Chapter 36: "… and the brightest star…"
From: Adam-X@juno.com

 "Where are Northstar and Aurora?" 
 "I think we have much more pressing concerns on our hands!"
 "What?"
 They turned and could not believe their eyes.
 The one known as Walter - better known as Sasquatch was glowing brightly. He reached forward. "Michael, help me…"
 However Doctor Twoyoungmen did not take a step forward. He could hardly believe what he was seeing before his eyes. Walter let out a vicious scream.
 The next few moments would be hard to explain.
 It could only be said best that Walter took the form of Sasquatch - or something close to it. In the form of Sasquatch, Walter had grown large fangs that sprang upward from his massive jaws. His nails were long, and sharp, like talons.
 "What’s happening to him?" Elizabeth asked.
 "It seems that the gamma radiation in his blood is mutating…"
 "But what caused it to do so now?"
 "I do believe," Shaman replied. "His blood is also mixed with magic. With all the magic that is coursing about here, I believe it began having an effect on Sasquatch…"

 "So you gonna tell us what’s going on, or are we going to sit here and play a long game of twenty questions?"
 "Still have that sharp tongue, eh, Wyre?"
 "Look, that’s not all that’s sharp!" Wires ripped from his flesh, and danced controllably like cobras enchanted by the flute.
 "Cute," replied the man, completely uninterested. "And that’s just what we’re here to talk about…"
 "Get to the bottom of this garbage, already, because from up here on the surface, it’s already starting to smell."
 The man smiled. "Charming to the last," he said with a thick accent. "You were all summoned here by him," the man waved his hand towards Alex. "All to go and help out Alpha Flight. Well, keep this is mind. It is still Canadian Law that states, ‘Any Person Or Being, Wielding That Which Is Considered A Power Beyond That Of An Ordinary Human, Be It Mutant, Or Otherwise - Must Be Registered And Approved Under The Department Of The Canadian Government. Any Who Disapprove And Proceed To Use Such Extra Ordinary Powers Will Be Considered ‘Illegally Armed And Dangerous’ And Will Be Prosecuted As A Criminal, Under The Canadian Super Powers Registration Act…’" He grinned widely. "Now, none of you work for any government department here in Canada, thus making it illegal, and thus prosecutable as criminals, should you even try to use your powers…"
 "I don’t get it!" Alex screamed. "We’re here to help!"
 "We’re the government. We didn’t ask for help."
 "But - !"
 Wyre put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. "Let it go." He turned back towards the government officials. "It’s like fighting a wall. You’re getting nowhere. They don’t hear a word we’re saying…"
 "So what do we do?" Alex asked, disbelieving any of this.
 "We let them win this round."
 "What?" he said in disbelief again.
 "Look kid, I have fought the government. They made me what I am now - but like most government bodies, don’t want to take any kind of responsibility for it. Let this day be theirs - but it’s far from over… trust me." He paused as he walked out the door. "As for Alpha Flight… they’re good. They have gone through a lot. They know how to take care of themselves."
 "I can’t believe this," Alex whispered. "This is incredible."
 "It’s the fact," a government agent sneered into Alex’s ear, as he gripped Alex by the arm. "Now, for your pleasant little limo ride home…"
 "I can walk myself, thank you," Alex snapped, and pulled his arm free.
 "Suit yourself," the agent laughed. "Suit yourself…"

 They moved at the speed of light.
 Tonight, they were not here for battle.
 They were searching for something… or someone.
 "Any sign?" Northstar said into the comlink.
 "None," came back Aurora’s reply.
 Just then Northstar struck something, and fell back.
 A voice laughed. "Looking for something?"
 

