SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!

Ah'm not sure exactly who the character belongs to, save that he isn't
mine:):) He was conceived by the staff of Wizard Magazine in July 1997
for an article entitled "Amalgamania: The Top Ten Amalgams 'Wizard'
Wants To See!" He caught moi's eye immediately, and Ah kept this story
possibility in the back of moi's mind ever since! Hope ya'll like him,
too:):)

This is a fanfic for entertainment purposes only! No copyright
infringement is intended for DC Comics, Marvel Comics, OR Wizard
Magazine, so don't sue moi:):)

Rated PG-13 for a bit of violence and bad temper on Supermanta's part
and maybe a naughty word or two in Japanese:):) Hee!

For those of ya'll who would like to see what Supermanta looks like,
click on this Link:

It should be obvious, but Supermanta is an amalgam of DC's Superman and
Marvel's Namor, the Submariner! Special thanks to the Wizard staff who
conceived him, and to Rachel Erhlich for tinkering with the outstanding
illo of Supermanta! Thanks, Rachel, Sugah:):) Again, many thanks to Steve Zink for a superb beta!

And now, on with the story!

Part 1

Captain Hiro Fugimoto made a wry, disgusted face and breathed out
heavily through his nose in irritation. "Not you *too*, Kenjiro-Sama!"
he exclaimed in a barking voice, perhaps a bit harsher than he'd
intended at first. First Mate Kenjiro Yamahara was a fine sailor and
a worthy son of Nippon. No need to be so thoughtless, Fugimoto
chastised himself.

Kenjiro assumed an attitude of proper respect for his Captain, and
bowed quickly; perhaps a bit lower than was absolutely necessary under
the circumstances, Hiro decided, embarrassed.

"With respect, Captain-San," Kenjiro pointed out in an apologetic voice,
"I only remind the honorable Captain of the nervous state of the crew.
Three whaling vessels have disappeared in this area within the last
month. They say a demon haunts these frigid waters. A most powerful
water spirit."

With an effort, the Captain forced himself to smile. "Nonsense,
Kenjiro!" he chuckled heartily. "Superstitious claptrap! Surely you
do not believe it any more than I!"

Kenjiro looked away, unwilling to face his Captain just then. He
studied his feet, clad snugly in weather proof boots. "Hiro, my old
friend," he addressed the other man, "I do not know what to believe.
We were sent to investigate this 'demon', were we not? The last
transmission from the Hokkaido-Maru speaks of a "a great wind' and a
'terrible force rising from the depths of the sea'...and all the
witnesses agree. Whatever this thing is, demon, man, or...something
else...it is mighty, possessing abilities far beyond those of mortal
men. Beyond even the power of we poor mortals to describe."
Reflexively, as if to protect himself from a sudden bitter cold
invading the warmth of the bridge he stood upon, he pulled the hood of
his heated all weather parka closer about his flushed face.

"That's why I'm here," declared Dr. Reicho Namasara, late of the Osaka
Institute for Advanced Oceanographic Studies. "To see this thing for
myself, and perhaps help you deal with it. Did you know that your men
have given this 'demon' a name? They've begun to call it 'Supermanta'."
The diminutive scientist smiled, bowing in greeting to his two hosts.

Captain Fugimoto sniffed hot derision. "Your pardon, learned sir, but
I have been sailing these waters for more than twenty-five years! I
have no need of a nursemaid!"

The scientist understood the sailor's ire, but still could not help
being put off by his verbal jab. "Truly, Fugimoto-San," he returned
dryly, "you are lucky the Son of Heaven did not call upon Sunfire and
the Big Hero Six to assist you! Or perhaps the Imperial Bodyguard,
Rising Sun, himself. Nippon is surprisingly dependent upon the bounty
of the sea for her continued survival. Anything that adversely affects
the Japanese fishing or whaling fleet is a serious matter." Fugimoto's
sharp gesture of dismissal was almost rude in its abruptness.

Sighing, Dr. Namasara shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak,
but he was interrupted by the harsh cry of the lookout on deck.

"Whale!" the call went up. "Whale off the port bow!"

Abandoning Doctor Namasara, the two sailors clambered out onto the deck.
The biting subzero Antarctic winds of the Weddell Sea lashed them
unmercifully as they both raised powerful binoculars to their eyes,
aimed off the port bow.

"A humpback!" the Captain rejoiced at the sight that filled his eyes.
"Scarce these days! And a *big* one, at that. Seventy tons at least!"

The first mate nodded happily. Turning, Kenjiro barked orders at the
scurrying crew. "Hard a port!" he shouted over the howling wind. "Man
the harpoon guns!"

Like the well-oiled cogs of a smoothly operating machine, the crew of
the Shinobi-Maru leapt into action, lulled by the succor of long
practice. The Captain watched with considerable pride as his gunners
tracked the huge, fleeing marine mammal sliding swiftly through the
ocean's dark waters. A great spray arose in the creature's wake, water
forced from the whale's body out through the anterior blowhole.

"Thar she blows!" cried a mirthful Kenjiro, in a terrible impression of
a New England American accent he'd picked up during his student days at
the University of Massachusetts. Beneath his breath, the Captain
gnashed his teeth, cursing in foul Japanese.

"Watch out!" he warned. "She's going to sound! Quick! Before she
dives! Fire! Fire!"

