Argent Vite turned her copy of Le Monde toward her companion and tapped the photograph in the upper left corner

"You're kidding," Americana said, holding the paper up to the light. She made a paper in France?

There she was, her arms huddled protectively around two wide-eyed children. It was the kids from the fire; she must have just been setting them down before going back in for the dog.

Americana frowned. She didn't remember any photographer being there - certainly not one so close to get such a clear shot. Granted, she was rather busy at the time... a telephoto lens, maybe?

"What, did they not photograph your good side?"

Americana laughed softly. "Oh, no. No. It just reminded me I have to work harder to keep my identity a secret."

"I suppose," the older woman smiled, "that is why you picked an out-of-doors restaurant in February?"

The two women were the only persons seated in the Hotel Washington's Sky Terrace Lounge, a covered veranda protected from the winter breezes only by sheets of heavy plastic; it was usually open to the elements in warmer months.

"Are you cold? I can have them turn up the heater," Americana said, nodding to the stalk of silver metal beside the table.

"I am fine, cherie," Solange said, and surprisingly she was - in addition to the heater, which was much like those she had seen in Alpine resorts, both women wore long coats over their costumes - another concession to keeping secrets.

"The meal is delightful, and the view is quite impressive," she said, looking over toward the White House.

Astrea smiled. The view was one of the main reasons she had chosen this spot; that, and it was one of the few really fancy places she was familiar with.

Solange had been nice enough to treat her to lunch twice now, and she wanted to return the favor.

"It's even prettier in the springtime. Too bad this wasn't a couple weeks later; you'll miss the cherry blossoms."

The women looked up as the door slid open, and their waiter, wearing his winter jacket unzipped over his uniform, hurried over with a steaming pot of coffee.

"Anything else I can get you ladies?" he asked as politely as he could while wondering how he had drawn the tourists that insisted on sitting out on the veranda when it was freezing outside.

"I believe we're all set," Astrea said, slipping a pair of twenties into the proffered card case. "That ought to take care of things; thanks for coming out here for us."

The server did some very quick math, realized he was getting ten and change, and smiled broadly.

"Thank you, ladies. Enjoy your stay in Washington."

He paused as he gathered up the dessert plates.

"You are going to stay for the medal ceremony, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Wouldn't miss it."

The ceremony had originally been scheduled for the White House, but that plan was quickly scrapped when somebody realized that having five of the world's six superheroes together might draw a sizeable crowd.

That turned out to be the understatement of the century.

Washington was no stranger to tremendous crowds; for decades the city had paid host to mass demonstrations and huge celebrations. From civil rights marches to war victory parades, the nation's capital was used to its population exploding exponentially on occasion.

Never had it seen an influx like this.

By seven a.m. every bridge, every highway into the city was at a standstill, packed with cars, vans and buses of all descriptions. The Metro quickly added more cars, escalating to full holiday level by nine. Hundreds of people simply parked alongside the roads in Virginia and Maryland and joined those crowds streaming in on foot.

A good number of frustrated visitors, radio stations were reporting, had begun turning back to airports in Baltimore and even Philadelphia, hoping to bypass the congestion by flying into the city.

If not for February's bitter chill, the crowds would probably have been even larger.

Members of Congress, especially those up for re-election, would have preferred that the awards be presented on the Capitol steps - but for there, too, the size of the crowds would make that impossible

It was no great surprise, then, that the ceremony would be held where the nation had so often gathered in anger and in peace, in grief and in joy.

And, not incidentally, at a memorial that Americana herself had saved just scant weeks earlier.

Besides, President Callahan could never resist the image of himself standing in the shadows of Lincoln.

A staging area had been arranged at the rear of the Lincoln Memorial. Large black tarpaulins had been hung both to section off enough area so that Marine One and Marine Two could land, but also to block the view of both news cameras and potential snipers. The Secret Service had sequestered a similar area across the river, and had closed off the Arlington Bridge to vehicles.

Not that that had left them any way to approach unseen, Americana noted wryly as she alighted, gently setting Argent Vite down behind the tarps.

She had decided to circle through Foggy Bottom and down the Potomac, thus avoiding flying over the sure-to-be-packed National Mall.

How was she to know that the Parkway would be just as crowded? Heck, people covered the roof of the Kennedy Center, and were lining the Roosevelt Bridge five deep.

The cheers of the crowds had followed the heroines down the river - kind of like "the wave" in a stadium, Astrea thought.

"Quite a reception," Argent Vite mused as she straightened her costume.

"Sorry. I originally thought we'd be closer."

"All those people - they're out there for us." Solange exhaled slowly. "I had no idea..."

"Yeah, it has kind of snowballed," Astrea admitted, running a finger behind her ear.

