All eyes in the brightly-lit office watched the man's face for any hints as to his thoughts, but there were none. He simply looked from one to the other, his dark gray eyes picking their reactions apart with practiced ease. It was a testament to his skill that most people interpreted his clear gaze as genuine interest.

"Apparently so, Mr. President."

"Good God," he mused. "How much does one of those things weigh?"

"Around 230 tons, sir," a wiry man said, peering over his glasses. "Full."

Jack Callahan, scion of America's foremost political family and leader of the Free World, thoughtfully sipped at his scotch.

"It's all in the dossier I prepared, sir," the spectacled man piped, pointing to the file on the desk. "She's super-strong, immune to bullets and fire -"

"Yes, yes, Smitty, I read it," the President said impatiently. "All very nice. But this is what I'm interested in tonight."

He jabbed at a remote, and a television in the wall blinked to life.

The screen showed a bulky, bearded man in an ill-fitting suit enthusiastically pumping the hand of a smiling black woman in a flag-patterned leotard. The picture changed to show a small crowd gathered around the brightly-costumed girl, eyes wide with excitement.

"Watch how she handles herself. Well-spoken, pretty, polite..."

The screen froze, and the small gathering immediately returned their attention to their boss.

"She's telegenic as hell."

He turned to his Vice President. "Where've you been hiding her, Pat?"

Patricia Rockwood sighed. "She's hardly been in hiding, Jack. You were out of town when she saved both myself and the Chinese ambassador -"

"'Americana Day in Castle Gate'," he said, quoting the Eyewitness News banner across the bottom of the screen.

"Where the hell is Castle Gate? Why haven't we done anything like that?"

"Castle Gate," Rockwood said forcefully, preempting Smitty and silencing him with a glare, "Is in Virginia. It's where she saved a dozen men from a mine cave-in back in the fall."

As the tape continued, the pictures of admiring miners in their Sunday best receded to the upper right corner of the screen, revealing anchor Sam Walters at his desk. The man who had been a fixture of Washington newscasts through seven Administrations leaned forward to speak - and the picture froze.

"Look at that," the President said, pointing with one hand as he reached for his scotch with the other. "Look at Waters. He likes her - they all do."

"Her Q rating exceeds even Jordan Michaels'," Smitty piped. "It's all in - "

"You report. Yes, Smitty, I know," Callahan sighed.

He looked at his Vice President. "He never smiles like that when he's talking about me."

Squelching the comments that came immediately to mind, she replied, "She's still a novelty, Jack -"

"You know what we oughta do?" Callahan burst out, turning excitedly to every face in the room.

"I think," he said, raising a finger to make a point, "Saving all of Los Angeles is worth a medal, don't you?

His advisors looked at each other. Smiles broke out.

"Now, wait a minute, here," the Vice President said.

"Come on, Pat, she'll eat it up."

"I don't think you understand. She isn't like that," Rockwood said. "She isn't into publicity or being a star...

"Oh, please," Smitty said, rolling his eyes. "What, you trying to say that with all the stuff she can do, she's content to run around town in her little aerobics outfit 'righting wrongs' and 'defending the innocent'?"

Rockwood paused. She looked Smitty in the eye.

"Yes. Yes I do."

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the President spoke.

"We are talking about national heroes here. People and events that... well, best comparison I can think of is the astronauts coming back from the moon. You remember that? We're talking history here. Now let's take advantage of it."

Patricia Rockwood exhaled forcefully. "Jack. We are talking history. No other administration has had to deal with real-life superheroes popping up. Dealing with Americana - and the others - is a great opportunity - and a tremendous risk. We have to be very, very careful how we play this.

"You all but ignored her until this Romulus business. I've been dealing with her, getting to know her, for almost three months now.

"She's a person, Jack, not a policy. I know what she likes, what and who she doesn't.

"You fumble this even a little and the press will have you for lunch.

"You let me handle her and you get to bask in all the reflected glory you'll ever want."

The President slowly sat back in his chair, hands folded on his chest. His gray eyes stared past the Vice President, past his advisors, to the picture of Americana frozen on the television screen.

"All right, Pat," he sighed. "She's all yours."

Americana closed her eyes as small fingers floated lightly over her face, tracing the contours of her nose and cheeks, dancing across her lips, and brushing across her eyelashes.

"You're remarkable," a woman's voice said softly. "You didn't even flinch."

