As noted, the next five weeks will be a drop from an untitled Interuniveral Bounty Hunter story, inspired by The Archive In-Between, that will probably come after Leviathan. Casual Blasphemy is still on the list, however!

Epilogue — MetaFiCon

Welcome to MetaFiCon 75!

The banner waved above the entrance to the convention center, flapping in the light morning breeze off the ocean, as people gathered by the entrance.  At least one quarter of the con-goers were dressed in some kind of costume, ranging from gas station paper masks of people like Bulk and Teraton, or even generic vampires or werewolves, to carefully engineered prosthetics that verged on or crossed into tinker territory.

Isaac Hartson and Sarah Miller rode in on Shay and Astoria after a late night helping set up, dressed in the absolute best Ikiski fashion that Isaac could put together.  Sarah could have given them a full Ikiski disguise, but they’d decided against it because it was a little bit cheating.  A costume was one thing, but superpowered costuming was another.

After a second round down in the Deep Kingdoms, he knew what each flourish, fold, and angle of the clothing meant, and he had all the materials needed for completely authentic uniforms.  Not only that, but he and Sarah actually had official standing, a facet equivalent that meant they were allowed – and expected – to use certain styles and certain jewelry.  Although calling crystaltech accouterments jewelry really undersold it.

He was quite proud of his work, but despite all the effort he had put into the clothes, it was the raptors who got the most attention.  No red-blooded man – nor quite a few women – could resist the allure of a living, breathing dinosaur.  The two raptors were definitely the smuggest they’d ever been, polished and gleaming in both scale and barding, the latter upgraded thanks to their Deep Kingdoms trip.  It didn’t look much different visually, but it had been upgraded and refined in accordance with their new rank, so everything matched.

None of the other con-goers knew that, but they could sure appreciate the spectacle of the pair of dinos strutting through the halls of the convention.  The early morning crowd both parted in front of and condensed around Shay and Astoria, gawkers getting a look and a few pictures while staying out of range of what were very impressive and sharp claws and teeth.  Not that there was any worry about misplaced aggression; the raptors knew exactly what was going on. 

By now Isaac definitely figured they had near-human intelligence, though it wasn’t the same as a human mind.  Although he had caught them watching The Days of our Super Lives, for some reason finding the soap opera incredibly interesting.  Likewise, they seemed to enjoy looking over the various costumes and booths on offer by the con.

“Can — may I get a picture?”  A little girl squeaked at them, dressed in a stegosaurus costume and backed by a strained-looking mother in a more conventional dress.

“Sure thing,” Sarah said, beaming at the girl and steering Astoria a touch closer.  The girl looked upward with starry eyes as the raptor bent down to bump her snout against the kid’s outstretched hand.  The snap of a camera going off showed that the mother was ready even if she looked uncertain about the whole interaction.  After a few poses and pictures, the kid waved good-bye to Astoria and wandered off with her mom. 

That broke the invisible barrier, and other people starting coming forward to ask for a photo opportunity, though Isaac had to turn down a couple people who wanted rides.  Shay liked being admired, but wasn’t much interested in parading people around.  Eventually, though, the initial crowd thinned out and they continued on, stopping at a few booths that interested one or both of them.

One of the actors from VillainS had a booth signing autographs, for example, and nearby, a guy was selling a special small-print comic run for the seventy-fifth MetaFiCon.  Isaac waved at the people manning the Justice For Hire booth, even though it wasn’t like they would know who he was.  Moon Prism had returned, with a new logo using both moons, and Sarah had no compunction about using Astoria’s presence to get a premium spot in line to secure tickets. 

For himself, he checked in to confirm he’d be taking part in one of the cosplay panels later on in the con.  Obviously he’d like to actually show off what he’d done, and he wasn’t going want to, or be able to, explain it all to random people in passing.  It wasn’t like Isaac and Sarah were even the most eye-catching costumes around, dinosaurs or no.