Chapter 37: "Transformation"
By Seng Mah

        "Stand back, all of you," Shaman ordered.
        The Alphans did not need reminding; they fell back in horror watching as the man they had always known as Walter Langkowski -- Sasquatch -- metamorphosised into the tusked behemoth that reared up before them.
        "Can you do something, Michael?" Heather shouted, her recent harrowing experiences already forgotten, her attention drawn to her tormented team-mate. The beast that had once been Langkowski roared into the dark heavens of night and shuddered as the transformation came to an end.
        Shaman nodded. "Yes. I can." He dipped his hand into the medicine pouch hanging from his belt and drew a collection of odd baubles and powders. "Retribution's death released a surge of magic into the weave of this world, somewhat like an electrical oversurge." He turned to Talisman. "Daughter, do you think you will be able to contain the magic? I'll try and neutralise it."
        Elizabeth Twoyoungmen nodded. "Sure, pop." She raised her hands into the air, extending her ability over the preternatural into the ether. Ethereal winds whipped about her, lifting her hair and edges of her dress. She felt the flow of magic around her, so powerful, so intoxicating. She beckoned the flow, drew it around her.
        She began to glow with radiant energy; tiny bolts of lightning crackled around her form.
        The Alphans watched, agog. "No matter how many times I see this, it always amazes me, eh?" Puck said.
        "I've got most of it under control," Talisman gasped.
        Shaman threw the baubles about his daughter, uttering an incantation even as the mystic objects struck the field of mystic energy that had surrounded Talisman.
        The world went white.
        For a heartbeat, it was as if things ceased to exist.
        In the next heartbeat, the world reconsolidated.
        "By Hodiak," Snowbird gasped, awed even for a goddess of the north.
        "Certainly a light show, eh?" Puck said. He pulled himself from the ground and cast about for Langkowski. The man lay prone on the ground, human once more. "Hey, Walt? You ok?"
        Langkowski stirred. "What the heck was that?" he groaned.
        Shaman was beside him, laying a careworn hand on his shoulder. "Rest easy, Walter. You have just undergone an experience I wouldn't wish on my closest enemy," he said wryly.
        "Tell me about it," Walt said, smiling grimly. "Am I ok?"
        "You should be," Talisman said. "Why not see if you can change into Sasquatch now."
        Langkowski looked doubtful. He glanced at Michael, who nodded.
        "Alright. If you say so."
        He stood up and seemed to be waiting.
        "Well?" Talisman asked.
        Walt's brows creased in confusion. "Nothing's happening."
        "What?"
        "I- I can't trigger the transformation."
        "What are you saying?"
        "I can't turn into Sasquatch!" Walt cried.
        "Zounds!" said Elmo.
 
 

RCMP Headquarters, Regina, Saskatchewan

        The man known as Traction skulked in the shadows of the giant elms that lined the driveway into the RCMP base. He had trailed Donovan Walker here -- the both of them in search of the same woman -- and now, at journey's end, he did not know what to do.
        He looked critically at his own unkempt appearance. His clothes were torn and stained, his hair wind-ruffled and peppered with dirt, his skin damp and cloying with the stench of one who had not bathed for days. Still, he felt the need of a desperate man driving him forward. He was, after all, Traction, scion of a Beast. So why was he feeling so bad about the entire thing?
        Shrugging off such thoughts, Traction stepped forward and approached the base.
        Abruptly, something drove him to his knees, a force so powerful that it battered him to the ground. He yelled, shouted, cried, but was helpless against the sudden energy that surged into him. He felt himself on fire, as if the very fabric of his being had been ripped apart and reconstituted.
        His cries drew members of the base out. They were stopped short by the sight of a man bent double on the grass, sheathed in crackling white energy. Before their startled eyes, the man began to change. He grew larger, limbs and body bulking until they ripped through his clothing. Reddish hair sprouted over his body, turning rusty orange as they elongated. The man reared back and roared; his face too had changed -- become more simian. His orange-haired brows protruded from his forehead; his features became squashed, and his lower canines extended into short tusks.
        "What's happenin' to me?" Traction growled.
        He raised himself, a full ten feet in height, naked, but covered in orange fur.
        "What the hell?" he grunted, feeling the surge rapidly fade away.
        One of the RCMP officers took a tentative step towards the orange-furred beast. He recognised the creature from the files.
        "Sasquatch?" he said.
 

