by Nick Svolos
“Figures. Channel 5’s gonna milk this thing for all it’s worth.”
“Yeah. So, what’s the plan?” Ratna tried to sound upbeat.
“I dunno.” I tried to think of where I was when Starlines got hit but couldn’t remember. Probably not in costume or in public view.
“C’mon, boss, you always got a plan.” She took a quick look around to make sure we couldn’t be overheard, grabbed a chair, and pulled it close. “Assuming they didn’t do some trick photography, who could that be in the Cap suit?”
“Could be almost anyone. Plenty of ERD guys about Cap’s size. All the ones we know of can fly. Seems to be a requirement.”
She leaned past me and pulled up some stock photos of the ERD team in action. She compared them to the video. “Hmmm. No. All of the males are beefier than Cap. More muscle.”
I saw her point. While Ultiman’s powers had burned off any excess fat on my body and made me look pretty good in a pair of swim trunks, I never had a lot of muscle mass to begin with. Dr. Schadenfreude’s nanobots could only work with what you give them. I was kind of scrawny by superhuman standards.
This wasn’t getting us anywhere. I took over the keyboard and called up what we had on the Starlines caper. Once I figured out the date and time, I checked my calendar. I cursed under my breath. Helen had patrol duty that night, so I batched it at my place and went to bed early. I didn’t have any witnesses to vouch for my whereabouts.
“So, I take it you have no alibi?” Ratna asked.
“Nope.”
“Okay, well, I’m gonna go through this thing pixel by pixel. If there’s any fakery going on, I’ll find it.”
I rubbed my face. “I’m sure it’s clean. Channel 5 would have checked it before going public.”
“Well, they might have missed something. Besides,” she replied as she left my cube, “they don’t have anyone as good as me.”
I smiled, grateful that I had something else Channel 5 didn’t have—someone in my corner who believed I was innocent and would fight like hell to prove it. That was a good start.
I returned my gaze to the screen. Assuming Ratna wasn’t able to turn up anything, there had to be a new player involved. Someone with my build and the ability to fly. Someone who wanted to incriminate Captain Stand-In. From a motive perspective, that meant either the feds or Backdraft’s employers.
And behind them would be Bedlam. This seemed like just the sort of move Schadenfreude was talking about.
The thought sparked a little hope. Captain Stand-In must be on to something. Something that threatened their plan. I was getting to them.
Another thought, this one much more disturbing, popped into my mind, smothering the previous one under a bucket of ice cold despair. I looked at the video again. It was grainy, shaky, and probably wouldn’t hold up in court, but damned if that guy didn’t look exactly like me.
What if it was?
I shook my head and forced the thought from my mind. No, there had to be another explanation.
Get back on track, Reuben. Something I learned had pushed me above some threshold, making me a threat to be removed.
The only lead I could think of was the most recent one. The missing records and truckers. That pointed to Colorado.
I opened yet another browser window to search for businesses in Pueblo. There were plenty. In addition to the federal public information office, there were food companies, a manufacturer of fruit-processing equipment, several steelworks facilities, a company that ran rodeos, and so on. None of them stood out as something that might be involved in a plot like this.
Looks could be deceiving, of course, and any of these could be a front. That little train of paranoia joined the others, taking a few trips around my skull before being derailed by my phone.
“Ultiman would like you to come to the Tower,” Archangel said after verifying my end of the conversation was secure.
I groaned and told Archangel I’d be in as soon as I could break away. I’d figured this was coming, but hoped to have some better answers before I had to deal with the old man. Unfortunately, the only answers I had were crap, and they only led to even worse questions.
***
Traffic on the eastbound I-10 was the usual mid-afternoon crawl, and it took me the better part of an hour to claw my way through it. I spotted a Channel 5 van holding up traffic in front of the Angel Tower, so I took the long way around to get into the vehicle entrance without being spotted. My woody was pretty well-known in our circles, and I didn’t feel like injecting my civilian identity into the story.
