Chapter 7.
Spider-man used the ensuing first few moments of speechlessness to explain both his presence. . .and his present diminutive state.
"I had just reached the base of Atlas' neck when you threw that sleeper hold on him," he eventually concluded: "Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of the way in time. As a result? I wound up getting pinned beneath your right arm pit. Where, uh, due to the, uh, lack of fresh air, I, uh, passed out. The next thing I know? I'm a dance floor made of white linoleum, trying to avoid being squished beneath the feet of a fifty foot-tall flamenco dancer!"
"Hmmm!" said Colt: "When Garganta resumed normal size, you must have shrunk in direct proportion. But, such being the case, the only way I can see you regaining your normal size is for Garganta to re-enact the process in reverse!"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the blonde woman in question: "If you think I'm putting that wall-crawling little perv back on my alabaster body, you've got another think coming. In fact, I now have twice as much reason to take my rudely interrupted shower!"
Whereupon, she stormed back into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Spider-man looked at the Weapons Mistress.
"You don't honestly think I stowed away on her, on purpose, do you?"
Colt smiled: "Of course not! And I'm sure Carol doesn't, either. At least, not once she has a chance to get over her initial sense of startlement and calm down enough to reconsider your story. Until then, however, you'd better stay out of her way."
"In that case," replied the webslinger: ". . .would you mind telling me why you two ladies were doing at the airport? And what Atlas might've been after?"
Colt began her side of the story by telling him about the origin of the Federal Emergency Missions Force.
"It all started, during World War II, when the team's founders united to prevent the abduction of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt by Nazi spies! She was so grateful that she persuaded her husband to keep them together as a special unit, composed purely of women. . .and answerable only to her. Of course, when the war ended, the unit was disbanded. Only to be reactivated, twenty years later, to battle Communist super-villains and other extraordinary public menaces! With Carol and myself among the most recent additions to the team."
"As to what we were doing at JFK? We were there to safeguard an L. A. attorney. . .named Jennifer Walters."
Whereupon, Colt revealed that her late husband had been the partner of an FBI agent named Richard Mason. And how, six months earlier, he had contacted her about helping him with an undercover assignment. More specifically? Acting as messenger between him and his FBI handler. For Agent Mason was trying to gather incriminating evidence against Los Angeles crime lord Nicholas Trask. But, the latter was paranoid about everyone who worked for him! So, if the Weapons Mistress were to become an exotic dancer at a nightclub owned by Trask, Mason could pass messages to her (and vice-versa). . .
. . .hidden inside folded hundred dollar bills.
"Sounds like you had a foolproof system," remarked the shrunken webslinger: "What went wrong?"
"I don;t know. Somehow, Rick blew his cover, leading to Trask personally killing him. But, not wanting to go to the gas chamber for it, he framed the club's manger, Lou Monkton, for the murder. Telling the local cops on his payroll that Lou and Rick had been arguing over me! That's b-s, though. Because Lou is gayer than Paris! And I anonymously told his court-appointed lawyer, Jennifer Walters, as much."
"Imagine my great concern, then, when I was contacted, just as anonymously, by someone telling me that Walters was about to be ambushed by some of Trask's hit men before she could divulge this info to the Feds!"
With the help of a bio-electrical FemForce teammate named Dina Morisi (who works as a Hollywood stunt woman in her spare time), Colt was motorcycled to the scene of the ambush. Alas! While they managed to capture the hit men, they did not succeed in preventing at least one shot from being fired. A shot that critically wounded Jennifer Walters. Necessitating her being put into cryogenic hibernation before she could be flown to New York City for a life-saving operation by Dr. Donald Blake.
"Wouldn't it be easier for this Dr. Blake to be flown out West for the operation?" Spider-man logically inquired.
Colt shook her head: "Believe it or not, he's acrophobic! In any case, I was later phoned by the same anonymous snitch, who told me that an attempt was going to be made to abduct her cryo-tube at JFK Airport. And that I should arrange with Garganta to prevent that. Hence, the FBI loaning us this safehouse."
Meanwhile, at 20 Ingram Street, in the Forest Hills region of Queens County, Stella Stargaze waited even more impatiently than her hostesses for a phone call from Peter Parker. For that would mean she was free and clear to return to the airport for her the remainder of her luggage! So, in an attempt to curb that impatience, May Parker politely asked what brought Flash Thompson's celebrity aunt to New York City.
"I'm going to do a week-long special edition of my talk show from here," replied the erstwhile magician's assistant: "And I thought I could make your nephew's wife one of my opening night guests."
MaryJane's eyes fairly bulged with amazement as she stammered in reply.
"M-M-Me?!"
Stella Stargaze smiled with malicious glee: "Why not? If nothing else, you can tell everyone by what not-so-small miracle you landed the title role in the upcoming 'Thunderfox' movie!"
"Thunderfox" was a popular comic strip about a redheaded superheroine with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal women. And a major motion picture studio in Hollywood had recently won a bidding war to adapt it for a live-action feature film. Yet, just as May Parker was trying to formulate a firm-but-polite rebuke of her guest's thinly-disguised insult, there was a knock at her front door.
"I'll get it!" she exclaimed: "That's probably Peter, right now."
But, it was not. Instead, May Parker opened the door to behold a man dressed like someone from the year 1900. A young man with black hair and matching moustache; and dressed in clothing appropriate to that period. A yellow, round-brimmed straw hat of the type once known as a "skimmer." A black bow tie offset by a white shirt, green blazer, white slacks, and brown shoes. And a man's parasol.
"Pardon my intrusion, dear lady. But, do I have the honor of addressing the aunt of the noted photojournalist, Peter Parker?"
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"Simply by not screaming."
Whereupon, he raised his parasol. . .and fired a pencil-thin beam of yellow light from it. A beam that shrank May Parker down to six inches in height!
tbc