The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual.

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

Chapter Ten: Urania

Roger hit the ground and covered the back of his neck with his hands as the podium exploded. He felt something on his back and discovered it was the metal arm of R Fredrick O'Reilly. When Roger gave his warning, the android inspector jumped off the stage and pushed Roger and Dastun before him, insuring that they would be the first to get to safety. Now the android was lying on the ground with one hand on each human's back.

"Are you two all right?" O'Reilly asked in that damnably calm voice of his.

"Y-yeah," Colonel Dastun said as he rose shakily to his feet. "Thanks, Freddie. I owe you one."

"I'll live," Roger grunted as he looked up in the sky. What was that on Schwartzwald's back? A rocket pack? That thing could probably only hold enough fuel for short hops. That explained the bomb in the podium. He would need a distraction if he wanted to get away. "Schwartzwald," the negotiator muttered as he dusted himself off and jogged away into the confused mob of spectators.

"I am pleased that you're okay Colonel," O'Reilly said in his calm quiet voice. The android bent over to pick up his hat but when he stood up his head was still tilted towards the ground. "Still it does not change the fact that I have failed. I was created to follow orders. To carry out missions. I have failed in my mission. The top heads of the Paradigm Corporation are dead."

"You don't know that!" Dastun protested. "Gregory Stoker might still be alive! Even if he isn't, we can still bring his murders to justice."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Like Dorothy, O'Reilly could make his calm monotone convey skepticism. "We haven't been able to so far."

"That's because we never had a solid lead before!" the colonel growled. "We know who's behind it and we know whose checkbook has been financing it!" He gestured to one of the military police officers who had descended on the chaos and were trying to make sense of things and calm the crowd. "Johnson! Get me my car! You're in charge here now! In the meantime, I'm going to take O'Reilly for ride! We're going to catch a killer!"

"Yes, Colonel," the young officer saluted. "Good hunting sir!"

As Dastun's car sped away O'Reilly glanced in the rearview mirror. "We're being followed by a long black sedan," the android said.

Dastun adjusted the mirror. "That's just Roger's car," the hardened cop told him. "He's just following us out so he can avoid having to stick around and give a statement. See? What did I tell you? He's veered off already. He must have a lead too. That's okay. I've got my own source of information!"

"And what source of information is that?" the android asked him.

"You," Dastun grunted in triumph. "You and the Paradigm Corporation's records. That recording of Stoker's voice indicated that Stoker was in on this up to his neck. He probably bankrolled the whole thing figuring that he could blame Schwartzwald for it when the dust settled. I'll bet the arrogant bastard never figured that bandaged freak would turn the tables on him! Serves him right if he's at the bottom of the ocean right now!"

"You realize that Stoker's confession was undoubtedly delivered under duress," O'Reilly pointed out. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was drugged or forced to read from a script at gunpoint. His verbal confession hardly qualifies as legal evidence."

"Let's just find him first," Dastun said as he turned to follow a detour.

"I can't reveal confidential information belonging to the Paradigm Corporation," O'Reilly protested. "You know very well that even if I was able to get the information, I couldn't release it to you."

"Yes you can you stupid hunk of tin, because you exist to carry out missions," Dastun growled in triumph. "I'll bet money your mission was to make sure the killer was caught before the all of the board members died and if you want a prayer at doing that you'll get us access to those records!"

The android was quiet as the police car threaded its way through the ruined streets of the city, then he finally spoke. "It seems your logic is inescapable, Colonel Dastun. I have no choice but to comply."

"That's what I figured," the grizzled cop smiled.

As Dastun maneuvered his car through the ruined streets towards Paradigm Headquarters, Roger was travelling to the working class bar known as the Speakeasy. When he got there, he parked in front and activated the car's armor, then walked right in. The bartender handed him a bottle of beer and the negotiator took a seat next to an old man reading the newspaper.

"Negotiator," the informant Roger called 'Big Ear' nodded without looking up from his newspaper. "Haven't seen you around here recently."

"I've been busy," Roger grunted as he took a swig of his beer. "Personal business. What I'm interested in now is Schwartzwald."

"I caught the speech," Big Ear nodded to a small black and white television in the corner. "It was explosive."

"Ha. Ha," Roger said dryly. "I didn't come listen to your rapier wit. I need information on him. What the hell is he doing still alive?"

"Who said he was dead?" the old man turned a page in his newspaper.

"Someone who lied to me apparently," Roger admitted. "Okay. So what do you have on Schwartzwald?"

