by Nick Svolos
I forced a smile. “How ‘bout we wait a bit? See if we end up on the same side of this thing.”
“Ooh, a tough one.” She laughed. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.” We started walking down the hallway. “I gotta know, though, are you, uh.…”
“Alternative-lifestyle inclined?”
“Yeah. I don’t find many men who can resist me.” She looked away as her face reddened a little. “Kinda makes you more attractive.”
I chuckled. “No, I’m not gay. Your mojo has all the intended effects. It’s just that sex is a pretty effective way to control a man. I don’t like to be controlled.”
“That’s good. I wouldn’t have much interest in a man who wanted to be controlled.” We walked on until we reached the cell block door. She let go of my arm to put her palm over a scanner of some sort. As the door opened, she observed casually, “You know, you’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
“The prospect of sex in the future is an even better way to control a man.” She winked and led me through the door.
I frowned, realizing this woman was going to be trouble. It was hard to tell how much of this cat-house act was for real and how much of it was just to get under my skin, but it was already getting old. I suddenly wished I’d told her I was gay. Maybe that would have bought me some breathing room.
Jezebel spent the next hour walking me around the few areas of the underground base that she could show me. This was pretty much limited to a computer panel, where she showed me that Dawson and the rest of the team were alive and well, and a tour of an enormous hangar where upwards of thirty giant robots stood ready to stomp into action. In another hangar, I found the answer to the mystery of how the machines got to the Pacific. Two giant transport vehicles sat waiting on the concrete deck. They each had a set of thrust-vectored engines, and could carry four of the robots.
Jezebel explained further. “They’re equipped with wide spectrum stealth field generators that make them effectively invisible and undetectable.”
“I don’t see any cockpits,” I observed. “Are these robots, too?”
“Yes. Almost all of our operations are automated. Maintenance, security, environmental control. Humans are only needed for key roles. For a project of this scale, we find it preferable to keep randomness to a minimum.”
“Can’t have a janitor blow the whole thing by saying too much to his wife, I suppose.”
“Exactly.”
“So, why the attack on Santa Monica?”
“I really don’t know. We keep things compartmentalized, and that’s not my side of the project.”
“Sounds like this little project of yours has a lot of moving parts. Giant robots, stirring up anti-super sentiment, redistributing powers, it’s hard to see what the end goal is.”
Before she could answer, she held up a hand and cocked her head to one side, as if she was listening to a voice only she could hear. “I’ll bring him right up,” she said into the air. She turned back to me, took my arm and led me to an elevator. “Well, I think you’ll get your answer soon. The doctor will see you now.”
A cold sense of anticipation oozed through me as the elevator carried us up to my meeting with this “doctor” guy. I had no idea what was waiting for me up there, but I knew I was in way over my head. Jezebel said earlier that they wanted me to join them, and I was pretty sure that was a very bad thing. To keep myself from trembling I forced myself to imagine that I’d accepted a free weekend at one of those time-share condo places, and I was just going to sit through a sales presentation. I braced myself for the hard sell.
The elevator doors opened to reveal a large, well-decorated apartment. Just outside the elevator was a sitting area with overstuffed chairs and beyond that was a large dining table. Beside the table, a man stood, silhouetted against a spectacular view of a desert sunset through the windows on the far wall. He turned as we stepped into the room.
“Ah, Mr. Conway. Willkommen.” He looked at Jezebel. “Thank you, liebschen, that will be all for now, I think.”
“Of course, Herr Doktor. Tschüss.”
“Tschüss tschüss,” he cheerfully replied.
Jezebel caught my eye and winked as she returned to the car. “See you later, Reuben.” That wink promised a lot things, and most of them meant trouble. Yeah, I was in way, way over my head.
The “doctor” crossed the apartment to shake my hand. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to finally make your acquaintance, young man,” he said in a faint German accent. Now that he was closer, I could make out his features, and it chilled me to the core. I’d seen file photos of him, taken twenty years ago, but his look hadn’t changed much. He stood about five-foot-eight; wore a long white lab coat over a Hawaiian shirt and black slacks; and was whipcord thin. He looked to be about sixty years old and had a pair of thick black goggles perched upon his bald forehead.
“Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you as well. Dr. Schadenfreude, I presume?” It paid to mind your manners when you meet somebody as dangerous as him.
He seemed delighted. “Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.”
I saw a lot of ego in his response and decided to play on it. “I must confess, I only just now put it together. I should have known, though. Not many people could put something like this together. But I am a bit surprised you know me.”
“You are too modest. I’m an avid reader of your work. Of course, I make it my business to know everything about the people in our, shall we say, occupation?” Schadenfreude tapped his head with his hand. “Ach! I’m being a terrible host. I was just about to have supper. Would you do me the honor of joining me? It would give us an opportunity to get to know one another.”
He seemed congenial enough, but I forced myself to keep in mind that this guy was a killer. He’d helped found Omega, and while he’d never gotten himself placed on the List, there was plenty of scuttlebutt out there that he’d been involved in at least half a dozen murders over his career. Best to be polite and play along. If nothing else, this would make for a hell of an interview. You know, if I somehow managed to get out of this place alive.
