Salvación, Aguasfrescas, Earth-247:  5 December 1994

Too small for use as a naval port, and hundreds of kilometers from any metahuman who could realistically interfere, the small Caribbean nation of Aguasfrescas was the perfect meeting place for two major international terrorists.  Near the center of the sea, the island lay north beyond the reach of La Patrona, but also beyond the prying eyes of Uncle Sam.  La Patrona, the gigantic sorceress who had usurped control over the infamous Colombian cocaine cartels, and Patricide, the great Quèbèçoise metavillain, could meet here in the open.  Even if anyone could identify them through their disguises, Salvacion was too small a town, and its 3000 residents much too timid, to tell the world about it.

When meeting a potential ally (usually someone from one of the great organized crime families in Europe or Asia), La Patrona often dressed in something both elegant and provocative.  Such displays of feminine pulchritude, however, only offended women like Patricide.  Accordingly, La Patrona wore a black dress trimmed in yellow.  It was an elegant outfit, and very pretty, but nothing that would send many men into a frenzy of lust.  The yellow belt glowed, indicating to La Patrona that it was still working; and so it was that she was no taller than a typical basketball player.

She sat at one end of a table in the town's most elegant restaurant, a cozy little place backed by one of the few Sicilian mafiosi whom she had not yet either infuriated or terrified.  Across from her, munching nervously on a few pieces of shrimp, was a woman who bore a striking a resemblance to the dead wife of a certain former American football star. Each woman had a laptop computer on the table.

"It would be nice," chimed La Patrona in Bogotá-accented English, if I knew what to call you tonight."

"This is neutral ground, Patrona," answered the other blonde, in Spanish that rivalled La Patrona's.  "You can call me 'Patricide,' but if you insist on a pseudonym, take a good look at me, and see if you can guess whose form I've learned."  Whereas La Patrona sounded like a telenovela villain, Patricide sounded regal, like a woman who had been in charge all her life.

"Clever power, that," replied La Patrona. "You find a female murder victim, and once you touch her body, you can assume its form.  Let's see."  After a few seconds of silence, La Patrona made her guess: "Nicole!"

"I see the trial is also seen in Colombia," grinned Patricide.

"Not really.  I had the signal from Los Angeles banned last month."

Patricide grinned briefly.  "So, mon cheri Espèrance," she queried, using the French for of La Patrona's real first name, "what is it you're so anxious to show me?"

"Two things, really," responded La Patrona.  'Espèrance' halfway wanted to take offense at Patricide's phrasing, but that would be pointless. Instead, she started an application on her laptop, and a common screen now appeared on both hers and Patricide's.  While she waited for the program to actually start, she reached into her purse for something that looked like a large battery charger.  It was white, cold to the touch with a frosted plastic door on top.  She placed the box on the table between the laptops, and pressed a button.  Slowly, the frost on the door receded, revealing the tiny, dormant bodies of eight men inside, all of them smaller than the jumbo shrimp 'Nicole' was eating.

She opened the door and pointed at the men, her gesture inviting Patricide to touch them.  "They're men, Nicole, not dolls, and they are very delicate" she warned softly.  "Be careful when you pick them up."

Patricide reached in and, using a long crimson fingernail as leverage, gingerly lifted one tiny man into her hand.  He stirred slowly into consciousness as he lay in her palm, removing any doubts she might have had about La Patrona's claim.  Astonished, she gasped, "How have you done this?"

"That, my dear Nicole, is why I have had you connect our computers.  Why don't you listen in on our conversation?  It should answer some other questions you might have, as well.  The little guy's answered on the other end.  I trust you understand Spanish?"

"Don't patronize me, dear," said Patricide, annoyed at La Patrona's attempt at humor.  Patricide was a mistress not only of computers but also of languages.  She could threaten men in 21 languages; for her, Spanish was child's play.

On the screen of either computer, a man appeared, dragging his way out of bed.  He appeared to be about fifty years old, with a relatively full head of gray hair.  "Esperanza!" he cried.  "What's happened? You know I'm asleep at this time!"  To Patricide, his Spanish was understandable, if a bit odd.

"Sorry, Javier," cooed La Patrona.  "I heard about the disaster at Arecibo today."