Inside the base, Donovan Walker waited impatiently outside the captain's office. Finally, the captain, a slim middle-aged woman in smart uniform, stepped out.
        "My apologies for the wait, Mr. Walker. Come this way."
        She led him through the halls.
        "Your inquiries into Anne McKenzie seem to have struck a raw nerve with the powers that be," the captain said.
        "Well, yeah, I guess it would," Walker replied.
        She stopped outside a door.
        "I must warn you that what you are about to see constitutes a closely guarded state secret. You know the rest of the drill."
        Walker nodded. To betray that secret would be tantamount to treason. But there was a price to pay for everything, and Walker knew that price.
        The captain inserted an electronic key into the lock. It clicked, numbers cycled through the display box, and the door clicked open. She pushed through.
        They descended the corridor to another secure chamber underneath the base. Wordlessly, the captain disengaged the door into the chamber and motioned Walker through.
        He stepped into a dimly lit room, furnished as though it was an old laboratory. But it wasn't the odd display of old monitors, scanners and implements that drew his attention. His eyes were fixed on a glass cylinder hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room. Within the phosphorescent fluid inside the cylinder rested the form of a woman: lithe, slim, yet sublime; pale-complexioned and blonde-haired. She looked as if she were asleep.
        "There's your Anne McKenzie, Mr. Walker," the captain said.
        Walker gasped. "But that's... that's..."
        "Snowbird. Of Alpha Flight."
        "But how? Snowbird died..."
        "And from reports coming in just recently, it would appear that she has resurfaced to fight along her team-mates."
        "Yes.. so who.."
        "Who is this?" the captain finished for him.    
        Donovan cast her a glance, then nodded. For the first time in his life, he was dumbfounded.
        The captain smiled. "Do you believe in genetic engineering, Mr. Walker? Or more importantly, do you believe in the reality of human cloning?"
 

Chapter Thirty-Eight: House Rules
            by Falstaff
          (gratton@worldnet.att.net) 

 Gardener Monroe hadn't always been this way.  Once upon a time, he would have been leading the attack to stop anyone doing what he was doing now. 
Once upon a time, he was a warm, caring, brave -- even *good* -- man.  If you peruse his initial progress reports as a Gamma Flight trainee (assuming you're possessed of the proper DOD security clearance or are a particularly skilled hacker) you'll see that Dr. Hudson found him to be one of the best and the brightest -- 'maybe the finest recruit in the program,' is what Hudson wrote back then.
 But that was a long time ago.  At some point between the final week of his Gamma training and his graduation to the Beta Flight program, he had some kind of encounter with Somon the Artificer.  They wagered; something inconsequential.  Monroe lost.  And it was not inconsequential.
Call it his conscience, call it his heart, call it his soul, if you believe in such things -- it doesn't matter.  The Artificer took it away.  And now, years later, some small part of Gardener Monroe -- something that had survived the destruction and shambles his life had become, survived death itself -- now had somehow stumbled out of limbo to return to life.  
 And he had his shot.  He could be alive again, instead of the pale mockery of life he was now.  But that wasn't the point -- no, not at all.  He could become a real human being again.  That was the true issue.  To be real.  To care, instead of being a collection of self-concerned wants and wills. 
Gardener Monroe didn't have feelings beyond anger, fear, or selfishness anymore, but he remembered having them.  And the Artificer had given him the chance to become real again.  Gardener Monroe -- Canadian mutant, former architect and landscaper from Calgary -- was willing to pay any price to bring that to pass.
 And damn anyone who dared stand in the way of that, Alpha Flight or no Alpha Flight.
 

