Becky Calohan had worked for Cale Corporation since graduating from Cambridge several years previously. She had schooled extensively in the mechanics and theoretical theory used for adapting alien technologies and had worked on her master’s degree whilst apprenticed to Elisabeth Fate, designer of the original thirteen Senshi Machines used by the Intergalactic New Mages Corps.When Cale Corporation had been approached by the British government to construct derivative machines, later known as Kaiser Machines, for the protection of the Commonwealth of Nations  following the disaster in Australia, there had been global outcry against what was seen as a decisively aggressive and decidedly modern form of arms building.

The morning after the official joint statement from Downing Street and Cale Corporation, American newspapers in New York and Los Angeles had gone to print with headlines such as ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ The Ant Bully move .

The attitude of Cale Corporation and its renowned founder, Sir Leon Cale had been bullish to say the least. The elder statesman gave no ground, pulling on every heartstring and striking a resounding note of patriotic pride with his retort, so much so that no one was too concerned that Elisabeth Fate was in fact Australian and much of the technology used in the production of the Kaiser Machines had been derived from SUNNY Corporation. She looked up from the open access panel in Lion Kaiser’s side, staring at the sheer scale of the machine. Sometimes she found it difficult to remember that these machines, colossal as they were, were in fact human creations.

A faint smile crossed her lips and she lovingly patted the giant’s cold metal.

The sound of the doors opening far behind her on the other side of the vast hangar caught her attention, although she was careful not to turn too hastily away from her maintenance check for fear she might be thought negligent.

Very few of the Cale Corporation engineers had any real dealings with the three pilots of the Kaiser Machines; certainly none had exchanged anything more than pleasantries. It was almost as if there was an unwritten rule that divided the private sector employers from those registered as civil servants – and despite the disparity of their origins, all three pilots were indeed listed as civil servants and afforded dual citizenship.

Footsteps echoed upon the iron grid of the floor and, for the first time since her arrival in Lundunaborg, Becky Calohan began to feel anxious.

A sudden, shrill sound pierced the air, a flash of red light emanating from alarms high above her head. She screamed out, the hydro-spanner slipping from her fingers and clattering loudly to the cold floor below.

She turned suddenly and found herself confronted by a tall man in dark armour, his face sinister in the flare of the red light that now flooded the hangar.

“Y-You’re not authorised to be here!” she protested indignantly, her eyes wide with suspicion and concern.

The armoured man smiled, his thin lips turning upwards with practised cruelty. Without concerning himself with a reply, he simply reached out an open hand towards her.

* * *

“Situation?” Dodgson inquired as he turned a corner and found himself running alongside Flavius Furius Aquila.

They turned another corner, red light flashing and klaxons wailing in the distance.

“It would appear that our reputation for hospitality has preceded us,” Flavius smiled, “we have an unwelcome guest.”

Dodgson nodded, shrugging on his black suit jacket and straightening his tie.

“Care to place a bet as to our guest’s identity?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow of sculpted ice.

Flavius glanced over at the other man and smiled.

“Only a fool gambles with his commanding officer,” he replied.

“Touché,” Dodgson beamed, “in which case, I’ll tell you for free: the character Magenta picked up over Camden seems to have a couple of tricks up his sleeves, not least of being his ability to apparate.”

Flavius nodded slowly.

“Wishing no disrespect, chief, but are you sure of that?” he said carefully.

“I saw his body turn to dust one moment and the next we have an unconfirmed visitor,” the other man answered, and then added, with a smile, “and for the record, only a fool argues with his commanding officer.”

“Advice I shall take to heart, chief,” Flavius retorted, “is there any established plan or method for dealing with villains possessing such a gift?”

Dodgson grinned.

“Yeah,” he remarked wryly, “stop them.”

* * *

Fait squeezed the younger girl’s hand in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

Before them, the armoured figure Flavius had intercepted in the skies above London, face still hidden behind the faceplate of his helmet, lay silent at the centre of the dark room.

“Are you sure you wish to do this, ma puce?” she whispered softly.

The younger girl nodded, her teeth chattering but her face displaying an uncanny resolve. On the floor about her was carved an elegant and elaborate circular pattern, the like of which Fait did not even pretend to understand.

Slowly, she lifted her right hand, pointing the tip of the holly tree wand at the silent patient, and Fait stepped back from the circle, not wishing to find herself caught in the backwash of magical power.

Magenta the Magician took a deep breath and closed her eyes, light gathering about the tip of her outstretched wand.

