Zephyr Box Set 1

by Warren Hately

  “Hey Adrian, long time no see. How’re you doing?”

  “It’s a long time? Yes, Zephyr,” he replies softly, looking anywhere except into my eyes. “I haven’t exactly been around.”

  I clear my throat and wonder why the hell I didn’t just zero in on the free drinks.

  “Yeah, so, how are you now? All . . . better?”

  “I’m still in treatment, Zephyr, if you must know,” he says.

  Because he won’t look at me, I can get a good look at him and how badly he’s aged in the past five years. His hair and stubble are grey, his skin the complexion of a cadaver. Although there’s still that suggestion of sinewy strength Lone Wolf always possessed, I can’t help conclude something of the fight has gone out of the guy.

  “Cool, yeah, OK, but are you like, OK?”

  “Well . . . I am better than I have been . . . for a while.”

  “That’s great,” I say, leaping on any positivity. “Why’s that?”

  Adrian finally meets my eyes.

  “I’m a lone wolf, Zephyr. I should’ve always been left alone.”

  Holding his fighting stick like a cane, Adrian whistles to his pet and then he strides from the big room without so much as looking back.

  “I guess in hindsight he thought that was a pretty bad idea, coming here today,” a cocky voice says to me from behind.

  I turn and there’s Aquanaut. We share a brotherly hug and I ruffle his slicked-back blue-black hair.

  “Hey, Aquanaut, man, long time no see.”

  “Actually man it’s ‘Nautilus’ these days. I’ve changed, uh, monikers.”

  “Oh.” I pause and try and work out where I’ve heard the word Nautilus before and I can’t place it. “That’s cool. Any, uh, reason?”

  “Oh not really, just the Aquanaut, I think it was a little difficult for some people. My agent thinks the Q and the two Us, and besides, it’s a bit like, you know, Aquaman. Kinda gay.”

  “Well then, you were kinda gay for quite a few years there, Spock.”

  He laughs, but not without rubbing a thumb and forefinger over one of his gently pointed ears. His costume hasn’t changed much, with sea green tights of fine metallic scales and a very minimalist singlet with a weird cross-shaped harness over the top.

  “You’re not in the city any longer?”

  “No. I’ve been in California for the past two years, trying to get this pilot of mine made, and you know, generally just chasing waves and beating on the odd bad guy.”

  “Are there many, like, major villains over that way? I don’t hear much about it on the TV,” I say.

  “No, not really. It’s how I like it. This town’s too creepy, man. It’s like an idiots’ circus, you know what I mean?”

  “Uh, not sure I do, but then again I still live here, so. . . .”

  “Yeah, sure, I didn’t mean anything like that.”

  We both hum at the same time and look around – and that’s about when Hermes comes over.

  *

  I COULDN’T TELL you how much he weighed. Judging by the sound, it is a hell of a lot. With roughly the same physical dimensions as Twilight except made from solid metal, with or without his platemail loincloth, Hermes cut an impressive figure. I wasn’t buying the whole robot thing anyway and his impassive, immobile face doesn’t help.

  “Gentlemen,” the robot says and inclines his head, offering a large hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Nautilus and I just stare at him for a moment and Nautilus is probably even more open than me, moving slowly around the robot like the freakish example of modern art it is. Hermes’ cloak is real cloth and Nautilus tugs at it. The hand remains open for all of three seconds.

  “He’s huge,” the artist-formerly-known-as-Aquanaut says.

  “He’s sure that,” I agree.

  Hermes tilts his head slightly and I lift my eyes.

  “How’re you doing, robot?”

  “My creator named me Hermes after the Greek god of messengers. I hope that’s not . . . intimidating . . . for you.”

  “Intimidating?”

  I look around. The professor is talking with Miss Black, who’s flicking back her shoulder-length blonde hair almost like she’s flirting with the old guy.

  “How’s he doing that?” I ask my former colleague.

  “What?” Nautilus asks.

  “The talking. I can’t see the professor has any gadgets up his sleeve. Besides, he looks a little busy.”

