There was a newspaper carrier who could drop off copies of the Daily at Channel 5 late in the afternoon after he was out of school, but that was too late to follow up on something the First to Know News staff might have missed. So one of Cindy’s chores was to head up the street to a nearby convenience store about one o’clock to get several copies.

Sally looked at the Daily regularly like everyone else on the staff, but unlike her coworkers, she knew today’s issue was something special. She was facing her computer monitor, but out of the corner of her eye she watched Metheny as he eagerly got up from his desk to check out the competition.

Ten … nine … eight … she started counting to herself as Metheny glanced at the top half of the front page. It took several seconds for him to decide that it was all old news. Three … two … one … he flipped the paper over to look at the bottom half of the page … zero.

“That fucking son of a bitch!”

And we have liftoff …

Ben looked up from his desk. “Something the matter, Jason?”

“That miserable son of a bitch stole my story!” the tall young reporter replied furiously. “God damn it, it’s my story! Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?”

“Jason, you’re not making any sense,” Ben said, getting up from his desk and heading over to the counter, along with several others, Sally among them. The story that Jason was furious about took up a good chunk of the bottom half of the page, along with a two-column color photo of Hippolyta in her full black regalia, standing on the steps of a Gothic-appearing building, looking mean, holding Penthesilea at low guard across her body. Wow, he got a good one, Sally smiled inwardly. Hell, I even scare me!

“How in hell did he get this story?” Metheny fumed. “Even the useless freaking cops can’t run her down. Sally, he’s your brother. Did you tell him I was working on the Amazon story?”

“We had lunch the other day,” she said defensively. “We mostly just talked about family stuff. But he’d have to know that we were working on it if he watches the evening news.”

Ayers shook his head. “Jason, settle down. Maybe it’s just a compilation of the stuff he got from open sources. He does have every right to do that, you know.”

“Yeah,” Jason replied sullenly. “I know he’s got asshole buddies all over the police department, but it’s my story. I mean, I found it, what right does he have to run away with it?”

“Well, let’s pick it apart,” Ayres said reasonably. “Maybe there’s something in it we can use.” He picked up the paper and began to read the story out loud:

Sword-wielding Amazon on mission to protect women

By Charles Parker

Toledo Daily News Staff

The black-clad, sword-wielding Amazon who broke up a holdup in a west Toledo convenience store Sunday evening has a name.

She calls herself “Hippolyta.”

“Hippolyta?” Metheny snorted. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“The store clerk said she called herself ‘Poleeta,’” Dave commented. “Strikes me from college that Hippolyta was Greek, a queen of the Amazons.” And he went on to explain the classical pronunciation.

Ben continued to read:

It’s her real name, she insists. She was given another name at birth, but refused to divulge it in an exclusive interview held at her request with the Toledo Daily News.

“Holy shit, he got an interview,” Ben exclaimed. “Maybe she called him up.”

“Or one of his asshole buddies in the police department tipped him off,” Metheny fumed. “That’s probably what happened. I ought to go over there and FOIA every scrap of paper they’ve got.”

“But if she did call him,” Ayres replied, “then it would be a waste of time.”

“But why didn’t she call me?” he complained. “I’m the one who broke it, and I’ve been busting my ass on it.”

“Let’s see what’s in the story,” Ben said with a frown.

“I did not earn my mundane name,” she explained mysteriously.

Mystery and threatening power surround the intimidating leather-clad figure who carries a polished steel sword of ancient design named …

“Penthi … no, Pantha, uh …” Ben struggled with the unfamiliar name.

“Try Pen-thistle-lay-uh,” Sally suggested.

“And just how the hell would you know that?” Jason said angrily. “Did your idiot brother tell you?”

“Hey,” she replied lightly, with an infuriating grin, knowing it would piss him off even more, “who’s the expert on swords around here, anyway?”

“Pick up a toy sword and you think you know it all,” Jason snorted.

Ben continued grimly, getting the pronunciation close to correct:

… Penthesilea. The name means “Makes men mourn.” Penthesilea is a child of Toledo—Toledo, Spain, that is—one of the last outposts in the western world where battle-ready swords are still made.

It’s a magic sword, Hippolyta explains. Not the magic of sorcery, but of something more powerful—the thousands of years of tradition and craftsmanship and battle testing that went into its strength and its razor-sharp blade.