"Rumor has it that he used to go by the name of Michael Seebach in the good old days when he had a face," Big Ear shrugged. "He was a reporter who worked for Paradigm Press. A real muckraker. Got the scoop no matter what the cost. Wouldn't listen to threats or let himself be bought. You would have liked him. He used to hang around here and ask me questions."

That came as no surprise, but Roger didn't like the comparisons being made between himself and a man who had lost his mind.

Big Ear continued as if he was discussing the weather. "It was strange. He had a life. Normally a man with something to lose doesn't make waves, but Seebach wasn't the type to let sleeping dogs lie. He was kind of like you in many ways. He was too smart for his own good, but not smart enough to listen to an old man who knows better and stop poking around where he's not wanted. The thing that makes me think that Seebach is Schwartzwald is that he also wanted to know what happened over forty years ago…"

The old man paused as if he intended to rephrase that statement. "No. 'Wanted' isn't the right word. He had to know. Had to. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I told him the same thing I tell you. It doesn't matter what you find out. The sun will never shine again on this corrupt city of ours. It doesn't matter what you do. He didn't listen. When it came to listening he made it seem like you're wearing a hearing aid by comparison."

"So what happened?" Roger asked. "What made him decide to abandon the identity of Michael Seebach and name himself after a mythical forest?"

"Some people say our intrepid reporter went crazy trying to find out what happened," Big Ear told him, "but I say that's wishful thinking. Personally I think he found the answers he was looking for, but couldn't take it."

"What?" gasped the startled negotiator.

"Lots people experience frustration," the old man shrugged. "Michael Seebach was a reporter. No matter how good he was or how fanatical his devotion he was bound to hit brick walls. It happens to everybody. When someone as devoted to his goal as Seebach hits a wall, he gets up, brushes himself off, and tries again from a different angle. He doesn't lose his mind and erase his identity just because he's been stonewalled. No. The only explanation that fits is that he succeeded. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, and that success destroyed him."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Roger shouted, before he abruptly lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Every time I've encountered Schwartzwald he's always been looking for the truth! When he isn't babbling about the power of a megadeus he's trying to solve the mystery that is Paradigm City."

"You've been talking to a ghost," Big Ear told him. "A ghost made of flesh and blood instead of vapor and spirit. The man you know as 'Schwartzwald' is just going through the motions, following in Michael Seebach's footsteps. I've read his manifesto that he littered the streets with a few months back. It's filled with empty rhetoric and generalities. He wastes paper without really saying anything. You should read some of his earlier work, Roger. When he was Michael Seebach, he wrote some real thought-provoking stuff."

"I have thank you," Roger said absently. The night he first went looking for Seebach, Roger broke into the apartment the reporter used as his base of operations and spent an hour reading his notes. He would have been there in the morning if Schwartzwald hadn't set fire to the place. It was the information contained in those notes that made Roger explore the tunnels under the city in the first place. Looking back, he kicked himself for not expecting to find Schwartzwald down there. If you follow in the footsteps of a madman, you run the risk of encountering that madman. That is if you don't go mad yourself.

"Then you know what I mean," Big Ear's deep voice rumbled. "Take the advice of an old man Roger. Don't go looking for knowledge that man was not meant to know. The last people who did that blew up half the city."

"Let's start with knowledge that a man is paying to know," Roger huffed. "What is he up to now?"

"I've had my ear to the ground for some time now," Big Ear replied smugly. "Rumor has it that a burn victim has become a symbol for a rebellion against Paradigm. He calls himself 'Schwartzwald', and he's been recruiting. His followers consist of a few Paradigm employees who became disgusted with the company and a handful of Union agents who are stuck behind the lines, but the majority of his followers are the people who were left homeless after the Union's attack. He promises to destroy the company and reveal the truth they've been hiding. By now he must be a happy little maniac."

"I've pieced together most of that all ready," Roger interrupted. "Got anything I can use? Like his location?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Big Ear sounded grimly amused. "He was in here just a few minutes ago trying to get me to join him. I told him I'd think about it. Before he left he told me to that if I ever saw you to tell where you could find him. Apparently he wants to talk to you."

"What?" Roger growled. "You knew where I could find him the whole time? Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hoped that you would listen to me and change your mind about meeting him, Roger," the old man shrugged. "At my age, it's hard to find new friends. I hate to lose you."

"Never mind the mushy stuff!" the negotiator snarled. "Now where is he?"

"Remember the apartment he used when he was Michael Seebach?" Big Ear asked him. "That's where you'll find him."

"Thanks," Roger got up and tossed a stack of twenty dollar bills on the table.

"You know someday you're actually going to listen to what I have to tell you," the old man grumbled with fatherly concern as he covered the money with his newspaper. He raised his glass in a silent toast as Roger left.

