The Superhero's Powers (The Superhero's Son Book 4)

by Lucas Flint

  “You were?” said Malcolm. “I knew it! How did it happen? Tell me all the details.”

  “Okay, but first, how did you contact me?” I said. “I'm down in the Compound. I'd think that the G-Men would be blocking all communications coming in and out of the place.”

  “Well, your voice does sound kind of weird,” said Malcolm. “Like you're underwater, so maybe your connection isn't all that good. But wasn't your watch designed by your dad? He's a tech genius, after all, so I bet he designed it to get through any communication blockades.”

  “That's as good a guess as any,” I said. “Anyway, here's what happened after we left Hero Island earlier.”

  I gave Malcolm the rundown of what happened, including my meeting with Graleex and fight with Robert. Because I was so tired, I didn't go into any great detail about any of it, though I tried to answer any of Malcolm's questions as best as I could.

  Once I finished, Malcolm said, “So you met an actual Pokacu. Man, Kev, I know you're a superhero and all, but I'm actually getting a little jealous at all of the awesome things you've experienced.”

  “It wasn't nearly as awesome as it might sound,” I said. “Graleex probably would have killed me and Mom if Robert hadn't attacked.”

  “Yeah, I know, but come on,” said Malcolm. “Most people will never get to meet any sort of alien ever. Did you take any pictures, at least?”

  “No, I didn't,” I said. “But it doesn't matter. Graleex is gone and probably won't be back for a good long while. Robert, however, might still be a threat, if he survived.”

  “Right,” said Malcolm, though he sounded doubtful. “But I doubt even Robert could have survived the assault that you just told me about. Hit by lasers from an alien spaceship and then buried underneath tons of rock and sand at the bottom of the ocean doesn't seem like the kind of thing that anyone could survive, super human or not.”

  “I know, but I think he's probably still alive anyway, though I doubt he's going to escape for a while,” I said. “Maybe he'll go back to the hospital for a few weeks or months, like when I punched him through the cafeteria wall.”

  “Heh,” said Malcolm. “But seriously, you sure you're okay? I can't believe you actually fought Robert and survived without your powers.”

  “I'm fine,” I said. “Just really tired, but now that I'm in the Compound, I won't have to worry about Robert getting here and killing me. I was told the place has great defenses.”

  “Does it have robot sharks with lasers mounted on their heads?” said Malcolm excitedly.

  “I asked, but they wouldn't say,” I said. “But I think they do. It's what I'd do if I was in charge of designing the defense systems for this base, anyway.”

  “If you see any, take some pictures and send them to me right away,” said Malcolm. “'Cause I really want to see them.”

  “Sure,” I said. Then I suddenly remembered something. “Oh, yeah. Why didn't you tell me your brother is a superhuman?”

  The silence coming from the suit-up watch immediately evaporated whatever good feelings I was experiencing at the moment.

  I almost thought Malcolm had hung up before he said, “So you've met James?”

  “Is that his real name?” I said, though I said it somewhat hesitantly. “He told me that his codename is Renaissance.”

  “Yeah, that's him all right,” said Malcolm. “I didn't know he was at the Compound, though. He always told us that he lives in Washington.”

  “Well, he's apparently the Compound's Commander,” I said. “But anyway, I didn't know your brother had powers. Why didn't you tell me that before?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” said Malcolm. “I was going to tell you before you left, but … well, I just didn't think it was worth mentioning.”

  “Why not?” I said. “I remember when I first revealed my identity to you, that you said I was the first neohero you knew. But if your brother is a superhuman, then doesn't that mean I'm actually the second neohero you know?”

  “My brother was never a neohero,” said Malcolm. “He went into the military when he turned eighteen and joined the G-Men when his powers manifested. He's never actually put on tights and a mask and gone out into the streets to fight crime or supervillains. So technically, I wasn't lying when I told you that you're the first neohero I've met.”