From outside the circle, the older woman continued to watch on, her expression one of anxiety and concern.

* * *

The armoured figure lunged forward, his outstretched hand tearing a gash in Lion Kaiser’s side. Energy crackled about him, leaping from the robust armour he wore and reacting violently with the unseen particles of the hangar’s stale air.

Becky Calohan screamed, throwing up her hands over her head and staggering backwards. Her heart hammered in her chest, her eyes screwed shut as she shrunk away from the shadowy villain.

The light flickered, shimmering in the red amongst the shadows of the vast hangar located beneath Lundunaborg’s Newgate exit, the dedicated launching point of Magenta’s powerful, leonine craft.

The atmosphere rippled and she felt a bolt of energy cut through the stale air above her, scorching a deep gash in the side of the machine behind her.

Her mind raced as she struggled to remember the details of every self-defence course she had ever attended and completely failed; leaving her with no other company save for fear and disquiet.

“What do you want from me?” she cried in desperation.

The tall man smiled darkly.

“I plan to take control of your fortress, young lady,” he proclaimed, his voice haughty and tinged by an accent she could not place, “in order to do so, I first require the assistance of someone who knows the layout and technical specifications of this facility. Since you were the first person I encountered upon my travels, naturally I selected you.”

She stared in amazement at him, seeing behind the dark beard and piercing eyes, and noticing for the first time the deep wrinkles in his tanned complexion and the grey in the tufts of hair she could see beneath his helmet.

Slowly she lowered her hands from her head as if, by his admission of intent and by the absurdity of the statement, he was somehow rendered harmless.

“You can’t do that,” she shook her head in marvel.

“And why ever not child?” he countered, his words sharper than perhaps he intended.

“Don’t you know what Lundunaborg is? Don’t you know where you are?” she questioned.

He looked up, a slight expression of concern entering those deep, rich eyes.

“I must confess that, despite being a native to this timeline, I have never seen or heard of this place, nor have I any real idea as to where it is located.”

Becky Calohan raised a hand to her head, brushing strands of blonde hair from her eyes and staring at him as if he were a child.

“Lundunaborg is a gaol, mister. In this house, you’re just another prisoner.”

Behind the doors slid open to reveal the silhouette of a tall man in a simple, one-piece jumpsuit, his right hand resting upon the hilt of a sheathed sword.

“And if Lundunaborg is a gaol, dear guest,” he stepped forwards into the light, revealing his dark hair and prominent nose, “then surely I, Flavius Furius Aquila, am to be your gaoler.”

* * *

The Thin White Duke marched into the central command room, his hands held behind his back and his posture rigid.

The small room at the heart of the fortress, nicknamed Westminster Abbey, in accordance with the tradition of naming Lundunaborg’s areas after corresponding locales in the city proper, was aglow with the flickering of overhead fluorescent tube-lighting and an array of various monitors and visual displays.

Within the Abbey, the atmosphere was oppressive, a fact often attributed to the curving roof and cramped arrangement of instruments that allowed for only four or five people to gather within the room at any one time.

Rather than elaborate and expand upon the concept of the Abbey, when the powers-that-be had settled on the notion of constructing Moonbase Churchill, they had recreated every claustrophobic aspect of the command room in loving detail.

The entire room was a love song to nausea and terror, the very same sensations stretches of the vast London Underground had been known to evoke in all but the most desensitised of the capital city’s residents.

“What’s the story?” he asked, his face an expression of sour distaste.

A chair to his right swung slowly around to reveal the stout, feline form of Hoodwink, sitting upright and looking intently at him with disquieting yellow eyes.

“We’ve received word from Flavius,” the cat informed him in his frustratingly distinguished voice, “he’s encountered our escapee patient in Newgate.”

Dodgson nodded, taking a seat opposite the black and white cat and removing a pair of thin wire-frame spectacles from his inside jacket pocket. Carefully, he unfolded the glasses and placed them upon the bridge of his nose, looking down at the reams of information rolling upwards in green text upon a black screen.

Further down from the raised platform upon which Hoodwink and Dodgson’s terminals were located, was a sunken pit containing another three terminals, two of which were occupied by young women, both perhaps five or six years older than Magenta.

Both girls wore elaborate headsets and the beige and black uniforms of official Lundunaborg personnel, their red jackets draped upon the backs of their chairs. Dodgson recognised them both, just as he recognised every other employee – civilian and military- employed within the vast underwater fortress.

“What else have we got to work with?” Dodgson asked, removing his glasses and looking once more at his colleague.