Angel security had long ago decided it was an unacceptable risk to have visitors wandering around in the parking structure. Too many opportunities for mischief. So, they provided valet service. It felt a little elitist to me, but who was I to argue? I pulled up to the security booth and surrendered my keys.
Bill Williams, a.k.a. Three Dollar Bill, pulled up behind me in his 2002 Jaguar XKR, a bright blue number that he’d picked up secondhand. For almost a year, he’d been giving me judo lessons. By way of paying him back I’d helped him replace the upholstery on the ceiling and buff out a few parking-lot dings. Now, it looked like it could have just rolled off the showroom. He was in civilian clothes—a dark blue, tailored suit. He must have come from the courthouse.
“Geez, did Ultiman call you in, too?” I asked as we walked to the elevator.
He nodded, his face impassive. “The whole team.”
“Lovely,” I muttered. We stepped into the elevator, and the button for the forty-second floor lit up without either of us pressing it. Archangel knew where we needed to go.
Dread weighed me down more than gravity as the car rose. This was humiliating. The team was in trouble—Channel 5 would see to that—and I was the cause.
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped into the briefing room. At the far end of the table sat Ultiman in his blue skinsuit, reviewing something on a terminal. The rest of the team had already assembled around the table. With the exception of Ultiman and Herculene, everyone was in civvies. Like me, they’d probably been at work when they got the call. This was a “come as you are” party. Concerned eyes turned my way and I felt a wave of shame wash over me. The walk to my seat felt like a mile.
Ultiman called the meeting to order and played the video. Archangel gave her report. As I feared, the video was legit. Suave went over some potential responses from the public-relations team, ranging from outright denials to encouraging a wait-and-see stance.
Through it all, Helen held my hand tightly under the table. I think that was the only reason I was able to keep it together.
“Very well.” Ultiman took control of the session, “We know what is happening. The floor is open for discussion on what we will do about it.”
“We deny it, of course,” Damon said, like he couldn’t imagine any other option. “This is a set-up. We deny it and hit the streets. Find out who’s really in the video.”
“I think we’re putting the cart before the horse,” Bill interrupted. “As a lawyer, I need to know how my ‘client’ intends to respond to this.”
Quiet fell over the room and every eye turned back to me. I gulped, realizing I wasn’t quite ready for this. “I think a flat-out denial will just be playing into their hands,” I croaked.
“How so?” Taaliah asked.
“We reporters love denials. They give the story legs. I mean, KCNR’s got their van double-parked downstairs. They want to make as much out of this as they can. If we deny it, the next question is, ‘Where’s the evidence to back it up?’”
“Hey, you’re innocent until proven guilty, right?” Damon protested.
“Not in the court of public opinion,” I replied. “That’s where they’re looking to fight this battle. Look, you guys need to protect the team. Fedor’s ‘wait-and-see’ response is the right way to go. Full co-operation with the authorities, complete transparency, the whole nine yards. Distance yourselves from me. Disavow me if you have to.”
Thoughts raced through my head, and a few pieces fell into place. I didn’t like how they looked. “It’s gonna get worse, believe me.”
“Sounds like you know something you’re not sharing,” Bill observed.
I mentally ran through the data again and liked it even less this time. But I also became more certain I was on to something. A plausible, if uncomfortable, explanation. “I do, but I gotta break protocol to share it.” I looked at Ultiman. It was his team and his protocol. The call was his to make.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Two-ninety-seven-alpha.”
I might as well have dropped a bomb with some crazy chemical that made every eye in the room bug out. The only person who saw it coming was Herculene, who just squeezed my hand a little tighter in support.
Ultiman muttered something dour in Latin, but finally nodded. “Go ahead.”
For the next ten minutes, I laid out everything I knew, including the stuff I only suspected. My trip to the future, Schadenfreude’s confirmation of Bedlam’s existence, Backdraft’s likely membership in the ERD, my sighting of Lucy Wells, the missing shipping records, and the dead and missing truckers.
