Astrea Starr strolled out of the classroom and down the steps to the main quad.

Here she had only been in class for two weeks, and already she was beginning to tire. She fervently hoped that she would get on schedule soon, or this return to school would end up costing her more than it was worth.

Doctor Tower had convinced her to come back, and had offered her a full (well, almost) scholarship to entice her.

Hmpf, Astrea thought as she slipped on her gloves, Dr. Tower probably thought she could handle two lives, Smithsonian by day, Howard by night.

But she had three.

Well, she shrugged, she was one of those people who got more done the more they were asked to do - she had always had a lot on her plate and seemed to manage... so far.

She walked outside and headed across the campus to the bus stop.

It had helped that her third life, that of a living, breathing comic book heroine, had been put on the back burner for a while; she hadn't been needed, so Astrea had taken advantage of that.

She knew she should be grateful. After all, she didn't want to see anyone get hurt or anything, but -

Well, she missed it.

There, she said it.

There was a part of her that just plain enjoyed being a superhero.

Who wouldn't enjoy it? Not the fighting, particularly, but being liked by almost everybody, confering with the Vice President of the United States, flying around in a costume that was, well, a tad more revealing than anything else in her closet - !

"Costume" - that reminded her, she was to stop by Beth's on Friday night, for dinner.

Maybe she could just fly home and -

She was almost sad to see the bus pulling up on time.

Astrea picked up a magazine off of the coffee table while Beth was in the kitchen.

The cover featured a photo of Americana... well, at least someone who sort of looked like her.

The face was hers, definitely, although her hair had been changed (what was wrong with her hairstyle? she wondered). But the body - !

Well, the body certainly was not hers.

She would never stand like that - as a matter of fact, she wondered how anyone could stand like that! She knew her waist wasn't that thin - and her boobs certainly weren't bigger than her head!

"Honestly," she muttered, tossing the magazine onto the pile atop Beth's coffee table.

"Can you blame them?"

Astrea looked up at the sound of Beth's cheery voice. The blonde woman strode into the room, carrying a tray of homemade baklava.

The young black woman raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, now," Beth said, taking off her wire-rimmed glasses and wiping the spectacles on her sleeve. "When Americana's on the cover, newsstand sales skyrocket. Did you notice that Popular Mechanics figured out a way to squeeze you onto the cover last month?"

"Oh," Astrea smiled. They really weren't talking about the same thing at all.

"Ye-ah, I don't mind a little circulation building," she said, holding up the copy of People, "But the other 'building' going on?"

She slapped the cover.

"That's what I'm getting at."

Beth... hesitated.

"Maybe... that's a good thing," she said.

Astrea raised an eyebrow.

"You know," the blonde said. "Helps people separate... you... from you?"

Astrea nodded, slowly. Okay, that was a good point, she supposed, but she never thought that Beth would -

"That Valentine woman. She was here yesterday, asking a lot of questions. She hasn't given up."

Astie sighed, hard.

Victoria Valentine. News reporter.

Pain in the rear.

Astrea bit off a bit of baklava and smiled. Huh. So Victoria was still trying to figure out her secret identity, after all.

Then a thought hit her.

"Why did she come... here?"

"Oh, AC, I am so sorry," Beth hurried over and sat beside Astrea on the couch. "At first I thought maybe she had traced the fabric I used for your costume - but that was two years ago and red and blue are pretty common colors.

"I think she's just going down a list of costume designers," Beth said earnestly. "You know, like out of the Yellow Pages or American Gymnast."

For a moment, neither woman said anything.

"Okay. Okay, so she's just sending out a line, seeing what she can pull in," Astrea sighed. "Right?"

"I... guess so," Beth finally replied. "She just... ooooh, she's so... so... "

Unable to finish her thought, Beth exhaled violently upward, blowing her blonde bangs off her forehead.

Astrea paused.

Then she gently smiled.

"She does get under one's skin," she said softly. "It'd be a mistake to underestimate her, but I don't think she's near as smart as she thinks she is. Why - "

Just then, her wristwatch began to vibrate.

"Well, I wondered when my 'vacation' was going to end," Astrea said with a slight smile.

She pressed the face of the watch to receive.

"Americana."

There was a slight pause.

"Oh, God, thank God this thing works."

Astrea and Beth looked at each other.

That was a female voice.

A pretty familiar female voice, at that.

"Victoria?!"

Jason Freeman wrung out the mop and began swabbing the floor of the theater.

Darn kid - should have known he'd get sick, ordering all that candy for himself.

He sighed - what could he do? He wasn't their babysitter.

"Jason."

He looked up as the mailman dropped a small pile onto the concession stand counter.