That magic comes to life when there’s need, like Sunday night when Hippolyta found alleged robber Larry Ferguson threatening the life of Shop’n’Go clerk RuthAnn Richardson at the corner of Reynolds and Dorr.

“She was a woman in danger,” Hippolyta explained. “No true Amazon could turn her back on a sister in need. Penthesilea was in my hand with no forethought.”

Metheny shook his head. “Did she take that right out of some comic book, or what?”

“Does sound a little lurid,” Ben said with a grimace. “I’ll bet Parker was laughing himself silly when he typed that.”

He was, Sally thought. Of course, the idea had been to lay it on somewhat thick. They’d done it as a real interview, with her in character and costume the whole time, and Hippolyta was supposed to be somewhat lurid and over the top in any sort of presentation. She hadn’t actually seen the whole story, figuring it was best to let her brother go with his own style, and she was pretty sure it would get worse further on.

Swords may be an ancient weapon, but they’re no less an effective one. After the instant it took for him to feel Hippolyta’s battle-tested power, Ferguson found himself on the floor, half-buried in snack food, bleeding heavily from the hand that had allegedly held a gun, with Penthesilea’s tip half an inch from ripping out his throat.

“Men like him have no respect for the power of a woman,” she said with a sneer, recalling the experience. “My duty as an Amazon is to protect women from men who threaten them.”

Metheny shook his head. “Wow, can you say feminazi? The next thing we’ll be hearing is that all men are pigs and ought to be sent out to slaughter.”

“Has potential,” Liz snorted. She was a lesbian and didn’t care who knew it. “Too good for most of ’em though.” There wasn’t anyone present who would make an issue out of it, not with her.

“Thinking back to college again,” Dave said, “she actually toned the original legend down. Who said the other day that the only use for men the Amazons had was as slaves?”

But an Amazon, out of myth and legend? In Toledo, of all places, in this day and age?

“There are no Amazons born anymore. None are recruited,” Hippolyta explained. “They have to be recognized.”

“Recognized?” Metheny snorted again. “What a meaningless piece of horseshit.”

“No, she stole that line,” one of the sports guys commented, “from the Hell’s Angels.”

“Now, Carl,” Ben chided, “Just how would you happen to know that?”

“Guy I used to pal around with,” Carl said. “His brother rode. Mean bastard, nobody to mess with.”

Hippolyta is easy to recognize, dressed head to toe in black, a big shock of red hair cascading down her back from under the tight fitting black leather hood that masks her face, by Penthesilea’s scabbard slung over her shoulder—and by the .357 magnum in a leather holster riding on one hip.

Carl looked over Ben’s shoulder at the picture. “Don’t know that I’d want to mess around with her, but there’s a serious babe under that leather,” he said.

Why, thank you, Carl, Sally thought. Too bad you’re engaged. And a sports guy.

Ben shook his head. “Looks to me like any guy who wants to mess around with her better be ready to lick her boots.”

“Yeah,” Metheny said quietly. “That is true, isn’t it?”

Sally’s thoughts switched instantly. Jason, I don’t believe you just said that, she thought. Ohhhhh, I’ll have to remember that …

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeff laughed. “Right now, ma’am. May I bring you the whip, ma’am?” Everybody got a chuckle out of that, and Ben continued to read:

“I don’t like to carry the barker,” she commented. “Honorable opponents use honorable weapons. But there is no honor in threatening an unarmed woman with a gun, so I must be prepared should it happen and be ready to use it if necessary. Legends written by men vary, but the one I follow tells us the Hippolyta of old was murdered by Hercules when he used a dishonorable means of combat, like other men having no sense of honor. We know today that Zeus made men and Zeus made women. Sam Colt just made them equal.”

“God, that’s corny,” Sally said with a grin. “I can’t believe Charlie would actually use a line like that, even if she did say it.” She had indeed said it. The intent of the article was to throw in a few lines of wild, heavily feminist ideology like that, just to keep it from being too normal, use at least a few lines that Metheny would be tempted to steal, and would be hard to file the serial number off of.

In actual fact, she hadn’t carried the Model 581 with the Hippolyta outfit before the interview and photo session, but on learning that the WarLords were upset with her, she’d decided at Charlie’s suggestion to make the modification, just in case. It might give them second thoughts if they got ideas, since they were best known for targeting people who couldn’t shoot back. She did know how to use the .357—in fact, had shot and passed a police qualification with it at the Swanton Police range with Charlie earlier in the summer. It was in the glove compartment of the Mustang right now, and she did have a carry permit. Ohio was a “shall-issue” state for concealed carry permits, after all … and in her job, sometimes it was nice to have a friend along.