I saved the worst for last. “So, to get back to my interview with Dr. Schadenfreude, he lobbed a spite-grenade at me toward the end. Told me the team’s been infiltrated by Bedlam. I thought it was just a ploy to sucker me into kicking off a mole hunt. Destroy the team’s cohesion. But now I’m thinking he might have been telling the truth. I think the mole he spoke of might be me.”
A half-dozen voices erupted in surprise and protest. Eventually, Bill managed to rise above the team.
“You wanna take another run at that? ‘Cause it sounded like you said you’ve been working for this ‘Bedlam’.”
“Not consciously, but you have to consider the possibility that Schadenfreude’s nanobots stuck around after giving me Ultiman’s abilities. Maybe they’re taking control of me. We already know he can do it. He did it with Mechanista. I was asleep when the Starlines thing went down, so I wouldn’t even know. It fits with that ‘game within a game’ Schadenfreude likes to play. Unless we can find a guy with my build and powers, it’s the only way this makes sense.”
“My God.” Taaliah looked like she was going to be sick.
“Yeah. I’m sorry guys. Sorry I got you all into this mess.”
“Even if all this is true, it’s not your fault,” Herculene said, her voice certain. Her hand never let go of mine.
“She is right,” Ultiman said, “You are only in this situation because you tried to help us. We have to verify this, however. Damon, would you please escort Mr. Conway to the science lab? I’ll let Doctor Austin know you’re coming.”
Herculene came along as SpeedDamon led me from the room. We took the elevator down to the science lab. That suited me just fine. I wasn’t in any hurry to find out if I was right.
***
“This might feel a little … weird,” Doctor Curtis Austin said as he stuck a needle in my spine. I gritted my teeth and focused on laying perfectly still.
The scientist had already pumped the area around the insertion point full of local anesthetic, so the spinal tap didn’t hurt, but the nerves in my spinal column pointed out with quite a bit of concern that there was a sharp piece of surgical steel where it had no business being, and they didn’t like it one bit. I agreed, but the science staff needed a sample of my spinal fluid, and this was how it got done. I just listened to the gentle hum of the Kunai field generator, trying not to think too much about the fact that Doctor Austin’s primary field of study was physics, not medicine.
Since my arrival at the nineteenth-floor infirmary, I’d been poked, prodded, scanned, X-rayed, MRI-ed, and subjected to a battery of psychological exams that, while revealing some childhood-abandonment issues, didn’t do much to prove or disprove the presence of microscopic mind-controlling machinery hiding somewhere in my body.
The problem was one of size. Nanobots are tiny, and Dr. Schadenfreude’s were some of the most advanced anyone had ever seen. They were supposed to biodegrade after they did their job—at least, that’s how the science team thought they worked. In truth, nobody really knew how they worked except for the mad scientist who created them, and he wasn’t talking. That made them pretty darned hard to find, if they were there at all.
“Alright,” Doctor Austin said after what felt like an hour, but was probably not much longer than half that. “I’m removing the needle now … and done.” He handed the sample to an assistant, applied a bandage, and shut off the Kunai field. “How do you feel?”
“Okay, I guess,” I said, sitting up slowly.
“Excellent. Just sit tight for a bit while we run the tests. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He left to do his science thing, and Herculene took his place, holding my clothes.
“You okay?” she asked, her face worn with concern.
I took my stuff and started getting dressed. “Yeah. Nothing to it. Did I miss anything?”
“Aw, nothing much,” she joked, “Just the usual. Ultiman and Bill are in a conference with Legal. Archangel’s cross-referencing the burglaries with your patrol nights and other activities to see if there might be an alibi you’re not seeing. Everyone else’s teasing Fedor about his reading habits.”
I winced. “Poor guy.”
“I don’t get it,” Damon said, joining us now that I’d donned something more modest than a hospital gown. “That guy gets more tail—”
“Damon!” Herculene protested.