Obediently, his gunners took careful aim, then released the
pneumatically powered tungsten steel harpoons at their fleeing target.
The Captain gripped his binoculars tightly enough that his knuckles
turned white with the effort. Yes! Already he could tell that the
deadly projectiles were right on target. A solid hit, it would be,
lodging deep within the whale's blubber-coated body. He waved at the
forward harpooner in triumph.

"Captain, look!" Kenjiro cried suddenly, the fear in his voice rising,
pointing out to sea with a trembling finger.

The surface of the sea boiled like a heated cauldron, roiling and
frothing in great agitation like cooking soup stirred by a giant invisible hand.
With a mighty rush of sound, a huge waterspout blasted high into the
air, sucked into this alien element by the sheer force and speed of the
being at its apex. All eyes turned to the skies, just in time to see
the harpoons shatter themselves into small pieces against...something...
then fall harmlessly into the sea, broken and useless.

"Look! Up in the sky!" shouted one crewman, pointing at a hovering
figure.

"It's a *bird*!" scoffed another, shading his eyes against the sun's
refection off the silvery waters.

"It's a plane!" corrected yet another nearby crewman, who could see
clearly that the figure was larger than a bird.

"It's...Supermanta!" howled a fourth, in great fear. "Aieeee!
Amaterasu, save us!"

With a merry salute of her flukes in thanks and gratitude, the great
cetacean, one of the last humpback whales in these waters, swam
serenely away, unmolested, both she and her unborn calf safe.

For the moment.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Krypton was doomed.

For months now, Jor-El had known it. All his investigations lead to
the same conclusion. There was fiery death building in the heart of
Krypton and her Great Mother Ocean. But the dotting old men of the
Science Council had forbidden him to act publicly. An alarmist, they
called him. Fools! May Rao curse the waters in which they swam. Their
foolish intransigence had doomed all of Krypton and her people.

He smiled.

Well, perhaps not *all* of them...

Not if Jor-El had his way.

And he intended to.

There was still yet hope for the child. But time was rapidly running
out. As he'd worked frantically on the small model rocketship in these
last few hours, he found himself interrupted several times by sea
tremors that shook the spires of Kryptonopolis like a hapless toy in
the hands of an irate child. His gills straining hard to keep up with
his exertions, the scientist recalibrated the tiny ship's warp drive
vectors one last time, shaking his head. Not perfect, but it would
have to do. There was simply no more time. The floor of his private
laboratory began to shake, almost gently at first, then with increasing
severity. Tumbling through the water, Jor-El caught himself by
reaching out and grasping at a passing sonic generator with one webbed
hand. Clinging to the heavy piece of lab equipment, he found himself
staring through the sweeping plas-steel window of his lab out into the
vista of his doomed city.

His doomed world.

Buildings rumbled and shook, falling to the ocean floor; the shock
waves of the great quake rippled through the waters of Kryptonopolis
like a swelling tide. Crying in terror and distress, aquatic
Kryptonians fled the destruction like glittering, startled flamefish
who saw their deaths reflected in the crystalline forehead of a hungry
thought-ichthyus. As if this were the wilds of the Scarlet Sea, and
not the cradle of Kryptonian civilization itself.

It was all futile, Jor-El knew.

Lara! Quickly! Bring the child! he ordered his wife, and swam to
meet her as she entered his domain, his lab. He had never forbidden
her presence there, but, prudently, she rarely invaded this sheltered
part of his life. His research was vital to him, she realized. And
she had no wish to intrude.

Jor?

With a frown, Jor-El looked up from strapping his infant son into the
vehicle's tiny, cramped interior, being careful not wake the sleeping
child. Briefly, his wife leaned down and kissed the drowsy child's
forehead. The baby cooed and gurgled in his slumber, and Jor-El's
heart fell as he watched Lara carefully arrange the dark blankets
around the baby's chin. Jor-El took his wife's hand in his, and held
it tightly as he sealed the ship's environmental systems and began the
power up preparatory to launch.

This world we're sending him to, this Earth... Lara whispered.
Understanding her desire, Jor-El activated a hologram of Earth to allow
her to see their son's future home. Like a great lovely blue and green
marble, it hung in the waters of the lab, peeking out from beneath its
fleecy cloud cover like a shy young girl with her first lover. Lara
gasped at the beauty before her.

Sea's cover seven-tenths of the planetary surface, my wife. So our
little 'Star-Child' will have plenty of room to swim where he chooses,
never fear. Earth is a gentle, hospitable world.

Oh, Jor! He-he'll be...different from them...strange...alien...

He'll be *alive*, Lara. And he'll be stronger than the natives.
Stronger, faster, virtually invulnerable, thanks to Earth's much lesser
gravity and his Kryptonian physiology. He'll be safe there, you must
trust me on that.

With a devastating smile that tore a the strings of her husband's pounding
heart, Lara nodded, squeezing his hand gently in reassurance.

I do, Jor, I *do* ... she said simply.

And then there was no time left at all. The lab shook itself like a
drenched animal throwing water from off its coat, and Jor-El keyed the
launch sequence with a frantic hand. The roar of rocket engines filled
the water, louder even than the sounds of destruction all around them.
Jor-El shielded his wife from the treacherous falling glass as the
small rocket tore through the ceiling of their crumbling home, out
into the atmosphere of their dying world. Great fissures ripped open
the ground beneath their dwelling as, together, hand in hand, they
watched the rocket, bearing its small, precious cargo, claw its way
through the atmosphere to the safety of space. For the final time,
Jor-El embraced his wife, clinging to her tightly, secure in the
knowledge that all was not lost.