"Hey, Jon," he nodded. "Kind of cold today, eh?"

"Not me - I got my longjohns on!" the mailman grinned lopsidedly. With a jaunty wave he was gone.

Jason wandered over to the pile, thankful for the excuse to take a break. Bill, bill. Archer Electronics catalog... eh? What's this?

It was a large envelope, addressed to him in English but with oriental writing where the return address should be. The postmark said "Tokyo, Japan".

He carefully opened the envelope.

Inside were three photos, each featuring seven Japanese girls striking dramatic poses. They all wore karate gis, with trim and masks of various colors.

And a note fluttered to the floor.

Jason picked it up.

"Jason: Thank you for a wonderful New Year Eve. We know you had other plans probably. Americana told us how you like heroes. Here we are in costume. Hope you like!

"The Seven Treasures."

Jason smiled to himself as he scanned through the photos.

Heh. How 'bout that?

"Victoria? How did you get this - ?"

"The mayor's been kidnapped," Victoria said excitedly. "Now are you gonna help or what?"

"You have A. J. Grant's watch?"

"Yes-s-s-s," Victoria hissed. "We're at... Great Falls Park, I think. That's in Virginia - "

"I know where it is," Astrea replied calmly.

"Look, that was at least five minutes ago," the newswoman grumbled. "Couldn't figure out how the stupid watch work - oh, hell."

A noise rose, sounding something like a storm-driven rain.

Then, nothing.

"Did that sound like - ?"

"Yeah, Beth," Astrea nodded solemnly. "It sounded like my old friend - "

She held out her arms to her sides, and took a wide stance, taking, roughtly, the form of a star.

For a moment nothing happened.

Then a star-shaped burst of silver-white energy appeared in the center of her chest, flashing out to envelop her. When it receded, Astrea Starr was gone.

In her place was a taller, more athletic woman in shining red, white and blue.

"Monarch."

Terrific.

Americana flew parallel to the George Washington Memorial Parkway in Virginia, and to the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal that flowed alongside it. Although she flew high in the January sky, almost to the level of the low clouds that made the day seem all the grayer, she knew that she was visible to the people below.

The screech of braking tires confirmed that.

As she soared past where the Parkway turned west into the 495, the Capitol Beltway, Americana winced as she heard the sound of an automobile making contact with another vehicle.

It sounded like a rather small collision, and the road was pretty well patrolled this time of day - the police could handle that.

They'd have to - she had bigger fish to fry.

Heh, she grinned to herself. Fish to fry - that was one of her father's expressions.

Heavens! Thinking of her father reminded her - the police! Did they even know the mayor had been taken?

After all, Victoria had had some trouble activating Mayor Grant's watch.

It wasn't as if it had instructions printed on the case or a button marked "Help!" - one had to push down on the glass, twice on the lower half of the watch, then twice on the upper half. Not exactly the most intrinsic way to call for aid, but Americana had wanted to make sure the watch wouldn't be activated accidentally.

Should she call the police? At least let them know -

No, she shook her head. Let's see what the situation is first.

Besides, if Monarch's involved things won't stay quiet for long.

She should let the authorities know that she really would appreciate being notified when supervillains break out of jail - just a little heads-up.

That wasn't asking too much, now, was it?

Well... Monarch wasn't a supervillain. Not really.

She had worn a costume, complete with Mylar butterfly wings, and possessed superpowers, sure; she could summon wind and weather effects like nobody's business.

But she had unleashed those powers only when given psychotropic drugs at the prison hospital. Otherwise she had been a model prisoner, a fairly nice woman whom Americana had begun to think of as a friend. Americana had even planned on speaking at Monarch's next parole hearing, in March, but her breaking out of prison and kidnapping the mayor pretty much put the kibosh on -

Hey. There's the mayor now!

A.J. Grant was wandering across the middle of a ballfield in the huge park, alone, hands in his pockets. He brightened when he saw Americana in the sky, and gave a jaunty wave.

Typical politician, she thought with a grin.

Not the least bit fazed.

She half-wondered where Monarch had gotten off to, and Victoria for that matter, as she swooped down toward the mayor.

"Hi, Mr. Mayor! I got a call that -

"Wh-whoa?"

When she got within twenty feet of the ground, the scene suddenly was very different.

The Mayor was hogtied and lying on the ground, eyes wide with fear. Next to him lay Victoria Valentine, similarly bound and gagged, but unconscious.

The heroine blinked.

"Wh-what the - ?"

"Mmh," Grant bellowed though his gag. "Mmmph!"

She began to approach the Mayor, then understood - he was trying to warn her! About - ?

Americana followed his gaze and turned - just as a blinding sandstorm appeared!

