that's really super,super-gal

G. W. Thomas

 

Using his loudest voice, Sun Master, President of the Society of Ultra-beings and Protectors of Equality and Righteousness (S. U. P. E. R.) declared, "I call this assembly to order!" The entire conclave hushed at the magnificence of his speech. "Today marks a dark day in the annals of this organization." The whispering of quieted tongues rose back to its former level, as everyone in the Hall of Justness began to talk over each other. They were all discussing the same thing: Super-Gal.

The Solar Savior rapped his gavel repeatedly, but the congregation of super-heroes continued to chatter until Black Banshee set up a wailing that captured everyone's attention, as it came dangerously close to shattering the Dome of Crystalline Conscience at the top of the Hall of Justness.

"Thank you, Black Banshee," acknowledged Sun Master. "Now, if we can get down to business. We must select a jury of twelve peers: six men, six women, or the closest thing to it, to weigh judgment on -" All were silent as the President summoned all his strength to say what all knew had to be said. "- a possible murder at the hands of Super-Gal. . ."

Was that a tear he was wiping from his eye? wondered many in the crowd below. It was no secret that Sun Master and Super-Gal had served ten years together in the Teen Squad, before the Great Mutant Massacre. ". . . Lots are being prepared now as we speak."

A huge wire-mesh drum, used by S. U. P. E. R. each Christmas for its charity raffle, was wheeled into the center of the stage next to the podium at which Sun Master presided. Inside the barrel were bits of yellow paper. On each one of these scraps was written the name of one member of the Society - still living, actively on duty, and paid up on their dues. This last stipulation left many unconcerned about being selected.

Sun Master left his place at the microphone to draw the twelve names, but only after Fashion Girl had spun the tub three times in a manner that would have made any game show hostess pale by comparison. The Solar Savior drew six lots, placed the men to the left (four) and the women (one) and the Amazing Space Turnip into another, not being sure of its gender, or its having one.

Again he drew six slips, disqualifying the additional males selections, placed the one female with its predecessors, and drew a third time. Sun Master quickly finished his work, cleared his throat, announcing in his finest baritone: "The jurors are: (turning to the men's stack) The Amber Otter; The Glistening Eye, Camera, the Man of a Million Lens; Wonder Carp; The Survivor; and the Daring Flamo!" The Solar Savior paused, pushed the first stack aside, then read the names of the lady jurors: "Whispering Elm; The Astonishing Chalk Woman; Palomino, Mistress of Horses; The Amazing Space Turnip (most incorrectly!); and lastly, Ghost-Girl."

The superheroes wasted no time. The furniture was quickly rearranged, with a box for the jury, and a bench for the judge, who happened to be (chosen by unanimous consent) Sun Master. At this time when all was ready for the proceedings to begin, the Galaxy Guards brought in Super-Gal.

She looked plain in her prison outfit, not super at all. For weeks following the trial, the other superheroes would speak of how drab the gray denim made her look, how it failed to bring out the highlights in her golden braids, how the saggy-baggy material did not exemplify her tremendous bust line (which only a super girl could possess) and most of all, the total lack of make-up (as Fashion Girl pointed out).

Super-Gal entered with a restrained dignity, fighting none of her captors, for as everyone present had heard, the immortal had given herself over to the Galaxy Guard, demanding this inquest.

Sun Master rapped his gavel and declared in his most stentorian voice, "Let the hearing begin." He steadied an officious eye at the vast audience of ultra-beings. "Even though this is not a court of law - but a place of a much higher authority - there will still be representatives for the Prosecution and Defense. Would His High-Justness, the S. U. P. E. R. Prosecutor, please stand?"

The Frog-Knight of Caladorn rose, croaked once, expanding his throat-bubble.

"And for the Defense?"

Super-Gal stood. "I will be defending myself, your Honor."

"Indeed?" queried Sun Master, trying to hide the shock at this development. "Do you think it wise?"

"Your Honor, I am the daughter of Kil-Roy, Supreme Consulate of Justice on the planet, Queezon. My mother is Phay-Ray, Mistress of the Holy Truth, and the ruler of the Binary Cluster of Ixx. I, myself, hold the Principles of Justice as my personal philosophy; that being the reason why I studied Law and Philosophy at Harvard, Oxford and on Venus -"

"Your point has been made," acceded Sun Master. "Let us proceed then. Super-Gal, you have been brought here, largely of your accord, to face trial for the death of one mortal, a Mitchell Blane of New York City. How do you plead?"

