The Capitol City's superheroine stood pressed against a small tree, motionless save for her gently measured breathing, and peered through the darkness.

He was out there, she knew, somewhere in the trees.

And he was hardly alone.

The amount of manpower and equipment assigned to catch this guy was next to ridiculous. Public outcry had been fanned by the local media to the point at which nearly every elected official in range of a camera was demanding that somebody stop his rampage.

For the past several nights, traps had been laid - and skillfully avoided. He was beginning to make the authorities look foolish.

Setting snares was hardly her area of expertise, but Americana did have one major advantage over the authorities.

By now most people knew, or had at least heard, that she possessed strength enough to lift a truck over her head, and skin impervious to bullets and fire.

What no one knew was that she could see just as well by starlight as by daylight.

Americana kept this ability a closely guarded secret. She had found it extraordinarily useful to spot people trying to evade or ambush her, people who thought they were hiding in shadows - and she saw no reason to advertise that fact.

It was difficult enough for a six-foot-two woman in a red, white and blue leotard to remain inconspicuous.

A scurrying motion off to her left caught her attention. She resisted the urge to whirl round, instead turning her head slowly, oh so slowly...

"So there you are," she said quietly. A thin smile crept over her face as she spotted her quarry huddled beneath a cherry tree.

"Gotcha."

The small parking lot tucked into West Potomac Park was usually a dark and quiet place, a favored secret of both young lovers and those who wished to park close to the Tidal Basin.

Tonight, it was anything but dark and quiet.

A handful of dark green trucks were clustered under portable arc lights, the whirring of their generators filling the night air like mechanical crickets. A television truck was parked just outside the circle of light, alongside two police cruisers.

The curious were politely kept a short distance away by a quartet of Park Service rangers, as a dozen uniformed and plainclothed personnel gathered around the command center's operations map.

"... know he's a young one from the pattern of his attacks," a graying man was saying, his hands stuffed in the warm pockets of his hunting vest. "Lot more random than an older fella. Makes him tougher to track -"

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

Heads turned from side to side, then finally thought to look up.

A powerfully-built young woman in red, white and blue hung gently on the wind, not fifty feet above them, slowly descending out of the sky.

They could be forgiven, these experienced and professional men and women, for staring wordlessly, their mouths agape.

It was the first time they had seen a woman fly.

"I believe I have your culprit right here."

Americana drifted down out of the night sky, gently but firmly cradling a slightly-agitated beaver in her arms.

The news crews scrambled to set up as the assembly of parks personnel, animal control experts, and trappers stepped back into a little semicircle as the heroine alighted before them, stroking the furry creature's forehead.

Cameras flashed as the onlookers pressed forward against the ropes, shouting and pointing as if no one else had yet glimpsed the floating figure gleaming in starlight.

"The hunt has ended for one of Washington's most elusive vandals," a reporter said breathlessly into his mike. "The beaver that has felled eleven of the Tidal Basin's famed cherry trees, and damaged almost a dozen others, has finally been caught... by Americana."

Others joined in as soon as the power was restored to their cameras.

"The city's star-spangled superheroine swooped down upon the creature who had eluded capture for over a week, each night leaving devastation in its wake..."

"... put an end to the destruction of one of Washington's most treasured sights..."

The heroine stroked the fur along the rodent's back. She had never even seen a beaver before, let along held one.

"Hard to believe this little fellow's been causing all this fuss."

Astrea had been rather surprised at how large the creature was. For some reason she had always pictured a beaver to be about the size of a large squirrel, but this one she guessed weighed as much as a couple of bowling balls.

"I'll be damned," a ruddy man said quietly, pushing his John Deere cap back on his head. "I never seen anybody hold one a those critters before."

"Never mind flyin' down like an angel," another man added.

"He seems to like you, Americana," a ranger offered.

She laughed. "He sure does. Not as much as those cherry trees, though, right George?"

"'George'? You named him George?"

"Sure," she smiled, stroking the animal's fur. "Seems appropriate, don't you think?"

"You know, that story - "

Americana smiled and rolled her eyes skyward. "Yes, I know George Washington probably didn't chop down that cherry tree... but the story does seem to fit."

She glanced back at the Tidal Basin, ringed with thousands of blossoming cherry trees. "He couldn't possibly be trying to dam all that up?"

"No, ma'am," a young fellow in a plaid hunting jacket said. "Probably hungry - winter they eat mostly bark. An' beaver teeth are self-sharpenin' and ever-growin'; they gotta use 'em all the time, to keep the right length and sharpness."

"Ah." Americana nodded.

"We can take him off your hands, now, Miss."

The heroine hesitated. "Um, what... are you going to... do with him?"

"Well, drop him of in the woods or put him in a zoo, probably... or, uh, unless you got somethin' in mind..."

Americana smiled and brushed the beaver's coat. "Actually, I know just the place."

By the light of the moon, George the beaver thrashed happily through the reed-lined waters of the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge.

Americana stood on an earthen embankment, watching the furry creature steer with its broad, flat tail.

"This place is lovely, Joshua," she said softly. "Thanks for letting me drop him off."

The bearded man next to her nodded and smiled. "Not a problem."

To those who would recognize him at all, Joshua Raintree was known mainly for his appearances on public television on behalf of America's national bird. His expertise made him a natural to care for Blackwater, which had the largest population of nesting bald eagles north of Florida.

"Can't see what harm one more beaver would make out here," he shrugged. "He'll be happy here."

A loud cry cut through the night skies.

Americana looked up as a great bald eagle circled overhead.

"Don't worry," Joshua said with a shrug. "Your pal's more than old enough - eagles only go after the kits."

'Kits'? Astrea paused. Oh! Like kittens - babies.

"So he's safe now," she mused. "No more hunters."

"Hmt. In this world there are always hunters," he said, as they walked back toward the cabin that served as Joshua's office and part-time home.

"Then all these creatures are lucky you're here to watch out for them, Joshua."

"Just like we," he winked at Americana, "Are lucky to have you watch out for us."