Legacy

A Dances Set to the Music of Time Vignette

       Whole 'lotta legacies going around in this piece of music, I notice.

by Elsa Bibat

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

1998:

In a forgotten part of Central Park in New York stands a
monument to heroes long dead.

       Okay, I'll admit it.  I'm a sucker for opening lines like that.

It was near fifty years ago, on a July day in the year 1951,
that they fought a battle in the streets and skies of the great
metropolis. A twin battle was fought on the West Coast, in San
Francisco, and a smaller monument stands there also.
But here, in this city where they lived and breathed and died
in, their greatest monument stands.

       Hmmm.   Are we going to see this battle in the Dance anywhere?

The Shadow. The Spider. Domino Lady. The Sandman. The Spirit.
Speed Demon. Blackmask. Miss Fury. The Countess. Men and 
women who took up arms to reclaim the night. Heroes and heroines 
who were either confirmed dead or reported missing after that dark 
July day. Gunfights in the streets, bloodshed in the skyscrapers, aerial 
combat in the skies and an apocalyptic explosion out on the bay.

       For a moment there, I almost thought you were pulling in the "Wild 
Cards" series.  But I suppose not.

He should have been there.
But Fate had dealt him another hand.


Britt Reid sighed as he adjusted his mask and fedora, wrinkled
and calloused hands doing practiced motions, as he squirmed in his
seat. He currently rode in the latest version of what most people in
the know would have called the Black Beauty. In the driver's seat, the
latest in the line of his faithful manservants drove the car with

       Repetition of "latest."  Suggest "most recent" for one.

practiced ease. The car sliced into the night like a silent knife.
Looking out, he gazed upon the monument again. The instructions
were to circle the park three times, making a point of passing the

       Suggest "had been" instead of "were."

monument. The peculiar positioning forced the car to slow down every
time they passed that position. Reid smiled. He had seen this done

       Repeition of "position/ing."  Also, peculiar positioning of what?  The 
road as it goes by the monument, I presume.

before. Sixty years and two generations later, whoever was wearing the
hat and cloak was still doing it.

       Someone's carrying on traditions.

There was a click at the car door. He turned his head to watch
darkness flow inside the vehicle and close the door again with a click.
All it took was an eyeblink. Kato had not even noticed.

       Huh.  Kato shouldn't be easy to sneak past, even if he *is* an 
nth-generation replacement.

An eyeblink and the darkness settled into a familiar figure.
Slouch hat pulled low, hands hidden within the cloak's folds, the
Shadow had arrived.

       Heh.

"Good evening, Miss Allard."

       Probing thrust.

His voice was the rasp of rusty steel and his wrinkled lips
formed a smile. He could see Kato look up, finally seeing the intruder,
returning his eyes to the road with a wave of his gloved hand.

       Aaaand, Kato notices, but doesn't turn an eyelash.  Quick on the 
uptake.

A chuckle erupted from the woman seated beside him. Her family
had that irritating urge to laugh and it seemed that she was no
exception.

       Parry...

 "Actually, it's Cranston-Wentworth. Though, Allard is good

       ...and riposte.

enough." Gloved hands took of the hat and she ran a hand through her
short hair. He could see the eyes that had earlier burned with power to
lose their strange shine. The girasol set into her ring shimmered from
red to blue.

       Missing a verb:  "...with power *begin*(?) to lose..."

"Ah, wrong guess, then. Though Cranston was number two in the
list. Wentworth was number three. You have a rather distinguished
family tree."

       Return parry, and disengage.

"Thank you, Mr. Reid. My grandfathers had many things to say
about you also."

       Yeah, but what *kind* of things?

"Yes, I would think they had." He removed the mask and fedora.
"My condolences, of course."
A bitter sweet smile appeared on her lips. The fire in her eyes
seemed to waken for a moment before they subsided. "I thank you again,
Mr. Reid. I know for a fact that they are in a better place. At least,
one of them is."

       Ms. Bibat, you are an incorrigible tease.

He tried to arch an eyebrow at that statement, but his facial
muscles failed him. So he just settled for a knowing smile.

       "Dammit, Shadow, I'm a Hornet, not a Vulcan!"

Conversations like these were what he loved in this particular hobby of
his. He shook his head and dove straight into business.
"I would assume that there is a reason for this meeting." It
was early yet and his guest obviously wanted to make most of the night
as he distastefully noted the telltale bulges of several holstered
guns. She smiled.