One person carefully stalked past the line in a hissing, clanking mech suit, probably an amateur tinker, and there was either a mutant type super or someone with really impressive prosthetics in full trappings as The Cat Emperor holding court nearby.  As the morning wore on, even more costumes of even more elaborate construction appeared, including people with things like Glorybeam’s armor or, for the matter, Blacktime’s shadowed face by way of black fabric. 

“Is that Aunt Gloria and Uncle Mark?” Sarah asked, not long after they won free of the queues, voice incredulous as she pointed toward a pair of figures speaking with an elderly woman with an elaborate, flower-shaped coiffure off in a corner.  Isaac leaned forward and squinted, but it really did seem to be the pair.  They weren’t in costume or anything, just looking like ordinary people save for the fact that Mark’s suit probably cost as much as the highest-end cosplays around.

“Huh, they didn’t really seem the con type,” Isaac said, nudging Shay to follow Astoria in that general direction.  “Pretty sure I hadn’t seen them here before, either.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Sarah said.  Their approach was of necessity unsubtle, as even in the sea of costumes being a-raptorback stood out.  They were lucky that most of the first floor was open all the way to the roof, so there were no ceilings to worry about.  By the time they reached the trio, Gloria and Mark had lifted their hands in greeting, the elderly woman looking on with mild amusement.

“Sarah,” Gloria greeted them.  “Isaac.  Sally did mention that you were going to the con.”

“Every year,” Isaac confirmed.  “First time for you?”

“Mark convinced me to go,” she said, matter-of-fact.

“Zamekis Industries is one of the sponsors this year,” Mark said.  “I’ve decided to branch out a little bit, and it would seem quite performative if I didn’t come myself.”  Somehow he managed to sound villainous, but more in the way every corporate suit did, rather than a super. 

“How are you liking it?” Sarah asked, slipping off Astoria so she wasn’t staring down at everyone.  Isaac followed suit, rubbing Shay under the chin.

“It’s rather charming,” he said diplomatically.  “Not at all what I’m used to.”

“I’d bet not,” Isaac said, mentally comparing the bright and noisy surroundings to the bland and sterile boardrooms where Mark probably spent most of his time.  “But I’m glad to hear you’re contributing.  I volunteer every year and we can use all the help we can get.”  He hadn’t heard of any new sponsors this year, but he never heard much about the sponsors anyway unless he was helping set up an advert or a stand.

“Oh, you’re one of our helpers?”  The old woman looked Isaac over before inclining her head.  “Thank you for donating your time.  The venue deeply appreciates it.”

“You’re welcome?”  Isaac was thrown, looking closer at the women.  She bore a vague familial resemblance to some of the people in charge of the convention, but he was pretty sure he’d never seen her before.  “I’m afraid I don’t know you, ma’am.”

“Dahlia Mavros,” she said, offering her hand.  “I own the convention center, and most of MetaFiCon.”

“Wait, Black Dahlia?”  Sarah exclaimed as Isaac took the offered hand.  “You’re Death Blossom?” 

That was a name Isaac did know, as one of the most infamous magical girls from a few generations prior.  She hadn’t been too active in Star City itself, but other cities in the Alliance had gotten really bad and the magical girls of that era had been darker than previous – or subsequent – eras. 

“Not for a long time,” Dahlia said demurely. 

“Can I get an autograph?” Sarah said, digging around in Astoria’s saddlebags for one of her notebooks.  Dahlia cast an amused glance at Isaac, who only shrugged.  He actually rather liked it when Sarah went into fangirl mode, considering that most of the time she was more serious.  A moment later, she had the notebook out, got the signature, and was exceedingly happy. 

“We’ll leave you to enjoy the convention,” Isaac said, since he saw some people hovering and he was pretty sure by the look of it they were there for either Mark or Dahlia.  Older, wealthy, with the discreetly black-edged nametags that meant VIP.  “But if it’s your first time, don’t be too worried if a ‘supervillain’ crashes the party.  It’s all part of the experience.”