Oh, but she had, Astrea knew, the first time she had let a blind child feel her face; she had been doing Story Hour at the childrens' ward for so many years that she was almost used to it by now.

"You're the remarkable ones, Miss Stanley," Americana said. "I can't get over how many of these kids you guys taught to skate."

Kristin Stanley stood among the dozens of children crowding the ice, gently guiding each child, in turn, to "see" the city's famous heroine. Some were completely without sight, some without the use of their legs, still others without a limb or two.

"Skating really boosts their confidence," Kristin said, her plain black skating dress in sharp contrast to the cacophony of colorful skating clothes, hats and jackets adorning her students. "It helps them get over their fears, shows them how much they can do."

Which was quite a lot, Americana thought. Skating was hard enough - but on crutches? Blind?

These kids could show anyone a thing or two about courage.

They had probably wondered if she was ever coming, Astrea thought. She had promised to return a few weeks ago and spend some time with the kids, but then the Ex-Patriot had put her in the hospital.

Part of her wanted to ask the kids if Victoria Valentine had shown up at the rink that night. Victoria's cameraman, Eric Crane, volunteered as one of their coaches, so he knew Americana had promised to come to the rink. And it had sure sounded like Victoria thought she knew where to find the heroine for an interview...

No. She had no business dragging the children into that. She would ask Eric herself or let it slide.

"... got a few stars coming as well. Nancy Bennigan, Ted Clairbridge... Ben Gitano might make it."

Oh. The fundraiser. Kristin was talking about the ice show.

"That's a pretty impressive list," Americana offered. Astrea didn't follow skating, but she had heard Beth mention at least some of those names.

"Just some friends, from back when I used to skate competitively," Kristin said. "They've been so good to us."

"Are you gonna come watch, Americana?"

The boy's inquiry was immediately echoed by a dozen tiny voices.

"Say the word and you've got tickets," Kristin smiled.

"That's... quite all right, Kris..." Americana's reply was cut short by disappointed cries.

"Hey, come on," she said gently, crouching near the kids. "Where would my secret be if you knew where I was sitting, hmm?"

She brushed a single tear from a girl's cheek.

"Hey, now. I wouldn't miss seeing you guys - I'll be there. That's a promise. I'm just going to leave the costume at home."

A boy of ten scrunched up his face. "Why?"

"Well, I kind of attract a lot of attention," she smiled. "Everybody would be looking at me; you guys are the stars of this show."

"You're gonna come?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything!"

"Thank you for coming. Can I get you coffee? Tea? Anything?"

Americana stood at the center of a large compass set in the tiled floor of the Vice President's office. Since this particular office was at one time the Naval Library, the nautical motif was everywhere. Dolphins and seahorses were cast in the second floor balcony railing, shells were set over the marble panels. And high above, the ceiling was painted with stars for navigation.

The stars, she particularly liked.

"No. No thank you," the heroine replied. She looked from the Vice President to Colonel Stephen Caniff, the vast room's only other occupants. "You said there was something you wanted to discuss?"

Rockwood nodded. "First off, the country owes you a debt of gratitude for your handling of the Ex-Patriot matter. Had he remained unchecked we would be facing catastrophe. If not for you, the Lincoln Memorial would have been destroyed, killing hundreds, and God knows how many more he'd kill shooting jetliners out of the skies.

"Colonel Caniff tells me the doctors said you suffered internal injuries, but still you stopped the Ex-Patriot and recovered the Ghostwing fighter prototype.

"Not bad for a week's work."

"Thank you, ma'am." Astrea felt her face grow slightly warm.

Caniff leaned forward on his cane, a satisfied smile softening his craggy face.

"You did a great job, kid," he said. "You're lookin' a whole lot better, too. How you feeling, hon?"

Feeling? That's right - when she last saw Colonel Caniff she was in the hospital at Bethesda.

"Oh. Fine, sir. Much better."

He shook his head. "I don't mind telling you, you nearly gave me heart failure when I saw you outta that bed. Part of me was almost hopin' you didn't find Parish, that one of our guys got him..."

Worries like that, Astrea thought, were precisely why she hadn't told her parents or sister about her being Americana.

"Thank God you did, though.

"I tell you, if last year somebody had told me a girl could catch an airliner I'd have thought he was crazy."

"Me, too, sir," Americana said.

The Colonel grinned. "Heh. Too bad they don't give medals for plane-catching."

"Actually, that's something I wanted to talk to you about," the Vice President said.