Rao guide you to safe waters, my son, he whispered.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Doctor Namasara spilled out onto the wet, slippery deck like a ripe
seed. Windmilling his arms frantically, the slight scientist fought
for balance against the heaving ship, falling hard to the deck with an
audible "whoosh" of escaping air from his comically open mouth. The
Captain might have smiled if he hadn't been so busy.

And afraid.

"Hard astern!" he shrieked, once more striving to make himself heard
over the howling wind.

"Remember the 'great wind'!" cried Doctor Narasama, climbing to his
feet again, only to fall once more as the ship lurched away from
beneath his scrambling feet. "Quickly! Grab hold of something!"
Almost against his will, the Captain obeyed, grabbing for purchase at a
convenient rail, lest he be swept overboard by the strengthening wind
that blew hard in his face. Kenjiro-Sama was no fool. He did the same.
For several unfortunate crewmen, the warning came too late, however.
With despair, Hiro Fugimoto watched as two of his crew were swept from
the heaving deck like dust before a housekeeper's busy broom.

"Men overboard!" the cry went up. "Men overboard!"

Brave Kenjiro released his hold on safety, and joined his Captain as
the older man threw life preservers over the side of the vessel in the
faint hope that the two lost men might be able to make their way to
them. In these seas, their chances were not good. In the bitter cold
of the Antarctic waters of the Weddell Sea, his two crewmen would not
last long before hypothermia claimed them.

The wind abated for a moment, and Hiro breathed a sigh of relief.
"Wha - ?"

And then, as if by magic, his two crewmen fell from the sky onto the
pitching deck of the Shinobi-Maru, coughing up sea water, drenched and
shivering. Ancestor's be praised! In all his twenty-five years as a
sailor, the last ten of them as Captain of his own vessel, Fugimoto had
never lost a single crewman. He was loath to start such a detestable
practice now. On a research mission of all things.

"Get those men below and into some dry clothes before they freeze!" he
instructed, and several of their crewmates fell to, assisting the
beleaguered pair below decks.

And then the wind picked up again.

With a vengeance.

"Kamikaze!" whispered Kenjiro at Fugimoto's side. "'The Divine Wind'!
We are undone, Hiro-Sama, my friend!"

With an effort, Fugimoto restrained himself from striking his friend
and subordinate. "Nonsense!" he cursed. "This is *not* 1281, Kenjiro!
And that is *surely* not Khublai-Khan's invading fleet! Besides," the
Captain tried to be reasonable even under these most *un*reasonable of
circumstances, "the Kamikaze - the 'Divine Wind' - that forced the
Great Khan to abandon his plans for the invasion and subjugation of
Nippon was a sign of Nippon's favor from the gods. Whatever this is, I
would hardly call it *that*!"

Much chastened, Kenjiro dipped his head in a smart bow of respect for
the Captain's greater knowledge. "Hai!" he agreed.

Suddenly, with a great lurch that sent the crew tumbling from their
feet yet again, and filled the air with the ear piercing screech of
rending metal, the Shinobi-Maru rose into the air. Covering his ears
against the cacophony of noise that assaulted him, Captain Hiro
Fugimoto could only offer up his most humblest prayers for mercy from
their unseen foe, even as he buried his face in the welcome warmth of
his parka against the cutting wind. Clinging tightly to the deck, the
Captain tried to ignore the sensation of great speed that engulfed his
ship and crew. His queasy stomach rolled and pitched with the flight
of the vessel through the air. Impossible! For a moment, he feared he
might disgrace himself by being sick. Not since he was a boy, a gopher
aboard his first vessel at the age of fifteen, had he been seasick. He
felt somewhat better when he noticed Kenjiro-Sama and realized that if
he were to be ill, he would scarcely be alone.

And then, gently as a floating piece of thistledown, the Shinobi-Maru
splashed back down into her native element, calmly riding the gentle
swells of a sheltered bay. The breeze that touched his cheek when he brave to
lift his head and look about in inquiry was almost warm.

"Look!" cried Kenjiro in awe, pointing at a familiar skyline. Even at
this distance, and in the falling gloom of evening, the neon lights of
the Ginza burned splendidly garish and bright. The Captain's eyes
widened in disbelief. No! Impossible! A trip of thousands of miles,
accomplished in the twinkling of an eye!

"Tokyo," the mariner breathed, sweeping back the hood of his parka to
better orient himself. "My friends, this is Tokyo Bay! We - we are
home!"

continued in part 2

The Coming of...Supermanta!
By Dannell Lites

Part 2

"Princess? Princess Fen?"

The lady Lori called to the despondent figure kneeling by the solitary
grave. "Please, My Lady," pleaded the chestnut haired merwoman, one of
several of Fen's Ladies in Waiting, "you must come away from this
mournful place. Please? Your father, Emperor Tha-Korr, summons you.
He is most concerned by your protracted grief for this - this
*surfaceman*. He deems it very unseemly for a Princess of fair
Atlantis."

The Atlantean Princess' full lips thinned themselves into an angry, thin
blue line. "Tell the Emperor, my father, that I will mourn the death
of my *husband* for as long and in whatever way or manner I find most
appropriate!" Shaking her dark head, Fen gestured dismissal to the
Lady Lori, and did not even look up to see if she'd been obeyed. She
lowered her head in the familiar posture of listless sadness that she
had assumed for so very long now. Ever since her return from the
surface, in fact. For a moment, Lori had been almost glad to see the
return of her friend's fighting spirit. But it was gone, now. Vanished ...
like Leonard McKensie.