 "So, can I get anybody something?  Soda, whatever?" Whitman Knapp said, leading the former members of Beta Flight, plus their companion Alex, through the smallish main room of his hole-in-the-wall apartment in Toronto.
 "Don't suppose you have a beer, do you?" Wyre asked, his voice raspy.  
 "Sorry.  I don't drink, I'm afraid," Knapp said.
 Wyre snorted.  "Figures."
 "I'd like a soda," Laura Dean said softly.  "Could Goblyn have one too?"
 "Sure.  Two sodas comin' right up," Knapp said.  He walked to the kitchen doorway, pausing suddenly. "Kary, hon, could we talk for a sec?"
 Kara Killgrave walked away from her teammates, joining Knapp in the kitchen.  He reached forward to embrace her, grinning that devil-may-care grin that always melted her defenses.
 She belted him one across the face.  
 "Ow!" Dr. Whitman Knapp, M.D., said eloquently.
 "Dammit, Whit, you bastard, you never showed up," Kara whispered, trying to show her anger  as best she could without letting the others hear her a room away. 
 Knapp rubbed his jaw.  "I was there, wasn't I, Kary?  I tracked you down. 
I wouldn't dream of letting you down, not like that."
 "You . . . . moron," Kara muttered, the anger seeping out of her.  She pulled the tall, thin man into an embrace.  "I make an ultimatum and you go and call my bluff."
 "I live to serve," Knapp grinned.
 "C'mon, you lug," she said, scooping a pair of sodas from his ancient refrigerator.  "Let's get back out there."
 When they re-entered the living room, Alex was speaking excitedly.  "What we must now do -- "
 "What we must now do," Wyre's gravelly voice grated harshly in the cramped room, "is remain calm."  He looked at the Quebecer, his dark eyes intense. 
"I understand that you are worried about Jean-Paul," he said, speaking slowly, and with a strange, unfamiliar formality.  "I can empathize. 
However, take my word as an old soldier: now is not the time to make angry declarations.  Now is the time to speak carefully; to *plan* carefully. 
It's true that we have been inconvenienced.  It's true that the lives of our friends and -- " there was an almost imperceptible pause -- "loved ones are almost certainly in danger.  But it is also true that we are their last, best chance for survival; and as such we cannot allow ourselves to lose control.  It is, to put it bluntly, our move.  And it is necessary -- no, it's *vital* -- that we plan this calmly, swiftly, and above all, rationally."  He rapped the rickety coffee table lightly in time to his words.
 "Wow, Wyre," Whitman Knapp said, breaking the long silence that followed the former assassin's words.  "Never knew you had it in you."
 The corner of Wyre's mouth quirked as he lit a cigarette.  "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, kid."
 "Sorry, but -- " Laura Dean said, looking carefully at Wyre.  The large man waved a hand at her, urging her to continue.  "But that tells us how to go
on, not what we should do, if you follow me.  So . . . ." the young woman said, spreading her hands before her, "what do we do now?"
 Knapp opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get the first words past his throat, the doorbell rang.
 "Now," he said, turning toward the portal, "we answer the door."  He walked to the door, opening it.
 "Whitman Knapp?" said the man who'd rung the bell.  He was wearing a plain brown jumpsuit, the sort a million different delivery groups utilize every day of the year.  "Package for ya, eh.  Sign here, please."
 Knapp signed on the dotted line, looking out at the giant crate that stood behind the delivery man.  "What *is* that?"
 "Hey, pal, they don't pay me to go snooping in your mail, eh," the guy said with an air of self- righteousness.  "You'll have to open it and find out
for yourself."
 "Works for me," Knapp told him.
 "What's up?" came a rough voice from behind him.  Whit turned, nearly bumping into Wyre's broad chest.  
 "Package," he said, and would've said more, but Wyre walked smoothly past him, out into the hall with the enormous crate.  The older man walked around and around the carton, scrutinizing its every inch.  "Hm," he said. 
"This thing's a good seven feet tall, and what's inside it -- " he knocked on the box with a callused fist -- "is very large, and very heavy."  Wyre craned his head back, allowing his fingers to drum along the sides of the crate.  "But there's nothing explosive in there.  That I'm sure of."
 "How do you know that just from looking at it and hitting it?" Whit asked.
 Wyre just looked at him.
 "Okay, fine, point taken.  Who's it from?"
 Wyre squinted at the return address, then lifted an eyebrow.  "It's postmarked Ottawa.  No name, but this thing went through a DOD listening post at one point."