The apartment where Michael Seebach had transcribed his notes had been gutted by fire last year. That was before the damage the building took from the Union's aerial assault. A sign in front indicated the place was going to be condemned. Roger wasn't in the apartment. He was on the roof of the building looking at the roof across the street where Schwartzwald stood the night they met. "All right, I'm here!" Roger shouted. "Come out now!"

"Hello again, Paradigm dog," the bandaged murderer spat as he stepped out of the shadows. "Still blindly following the will of your masters?"

"Nope," Roger assured him. "This time it's strictly personal. Where do you get off sending Dorothy Wayneright to kill me?"

"You fool! I didn't send that silly android to kill you," Schwartzwald corrected. "I sent it to die! Shouldn't that be obvious by now?"

"Why?" Roger barked. "What do you have against her?"

"That windup doll is the symbol of everything that's wrong with this city," the bandaged gargoyle explained. "It is the symbol of everything that is wrong with you! You really are in love with it aren't you? That lifeless hunk of tin that masquerades as a human being! You make me sick, you pathetic lapdog! You'd rather embrace an illusion than pursue what is real! You're just like everybody else in this depraved city!"

"Why did you shoot Angel?" Roger interrupted before the deranged reporter worked himself into a homicidal frenzy. "She doesn't work for Paradigm! She's probably got a price on her head these days!"

"She betrayed me," Schwartzwald hissed, "and right when I was trying to warn the city about the leviathan that was coming. Oh don't look so surprised! You aren't the first one to be taken in by that pretty face. We used to share information before her masters decided they wanted it all!"

That made sense. It explained how Angel knew where to find Schwartzwald at the masquerade ball that heralded the first appearance of Big Duo. It was Angel who told him that Schwartzwald had died, even though the city had just been littered with the flyers he had printed. She was probably following orders from her superiors in the Union at the time. That's what she was babbling about when Dorothy barged in with that .32.

"And what do you hope to accomplish by killing the Paradigm executives?" Roger demanded. "I should have realized that you were behind this. The first one you murdered was the head of Paradigm Press!"

"They all deserved to die," Schwartzwald boomed. "Every last one of them. They've offended the muses by keeping the great works of the past a secret. Have you ever heard of William Shakespeare? Anton Chekov? Plato? No? It doesn't surprise me. The few copies of their writings that still exist are kept secret. If the works of the writers of the past were read today it might stimulate the dullards in this corrupt city to think! And that wouldn't suit them at all! They give their subjects the right to vote and the right to free speech but it doesn't mean anything because the populace is so poorly educated that they don't know how to think for themselves! Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the domineus of the black megadeus is no different! You're such a pathetic lapdog that you continue to serve them, even after they turned on you!"

"Now wait just a minute!" Roger protested. "I don't work for Paradigm! I make my choices as I please!"

"Then why did you make the choices you have?" demanded an incredulous Schwartzwald. "Your masters turned on you. They turned on the entire city! You could have destroyed them! You could have led a rebellion against them and taken over the city! You could have had access to all of the secrets that Gordon Rosewater hid and Alex Rosewater found! Instead you gave the city back to your greedy masters and went back to doting on your imaginary girlfriend! If you're not a fool you must be stark raving mad!"

"That's funny, coming from you!" Roger snarled. "One minute you're talking about finding the truth and the next minute you're foaming at the mouth while babbling about power! Make up your mind why don't you?"

"Very well," Schwartzwald cackled. "If you insist!" he threw what looked like a blue and brown beach ball at Roger. "Oh don't run away!" he laughed when the negotiator dodged. "It's not a bomb or anything! I promise it's not! Take a look at it. Do you know what that is?"

Roger picked it up. It was a map that had been pasted over a sphere made of plaster and cardboard. He moved it around until he read a word that had been painted over it. Urania. Roger's breath caught in his throat.

"It's a globe!" Schwartzwald chuckled. "It's a map of the entire world! And a symbol of Urania, the muse of astronomy! Do you know what that means?"

"I suppose I should be honored!" Roger shouted back. "It means you saved me for last! So how am I going to get it, going to have a piece of the moon fall on me?"

"Foolish lapdog!" the bandaged burn victim chortled. "Think. What is astronomy anyway? It's the study of the sky…"

"The sky?" Roger repeated. "Oh no! Don't tell me…"

Schwartzwald spread his arms theatrically, then bent his left arm to place his wristwatch at his burnt and shriveled lips. "Big Duo! It is now… Showtime!"

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Next: Terror from the Sky