  “Gentlemen,” the robot responds in his most patient baritone, “I assure you there is no ventriloquism at play. I am the one talking to you.”

  I ponder this a moment. It seems kinda unlikely and I say as much. I’m surprised to hear frustration in the metallic echo of the robot’s reply.

  “Gentlemen, I assure you, I am very much the . . . the real deal.”

  “The ‘real deal’,” Nautilus laughs. “Fuck. Who programmed you, boy? Does the professor know jive too?”

  “Jive?”

  “You know, like 70s black people talk, not the dance,” I feel compelled to explain.

  “Gentlemen . . . Oh very well. . . .”

  The robot walks away. I almost feel for him when his path immediately confronts him with the sandwich table, which obviously doesn’t offer a lot of options for him. The robot’s enormous hands conform to fists and he just stands there, his back to the small gathering as more and more people come in.

  I’m still curious. I walk over to the professor and Miss Black and elbow my way into the conversation.

  “So professor, what’s the deal with Hermes? How do you make him talk?”

  Prendergast obviously feels the need to back up his explanation with an account of early Newtonian physics and the work of the Russian Formalists. After a couple of nervous sidelong glances to Miss Black, who still looks rather fine, I must say, though in a slightly secretarial way, her customary flared black slacks and wide open-collared black shirt exposing both her delightful collarbones and wrists, I realize she’s not going to interrupt because she’s a knowledge junkie who’s probably turned on by the balding egg-head. So I hold up my hands and actually use the phrase, “Whoa.”

  “I’m just trying to work out how you make him talk, doc.”

  The scientist actually tilts his head as he looks at me through thick spectacles. It’s not the sort of look that would ever get me to take off my clothes. I ponder how he would look with a spark up his nose.

  “‘Make him talk’?” the professor repeats. “He talks for himself, Mr Zephyr.”

  “No, seriously. Come on. I know it’s a trade secret, but we’re all kinda curious.”

  “Hermes is a sixth generation self-replicating intellectual machine, Mr Zephyr. Don’t be fooled by his rather . . . Adonisian exterior. He’s essentially a new type of super-computer on a level far superior to anything the world’s ever seen.”

  “If he’s such a hot computer, how come you put him inside all that armor? Sounds to me like you could give Microsoft a run for their money if you went commercial.”

  “I’m not motivated by money, Mr Zephyr.”

  “It’s just Zephyr.”

  “OK.”

  “So,” I shrug, just making conversation now. “What are you motivated by then, professor?”

  The scientist gets a faraway look as he says, “I want to stamp out tyranny, and the cruelty of men against men.”

  “Far out.”

  I think that’s a shame because Hermes would look cool as a wrestler.

  The old guy focuses on me again and says, “A colleague of mine by the name of Dr Martin Thurson recently went missing right in the heart of this great city of ours, Zephyr. When it really dawned on me that something like this could happen, I dedicated the Hermes project to the form you see now. I aim to find my colleague, sir, with Hermes’ help. Any assistance you could offer would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Martin Thurson? OK,” I reply. “I’ll uh, you know, keep an ear to the ground.”
>
  The scientist nods and pats me on the shoulder and says it’s much appreciated, and as he smiles encouragingly to Miss Black, who is watching me with a guarded sense of caution, I believe, there’s a dramatic lull in the conversation I feel the urgent need to fill.

  “So . . . what time do you think our old enemies will attack?”

  The professor gasps and I check the time on my Blackberry, careful not to set off any buttons and Miss Black chuckles because at least she’s familiar with my sense of humor. On the other hand, the professor looks like he needs a change of shorts.

  “You can’t be serious . . . and so calm about it?”

  “Oh sure,” I shrug. “It’s pretty typical of big events like this. You know, all the city’s top crime-fighters gathered under the one roof. I guess if it was Think-Tank or Overlord or someone, they might even try and steal your neat-o new computer boy over there.”

  The professor drops a few shades paler as he produces a square of handkerchief to dab his face.

  “I’m not sure if Hermes is ready . . . I hope I haven’t unveiled him too soon.”