       Need some commas in that long sentence.

"You are getting old, Mr. Reid."
"I haven't noticed." The old man's response was accompanied by
the roll of eyes, as if listening to a statement that he had already
heard and was determined not to hear.

       "La la la, I can't HEAR you!"
       "....sticking your fingers in your ears is not really appropriate to 
the dignity of a hero of your stature, you know."

"You have. It has been three months since you got shot and you
are still not recovered."
Reid winced in remembrance. A simple sting operation gone sour.
Punks these days were a lot more trigger happy than they used to be.
The young woman nodded as if she had read his mind.
"It is a miracle that you have survived at all. An incredible
combination of genetics, physical conditioning, luck and smart thinking

       "Smart thinking"?  Uhhh...  Sug:  "intelligence" or "intellect"

have enabled you to survive this long. But most men in their ninth
decade cannot run around facing the dangers we face, inspite of having

       "in spite", two words.  Or "despite."

a master martial artist for a bodyguard. Even if he is a grandmaster of
the...what was the name... ah, yes...Musabetsu Kakuto Ryuu, isn't it?"

       <boggle> Ranma as Kato?  He hardly seems survile enough... then again, 
if working for the GH lets him kick lots of @$$ on a regular basis...

The young lady had a rather large grin on her face as she looked to the
man driving the Black Beauty.

       Sug:  "at" rather than "to"

Kato looked up at the rearview mirror and smiled that cocky,
crooked smile of his, blue eye's twinkling with amusement. "Sorry,
ma'am. I think you got the wrong guy."

       Sug:  have him "meet her gaze" in the mirror, or something.
       Also:  No apostrophe in "eyes."

Britt didn't know anything about his erstwhile butler/chauffer
other than the fact that he came recommended by an old friend of his
from Japan. The statement was so smooth that it could have been true
either way.

       Sug:  Comma after "Chauffer."  Also, drop the "of his" -- coming after 
the "him" that refers for Kato/Ranma, it's a bit misleading.

The Shadow just shook her head with a little knowing smile on
her lips. "You really should check out your friend here, Mr. Reid. He
has quite a few individuals of the feminine persuasion looking for
him."

       Definitely Ranma.  Or Ataru Moroboshi got some *intensive* training, 
Nerima style...

"Well, they're looking for the wrong guy then, miss."
The young lady gave Kato an appraising look then continued.
"He's good. You might consider-"
Kato beat her to the punch. He was pretty sharp in his own
right and Britt knew what this meeting was about since the moment the

       Suggest:  "...Britt had known what..."

girl talked about his age. "No way, lady. I can kick booty pretty well,
but I don't got the brains to run this gig. Besides, it'll ruin the
schtick that the boss has been running for the past seven decades."

       Interesting.  If it is Ranma, he's certainly lost a great deal of 
hubris.
       OTOH, maybe it's Akane in drag.  <snicker>

Britt nodded in agreement and looked at the young lady. "I'm
guessing that Kato's right on the spot, isn't he?"
"Most of the ... individuals in our particular line of work are
worried about you, Hornet."

       "They're afraid you'll get Alzheimer's and start blowing their 
covers."

"Are you saying I should get out? You know as well as I do that
once you're in, you can't get out. Except if you die or undergo a
reasonable facsimile of dying."

       Naw, if his Secret ID's intact, he could vanish.  It's more like the 
superheroes get addicted -- they can never quite clean up their affairs 
enough to feel they can retire... until they're dead.

The Shadow smiled. "That could be arranged. But it would be
better if someone were to fill in. The FBI is worried about what would
happen to the East Coast if the most powerful 'gang boss' suddenly
disappears."
"Fill in?"
"More like a replacement. Admit it, Hornet, you're getting too
old for this shit."

       "Well, it just so happens I know these two LA cops named Riggs and 
Murtaugh..."

Reid chuckled. "And who do you think can fill my shoes? He's
got to be smart as a whistle, sharp as razor with a little streak of
larceny in him."

       Sug: "...razor, and with..."

"It could be a her, actually. I've brought a few personnel
files I'd like you to look at..."

       Okay, Nabs comes to mind immediately.  But who else could fill the 
bill...?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Joe Yazzie didn't know what hit him and his gang until the door
opened.
One moment, they were planning the perfect heist. Killian's
Jewelry down Forty-second was getting lax in security and they had this
guy on the inside, see? There was going to be major delivery in the
coming week and they had a lock on it. Entry and exit, everything was
fixed. The crew was handpicked. Everybody had a good rep and there were
no nutjobs or screwups in this one. It was going to go off like
clockwork.