"In France, people just... accept that I am; they are far more laissez-faire." The speedster shook her head. "I am beginning to understand the urgency with which you protect your true name."

"Believe me, Argent, I wasn't expecting anything like this, either. I -

Americana started as Cameo just - came into view, much, Astrea thought, as a Polaroid picture gradually becomes sharp and colorful.

"Hi," she said softly.

Cameo was fairly small, smaller than Astrea was even in her normal identity. Her size was hard to judge, thanks to that caped costume of hers that looked like a wild cross between a cheerleader's outfit and a nun's.

"Sorry if I startled you," she added.

Americana realized she was staring. "Oh! No, no - it's just - that's pretty wild."

"Certainly more subtle than your normal mode of entry, cherie," Argent Vite said with a wry grin.

"Oh, speaking of subtle..." Americana nodded toward the Mall.

A roar louder than any stadium arose as Windjammer, swooped over the crowd in a long, steady arc. He then shot straight up, flipped over and soared to the staging area.

As he dropped down, he kicked his board out from under him and caught it as he landed.

"Hi, everyone! Nice to see you."

"Good to see you again, too," Knightguard said.

Astrea whirled - where did he come from?

And how did he get past the crowd, anyway?

She wasn't the only one wondering, if the expressions on the men and women in dark glasses and dark suits were any indication. That someone could so easily swoop in, sneak in, or fade in mere feet from their charges must certainly have rattled the security team.

No wonder the NSA Director had seemed not to like her!

"Americana?"

"Huh? Oh, Windjammer - sorry. I was just... thinking of something."

"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" the young man asked. "Man, there's got to be a million people out there!"

"Closer to two," Knightguard said casually.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Windjammer paused, looking up at the massive memorial in front of them. "Man, this is awesome. Washington."

Americana smiled. "Really? Even after hanging out with the Hollywood hot shots?"

"Are you kidding? The White House, the monuments... you are so lucky to live here."

"Tell you what. Drop by when there's not a million or two in the streets and I'll give you the `A' tour."

"Nervous, kiddo?"

A graying, angular man in a dress Air Force uniform walked up, leaning a bit unsteadily on his cane.

"Oh! Just a little, sir."

She felt as though she should make introductions, though given the unique individuals involved it hardly seemed necessary.

"Col - Senator Stephen Caniff," she gestured, "Cameo, Knightguard, Argent Vite, and Windjammer."

He smiled warmly, firmly. "A pleasure to meet you all.

"I'd love to stay and chat," he winked at Americana, "But at the speed I move these days I'd better keep moving if I'm gonna make it to my seat before it all starts."

He nodded politely and walked on.

"Steve Caniff?" Windjammer queried Americana quietly. "The astronaut?"

"Uh, huh."

"Oh, and I'm the one hanging with bigwigs, huh?" he grinned.

Americana felt her face warm a bit.

"Pardon me."

A Marine in a crisply pressed dress uniform stood smartly at attention.

"Sirs, Madams, the presentation ceremony is about to begin. Please follow me."

The heroes fell in behind him as three crisp drum rolls came over the public address system, signaling the crowd to quiet.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," a sonorous voice intoned, "The President of the United States."

Astrea's heart jumped a little as The Marine Band struck up "Hail to the Chief' - an anthem that she had always thought embodied a perfect mixture of importance, glory and tradition.

Jack Callahan, his dark suit pressed to perfection, strode to the podium.

He paused, smiling at the dozens of news cameras and perhaps thousands of other video and still cameras before him. Scion of America's preeminent political family, it was moments such as these that he lived for.

"My fellow Americans, and indeed all those watching around the world, we are gathered here amidst monuments to heroism, to courage, and to sacrifice, to honor six extraordinary human beings -"

The crowd roared, and the President, smiling, paused.

"Six people whose selfless action saved the lives... of millions of men, women and children."

Again, cheers echoed from marble canyons.

"In the course of the past several months, many of you - most of you - have heard, as I have, reports of people with incredible abilities - to command the wind -"

The President paused again as cheers arose from the vast throng. "Or to outrace it; to fly without a plane, or to catch one in mid-flight."

At this last the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

Offstage, Windjammer smiled and leaned toward Astrea. "Homers," he whispered.

The President continued.

"Superheroes, come to life.

"And, perhaps like some of you, I had a hard time believing such preposterous claims.

"Any doubts I may still have harbored were erased this past New Year's Eve."

Again, he paused as the city center filled with applause.

"One of the great... pleasures of the presidency is selecting recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest honor given to civilians by the United States of America.

