Chapter Seven
Massively huge; bright and garish is the city of Harrisburg. Named for its founder, this metropolis bathes the surrounding countryside with a glow which stretches for miles in every direction. The tail of this mighty city is intertwined not only with the lives of two men, Elmo Harris and Edward Foliage but also our story.
Elmo Harris, an individual said to possess more money than sense, lived up east in the very early 1900's. One day, or so the story goes, he was riding his favorite steed, Golden Nuts; a name which is a story unto itself. Suffice it to say that the old nag brought in quite a penny in stud fees for ol Elmo. Anyway, right there in the saddle, he up and decided to buy hundreds of thousands of acres of desolate land close to the Atlantic Ocean. It was upon this land that he would construct one, huge city as a sort of living reminder that he had once been here.
The boundaries of his massive city, named Harrisburg for obvious reasons, are laid down by a local survey firm. To his delight he sees construction upon his city begin in 1915, give or take. And from its humble beginnings to this very day, construction upon the city has never ceased.
Having reached the monstrous proportions first laid down by Harris, the city can no longer grow outward. Nowadays older buildings are simply torn down to be replaced with newer, higher ones.
Edward Foliage was born some years after the death of Elmo Harris. The young lad proved to be quite the brilliant biologist; for he earns his doctorate in botany by the day of his eighteenth birthday. His interests quickly gravitate to genetics, mutation, and the cloning of vegetation, particularly trees, waaaaay back in the late Forties and early Fifties. The theories which he advances are decades ahead of their time.
By the time that Foliage arrived Harrisburg was already a very large, bustling city. What disturbed the young botanist was the land which resided outside of the cities' boundaries. The mostly barren land served no useful purpose to the eyes of young Foliage. So in the mid Fifties he approaches the government with a proposal that would change a small portion of the land's ecology for the better.
Simply put he proposed to turn a portion of the land around the city, a band of perhaps five miles in width, into a national forest using his genetically engineered trees. As the late Fifties rolled around his idea was quickly given the go ahead. And by 1959 a small scale planting of Foliage's young seedlings had been completed.
The trees grow and spread beyond anyone's wildest expectations. Within a relatively short time a forest of truly massive proportions exists. All attempts at eradication prove fruitless.
A perusal of the forestry records throughout the years indicate that occationally monsters measuring many hundreds of feet in height with trunks of seventy to one hundred yards in diameter have been found. To be sure this is an aberration; for generally the trees stand no more than four to six hundred feet tall with trunks measuring only thirty to fifty yards in diameter.
From the original, modest planting about the city, the forest explodes in every direction. Growing North, South and Westward from the city, the forest spreads to a distance of approximately seventy five to one hundred, very dense miles. And then for reasons which remain unknown even to this day, growth abruptly stops.
The trees eastward advance ultimately brings them to the outer edges of the waiting city. Nowadays no small amounts of money and man hours are spent in the constant fight against the forest; for many of the woody behemoths are almost directly along side of the cities' outer buildings. It is here that work crews fight a never ending battle to keep the limbs of these monsters from punching through the windows of the outer buildings.
And at night the cities thirst for massive quantities of electricity just to keep all of its lights ablaze grows with each passing day. Some of the local pundits have even speculated that there are more lights within this city than stars within the heavens.
As time passes and technology improves, neon lighting flourishes; dominating the nighttime hours. The name Neon City becomes common place, completely supplanting Harrisburg.
On this particular night the local observatory, located some fifty miles north of the city within the Colossus Mountains, just outside of the small, ski/hunting resort of Pleasant Town, is abuzz with activity. In all of his years, Dr. William Debunk, world famous astronomer, has never seen anything quite like this; for above their general location an area of the nighttime sky seems to have changed; to have developed a small, stationary rift. And this rift seems to be flooding the nearby sky with a beautiful, rippling, lavender/pink light. Despite the best efforts of Dr. Debunk and his team they manage to learn absolutely nothing.