“Of course, Doctor. The honor would be mine, I assure you.”
“Such manners! So rare these days. Come, let us eat. I hope you like Italian.”
He led me to the dining table where two place settings awaited. As we sat down, a panel in a nearby wall slid smoothly open and two squat robots entered. Like the humorless jerk-bot I’d met outside, these looked vaguely like their larger counterparts down in the hangar, but had arms more suited to domestic functions like uncorking and pouring a bottle of Barbera or filling our plates with Chicken Parmesan accompanied by Angel Hair pasta in a rich puttanesca sauce. Where their big brothers stomped around on mechanical legs, these units were equipped with a set of tracked wheels which made them a lot quieter and probably a lot easier on the hardwood floor.
“These robots are fascinating, Doctor. May I ask how they’re powered? They look much too small for one of your fusion reactors.”
“An astute observation.” The villainous super genius smiled. “These units are powered by a series of magnetic inductive coupling devices embedded throughout the facility. My proprietary design, of course. We only need to use the reactors for units that must operate beyond the bounds of this base. You see, that’s why the robots you encountered above ground are so large. I hope to one day miniaturize the fusion reaction to the point where you might have one powering your laptop or even your cell phone, but for now the needs of our project must come first. Perhaps some form of trans-dimensional quantum alignment.…” the scientist drifted off for a second, lost in thought. “Ah, but I digress. How do you find the wine?”
“It’s delicious. Pairs well with the chicken,” I answered, as if I had a clue about wines. For the record, I don’t. It tasted good to me, but I didn’t have much of a palette for such things. For all I knew, the bottle this stuff came out of might have had a drawing of a freight train
on the label.
We continued our polite conversation as we dined. The Doctor seemed genuinely interested in the work I did for the Beacon. He tried to stay off the topic of the scientific advancements he was responsible for but didn’t really succeed. Hey, I was an investigative journalist, and he was a super villain. If you take a guy who’s been interviewing people most of his life and sit him down for dinner with a guy who’s already predisposed towards gloating over how ingenious his evil scheme is, well, stuff’s gonna come out.
One of the things that came out was his involvement in Mechanista’s creation. “So, you’re saying it was your treatment that went haywire and changed her into what she became?”
“Just so, except that I wouldn’t use the term ‘went haywire’. You see, she suffered from an extremely rare case of chronic myelogenous leukemia. Such a cancer is almost always an ailment that appears late in life. It’s unheard of in a girl so young. By the time I became involved, the disease had progressed too far. The only way to save her life was a full body conversion.”
“It sounds almost noble. But your procedure drove her mad.”
“Unfortunately, this is true. But sometimes, scientific advancement requires a sacrifice. This was such a case. Still, I tried to do the best I could for her. Once the conversion was complete, it was quite apparent that she could not function in normal society, so I secured a position for her with Omega. She did quite well there.”
“She’s not doing well now. I hear she’s just a statue in one of Lompoc’s containment cells.”
“I shall remedy that soon enough.”
“Sounds ominous.”
He laughed. “It should. But, enough of this. Come, let us repair to the lounge and discuss my current project. I am keenly interested to hear your opinions on how I will change the world and to discuss your role in the future I will create.”
I followed him over to the sitting area and took a seat. The sliding panel in the wall opened and one robot started clearing the table while the other came to fill two glasses with an aged Napoleon Cognac.
The Doctor lifted his glass and said, “Prost.”
“Zum Wohl,” I replied.
“Ah! Sprechen zie Deutch?”
“Naw, just what I picked up watching Hogan’s Heroes when I was a kid.”
“A pity. I’ve tried to keep my command of the language and pass it on to my daughter, but there are regrettably few opportunities in this part of the country to find people to speak with. Of course, my schedule doesn’t help matters.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you had children.”
“Just the one. You’ve met her. You know her as Jezebel.”
I almost dropped my glass. I didn’t know which surprised me more, that Schadenfreude had revealed the existence of his daughter or that he allowed her to run around in that getup. And who was the mother? Was I going to find a clone of Eva Braun running around here?
I shelved those feelings, though, and forced a more diplomatic response. “She’s quite the charmer.”
“Oh, no need to be so polite, Mr. Conway. She’s quite the handful, I’m fully aware. I do hope you don’t harbor any ill feelings about her behavior in San Francisco. I’ve made it clear to her that there are better ways to handle such situations.”
“I’m working on getting over it.” I hid my lie behind a smile. I didn’t hold a lot of grudges, but getting a crowd of hippies to beat me to death is one of those things that kinda crossed the line. It sticks with a guy. I’d probably never be able to watch Hair again without breaking into a cold sweat.
“Sehr gut. I would regret it if the experience overshadowed our discussion. Perhaps you are wondering just what it is we are doing here.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Trust me, I think you will find this enlightening. Tell me, Mr. Conway, what do you know of the Nephilim?”
I thought for a moment. “The word sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Something from the Bible, maybe?”
