won't repeat it again: I'm NOT Vertigo."

As she looked back down at Arclight she found that the downed Marauder was staring up at her, struck completely speechless for the first time she could ever recall. It was then that Maelstrom finally realized the true extent of her new "self"...and it also occurred to her just how far she could take this newfound status.

Without breaking eye contact with Arclight, she casually walked over to stand at Scalphunter's side...right where Arclight usually stood.

The implications were clear. Maelstrom was certain that she could see an incandescent fury flash into life behind Arclight's shades. With exaggerated nonchalance, she looked away just in time to catch just the smallest nod of amused approval from Scalphunter as he calmly announced (as if nothing had happened), "All right, people, enough dawdling. Let's move out."

END INTERLUDE

Though overcast throughout the morning, the day had waxed bright and surprisingly warm for Baltimore at that time of year. That, in turn, had prompted her to take the chance of getting wet with only an old blanket to dry off with afterward. Having to air-dry in the cool Maryland air wasn't very appealing; however, she'd always been fairly hardy in regards to cold and heat, and frankly, if she'd had to go another day without a bath...

Not much of a bath, more of a dunk in an unguarded and VERY cold duck pond, but it was better than nothing. It was good to feel human again. Damp and chilly but contented in her leotard, Vertigo ruffled one appraising hand through her makeshift clothes where they were spread over the back of a park bench. Dry enough. She tugged them back on, noticing a lingering scent but nothing more than she was used to when out on the trail for a few days with the team.

Of the last four days, the first three had been awful. The stiff soreness of her injuries had kept her nearly immobile under that underpass for two days, trapping and her pitifully growling stomach in a miasma of traffic fumes. When she'd finally been able to put weight on her leg towards the end of the second day, she'd swallowed her squeamishness and gone rummaging through trash cans for food. Luckily, she'd hit the jackpot almost immediately, in the form of a sausage-and-cheese chain store which threw out literally pounds of only slightly defective food every night. The cheese was of no use to her, but among the pile of paper refuse she'd found enough meat and even a sealed carton of still-hot soup to banish the cramps from her empty stomach. In fact, over the last two nights she'd felt rather well fed indeed. And with the use of the "invisibility device" she'd swiped from Misfire, she'd slept comfortably enough under a table at the park without fear of being attacked or arrested in the night.

Vertigo couldn't believe her luck, and not just in regards to the food and the "accommodations." Either she'd been fortunate enough to shake her pursuers, or they'd given up. She liked the sound of the latter...but she wasn't about to believe it. Not just yet.

Still, though, she felt better than she had in days.

She stretched lazily and then got up; still favoring her bruised leg, she limped towards the border of the park. She was going to have to move on soon, she knew. She didn't want to be out on the street, not after what had nearly happened with the police and Misfire three days before, but neither could she afford to stay in one place for long. She thought longingly of the hot soup. Well, maybe one more night...

She took her time, wandering aimlessly through the little park; it was after sunset by the time she cautiously joined the thin scattering of humanity on the sidewalks, keeping her head low. She avoided contact of any kind, and luckily for her no one was even remotely interested in getting too close the "street person" she appeared to be. Maybe I should start muttering or carrying around a dead animal or something, really spook the flatscans, she thought mischieviously as she slipped into the alley and crouched in the shadows behind a small mountain of cardboard, waiting for one of the bored-looking maroon-aproned salegirls to carry out the day's trash. Apparently they liked to try to close up early; she didn't have long to wait.

Dinner thus secured, she ambled back to her grassy haunt at a casual pace with a bag under her arm, chewing happily on a piece of perfectly-good beef jerky. There was a confident lift to her step as she crossed the curb into the park, secure in the knowledge that the place was quite deserted after sundown...

Except tonight.

She stopped dead, staring, as another slim female figure stepped out on the grass several yards ahead of her. Even from behind and lit only by starlight, the glimmer of silver-green hair was like a flashing neon beacon to Vertigo's frightened eyes.

Misfire!

Before the brief thought completed its trek across her mind she'd already ghosted to the side of the path, her limp forgotten, to place the wide trunk of a tree squarely between her and the huntress. The bark was rough and steadying against her suddenly hot cheek; she frowned an instant later as she forced herself to calm down and think beyond "ohmigoditsherimdead!"

Something didn't match up...

She spared a heartbeat or two to examine the brief glimpse which had been stamped into her mind by fear. Despite the telltale color, the woman had long loose hair, not hacked short like Misfire's...and instead of the distinctive bulk of jeans and a jacket, she'd been lithely outlined by starlight, meaning that she'd been wearing a leotard. Just like Vertigo's own.

Of course. How stupid of me! That wasn't...

Then it hit her.

So...who WAS it...?!

Only a moment had passed. She dared to peek out again, and was relieved to see that she had not been spotted. The other woman, she now saw, was carrying a good-sized brown paper sack in each hand. She passed close enough to Vertigo's hiding place for the ex-Marauder to spot the distinctive golden arches on the nearest bag...and to confirm that yes, the young woman was an exact duplicate of herself. Even more so than Misfire.

Vertigo's head was spinning. How...? What did this mean? What the hell--

She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a horrified moan as it all fell into place. It was perfectly obvious. The girl WAS her. She was the new Vertigo, the new clone, the new "official edition." SINISTER HADN'T BEEN PLANNING TO TAKE HER OUT OF COMMISSION AFTER ALL.