So quickly vanished...

Swimming closer, Lori touched Fen lightly on the elbow. "Oh, Fen,
please," she pleaded. "You mustn't make him any angrier! He's the Emperor!
I - I know how you must feel..."

Fen looked up, and not for the first time realized that when one lived
beneath the sea waves, it was almost impossible to tell if someone were
crying. But the tears were in Lori's voice if, perhaps, not in her
eyes. "My-my own husband, my beloved Ronal, has but lately journeyed
over the Grey Waters," Lori stammered. "Poseidon's Beard...I - I miss
him so, Fen!"

The two women embraced, keeping the pain of their mutual loss at bay
with the presence, the warmth, of their bodies. "Oh, Lori, can you
ever forgive me?" Fen whispered in a delicately pointed ear, stroking
Lori's hair. "I've been so caught up in my own sorrow, my own tragedy,
that I hadn't even considered yours. It must be very difficult for you.
Yes, I miss Leonard, too. The sight of his smile...the sound of his
voice...the way his chin jutted just *so* when he was happy..."

Lori rearranged her elaborate, now disheveled, headdress to the proper
angle once more and nodded. "And your father misses *you*," she said
softly, trying to smile. "He misses his bold adventurous daughter, his
brave Fen. He'd never say so, of course, but I can tell. And he feels
so guilty! He longs to see you smile once more, and to know that you
forgive him."

Fen shook her head in apparent confusion. "Guilty? I don't - "

"Of course he feels guilty, Fen! Was it not he that sent you to the
surface in the first place to find the source of the destruction that
rained down upon the realm of Atlantis? And it was there on the
surface, was it not, that you found the icebreaker Oracle, making its
way through the polar ice with explosive charges? And was that not
where you met Leonard McKensie, captain of the Oracle?"

"Y-yes..." Unconsciously, Fen toyed with the plain gold band still
adorning the ring finger of her left hand, absently twisting it about
her finger in agitation. "And married him, after the customs of his
people."

Lori nodded. "And when you did not return speedily, it was your father
who sent a military patrol to fetch you back. He was terrified that
you might have been captured or killed by the surfacemen. He raged for
a day and a night until they returned with you safely. He did not know
that the only thing Leonard McKensie had captured was your heart. Your
husband's death was an accident, Princess. Young Jerro did not mean to
kill him. When he found you in McKensie's bed, he thought...he thought
you'd been violated, and it enraged him. To so despoil a Princess of the
Blood Royale! And the rash youth mistook your husband's defense of you
for an attack."

Fen buried her head in her hands at the flood of memories that
threatened to overwhelm her. Perhaps she meant to speak. Lori was
never to know. For, if so, the Princesses' words were lost in the
great roar of sound that sprang up suddenly from above, over their
heads.

Alarmed, Lori Lemaris' eyes widened at the sight of the hurtling...
meteor? "Fen, look!" she cried, forgoing formality in this time of
possible sudden danger. "What is it? Are the surfacemen attacking?
Is it Attuma? What's hap - "

Crashing downward through the placid waters at tremendous speed, the
falling fragment of heaven plowed into the sea bottom with a mighty
impact that sent the two women stumbling from their feet as the shock
waves overtook them. Tumbling about willy-nilly, the agile Fen righted
herself, gasping for breath. With an oath, the Princess swan to the
aid of her distressed Lady in Waiting and friend. Reaching out, she
grabbed Lori's passing hand and held on tightly. After a moment, the
waters quieted themselves, and the two women again regained their
equilibrium once more after a brief spell of dizziness. Murmuring her
thanks, Lori shook her head as if to clear it.

"Princess, wha - " she began.

Fen pointed. "Whatever it was has fallen to ground off to the East...
near the Cave of Shadows." Fen could see the slight shiver that washed
over Lori at the mention of the ancient, haunted landmark.

"That accursed place!" Lori cried.

Startled, Lori called after the retreating Atlantean royal, as the other
woman swam away at great speed. "Princess, wait!" When she was
ignored, Lori took off in swift pursuit of her mistress, her strong
arms propelling her through the now calm waters swiftly. It seemed to
her that Fen slowed her course just a bit in order to allow the slower
woman to catch up to her. In silence, Lori followed the adventurous
Fen, not without some small trepidation. But she held her tongue,
nonetheless. Now did not seem to be the best time to speak up. Lori
knew her highborn friend to be strong willed and stubborn. Warning her
against her present course would doubtless only serve to strengthen her
resolve. With a sigh, the beleaguered handmaiden swam on, following in
the Princess' frothy wake like a darting remora in the company of a
great white shark.

Lori's heart beat faster, thudding loudly in her breast. *Something*
had torn a great, gouging path along the sea floor, like a huge ugly
scar on the pale flesh of one of the Neriads themselves. For what
seemed like an interminable distance, the path of the fallen star led
on. The water began to take on a strange, somewhat unpleasant metallic
taste in Lori's laboring gills. And hot! The closer they approached,
the more uncomfortably heated the water grew. Lori was on the verge of
pleading for a halt to this folly when Fen brought herself up short,
floating still in the water. Lori's gusting sigh of relief was
heartfelt, indeed.