  “The, uh . . . the mayor seemed to be saying Hermes was like, part of the police force now?” Miss Black says, speaking telepathically, and as usual, sounding like Daria.

  “‘Seconded’,” Professor Prendergast slowly confirms.

  “Cool,” the former teen sorceress replies. “Any idea why the rest of us are here then?”

  Zephyr 1.6 “Real Superhero Behavior”

  VULCANA HAS OF course turned blue since we went public. Once I manage to get out of the threesome with Miss Black and the mad scientist, I can’t help noticing her and Chamber arguing at the back of the room. Animal Boy is close by, watching and saying nothing, and it occurs to me a name upgrade might not be such a bad idea for him too.

  “I can’t believe you, Mike,” Vulcana hisses as I move within earshot.

  “Hey, what’s the problem?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing,” she snaps.

  “Chamber says he can’t remember Vulcana saving him from Infernus,” Animal Boy offers.

  “Ooh, so the cat hasn’t lost his tongue after all,” says I.

  “Careful, Zephyr. You know cats love to scratch leather.”

  “That is a really faggy remark.”

  I turn to Chamber and eye him up and down.

  “What gives? I remember when we tussled with Infernus. The irony that it was on Fire Island should be enough for anyone.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Chamber quietly booms. “Sue me, OK?”

  “Sue me?” I frown. I don’t exactly remember those words being in ultra-stern Chamber’s vocabulary. Next I expect him to call Vulcana “girlfriend”.

  “Jesus, this party blows. I don’t know why I agreed to this. Step back.”

  We know what’s coming next, but I can’t help being a little patriarchal as I guide Vulcana away by the shoulders. She shrugs me off as the sliding double panel in Chamber’s chest opens and what we could only ever describe as black light starts to pour out.

  “Zephyr,” a deep robot voice sounds behind me. “I feel I need to explain.”

  I turn and say Hermes’ name at about the same moment Chamber appears to fold in on himself and disappear through the doorway in his own chest. We’re all caught in the residual non-glow, but it’s only a bit of N-dimensional energy wash and it’s pretty harmless if you’re not in direct contact, right?

  “The professor was trying to tell me you can speak for yourself,” I say to the robot.

  Hermes says nothing. In fact, he stops moving completely.

  “Hello?”

  “Jesus, he looks kinda fried,” Vulcana says.

  Animal Boy turns into a mottled house cat and bounds away. Nautilus, sensing a commotion, comes over with his biggest shit-eating grin and rests his elbow on my shoulder.

  “What blows?”

  “This guy, I think,” I say. “Mr Tin Can.”

  Hermes still isn’t moving and I peer around for Professor Prendergast only to notice Senator Ivory Keenan and deputy mayor Anatolia Dufresne coming towards us. I don’t have spider-sense or anything so convenient, but my eyes narrow as I turn back to Hermes just as he starts emitting a nearly silent, high-pitched shriek.

  “Get down!”

  Using super speed, I turn and collect the two female politicians in a clothesline hold, hammering across the room and basically throwing them through the double doorway to safety as there’s a loud detonation behind. Now, mostly because that’s where I wind up rather than any desire to shelter the pair with my body, when the commotion ceases, I snap about and off the two women and see Hermes standing in the same spot as before with ghostly smoke pouring from the palms of his giant hands. Vulcana and Nautilus are nowhere to be seen, and there’s two big gaping holes in the floor where they were standing.

  *

  INSIDE THE RECEPTION room it’s pandemonium.

  The mayor and his staff and other dignitaries rush for the door and I have to wade against a human tide to even get back in there. It’s the story of my life, going the wrong way when everyone else is running for safety. I should’ve gone to college and become an architect or a lawyer. I’m sure they still manage to get their kicks, even if it’s only on the racketball court.

  I mentally tick off the members of the team. Chamber and Lone Wolf have already skedaddled and I doubt they’ll come back. Vulcana and Nautilus have freshly disappeared. Animal Boy’s nowhere to be seen. That leaves Miss Black and Seeker.