“The latest reports are telling us that it’s not magic our guest is using but rather some innate ability or gift to draw the life-force of an alternative self and move that flesh to a specified location of his choosing whilst, like a virus, his mind seizes control of the resultant creation.”

Dodgson nodded slowly, his expression grim.

“So he’s a Science Hero, right?”

Hoodwink nodded.

“Or one of the opposing fraternity, not that it makes any real difference. His talents are unlike anything we’ve dealt with before. This kind of skill is not natural in humans. In fact the only precedent for this kind of movement through alternate realities is the Bowler, and he’s no longer in a position to answer our questions.”

“I know the story, Hoodwink,” Dodgson remarked impatiently, sliding sideways on his chair and turning his attention up towards another row of monitors, “so if it’s unlikely that our friend’s gift is biological then there’s a chance that it’s mechanical. Which means that he’s got some serious hardware inside of that flashy armour of his, right?”

Hoodwink nodded.

“That would, in my mind, be the most realistic scenario.”

“Who else do we have on record with that kind of technology?” Dodgson inquired.

“Only Professor Winters and he’s somewhat, how shall we say, reluctant to join us here,” the cat answered.

Dodgson shrugged and turned in his chair back towards Hoodwink.

“In that case, we’ll have to do without the professor’s witty repertoire. Get me everything we’ve got on the Winters’ technology, anything that might be able to give us an advantage over this bastard. Until then, we better just hope our favourite Roman can keep him occupied.”

* * *

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The sand beneath her feet was black as night, burnt into solemn silence by the looming sun that seemed to fill the horizon.

Some magicians conjured images of familiarity and comfort, half-remembered pubs and bars with the stench of imagined alcohol hanging heavy in the air. Magenta the Magician, in contrast, preferred to remember the world of warning conjured for her by her long since passed mentor; a world scorched by the forces of darkness and left to turn slowly forever in a lonely galaxy devoid of life.

The armoured figure Flavius had pulled from the skies stood quiet and alone, his face hidden behind the details of his helmet.

“Don’t you ever take that thing of?” Magenta asked angrily, gesturing towards the red and black helmet.

The other shrugged awkwardly.

“I-I’m afraid I can’t, miss…” he answered awkwardly, “my armour is as much a part of me as your skin is a part of you. Only in death can I be parted from it.”

He turned away from her, tightening his fists and lifting his head up to the calm skies of the dead heavens.

“This is what it means to take on the responsibilities of being a JumpMan…an honour I hardly deserve right now…”

“Who are you?” the young girl demanded, the warmth of the eternal sun feeling intolerably hot against the nape of her neck, “Why did you enter my mind?”

The armoured man turned his featureless masque back towards and, for an instant Magenta had a flash of sympathy for the other; almost as if, for the briefest of moments, it were her that had been wrapped up in armour rather than him.

She looked down, staring at her bare feet and the pale green hospital smock. The comparison between the armour and her identity as Magenta surfaced unbidden in her thoughts and she struggled to suppress it.

With a sigh, the other began to speak once more.

“My name is Detective Inspector JumpMan of the Next Mages. I was sent here in pursuit of the extra-dimensional villain known as Xero-X, a powerful and deadly magician who we believe to have originated in this dimension.”

He lapsed into silence, his masque inclining downwards. In her mind, she wondered what colour were the eyes that now studied the details of the sand.

“What stopped you?” Magenta asked after a moment.

The Next Mage sighed once more, lifting his helmet up to face her again.

“I underestimated Xero-X. His power is one of modernity, where as mine is the gift of a golden age long since past.”

He reached downwards to his belt buckle and unclipped it, flipping the front open and drawing out a small, flat device roughly the size of the palm of his hand. He scrutinised the small screen for a moment and then, with ease, tapped in what she presumed was an activation code.

An image of the Earth flickered into existence above the flat screen of the device. She stepped cautiously closer, studying the flickering of light that rose up from the screen in order to create the three-dimensional image of the planet.

So enthralled was she by the strands of light that composed the image that she almost missed the significance of what was depicted: surrounding the Earth was a perfect ring of metal, anchored to the planet by vast towers embedded in both the North and South Poles. Within the ring, she could just make out a gleam of tiny lights that seemed to suggest habitation.

She looked curiously up at the masqued other, a frown crossing her face.

“This is my home, Earth #746389,” he elaborated, “ours is a world that emanated from an event after your own and thus we have never had to fear the wrath of the Bowler nor the Imperial Magistrate. Because of this lack of external threat, our governments became pugnacious and arrogant. It took a colossal effort on the behalf of our Science Heroes to overthrow the tyrants, but a new age of peace was soon achieved, though much blood was spilt and many tears were shed in order for us to achieve our perfect society.