"Guilty."

There was an instantaneous roar of disbelief from the watching spectators, the wind of a thousand dropping jaws filling the Hall of Justness. Sun Master slammed his small wooden hammer, shouting, "Quiet! I will have Quiet!" He peered down at the swarm of babbling, talkative super-beings. "If this incessant jabbering doesn't stop NOW I will have Sonic-Man blast you all with a Silence Ray™, until the trial is completed!"

The crowd hushed. None of the watchers had ever been "silenced" by a Silence Ray™, nor did it sound especially painful, but being restrained by a fellow immortal didn't look good.

The Frog-Knight of Caladorn ribbeted, "I call Mr. James Jackson to the stand." The Galaxy Guard led the mortal to the witness box. Jackson was a small, grisly fellow with stooped shoulders and a terminal case of five o'clock shadow. One of the Guardians presented a stack of Superman comics and asked the witness to repeat after him: "I-do-hereby-swear-that-all-I-say-will-be-truthful-so-help-me-uh -- uh -"

The Frog-Knight took over. "Mr. Jackson, could you please tell the jury, in your own words, what transpired the night of October 15th, last year?"

The man coughed, then answered. "Yah, sure. That was the night my apartment building - I'm the super (Jackson snorted. The crowd tittered politely.) - was taken over by three guys with machine guns. They wore ski masks, see? And -"

"Terrorists, I believe," supplied the prosecutor.

"Yah. They grabbed a bunch of the tenants and held them up in 703B - that's Mitch's place."

"Mr. Blane, the deceased. Correct?"

"Yah. And a nice guy he was too," finished the superintendent.

The Frog-Knight cleared a man from his throat and queried, "Then what happened, Mr. Jackson?"

"Well, as I remember it: we were all downstairs with the cops when we heard a loud crash - and gun shots. The next thing we know Super-Gal comes down with all three of these guys, unarmed and knocked out."

"And Mr. Blane was dead at this time? Lying face down in a pool of blood? Possibly from the neglect of Super-Gal, right?" demanded the Caladornian. Before the witness could reply, Sun Master interjected.

"Mr. Prosecutor! You will kindly stop leading your witness!"

The crowd looked toward the accused/Defense - who should have raised the objection - not the magistrate. Super-Gal sat quietly, unconcerned about the Batrachian's sly maneuvers. Sun Master noticed the Defense's apathy as well, and directed his scorn in her direction. "Super-Gal, you realize you have the right to protest as Defense?"

"Yes, of course," was all she offered back.

"You also realize," the Solar Savior persisted, "that you face the sternest punishment available to an ultra-being, de-suprafication, the loss of all your super powers. You will be reduced to a mere - mortal." Sun Master blanched with the sheer thought of the threat he had voiced. It was simply the worst thing that could happen to a superhero.

Super-Gal nodded. Sun Master turned back to the witness on the stand, and the amphibian prosecutor. "Please rephrase the question, Mr. Prosecutor."

"Yes, Your Honor." The Frog-Knight scowled, his wide face exaggerating the look tenfold. "Mr. Jackson, was Mr. Blane, Mitch you called him, killed at this time?"

"No, he was just fine. Like all the others. I had to replace the window at 703B, and patch up a few bullet holes, but not much else. Seems Super-Gal blocked most of the bullets with her Plasma Shield™, saving the lives of all the hostages, including Mr. Blane."

The Frog-Knight grimaced. This was not what he wanted to hear. "No further questions, Your Honor."

"Your witness, Super-Gal," offered Sun Master.

"No questions, Your Honor."

The crowd gasped. Even Sun Master was taken back, but said nothing to the Defense or the gallery, except to call for the next witness. Mr. Jackson was led away, scratching pleasurably under one arm.

"I call Amanda Detweiler to the stand," croaked the Batrachian Paladin. An elderly woman was the next to enter, accompanied by the Galaxy Guard. After being assisted into the witness chair, the Prosecution asked, "Mrs. Detweiler, were you one of the six hostages in apartment 703B on the night of October 15th of last year?"

