The polygon spun through time and space. And Supergirl was a prisoner . . . and no one knew and no one cared and no one heard her cries . . .
She brought out all her memories, the good and the bad. Helpless inside her spinning prison, she had only memories for company and comfort. She remembered everything, from first to last. Her battle with the monster . . . and saving Midvale from being consumed by flames . . . The people she'd met—Myra and Muffy, the Mad Pear; Jimmy Olsen, Nigel, and Eddie, the boy with the tattoos. She saved thinking about Ethan for last. The good parts first . . . then the memory of how he'd gone to Selena when she dissolved his chains.
The polygon spun through time and space . . .
Numbed, Supergirl swayed with weariness. A jarring crash threw her to her knees. She looked up, dazed, and saw the shards of the polygon scattered far and wide. Her first emotion was joy. Free! She was free! She stumbled to her feet. The polygon had crashed into a gray, colorless, pitted landscape. Where was she? What was this place? This grayness that surrounded her on every side? Gray above, gray below, gray on every side. There was no sky, no air, no land, only swirls of thick, dirty mist. She raised her arms . . . she'd fly away . . . back to Planet Earth . . . away, away from this place! Up, up, up, and . . . Nothing happened.
Supergirl concentrated her energy. Up . . . up . . .
UP
! She closed her eyes, visualizing herself flying . . . and again nothing happened. The clammy, greasy clouds of mist enveloped her, binding her as if with ropes and weights. Again she tried again to fly. And again, nothing. Sweat broke out on her forehead. What had happened to her super powers? Quickly, she tested them, one by one. They were gone, all gone. Vanished as if they'd never existed. She couldn't fly, she couldn't crush a rock, she couldn't so much as blow away a handful of the gray sand.
The polygon had spun through time and space and left her, weak and trapped, in this chilly hell. She could have wept, but imagining Selena's joy she thrust out her chin and began walking.
She walked for a long time, every step an effort. Her eyes teared and smarted from the gray fog. Grit filled her mouth. Her hair was tangled, her clothes torn and filthy. She was hungry, she was thirsty, she was exhausted. She stumbled on.
She climbed a hill, scrabbling over rocks. She mustn't stop . . . to stop would be to give up . . . to give up was what Selena wanted . . . She fell to her knees, but she was still moving . . . still inching forward . . .
She had gone beyond hunger. She had forgotten the taste of food. Or how it felt to be clean and happy and energetic. She remembered the blue sky of Planet Earth as something she had once dreamed . . . She crawled forward . . . put down one hand. . .then the other . . . then pulled up one leg . . .
She stumbled and fell and didn't get up. So much easier just to fall, to keep falling . . . She'd get up soon . . . soon . . . She tumbled down and down and down. When she stopped falling, her eyes were closed and didn't open. Dust swirled around her.
Many changes had taken place in Midvale. For Selena, all good. For the people of Midvale? It all depended. Some residents of Midvale had lost their homes when Selena's mountain gobbled up the intersection of Oak and Main and the surrounding streets. Others had gone into Selena's service. They were cooks and maids and butlers and chauffeurs. They went up and down the mountain and kept their mouths shut. They could only have talked to other residents of Midvale, anyway. Selena had wiped out communication with the outside world.
She had renamed Midvale the Minor Kingdom, and the only thing she asked of the people of Midvale was unquestioning obedience. Why was this so difficult for them? Selena was extremely distressed by their lack of loyalty. She did her best to pacify her humble subjects by throwing a fair number of them into the slammer. Unfortunately (for them), the people of Midvale persisted in thinking of themselves as independent souls, who could live their lives for themselves, rather than for the good of the Kingdom. A bunch of psychotic idlers. Selena had briefly considered opening a mental health facility to straighten out the worst of the protesters. But, really, such methods were passé. Why bother, when she had the Burundiwand?
All of this came to a head one afternoon when Queen Selena decided to take a ride with her entourage. "Get out the blue Rolls-Royce," she ordered her chauffeur. He bowed his way out of her Presence. A moment later she changed her mind and sent for him again. "I want the black with silver stripes today." He bowed, his head almost touching the floor, but glad to have his head where it belonged. He was new on the job, but he knew that his predecessor had made the mistake of saying, "Yes, madam," to one of Queen Selena's orders. It seemed a reasonable enough thing to say, but Queen Selena had flown into a fury (she didn't like the servants talking
AT ALL
) and turned the onetime chauffeur into something small and scurrying that had disappeared down a drain pipe. The new driver shuddered and bowed his way out.