"Can you suggest anything that I may have missed, Victor," asks the exasperated astronomer.
Victor Mitinko angrily shakes his head in frustration. "I can think of nothing, Doctor. Our X-ray, infrared and UV scans of the area have all come back negative." A quick, puzzled head scratch. "And yet the area is quite visible through our unaided telescope. The authorities are going to have many questions about that portion of the sky, Doctor."
"Without a doubt, Victor," says Debunk with a nod. "Unfortunately I have no answers for them." Puzzled shake of his head.
Chapter Eight
New Quantum
"Lazarous, an urgent meeting I desire with you," comes a silent/cerebral summons.
Immediately excusing himself from his class, the Headmaster flies northward until he once again stands alongside the Ancient One.
"I regret that it has been such a long time since our last conversation, my friend," says the most ancient of all of the Machines.
Lazarous nods respectfully toward the machine. "It has indeed been far too long, Sir. But the tasks of every day life have kept me busy at the Academy. Your summons seemed quite urgent, is everything satisfactory?"
"Indeed it was until our Continuity Probes detected some unexpected anomalies within the Plain."
"Unexpected," Lazarous cautiously asks.
"Yes, quite unexpected and disturbing our finding were; for it appears that the Plain has developed fissures throughout the entirety of its energy matrix."
"And can I assume that these rifts will affect the Plain's stability," Lazarous cautiously asks.
"At the present time all that I can tell you is that the stability of the Plain appears constant, and that travel within its energy matrix may proceed as usual. My growing concern is what the rifts represent," continues the Ancient One ominously. "Until the present time this planet seemed to be the only one with the knowledge and technologies to effectively use the Plain. I am afraid that the formation of these anomalies does not bode well for the status quo.
At this time we have indications that there may well be many thousands of these rifts forming. We also believe," continues the old machine, the worry within his voice quite evident, "that each rift may function as a doorway into and out of the Plain.And since the Plain has now been opened, I fear that anyone with even rudimentary space faring and shielding knowledge shall be able to make use of the Plain for travel. Although they shall be unable to enter and exit the Plain at will as can our ships, these rifts shall give them ample opportunity for point to point transit. The situation which now faces us is not a good thing; for there are many hostile races which populate the galaxies.
"And our own galaxy. How many of these rifts exist here," Lazarous cautiously asks.
"Our tests indicate that at the present time there is but a single rift within our home galaxy."
"And is this the only rift which will form within our galaxy?"
"That is unknown to me, Lazarous. Let us be satisfied that at the present time there is but the one."
"And where is this fissure located," asks an increasingly uneasy Lazarrous.
"It has formed in close proximity to a smallish world known as Earth."
"I am sorry," Lazarous says with a thoughtful shake of his head, "but I find that I know nothing of this world."
"There is no reason that you should, my friend. Until now it was of little importance. But that has all changed now.
And upon another subject; I must sadly report that we have learned that Vashdon has now completed his conquest of the galaxy that he fled to so long ago."
"Yes.....that was a very sad time for me. I shall never forget the help that you gave me, Ancient One."
"I am glad to see that the sadness within your heart has disappeared and been replaced by happiness once more. But I am concerned that Vashdon may have turned his attention and desire for conquest toward this galaxy."
Burned out worlds. Huge, re-education camps. Worlds brought to the brink of collapse and starvation by massive ships which impose impenetrable blockades about them. Lazarous shivers at the horror which this galaxy might become.
"But, you said that he could no longer venture into the Plain."
"Indeed. But my fear is that the formation of the rift may eventually bring about a change in that reality. The knowledge and power which Vashdon possesses may eventually enable him to significantly deepen the rift. If he can accomplish this....."
"I understand," Lazarous nods slightly. "Deepen the rift and you create a tunnel of sorts," he says -- his soft voice carrying an understanding which chills his very soul.
"Unfortunately, yes," sadly replies the Great Machine. "But for the time being, he is confined by the Plain where he presently resides—and the rift near the Earth is unstable.
