Whether it was by Alvina's odds-fixing talent or for some other reason, the group encountered no more difficulties on the way out of the minefield as they had on the way in. Progress was faster, or at least felt that way – going away from the portlock, the fractal geography of No Man's Land worked in their favor. Shortly they were back before the encampment, and the endlessly marching patrol, through which they threaded their way out in the same fashion as they had in.
They had already determined how they would proceed to Panmunjon. They were presently near the northern side of the Sector; Panmunjon lay dead center between the northern and southern Ringwalls. Therefore they would follow the boundary between the encampment and No Man's Land south until just west of their destination, whence a safe and well-marked path negotiated the minefield.
It took little time to discover that the patrol, which they had thought uniquely placed before the vampire and earth monster contingent, was duplicated all along the line. It was not, as they had assumed, a particular measure to entrap infiltrators there, but a more general precautionary measure. The gloom of the Antipodes night had hidden the patrols beyond their immediate vicinity from view. But now a new day was dawning, revealing all that had been unmarked before.
Dabbler found it rather creepy for them to be slipping past so many diligently alert Supers and recruits without any noting their presence. Yet their entire trek through the Villain-occupied portion of the East Wing had proven charmed, thanks to D.J.'s distortion fields.
And so it remained. They achieved the latitude of Panmunjon without incident.
Small light-globes on posts, dimming in the advancing daylight, clearly delimited the path to the diplomatic enclave -- a pearly white quarter dome with one flat side set flush against the force field of the portlock, its other flat side facing north. These sides themselves formed minor portlocks, Sendulo had informed the others -- the end facing east with a corresponding quarter dome in Backstage Peripheral, and that facing north with yet another along the force field to the west of Heroica Encampment.
The pathway was flanked and guarded by a monumental pair of giant robots.
"Sentinels," Sendulo whispered to the others. "I trust no one here is a mutant?"
"Define 'mutant,'" D.J. whispered back.
"Basically, anyone blessed with hereditary super power due to genetic modification of his or her immediate forebears, usually but not always as a result of radiation."
"Would that include second-generation Supers?" Macro queried.
"Depends on how your parents acquired their powers."
"My mother suffered a metagene-triggering accident, and my father didn't have any powers -- per Mom, he was just a sup-cast computer genius who was briefly a headliner."
"Should be okay. If not, well, hopefully the Sentinels' mutant-sense will be thrown off by the distortion fields just as organic senses are. Anyone else?"
There were no other mutant-possibles. Cautiously, the group advanced toward the pathway.
"Hold it!" hissed Alvina. "There's a trip-wire! We may be invisible, but we can still be betrayed by alarms if we unwittingly set them off!"
"Good, Alvina," murmured her father approvingly. "Step over that, people, and keep a close eye out for similar tell-tales."
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Tue Nov 11 01:23:06 2003
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