"The medal these heroes receive today has a special history. It was established by President Truman in 1945, at first to reward notable service in the war. In 1963 President Kennedy amended the award for distinguished civilian service in peace time. The honorees that year included the singer Marian Anderson, Justice Felix Frankfurter, diplomat John McCloy, labor leader George Meany, the writer E.B. White, playwright Thornton Wilder and the artist Andrew Wyeth. By the time that first ceremony was held in the White House in December of 1963, President Johnson had added to the roll of names President Kennedy and His Holiness Pope John XXIII.

"Since that day many more have been added to the roll of honor - those whom were deemed to have made especially meritorious contributions to the security or national interests of the United States, to world peace, or to cultural or other significant endeavors. All have shared an unusually profound sense of responsibility to improve the lives of their fellow men and women.

"It is that quality, moreso than any wondrous `powers' they may possess, that we are gathered here to honor."

The audience applauded politely.

"That is why, it gives me great pleasure, on behalf of the United States of America, to present our highest civilian award..."

The noise from the audience escalated...

"To the saviors of Los Angeles, those whom can only be called... superheroes."

As the quintet of costumed individuals walked out onto the steps of the Memorial, the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar!

Astrea could hardly believe it - there were people as far as the eye could see. She had never seen the Mall so packed, not even on the Fourth of July.

And the noise - was deafening!

The sergeant-at-arms read the citations as the President presented the medals in turn, stage right to left, beginning with Cameo.

Astrea could tell that being first was probably the farthest thing from the small magician's mind - Cameo seemed more than a little nervous. But the order had been pretty much established by Jerry Colucci, the President's Chief of Staff - and he had seemed to pay particular attention to Cameo.

All the men, Astrea sighed, seemed to pay particular attention to Cameo.

And her having a costume cut down to there had nothing to do with it.

The citations were pretty much identical, Americana noted - thanking them for saving Los Angeles from the superpowered terrorists known as the Pantheon. She was too busy steeling herself as the President worked his way down the line toward her, to listen closely to the words. She knew she could always read the citation certificate later.

Astrea dearly wished that Mr. Colucci hadn't placed her last; she hadn't anything to do these long minutes but stand patiently and smile.

And look out on the crowd.

She had been working on her public speaking, off and on, for nearly five years now, but no Toastmasters manual or speech contest could prepare her for staring out at tens of thousands of people, cheering and yelling and waving signs and looking right at her.

Just look at a few at a time, she reminded herself. Breeeeeathe easy. Arms at your sides - don't fidget...

"Americana."

The President took her hand firmly. "Nice to finally meet you," he said.

"And you, sir," Astrea said, meeting his gaze.

"It gives me great pleasure, in the name of the United States of America, to present you with the Presidential Medal of Freedom - and the thanks of a grateful nation."

Americana trembled slightly as she leaned forward and the President placed the blue velvet ribbon, trimmed with gold, over her head.

The medal itself was beautiful - a golden star, with a raised, circular field of deep blue. In the field were thirteen gold stars, in five rows - one on top, then four, then three, then four, then one. Five golden eagles, wings outstretched, flew between the points of the large star, forming a border around the main body of the award.

As she felt the weight of the medal settle around her neck, Americana found it hard not to recall some of that medal's previous recipients - Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, President Carter - and wonder just how she ever got lumped in with such august company.

"Kind of... goes with your outfit," the President smiled.

Americana laughed lightly.

"Yes. Yes, it does. Thank you, sir, for this great honor. I'll always strive to live up to it."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

President Callahan stepped forward and returned to the microphone. He leaned forward to speak, then stood back and joined the assembled thousands in their tumultuous applause.

As it began to die down, he leaned forward and said, "There is, of course, a sixth medal to be awarded, but since some of you might not stay up for a midnight ceremony, we'll be sure to get Samhain's award to him."

There was laughter, then another round of applause.

"At this time, I'd like to ask our honorees to say a few words."

Americana exhaled slowly. Okay. This, she could do.

Granted, the largest audience she had ever addressed numbered only in the hundreds - but, she mused, once you get to that point a few thousand more shouldn't make a difference.

Besides, she had remembered that most recipients of the Medal of Freedom had made short acceptance speeches; she had pretty much decided what she was going to say.

Now, as the others stepped forward, she had a few moments to organize those thoughts.

Americana felt for Cameo, having to go first; the caped girl was obviously more than a little on the nervous side. She seemed to have partly faded into the background a bit before she was called forward.

"Each of us here has been given the gift of a responsibility that none of us can say we were prepared for."

The magic-wielder paused for just a moment of reflection, before continuing to speak at the same rapid clip.

"We fight our battles by the strength of our God and by the convictions of our moral character... we stand on the threshold of something wonderful and fearful. These powers show us that there is more to the world than we know.

"But I do know this. Our hearts are pure and we fight for right, as did our forefathers. Thank you."

Astrea blinked. Now there was a surprise. Of all the heroes present, the self-proclaimed witch was the last one she would have expected to invoke God. Maybe the witch business was just part of the act?