Selena leaned on her hand. Did she really want the black Rolls with silver stripes? Or the dark blue with golden stars? Decisions, decisions. "Bianca! Ethan! Let's go, guys." Regal as she was with everyone else, inside her intimate circle, she was just folks.
Ethan and Bianca came tripping in. Selena looked them over. She liked her Royal Family to give the peons a nice little thrill by going all out with their clothes and jewelry. She, herself, was dressed in the best taste, of course. Fourth change of the day, a simple red silk. She wore a single large-diamond pin near her shoulder and three ruby rings on each hand. Bianca, on the other hand, was wearing the same long black velvet dress Selena had seen half a dozen times before. She'd touched it up with a green satin sash. Her ears, arms, and neck were dripping with diamonds. Selena shook her head. "Tacky, tacky."
Bianca pulled off two or three diamond necklaces and dropped them in the wastebasket.
Selena turned her attention to Ethan. Today he was all in white. Very nice. White made his skin glow so entrancingly. But she was upset (her feelings were easily hurt) to notice that he wasn't wearing the gold chains she'd given him. What did the boy want? She'd heaped gifts and wealth on him, but nothing seemed to lift that gloomy twist from his mouth. He had, she thought, an
attitude
problem. And it was getting worse. He hardly ever smiled. He never made jokes. And, most damaging of all, she seriously suspected him of daydreaming, of having
secret thoughts
.
Heavy is the heart on which lies a crown, Selena thought, feeling just the teeniest bit sorry for herself. Really, she had no one at all to whom she could confide. And she'd had such high hopes for Ethan. He might still work out, she was willing to give him the chance. She tucked the Burundiwand under her arm. But if he didn't . . . She sighed.
It would be
SUCH
a waste.
The motorcade set off down the mountain road. (She'd had a bit of trouble with the Burundiwand with that one. It kept trying to give her a road slashed straight down the mountain, instead of properly winding.)The guards, who were posted every quarter mile, bowed as she passed. Yawning, she thought they looked silly. All this bowing and scraping; didn't they ever get tired of it?
In Midvale, a motorcycle escort cleared the streets. From her convertible Rolls, Selena smiled graciously on her subjects. A few irate and foolish souls honked their horns derisively. Selena snapped her fingers and a group of black helmeted, uniformed
SMAK
ers (Selena's Minor-kingdom Action Korps) went to work.
"Oi,
vey
," Bianca said.
"Don't look, dumbbell."
In the car, Selena poked Ethan. "Get the gloomy-gus expression off your face."
"Sorry, my darling." He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose.
"Forget sorry. Smile. Biiiig smile. Wave to the peasants. You're not one of them anymore, remember? You're Prince Ethan."
The car stopped. What now? Could she never have a moment's peace? Selena tapped on the chauffeur's head with a red-tipped fingernail. "Go!"
He shrugged helplessly. A crowd had gathered in the middle of the street. They were carrying signs and chanting something or other. Selena heard her name.
"Dummies, go home," Bianca yelled. Least she could do for Queen Selena.
Selena considered several alternatives. She could have them all hauled off to the pokey. She could Burundiwand the whole bunch of them into a puddle of dirty water. She glanced at Ethan. He was watching the demonstrators with a positively pleasant expression. That was an agreeable change.
"I've never figured out why anyone would be dumb enough to stand around in the middle of a street, Yelling stuff nobody wants to hear," she said, "except the other dummies standing around in the middle of the street yelling stuff nobody wants to hear."
Ethan turned to her with a smile. "Well, you see, my darling, it's like this. People have grievances. They think something is wrong with the way things are being done. And they have no influence on the course of events. So they demonstrate. They get together to show they're not just individuals complaining . . ."
"Nice, very nice explanation," Selena said. "Clears everything up." Three more words and she'd be sound asleep.
A balding middle-aged man ran up to the car. "Selena, a word with you, please?"
Ethan's smile had put Selena in a good mood. She nodded. Any other day she might have zapped him with the Burundiwand for daring to utter her name.
