by Nick Svolos
“I’m not a super,” I explained.
“What’s that got ta do with anything?”
Helen replied. “My folks, well, I guess they expected me to end up with someone like me. You know, another superhuman.”
Dad thought that over while watching his line. “I guess I can see that. I’d want someone to protect my daughter if I was them. You do live a dangerous life.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen,” Helen fumed. “Borderline insulting.”
“Yeah, but you’ll always be their little girl. That’s how it works.” He turned to me. “So, why’d you get rid of your powers, then?”
My face got a little red. “I guess I never discussed this with you. Do you know how old Ultiman is?”
“Dunno. Doesn’t look that old. Thirty-five, maybe forty?”
I knew he’d get it wrong. He never read my articles, but even if he had, he’d be off by a lot. “Add a couple thousand years to that.”
My old man almost dropped his beer. “What?”
“Yeah. His powers made him immortal.” I took a pull from my bottle and let that sink in for a bit. “As far as I’ve been able to trace his history, it goes back to Ancient Rome.”
A grin broke out on his face. I wasn’t the only one in the family who geeked out over this stuff. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Let’s hope not. Anyhow, that’s why he wouldn’t take his powers back. It’s also why I had to give ‘em up.”
“Wait. What? I’m not followin’ ya, here.”
I leaned back on my elbows. “Living forever sounds good until you actually try it, dad. Imagine everyone around you aging and dying.” I squeezed Helen’s hand. “Your wife and kids. Grandkids, great-grandkids. Everyone.”
“Hmm,” he nodded. “Yeah. Sounds lonely.”
“Sounds like a prison. The only way out would be suicide, and I’m not even sure that would work.” I had a sudden thought. “Although, we have containment fields now. I suppose if I stuck myself under one…”
“Alright already,” Helen shivered, interrupting my gruesome musings with a gentle shove. “That’s quite enough of that. This is supposed to be a happy day.”
She was right, of course. It was, and for once, nothing spoiled it.
***
Monday afternoon we were in the briefing room with the rest of the team, suited up and waiting for the signal to head downstairs. Everyone was relaxed and having a good time, particularly after Taaliah screamed in delight when she spotted the ring on Helen’s finger.
It was almost a little party after that—Helen modeling her engagement ring and me grinning my way through a flurry of congratulatory handshakes and pats on the back. Jokes and well-wishes filled the room until Archangel told us it was time. Helen tucked the ring away in a pouch on her belt. As far as the world at knew, Herculene was a bachelorette, and safety dictated it stay that way.
We took the elevators down to the street level and walked the block and a half down Fifth Street to Pershing Square. Our colorful little parade drew the sort of attention you might imagine. Gawking, occasional cheers from passing cars, and more than a few pauses to sign autographs.
The city had a bandstand set up for the event in the concert stage at the northeast end of the park, and we filed onto it, taking up our positions along the back. A handful of reporters waited among a cheerful crowd of citizens to hear the big announcement. I spotted Ratna among them and shot her a wink. She responded by snapping a photo at the same time. I hoped she wouldn’t print that one.
Down in the throng I spotted a large, African-American man. He had the build of a linebacker and something about the man caused the crowd to give him just a little more space so that he appeared to be an island at the center of a sea of humanity. Seeing his face, I felt my own break into a grin. Reggie Burns smiled back, a bit of respect peeking past his swagger.
His Honor, the mayor, took the podium and gave a little speech, wrapping up with an introduction of Ultiman. The crowd roared their approval as our fearless leader stepped forward.
He strode to the microphone and dropped it down to his level. He was one of those guys you expected to be nine feet tall. Larger than life. In reality, he stood about five-eight, which was actually on the tall side for a Roman of his day.
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor, for your kind words, and for allowing us this venue today. The team would also like to thank the LAPD for providing security for this event, and indeed, for all the hard work they do. Finally, we would like to thank the people of this wonderful city for permitting us to be their servants.”
I’d say this for Ultiman—he may have been an old soldier with a funny way of talking, but damned if he didn’t pick up some oratory skills along the way. The crowd broke out into cheers and applause, and Ultiman gave them a few seconds to get it out of their systems.
“Since last summer, when Phoenix Fire gave her life protecting the citizens of Wilmington, the team has struggled to find a replacement. In the interim, we have been blessed with the assistance of a private citizen who offered his services while we conducted our search. A man who made enormous sacrifices in terms of his personal life and career for the simple reason that it needed to be done and he had the ability to do it. Today, he returns to private life. While we are saddened by his decision, we are grateful for his service, honored by his friendship, and eager to see what he accomplishes next. I speak, of course, of Captain Stand-In.” He turned to me. “Captain, the team would like to present you with a token of our appreciation.”
The crowd started cheering again, and I realized after a bit that their cheers were for me. They were chanting my name! My face felt hot, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. This wasn’t part of the deal. SpeedDamon gave me a gentle elbow to the ribs, breaking me out of my stupor. I stepped forward.