But complacent we must not become, even with this advantage; for Vashdon shall still be able to send his evil henchmen through the rift. And this is precisely where the rift's instability benefits us; for no one knows how much transit stress it can withstand before it collapses. This should serve to rein in his desire for conquest -- at least for a while." Lazarous nods in agreement -- but finds the machine's tone less than reassuring.
Vashdon fully intends to use the Earth as a jumping off point in his conquest of this galaxy, of this I am absolutely certain. But for the foreseeable future I believe that any forays to the planet called Earth by his henchmen shall of necessity be on a small scale."
"Then we must send our most experienced graduates to that world immediately," Lazarous quickly interjects.
"No, my friend. All are to remain where they are -- preparing their particular world for an eventual assault by the forces which are commanded by Vashdon. No small task, would you not agree?"
"I do agree, Sir," Lazarous quickly answers, caution tingeing his voice. "But what of the Earth? Surely we need to at least send several of our graduates there."
"No. That is not to be done," continues the booming voice of the Machine. "You shall begin to assign more Quantum Men to the Central Worlds. They are to serve as a shield between the Earth and the world upon which you stand. It is imperative that Vashdon not be allowed to return here; for there are things upon this world, Lazarous ... Things which if acquired by Vashdon would render him almost invincible."
"Then I ask once again, Ancient One. What of the Earth?" Images of a horrific future for the distant world flood the mind of Lazarous.
"The Earth is to be used as a buffer giving the other worlds the time which they require to upgrade their defenses in preparation for Vashdon's coming assault. Every available Quantum Man shall be needed in this endeavor."
"But what of the inhabitants of the Earth," prods Lazarous. Momentarily pausing, he acquires the briefest of intel concerning the world called Earth. "It appears that they are more primitive culturally and technologically than the other worlds. But surely," he pleades, "their people deserve our help as well."
"All that you have said is correct. To that end I have been studying them quite extensively the past three years. And I sadly must report that there is much which I do not understand.
I find them quite the unique people. Their differences appear to be almost infinite, and yet they all appear to be so similar. Quite the contradiction.
The planet appears to be divided into nation states which seem to be perpetually at each others throats either politically, militarily or financially. Perhaps they are within a period in their history as we were so long ago. The people of one such state known as the United States of America, a name which I freely admit I fail to understand, have a saying which I believe applies here. To be hung out to dry."
"And ... what does that mean, Sir? What does desiccation have to do with this situation?"
"Nothing, Lazarous. From what I can gather the saying simply means to leave someone behind to handle and face everything while you; get your ass out of Dodge, so to speak. Dodge being an old city within their state."
"Sooooo.....if we do nothing that would be leaving the Earth hung out to dry?"
"That is correct, and is something which we shall not and cannot do. I believe that you have a student known as Zev Stal presently enrolled at the Academy."
"We do, Sir. He was a hurried, last minute replacement for place one hundred who became ill. Due to this urgency the requirements for his admission were not as stringent as that of the other students.
Ever since his arrival at the Academy the other students in his class as well as the faculty, for the most part, have never fully accepted him, nor given him much assistance. When one combines this lack of acceptance with the fact that he continues to barely hold position One Hundred in his class I believe that you can see that his prospects for graduation are nebulous at best.
But in all fairness to the young man, he does seem diligent enough with his studies and his practice times," Lazarous slowly shakes his head in a puzzled sort of way. "But for some reason or other this just does not seem to translate to his grades. If I may ask," Lazarous cautiously continues, "is Stal the one which you are considering for the Earth?"
"No," replies the great Machine with conviction born of long life and a great intellect. "He is the one that shall be sent to the Earth."
"But, sir," Lazarous vigorously objects, "We have many other students with qualifications far superior to that of Stal's. And since you hold this assignment in such high regard ..."