The man's expression contorted in anger.  "That was a woman who attacked that place today, wasn't it?" he declared accusingly.  "Why didn't you tell us how big you women were?  Why did she attack Arecibo?  And what about the mates?"

Out of Javier's vision, Patricide stifled a giggle.  Her reflexive motion pressed the tiny man in her palm between her palm and her.  His squirming tickled, so she kissed him before loosening her grip on him.

"Questions, questions, little man," cooed La Patrona.  "So many of them you didn't bother to ask all these months.  Didn't you wonder how we knew so much about the 'Tecs?"

"No," Javier Magana said guiltily.

"Oh, it was such sweet revenge.  I found your world fifty of your years ago.  Your grandfathers thought they were so smart, releasing that plague to target women.  The women had seen that your precious Serial Wars were a ruse to keep yourselves in power, so you killed them.

"No!" pleaded Javier.  "It was an accident!"

"That's what your government told you!  They lied to you to cover up their crimes!  So, I decided to pass judgment on your world.  I know about the Guerratecs because I created them.  I sent them over to destroy you.

"But then, I found out that time in your parallel passes 37 times faster in your universe.  And," La Patrona paused to give a wicked grin, "space is 37 times as small.  So I thought, 'Why kill you when there's an even more deserving fate for you?'"

"Th-that was you who destroyed Arecibo today, wasn't it?" stammered the man.

"Oh, it was a pleasure.  Did you like my shoes?"  La Patrona grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

Patricide, unable to any longer restrain her amusement, burst out in laughter.

"And look, Javier!"  I have something for you!"  La Patrona cast a silence bubble, then turned to Patricide on her right.  "Patricide, be a good girl and give me a couple more little guys."

Patricide held back her laughter long enough to delicately hand three of the Lilliputian men to La Patrona.  In turn, the Colombian brought the hand close to the screen.  Cupping it slightly, she shook it, sending her male toys bouncing against its sides and waking them up.  She lay her hand flat, and now Javier could see three of his former co-workers sitting in her huge palm, dazed.

Javier gasped in horror.

"Oh, yes, dear little Javier," mocked La Patrona.  "It's your precious little friends.  I rounded them up into a couple of trucks and took them with me.  Those men who flew in from the mainland never got back on the ground.  Four of my friends took a plane in each hand, with the men still inside.  My other friend filmed me as I did a striptease all over your little lab."

"That's mean, Patrona," deadpanned Patricide.

"What's a striptease?" asked Javier, confused.

The two women laughed again.  Patricide, who had been handling her tiny charge so well, lost control. Her reflex action left the man in her hand no time to even consider escape as it closed around him.  There wasn't even time for him to feel anything as she crushed him to death. Patricide felt pulp where he had been; instinctively, without looking at what she had done, she dropped her tiny victim to the ground. She looked down at the dead man at her feet, and could only manage a sickened "Ewwww, rèpugnant!"

Javier recoiled in horror.  "How could you?  You're a--a monster!  And how come that other woman called you 'Patrona?'"

"Oh, that's what they call me on my world:  'La Patrona de los Mentirosos.'  See how well I lied to you all this time?"

Javier looked shocked.  "What -- what now?" he asked, even though he really didn't want to know the answer to that question.

"There's one thing I didn't lie to you about:  the women are coming.  On schedule.  Tomorrow.  And they'll be as big as I was today.  I imagine they'll trash a few of your cities before they're through gathering the first batch of you.  You see, here the men are a little bigger than we are, but they're more brutal. There are thousands of women who would like nothing more than a tiny male slave they can control. You'll be pets, and much, much more!"  There was a definite leer in La Patrona's grin as she pronounced the second 'much.'  And we'll make lots and lots of money off you!

"I hope you enjoy your last night of freedom, little man."  She conveyed the three toy soldiers to her lips and pinned them between her hand and her moist lips.  After what the men felt as three excruciating seconds, she released them (though she did have to peel off the one glued to her lips by her lip gloss).

Finally, she blew the kiss across the screen to her erstwhile contact. "Good-bye, Javier Magana!"  With that, she cut the signal, and her grin grew ever wider.