Herculene broke ranks and joined the two of us at the microphone. She handed Ultiman a flat box, winked at me, and got back into line. Ultiman popped off the lid, tucked it underneath, and passed it to me with his left hand while shaking my hand with his right. “Captain Stand-In, thank you for your service.”
My throat felt tight all of a sudden. “It’s been an honor, sir,” I croaked. I returned to my spot in line before someone could make me speak to the crowd. It was only then that I remembered I hadn’t looked at the thing in the box. I felt a shock of fear. What was the etiquette for this sort of thing? Oh, well, whatever it was, I’d already blown it. Emily Post was already clawing her way out of her grave to punish me for my transgression. I took a look.
It was a plaque. A square of dark mahogany about twelve inches across bore The Angels’ logo, a green “A” sporting white wings. On the sides of the logo, each member of the team had signed their autographs in silver ink. At the bottom, the plaque bore a little brass plate etched with the words “You’ll always be one of us.”
As Ultiman introduced Pixel as the new member of the team, Three Dollar Bill leaned over and whispered, “I think that’s more of a dire prediction than anything else.”
***
I felt a curious void in my soul. An empty feeling. Something special and important to me had come to an end. It didn’t make me sad or anything like that—I had more than my fair share of wonderful stuff to fill that void—but I had to take a moment to reflect on what used to live there.
I’d had a good run as a hero. With the possible exception of the last week or so, that is. I’d had a pretty decent run as a villain, too, now that I thought about it. I’d stopped the bad guys and saved a city.
Not bad for a rookie.
I shrugged into my sport coat, looking down at my costume, folded and resting on the bedspread. The mask lay on top. Its empty eye slots stared back at me from under the barcode crest I’d added as a joke. I never intended for it to have any particular meaning. The joke was that it didn’t mean anything at all. But now it was a symbol.
That morning, I’d heard a commentator on TV talking about it
. She said it meant, “Anyone can do this.” She’d said it was supposed to inspire people. Maybe she had a point. Later in the newscast, they’d had a report on a group of citizens building houses for underprivileged families. They were using my barcode as their logo.
I stashed the skinsuit in my duffel, dropped in the plaque, and finished by covering everything with some gym clothes. One can never be too careful. I might be stopped by an overzealous cop on the way home. No need to reveal my secret to anyone else at this stage of the game, although I was pretty sure everyone already knew and was just pretending not to out of courtesy.
“What are you going to do with it?” Herculene asked from the doorway. How long had she been there?
“My costume? I’m thinking I’ll stash it out in my barn at Dad’s place. By rights, I ought to burn the suit before someone finds it, but…”
“Can’t bring yourself to do it?”
“Nope.”
“Good. One day, our kids will want to see it.”
My head shot up. “Are … you trying to tell me something?”
My fiancé laughed. I smiled. I was still getting used to thinking that word.
“Oh, the look on your face.” She walked over and wrapped her arms around my neck. “When I need to tell you that, you won’t need to ask if I’m telling you. But we will have kids, and one day they’ll put the pieces together because they will be smart and wonderful like that. We’ll have to come clean with them. Naturally, they won’t believe us, because we’ll be their parents, and parents are always lame. So, we’ll go up in the attic and pull out our old costumes and souvenirs. We’ll tell them the stories. It’ll inspire them, and they’ll go on to be awesome in their own way. Please, babe, don’t throw that stuff away.”
“I promise.” I held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She giggled. “See, you’re already becoming less cool by the minute.” She gave me a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “Time to get out there on patrol. See ya tomorrow?”
“You know it. I gotta get on my way, too. Got a dinner meeting with Harry. Wanna pitch him an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head.” I told her what I had in mind.
“Oh, that would be cool. Think they’ll go for it?”
“Only one way to find out.” I turned my head and spoke at the wall. “Archangel, where’s Ultiman?”
***
I found Barnabus, looking unfamiliar in civilian attire, sitting in a lawn chair on the roof, a six-pack of beer in a cooler by his side. I grabbed a lawn chair for myself and walked over. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” He nodded to the open cooler. “Help yourself.”
I set up the chair and drew a dark British ale from the cooler. I almost tore my thumb open trying to pop off the cap.
Oh, yeah, I couldn’t do that anymore.
Barnabus laughed and handed me a church key. “Takes some getting used to, does it not?”
“I guess so. Old habits die hard.”
“They do indeed.” He held out his beer. “To old habits.”
“May the good ones stand the test of time.” I clinked my bottle against his.
I took a long pull, enjoying the cool relaxation as the strong ale worked through my system. Another thing I was getting used to. I’d have to be a bit more careful with the sauce.
“I am glad you stopped by. I just received some news. I am afraid it is not good.” He handed me a tablet.
I studied the screen’s single document, an FBI dispatch. “Ah, hell,” I muttered as I found the bad part. Alvarado and Wells were found dead in their cells that morning. The official-looking preliminary report gave no cause of death, but I knew what killed them. The same thing that killed Forney and the goons at the airport. Death by Bedlam.
“That didn’t take long.”
“No, it did not.”
“It doesn’t say where they were being held. Were they at the federal building?”