"Huh?" Astrea said eloquently. From the look on Colonel Caniff's face he was as perplexed as she was.

"The six of you heroes did save a few million lives New Year's Eve. The President wants to present you all medals."

"What? That's... not necessary."

"Americana, the President has honored sports teams, entertainers and economists. Quite frequently. You people risked your own lives to save millions - you deserve to be honored."

So that's what she's up to, Caniff thought, watching the Vice President plead her case. Necessary, no. Expedient, yes.

Americana didn't say anything. She stood quietly, absently running a finger behind her ear.

Both the Colonel and Beth had lectured her on the importance of accepting praise as part of being the hero. Even her Toastmasters had an entire module on accepting awards gracefully.

She had to admit, going to Castle Gate hadn't been nearly as bad as she had feared... but this?

"... want to do it," the Vice President was saying, "but we can't very well invite the others and not have you come. You understand..."

Americana bit her tongue. Oh, she understood, all right. She might not want to do this, but how could she ruin such an opportunity for the others?

Was she just being paranoid, or was she being manipulated again?

"Americana?"

"Ma'am?"

"I realize you don't do... what you do, for awards or fame. That's... very admirable. But there are times when you have to... accept that people want to thank you."

You're being rude, Astrea scolded herself. How could she not accept such an honor?

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, I was just a little... overwhelmed. It would be an honor."

"Oh. Good.

"What about the others?"

She shook her head blankly. "I don't know."

"You're the leader," Caniff said.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"From Jupiter, actually."

Americana blinked.

"The big guy from the Pantheon. You remember him -"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I remember all right."

Jupiter. Thunderer. One of the sinister squadron of self-styled "gods" that she and her friends had thrashed while saving Los Angeles.

He had blasted her with an unrelenting barrage of thunderbolts that no normal human could hope to withstand. Whether because of her quite vocal defiance, or perseverance under withering fire, he had referred to her as "the leader" of the group of heroes.

"I... was pretty angry, with all that was going on - and determined to put him down. Maybe I was the first person he had ever run up against who could stand up to him, I don't know...

"In any case, I'm just one of six. No matter what Jupiter might think.

"He and his wife are being held an Army base in California," the Colonel said. "The others are cooling their heels at the Feds' ultra security prison in Colorado, facing a gamut of charges from conspiracy to attempted murder.

"And Stoddard - Stoddard is up on charges of high treason."

General Anthony Stoddard, Americana knew. Mere months ago one of the Pentagon's rising stars, often seen in the same circles as President Callahan. Now, revealed and reviled as one of the architects of the attempted murder of most of Southern California... and the slaughtering of eight thousand innocent people in the Cook Islands.

Stoddard, it was widely speculated, had been instrumental in procuring the enormous quantity of nerve gas that was to be unleashed New Year's Eve over Los Angeles, a catastrophe that had been averted only by Astrea and her newfound allies.

She had seen the horrible news footage of the "test run" the villains had conducted on the island of Mallabar. Men, women, children - all died horrible deaths, but the animals and plant life remained unaffected.

Who in God's name, Americana wanted to know, could even think of creating such an awful weapon?

"I'm sure we can find a way to get ahold of the others," the Vice President offered. As I understand it, Windjammer has a liaison with the Phoenix Police. Cameo has established a contact at the Boston Globe. Argent Vite, the Surrete assures us, is able to be contacted. The others might prove a bit more difficult to reach..."

"Speaking of whom," Colonel Caniff said, "If you want to protect your identity you should take care who you're seen with, hon. Argent Vite's identity is fairly well known in some circles..."

"Oh. Right."

"Well, then!" the Vice President said cheerfully, flipping open the leather-bound ledger on her desk. "Let's pick a date, shall we?"

Astrea leaned close to Jason as the strains to a waltz began to float through the arena. As a procession of pink-clad skaters whirled below, it seemed as if she and he were alone together in the dark.

Tonight's performance was a benefit performance for the Skating Association for the Blind and Handicapped. Jason had been sweet to take her - ice shows were probably not a guy's idea of a date.

But he certainly was hers.

Jason always treated her nicely, respectfully, gently. It didn't matter if they were walking the river below Georgetown or having dinner downtown or just sitting and watching the stars - he always made her feel like she was the most special woman in the world.

It had been so very long since she was with a man who held doors open for her, who held her hand with a mixture of strength and tenderness, who just... looked at her that way.

She absently tugged on her sleeve. It was the same red dress she had just worn for Valentine's Day, one that her mother had saved for her.