Glowing softly red with heat and then blue with the luminescence of
Cherenkov radiation, the great egg-shaped vessel rested peacefully on
the ocean floor, now. Lori's eyes widened, and she reached out a
futile hand to restrain Fen as the gentle whir of servomotors echoed
through the waters. Not quick enough to stop the determined Princess
of Atlantis, Lori opened her mouth to call out to the impetuous Fen.
But the Princess did not hear her as the great egg cracked and the top
half lifted itself off, revealing the contents within, and a faint high
pitched wail of distress emerged.

"Lori!" cried Fen, her voice awestruck and filled with wonder. "Come
quickly! It's - it's a *baby*!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

In a flash of red, twin beams of heat sought out the two forward
harpoon guns, and melted them where they crouched. Scrambling to
safety, the gunners yelled in fear and abandoned their positions, barely
avoiding the hissing, sputtering pools of spreading liquid metal where
only moments before stood the fearsome tools of their bloody trade.

The figure that landed lightly on the poop-deck was tall, tall and
proudly straight backed, with shortish dark hair that clung wetly to
his skull. Clad in a skin tight body tunic of deepest blue-black to
match the hair, he stood very still. Captain Fugimoto could have sworn
he could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of sea water droplets as they
cascaded off the muscular body in the yawning, screaming silence. Sea
green eyes narrowed at the sight of the astonished Captain and his crew.

"Supermanta!" The whisper seemed contagious as it spread from man to
man like a virus. "Supermanta!"

The man, if such he was, scowled in disdain. "Know, surfacemen, that I
am Namor-El, Prince of Atlantis!" The deep, resonant voice was oddly
accented. Those liquid vowels and consonants never sprang from any
language he knew, the Captain realized. "I am the Avenging Star Child,
and I come to you with a warning!" To his great humiliation, the
Captain paled somewhat when "Namor-El" pointed an accusing finger
directly at him as he spoke.

"No more will you be allowed to recklessly exploit the seas!" he
declared firmly. "From this day forward, you are forbidden to
thoughtlessly slaughter her denizens, to carelessly dump your garbage
and your poisons upon her bosom! The seas are the domain of Atlantis!
And you will respect that! You may still go your way, traveling from
place to place in your pitiable vessels. Normal fishing you may
continue, within reason and within your coastal domains! But
henceforth, you will consider yourselves *guests* when you journey down
to the sea in ships! So speaks Namor-El, the Avenging Star Child!
Imperious Rex!"

The Captain, flabbergasted and frankly at a loss to know what to do,
stared at the imposing figure of the self proclaimed Atlantean Prince,
and so, did not see Kenjiro-Sama draw his pistol. He was later to be
almost grateful for that. At that moment, he could not have said
whether he would have forbidden what happened next or not. It was
almost a relief to have the decision taken from out of his hands by his
own inattention. It wasn't until the sound of gunfire shook his senses,
the sharp retort of weapon's fire reverberating like thunder in his
ears, that he cried out in inarticulate dismay.

Others were not so reticent, it seemed.

"Put that away, you fool!" shouted Doctor Namasara, his high, shrill
voice cracking like a whip. "You'll get us all killed!" Scattered
about the deck, the mesmerized, astonished crew of the Shinobi-Maru
gaped in wonder, then gasped in horror to see the bullet strike its
target, the Atlantean's broad chest. Strike...

...and ricochet harmlessly off the muscled expanse of tanned flesh.

Rage twisted the merman's smooth features, and Fugimoto's heart sank
like a stone in his chest. What punishment could they expect from a
being of such immense power? Truly, it was a frightening thought, and
the Captain paled to imagine Namor-El's revenge. It was his place to
speak, to explain...he knew that. And yet...he could not. His thick
tongue clove to the roof his desert dry mouth, the muscles of his
throat worked, but no sound emerged. And perhaps that was best. It
would not have served for the crew to hear the undignified, squeaky
voiced plea that would have been the only sound he was capable of just
then. Not served at all. It was then that Reicho Narasama proved
himself to be a much braver man than the Captain had ever given him
credit for being.

Thrusting himself forward, Doctor Narasama bowed low. "Pluh-please,
Yuh-Your Highness," he stammered through chattering teeth. "Forgive
this unworthy old fool, but - " He got no further.

"You've given me your answer, *surfacemen*!" roared Namor-El, making a
gesture of dismissal with one hand, sharp and abrupt like an edged
weapon. "I came to you, a messenger in good faith, and you have
attacked my Imperial person! You require a lesson in manners! And a
reminder of the power of Atlantis and the one, true Avenging Star
Child!"

With a spreading murmur of fear, the crew fell back when the Prince
reached to the belt of metallic gold spanning his slender waist.
Captain Fugimoto was eternally grateful that, despite his weak and
trembling knees, he held his ground and did not further disgrace
himself. Several loud cries of terror assaulted the Captain's reeling
senses, along with the sound of running feet, pounding an alarmed
retreat. Carefully, Fugimoto did not turn to see which of his crew
had panicked and taken themselves below decks.

It scarcely mattered. From his belt, Namor-El brought forth a long,
tapering spiral shaped conch shell, and lifted it to his waiting lips,
his sea green eyes gleaming with angry purpose.

"Let the Horn of Proteus summon forth your punishment!" he declared.

With a great gust of indrawn breath, Namor-El blew upon the 'Horn of
Proteus'. At first, the sound that blasted forth from the strangely
shaped, bejeweled shell hardly registered upon human ears. Low and
throbbing, it seemed to shake the air; a mournful wail from out of the
depths of time. Fugimoto covered his ears against the agony that
erupted in his mind at the sound that seemed to reverberate in his
bones. Still, the sound shook him even through that fleshly barrier.
Like the call of something ancient and primitive and terrible, it
echoed in the heart, stealing the breath from the lungs.