  “Oh,” I said. “But what kind of powers does he have? Can he paint really well?”

  “Nope,” said Malcolm. “He's a really bad artist. He can actually come back to life after being killed and can't be killed the same way twice.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “Wow. That puts him on Omega Man level power. How did they discover it?”

  “Like I said, James was in the military for a while,” said Malcolm, though he didn't sound thrilled at having to talk about his brother. “They sent him to Afghanistan to fight in the war over there and he got killed by a roadside bomb. Everyone thought he was dead; my parents even got a letter from the government informing us about that.”

  “But he actually survived?” I said.

  “No, he died all right, but his power kicked in and he came back to life,” said Malcolm. “My parents thought it was a miracle and so did my brother. James thinks God brought him back to life because he has a special task for him that he hasn't completed yet.”

  “What would that task be?” I said.

  “I don't know,” said Malcolm, his tone cynical. “And I don't really care. He's just doing his thing and I'm happy for him and all, but I just don't care.”

  I frowned. “It sounds to me like you actually do care. Did you two have a rift or something?”

  More silence; in fact, this silence lingered on for longer than the last, which made me think that Malcolm was just not going to answer any more of my questions.

  Then he said, “Kind of. My parents still love him and he's still on good terms with the rest of the family, but … well, he's too big.”

  “Too big?” I said. “What do you mean? He looked pretty athletic to me.”

  “Not big as in 'fat,'” said Malcolm in annoyance. “But big as in he's set the standard for the rest of us. My parents keep harping on about how proud they are of him and how successful he is and how we should try to be like him, but he's the only one of us who has powers, so how are we supposed to be like him?”

  “Well, maybe they don't mean—”

  “And he doesn't just have powers,” Malcolm continued, as if I had not said anything, “he's got the kind of powers that even most superhumans would die for. Being able to come back from the dead and never die the same way twice? Come on, man. That even puts your powers to shame.”

  “It is pretty impressive,” I said. “But—”

  “And he's one of Cadmus Smith's most trusted lieutenants and he's in charge of a super secret government facility, too, apparently,” Malcolm said. “I mean, how am I supposed to live up to that? How are any of my siblings supposed to live up to that? Just the thought makes me panic.”

  “There's no need to worry,” I said. “I'm sure your parents will understand.”

  “Understand? Understand what?” said Malcolm. “Come on, man. You and I both know I'll never live up to the expectations set by my brother. I'm frankly not even sure what I want to do after I graduate. I can't even meet Tara's standards in school and she's not even a superhuman.”

  “Mal, can you calm down a little?” I said. “You're kind of freaking me out.”

  “I'm freaking myself out, man,” said Malcolm. “You don't understand. My parents are high achievers, which doesn't put them in good standing with others anyway, and they expect us to be the same.”

  “What's wrong with being a high achiever?” I said. “Isn't that better than being a lazy good-for-nothing?”

  “Yeah, but I didn't expect the standards to be 'become a powerful superhuman and get a high ranking position in a large government agency' high,” said Malcolm. “How are you supposed to meet that?”

  “Maybe you shouldn't,” I said. �
��Maybe you can forge your own path, different from your older brother's.”

  “Easy for you to say,” said Malcolm. “You had powers and got made the leader of the Young Neos because what, you weren't brainwashed into some kind of cult? You've got your path already laid out before you.”

  “Hey, my life isn't all sunshine and roses right now,” I said in annoyance. “I've lost my powers and am in hiding with my family from a psychotic maniac who wants to kill me. And I still don't have everything figured out anyway.”

  “Whatever,” said Malcolm. “Even with all of that, at least you know what you're supposed to do and don't have an older brother to live up to.”

  “I'd much rather have an older brother who has set impossibly high standards for me to meet than be in hiding from my archenemy right now,” I said.

  “Yeah, right,” said Malcolm. “Anyway, you're breaking up, so I'm just going to hang up now. I hope Robert doesn't kill you.”