“Pretty cute statement, though,” Ben said, dragging Sally out of her reverie … hey, Metheny hadn’t fired off one negative comment about the last comments in the story, and it was all wide open for him. In fact, he hadn’t said much of anything since the ‘boot licking’ comment … you don’t suppose? Oh, wouldn’t that be a hoot! It was all she could do to keep from cracking up at the vision that filled her mind as Ben continued:

Isn’t it the job of the police to protect the citizens?

“Of course it is,” she said as the light of the dying sun flashed off of Penthesilea’s shiny steel blade in the out-of-the-way place where this interview was held. “And by and large, they do a fine job. But where were the police when Mrs. Richardson was threatened with death? Still minutes away. They cannot be everywhere. But I could be anywhere, and I was this time. Had I done nothing, she could have been shot several times and bleeding to death on the floor with that scum already gone by the time the police arrived. If citizens don’t stand up to crime, stand up to men who threaten helpless women, then we deserve what we get.”

“You know, she’s got a heckuva point there,” Ben said, “leaving out the feminazi slant even. It strikes me that she really is the hero of this incident, even though she has to hide out because she saved that woman’s life. You heard that cop the other day. Hell, she could get prosecuted or sued for violating that crumb’s civil rights, his freedom to rob and murder, and we’ve been essentially casting her as another villain.”

“You’re right,” Metheny conceded. “I guess we have. We ought to be portraying her as a hero, not a crook on the run.”

Well, son of a bitch, Sally thought in total amazement. She would have bet good money that he’d turn away from this piece yelling and screaming that this violent criminal should be taken off the streets. Or is it that you just want to lick Hippolyta’s boots, Jason? Not that you’ll ever get the chance … oh, if her intuition was correct, this could set up a whole raft of different possibilities she hadn’t expected. Ben continued reading from the story:

But why the comic-book superheroine outfit?

“That’s what I want to know,” Metheny agreed thoughtfully.

It was a tough question. Sally had known it had to be explained if the interview was to be deemed successful. She was actually quite proud of the answer she’d given Charlie, threatening as hell without actually saying anything:

“Does it matter?” Hippolyta asked in reply. “I am only a symbol of the many Amazons about us, nothing more, nothing less. Those who threaten women cannot know who an Amazon might be. When women are threatened, an Amazon could be any woman, young or old, large or small, dressed like anyone else. Those who threaten a woman cannot know that they may be dealing with an Amazon or that one is right nearby.”

In a hard, deep voice she added, “I myself cannot be everywhere. But I could be anywhere, with Penthesilea in my hand.”

Jeff glanced at the picture again. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’d care to be the guy who pisses her off. She could convert someone to a soprano real easy with that thing.”

“You’re right,” Metheny said quietly. “This whole thing does sound like it’s out of a comic book, but there’s a real person under that getup, and I do think we need to show her some respect.”

My God, Sally thought, her intuition was confirmed. This is drag-’em-through-the-mud Metheny? Oh, Jason, not only do you have it, you have it bad …

“I don’t know what you have written for tonight,” Ben replied. “Maybe you ought to go back over it. Don’t come down on the police because they can’t find her. Come down on them because they’re looking for her at all, especially with any intent at punishment for doing a good deed.”

“Yeah,” Metheny agreed. “There’s some good stuff here. We can make something useful out of it.”

“Better be careful what you use from here,” Ben warned. “That is a copyrighted story. The Daily doesn’t put a copyright on a particular story unless they mean it.”

Shit! Sally thought. He saw the trap. That blew up about two thirds of what she’d planned to do. On the other hand, Metheny had just opened a lot of possibilities himself—some of them way more interesting than she’d imagined …

“Damn,” Metheny said. “That’s going to make it a hell of a lot more difficult. There’s some good stuff there. Sally, would you ask your brother for permission to use some of this?”

“I could ask, but I won’t. Ever since I started work here, we’ve had an agreement that we won’t hit on each other for sources. He doesn’t think much of us over here, and I don’t want him telling me to go to hell.”