“The first world president, the former Mister Millennium, Bruce Todd, began a determined effort to reach out to other Earths in distress throughout the infinite spirals of possibility. This led to our first contact with the Next Mages, an intergalactic and inter-dimensional coalition of heroes from the future.

“Our Earth soon joined the Next Mage coalition, ushering in an age of even greater tranquillity and peace. Heroes, such as myself and all the many JumpMen before me, were recruited into the Next Mages and, through the advancement of their technology, the face of our planet was changed, as you can see for yourself.”

Magenta looked up from the small icon of the world as it turned, quietly and peacefully, upon its axis.

“This doesn’t explain why you invaded my mind…” she protested, already feeling her anger weakening in the face of his humility.

“I made a judgement call without pausing to try and understand the culture of this Earth and, for this transgression, I am eternally sorry. When I sensed your pain, I reacted on instinct, reaching out as one Science Hero to another in order to mend your wounds – wounds that you would not have received had I not so rashly attempted to use the full power of the JumpCrystal against Xero-X.”

She shook her head slowly, struggling to understand all that he was saying.

“I’m not a Science Hero, I’m a Science Agent; there’s a difference, and I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this, but we have a situation now that can not be undone…you know my name…therefore…” she paused, biting her lip and anxiously looking over her shoulder at the place where, in the real world Fait had stood.

JumpMan reached out and placed a gloved hand upon her shoulder. Despite herself, she flinched, shying away from the contact.

“I will not fight you nor will I use this knowledge to cause you harm or hold any power over you. I am a stranger here and I have transgressed by assuming that your customs are my own. If you will aid me in one task then I shall depart from here and we shall never meet again.”

She looked into his featureless masque for a moment, staring behind the surface of his armour and sensing, with all the powers of her art, the truth of his feelings.

Slowly, Magenta the Magician nodded her head in agreement.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

JumpMan radiated honesty.

“Help me defeat Xero-X,” he answered simply.

* * *

Flavius brought the phone up to his ear, a smile crossing his face.

‘What’s the situation, Centurion?’

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Dodgson’s voice rang out in the tense silence of the hangar.

“I’ve found our uninvited guest, chief,” the old soldier remarked calmly, his eyes fixed on those of the rogue villain.

‘I know. You want me to come down there and give him a slap for you?’ Dodgson asked.

“I shouldn’t have thought that necessary, sir. He doesn’t look well versed in combat, simply in trickery. I shall inform security when our duel is at an end.”

Xero-X’s face twitched, his blood rising to his face and his lips curling in a snarl.

‘Give the old git a punch in the mouth for me, Flavius. That arsehole’s caused me a month of paperwork.’

“Consider it done, chief,” the Roman replied and flipped his phone shut, reattaching it to his belt.

Cautiously, Becky Calohan began to step away from the two men, one step after another, after another, until finally she broke into a run, sprinting for the open doorway and skidding through.

Behind her, the hangar exploded with the thunderous sound of combat.

* * *

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“How can I help you?” the young girl asked, her expression doubtful.

The sand of that imaginary and catastrophic beach seemed to fade away and, in confusion, Magenta once more found herself standing in the dimly lit room, the older French woman remaining close by but a safe distance from the circle.

Standing before them, armour and wounds healed in completion, was JumpMan.

“Magenta, is everything okay?” Fait inquired cautiously.

“I-I think so,” the younger girl answered, her forehead creasing in a frown.

JumpMan continued their conversation as if nothing had changed.

“Even now, I can sense Xero-X is engaged in combat with another warrior. Yet regardless of this man’s strength, he lacks both the power and that crucial element of surprise necessary in order to defeat the villain once and for all and prevent his requisitioning of a new body.”

“How can I access the power necessary to end this?” Magenta asked, her jaw firm and her eyes devoid of the usual carefree playfulness.

Behind the faceplate of his helmet, JumpMan smiled in admiration.

“On Earth #746389, Magenta the Magician is the alias of a man named Isaac Weisz. Weisz is a powerful magician and the pilot of a colossal leonine machine codenamed Lion Kaiser; this machine is one of many vehicles used by the Next Mages for policing Earth and beyond. Is it possible that you have access or familiarity with this kind of machine?”

Fait Accompli smiled, a sense of triumph breaking through the dark thoughts that had clouded her mind for what felt like an eternity.