  Before I could respond to that, I heard a small click and my watch showed that Malcolm had hung up. I lay there on my bed, staring at my watch's screen, before slowly lowering to my side and resting my head on my pillow.

  I didn't see why Malcolm was so angry with me. Was he jealous of me or something? It wasn't like my life was perfect and without danger. Maybe he was just annoyed at how I reacted to how inadequate he felt toward his brother. What was I supposed to say? Just pat him on the back and pretend like he didn't have to do anything?

  Whatever. I was too tired to think. I just closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping that I would feel better after I finished my nap.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mom came to wake me up after about an hour and told me that lunch was ready. So I went over to the kitchen area of our suite, where Dad—still in his Genius costume, though his helmet was on the seat next to him—was already at the table, along with that canister of yellow gas. Mom had set out a lunch of mashed potatoes, steak, ham and cheese sandwiches, and orange juice, all of which she had made from the supplies in the kitchen. I was actually amazed at the fact that the government had all of the necessary cooking supplies down here, though I supposed if we were supposed to stay down here long-term, then it was only logical that we would have everything we needed to stay that long.

  As we approached the table, Dad looked at us and said, “Ah, Kevin, you're awake. How was your nap?”

  “Okay,” I said as I took a seat opposite him, while Mom went and got plates and silverware for us. “Did you nap?”

  “No,” said Dad, shaking his head. He put a hand on the canister. “I was examining this canister that Graleex gave your mother and trying to figure out what is inside it.”

  “Did you have any success?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Dad, nodding. “I removed a trace amount of the gas with my gauntlet and scanned its properties with my helmet's scanner. I've determined that this is powerless gas.”

  “Powerless gas?” I repeated. “What's that?”

  Dad grimaced, like he was reliving an old memory. “In the wrong hands, a dangerous weapon. In the right hands, however, it is a mighty tool.”

  “Be more specific,” I said as Mom placed a plate of mashed potatoes and steak in front of me. “Have you seen it before?”

  “Yes,” said Dad. “Back in the Pokacu invasion, the Pokacu had a special weapon of theirs that was particularly dangerous. It was a type of poisonous gas that could temporarily take away the powers of any superhumans struck with it.”

  My eyes widened. “Really? How long would your powers go away?”

  “It depended on how much you inhaled or breathed,” said Dad. “That could be anywhere from five minutes of powerlessness to a full hour. It was a big reason why we had a hard time beating back the Pokacu at first, because they kept spraying their gas on us and leaving us powerless and then slaughtering anyone who didn't run away or regain their powers in time.”

  I shuddered. “But how does that work? The Pokacu are not from Earth. How can their gas affect human biology?”

  “We still don't know, but I've always suspected that the powerless gas affects each species differently,” said Dad. “It is possible that the Pokacu did not design it with superhumans in mind, but rather with the intent to kill something else. It had the perhaps unintended effect of taking away superpowers, which I imagine must have come to a shock to them when they first used it on us, though it was a pleasant surprise for them, I'm sure.”

  “Are you telling me that that yellow stuff is some of this same powerless gas?” I said, looking at the canister with more interest as Mom sat down next to Dad.

  “I think so,” said Dad. “Not only does it look similar, it also has the exact same properties as the gas they used back then. It's no surprise that Graleex would have some on hand, because each ship had tons of the stuff.”

  “What happened to it all?” I said. “Was it destroyed when the invasion was thwarted?”

  “Most of it was, but every now and then some of the stuff shows up in the hands of a random supervillain or criminal who probably got it off the black market,” said Dad. “I also believe the G-Men have some of it, but I've never been able to confirm that, for obvious reasons.”

  “But this stuff really works?” I said. “If I, say, shot it at Robert and it hit him, would he be powerless?”

  “Most likely,” said Dad. “This particular sample looks good. Some of the gas on the black market is heavily degraded, to the point where it can take away powers for maybe a few seconds at most, if even that. This stuff looks very fresh, so I imagine that it will take away Robert's powers for ten or fifteen minutes, maybe twenty depending on exactly how fresh it is.”