“I will consider myself warned,” Mark said, for some reason seeming exceedingly amused. 

“You should have let them find out for themselves,” Sarah said as they headed back into the stream of people.  For the moment they stayed dismounted, silently agreeing to stretch their legs a bit.

“Mark probably has a bodyguard somewhere,” he defended himself.  “I’m not sure how much these CEO types are used to supervillains breaking in.  Besides, I bet Dahlia already warned him.” 

“Probably, but come on,” Sarah said with a grin.  “Aunt Gloria is so uptight, she could use a little excitement.”  Isaac merely shook his head.

Out of the main hall, there were a couple of body-builders dressed in skin-tight costumes busking, one playing the mandolin and the other a flute.  Isaac recognized the theme tune to The Days Of Our Super Lives, and tossed a credtab into their box.  A few other people entertained, some with donation hats and some without.  He recognize a returning entertainer, a guy with a minor telekinesis power that only applied to fruit for some reason. 

The guy lifted a hand to wave, not taking his attention off the bananas he was making dance on a miniature stage, and Isaac waved back.  It felt oddly nostalgic, even comforting, to be at a place where he knew the regulars and was just some guy.  Mostly just a volunteer, helping fetch and carry and set up, nobody important. 

“I didn’t realize how many people you knew, last time,” Sarah said, Astoria and Shay casually strolling along behind them.  The raptors probably wouldn’t want to stay the whole day, but for the moment they were interested.

“Well, I was in disguise, back then,” he pointed out.  “Two or three layers of it?  Plus things got cut short.”

“Yeah.  Man, Dad was pissed when he heard about that,” Sarah said.  “I would bet he’s lurking around somewhere just in case it happens again.”

“Just so long as he knows the difference between the fun ones and the real ones,” Isaac said.  The previous convention was the first time any of the supervillains had actually tried anything but posing and minor property damage.  At least the first time since he’d been attending; after seventy-five years, he was sure they’d seen everything.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sarah said, which did not really reassure him.  But there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he put it out of his mind and continued on, stopping on occasion so people could take pictures with or of Astoria and Shay.  There were a couple panels he wanted to sit in on, and neither of the raptors were at all interested, so just before lunch he sent them off home, where they could get their own food and head out into the wilds to hunt or just run around.  He could always call Shay back through the bracelet.

Lunch was pizza — superhero-themed pizza, at that.  At least for him; Sarah splurged on rainbow Moon Prism noodles, one of those branding-sponsorship deals that helped keep the convention solvent and accessible to the general public.  In the food court he saw another familiar face, though this one was only vaguely familiar.  Jessica, the Lost Generation reporter that he’d given information to what seemed like forever ago.  She’d only known him as Harkeem though, so he didn’t say anything, but he saw her wander cheerfully around, chatting into the lens of a camera floating on a repulsor.

It was good to see that she had actually made out well from the debacle that had resulted in Gloryfall, rather than getting in trouble.  Though really, reporters always made their reputations on drama.  Being able to claim involvement in one of the biggest events of the decade probably had boosted her career.  Maybe he’d see if she wanted to do a writeup on Sarah’s books, since they were nearly ready for publishing.

That and other idle thoughts crossed his mind as he sat with Sarah in the food court, watching people in costume wander by.  Some of them were simply goofing off, play-acting fights with their cosplay-nemesis or improbable crossovers between comic book supers and real life ones.  Just people having fun, which was welcome after the intensity of the Deep Kingdoms and the seriousness of his work with Star Central.

They headed off when it was time for Moon Prism’s concert, and while they didn’t have VIP passes this time, Sarah still enjoyed the impromptu mosh pit.  Isaac was still thrown by the group’s music, but he wasn’t going to complain.  Out of the concert, he could see the musicians keeping a close eye on the crowd and was pretty sure the magical girls were worried about a repeat of the previous year, but no threat actually materialized.