He took off his derby hat and wiped his brow. "Selena, I beg of you, open the telephone lines, Selena. My business is falling to pieces. Selena, how am I supposed to order paper dragons with no phone and no mail service? And even if I order them, Selena, how will they get here, with no planes or buses or trucks going in and out of Midvale?"
Well, really. Did these people expect her to solve every one of their tiny little problems?
As if all that weren't enough, some snippy young woman had to make an exhibition of herself. She darted out of the crowd at the intersection and began chanting and clapping her hands. "Selena must go. Selena must go. Selena must go."
How tiresome. Selena fondled the Burundiwand.
"Who is that person?" Bianca said.
From inside the crowd, a voice cried, "Never mind her name! Her name doesn't matter."
The voice belonged to Lucy Lane. She and Jimmy Olsen, both dressed like the villagers in jeans and denim jackets, were in the thick of the demonstration.
Although Jimmy was holding a large anti-Selena sign, he was alarmed by Lucy's reckless yells. "Shhh, don't," he cautioned, trying to pull her out of sight.
But Lucy had fire in her heart. "That woman is someone who believes in freedom," she yelled. "She speaks for all of us."
"Oh, she does, does she?" Selena murmured. Ah, so. The chanting rebel, radical, pinko twerp would have to serve as an example. Selena stood up in the Rolls and raised the Burundiwand.
The crowd shrank back. They had seen the Burundiwand at work before. Anguished cries broke out. "Don't! Please, don't . . ."
Pointing the Burundiwand at the young woman protestor, Selena coolly turned her into an ice statue.
At the same moment that the young woman became a chunk of living ice, Lucy's temperature reached the boiling point. "I've had it! Too much!" First her dear Linda Lee had disappeared. Lucy had no doubts who was behind that! Then the mountain and that hideous castle shoved in their faces, and this royal witch taking over their lives. At first they'd hoped things would settle down. But, very rapidly, everything had gone from bad to awful. Lucy had had high hopes for this demonstration, but she could see now that real action was needed. And if nobody else would take it . . . ?
She ran forward, straight up to Selena.
"Golly, Lucy," Jimmy said, pounding after her, "don't do anything impetuous."
Lucy's heart was going like crazy. Nothing could have stopped her. "Who are you?" she demanded of Selena. "What vile, evil forces motivate you?"
Bianca looked wonderingly at this curly-headed spitfire who was ready to take on Selena. Spitfire would, Bianca judged, look mighty cute sculpted in ice. Bianca could hardly wait to see it!
"I am the Power," Selena said, giving Spitfire the evil eye, but not making a move toward the Burundiwand.
Shucks. Bianca should have known. Royal Selena was a bear for variety; she hardly ever did the same thing twice in a row.
"You . . . you . . ." Spitfire was still sputtering. "You think . . . you can get rid of anyone who stands up to you . . . make them into ice statues . . . or disappear them, like my friend . . ."
"What friend is that?" Bianca restrained an urge to pat Spitfire on her curly mop.
"Linda! That's who. You all know it!"
"Linda?" Ethan said.
"Oh, don't pretend ignorance. The same day that—that
thing
"—Lucy pointed to the mountain "appeared, my friend Linda disappeared. Don't tell me there's no connection!"
"Linda, huh?" Bianca said, giving Selena a significant look. "The
string bean
," she added, in a hoarse side whisper, when Selena didn't get the picture right away.
Selena's face lit up. She pointed to Jimmy and Lucy. "Take them," she ordered. At once, they were surrounded and overpowered by
SMAK
ers. "Let me go," Lucy shouted.
"Come on, guys, leave her alone," Jimmy pleaded.
Shouting and struggling, the two of them were dragged off.
When Kara opened her eyes, she was no longer in the ravine, but lying on a filthy bed in a damp, disgusting, depressing little dwelling. Slime dripped down the walls. Garbage littered the floor. A man hunched over under an old ragged blanket was in a corner of the room. He was as damp and dirty looking as the little hut. She sat up. "Zaltar!"
He shuffled slowly toward her, holding out a cup like a beggar. Oh, the change in him. Kara's heart was breaking. Could this be her Zaltar, her tall, proud, vital, energetic Zaltar? "Drink this," he said, without a glimmer of recognition.