“I think you’ll find our Magenta is more than accomplished in the use of the Kaiser Machines,” she beamed with pride.

Magenta nodded, her heart beating swiftly within her chest.

“Tell me what I have to do,” she said firmly.

JumpMan regarded her for a moment and then, with another smile hidden beneath the masque, he said simply:

“Become one with Lion Kaiser; that is the key to defeating Xero-X.”

* * *

His sword clashed against the other’s armour, tearing a diagonal line down the breastplate and drawing sparks with each inch of movement.

Xero-X staggered backwards, clutching the wound in his armour but the other man gave him no quarter, closing the distance in moments and striking out once more with his blade. The weapon tore into the space between the breastplate and the shoulder-plates, severing the bindings and exposing the dark costume worn beneath.

Desperately, Xero-X thrust out his hands, stabbing at the air as his opponent pushed further forward, the blade held before him and its edge angling closer and closer to the villain’s face. He kicked out and at last, his blows found a target, his foot slamming hard into the Roman’s shin.

The soldier grunted, his leg buckling and Xero-X’s rage flared up, spirit energy crackling about him in the ghostly echo of flames. He pulled his fist back and drove it downwards, slamming his gloved hand hard into the exposed skin at the back of the other’s neck.

This time, the soldier’s grunt was louder and, had Xero-X paused in his assault, he might have noticed the light spatter of blood that marked the iron floor beneath his foe, yet in his attack, the villain did not pause.

He lashed out with his foot again, kicking the soldier across the floor and sending him crashing into the far wall. Amidst the sound of the other’s impact, Xero-X failed to notice the soft ping that issued forth from his foe’s utility belt.

“Imbecile!” Xero-X crowed, advancing forwards.

His face became a portrait of grotesque arrogance, his lips splayed back from his teeth and his eyes wide with excitement as the adrenaline rushed through his system.

“To think that you, a pitiful and ignorant soldier, could defeat me, who has travelled countless worlds and incarnated myself hundreds of times over and over. Nothing can defeat me. I am truly Olympian!”

Slowly, Flavius Furius Aquila rose up him from the ground, his legs trembling slightly and his left hand leaning against the wall for support.

“You are pathetic, less than a mote in the thundering stream of history; a man whose life will not be remembered after his passing! I, however, am a giant amongst men, the greatest of my kind!”

The Roman soldier unclipped the phone from his belt and flipped it open. Lifting his head, he looked directly at his opponent and spoke three words:

“Lorica laminata…engage!”

* * *

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Magenta reached out with her mind, tracing the lines of new circuitry and cold machinery beneath the thick metal skin of the machine. Unlike the technicians, Magenta had little or no technological understanding of the craft; she simply regarded it as she regarded all life, full of mysteries and intricacies the like of which it is the magician’s role to utilise for a greater purpose.

Through the machine, she sensed the combat waged within the hangar, the distinct flare of Flavius’ recognisable spirit energy signature and the sense of Millennial Spirit particles fusing about him. The other, Xero-X, was equally armoured though not in a similar fashion.

The armour worn by the criminal was sophisticated; a series of working components fused together in order to allow its owner mastery of travel…yet it was far from indestructible.

With a tremendous effort, Magenta united her consciousness with that of the machine’s central computer, forcing the lion to open its eyes and look upon the scene before it.

She witnessed the two armoured fighters and instinctively she understood what had to be done.

* * *

Xero-X staggered backwards, his breath ragged and his nostrils flared. There was blood upon his lips, welling up in his throat and staining his teeth. Before him, the perfect, featureless red armour that had encompassed his enemy showed no signs of damage or of slowing down.

Before the villain could react, the soldier had lunged forwards again, slamming one fist into Xero-X’s exposed gut, the breastplate now completely torn away, before bring the other fist upwards in a brutal uppercut that lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing down again.

Every part of his body rebelled against the unjust reality of the situation. He was Xero-X, the most technologically advanced villain known on a thousand worlds. In not one of the universes he had ever cared to visit had there been an opponent able to stand against him, not even the ambassadors of the mighty Next Mages. Yet somehow this other, this primitive soldier, had managed, with the acquisition of armour seemingly plucked from thin air, to best him.

There was only one recourse, he realised, with grim determination; he must flee for now and learn the secrets of the armour his opponent had summoned. All he needed was the time in which to select a suitable replacement body from amongst all the possibilities infinity offered to him.

“Arrogant fool,” he sneered, struggling to keep the other occupied with insults, “do you think you can hope to defeat me? I am more powerful than you can even imagine!”

