1999: A Superhero Novel

by Hodden, TE

  That had been the plan.

  The fight had been brief, over in seconds. Charlie had the advantage of range, keeping out of reach of the broad, heavy sword blades, as he snared Wormwood’s wrist to disarm him, and whipped Wormwoods’ legs out from beneath him. The magician hit the roof nose first. Charlie lashed out again, wrapping the chain about Wormwood like a boa constrictor.

  Then, it had all gone wrong.

  Tilda had marched over, her every muscle tensed in fury.

  “Well?” She demanded.

  “I have him,” Charlie said. “Shut down the¬”

  “Do it!” Tilda hissed.

  Charlie stared at her. “I have him. Shut it down.”

  “Have him?” Tilda snarled. “End him!”

  Charlie shook his head. “Tilda. This isn’t right.”

  Tilda’s nostrils flared. She drew her sickle and tried to step past Charlie.

  He blocked her way. “I have this.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Tilda…”

  “Alexander,” Tilda hissed, imbuing Charlie’s true-name with magical power, “Montgomery Fleet, step aside, and drop your weapon.”

  He tried not to, but the spell compelled him. He stepped aside, and released the chain.

  Tilda stepped over, sickle raised, ready to land the killing blow.

  Wormwood held out his hand, summoning the falchion. The sword spun into the air, and hit Tilda in the back. She dropped to her knees, looked back at Charlie, and toppled to the floor.

  Fury and horror consumed Charlie as he ran at Wormwood, as they brawled, as he snatched up his chain, and beat Wormwood into the corner, as he drove Wormwood to the edge of the wood.

  Anger at the horror Wormwood had caused, anger at the pain, and the anguish, at how helpless he had been when he found his parents too late to save them.

  He wasn’t powerless now though.

  He swung the chain over his head, building up speed until it sang. With one flick, he could flatten and Wormwood’s face against the back of his skull.

  But he couldn’t.

  He lashed the chain around Wormwood’s arm, and hoisted him back from the edge, dragging Wormwood into a punch that knocked him out.

  Then he ran to shut down the Ether Converter and close the schism.

  *

  He opened his eyes and looked again, seeing the memory for what it was, the web in which Tilda was trapped. The millipede nightmare was curled around the water tower, feeding on her pain and anguish, supping on her torment.

  “No!” Charile straightened his back, and squared his shoulders. “No! You won’t have her! Do you hear me! Let her go!”

  The nightmare hissed at him.

  Tilda slammed Wormwood to the floor, driving her sickle deep into his chest. His eyes lost their focus, and his last breath rattled in his throat.

  Reality jumped, and he was back powering up the Converter.

  Charlie grabbed Tilda’s wrist. “Tilda, stop. Look at this. It isn’t real.”

  “Get off me!” Tilda snarled. “I’ll kill him.”

  “You have to come with me,” Charlie said, “or you will be stuck here, doing this forever, until there’s nothing left of you.”

  Tilda smiled. “Right now, that sounds like heaven.” She put the tip of her sickle to his throat, pressing it against his windpipe. “Are you going to step aside?”

  In the corner of his eye Charlie could see the nightmare millipede watching them, and Wormwood still working on the converter.

  “And if I don’t?” Charlie asked.

  Tilda stared into his eyes, breathing through gritted teeth. “Choose your next words carefully.”

  “Oh?” Charlie asked. “And will you kill me for that too?”

  “Gladly!” Tilda spat. “It’s just a shame I can only do that the once.”

  “And will it make you happy?”

  “No!” Tilda snapped. “But it makes it hurt a little less!”

  Charlie lifted his head, exposing his throat. “Does it?”

  Tilda stared at the sickle in her hand.

  Charlie closed his eyes. “How many times have you done this?”

  “Seventeen,” Tilda said, uncertainly.

  “And how much less does it hurt?” Charlie asked.

  Tilda shook her head.

  “Does hating me make it hurt any less?” He asked, softly.

  “Damn you,” Tilda said.