 "How -- "
 Wyre pointed to the small series of scarlet letters that decorated one side of the crate.  "Standard DOD coding for an inter-base mailing.  I don't
know how it got to your door, Knapp, but it left a DOD installation in Ottawa."
 "Well," Knapp said, rubbing his chin, "let's open it up."
 Wyre grunted, letting the tendrils in his chest, shoulders, and upper arms extend to the top of the box and pull on the crate.  The muscular man cursed under his breath.
 "What's wrong?" Knapp asked, the physician in him snapping to attention.
 Wyre's head whipped toward the younger man.  "Nothing's wrong, kid.  I just
don't like doing this very much."
 "Oh," Whit said.  "You never mentioned that before," he finished lamely.
 Wyre snorted.  "You never asked before."  As he spoke, the nails holding the section of the crate he was pulling on gave way, falling forward with a creaking sound.  Wyre stared at the contents with an expression of incredulous disbelief.  "I will be damned," he said quietly.
 "What?"
 "I think you best take a look at this, kid."
 "What is it?  What's so important, Wy -- " and then Whitman Knapp cut himself off in mid-sentence.  Because standing in the gigantic crate was a six-feet eleven inch metal man.  Its scarlet-and-chrome alloy gleamed, even in the dim light of the hallway.  
 "Sweet Jesus," Knapp whispered.  "Box!"  He turned to Wyre.  "What's going on here, man?"
 "You think I know?" the older man shot back.
 "Madison never used that design," Whitman said quietly.  "That set was only used by Dr. Langkowski and -- "
 "Its designer, Roger Bochs," Wyre finished.  "What?" he said, at Knapp's astounded look.  "I read the mission logs."  He ran a hand through his sandy hair, reaching out a tendril toward the armor's neck.  "There looks to be an emergency activation switch right -- about -- here!"
 The Box armor stiffened for an instant, and then went limp.  It raised a hand to its glistening chrome head.  "What's going on?" a tinny, metallic voice echoed from its throat.
 Knapp shook his head, recognizing the former Alphan's voice.  "Roger!" The metal face seemed to become perplexed as a metal hand caressed its forehead.  "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
 "Do you *know* me?" Whit asked, surprised.  "Roger, we were team-mates in Alpha Flight.  Right up until you -- " [Right up until you died,] his mind finished.
 Now the metallic face seemed suspicious.  "Look, I know everybody in Alpha Flight.  And I have no idea who you are."
 Quickly, Wyre stepped in front of the metal man.  "Look, Mr. Bochs, could you do me a quick favor?"
 "Sure," came the wary reply.
 "Tell me who's in Alpha.  Right now, I mean."
 "Is this a trick question?"
 "No," Wyre said, his gravelly voice soothing.  "Just tell me.  Maybe we can help you."
 "Okay," Box said, a metallic sigh coming from his speakers.  "Heather Hudson's our leader, and there's Northstar, Aurora, Puck, Snowbird, Shaman, Talis -- no, wait, Liz isn't a member any more -- my buddy Madison Jefferies . . . . oh, and me, I guess."
 "What's the last thing you remember?"
 "Let me see . . . . We'd just gotten back home after fighting Deadly Earnest . . . ."  Metal alloy, 'living' or otherwise, isn't supposed to be able to shiver in revulsion, or in fear, but now the Box armor which held the body and soul of Roger Bochs did both.  "He almost killed Madison and the twins . . . . and me.  That's 'bout the spookiest thing I ever found out.  That I could die in this tin can, I mean."  He made the sighing noise again.  "Anyway, I was about to phase out for the night . . . . I was gonna do some work on a new armor design Madison and I've been fooling around with . . . ." his voice trailed off.  "And that's it.  That's all she wrote.  I don't remember any more."  
 "Okay," Wyre said, gesturing through the door, into Whitman Knapp's apartment, "would you mind stepping this way, please, Mr. Bochs?"
 "Yeah, sure," Box said, following Whit into the apartment.
 Once inside, Wyre gestured at Kara Killgrave and the Dean sisters to vacate the couch.  "Care to un-phase, Mr. Bochs?"
 "Who put you in charge?" Alex whispered hotly.  Wyre gave the French-Canadian a swift, angry glare.  Alex did not continue.
 "Uh, yeah.  I guess I will."  The tall, glittering man-in-armor walked to a spot just behind the couch, and within seconds a pudgy, ruddy-faced man with bright, slightly curly red hair and no legs below the knees had materialized before.  He dropped onto the couch, deftly keeping himself upright with the air of countless hours of practicing.  "Now," he said, "you can answer *my* questions."     
 