“Sorry. I just mean, he’s got a different girl comin’ through here every night. He’s like a Mexican Wilt Chamberlain. I’m surprised he gets time to read at all.”
“I think it’s sweet that he reads romances,” Herculene said. “I mean, I don’t think he gets that from his … companions.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Archangel’s calm voice interrupted from hidden speakers calibrated to make it sound like she was in the room with us. “An FBI helicopter has requested clearance to land on the roof. Ultiman has asked everyone but Mr. Conway to suit up and stand by in the briefing room.”
Damon cursed in chipmunkese and disappeared from the infirmary, loose medical papers trailing in his slipstream.
“Any instructions for me?” I asked.
“You might want to make yourself scarce,” the AI advised.
I processed that for a minute, and Herculene brought me back to the world with a touch on my arm. “She’s right. Wait in our quarters and let us handle this.”
“Babe—”
“No arguments.” Her eyes told me she meant it.
I sagged. I didn’t think this was the right play but had to admit she had the experience. I was just the rookie, and quite frankly, I’d screwed things up enough already. “Yeah, alright, but I’m gonna watch from the briefing room.”
She kissed me. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”
Herculene was like a different woman on the way up. Helen was still in there, but she could smell a fight coming. I’d seen it plenty of times before, but I’d never gotten used to it. One minute she was all soft and loving and wonderfully girly, but once she caught the scent of oncoming trouble, she was all business. A warrior-goddess. It was scary and beautiful, and I had to admit, kind of a turn-on.
But not this time. This time, it filled me with dread.
By the time we got to the briefing room, the rest of the team was there, watching the rooftop proceedings on the big screen. Up on the helipad, Ultiman examined a piece of paper while LaBlanc, a team of heavily armed FBI agents, and three people in ERD suits took up positions on and around the Tower.
“Lemme guess,” Herculene said, “that’s a warrant.”
Suave nodded. “Si. They have come for Captain Stand-In.”
“Screw this.” Mentalia turned and stalked toward the stairwell. “I’m going up there.” As one, the team followed her.
“Guys, wait,” I protested. “Ultiman wanted you to stay here.”
They weren’t having any of it. The only response was Herculene turning back with a one-word command. “Stay.”
Dammit. The team was going to do something stupid. I was something of an expert when it comes to doing stupid things, and the team had that look in their eyes. This was getting out of hand.
I watched the scene on the monitor, my dismay growing with each second. Less than a minute later, The Angels filed onto the helipad and fanned out. One of the ERD guys zipped across the platform. I cursed at the revelation they’d picked up a speedster since we’d seen them last. SpeedDamon matched him, move for blurry move, like a safety covering a running back before the snap. I cursed some more. The FBI agents readied their weapons, and LaBlanc turned to wave them off. The other two ERD guys rose into the air, getting ready to defend themselves.
Ultiman turned and barked at his team. I couldn’t hear, but it looked like he was ordering them to stand down. If so, it didn’t matter. Nobody was listening.
The rooftop was a powder keg waiting for a spark. There was no doubt The Angels would come out on top—they had the numbers—but the fallout would be unacceptable. They would be placing themselves above the law. The government would have all they needed to declare them supervillains, too. “Archangel, is there any chance of this ending without violence?”
“Negligible. I’m actually surprised nobody’s thrown a punch yet.”
I cursed once more. I couldn’t let this happen. The world needed its heroes. The city needed them.
I needed them.
I emptied my pockets on the console, turned, and flew up the stairwell. I dropped to the deck and started running once I got to the roof, just in case Channel 5 had their chopper covering the scene. I raced up the stairs to the helipad, taking them two at a time. Ultiman and LaBlanc were doing everything they could to keep the dogs of war on their leashes, and I caught a look of relief on the old man’s face when I appeared.
Herculene scowled at me. “Dammit, Reuben!”
I cut her off. “No. I am not letting you guys do this.”