"Yes, until Super-Gal came to the rescue," she answered proudly.

"Please tell the jury, if you will, what exactly happened that night." The Caladornian turned away, smug in his inevitable victory, drool running from his three foot slash of a mouth. He splashed himself with a glass of water, then returned to Mrs. Detweiler, and her testimony.

"Well, Mr. Blane was entertaining a lovely couple from New Jersey -- my sister lives in New Jersey - and he called me over to his apartment to meet them. He was always such a nice man. We got on so well. He fixed my car for me - and never asked for a single dime either! Such a nice man -"

"Please, Mrs. Detweiler. Stick to the facts. What happened next?"

"Well, after the first cup of coffee, these terrible men came running in - and they had guns! I know their kind. I used to be a school teacher before Mr. D. came and swept me off my feet. Bad ones, they were. Just like Tommy Albright used to. . ." Before the prosecutor could remind her to continue with her account, Mrs. Detweiler's memory clicked, almost audibly, and she did so anyway. "We all had to get on the floor and cover our heads. It seemed like a long time we waited. I could hear police sirens and one of the bad men talked on the phone. He said 'We want ten million and a fueled jet.'" The old woman sobbed then as the burden of remembering her horror was too much to bear. No dry eye remained to harshly peer down on the grandmother, even the Incredible Neutron Nose, entirely blind since birth, ran with sympathy.

"Tell us about Super-Gal," prodded the Caladornian.

"After a while - I'm not sure how long - one of the men shot the window - well, at the window. He was trying to shoot someone outside! I don't know if Mr. Jackson mentioned it or nor but 703B is on the seventh floor. I had no idea who could be out there." Mrs. Detweiler shredded a piece of Kleenex, retrieved from her purse for that very act. "One man yelled, 'It's Super-Gal!' And then the rest of the windows burst with a loud crash. The next thing I know, I'm being helped up off the floor. Such a sweet girl. And pretty, too."

"And Mr. Blane was found dead at that time!" punctuated the Batrachian Paladin, gloating like a Caesar, his flexible throat pouch bobbing in and out like a giant soap bubble.

"Oh no. Mr. Blane - that's Mitch - got up off the floor like the rest of us, only he was grabbed from behind by a bad man who hadn't been completely knocked out. He had a gun to Mitch's head. He told Super-Gal to stop or he'd kill my friend."

"And that was when Mr. Blane was killed?" begged the Prosecutor.

"No, then Super-Gal blasted his gun with her Ultra-Vision™ and formed the hot metal into hand-cuffs to hold the man until the police came."

"Bravo!" cheered a fellow crime-fighter in the crowd. Sun Master stared in disapproval, though secretly acknowledged the Defendant's ingenuity.

"What happened to Mr. Blane then?" insisted the Frog-Knight.

"He had this look on his face, sort of stunned, as we all watched Super-Gal fly away. Such a pretty -"

"Look?" interrupted the judge.

"Yes, a kind of lovesick look to my mind. He must have been mighty grateful to her."

"No further questions, Your Honor," screamed the Prosecution, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Your witness!"

"No questions," was all the unemotional Super-Gal replied. Sun Master's brow knitted with concern but his duty kept him from intervening. He did allow himself one question while the Galaxy Guard led Mrs. Detweiler out.

"Defense, do you intend to ask any questions?" The annoyance in his voice was transparent, just like his Super-Solar Protection Shield™.

"If needs be. My opponent seems to be doing a fine job by himself." The words flowed from her perfect larynx like honey from the comb. The spectators snickered, thinking the reply a jibe at the Prosecution's ill-made attempts at caging her. Many nudged those beside them in the gallery, saying things like, "Now, she'll start in on him!" "Here she comes! Look out, Frog-Knight!" But her expression did not change, but remained solemn and withdrawn.

"Next witness, please."

The Frog-Knight growled, "I call Mr. Tito Giacobbo to the stand." The Galaxy Guard appeared on cue, leading a slick-haired middle-aged man in a maitre d's uniform. Following the swearing-in, the Prosecutor asked, "Where do you work, Mr. Giacobbo?"