One young woman in an eye-searing pink suit with devil horns did proclaim herself queen of all she surveyed, blasting the place harmlessly with confetti-like eyebeams.  But she was swiftly subdued and carried off giggling by a group that was probably some kind of fan club given the matching uniforms, so Isaac wasn’t even sure the person counted as a fake villain.  Although given the scare from last time, people might be a little cautious.

“You know, I think I might know that girl,” Sarah mused.  “Not well or anything, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before.  Part of mom’s group.  That confetti power, I know I heard mom mention.”

“Small world,” Isaac said, though he was thinking about how many people he had seen at MetaFiCon that he knew.  It wasn’t the largest con or anything, though he was fairly certain there were more people this year than last.

“Well, since I’m here, mom probably mentioned it around, so maybe other people looked into it.”  Sarah paused then waved her hand vaguely.  “Though maybe that’s too self-centered?  Could just be since Uncle Mark is involved, a lot of high society got on board. He’s got a lot of money to throw around.”

“Could be a bit of both,” Isaac suggested, as they strolled out into the courtyard where an impromptu dance-off competition had started up between a group of people all dressed as Captain Bulk and another group all dressed as The Mad Martigen.  Sarah snickered and grabbed her camera, taking a few shots of the participants.

Around the corner, someone had set up a table offering tastings of lunarian wine, according to the sign.  An older gentleman in a very loud and colorful tee and a pair of shorts, who was expounding enthusiastically to a group of uncostumed folks who all seemed enthralled by his pitch.  He looked somewhat familiar, and as Isaac and Sarah drew close, it became clear exactly who it was.

Mechaniacal was wearing a big name tag with Hello, my name is Gregory! and a harmless-looking smile.  Without his hat, suit, and cane, he looked like anyone’s eccentric uncle.  A little intense, but not unusual for Star City.

“Really?”  Sarah muttered under her breath.  “I mean, I guess I can’t be surprised.”

“I’m sure someone knows,” Isaac said.  “But man, I definitely would not want to be a villain crashing the place for real this year.  I’m sure he would have something to say about it.”

The supervillain in disguise waved cheerfully as they approached, somehow managing to look entirely natural in his vacation clothes.  To his own surprise, Isaac wasn’t all that worried.  While the man was a menace in many ways, he’d also struck Isaac as surprisingly sane and perhaps more willing than most to follow the rules at a place like the convention. 

“Mister Hartson!  Miss Miller!  I see you’re in fine form.”  Mechaniacal cocked his head, studying their Ikiski robes.  “Seven facet equivalent?  I would have said higher, but I suppose that’s fair enough given how difficult it is to translate non-physical powers.”

“Professor,” Isaac replied.  “Yes, we had an interesting time in the Deep Kingdoms.  But I doubt anyone else here could read the style.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Mechaniacal said with a dismissive wave.  “A lot of people are worldly enough.  The Deep Kingdoms may be distant but a surprising number of supers end up there at one point or another.  Usually in the past, for some reason.”  He reached out to pour from one of his bottles into two of the small tasting glasses.  “I’m still not sure why, but most of the accidental travel to the center of the earth involves time travel.”

“I’m glad we were spared that, then,” Isaac replied, adding that to the tally of reasons he didn’t call himself a superhero.  Being stranded in the past was high on his list of things to avoid.

“It’s a nice place when you’re not in an emergency though,”  Sarah observed, patting her camera.  She had gotten a lot of photos on their last trip.

“One of the benefits of the super business,” Mechaniacal agreed.  “Go to strange places and see wondrous sights.”  He held out the tasting glasses for them.  “See what you think.  I’ve been working on it since the last time.  Temporal mechanics may be a bear when it comes to traveling, but they do make aging wine much easier.”

“Sure,” Isaac said, taking the glass.  He was pretty sure that even if it was Mechaniacal, it wouldn’t be something potent enough to make people drunk on that small an amount.  Besides, he hadn’t noticed anyone wandering around with questionable sobriety just yet.  The taste was light, almost effervescent despite lacking any carbonation, and yet complex enough that even he could taste subtle, unnamable berry-like flavors lingering within the blend.  It was also just short of whiskey in terms of kick, so more than a tasting glass would be asking for trouble.