The sand blew hard against Americana's body, with all the fury of a belt-sander gone berzerk!

This - this was the noise that she had heard over the radio!

But the more she stood against the storm, the faster the winds churned, propelling the sand ever harder!

Unnn.... the sand was beginning... to hurt.

She couldn't see through the blinding swirls... and it was taking all her effort to stand against the winds.

Still... she had fought Monarch before. She knew that the villain could no more see her than she could see Monarch.

She'd use that to her advantage.

Americana suddenly flew upward, trying to keep herself going straight but letting the force of the wind carry her back some.

She waited until she no longer felt herself being sandblasted, then opened her eyes.

"Neat trick, Monarch," she mused. "But I have a few of those -

"Hey!"

She shouted in surprise as she circled round the swirling sands.

"You're not Monarch!"

A statuesque, dark-skinned woman, the bottom of her face hidden by a white veil, let her hands fall to her sides, and the sandstorm died away.

"No. I... am Scirocco!" she stated, standing much like the airbrushed Americana on the magazine cover the heroine had seen earlier that afternoon.

She wore a close-fitting white top, cut off under her chest, with long, flowing sleeves, white bikini bottoms and soft white boots.

"... Mistress of the Southern Winds!"

She gestured, and a powerful wind slammed Americana to the ground!

The heroine struggled to rise, as the air howled and pulsed against her skin.

Least... 's not... Monarch, she thought

"Huh!" she grunted as she forced herself to stand - then, step by step, she began to stride through the hellacious wind.

She couldn't help but grin at the shock on Scirocco's face.

Walking through wind? She had done this before.

"No," hissed Scirocco, as she gestured in a deliberate pattern. Responding to her summons, the air in front of Americana darkened and erupted with a stinging sandstorm!

The heroine fiercely closed her eyes, and held up her arms to provide some protection against the tumult.

Her first instinct was to curl up in a "turtle" position, more or less the shape of a ball, and tuck in her head. But she quickly realized - instead of shredding her costume and skin, the sand was bouncing off of her.

Still, she'd be damned if she was going to sit here and let this joker sandblast her!

Come on, come on... one step at a time. Ow! Yes, it stings.... keep moving forward... forward!

Repeating the same mantra to herself, over and over, Americana, step by step, approached the startled Scirocco.

Then a bolt from the blue struck her square in the back.

"Ohh!"

Americana was knocked forward onto her hands and knees.

"Guter nachmittag, junge dame."

Through bleary eyes, Americana glimpsed a masked man in a white, short-sleeved costume with blue trim. He had his blue collar pulled up over his nose, in addition to the eyemask, and the collar merged with a blue lightning bolt that struck from left to the right of his beltline.

His short, curly hair was also white. But what most drew her attention was that the man was surrounded by a lively, crackling field of blue energy.

"Ich bekannt als… der Blitz."

He reached out toward her, and twin bolts of blue lightning erupted from his hands! The bolts slammed into her, knocking her to the ground.

"English, Blitz!" hissed Scirocco, dropping her hands and letting the sandstorm die down. "If you wish to be understood."

"I think the mädchen understands, clearly," laughed the masked man, raising his arms. He unleashed twin jagged bolts of blue in a high arc - that smashed down on Americana, knocking her to the ground!

"Aaaagghhh!"

D-damn, b-blue or not, that sure felt like lightning - even though she was pretty sure lightning didn't travel in arcs like that!

She tried to stand, but her arms and knees were wobbly... weak.

Scirocco's winds threw her to the earth, hard.

"Stay down," Scirocco said haughtily.

"I will make her stay down," the Blitz cried, raising his arms again.

Americana looked wearily up at him.

Oh, no.

She was hit - by inspiration.

She suddenly lunged for Scirocco's ankles, grabbing her soft white boots and yanking her to where she herself had been laying just a moment ago. Before the white-clad wind wonder could do anything, she, being the tallest object at that particular point, was hit by twin blasts of blue lightning!

"Aiyeeeeee!" she screamed as the bolts slammed through her!

Then, she dropped to the ground, smoldering and unconscious.

"Mein Gott! Scirocco! I - I didn't mean... "

Americana pressed her advantage - the Blitz was too distraught to aim straight as she zoomed toward him!

Pow! Both of her fists connected with his jaw, slamming him backwards some forty feet! He crumpled into a pile of sparking spandex.

Ha. Good thing she had fought both Powerbolt and Jupiter before - she was almost getting used to these lightning-tossers.

"Oh. Mo. Gor."

Americana whirled.

An ebon-haired woman in a green bodysuit just... appeared ten feet to her right; Americana thought she had noticed a cloud of... black circles falling... into the woman, but she chalked that up to her heightened excitement.