  The point lifted from Charlie’s throat. He opened his eyes.

  Tilda was still pointing the sickle at him. It shook in her hand, wavering in her grip. Tears poured down her throat.

  Charlie put his hand on hers, and lowered the sickle away from him. He brushed the tears from her cheek. “This isn’t what you want to become, Tilda.”

  She leant against him resting her head on his chest. “Damn you boy.”

  “Charlie,” he chided her gently. “People call me Charlie now.”

  “It’s a terrible name!” She muttered.

  The millipede shrieked, and pounced down from the water tower, rearing up like a cobra.

  Charlie turned to face it, wrapping himself in armour, and shaped his mind into a spell. “Oh no you don’t! If you so much as twitch as twitch a mandible I will make this place a memory of my seventh birthday party! Or my school dance! Or…”

  The millipede lunged.

  Tilda shoved Charlie aside, and slapped the pincer mandibles aside. She pointed her sickle at the monster. “That,” she shouted, “is my grandson! Don’t you bloody dare!”

  It curled away from her, and retreated onto the wall.

  “That,” Tilda shouted, “is my family! That is my apprentice! That is a Yeoman!” She smiled. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “He’s a good man. I’m proud.”

  The millipede cowered from her.

  She put her sickle back in her belt, and turned to Charlie. She wiped her hands. “Right. Time to go I think.”

  *

  They broke the surface of the swampy pool, and clung to the roots of the black tree.

  “Hang on!” Robin said, crouching at the edge of the pool, and offering her hand. “Come one!”

  Charlie helped push Tilda from the water, into Robin’s hand. Robin dragged her clear, and reached down to help Charlie from the water. He collapsed on the muddy bank, gasping for breath.

  “Boy!” Tilda said.

  “Yes?” Charlie asked, panting.

  Tilda warmed her smile a shade. “Thank you.”

  Charlie stared up at the sky. “You are welcome.”

  Robin grinned. “There. Was that so hard?”

  “Yes!” Tilda snapped.

  Robin kicked her playfully. “Can we go home now?”

  “Yes,” Tilda said, with a chuckle. “I think we can.”

  *

  Later, much later, they stood in a meadow of moonlight silver grass and cobalt wildflowers, at a door of ancient oak, in a drystone frame.

  “So,” Robin said, giving Tilda a meaningful look, “this will be goodbye forever?”

  Tilda held up a hand. “Why ever would you assume that?”

  “Well…” Robin folded her arms. “Our little brother can never come to find us in Ethis, can he?”

  Tilda placed her hand on Charlie’s chest. “I release my grandson from our deal, and renounce my grudges against him. I swear our peace on your true name, Alexander.”

  “Charlie,” Robin whispered in the corner of her mouth.

  “A terrible name,” Tilda said, with a smile. “It doesn’t suit him.”

  Robin rolled her eyes, and grabbed Charlie in a bearhug, lifting him off the ground. “It’s only goodbye for now, then Little Brother!” She dropped him. “You will forgive me if I hope not to see you too soon?”

  “I’ll do my best not to bother you,” he agreed.

  Tilda stepped over and rested her head on his shoulder. “Tell people it’s short for Charlemagne. I like Charlemagne for you.” She swallowed. “About what I said b
efore… It was not… entirely…a bluff for the nightmare’s sake.”

  “Oh?” Charlie asked.

  She kissed his cheek. “Not entirely.”

  Charlie stepped to the door, and pushed against the door. It opened at his touch, and a blinding white light spilled out, pouring over him.

  Charlie stepped into the light and fell upwards…

  …into the part of his body that was flesh and blood, that lay on a hospital bed. He blinked against the harsh light, and breathed through a dry mouth and parched lips.

  He blinked the room into focus and sat up.

  He rose to his feet, and stumbled across the room, to the chest of drawers. “Hello!” He shouted. “Does anybody know where my clothes are?”

  11010

  Zero Vector gestured with the gun. “Turn around.”

  Melisa’s heart was bouncing off her ribs, running fast. She refused to let her giddy panic show on her face. She stared the terrorist in the eye, and kept her expression even. “Why?”

