Free Unidentified Funny Objects 2 by Robert Silverberg, Jim C. Hines, Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Ken Liu, Tim Pratt, Esther Frisner

hundred yards: the government’s minimum recommended distance for a potential superpowered showdown.
    In one hand, he clutched the wooden puzzle box he had found in Professor Edison’s office. Scaramouche had defaced the intricate multicolored woodwork with the word Pandora scrawled in blue Sharpie marker. “Repeat the message, please.”
    The box was happy to oblige. “Terminal six. Hope to see you soon.”
    His tumor chuckled. “‘Terminal.’ Just like you. I like this woman.”
    Stranger swooped toward the terminal, where he spotted two figures sitting in a luggage truck beside an abandoned passenger jet.
    Scaramouche sat waiting, her legs extended and crossed on the dashboard. A white mask hid her face—the mask of comedy, not tragedy, which was reassuring. When Scaramouche wore her other mask, the body count skyrocketed.
    Behind that mask hid the mind of a genius. As Doctor Mona Merlo, she had earned PhDs in psychology, physics, and law. Her masks also hid the horribly scarred results of a scheme gone wrong, something involving a nanoexplosive, a trained ferret, and a microwave. Merlo’s brilliance was matched only by her randomness.
    “Stranger!” Scaramouche jumped to her feet. “Long time no see! How’s my favorite butt-bleeder?”
    Kelly Kane was chained to the passenger seat. Scaramouche had used multiple chains, making it harder for Stranger to use his powers to free her. A metal tank sat in the first of three luggage carriers hitched to the tiny truck. Explosives covered the tank like oversized, blinking pimples.
    “Sulphuric acid,” said the tank. “Strong enough to burn the eyes right out of her head. If I move, the bombs go off. And the boss can set them off by remote. Oh, her seat’s wired, too.”
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    Kelly grimaced. “It’s not like this is my first kidnapping. Be careful. She’s even more manic than usual.”
    Her pulse and respiration belied her outward calm. Trying to keep his own anger under control, Stranger held the wooden box out to Scaramouche. “All the evils of the world escaped from Pandora’s box, until only hope remained. Hope for who?”
    “For you, of course.” Scaramouche brought a cup of Starbucks coffee to her mask. She fitted the straw through the mouth and sipped slowly. “You and I go way back, Stranger. You’re like the husband I never had.”
    “You had a husband. You mutated him into a gorilla.”
    “Details. The point is, I can give you something the doctors can’t.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A choice. Two, in fact. Cancer is such an ugly, boring death,” she said. “You deserve better.”
    “I resent that. Punch her in the face!”
    “You’re going to do me a favor and kill me? No thanks.” Stranger concentrated on the chains, asking them for their weaknesses.
    “Oh, but it would be a glorious death in the arms of the woman who loves you.” She laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, K.K. Everyone knows. In supervillain circles, there’s a running bet as to what would happen the first time you two kids did the deed. I’ve got five grand that says the first super-orgasm would kill her.”
    “What’s the other choice?” Stranger snapped.
    She shrugged. “I could just cure you.”
    “Don’t listen to her, boss! It’s a trick!”
    Of course it was a trick. And yet… “What’s the catch?”
    Scaramouch took another sip of coffee before answering. “You have to help me kill the Stranger.”
    “YOU’RE GOING TO NEED to explain that one,” said Jarhead.
    “Professor Edison’s time magnet.” Stranger stared at the carpet. “Scaramouche couldn’t really cure my cancer. What she could do was reach into the past and pull a younger version of me—a cancer-free version—into the present. Combine that with any halfway decent mind-swapping device, and voila. I’m young and healthy again.”
    Jarhead whistled. At least, Stranger assumed that was what the sound was supposed to be. It came out more like a