  “I’m here, Zephyr,” Seeker yells.

  I look across and note her hovering up near one of the corners of the roof, her milky white glow a signature move, long chestnut hair writhing perpetually on an invisible breeze like she’s underwater or something. I hope her spiritual powers are as strong as ever, because when it comes to a slugfest and two of our other heavy-hitters are already down and out, I don’t want to have to rely on Miss Black and her sorcerous “globes of power,” no pun intended.

  (We never really made a joke of that because she’s quite flat-chested. Not that that sort of humor was ever really out-of-bounds, but let’s face it, if anybody had globes of power it was Seeker. Not only has she got a serious rack, but they glow in the dark too).

  It’s good to have back-up, but where there was pandemonium before, suddenly it’s just me, Seeker and Hermes standing in the big room.

  Seeker and I exchange glances and I have to admit it’s weird to be back in this situation. It’s almost like I’d forgotten that for fourteen months about five years back, Zephyr didn’t have to work solo. I’m not sure why I didn’t enjoy it more or cut the others more slack. God knows, I’m no Nightwatchman, who seems to get off on his own stink. The idea of not being alone in all this has a certain appeal – or maybe I’m just getting soft?

  Hermes snaps his head up. His eyes, such as they are, seem to track me as I inch into the room.

  “Hey, buddy. What’s going on?”

  Hermes swiftly lifts his right hand and a spray of hot light hits me and I fly back and through the wall beside the double doors. As I’m pulling myself out of this, bits of plaster and chunks of wood falling around me, Seeker gives the robot a good dose of his own medicine. Her phosphorescent corona pours out along her arms, bathing the man-machine, who raises a forearm to cover his head but otherwise doesn’t budge.

  “I don’t think it’s working, Zephyr. He has no soul!”

  I finally untangle myself and then it’s time to get underhanded.

  “Jesus! Haven’t you learned that by now?”

  It’s hard to explain how I do it, but if you imagine my internal organs have more in common with a pop-up toaster than a human being then it’s easier to believe I can concentrate and channel huge amounts of electricity through my body and out my hand and into our friend over there. Unlike Seeker’s efforts, my powers seem to work just fine. The Tin Man judders and shakes and staggers backwards as I ease off the juice.

  “Don’t hurt
him! Don’t hurt him!”

  I can’t believe my ears and then I doubt my eyes as Professor Prendergast jumps up from beneath one of the catering trolleys with a black device in both hands. Seeker lands on the ground beside me poised for action and I shoot a glance as Hermes topples over backwards with smoke leaking from his chest.

  “Please, please. . . .”

  “You gotta be kidding me, doc. That’s a dangerous robot you’ve got there.”

  “It’s just a malfunction,” Prendergast groans as he rushes over to Hermes like a fallen child. “I don’t understand what happened!”

  “I think he got a mouthful of N-dimensional radiation,” I shrug, as you do.

  “N-dimensional. . . ?”

  I’m not quite prepared for the Professor to go quite so livid nor so foul-mouthed. He starts cursing everyone under the moon and wondering why he wasn’t warned there might be an unsecured source of N-dimensional energy at the Hermes launch.

  “I guess the mayor’s not that au fait with Chamber’s powered suit,” Seeker shrugs.

  I agree with everything she says except the French bits.

  “Idiots,” the professor continues. He presses some buttons, and robotically, Hermes climbs to his feet, though he stands unmoving thereafter.

  “Obviously a stronger shielding device is going to be needed. . . .” the doc mutters to himself, adjusting knobs on his Walkman until Hermes straightens up and puts his arms out level.

  With one more adjustment, Hermes’ rocket boots ignite and he goes flying through the huge paneled window immediately behind him, changing course rapidly once he’s in the air and arcing over the city and out of sight.

  “I’ve activated Hermes’ automatic homing system, which will take effect whenever he is seriously damaged. Obviously, there are a few adjustments to be made.”

  The professor looks around dryly and adjusts his tie.

  “You can tell that fucking nincompoop mayor I will speak to him next week,” the scientist says.