  “Turn around!” Zero Vector repeated with a snap.

  Melisa didn’t move. “No. It’s not as easy, is it? Looking somebody in the eye, with your finger on the trigger. Ordering assassins? Controlling drones? You can kid yourself that you’re at an arm’s length from the killing. It’s all just people on a screen.” She glanced at the cybernetics. “Well, so to speak…” She gestured to the gun. “Looking me in the eye, and having to pull the trigger? That’s more… real, and personal. The consequences are closer.” She lowered her voice. “You might not believe it, but it’s a good thing. It means there’s hope.” She held out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

  “Back!” Zero Vector barked. Her voice wavering. “Shut up.”

  “Do you think it is easier if I turn around? To shoot me in the back?”

  “Shut up!” The cyborg repeated. “I… need to think…”

  There was the muffled boom of an explosion, and most of the flaming wreck of a dino-droid smashed the doors in, and skidded over the floor and landed against one of the servers. Captain Lionheart stood at the door, still holding the head. He threw the head like a long pass.

  For a moment time seemed to slow, and the metal skull hung in the air, the seconds snapped back to speed, and the skull bounced off Zero Vector’s noggin. Her eyes crossed, she dropped the gun, and she fell to the floor.

  Lionheart looked at Melisa. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded. “You got this?”

  Melisa shook her head. “There’s no console. She tapped right in.”

  Lionheart took a pocket computer from his utility belt and threw it to her, then lunged after another robot-fossil, grabbing it in a tackle. He was swallowed by the fight.

  Melisa opened the clamshell case of the computer, and jacked it into the server. “Okay. Let’s see what you have going on…”

  The servers were stubborn, but she forced her way past the security protocols, and into the system, sifting through the operations, and unravelling the web of data. She found a promising thread, that was greedily consuming much of the processor power.

  “Oh no…” She tapped her earpiece. “Guys. We have a problem. When we launched our attack, she… set her retaliation in motion. There’s some kind of orbital weapons platform repositioning over New York. In about sixteen minutes Harlem is going to have a really bad day. Its locked in. I can’t stop it. The whole thing is set to run, automatically, even the phone message that is to be sent to several news stations and papers.”

  Catherine tapped into the conversation. “What kind of a weapon?”

  Melisa squinted at the specifications on the small screen. “Orbital artillery. A relatively small shell, with no explosives, but travelling so fast the shockwave will flatten everything for maybe eight city blocks in every direction. Anybody caught in the blast will be…”

  “Understood,” Catherine said, her voice distorting with the warp. “I’m on my way to see what I can do.”

  Somebody else tapped in. “Mel?”

  Melisa steadied herself, as the world seemed to lose its grip on her. “Charlie?”

  “Where in Harlem?” Charlie asked.

  Melisa caught her breath. “You’re awake? You’re okay? You…” She cleared her throat. “The corner of Frederick Douglass and West One Hundred and Thirty Fourth.”

  “Great.” Charlie sounded like he was hurrying. “I can get there. I can contain it.”

  “You can?” Melisa asked, entirely unconvinced.

  11011

  Charlie sat crossed legged on the roof of the elevated train as it rattled through the city. He kept one hand on his earpiece. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “And yours,” Melisa said, with a nervous flutter of a laugh. “You… are up to this? Right?”

  Charlie grimaced, and tried his best to sound more confident than he felt. “Yeah. I can do this, then I can go save the first daughter, and…”

  There were sounds of lasers and a chainsaw. Harris tapped into the conversation. “Say again? The First Daughter? What about her?”

  Charlie frowned. “It’s complicated, but she’s not exactly… She’s kind of possessed.”

  “What?” Harris demanded. “What kind of possessed?”

  “Not the good kind,” Charlie said. “Her actual self is trapped where it shouldn’t be, but I can put it back, if I can see the real her…”

  “Okay,” Harris groaned. “We can contain her. What do you need?”

  “To hurry!” Charlie said, with a smile.