“Oh, wow,” Sarah said, after taking a sip from her own glass.  “My mom would love this stuff.  Maybe a bit stronger than wine but I can still think of a dozen functions where she’d serve it.”  

“I’m not sure it’s ready for distribution quite yet,” Mechaniacal demurred.  “But good to know I’m on the right track.”

“I’d definitely like to buy some, when you do have it ready,” Isaac said, placing the glass back down.  “So what exactly brings you to the convention?”  Isaac continued, half-dreading the answer.  “Just to have people taste-test?”

“That, and another one of the cast from VillainS is going to be signing autographs tomorrow,” Mechaniacal said brightly.  “The fellow who plays The Crimson Tooth.  He’s really close to the original; I wonder if he met the man.”

“Oh!”  Sarah said, brightening.  “There’s a whole documentary on how they did the research for that. Some of the Gang of Darkness even gave interviews!”

“I’ll have to look for that,” Mechaniacal said agreeably.  “Are there any other shows you might recommend that have the same quality as VillainS?”

Isaac didn’t have much to offer – he wasn’t a big television watcher to begin with – but Sarah chatted enthusiastically about various underappreciated gems in the genre.  There’d been television dramas on and off for the past eight or nine decades at least, with some more specialized tinker technologies beforehand.  DramaVision products had been big in the Five Cities Alliance for a while, with some of the big screens still existing here and there. 

After a few minutes of spirited discussion, Mechaniacal interrupted himself to try and hawk his wares at someone else, and Isaac checked his watch.  If they didn’t want to miss their next panel, they’d have to head off.  It wasn’t like Mechaniacal was making any trouble, so even as a venue volunteer he couldn’t see anything wrong with leaving the man be. 

He nudged Sarah, who bumped him back before waving at Mechaniacal and linking hands with Isaac as they headed towards the voice actor panel, which featured a super with vocal powers who did some incredible foley work.  At the end of it, they got some swag from the announcement of a brand new animated superhero action show, centering on the ever-marketable Captain Bulk and the historic but defunct villain Brick Breaker.  It was nice enough, but afterward they took a break from con stuff to just walk together, strolling the streets in the upscale district near the convention center and talking about nothing in particular.

Upon their return, they found a sort-of press conference going on out front, with a small cluster of reporters – including Jessica – around a man that would have been completely unrecognizable if Isaac hadn’t been working with him so often.  Administrator Ichabod stood, albeit with the support of a cane, rather than being transported around by life-support chair, and what was more, he actually had hair.  It was short, thin, and more salt than pepper, but there.

The man really seemed to be aging in reverse, though from Isaac’s work on Ike it was less about age or even infirmity as it was actual damage.  He might have been a superpowered human at some point, but now he was so defined by what his power did that he was more a human-shaped manifestation, not unlike Bubs or Savage.  Isaac was actually a little uncomfortable around him now, not that he’d ever admit it to Ike’s face.

Out in the open air, the reason for that discomfort was obvious.  Despite the still-frail frame, thin hair, and cane, some ethereal power rested within him, a mantle draped across his shoulders.  There was nothing visible to the naked eye, but he still somehow gave an impression that the world around him was somehow less real, more dreamlike. 

Isaac shared a glance with Sarah and went to join the crowd gathered around, listening to Ichabod give the interview.  The administrator met Isaac’s eyes and inclined his head a fraction of an inch, but otherwise didn’t break attention from what he was doing.  Isaac wasn’t sure how far along the interview was, but the next question – asked by Jessica, of all people – was the one that seemed most pertinent.

“What made you come to MetaFiCon to make the announcement, rather than holding a conference at Star Central?”