Astrea had a few other dresses, but this one went so well with the necklace Jason had given her. She noticed that he was wearing his Valentine's gift, too - the watch she had picked out back in December.

She had had to cash in a few savings bonds for that one. The pictures she had planned to sell to the postcard company had been ruined by a well-meaning Marine when she tried to sneak out of Bethesda Naval Hospital.

Astrea had seen skating on television, but seeing it live was another matter entirely. The speed and grace with which the skaters whipped around the ice, the precision of the chorus lines, the lovely costumes - no wonder Beth liked this kind of thing!

But all this was merely a warm-up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls...please give a warm Washington welcome to two-time World Champion, Olympic silver medallist... Miss Nancy Benrugan!"

Amid cheers and camera flashes, an angular brunette in a sparkling white skating dress drifted onto the ice, waving to the audience.

Astrea recalled Beth having said something about Bennigan's losing popularity due to her making some unappreciative comments a few years back, but she sure couldn't tell that by this crowd.

The skating star fell in gracefully with a line of skaters in light blue gowns as four small trellises, rimmed with electric lights, were slid into position to provide a background.

Astrea shifted in her seat. According to the program, they were going to pantomime some kind of story about a fairy princess, then the champion would skate alone.

That Dr. Pepper was really getting to her.

"Sorry," she whispered to Jason. "Be back in a minute."

If only the lines aren't too long, she hoped. She didn't want to miss seeing the Olympian perform.

What she did miss was a ten-minute ballet casting Nancy Bennigan as a princess of a wintry wonderland, as snowflakes and ice fairies swooped around her. The fairies formed patterns on the ice, each more intricate than the last, until, perhaps sensing that they were losing the younger members of the audience, they bowed to the princess and headed off the ice.

As the chorus line bunched around the exit at the end of the rink, one woman barged through the skaters and out onto the ice.

She was blonde and a little chunky, with muscular legs and arms. She wore a maroon skating dress that had just enough cutouts and just enough gold trim to cross the line from elegant to tacky.

An excited murmur swept the crowd as the woman pumped her legs, skating directly toward Nancy Bennigan.

Nancy's face went white as her dress. Her mind reeled as she tried to cope with both recognizing Sonya Hardy and the shock of her presence here.

"Remember me, bitch?" Hardy boomed.

One of the male skaters drifted over to ease her off the ice.

She whirled, her blade slicing across his thigh and drawing blood.

"Aaaahhh!" he yelled and dropped to the ice, clutching his bleeding leg.

The crowd's murmurs gave way to screams.

All at once there were armed men at the aisles.

"Ah ah - nobody leaves," the blonde smirked. "Not until I finish what I started."

Her face a mask of fear, Bennigan backed away, slowly.

"Stay right there!" Hardy barked.

She paused, grinning. Every eye in the auditorium was on her - and she was going to make the most of it.

"Not happy to see me, sweets?"

"Leave me alone," Bennigan whimpered.

"Like. Hell," Hardy bellowed, her voice filling the auditorium. "Because of you I can't compete anymore. No more Finals, no more Olympics. I had to spend the last three years wrestling in Japan!

"Well, I learned a few things. Like how to really break things. And I'm gonna demonstrate those moves... " she stepped closer to the whimpering brunette, a wicked smile on her face. "... on you!"

"How about you try them on me instead?"

As one, everyone in the auditorium looked up. Standing at the top of an aisle was the tall, muscular figure of a woman dressed in shining red, white and blue.

The building erupted in cheers!

"Get her!" Hardy cried. Her head whipped from side to side, looking expectantly up at the empty entrances to the aisles. "Bryce? Tad? O.J.?"

"Oh, I took care of your friends while you were busy shooting off your mouth," the heroine said casually as she walked down the cement steps, seemingly in no particular hurry.

The blonde was visibly shaken.

"Why don't you just give up now, and...."

"You want me? Come and get me, you cow!"

"Oooohhhhhh!" the audience said.

"You think I'm afraid of you? I'm glad you showed up. Little Miss America's Sweetheart. You good girls make me sick."

Terrific, Americana sighed. And she would have to be on the ice.

Astrea had had a bad enough experience trying to fight Cyberia on the Clearfield Rink. She had no intention of being humiliated by some cheesy ex-ice skater in front of the television cameras - and Jason.

Especially Jason.