The soldier in the featureless armour continued to advance forwards, his arms at his sides and his step assured.

“I’ve already defeated you, Xero-X,” his voice said calmly, “all that need be done now is assure the terms of your surrender or execution, whichever one it is, I leave entirely in your hands.”

He could feel the closeness of his other self, feel the pull of the other body as he began to exert the workings of both his mind and the machinery contained within his armour upon that hapless other possessed of his face.

Just a moment longer, he thought, just a moment longer…

Something moved behind him, shattering his concentration and destroying his mental link.
He turned halfway around and his face turned pale and ghostlike. From out of the shadows, the giant, metal lion lunged forwards, its mouth wide open.

A prisoner within his own flesh, there was nothing he could do to escape. A moment later, the jaws of the lion engulfed him and the talents of his mind were lost forever.

* * *

The Thin White Duke removed his spectacles and turned away from the small monitor screen, a smirk upon his dark blue lips.

“Tell the lads they won’t have to pay Professor Winters a visit after all,” he called to the two administrative officers beneath his own station, “looks like our boy Flavius has done all the donkey work for him.”

* * *

Epilogue: Several Weeks Later…

Detective Inspector JumpMan stood with his back to the Suffolk coast, the waves crashing against the beach and the sunken fortress of Lundunaborg forever hidden to him.

Before him stood the three Science Heroes – Agents, he corrected himself silently – who had succeeded in ending the tyranny of Xero-X once and for all. He looked slowly from each one: the tall, beaming Roman, the cautious French actress and lastly, the smiling Japanese magician, her hands behind her back and her fringe in her dark eyes.

“I have so much to thank you all for and not enough words that I can say in apology for the trouble I have caused you. Not only did I contravene your etiquette but I also brought with me a threat that could have wrecked untold damage upon your world. For both of these transgressions, I beg your forgiveness.”

Flavius Furius Aquila smiled warmly and extended his hand towards the armoured detective. Hesitantly, JumpMan accepted it and found himself instantly overcome by the vigour and honesty of the soldier’s handshake.

“The way Hoodwink explained it was that Xero-X originated on our Earth, not yours, therefore the problem was ours. If anything, we should be thanking you for harrying the villain so thoroughly as to provide a means by which we could successfully conclude the manner.”

“And as for your transgression,” Fait Accompli smiled, ruffling the hair of the younger girl, “I’m sure you’ll find our Magenta is someone who doesn’t hold grudges. I can tell you that without having to know her birth name,” she paused and looked thoughtful, “of course, if you were ever to try and use this information to gain power over her, I would hunt you down and kill you, but that’s by the by.”

JumpMan laughed nervously. Looking at the handsome woman before him, he found it entirely plausible that she did indeed mean what she said.

“What will you do now?” Magenta asked, “will you return to Earth #746389 or do you have some other plan?”

JumpMan slipped his hand free of Flavius’ grip and looked down at the breastplate of his armour, feeling the pulse of the JumpCrystal’s fragment within his chest.

“Before I can return I must find the remaining five fragments of the JumpCrystal…and pray that none of them have fallen into the wrong hands.”

“If you need any help with locating them, please don’t hesitate to ask our help,” Flavius said earnestly.

JumpMan smiled beneath the masque once more.

“I thank you, Centurion, however, this time,” a slow rumble filled the air, something huge and vast lurching into existence within the pale blue skies of the late March morning, “this time, I have arranged my own transport.”

All three of the Science Agents looked up as a gigantic craft filled the heavens, casting a shadow several miles wide over the island nation below.

“What in God’s name…?” Fait whispered.

“This is my personal starcraft, JumpMothership,” he smiled proudly, “I have enough resources onboard to assist me in my quest, so please, don’t worry for my safety.”

Fait Accompli shook her head and smirked.

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He chuckled quietly.

“Have no fear, Ms. Accompli. I’m a lawman, I understand the importance of remaining true to the laws of the worlds I find myself on and, as I believe, the saying goes,” he looked over at Flavius, “when in Rome…”

The soldier looked blankly back at him and, despite himself, he found himself laughing aloud, his mirth accompanied by the laughter of both Magenta and Fait.

Once more he shook hands with the Roman and then, with a salute, leapt upwards into the sky, disappearing into the shadow of the giant starcraft and vanishing within.

Without further pause, the huge vessel turned upwards from its place over the Suffolk coast and raced away into the blue, heading for destinations unknown to any who waited silently on the shore below.

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