And lo! The waters of Tokyo Bay began to seethe and boil, great
bubbles of air rising to the surface from...something...that lurked
below. The sea foamed and roiled, as if it were frantically trying to
escape, flee from a great terror. Fugimoto's eyes grew wide, the size
of dinner plates, as a great bulk tore itself from off the sea bottom
of Tokyo Bay and reared its scaly, reptilian head above the waves.

With an answering roar to match the Horn of Proteus, the huge saurian
creature began striding toward the shore, great waves pushed before it
like earth before a bulldozer.

"Godzilla!" cried Doctor Narasama in fascinated horror. "He's awakened
Godzilla! Tokyo is *doomed*!"

concluded in part 3

The Coming of...Supermanta!
by Dannell Lites

Part 3

"Pink skin! Surface scum!"

"Hold your tongue, Bryrrah!" cried Namor-El, swimming strongly in his
elder cousin's direction. His face twisted in wrath, the Prince of
Atlantis regarded his chief rival for the heirship to the throne of
Kamuu sourly. Hands on his slender hips, he floated, searing Bryrrah
with his heated gaze. "You will *not* address me again in such a
manner!"

Lazily, as if the gesture were barely worth the slight effort it cost
him, the azure skinned Atlantean youth skinned his lips back from his
teeth in a mocking sneer. "I will address you as I see fit, halfling!"
the older boy snarled. With the fingers of one cerulean blue hand,
Bryrrah stroked the thin mustache that lately adorned his otherwise
clean shaven features. Namor-El snorted. His elder cousin was very
fond of that mustache, he knew. And of the age and maturity that had
allowed him to grow and carefully trim it in the accepted Atlantean
fashion for a man. He never failed to flaunt it in the presence of the
younger, smooth cheeked Namor-El. Namor-El's face clouded with his
rage like a storm at sea, and Bryrrah smiled an insulting smile.

"I am a Prince of the Blood Royale!" Namor-El ground out between
tightly clenched teeth. "And your cousin!" Blood ties were important
in the ancient society of Atlantis.

Bryrrah's sneer tinged itself with anger, now. "You are no kin of
*mine*, surface-whelp!" he shouted.

Heads turned in their direction, regarding the two quarreling young men
askance. Polite Atlantean society did not allow for such public airing
of grievances and personal animosity. Namor-El flushed. Their
grandsire, the Emperor Tha-Korr, would surely hear of this. Already
the gossip must be speeding its way to the Palace. There would be
harsh words fallout about this. But Namor-El's pride would not let him
back down, now.

Bryrrah shook his fist at Namor-El. "*I* share the blood of Kings and
Princes, since time immemorial!" he challenged. "Who's blood do *you*
share, halfling? Or do you even *know*?"

Streaking through the water much faster than the eye could follow,
Namor-El lashed out with one rock hard fist, striking Bryrrah solidly
in the abdomen. With a great "whoosh" of escaping air bubbles, Bryrrah
doubled over, clutching himself in pain. Face writhing in rage,
Namor-El drew back his fist to again strike the other youth, virtually
trembling with the need to do so, shaking with the force of his anger. But
the look of horror on the recovering Bryrrah's face was enough to freeze him as
surely as the waters of the Cold Sea.

He had not struck Bryrrah with anything remotely approaching his full,
unchecked strength. He must never do that, he knew. He'd always been
strong; very strong. But now...since his early teens, his abilities
had been ever increasing. In secret, almost as if he were practicing
an ancient, forbidden sorcery of some kind, he'd tried to plumb the
depths of his new, burgeoning gifts. He'd always known that he did not
need water to breath. He was comfortable in the air of the surface
world. Undoubtedly part of his mixed heritage, he'd thought. But
lately, he'd discovered his ability to fly through the air like a sea
bird, gliding on the winds. And the strange heat from his eyes! What
was he to make of that? And, most bothersome of all, even for an
Atlantean, his strength and speed were astounding. Suddenly, the world
became increasingly fragile...breakable.

As if it chanced only yesterday, he could hear his mother, the Princess
Fen's soft voice, feel the comfort of her hands, embracing him,
lovingly stroking his hair. "You are blessed, my son," the Princess of
Atlantis whispered in his distressingly blunt ear (why could his ears
not be properly pointed, as other Atlantean ears were?). "You must be
very careful. Your great strength and extraordinary abilities can
serve Atlantis well, son of my heart. But first of all, and most
important of all, you must learn to govern your temper. You will be a
King someday, and a King cannot be ruled by his passions."

Half his life, he'd struggled to master his ire. It was not easy. At
times, it was like a living thing within him, coiling and striking of
its own accord, it seemed. His heart pounded and his blood boiled. He
was quick to anger and to take offense. He knew this about himself. He was...
different. He also knew *this* about himself. With no effort at all,
he could recall many private childhood tears, shed in his mothers arms
after a particularly vicious taunt from Bryrrah's or another of his
playmates. It cut him like knives no longer could to know that his mother,
his beautiful, brave mother, was the subject of condemnation for his sake.
Because of his surface-bred father.

He could so easily have grown to hate Leonard McKensie...save that his
mother still loved him. Their time together, the Princess and her
surfaceman lover, had been all too brief, but passionate and intense.
The Atlantean Princess yet grieved for the Captain of the Oracle.
Namor-El suspected that she always would.