“I don’t believe that it would be in Star Central’s interests to turn it into a circus,” Ichabod said, leaning on his cane.  “I’m not a deeply public figure, and the personnel of Star Central are more than competent enough to handle superhero affairs.  At the same time, if I simply vanished it might cause unhealthy speculation and rumor-mongering.  I don’t plan to overshadow the convention, but I do think the people here will appreciate the show.”

“The show?” Another reporter pushed in past Jessica, waving a big, fuzzy interview mic in Ichabod’s direction. “You’re not just here to announce your retirement?”

“There is more to my departure than simply leaving Star Central,” Ichabod said.  “As I said before, I have been working with a specialist and am more hale than I was, but that vigor comes with certain dangers and responsibilities.  Ones that make it impossible to remain here in Star City and still act in good faith.”

“What’s he talking about?” Sarah muttered, and she didn’t mean Ichabod stepping down.

“He’s scary powerful,” Isaac replied in an undertone.  He hadn’t discussed his work with Ichabod even with her, both out of a respect for the man’s privacy and an understanding of exactly how potent the guy could be.  Ike had been a powerhouse before his injury, over a century ago, but after all this time and the healing Isaac had facilitated, he had crossed some final threshold into the top end of sovereign, where people like Mechaniacal and Teraton dwelt.  “I mean, he made a moon and that’s at a fraction of where he is now.”

“Ah, now I understand it,” Sarah said.

“I will be seeking out Teraton,” Ichabod announced.  “We know roughly where he is, out there among the stars, and he’s an old friend of mine who should know how to deal with what I have found.  When and whether I return will be contingent upon what advice he can give me — but suffice to say, you will all be in good hands.”

“He’s just leaving like that?” Isaac asked, mostly to himself, eyeing the casual shirt and pants that Ike had on, and the lack of luggage.  But then again, this was Ike.  He could pluck anything that anyone had dreamed about out for his own use, so any kind of baggage would be redundant.

The question was answered as Ike waved away the shouting reporters, the air rippling around him as the ethereal outline of the Foirastar manifested from nothingness.  That venerable artifact starship, Van Rijns final work, had finally given out after a recent excursion to Saturn and now lived on only in dreams.  But dreams were all that Ichabod needed.

The vessel fleshed itself out, forcing the reporters and the other people in the crowd backward as it took up more and more room, until it was fully manifested in dark wood and gleaming brass.  The lock opened, a ramp extending downward as Ichabod, with one last look around, climbed aboard. 

Isaac watched with mixed emotions.  Even after working with Ichabod he hadn’t entirely warmed to the man, but there was no denying he had shaped the superhero scene for a century at least.  Mostly behind the scenes, but in some ways the world’s state was due to Ichabod’s work.  And now he was leaving. 

But things always changed, the world spun on.  Old heroes left, old villains were defeated or retired, and new ones arose.  Administrator Ichabod might be leaving, but there were still plenty to take care of things back in Star City.

The ship hummed to life, crooning musically as its one-of-a-kind engine floated it into the air.  After only seconds, it was visible from everywhere in the convention center, and people stopped to point and stare, camera flashbulbs going off in strobing sequence as people snapped photos.  The Foirastar shimmered in the characteristic pseudomotion of sub-ether drive, and it vanished into the sky.

“Glad he didn’t wait until tonight to do that,” Isaac said, though he knew it was inane.  “Would have rendered the fireworks pretty second-rate by comparison.”

“Ha!  I’m surprised he did it at all,” Sarah said, staring at the sky. “Seems a bit showy for him, from what I know.”

“I think it was literally so the reporters wouldn’t be writing hit pieces on Star Central,” Isaac said.  “Nobody wants to give the convention bad press, and I bet having Mark backing it this year helps.”

“I do kinda feel sorry for whoever’s panel is next, though,” Sarah said.  “Nobody’s going to be paying attention.”

“True,” Isaac said.  “Maybe we call it a day here, come back tomorrow?”  He wasn’t sure he could properly appreciate the con anyway, after that.  Not that Ichabod’s departure affected him directly, but it still was on his mind.