Americana vaulted gracefully over the boards and onto the ice - or rather, a few centimeters above it. Flying, even just a little, exhausted her powers more than anything she had yet tried, but it sure beat sprawling on the ice.

Never let it be said that Mrs. Starr's little girl, she smiled, doesn't learn from her mistakes.

"Look," Americana said calmly, "This doesn't have to get violent. We -"

Hardy wasn't listening. She was bearing down on the heroine with a full head of steam, a wicked grin on her face. She leapt and whirled.

The blade would have sliced across her neck, had not Americana's arm blocked the blade at the last second.

"H-hey!"

Astrea started - those things were sharp!

Of course she knew that the blades had to be reasonably sharp - but it was quite another thing to see such razor-honed blades flash by her face!

The next thing she knew, Hardy was whipping by on another pass, slashing the skate across Americana's side!

The skater's grin faded. What the hell - ?

She had expected to see gashes, at the very least, in the good girl's costume - and preferably her skin - but the heroine was just... standing there unharmed!

The slashing shook off Astrea's initial shock - she suddenly realized she had allowed the skater two shots at her.

She wasn't about to allow a third.

The blonde's face darkened, and a low growl rumbled in her throat as she charged forward anew. She launched herself off the ice, blades flashing.

And Americana slapped aside her leg, sending Hardy tumbling to the ice.

"That's enough of that," Astrea said firmly.

Hardy's face was quickly turning crimson as she picked herself up.

"All right, now, don't you think you should just - "

The skater unsnapped the golden chain around her waist and began whirling it overhead.

Americana sighed. Just once, you'd think these idiots would surrender.

With a screech, the maroon-clad marauder moved in on the star-spangled superheroine -

And was promptly backhanded to the ice.

Spinning helplessly across the rink, Hardy groaned as the chain went skidding in the other direction.

The blonde struggled to regain her footing, but the whole arena was spinning so much...

"I still... got my weapons..."

Americana folded her arms and casually skated over the ice toward her fallen foe.

"You just don't get it, do you? That you even need a weapon proves you aren't in my league."

Hardy rose, her hands slipped into some kind of spiked brass knuckles that had nasty-looking curved blades attached. Grinning, she slashed the air in front of her like a spastic cat at a scratching post - then sprang forward.

"You're gonna pay for that, babe - and I'm - "

"Oh please. You think I'd let a loser like you, in an outfit not even half as good as mine beat me on live TV?"

Americana's smile faded. "Think again."

Booof!

Americana's fist slammed into the charging girl's stomach, lifting her clear off the ice.

Hardy's eyes bulged, then she crumpled, landing flat on her back, out cold.

"Ooh, I think she'll lose points on the landing, Dick," Americana said wryly as the auditorium erupted in cheers! Lucky for Hardy she had held back on that punch, or the skater would be up in the nosebleed seats for sure.

Amid the roar and the people waving signs reading "6.0", Astrea couldn't help but look up toward Jason; he was cheering with the rest of them.

For her.

She smiled as she drifted over to Nancy Bennigan, who had had a front row seat.

"Th-thank you," the skater said, her face flushed. "S-sorry."

"For what?" Americana said softly.

"Just... sitting here. Cowering. I was so scared. I'm... just not as brave as you are."

"Oh, come on, now - she could have killed you!" the heroine said, helping her to her feet. "I'm mostly invulnerable - believe me, that helps."

The skater half-laughed. "Still - thank you. Thank you so much."

She paused.

"Can I... ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"All those things you can do - you're invulnerable, super-strong - you could do anything you wanted to. Why do you do it? This, I mean?"

"Oh, probably for the same reason you put in an appearance for those kids," Astrea said. "We each do what we can."

Security was coming out onto the ice, and the crowd was still cheering even as the announcer urged calm.

"I better go," Americana said. "Nice meeting you."

With that, she floated up off the ice. Then, in a flash of red, white and blue, she streaked out the exit farthest from her seat and was gone.

Astrea rubbed the fog from the side window with her glove. "I'm glad they finished the show, after all. We would have missed that gal in the red and silver."

Not to mention that the delay gave her time to change and return to her seat.

Jason turned into the drive. "Sorry, hon. I know I talk about her a lot - "

"That's okay," Astrea said softly, leaning on his shoulder. "I don't mind, tonight."

She sighed contentedly.

"But," she cooed as she slipped her finger through the knot in his tie, "Let's give you something else to talk about, hmm?"

Jason didn't mention or even think of Americana the rest of the night.