"I'm maitre d' at Luigi's, 55th and Rowan Avenue." He answered with the wave of a heavily cologned hand.

"Tell the jury, Mr. Giacobbo, who dined in your establishment on the evening of October seventeenth of last year?" The cruel grin was returning to Frog-face's lips.

"Super-Gal. And a gentleman."

"And who was that gentleman?"

"I don't know."

""But could you recognize him if you saw him again?" the Frog-Knight barged on.

"Yes, I think so. It isn't every day we have superheroes and their escorts eating at Luigi's."

The prosecutor signaled Beastly Boy, who was operating the slide projector with his huge purple toes. A gigantic image of Mitchell Blane flashed onto the screen above Sun Master's bench. The Caladornian's amphibian voice screamed, "Is that the man?"

All eyes turned to Tito Giacobbo as the witness cried, "YES! THAT'S HIM!" With everyone watching the waiter, few caught the tortured expression on Super-Gal's face as the huge reproduction of Blane's driver's license photo shone on the glaring white screen. She swallowed hard, a tear sprouted in her eye, but she wiped it away before anyone noticed.

"Now, Mr. Giacobbo, can you recall what happened that evening, October seventeenth of last year?" The lips curled back on the Batrachian face, displaying needle-sharp teeth. The Prosecutor added unnecessarily "That evening when Super-Gal had an ILLICIT dinner with this MORTAL!" The blatant attack went unchallenged by the Defense.

"Well, as I recall, Signorina Super-Gal arrived before Mr. - uh --"

"Blane," supplied the Prosecutor.

"Yes, Mr. Blane. She was wearing her usual green and red tights with the Super-Symbol™ on the - uh - chest."

"Yes, yes, we know how she dresses. What happened when Mr. Blane arrived?" prodded the Frog-Knight.

"Well, they ordered. Seaweed salad for the lady; and Mr. Blane ordered the Vegetarian Soufflé. He expressly told me he couldn't stand to see poor animals suffer. Of course, we cater to all tastes -"

"I'm sure you do, but please stick to the facts." This time it was Sun Master who intervened.

"Sorry, Your Honor. After desert - two strawberry cheesecakes - they danced, drank some wine, and had a pretty good time."

"Excuse me, Mr. Prosecutor, but I fail to see the relevance of this testimony," Sun Master declared, his gaze trained not on the Caladornian, but Super-Gal.

"I'm trying to establish the accused's relationship with the deceased, Mr. Blane, Your Honor. If I might continue, I'm sure you'll see -" answered the Prosecutor.

"Proceed," the Solar Savior bowed to the other's request.

"Mr. Giacobbo, please tell us what you thought was the relationship between Mr. Blane and Super-Gal? Was it polite and restrained? Was Super-Gal sisterly toward Mr. Blane?" The Frog-Knight paused wistfully, waiting for a reply.

"No, no. There was definitely amore in the air. They were like two people in love."

The crowd in the gallery gasped uncontrollably at this information - for though superheroes aren't forbidden to fall in love with mortals, it had been considered "difficult" since the Supraman-Laurel Lando-Lanny Lanford love triangle of 1962.

"Then you'd say they were lovers, Mr. Giacobbo?" clarified the Caladornian.

The crowd roared again at this bold effrontery. Sun Master rapped his gavel until it broke under his massive Sunfire Strength™. He shouted for silence, and got it when Super-Gal stood up from the Defense chair.

"I'd like to cross-examine the witness, Your Honor."

The hush was instantaneous. Super-Gal had finally done what all had expected from the beginning. Sun Master looked to the Batrachian Paladin, who answered "Your witness."

Super-Gal drew her gorgeous frame straight. "What made you think they were lovers, Mr. Giacobbo?"

Tito swallowed hard. "Well - you, that is they - uh -"

Super-Gal came towards the witness stand, a calming, friendly smile on her face. "It is all right to refer to Mr. Blane and myself as 'You', Mr. Giacobbo. Please answer the question."

The man started again. "Uh - you held hands, danced very close together - and - uh, kissed."

"Thank you, Mr. Giacobbo. No further questions, Your Honor."