   Chapter 39: Daddies Home
                    by The Ancient One
                  (dprob@lineone.net)

Devolution rested, he did not need rest, but the human form he was inside burnt energy and this energy needed to be replenished.  His mind was in turmoil, designs and plans were in ruins and he was sure that the battle had been lost, Retribution was destroyed, what to do next?  On the fringes of his subconcious a form began to take shape, drifting towards full form as it
seemed to get nearer,
"FOOL", The Artificer shimmered in his minds eye, "You and your kin have allowed this Alpha Flight to gain the upper hand, they have drawn 'First Blood' and now feel strong" "We have lost", Devolution shrunk back as soon as the last word had left his mouth.
"We have lost the battle, not the war, you and that pathetic fool had no plans, no design, we must strike now, in their moment of glory, we must strike Alpha Flight a body blow, then with their cohesion gone we will win.
 We will rip out their heart, killing the halfling and her child will diminish them, now you must do as I say..................."
 

Jay Runningelk lay sprawled across the bar with his head in a pool of beer,  his thoughts were a jumble, but the main theme managed to permeate the alcoholic haze, 'I should have been Medicineman, Twoyoungmen is never there, I know as much', lost in his thoughts he did not see the stranger enter the bar, but he did see the whiskey bottle that was thrust in front of him.  Like a carrot before a mule he was enticed swaying and stumbling from the bar.  Words were exchanged and deals struck, then Devolution smiled and led the Sacree mystic away.
 
 

Devolution stared at he ruined building, 'So this is where Alpha Flight had lived, I would have liked to have met this Bedlam though, I believe we could have worked together', at his feet lay freshly disturbed earth, two mounds which until recently had contained the forms of his two greatests foes, to the side a third lay undisturbed, for now.  Jay Runningelk sat cross legged to the side,  incantations flowing from his mouth, the soil of the third mound began to move and then shift, while the slow exavation proceeded, Devolution thought back to Somons plan...........................................
"We must get in close to the halfling, then strike, her friends will be ready and prepared"
"Yes, but who would they trust long enough to let them get close enough to strike the blow", Devolution felt his physical form starting to stir, "It would only take a moment and we must hope that emotion will cloud Snowbirds judgement long enough, go to a place called Tamarind Isle", Somon had started, Devolutions thoughts were interruptedby the voice of the Scaree mystic,
"It's free",
Devolution starred down at the casket lying at the bottom of the of the hole.  Slowly the casket rose until it lay at his feet.  The body in the clear coffin had decayed, a crack in the lid probably caused when the mansion had been destroyed had helped nature to corrupt the body.  Tattered red cloth mingled with dessicated and corrupted flesh, a myriad of insects crawled in and out of fissures and different orifices, Devolution grinned as he bent to open the lid.
The freshly stripped skeleton lay on the ground and to the side lay a pile of decaying flesh and man made materials.  Jay Runningelk sat swaying cross legged, slurred incantations pouring from his lips.  Devolution starred intently at the almost white bones and then his eyes rolled back into his head.  slowly the skeleton began to shake and then small discolourations started to appear, cells born from unearthly machinations began to adhere to the bones, slowly the bones were covered then blood vessels and musculature appeared, eventually dermal and epidermal layers were added and at Devolutions feet lay the naked dormant form of Doug Thompson.  
"Ready Medicineman, weave your spell and sunder the barriers" Through glassy eyes Runningelk glanced at this false form, he new the true nature of this Devolution, but his need to visit revenge on Twoyoungmen for believed wrongs outweighed his revulsion at the prescence of this creature.
 Ancient words tumbled from his lips and slowly a disruption appeared, a spinning vortex which disturbed the normal view of the surrounding scene. 
Inside the vortex numerous worlds seemed to spin into view and then dissappeared, a new scene came into view, "Now Medicineman, now"
The incantions became more intense and within the vortex a form took shape, the form pulled clear of the vortex and it collapsed, the disembodied form sailed through the air then dissappeared into the inert form of Doug Thompson.  The body shook, the eyes jerked open flitting to and fro, "Take your time, co-ordinate your body and mind, we have the time" The eyes turned and starred at Devolution, "Whe...Where am I and who are you", struggling to his feet the body of Thompson swayed, 
"All in good time, test your powers and grow accustomed to your new life", Devolution glanced at the drunken Medicineman, "Test you powers",
With a questioning look the body starred at the Medicineman, Devolution nodded.  Massive arms rose from the earth and gripped Runningelk, manipulating his form like plasticine, the sound of cracking bones and liquifying organs were heard and then the ruined body was dropped to the floor.  Devolution smiled
"Your powers are strong and you are ready, but come we have much to do and much to talk about Captain Crozier"
 