"I do indeed," replies the old Machine calmly. "That is why it is of the utmost importance that you ensure his graduation. I have quested through the minds of each of your students; as is my right. And I have found that he is the one for the Earth."
"I shall do as you wish, Ancient One," Lazarous says with a respectful bow.
"I trust that you shall, my old friend. For now, all is concluded between us."
"Most magnificent, Lord Vashdon. I would speak with you," quietly implores a shaking Ardoron; his nose mere centimeters from the smooth keva boards which covered the floor of Vashdon's ornate audience chamber.
"Rise, Ardoron," Vashdon says in his most imperious of voices. "What pressing business do we have this day," asks the diminutive potentate.
Ardoron slowly does as he is commanded but he keeps his eyes lowered, averted from the face of his master. "We have the family from the Rubiat System awaiting execution as per your orders, sir."
"Very well," replies Vashdon coldly, as if he were accepting a small piece of fruit. "Is there anything else," he asks.
"Yes, sir. Our scientists inform me that they have detected numerous rifts forming within the Plain, sir."
"Most interesting," says Vashdon with a studious nod of his hooded head. "Is there such a rift leading into my previous galaxy," he hopefully asks.
"I believe that there is, sir," replies Ardoron.
"And what of passage," Vashdon asks as he struggles to keep his growing excitement under control.
Taking a deep, calming breath Ardoron continues. "I am afraid that the present state of your body still precludes any contact with the Plain. I am told that even the briefest of encounters with its energy would almost certainly bring about your death." Vashdon's anticipation crashes like a lead ball. Ardoron, pulse racing, quickly continues. "However, I am pleased to report that our scientists do have an idea, that if correct, should allow you, in time, to pass through the Plain unharmed."
"I find that this information has piqued my interest greatly. And what does this involve pray tell?"
"They speculate that it may well be possible to gradually deepen this rift. They believe that, given enough time, they may well be able to construct a tunnel of sorts through the Plain. Assuming of course, that all of their Quantum Physics fall into place as anticipated."
Leaning forward in his chair Vashdon's very posture indicates his interest. "And this tunnel shall have the same properties as the Plain but not be the Plain itself," he asks excitedly.
"Yes, Lord Vashdon," says Ardoron with a deferential nod. "If their theories prove workable the tunnel will allow you access to your original galaxy if you so choose."
"I .. so choose. There are a great many things upon my old world which I wish to acquire," he says ominously. "Tell my scientists to devote all of their energies to this project."
"Yes, Lord Vashdon. It shall be as you say."
"Now Ardoron, the family from the Rubiat System is to be brought before me. I wish you to ensure that what is to happen is seen throughout this galaxy."
"It shall be as you say, Lord Vashdon," says the deeply bowing Ardoron.
A small, quivering band of humanoids are prodded into the large hall and placed in its center.
"Are you sure all of the video links are operational," a worried Vashdon asks quietly.
Ardoron nervously glances at the nearby control panel. "They are, my Lord."
Vashdon slides easily from his throne of gold and approaches the five huddled figures. Stopping five yards short of the family he ever so slowly extends his right arm.
(In this instance Vashdon's telepathic thoughts are translated into audible words by a small, brain/technology interface.)
"I wish all peoples within my galaxy to witness what is about to happen. The father of this insignificant group was overheard making comments against me within the home which I allow him to occupy. This insolence cannot be tolerated. Everyone must understand, must understand," Vashdon's voice booms over the airwaves, "that my rule is absolute. The least bit of dissension amongst you shall not be tolerated. However, today I choose to be merciful. Those which you see before me shall die quickly. But rest assured; my compassion shall not extend beyond this demonstration."
Blinding energy bursts from Vashdon's right hand to quickly engulf the two adults and three small children huddled before him. Horrible seconds later their screams of terror and pain are no more as quiet once more fills the audience hall.
All that remains of a once loving family is an amorphous, blackened mass upon the floor. His point gruesomely burned into the minds of billions of inhabitants; Vashdon severs the video link.