The court hung in silence at the sound of these words. Everyone but the Frog-Knight of Caladorn was at a loss. The Batrachian Prosecutor, taking advantage of Super-Gal's insane actions, called his next witness. "I call Sergeant Dennis Dooley to the stand."

A tall man with hair no longer than a fine tooth comb took the stand. He was unaccompanied by the Galaxy Guard, being familiar to many of the super-beings as a guardian in his own right, not to mention a God-fearing Christian, a member of the Elks, and a Gemini.

"Sgt. Dooley, tell the court what you witnessed on the evening of November eighth of last year, on the corner of 18th Avenue and Water Street."

"If I may refer to my loge - thank you." The policeman flipped to a certain page within the small notebook. "'21:15, I was patrolling my beat. At this time, a strange green thing made its presence known by breaking through the surface of the Hudson River and approaching the Rickler Building. The intruder was the Stupendous Toad-Beast of Neptune. I recognized it from the last time it had struck, when Super-Gal had banished it to Planet X.'"

"Yes, yes. Get on with it," interrupted the grimacing Prosecutor.

The cop eyed his prodding inquisitor with an obvious display of hatred. Everyone in that room knew that Dooley held a certain fatherly affection for Super-Gal. The policeman was testifying under protest.

"'21:20, I spied at this time a man on the fourth floor ledge of the Rickler Building. The individual appeared to be trying to get closer to the Stupendous Toad-Beast.'"

"Closer? Sgt. Dooley, are you sure?" jumped in the Caladornian. "Surely, he was attempting to escape."

"No. I know what I saw. He was inching towards the thing, with his eye on the skies at the same time."

"What happened next?" leered the Frog-Knight, as one will when anticipating the punch line of a joke.

"He was saved by Super-Gal."

"Who, according to the written testimony of your fellow officers, Ripley and Hogan, was given over to them to be taken home."

"Yes," admitted the cop. "I believe she asked it as a personal favor."

"And who was this man who was taken from the fourth floor of the Rickler Building?" The Frog-Knight turned to the jury with a dramatic flourish.

"Mr. Mitchell Blane."

But the Frog-Knight had not played his final card yet, added, "The same man who was seen and rescued six other times that week, including the Terrible Squid-Pudding Massacre!"

"ENOUGH!" screamed a voice, filling the Great Hall of Justness. It was Super-Gal. "Your Honor, I think the time has come - I wish to testify!"

Sun Master turned to Prosecution, who nodded consent.

"Let Super-Gal take the stand."

Super-Gal walked up to the witness stand, cleared a sob from her throat. Sun Master offered her the chair, but she declined it, preferring to remain on her feet. Her testimony began:

"As Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Detweiler said, I first met Mitch Blane on the 15th of October, when I rescued six people, including Mr. Blane, from armed gunmen. At this point, I thought nothing of the deceased (she gagged briefly on the word), as he was simply another good man who had fallen into the hands of evildoers.

"But as I found out later, Mr. Blane had fallen in love with me that day - a common response when super-beings deal with humans - a condition known as 'The Hercules Syndrome'. Humans, mortals I mean, can't help it sometimes. And a man of pure goodness like Mitchell Blane was more susceptible than most. I wish -"

Super-Gal choked to a stop. A lump of hard flesh was caught in her throat. She had to pause for some time. This was convenient since many in the jury box were likewise teary-eyed, especially the Glistening Eye, who flooded the box with great swells of moisture. A mop was sent for.

"As I said, I was innocent of this. I did not know then, not for a few more days. Not until I received the message - an invitation for dinner at Luigi's. At that moment, I could only vaguely remember him. I went as Mr. Giacobbo said, but only to decline the offer. I had no idea how charming Mr. Blane would be or how lonely I was. By the end of the evening, I was swept off my feet. I admit it.

"We saw each other many times after that, mostly at night, at his apartment or in the Super-Cave™, which as you know is secretly located under Manhattan Island. And we were happy for a while. Mitch understood how it had to be: him working at the animal shelter - me, out rescuing the world. But it didn't work out. Eventually, I saw less and less of him. You know, during the Andromedian Invasion - I spent six days in space and a whole week inside a volcano in the Pacific Ocean. Mitch couldn't take the strain. He needed me and I wasn't there.

