Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

- Carl Sagan, ‘Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space’, 1994

“His name is Donald Blackmore.”

In the small chamber of the doctor’s office at the edge of the Infirmary, six members of the Legion of Heroes stood silently as Wally Cykes explained the truth.

“He’s a paranoid schizophrenic from Albuquerque. He’s a shapeshifter. Someone has taken this man, broken down his mind, and crushed the bleeding pieces back together into a single, unshakeable belief – that his name is Matt Callaghan, and he is human.”

“My name is Matt Callaghan,” the poor, shattered creature whispered, rocking atop the doctor’s bed, “I am human.”

“Do a blood test,” Wally insisted, pointing at the two healers, Delores and Editha, who were standing at the entrance to the examination room wearing matching expressions of utmost horror, “It’ll show you. He’s a shapeshifter. He’s holding onto Matt’s form because it’s the only thing left remaining in his head.”

“Mother of God,” Giselle whispered.

Of all the years she’d known him, she had never known Wally’s face to bear such fury.

“There are no words,” the psychic breathed, and his eyes burned so intent into the fake Matt Callaghan that for a moment Giselle was worried Wally was going to leap up and tear the imposter apart. But the telepath’s rage wasn’t directed at him. “There is no place in Hell for the scum responsible for this. This act… this atrocity, goes against every code of psychic ethics, every shred of human decency. If it takes me to my dying day,” he swore, “I will hunt down whoever who did this, and they will burn for a thousand years inside a prison of their own mind before they ever see the inside of a jail cell.”

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Behind him, Will laid a quiet hand on Wally’s shoulder. The telepath did not respond to the touch, only continued staring forward, teeth clenched, fists balled in utter, unyielding anger.

“Stay here,” Giselle said quietly, “Help. See to him. Fix the damage.”

“I’ll try,” was Wally’s only response.

The head of the Legion turned to the rest of them, Azleena, Editha, Delores, Charles Farrington and Will.

“We fell for the decoy,” she reiterated to them, “We have to assume the Port Lions note was a fake. Unfortunately, it’s bait Jane’s currently swallowing. Where are we on stopping her?”

Azleena’s small, round face remained blank. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” the genius asked.

“What’s the good news?”

“The good news is that we have located Jane.”

Giselle blew a sharp breath across her bottom lip. “Let me guess the bad news.”

“It would not take a genius,” the small girl replied, “On the plus side, the President is no longer asleep and suddenly very willing to talk.”

“He knows it isn’t us?”

“He does, and he is as concerned about stopping Jane as he is about the media never getting word of this.”

“I don’t even know if that’s a silver lining.”

“What are our options?” Charles Farrington asked. He stood in the doorway, his arms folded, dressed in a compression suit in his usual all black. “How can we subdue her?”

“The power of Dawn has two real weaknesses,” Azleena explained, “Neutralisation and telepathy. Telepathy is off the table since Jane started taking Psy-Block. Neutralisation requires time, proximity, and for Jane to not notice her powers diminishing while it happens. It’s practically impossible.” The genius paused. “Unless someone’s hiding another Divine in their back pocket.”

Giselle disregarded that last suggestion. “Contain her then,” she ordered, “Lead Jane somewhere deserted.”

“It might be possible,” conceded Azleena. She pointed to the shapeshifter Blackmore. “As much as I hate to suggest putting this man through any further trauma, perhaps if Jane thinks the real Matt Callaghan is still under our control we could lure her away from populated areas with the appearance of a threat.”

“Absolute not,” Wally growled.

Giselle rubbed her forehead. “I thought it wouldn’t come to this,” she said heavily, “But I can’t say I hadn’t considered it.” She sat up straighter, staring at each of them in turn. “There’s a contingency I’ve been working on. An empath out of Boston. Touch‑based like Jane, I’ve contracted him to remain on standby holding four powers. Neutralisation, super speed, invisibility and flight. He’s not particularly good at any one of them, but put them all together…” She let her words trail off. “He might be able to keep up with Jane undetected long enough to make a dent.”

“You are full of surprises,” Azleena said, eyeing Giselle with something approaching approval.

“I read a lot of Batman.”

“That’s great and all,” Will frowned, “But that’s presuming he can keep up with her. And she doesn’t just hit him with force from all directions like she did Klaus Heydrich.”

“I said it was a plan, not a good plan,” Giselle grumbled.

“For the love of God, this is Jane we’re talking about,” said Wally, throwing his hands up, “She was saving all our lives twenty‑four hours ago. She’s our friend. Can’t we just explain it to her? Can’t anyone make her see reason?”

“The person most likely to do that,” Azleena said, glancing over once more at the imposter, “Is unfortunately currently not present.”

The group lapsed into silence.

“Which raises the second question,” Giselle said after a few moments, “Where the hell’s the real Matt?”