"Do you think my speech a bit over the top," asks Vashdon.
"No, my Lord," replies a shaking Ardoron.
"I did not believe so either. Oh, and have someone come and replace the burned flooring."
"As quickly as possible, my Lord."
"Excellent. Now, send in my emissary."
"Yes.....Lord Vashdon."
The thick door separating Vashdon's audience hall from the well appointed waiting room opens. Swinging upon the finest of brass hinges the thick door made from the best of canul wood and adorned by countless lines and circles of the finest silver and gold opens with only the faintest of sounds.
A smallish figure, standing barely as high as Ardoron's waist quietly enters the largish room.
"You know what you are to do once you reach that insignificant world?"
"Yes, Lord Vashdon. I am to make contact with a man known to the local authorities as Herman Valenski, a man who for many years has occupied a low level in the criminal hierarchy of a population center known as Neon City. If he accepts your kind offer of aid, he shall find his status dramatically changed. He shall, as they say, be moved to the top of the heap. He shall become a very wealthy and powerful individual both locally and internationally."
"Excellent, my friend. Excellent," beams Vashdon. "Make certain that he understands that he may have as many morphing bands as shall be required."
"I understand, Lord Vashdon. I shall fully inform him of your offer, my Lord."
"I trust that the capsules of liquid energy have been attached to the hull of your ship."
"Indeed they have, sir. They have been sequenced as per your instructions."
"Very well. Go now and convey my proposal to Valenski."
"It shall be as you wish, Lord Vashdon." The smallish figure bows deeply and then exits the largish room as quietly as he had entered.
"Do you believe that your emissary will have any trouble convincing Valenski to accept your offer of help," asks Ardoron.
"He will of course be suspicious," says Vashdon with the slightest of nods, "but what he stands to gain shall quickly override his cautious nature."
"Valenski should be of greaaat help to you, sir." -- "Indeed he shall," says a pleased Vashdon. "Indeed, he shall."
A smallish ship slides silently from the rift descending unseen through the cloud laced, nighttime sky. Landing as lightly as a feather, it silently touches down upon the top of a downtown, ten story apartment building which has seen better days.
The smallish pilot disembarks, his eyes quickly sweeping a roof littered with rusting metal and planks of rotting wood. He cautiously removes a small device from his pocket. Practiced key strokes bring the device to life. The hooded figure turns and moves with catlike stealth to the side of the building. After a final, quick glance over the shoulder to ensure that his cargo is behind him the figure launches himself off of the building's roof.
Stirring from a sound sleep, Herman Valenski rolls over and then slowly sits upright upon the edge of his bed. Seconds later he realizes that he is alone, sad recollections of the night before returning. He had had no luck at his favorite bar. "Maybe next time," he thinks as he sleepily rubs his face.
A meeting at this time of the morning, three a.m., is strange, but then he remembers that he does indeed have a very important one to attend in the alleyway just beside his building. He dresses quickly; closing the rust covered door to his apartment with a ka-thunk. As the elevator jerks and bangs its way down to the lobby Valenski wonders why he still uses the hunk of junk. Stepping this way and that to avoid all of the rips and tears in the decades old, worn carpet he waves at the disheveled man in the old, faided suit behind the equally worn and splinter riddled lobby desk. As he enters the alleyway he sees a smallish, hooded figure waiting for him near its far end.
"Herman Valenski," calls the small figure quietly, "you shall advance no further."
"Wait a minute," stammers Valenski, "what am I doin here; and who the hell'r you," he demands as he jabs a muscular finger in the darkened figure's direction. "And why do I gotta stand under this light while you're back there in the dark?"
"I represent someone that wants to help you, Herman," calmly replies the diminutive visitor.
"Yeah, right. You're my good buddy," replies the dubious Valenski. In his profession he had heard and seen it all before. Someone wants to help him, but always with a price; and to be honest, he was damn tired of getting jacked around. "Who are you," he growls.
