S2-ENF-016 - TELEPORT

“This is impossible! How did she get out?”

“Maybe she teleported,” suggested Melissa, watching the bank of TV screens in the ultra-secure Foundation command room. Naked women ran squealing through the crowded centers of half a dozen world cities. Thessaly the time stopper, newly freed from Foundation captivity, was making up for lost time. “Can she do that?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? We never fully figured out how her powers work.”

“She can freeze time for as long as she likes, she’s immune to physical damage and she never ages or gets bored. Other than that, she’s a physically normal young woman. Our specially designed time-locked shackles should have held her.”

“But they didn’t,” said Melissa, studying the global naked-lady chaos. Every bikini on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro had been confiscated, leaving the brown Brazilian beauties to blush and bounce with breasts and bottoms bare, their lovely jiggly nude figures exposed to the leering eyes of the world. Similar pranks had been perpetrated at Santa Monica, Bondi and the South of France.

Melissa averted her eyes from the spectacle of a pair of blonde Aussie girls sprinting nude past a lifeguard station, desperately trying to shield their lithe bodies from a mob of laughing surfers in board shorts, and said “Could somebody have helped her escape?”

“But only Foundation staff had access to her cell. Do you think one of us might be… a traitor?”

Another bank of TV screens was displaying footage from every news channel in America, all of which had sent their most attractive female reporters out into the streets to cover the unfolding events. Equally attractive female news anchors sat in studios, live before an audience of millions, doing their best to explain to their captivated viewers just what was going on and how it might affect the price of eggs.

“It’s unthinkable,” said Melissa, as the smart, professional blazers, skirts and blouses of all these extremely attractive female anchors and reporters were replaced in less than a hummingbird’s eyeblink with a number of extra-skimpy bikinis, some adorned with the Southern Cross and others coloured the green of the Brazilian flag. A chorus of tinny squeals echoed from the TV screens. The lady journalists were professionals, of course, and their new attire wasn’t technically in breach of any broadcasting rules, so they had no excuse for leaving their posts. “Why would anyone betray the Foundation?”

“Hey,” said Emilia. “You don’t think she can get in here, do you?”