  There was a blur of red up the side of the train and onto the roof. It resolved itself into Catherine.

  She grabbed Charlie in a close hug. “Hey you!”

  “Hey,” He said, holding her close. “I have to…”

  “I know.” She offered him his hand. “I can get us there. You can tell me about Elois Croft.”

  11100

  Echo turned off the TV, and stared at her reflection in the screen. Misrule stared out of the reflection at her.

  “They know,” Misrule said. “You have to leave. They are planning to contain you.”

  “And what,” she asked, “would you have me do?”

  “Vanish,” he said. “Await orders. You will still have a role to play. I could have given you any of my Thrall to inhabit. I gifted you that body, that life, for a reason.”

  Echo’s smile grew bright. “Or… I could give you what you want. They have access to the Honour Guard here, and now. Let me off my leash, and I can fetch it now.” She leant forwards. “If they suspect what I am, what do you have to lose?”

  Misrule’s eyes glowed with the cold light of a dead star. “You only have a few minutes. The Navy SEALs are on their way to detain you.”

  Echo’s smile twisted, becoming something cold and cruel. She rose to her feet and walked to the door, her veins bulging under her skin, black and livid, as power surged through her muscles. There was a swagger in her step, and predatory hunger in her eyes.

  Four SEALs were hurrying down the corridor. They had short, blunt, sub-machine guns held at their sides, pointed down, in an attempt not to spook her. One of them stepped forwards.

  “I’m sorry Ma’am, but we have a situation. For your own safety, I’m going to have to ask you to stay in your room.”

  Echo surged forwards, closing the gap quicker than they could bring up their guns or take aim. The first kill was a simple, savage punch, that bounced the nearest SEAL’s head off the bulkhead so hard his skull crunched, and his body went slack. She kept moving and pinned the second SEAL to the other side of the narrow corridor, and drove her fist into the back of his neck. He too went slack and limp.

  The third and fourth had their guns raised, and were squeezing the triggers. She knocked the guns aside, and drove a knee into the SEAL’s groin. He staggered from the pain. She grabbed number four’s gun, and drove it back, into the SEAL’s face, with lethal force. She turned on her toes, and drove the butt of the submachine gun into nu
mber three’s windpipe.

  The four SEALs dropped to the floor.

  She walked on, leaving them to choke on their last few seconds of life. She kept walking, through the ship, to the situation room. The SEAL guarding the room reached for his gun. She snapped his neck before he had a chance.

  The three technicians looked up at her.

  Echo flew across the room at a sprint, and launched herself over the desk. She landed a sharp healed kick on the first technician, snatching her life away in an instant. A knee to the gut stole the fight from the second, letting her twist his head until his life stopped with a click and a crunch.

  The third tried to run.

  Echo caught her, and slammed her head onto the desk.

  And then she was alone.

  She leant over the computer linked to the Honour Guard system, and rummaged in the drawer for a memory stick.

  With a few keystrokes she found the files she needed, and downloaded them.

  A lean, tattooed face stared out of the screen at her.

  “Hello,” she whispered. “Thornwood Ashley, AKA Scratch Wormwood.” She choked on a laugh. “Oh, magicians and their stupid names…”

  She took the memory stick, and walked to the door, with the swagger back in her step.

  11101

  Catherine surfaced from the warp, and set Charlie down in the middle of the intersection.

  The police and fire brigade had blocked off the road, with yellow tape, and were trying to evacuate the area, as best they could in the precious minutes that remained.

  Charlie steadied himself, and looked around.

  Something was different about the way he carried himself. His back was straighter, his shoulders weren’t slouched, and there was something colder and harder about his expression. His head was held higher, and there was something about his eyes, that she couldn’t put her finger on.

  He carried himself as though he was already wearing the armour.

  Catherine tapped her earpiece. “How long?”

  “Two minutes,” Melisa reported.

  Charlie tapped the stud in his wrist, and his armour phased about him. He sat crossed legged in the middle of the road, and stared up at the sky, meditating.