"So -- he found a way to be together. He would listen to the police radio for catastrophes, anything that might attract my attention. Then he'd drive as fast as he could to get there. I arrived, took care of the problem, saving him in the process - and for a short time, we were together. As Sgt. Dooley reported, Mitch Blane was on Water Street that night. He was trying to get closer to the Stupendous Toad-Beast, and all because of me -"

Super-Gal stopped again, as her frame was racked with convulsive sobs.

"And then he died."

All were silent, even the Frog-Knight of Caladorn, who found he could not press the attack further, for though he had fulfilled his role as Prosecutor as efficiently as possible, underneath he was still one of the Good Guys. Only Sun Master, that angelic judge, could summon the strength to ask what all wanted to know.

"How did he -- die?"

The accused looked up, her face etched with grief. "One day, Mitch was late getting to the scene of a disaster - Mega-Bomb Man was holding the Empire State Building for ransom. I had to rescue a young reporter from a 56th story ledge. I carried him to the ground, only feet from where Mitch was hidden in a crowd of spectators. I never saw him there. This other man, the reporter, was staring at me. He had the look - just like Mitch had. That was too much I guess. Mitch went home and -"
Super-Gal could tell no more. The Frog-Knight, now devoid of hostility, had to finish it for her.

"Mitchell Blane, thirty-four years of age, took his own life at 10:33 pm on the evening of November twenty-second of last year. Super-Gal, at that time, was rescuing six city workers from ravenous giant cockroaches in Wayne, New Jersey."

"I should have SAVED him! I could have! If I had only known -"

Sun Master squeezed a tear from his eye, turned to the jury, all drowning in a Jacuzzi-filled jury box. "Jurors, please deliberate."

At the judge's command, the twelve jury members left the Hall of Justness for a private chamber, while a dull buzz of voices talked in the stands, as well as much nose-blowing and murmuring of sympathies. The spokesperson and the eleven other jurors returned twenty minutes later.

Sun Master attempted to ask for the verdict, but only coughed a dull, hollow bark of anguish. He clutched the tail of his cape, dried his cheeks and managed, "Well?"

The spokesperson, Palamino, Mistress of Horses, whinnied twice then blurted, "We find the defendant - NOT guilty of the death of Mitchell Blane."

A deafening cheer rose up from the floor, and Sun Master did not attempt to quell it as his own voice was loudest of all, with the Frog-Knight in second place. Only one super person did not rejoice in what would prove to be the biggest celebration amongst super-beings since Flatulence Man had retired. Super-Gal. She lowered her head in shame. She would not be punished, not de-suprafied. There was, she thought, no Justice after all.

* * *

The papers were full of the trial the next day, week and even month later. Headlines like: SUPER-GAL VINDICATED! and SHE DIDN'T DO IT! were spread across legitimate and less respectable rags alike.

And it didn't stop there.

What had been dubbed the "Tristan and Isoulde" case by the Media, eclipsed the Supraman-Laurel Lando-Lanny Lanford Affair of '62, became a best-selling book by the Frog-Knight of Caladorn (ghost-written by Ghost Girl), made into three television movies-of-the-week, one featuring Jane Seymour as Super-Gal, Peter Strauss as Sun Master, and Kermit the Frog as the Prosecutor. Even an afternoon soap opera adopted a story line about a heart-broken superheroine. The bubble gum cards did only so-so.

And after the smoke settled, everyone waited for the return of Super-Gal -- for her return to the skies of New York - her battle against injustice - her helping the weak and the victimized. But it never happened. Though not de-suprafied, she never donned her green and red suit again. Gone. Into a life of secrecy and mundanity.

And the City forgot her. Sure, every once in a while someone would recall the trial - Sun Master going on to the Supreme Court - the Frog-Knight of Caladorn running a religious colony on his home planet - or someone would write a book or a newspaper article about how they found her working in a topless bar or at a fast-food restaurant. The City forgot her as it forgets all it's slain, quickly and completely.

But none of this affected a young woman who worked at a small, unimportant animal shelter on a filthy back street, unseen by most. Only the poor, forgotten cats or stray frightened dogs knew her and her sadness - a strange longing for something or someone who had touched her once. Only the animals knew, and they wouldn't tell.