"My name is unimportant, Herman. It is who I represent that is important. And that person wants to see you prosper and become more powerful upon this world."
Valenski rubs the stubble upon his world weary face. "Yeah right, your boss wants ta help me outta the goodness of his heart. What's in it for him," he angrily demands.
Choosing to ignore the question, Vashdon's emissary continues. "Perhaps I have the wrong man," he muses, his quiet voice just reaching Valenski's ears. "I may have been misinformed. Am I to assume that you're not interested in wealth, power, and women? Perhaps I should simply leave," says Vashdon's emissary with a shrug. "I am quite certain that there are others within this city who would relish what I have to offer -- Tommy Leonardo, perhaps," quietly asks the visitor.
"What," snaps Valenski. "Buddy, I got news for ya; that sleaze-ball couldn't find his ass with both hands. Even if someone showed him da way."
"Then.....I do have the right man," replies the stranger with mock caution.
"I dunno. Maybe so, maybe no. Why don't you let me hear your proposition and then I'll decide."
"That's fair enough," replies the faceless visitor. "Let's have a little history lesson, shall we. I know for a fact that you have been involved in what the authorities upon this world would call shady activities ever since your early teenage years. And since that time your illegal activities have only increased; but still you are no more than a small pimple on the ass of society. And I am fairly certain that there have been many times over the years when you have barely made enough to live on. Is this a fairly accurate account so far," asks the emissary matter-of-factly.
"I make enough," replies Valenski in a less than convincing tone.
"Of course you do," replies the visitor with "compassion." "What my employer is prepared to offer you is a way for you to substantially increase your cash flow, as well as your influence."
"The cash I understand, buddy," says Valenski with a nod. "But what about da influence?"
"As you know, or you should know," Valenski glares at the smallish figure at the other end of the alleyway. He didn't care what he was offering, or who he represented, an intellectual sob he didn't need. "There are many forms of influence, Herman; political, criminal, and economic to name a few. With the kind help of the one who I represent you could become dominant in each of these areas upon this world. Are you interested," asks the visitor with a slight tilt of his head.
"You're gettin there," says Valenski with a nod or two. "Now what's it gonna cost me," he asks, his voice overflowing with skepticism.
"Absolutely nothing."
Valenski snickers quietly to himself. "Yeah, right," he snorts. More snickers. "And I suppose that your boss gets nothin outta this deal."
"What my employer stands to gain from this proposition is none of your concern. The only thing which should concern you is how much you stand to gain."
"Hmm, money and power," muses Valenski as he thoughtfully rubs the stubble upon his face.
"Beyond your wildest dreems, Herman," comes the quiet, ghost-like reply from the darkness.
Pausing momentarily Valenski considers what is being offered.
"Ok. Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that I agree to this. Just how are you planning on giving me all of stuff?"
"We shall not give you anything, Herman," says the smallish visitor with a slow shake of his head. "It is going to be up to you to take what you desire. What my employer is prepared to do is to provide you with the means to do all that I have talked about. If you use what I carry with me properly, you can well achieve all that I have promised."
"I'll need some time to think about this. Howz about a couple of days?"
"How about deciding right now, Herman. This offer is the only one which I shall make to you. If you decide to turn my proposition down you are quite free to go back to that wonderful, dead-end life of yours. I am quite confident that I shall have no problem finding someone else who will be more than willing to accept my offer. Even if it is; Tommy Leonardo. So, Herman Valenski, is your answer yes, or no."
"And I can do everything that you say," asks Valenski cautiously.
"There is no doubt."
"Alright then, count me in. Now, why don't you show me just how I'm supposed to be able to do all of these great and wonderful things."
A glass smooth box, measuring approximately three yards square floats quietly out of the shadows to stop just short of Valenski.
"If you would be so kind as to place your hand upon the glowing panel to your right," the emissary motions toward the area with his hand. "After the device samples your DNA it will ensure that you, and you alone may operate it."