A white stripe, edged on one side in black, ran from her right shoulder at a gentle diagonal, then bounced up again on left side to form a belt; the other side featured a large, floppy collar. Green hipboots, similarly trimmed with a wide white stripe and a thinner black one, completed the outfit.

For a moment, the two women stared at each other.

"You took both of them..." the woman in green said. "In seconds."

Americana thought that she heard a Russian accent.

What is this - a German, a Russian, a Middle-Easterner for all she knew?

She eased into a fighting stance.

The Russian woman seemed not to notice.

"Must I? She seems very... "

She sighed.

"All-l-l right."

Americana's eyes flashed left and right, but she didn't see anyone but the Mayor and Victoria, lying on the ground.

"You're with them?"

"Under protest," the woman muttered, raising her arm toward Americana.

"Months past, I was pushed into the heart of a nuclear fire," she said, voice raising. "I absorbed its power into myself, rather than die...

"You now face Scatter... the Living Tokamek!"

A burst of tiny black dots erupted from her fingertips and slammed into and through Americana, briefly causing her body to turn black itself, like a silhouette. But almost immediately a white starburst appeared in the center of her chest, rapidly expanding and consuming the blackness until her body was entirely whitish-silver.

Americana gasped as her normal coloring was suddenly restored. Heavens - th-that hurt!

She clutched her chest, where Scatter's bolt had entered, and glanced down - there was no sign of her having been shot?

She jerked up her head and stared at Scatter.

"What.

"Did.

"You.

"Do?"

"I... I... do not know!" the emerald-clad woman said nervously. "I - I have not seen my Scattershot do that!"

"You won't be seeing anything for a while," Americana said tersely, leaping forward.

She threw a terrific punch at Scatter's jaw - so terrific, in fact, that her fist plowed straight through Scatter's face! Scatter exploded in a burst of tiny black circles!

Americana froze in horror!

"What the - oh my God! Did I - ?"

Booom!

A stream of large black dots hit her, square in the back!

"Aaaahhhgh!" Americana cried out as her body turned entirely black - then, as before, a white starburst appeared, consuming the darkness.

The superheroine dropped to her knees, groaning as she shook her head to clear it.

"Amazing. You are still conscious."

Americana heard Scatter's voice behind her, just before the ground exploded upward beneath her.

"Not for long."

Americana landed, sprawled amidst the dirt and stone that the explosion had carried skyward with her.

She blinked, amazed that apparently she was uninjured by both that display of pyrotechnics and her getting blasted through the air.

Sometimes she forgot just how powerful she really was.

Time to show Scatterbrain she picked the wrong gal to fight.

As the Russian woman casually floated over toward her presumed-unconscious foe, Americana suddenly leapt forward, onto her hands. Then she whipped her legs around so they led, flying like a battering ram into Scatter's chest!

Or rather, through it.

Once again Scatter disappeared in an explosion of black dots!

Americana landed rather awkwardly, with one leg out in front of her, much as she had years ago on the vault.

W-what just happened - ?

"Normally I reserve such blasts for inanimate objects," she heard Scatter cry from behind her and to her left, just as a painful stream of those glowing black dots slammed into her. "But I believe you can take it!"

"Aaaahhch!"

Americana rolled with the blast and hopped to her feet. She glared at Scatter, whose confidence one could almost see draining away.

"Ohh, I can take it, hon," the heroine smiled as she strode toward Scatter."The question is, can y - "

"Ohh!"

She staggered. What in - ?

Pow!

It was almost as if someone was...

"Ooogh!"

...punching her... mind?

"Uuuhhh!"

Americana desperately tried to remain upright, but... geez, it felt like her head was getting smacked...

"Uhf!"

... from the inside!

Groggily she looked at Scatter... but the Russian didn't seem to be making any moves to attack. She seemed rather... concerned?

Suddenly a thin mad in a hooded cloak stood before her, smiling. An enormous yellow "M" was sprawled across his chest, separating his costume into deep green above, off-white below.

"Good afternoon, Americana," the words spilled over his thin lips in a mild British accent, but she "heard" them inside her head as well. "Tomorrow night we hit the largest U. S. gold depository. Consider this a friendly warning... assuming you wake up by then."

He nodded toward her - and Americana felt her mind getting struck, just as Scatter unleashed another dose of those black dots and her body briefly darkened into a silhouette.

As before, a whitish starburst appeared, apparently consuming the blackness and leaving her momentarily a silvery-white silhouette.

But whether the shock of Scatter's blast or the stinging force of the blow to her mind, the attack was too much for her.

With a low moan she crumpled to the ground and lay still.