Vertigo cursed herself bitterly, nails biting into her palms as she leaned against the tree for support. Like the stupid cow she was, she'd panicked and run -- abandoned her team, the man to whom she'd vowed her life -- for no good reason.

The pain, the hunger, the fear, the humiliation...it'd all been for nothing.

There was no going back, though. Not now. Not ever. She was still as good as dead for desertion, nothing had really changed...it was the new understanding that she'd dug her own grave that was making her pulse pound dizzily in her temples and her eyes blur with hot tears.

If SHE'S here, she realized belatedly, then the rest of them are here too. They've tracked me down! If I hadn't left to find dinner...

Calm down. Deep breath. Think, dammit.

Judging by what their new "Vertigo" was carrying, the team had obviously decided to break for eats -- Vertigo remembered being sent on numerous identical fast-food runs during her years on the team, when Scrambler couldn't be roused into doing it instead. Not that she'd never really minded. She could even envision exactly what orders had been stuffed inside those greasy bags; her teammates were nothing if not predictable in their respective tastes. For a moment she entertained the wild hope that she could use the time it took for them to eat, to put enough distance behind herself to lose them...but then reality set back in, hard and final. There was nowhere to go. If they were that close, there was no escape.

A twig cracked in the underbrush, in the trees which lined the north side of the park. Vertigo glanced out of her hiding place just in time to see her new namesake freeze in the center of the grassy expanse. She, too, was staring at the treeline.

"Mike...?" The girl's call was barely audible, worried, but with an edge of surety as if she expected an affirmative answer. As if she was fairly certain that her teammate was keeping an eye on her from just out of sight. Vertigo couldn't help a small smile. Yeah, he'd had a tendency to do that...come to think of it, so had Riptide, sometimes, when the madman was in a rare "brotherly" mood...

Something flashed in the bushes. Her "younger" version out in the meadow flinched, one hand flying to her belly. The paper bags plumped to the ground at her feet, forgotten. From her hiding place, Vertigo had a brief glimpse of the feathered fletching of a dart under her otherself's hand just another one appeared in the girl's upper arm.

The clone cried out, half in surprise, half in rage, and an unsettling tingle rippled through every nerve in Vertigo's body as her otherself instinctively activated her power to lash out at her unseen enemy. Behind her tree Vertigo gasped involuntarily at the strength of that pulse, far above anything she could ever have summoned herself...what did Sinister DO to her?!...

And then the girl sighed and collapsed to the grass in a boneless heap.

Her mystery attacker didn't waste any time. The bushes shifted almost soundlessly and then out stepped the wary jacket-clad form of the real Misfire.

From her hidden vantage point, Vertigo's eyes went almost impossibly wide. She'd been far, far luckier than anyone in her situation deserved to be. The Marauders weren't the only ones who'd pinpointed her location with ease!

As she watched, holding her breath, Misfire loped across the meadow like a hunting cat, pausing to peer intently in every direction before she stooped to gather up her quarry. With the girl's limp body slung over her shoulder, she hurried out of the park as swiftly as she had appeared, this time heading for the street to the west. Right past Vertigo. The ex-Marauder hastily pressed herself back against and then around the tree as the government assassin raced past, bearing her unconscious burden with ease, her pounding sneakers almost silent despite the dusting of dead leaves over the path. In a moment she was gone.

Hopefully for good.

Vertigo counted backwards from ten and then gustily released the breath she'd been holding for who-knows-how-long. A wide silly smile of relief was creeping unbidden onto her face. Yeah, okay, so she was still dead meat when the Marauders caught up. But if Misfire thought that she'd finally taken her down -- surely she'd mistaken the new clone for the fugitive she'd attempted to capture on the street four days before! -- then at least that was one hound off of her trail...

Vertigo sobered abruptly, realizing that her surge of unthinking relief was rather ridiculous. Yeah, but at least that particular "hound" would have let me live.

She shrugged, starting to feel rather numb and fatalistic at this point in the game. Hell, maybe I can have one last good meal before I die -- that's fair enough, isn't it? she thought as she pushed herself off of the tree and set resolutely out into the meadow. The bags of cheap fast-food burgers still lay in the grass where their courier had dropped them. She didn't bother to peek at the contents; she merely picked them up and set off towards where she knew there was a fairly secluded bench under cover of a stand of evergreen shrubs.

She didn't notice the tall shadow gliding across the grass behind her until it was practically upon her.

At the last possible instant she felt a presence at her back and whirled to find herself staring straight at a pair of sleekly-muscled arms -- one bare, one armored -- which were in turn folded over a sickeningly familiar metal-sheathed chest.

By all rights Vertigo should have struck then, struck hard, and then seized that moment of distraction to run -- to cling, scratching and clawing, to a last few precious seconds of life. However, the moment had already passed...and anyway, there was nowhere to run. So instead, Vertigo gulped and clenched her hands tight on the paper bags and looked defiantly up into an unforgiving obsidian glare.

"And just where," Arclight said icily, "have YOU been?"

NEXT: Whew! I promise, that's the clone limit -- no more than three Vertigos per story. Yipe! Arclight! Which means that the rest of the remaining Marauders aren't far behind. Gulp. Now what? Either something really interesting is going to happen, or Part Nine is going to be tragically short...