       Gee, with foreshadowing *this* blatant, who needs crytal balls?  (:)

Then, this guy in black drops from the ceiling and goes all
Bruce Lee on them. A kick here, a punch there, like a fucking typhoon

       Bruce Lee?  <snicker>  Nice ref.  Although, would that mean that BL 
had a double life in this universe?  I could see that happening.  
       So, where's David Carradine?  (:)

and all there freaking guns were gone, plus, Hacket from Jersey was

       "Their," not "there"

puking his guts out on the floor. The guy now had a weird thing in his
hand like those ninja dudes had and those baby blues of his were just
daring them to move.

       "Weird thing?"  Ninjas have a lot of "weird things"

No one moved.
The door opened slowly and she walked in.
"oh, shit."
The first thing that they noticed was the color. Green. From
that Frank Sinatra hat to the slacks, the color was green. Black gloved

       "Black-gloved."  Otherwise, it sounds like black hands inside gloves.

hands fixing each other up, tight leather being pulled tight. The shiny

       Rep of "tight".  Did you mean "...tight leather being pulled tightER"?

black heeled boots made her taller. But they knew who she was. At
least, they knew what that green meant.
"fuck, man."

       GH2:  "No, thank you.  You're not my type."

This was her turf. Well, his turf. Last they heard, it was an
old guy in the suit. A three piece suit with a trench coat. The three
piece suit was there, but the coat was pulled tight and cut short to
emphasize feminine curves. Violet eyes glared from behind the mask, a

       Violet eyes?  Who...?

brown helmet bob framing the sharp face that was frowning in
displeasure.

       Sounds like Nabs' hairdo, but that's the wron eye color... isn't it?  
Is she wearing contacts to help hide her ID?
       Or, could it be Akiko from Nuku-Nuku?  *She'd* be a good choice for 
the role, except for a risk of going over to the Dark Side...

"Mr. Yaschiltz?" No one knew Yazzie's name but the Feds. But,
she obviously knew.
Damn! Damn! Damn! They told me it was clear! That the turf was
clean! Free action all the way! No chance of hi- her coming in-
"Joseph Yaschiltz?" The frown was deeper and the eyes were
harder.
"ye-yeah." Stronger now. Have to be strong. "That's me."

       Good thing for him he hasn't noticed the puddle in his shoes, yet...

"You're operating in my... uncle's territory. He doesn't like
that. He likes everything to be under his control whenever it's in his
territory. Since he's kind of getting old, he's decided that I should
have a personal hand in his business. You do know my uncle, don't you?
Maybe you don't and I have to introduce myself. Hell, I'll introduce
myself anyway."
Joe was sweating buckets as a shark-like grin appeared on the
woman's lips.
"I am the Green Hornet."

       "Green's really not your color.  Have you considered changing your ID 
to "Bluebottle Fly"?"

Yeah, I know. Barely, a tinge of anime. But, hey, part of the Dance
sequence. ^_^
Anyway, I salvaged most of it from an old fic of mine that never got
finished or released, which was a Ranma/Green Hornet crossover.
So that is not Nabiki. ^_^ It's someone in a Nabiki wig. ^_-

       ?????  Okay, fine, BE that way...  <grump>

Anyway, so as to clear up the next order of appearances, below
are the next fic where these characters above show up, a tradition
for these stories beginning now:

       A new instant Bibat tradition!

The Shadow will return in...
Iron Crown

The Green Hornet and Kato will return in...
Dances Set to The Music Of Time: A Modern Waltz

       You *are* keeping some kind of index, aren't you?  This fic 
*seriously* needs a webpage to keep it all organized.

     <A HREF="http://rakhal.com/florestica/elsa-bibat/index.html">http://rakhal.com/florestica/elsa-bibat/index.html</A>

       Oh.  Never mind.


-- 
David McMillan, Imagineer at Large.  
Chief Systems Analyst and Integration Engineer, Exotic Technologies Division, 
  <Censored> GmBh.  Mecha and Weapons Design Specialist.
"Agent Mulder?  My name is Neo.  I believe I may be able to show you part of 
the truth you've been searching for.  I should warn you, however -- it's not 
what you think."
--



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