Chapter 40: "Picking Up the Pieces"
by Sue Wong

     It should have been time for Alpha to rest. After all, they had been through battle after battle ever since Snowbird and her son had been reborn, and they had all been off to fight the Great Beasts. "To Hell and back," as Judd put it succinctly. Now, with Devolution defeated (they thought), it was time to turn their thoughts to other matters. Such as introducing their resurrected teammate and her son to the new members of Alpha Flight who had joined since her death.

    "Let's see...." Judd said, as the team flew back towards Toronto.
"There's Kara Killgrave; you probably remember her as the Purple Girl, eh, Birdie?"

    "Indeed, I do," Snowbird replied. "So she is still with the team, then?"

    "She sure is, eh, only now she's called Persuasion. Then, there's Whitman Knapp....Manikin....."

    "He joined shortly after you croaked," Elizabeth threw in flippantly, Since she had been instrumental in bringing Snowbird and son back, she felt a little more at ease in talking about their deaths, even to making a half-jesting remark. Snowbird rewarded her with a frozen look, though, before turning back to Judd, who continued.

    "Anyway, there's Laura Dean and her twin sister, Goblyn... Witchfire...
Windshear.... and Wyre--- he's a real tough guy who shoots cables out of his skin... stay on his good side, eh?"

    Snowbird nodded, trying to pay attention as Judd reeled off the names and powers of each of the teammates she was shortly to meet. Her son, small Richard, was in his usual post-battle position, sleeping in her arms. Then, he stirred, and for a moment, her thoughts strayed to something else.

    It was going to be a difficult job to bring him up without a father.
Oh, the rest of Alpha Flight would always be around to help raise young Richard, but there was more to it than that.

   Snowbird had loved Doug Thompson enough to defy her god relatives to marry him, enough to suffer through an excruciating childbirth to to bring their son into the world (only to lose him to Pestlience), amd enough to refuse to enter the gods' realm unless Douglas and their baby were admitted with her. Yet, Narya had once dreamed things would be different. From the first moment Doug had mentioned marriage, Narya had imagined he would be by her side watching their son grow up, seeing Richard's first steps, teaching him about the world, a role model for their son to emulate.

      At first, with her and Richard's return, their only concerns had been to defeat the Great Beasts, help their ALpha Flight teammates, and ensure their own survival. But with the Great Beasts wiped out, there was now time to think of other things.

     To wish and to dream of the impossible.

     "Douglas, dear Douglas," Narya whispered in her secret heart, "how I wish you could be here to see your son grow up. He did so well against the Great Beasts, and I feel he will yet be a fine man. If you could only have been pulled through the barrier with us... what I would not give to have you back."

     She failed to notice how Shaman had been brooding ever since they boarded the plane. There was a great evil, but he was unable to pinpoint it as yet. Best to go back to Toronto until such time as the situation could be made clear. If it turned out to be as bad as his instincts told him it might be, they would need reinforcements.

      For all her psychic ability, Narya did not yet know that Douglas Thompson had arisen again. But perhaps that was because he was not really Douglas Thompson, but a dreadful hoax of the Beasts. Captain Crozier in Doug's body!

     If Somon had had a sense of humor, it would be a pretty sick one.

    "Okay, people," Mac Hudson rose. "We'll be landing in Toronto in a few minutes...."

    "Hey, 'Bird," Judd leaned over to whisper to Snowbird, "mind everything I told you about the new folk, eh?"

    "Certainly, friend Judd, " Narya replied, "Without you to guide me in this, I would indeed be lost." And how I wish, she cried silently,  that Douglas were here to meet us after this mission.

    Be careful what you wish for, Narya, anyone would warn her if they had known her secret thoughts. You may not like how they could come true....