Slowly, he dropped his fist to the side and released Bryrrah, bowing
his head in shame. Once again he had failed. Failed his mother, his
grandsire, and, most of all, failed himself. Wordlessly, he swam off.
Bryrrah did not try to stop him, thank Pallais. Confused and
heart-sore, he swam like an unswerving arrow whose aim was true. He
fancied that he only wanted to be away...away from Bryrrah, away from
this sinking feeling of being lost and rootless. But in his heart, he
knew his destination. Where else? To which refuge had he ever fled
when his spirit was troubled?

"Mother? Mother, we must speak! I have...questions..."

When she swam into the receiving room of her private chambers, the
Princess Fen was as pale and drawn as he'd ever seen her. Her eyes
glistened with dread, and her hands wrung themselves in an aimless
pattern of nervous discord. She could not seem to meet his eyes.

"Yes, my son," she whispered in acknowledgment. "We...must speak.
It's past time for you to know the truth..."

And just like that, just that simply, he discovered himself and the
truth of his origins. At first he refused to believe, clinging
stubbornly to the world as he wished it to be. It wasn't until she
lead him to the Cave of Shadows, that cursed place shrouded in ancient
mystery and dread, that he truly believed.

Not until he saw the blackened remains of his interstellar cradle laying
innocently in the depths of the murky waters of the Cave.

Hidden from the sight of all like some venal secret cloaked from the sight of men.

"Lori and I hid this here, because no one ever ventures inside. This
place is taboo."

His eyes widened at his first sight of the compact, alien craft.
Blackened and twisted by its entry into the Earth's atmosphere and the
force of its crash landing on the seabottom, the vehicle was still
plainly not of Atlantis. Atlantean technology never created that
gleaming, egg shaped matrix carefully nestled in the grip of metals
unknown on Earth, he sensed. Namor-El remained silent in the face of
his mother's soft voiced explanation. Almost dizzy with the enormity
of it all, the pale skinned boy heard only snatches of the narrative.

"...found you inside...swore Lori to secrecy on her oath as my
handmaiden..."

"...returned from my official period of mourning for my husband Leonard
McKensie with you in my arms. Told the world you were my son...and so
you *are*..."

So! He was not a Prince of the Blood Royale, after all. Bryrrah was
right all along. He wasn't even an Atlantean. Shame suffused him.

In despair, he cried out. "Then...who *am* I?" he demanded. "*What*
am I?"

Like the keenest of knife blades, the stricken look that descended like
a shroud upon Fen's lovely, delicate features tore sharply into the
flesh of his heart. When she burst into tears, he swam to her side and
embraced her. Not once in all her travails (nor *his*) had he ever
seen his mother weep. Always she had been strong. Strong enough for
the both of them when necessary. More than once he had seen her face
her Imperial Father's fury, brave and unflinching. With steady,
unblinking eyes, she'd stared at her death at the hands of Attuma, Lord
of the Mu rky Depths...scorned and fought off the advances of her half
brother, the self styled sea marauder Ocean Master, with fire in her
dark eyes. To see her brought to such a pass...lain so low and to know that *he*
was the cause...

"You are my son, Namor-El," she choked through her flowing tears,
resting her head upon his broad shoulder, "as surely as if you were
born of my body. You are as I have always named you: the son of my
heart. My gift from the gods...is that not enough for you? You are
the son Leonard and I *should* have had. No mother ever loved a child
more. Oh, Father Poseidon pity me, I should have told you the truth long ago.
But I had not the courage. C-Can you ever forgive me?"

He held her tightly. "Yours was the face I saw above my cradle," he
whispered soothing words, stroking her silky auburn hair. "Yours was
the voice of love that guided and sustained me." He swallowed hard,
his throat working soundlessly. "Forgive you? What need have you of
forgiveness, *mother*?"

Why did I never suspect, he wondered in silence as he quieted his
mother's tears? My very name is foreign, not of Atlantis. Namor, yes.
But Namor-*El*? Whence came the El? Did I never wonder? My mother
told me it was an ancient name...that it means "Star-Child"...and so I
am. So I am...

In time, he grew to accept himself as he was. As the sea gods meant
him to be. He could lay no claim to Bryrrah's ancient lineage, but his
destiny was clear, nonetheless. If he was meant to rule Atlantis, then
so be it. But that was for his grandfather, the Emperor Tha-Korr, to
decide. Head bowed, he went to his grandsire and told him the truth.
He would not live a lie. His pride forbade it. Blood was telling in
Atlantis. Descent was all important in the politics of the undersea
Kingdom. But the truth will out, and Namor-El did not flinch.

Tha-Korr's towering rage was already legendary, but the old ruler was
strangely calm and quiet when he heard the news, sitting still on his
jeweled throne of gold. As if he had long suspected his beloved
daughter of the loving deception. They never spoke of it again. The
Chief Councilor Vashti stood behind him. Surprisingly, so did the
Prime Scientist, the Lord Vulko.

But, even before the fraudulent Prince found his news so surprisingly
well received, Namor-El was content. If he could not be Atlantis' King,
her ruler, then he could still be her protector.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Like a nightmare from out of the primordial mists of time given all too
real flesh, the gigantic saurian monster known as Godzilla opened his
cavernous mouth and spat nuclear fire past row after row of needle-like
teeth at the city of Tokyo. For a moment, it was as if the sun lowered
itself to briefly kiss the earth. The spines along the creature's wet,
scaly back shone bright blue with the radiance of it. Dry and brittle,
some aged, long abandoned wooden docks at the water's edge sparked red
and caught fire. The blazing inferno spread almost immediately to some
nearby warehouses, leaping and cavorting like a living thing. Like a
destructive child at play.