“What are you doing?” Metheny snapped, returning to form. “Covering up for him?”

“I just said I wouldn’t ask,” Sally retorted, twisting the knife. “There’s no reason you couldn’t ask. But I think you know what he’d say to a request from the guy he calls ‘Panty Raid.’”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Metheny said with a sneer.

“I’m just telling you the truth,” Sally replied, not backing down, realizing that while Metheny may now be awed by Hippolyta, nothing else had changed. It was a relief, in a way. While it made this particular situation tough, it offered promise in the long run. “You don’t believe me, you just go ahead and call him yourself. I can even give you the number.”

“Sally,” Ben interjected, mostly to keep blood from flowing in the newsroom. After all, he now knew that Hippolyta wasn’t the only person around who was good with a sword. “I realize you’re in a tough spot, but couldn’t you maybe ask him nicely? Just sort of hint around? If he bites, he bites. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.”

“I could do that,” Sally conceded. “But I don’t think he’d go for it this afternoon, not while that story is on the front page of the Daily. Give me a day or two, and I might be able to put it to him so he won’t bite my head off. He’ll probably say no anyway, but there’s no point in turning it into a family feud.”

Ben thought about it for a second. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s the best we can do, then it’s the best we can do. Jason, don’t use anything from Sally’s brother’s story directly, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t use it to rethink the facts we’ve already got. I want this packaged in the next couple hours. I’ll check the tape before we air it to make sure we aren’t stepping on anyone’s toes.”

“I still think Sally should call up her brother right now or we’re out in the cold, just looking like crap.”

“She could call him,” Ben replied, getting a little tired of Metheny’s petulance, “and we’d most likely not wind up with anything more than we’ve got now, except to have him pissed off at us.”

“So what’s new? What could he do to us?” Metheny asked, fuming.

“For starters,” Dave laughed, “He could tell Hippolyta that there’s a bunch of dishonorable men down here, and to come down and clean our clocks.”

“Damn it,” Metheny snapped back at the anchor. “This is serious. You don’t have to make jokes about it.”

“Damn right, it’s serious,” Ben replied, showing some anger of his own, now. “The hell of it is, I’d almost rather face a pissed-off Hippolyta than face a jury in a copyright violation case. Write the story, Jason. Getting pissy isn’t getting it done.”

“All right,” he said, deflated, realizing he’d lost a round. “But if Sally would—”

“Sally said she would,” Ben said quietly, “when she thinks there’s a ghost of a chance of success. She knows her brother better than we do. Now, let’s get back to work, people.”

There was some serious staring back and forth there for a second. Go ahead, Jason, Sally thought. Say something smart. Ben is about ready to bounce your ass out on the street if you do. Unfortunately, I think you realize it. Finally, the reporter turned his back, grabbed a copy of the Daily and headed for his desk. Aw, bummer, she thought as she grabbed a copy of the paper herself and headed back to her own desk.

She laid the paper down and took another look at the picture. Good shot, she thought. Back when she’d been in college, one of her roommates had been an art and photography major, and Sally had posed with foil or sabre for a number of studies in black and white, and some of them were simply awesome. They’d even done a nude study once, just nude and sword. Her face couldn’t actually be seen, the lighting was so stark, but the results had won awards—something else to not mention around the newsroom. But this was the first real shoot she’d done as Hippolyta, and it had turned out real well. The photo had been taken at a receiving vault in a cemetery out west of town. It was an old Victorian-Gothic building, once used to store bodies when the ground was too frozen to dig graves. It was no longer used, though kept in good shape. The absolute perfect setting … she sensed someone looking over her shoulder, and looked up to see Ben. “Trying to figure out if you know her?” he asked.

“It would be nice if I could do an end run around Charlie,” she replied ambiguously, thinking that she didn’t want to lie if she could help it.

“Do what you can,” Ben said quietly, “but this is probably a one-shot. It’ll die down in a couple days. Sorry I let Jason get out of hand back there. There was no reason for him to jump on your ass because your brother got the story. It would have been nice to have it, but, well, shit happens.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “Maybe we can do better next time.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ben said before he headed back to his desk. “We do get to win one once in a while.”

As he left, she reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a handful of balls, and got them going. Although it hadn’t gone anything like she’d planned, their trap with the article had almost worked. It just missed, she thought as she let the balls going through the air relax her. There’d be other opportunities …

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