Knightguard, she had had pegged as a man of few words, and evidently she had been right - he was stepping back from the microphone almost before she realized he had been speaking.

The man seemed to move with a self-assurance that bordered on the preternatural.

That was one nice thing about an armored suit, Astrea mused - even if you were nervous, who could see enough of you to tell?

Then, here was a reasonably normal guy who had taken on foes like the Pantheon - she probably should expect a little confidence from him.

From all of us, Americana added.

She herself was just an historian, Argent Vite an antiquities dealer. Heaven knew what the others did, but she'd bet at least Windjammer and Cameo had fairly normal lives. Certainly nothing that involved fighting armed terrorists or addressing hundreds of thousands of people.

Let alone, Astrea thought as she watched Argent Vite speak, doing so in a foreign tongue.

Sometimes Americana had to remind herself that Solange usually spoke an entirely different language and did not simply speak English with a pronounced accent.

Her accent notwithstanding, the Frenchwoman's polite thanks had an air of polished elegance, her nervousness betrayed only by her shifting of her weight from side to side.

That, and her bolting in an eyeblink back to her previous position immediately upon utterance of her final words.

The cheers that accompanied Windjammer as he stepped forward were of a decidedly higher pitch than those heard previously; teen girls waved signs and squealed and like they were at a Jumpstreet Boys concert.

Windjammer stared out at the enormous crowd and opened his mouth to speak. He paused, then drew a breath to begin again.

"I love you, Windjammer!" a girl's voice floated over the silent crowd, followed swiftly by laughter and applause.

He laughed as well; Astrea could almost see the tension dissipating.

Windjammer spoke plainly, good-naturedly, occasionally stumbling over his words as he thanked everyone, thanked the President, and told how honored he was by all this. It was more a rambling conversation then a speech, but the crowd roared its approval anyway.

No wonder, Americana thought with a smile. For all his abilities, for all his Hollywood contacts, he had to be just about the least pretentious guy she knew.

Then, it was her name called.

She exhaled, slowly, and walked crisply to the podium.

Nice and steady. Enunciate. Project.

"Thank you, Mr. President, and thank you all."

Her voice rang clearly, strongly, across the National Mall.

"I am honored, grateful, and a bit overwhelmed, to be included among the previous recipients of this extraordinary honor. I am privileged to stand here, in the comforting shadow of the Great Emancipator, on the very steps from which so many of my own heroes have spoken.

"Much of this city you see around you is a monument not so much as to the memories of a few men, but to the fundamental ideals and hopes of all people. These ideals live on not because they are old,.but because they are timeless: charity, duty, faith, honor, and a patriotism that manifests in extending our hands to one another.

"Across the river behind me, sixty acres of stone serve as a sobering reminder of a debt that I can never truly hope to repay. The inscriptions on those markers, not just at Arlington but in fields around the world, are those of `ordinary' men and women without whom none of us could be standing here today.

"Never underestimate the power of an ordinary man.

"We, each and every one of us, have been given talents and abilities as gifts from our Creator. What those talents are, or the extent of those abilities, is irrelevant; what does matter is what we do with them.

"To be able to fly, to lift great weights... that is not power.

"The true power of this nation is not wrested from kings and councils, but summoned from within ourselves. It is the willingness of each of us to do what we can,

"When we can,

"Wherever we can.

"It is a promise I will strive to uphold."

She paused for just a moment.

"Thank you all."

Americana stepped back, smiling, as she finally allowed herself a slow, deep breath. She had given enough speeches to know she had nailed that one - good inflections, no slips.

Gradually she became aware of the crowd's applause - she hadn't heard a thing since her introduction.

"Not bad," Windjammer whispered. "Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

"That was not `talk', mon chou" Argent Vite smiled at him. "That was oration."

The President was offering concluding remarks, but Astrea didn't hear them. An incredible honor, the best speech of her life, and her family couldn't share it. Oh, she had no doubt that her parents, her sister, even Jason were out there, somewhere - but they didn't know it was her.

She wondered if the others shared their secret with their loved ones?

"... join me in recognizing," President Callahan was saying, "our Medal of Freedom honorees!"

The National Mall exploded in thunderous applause!

Americana fingered the old baseball card stuck under her glove as the roar continued unabated.

It was a reminder of her own childhood hero, and a caution against becoming too proud.

Astrea looked over at the others, and was struck by how similar this was to New Year's Eve - the six of them lined up on the rail of the Queen Mary, crowds cheering the news that they had saved Los Angeles.

She had been operating as Americana since last June, but to most of the world the whole phenomenon of heroes and villains with superhuman powers had really come to light less than two months ago.

Now, they were national heroes.

And, she thought as she smiled and waved to the crowd; it was a whole new world.