"Call S.H.I.E.L.D.!" shouted one terrified crewman.

"Call Red Ronin!" advised another, more patriotic, seaman.

"Summon Mothra!" encouraged yet another.

"Hey!" muttered the lone American among the Shinobi-Maru's crew, "the
last time Godzilla was here, Mechi-Kong kicked his lizard butt good!"

When the mountainous dinosaur opened his toothy maw for yet another
fiery blast, the Horn of Proteus again rang out it's eerie, lonely call.
With a roar of defiance, Godzilla closed his eyes, and sank angrily
beneath the waves once more.

"And there are *worse* things than he in the cradle of the sea,"
Namor-El warned softly, his deep voice calm. "And they are *all* mine
to command. They...and the armies of mighty Atlantis herself. Heed my
words, surfacemen! A new era dawns for us all. It can be an age of
prosperity and plenty for both our peoples...or it can be an era of
harsh reprisal and destruction. The decision is yours! Let we of
Atlantis teach you of our home, the sea. Together we may both benefit.
The sea is vast and rich, her resources untapped. But not even the
oceans are inexhaustible. Their wealth must be carefully used,
husbanded, her waters and the creatures that dwell within them,
respected. Imperious Rex!"

Hiro Fugimoto blinked rapidly. The Fugimoto clan were scions of the
sea. For generations, they had served Nippon aboard the decks of her
Naval vessels; labored in her Merchant Marine or her fishing fleets.
In a flash, he remembered his elder brother Matsuo, brave but gentle
Matsuo, lost these ten years when his submarine, the Akagi, sank at sea
with all hands aboard.

It occured to him, then, how easily Matsuo and his comrades might have
been rescued with the help of water breathing Atlanteans...

And just last week...that Russian submarine...lost with no survivors...
one hundred and thirty-seven men...his brothers in the waters of the
sea...might they have been saved, as well?

And so many other possibilities! Men living as one with the oceans,
enjoying the bounty of the sea, but carefully preserving it at the same
time...the rewards would be great.

Hiro bowed deeply. "You speak wisely, O Prince of the sea!" he said,
and saw Doctor Namasara smile in answer. "We will consider your words,
Namor-El," he promised. "We, ourselves, are not influential men,
Highness; we are but humble seamen. But, rest assured, we will pass
your words of wisdom on to men who *do* wield influence, great
influence."

Supermanta nodded, crossing his arms over his broad chest and frowning.
"See that you do," he cautioned. "And do not neglect my warning in the
telling of your tale. I say again: peace and prosperity...or war and
devastation. The choice is yours, surfaceman. Choose wisely."

With that, the Prince of Atlantis leapt high in the air. In an arc as
curved and graceful of as the flight of a bird, he soared, diving
headlong into the warm waters of Tokyo Bay. The dive was a thing born
of breathtaking beauty and skill; so perfect in its execution that the
trim figure of Namor-El left hardly a splash in his wake as he plunged
into the sea. Like a lover, the waters of the deep seemed to open her
arms to receive her sovereign.

"Ahoy, the ship!"

From the approaching Harbor Patrol motor launch, a small swarm of
people, it seemed to Captain Fugimoto, clambered aboard his vessel.
Soon, he spied Doctor Namasara in deep conference with several of his
scientific colleagues, dark heads clustered together, gesticulating
wildly. Almost in a panic at the unexpected attention, the shy Kenjiro
clung to his Captain's side; safety in numbers...Hiro found himself the
focus of a distressing number of pointed questions from the authorities,
all demanding immediate answers.

"Coming through! Coming through! Make a hole! Move it or lose it,
people!"

Much taken aback by the rudeness of it all, Captain Fugimoto watched
the lovely dark haired gaijin woman elbow her way to the forefront of
the considerable crowd now surrounding him. Taking a deep breath, she
smoothed her rumpled skirt, then thrust the microphone of a small tape
recorder under his nose. A Sony, he noted with approval.

"Lois Dean, Metropolis Daily Star," she identified herself briskly. "What
the hell happened out there, Captain Fugimoto? Can we get a statement?"

Fugimoto blinked, then bowed respectfully. "Ah, Miss Dean! Permit me
to inquire what it is that brings an award winning investigative
reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper like the Daily Star to
Japan?"

A charming smile was the seaman's answer. "Why, Captain, Tokyo is
hardly the ends of the earth. And Godzilla is always news. That *was*
Godzilla, am I right?"

To the east, firefighters valiantly fought the irradiated blaze left in
the wake of the irascible monster. Fugimoto inclined his head slightly
in acknowledgment. "And you just happened to be on the scene..." he
murmured.

"I'm lucky that way," Lois Dean, covert S.H.I.E.L.D. agent agreed,
turning up the candlepower of her smile. Investigative reporter made a
dandy cover in her line of work. And right now, that work included
discovering the source of all these recent strange maritime sightings
and "accidents". Japan, if the truth were known, was far from the only
nation whose ships had suffered recent depredations from this mysterious
force. Norwegian mienke whale hunting had ground to a virtual halt in
the last six months or so. The seas were becoming a downright
dangerous place to misbehave. And it was her job to discover why.

With a deep sigh, Hiro Fugimoto marshaled his chaotic thoughts and
*tried* to explain.

The End!