Doctor Schadenfreude’s face brightened with a smile. “Just so. In Genesis six, just before the scriptures begin detailing Noah and the Flood, the text speaks of ‘giants in the earth.’” He spoke the last words slowly, almost with a sense of awe.
“Yeah, it’s coming back to me. ‘Mighty men, men of renown,’ right?”
“Exactly! They were the offspring of fallen angels who mated with human women. I believe this period, hidden in a scant few verses of the scriptures, represents what I have dubbed the First Age of Heroes.”
“That’s an interesting theory. Fascinating, even. Do you have any proof?”
“Sadly, there is nothing as concrete as a fossilized remain that one can hold in one’s hand, but there are similar legends to be found among the non-Judaic people of the time. I’m afraid it may never be anything more than a theory, but one which explains much. Haven’t you ever wondered how superpowers work? They completely violate the laws of conservation for mass and energy.”
“Yeah, I’ve wondered about it, even done a lot of reading, but so far I haven’t seen a scientific study that can explain it.”
“Just so. And so, if you eliminate all of the natural explanations for an observable effect, the only answer that’s left is supernatural.”
“That discounts the possibility of a natural explanation that we just haven’t discovered yet.”
The scientist smiled like I had just fallen into his trap. “Isn’t that the very definition of the supernatural?”
I considered that. It made sense, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to concede the point just yet. “Hmmm. So, you used the term ‘Age of Heroes’. I take it you think we’re in the second of these ages now?”
“More likely the third, if you consider the various pantheons worshipped by pagan cultures through the ages. The commonality between them being the existence of mighty people with unnatural powers and the fact that they all came to an end.”
“And you think that these were all the result of interbreeding between angels and humans?”
“My theory is merely an application of Occam’s Razor.” He smiled and spread his hands as if that explained everything.
“Well, it’s a heck of a theory, that’s for sure. But I find it kind of hard to believe angels are running around out there fathering children and nobody has noticed in this day and age. For that matter, your own daughter is a super. Are you saying you’re not her natural father, or was she a recipient of one of your Force treatments?”
He chuckled. “The latter. My daughter received one of the first treatments after I perfected the process. As to the rest, I share your doubts that all the world’s supers are first-generation offspring of such unions, although I suppose one must keep an open mind. After all, there are not that many such people. I believe the current theory is more likely, that ‘naturals,’ as they are commonly called, are the result of a recessive gene passed on to our species from ages past. The key point is that this gene is not something humans were meant to have.”
“Okay, well, I’m not sure I agree with that point, but for the sake of argument, let’s just table that for the moment. What I don’t see is how what you’re doing relates to that. I mean, why attack Santa Monica with your robots? They’re fun to have, I guess. After all, who wouldn’t want an army of giant robots? But, your application of them seems to be a bit off track.”
“Hah!” Ah, there it was, the “Mad Scientist Laugh”. I was wondering when I’d get one of those. “You see, I needed to get The Angels out of the way for my plan to succeed. I knew that framing Glorious Leader for that attack would lead to an international crisis, and the most logical solution would be for the government to send those absurd do-gooders there to investigate. That insufferable Ultiman wouldn’t be able to resist.” His voice dripped with bile as he spoke that last sentence.
“With a small team of Force-created supers loyal to me to deal with the few remaining West Coast heroes,” the Doctor continued in a conversational tone, “my robots w
ould have no trouble at all establishing control over the greater Los Angeles area. And then, the final phase of my plan could be implemented.”
My mind reeled as this all hit home. This evening had gone from a delightful meal to a fascinating theoretical discussion with a super genius to a descent into giggling bat-guano crazy evil on a monstrous scale. I realized I’d been lulled into a sense of comfort by his manner, leaving me unprepared for this shift. I wanted to believe he was joking, but this was Doctor Schadenfreude. He wasn’t one to tell jokes.
My composure broke, and I found myself stammering. “Wh-what’s the final phase? Why do you need control over Los Angeles? What’s this role you expect me to play?”
The madman laughed again, “Please, Mr. Conway, don’t be so concerned. I’ll answer your questions in reverse order to set your mind at ease. You see, after that regrettable incident in San Francisco, I realized that I had missed an element in my plan. Imagine that. Me! The greatest scientific mind of this or, I dare say, any other generation, left a key element in my plan unattended to. Once my plan is complete, I’ll need someone to explain to the world’s population what happened. To calm their fears and let them know that all is well. I need a chronicler. Someone with impeccable credentials, that the people will trust. Who better than you? The famous Reuben Conway, the intrepid reporter who, for more than a decade, has brought the shadow-clad world of the superhuman community into the light for us ‘normals’ to examine.
“As for Los Angeles, well, while I am certain my calculations are correct, I would be remiss in my duties as a scientist if I failed to conduct a proper test before I implement the final phase on a global scale. With my robots in place should anything go wrong, Los Angeles will be that test.”
I felt my muscles aching with tension and realized I was gripping the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles were white. I didn’t want to know the answer to my next question, but I had to ask it anyway. If nothing else, it was my job. My voice, when I found it, trembled with apprehension. “D-Doctor Schadenfreude, what are you planning to do?”