Barnabus shook his head. “No. Alvarado was at County, and I flew Wells and Pseudonym directly to Lompoc.”
The tablet slipped from my fingers, and I had to scramble to catch it before it smashed itself against the roof. Once I regained my composure, I read through the report again. “It doesn’t say anything about Pseudonym.”
“Still alive. I imagine it is difficult to keep a brain-destroying microchip in a man who can rearrange his molecular structure at will. I called the warden. He has the prison on lockdown, and a round-the-clock guard set on him. I offered to transfer him here to the Vault, but the warden refused. I am afraid the matter is out of our hands.”
I muttered a curse and pulled out my wallet. After a bit of digging, I found Agent LaBlanc’s card and tried the number. No answer. I cursed again.
“Looking for the FBI agent?” Barnabus asked.
“Yeah. If they’re cleaning up their mess, he’s gotta be a target. He knows too much.”
“Not a problem,” he smiled. “He is back in Washington. I have a friend there watching over him.”
“You sure that’s enough? I mean, if they could get to someone in Lompoc…”
“My friend is very good at what she does.”
“How good? I mean, who is she?”
“You do not know who she is, do you?”
“No. Washington’s the most locked down place this side of Moscow. Hasn’t been a super there in decades.”
“That is how good she is.” The old man smiled at his little joke.
“Oh. Well, I guess he’s in good hands, then.”
“The best.” He took a casual sip, adding, “You know, Agent LaBlanc is not the only one who knows too much. You are taking precautions, I trust.”
“Yeah. Ben sent a team to install a security system at my apartment, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good. It would be a shame to lose you. I know you think I have been hard on you—"
I waved him off. “That’s how you know you got a good teacher. You taught me a lot. I’m grateful for that.”
“It has been an honor.” His smile was gentler than his lessons but no less earnest.
We sat and sipped our ales for a bit. “So, what is on your mind, Reuben? I doubt you came all the way up here for my bad news.”
“Well, I’ve been struggling with something. You remember our deal?”
“Of course. When this was all over, I would finally give you that interview you have harassed me about for the last five years.”
“Six, but who’s counting? I’d like to propose an alteration to our bargain.”
He raised an eyebrow and regarded me carefully. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You see, I always plan out my interviews in advance. Gather up the questions I want to ask, order them, rank them, group similar ones together. Stuff like that. But with you, there are just too many, and all of them feel too significant to just drop. What was it like to serve under Scipio Africanus? What did you do during the American Revolution, and for that matter, what brought you to the New World in the first place? And then there’s all the stuff in between and after. There’s too much to fit into an interview piece.”
“I see your problem. You are thinking of something longer, then. A biography, perhaps?”
“Yeah, if you’re comfortable with that. I figure I can gather questions from some historians and anthropologists that you might know the answers to. I know you like to protect your privacy, but I think it’s important. Your head holds so many stories. So many answers. Unless Doughboy’s watch starts working again, this might be the last chance we have to get them. I think … well, I think it would be a loss to humanity if I didn’t at least try to get them down on paper before we fade from the scene.”
“You see it as a service we must perform. A duty.”
“Exactly. Don’t you agree?”
He thought about it for a while, took a pull from his beer, and thought some more. “It is a lot to ask. However, it is far less than I have asked of you. Very well. We shall perform this service together.�
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I grinned. “Great. I’ll pitch it to my editor tonight.”
He eyed me. “It sounds like you already knew my answer.”
“Guys like you never fail to rise when it comes to duty.”
“Guys like us, Reuben,” he corrected.
I chuckled. “Alright. Guys like us.”
We finished our beers, collected everything and put away the chairs. As we walked to the elevator, I remembered I had another reason to see him.
“Say, there’s one other thing. Before I left the hospital, Doctor Austin gave me the Force dose with your powers. Said it was on your orders. Was there something you wanted me to do with it?”
“Not as such. I only wanted it to stay out of his hands. He is a good man, but I am worried that curiosity might get the better of him. Any other scientist, as well, for that matter. I shudder to think of what might happen if that substance is replicated.”
Yeah, being able to purchase superpowers and immortality as an over-the-counter drug might be a problem. Worse, Bedlam, or even the government, might get their hands on it and crank out an army of Ultimen. I had to stifle a shudder of my own at the thought.
“I hadn’t thought of that. So, I should just destroy it, right?” I wasn’t sure how I’d pull that off. Maybe I could dump it in a volcano. I wondered what the airfare to Mordor was this time of year.
The elevator stopped at Barnabus’ spartan quarters, and he stepped out of the car. “The decision is yours. But allow me to share one thought. Consider the possibility that those powers have been placed into the world for a reason. You and I have shared the burden of bearing them to this point. Perhaps, one day, they will be needed again. If so, a champion worthy of them may arise.”
“Geez, that’s a heavy thought. You dabbling in prophecy now?”
He just smiled. “Hardly. I’m merely a man who has had a great deal of time to think about it.”
***
I turned in my badge at the security desk, collected my keys from the valet, and fired up the woody. She responded with a happy purr as I eased up the ramp and waited for a break in traffic on Grand Avenue.