  “You mean there's a way to beat Robert after all?” I said. I snatched the canister from Dad's hand and looked at it. “No joke?”

  “Assuming it actually does work—and there's no reason to assume it won't—then yes, it should make Robert manageable,” said Dad. “That must be why Graleex gave it to you. He thought you would be able to use the gas against Robert.”

  “This is amazing,” I said, turning the canister over in my hands in awe. “I can just imagine the plan. We go to Robert, shoot him with this stuff, and then shoot him again with a real gun and take him out for good.”

  “Will that mean we will be able to leave the Compound?” said Mom hopefully.

  “Yes,” said Dad. “This is a rather fortunate turn of events for us. We'll need to be able to get close enough to Robert to use it, obviously, but I don't see why this plan shouldn't work.”

  “We should tell Renaissance about this,” I said, looking up at Dad eagerly. “I'm sure the G-Men will be happy to know about it.”

  Dad frowned. “Are you sure? I am worried that Renaissance might confiscate it.”

  “If he wants to take it to use against Robert, I'd be okay with that,” I said. “I don't really need to use it myself, after all.”

  “I know, but I am not sure the G-Men would use this gas exclusively on Robert,” said Dad. “They might decide to take it for their own uses.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “What are their own uses?”

  “For Project Neo, most likely,” said Dad.

  I knew what that was. Depending on who you talked to, it was either a top secret government program whose purpose was to develop weapons to fight superhumans or its purpose was to simply develop the next generation of military technology. Quite frankly, I thought the first explanation was the most likely, because it fit with what I knew about the top secret project, but I could have been wrong, because it was still mostly shrouded in secrecy.

  “Are you saying the government would use it to figure out how to use it against neoheroes?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Dad. “I think they would like to study it and figure out how to mass produce it. If they did that, the government would have an immense power over the superhuman community here in the States and, perhaps, around the world.”

  “But you said the G-Men already
have some,” I said. “Don't you think they've probably figured out how to mass produce it by now, if they have had some since the end of the invasion?”

  “Not unless they didn't have enough or got a bad sample,” said Dad. “If their sample was bad, then it would be impossible to study the gas and figure out how to make their own.”

  “But they already know we have this canister,” I said, tapping the canister's surface. “It isn't like we can just hide it and pretend it doesn't exist.”

  “True, but we are under no obligation to give it up to them, either,” said Dad. “From what I have seen of this sample, it looks very fresh, fresh enough that I imagine a sufficiently well-funded laboratory could take it apart and figure out how it works within a couple of years, assuming it is staffed by competent scientists who are familiar with Pokacu chemical warfare.”

  “And if the government has that kind of power …” Mom shook her head. “I don't even want to think about it.”

  “I see,” I said. “So what are we going to do with it, then?”

  “I may be able to design a weapon that can shoot pellets containing the gas,” said Dad. “Then we could give it to the G-Men, who could use it on Robert. That way, they would have enough to stop him, but not enough for the government to study.”

  “Have you ever designed a weapon like that before?” I said.

  “No,” said Dad, “but I am confident I could do it, especially if the G-Men give me the resources I ask for. It should be fairly simple to do.”

  I was about to respond to that, but then the door to our suite opened and three people entered.

  I recognized the first two immediately: Renaissance and Mimic. Renaissance looked exactly the same as he had an hour ago, but Mimic looked like he had taken a shower and put on some clean clothes, because his clothes weren't wet or torn anymore from his fight with Ring Out and Tornadess. That just made him look even more smug than before, if that was possible.

  The third guy, though, I didn't recognize. He wore a military uniform like Renaissance, although aside from that he looked nothing like him. This guy had pale blue skin and webbed hands. His skin also looked kind of fish-like, which meant he was either a mutant fish/man hybrid or he was a superhuman.