Valenski's eyes flick nervously between stranger and panel, panel and stranger. Taking a deep, calming breath he slowly places his shaking hand upon the plate. The panel's greenish glow blinks slightly before going dark.
"The device is now encoded to your DNA and can only be operated by you, Herman."
"That's nice," says Valenski flatly. Now, What's it for," Valenski asks as he cautiously scans the boxes' smooth surface.
"The device before you may now be operated by your mind ........"
"Call me crazy," Valenski interrupts, "but I get da idea that you're not from around here, are ya?"
"No, I am not," replies Vashdon's emissary in a duh sort of way. "Now listen carefully to what I have to say. The container before you holds what are known as morphing bands. Once attached to someone they can be programmed to give that person one special ability."
"Like what," Valenski asks with the slight shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders.
"Speed, strength, ability to merge with electronic equipment, the list is almost endless. And lastly, each band shall allow its owner to transport themselves to this container's location where the transport circuitry within said band will be recharged."
"That sounds great," says Valenski with a dark smile and nod. "I've got one question though. If I'm supposed to head up this whole f&^%$#@ outfit, just how am I supposed to control the people wearing these things?"
"That is one thing which you do not have to be concerned about; for At all times you are to wear this unit's Master Control Band which is also located within the box. Commands from that band can destroy another band along with the person wearing it. It's quite simple really," continues the emissary coldly. "They either do what you say and prosper or they go against you and die. No muss no fuss, as you might say. If at some later date you desire more bands your mental connection to this device shall convey your request to us. The additional bands shall be shipped to you using this box as their target destination."
"I see, but what....."
"My time here grows short. I must depart this world before star rise. The mental connection which you now have with this device shall ensure that all of your questions are answered during your next sleep period. A thought is all that is required to achieve movement of the container."
The conversation between Valenski and alien abruptly ceases. The impressed hood stares silently as the small figure floats upwards untill he disappears over his building's roof. The alien's small ship lifts silently; disappearing into the early morning sky.
"Dammed if I weren't right. That little sob wasn't from around here," thinks Valenski with a smile.
The emissary's word did indeed prove truthful; for the night unfolds exactly as the hooded figure had said that it would. By the time the next morning dawns Herman Valenski knows everything that he needs to know.
During his dreams Valenski discovers, among other things, that the morphing band has an interesting side effect upon the person wearing it. How it accomplishes the feat is not revealed nor does he particularly care; for all that he is concerned about is that the person's health and youth are somehow restored. And to Valenski that is all important; for it means greater profits for himself and his soon to be organization.
Over the course of the next several days Valenski carefully designs his "master plan" as he calls it, along with the methods which will be used to achieve it.
He decides that utilizing the homeless of the city would have some distinct advantages. The disenfranchised, lost people of the city could be recruited without fear of someone missing them. And once the physical change has taken place that person's dilapidated exterior and ill health are replaced with an entirely new, healthy, and attractive exterior. In essence, the previous person simply vanishes, never to be seen again. And with promises such as wealth, power and a youthful body, Valenski finds that he has no lack of volunteers with which to begin and then greatly expand his organization.
Through the use of the ubiquitous morphing bands, Valenski's organization of super powered villains quickly gains control of Warf City and its aging warehouse, pier, and docking district. Anyone who dares to oppose him simply has an accident, a heart attack or vanishes without a trace.
The following three years finds Valenski's influence expanding throughout all of Neon City and beyond -- his power becomming so great that his influence is felt in the halls of national and international ruling bodies. He is however careful; for he never allows his influence to be seen directly. He makes certain that his organization operates just out of sight, just beneath the radar.
The power that his organization represents is like that of a great undertow which runs just beneath the ocean's surface. If you are unfortunate enough to become entangled within its grasp and try to fight it, you will most certainly find yourself quickly sucked under, never to be seen again. When people are approached by his representatives they assume, and rightly so, that it is better to go with the flow than to die trying to swim against it.