“Works for me,” Sarah said.  “Come on, let’s go home.”

One of the benefits of living in the same city as MetaFiCon was that they could simply dump stuff at home rather than having to cart it everywhere and stow it in a hotel room, so they took a taxi back to their house – not wanting to interrupt Shay and Astoria for a minor side trip – and deposited all the little things they’d acquired.  They had dinner, fed the raptors, and once Sarah had settled in to work on her books, Isaac donned Lou’s uniform and headed back to help clean up.

The con wasn’t actually over for the day; they were open until almost midnight, with fireworks every night and open rooms and pavilions for community events like theatre and wargaming.  Stuff more for the hardcore con-goers and fans than the tourists and celebrities.  Sometimes he’d participated, but a lot of that crowd was too esoteric even for him.

Happily anonymous, he swept, mopped, and stuffed debris into trash bags as he pushed around a janitor’s cart.  Amusingly enough, he saw Mechaniacal still there, happily playing emcee for a live chess tournament.  It might be a bit of a stereotype, but Isaac had to wonder if Mechaniacal wasn’t actually playing because he would be able to beat anyone there.  On the other hand, the villain was more gregarious than he’d expected so Mechaniacal might just be having fun.

Dahlia even made an appearance, circulating among the volunteers and thanking them personally — though, he noted, not actually doing any work herself.  Not that he blamed her.  In fact, if one of the volunteers had seen an elderly women laboring away they probably would have done their best to get her to stop.  She didn’t recognize him as Lou, and fortunately Mark and Gloria were long gone so his disguise wasn’t tested there either.  Though he was certain the inertia he’d given Lou was enough to keep most casual inspection from realizing who he was.

As he went, he wasn’t shy about using his powers the same way he had started to do both at the foster care and around the house.  Making it harder for the cleanliness to change.  The problem with that before had been that it would be equally harder for it to become cleaner after being dirtied, but with a little extra thought he’d managed to work out a set of guiderails that made it biased, and ensured that if a room got too messy it would simply stop applying, rather than making everyone else’s lives difficult.

He reckoned that he needed to get used to constantly using his power, and using it everywhere, because now that he had chosen to no longer hide he needed the practice, the perspective, and the disposition that those who had grown up in powered settings took for granted.  As much as Isaac hoped there wouldn’t be any messes greater than the moon’s civil war, he knew enough about super work to realize he needed to be prepared.

A good custodian always made sure he had the right tools to hand.

END OF OBJECTS IN MOTION

Afterword

My general thoughts on Objects in Motion are…eh.

I thought it was going to be a lot more fun than it actually was.  It was a comic book setting, with all kinds of pulp stuff.  I’d be on the moon!  At the center of the earth!  But that basic idea conflicted with my path for Isaac’s character and growth, so it didn’t reconcile as well as I would have liked.

There was also the attempt to make Isaac’s power more concrete and force direct interaction by limiting it to touch.  Unfortunately the moment I started dealing with conceptual stuff, it became obvious that conceptual touch would work and, well.  The lack of obvious manifestation for the power made it more floaty than I had originally wanted as well.

On the other hand, Isaac himself worked really well, and the actual thematic elements worked quite well. The fact that each of the climaxes was really about him enabling someone else rather than solving all on his lonesome. The contrast of The Tyrant and The Custodian.  How so much of the story was Isaac fighting with his own talent and not an endless procession of goons to beat down.

Mechaniacal was fun, Ike’s contribution in the third book being teased from the very beginning was fun.  But I wasn’t able to do as many flourishes as I would have liked, for a variety of reasons.  I was trying to stretch my usual approach and wound up stumbling around.

That all said, the next story is going to be A Leviathan Called Nemesis, which is going to be a monster protagonist, kingdom-building sort of kind of story.  In a way it’s going to be weirder than any normal monster protagonist or kingdom builder, but history has shown that I work better with less conventional approaches.