Capes

by Drabble, Matt

  The station manager rubbed his eyes tiredly. The news cycle had been dominated by the live streaming death of Six-Shooter and the other people in the room, including the retired hero’s wife and the ARK News crew.

  The live feed had been pulled pretty quickly from the public airwaves, but enough footage was out there to create a media storm with the ARK network at the very centre of it.

  “Look, Jamie-Lyn, we all have our bosses to answer to, and right now those above me… Well, Fontaine… he wants to see Summer’s face carrying this.”

  “Summer? Seriously?”

  “Look, he understands your… unique position here; don’t get us wrong, you have a very valuable contribution to make, you know, given your… relationships. You know the guys over there at the Queen’s Guard, or at least you knew them, even what’s left of the Queen’s Guard. You were there when they were formed, you knew the whole damn team, and I’m guessing that they’ll only talk to you.”

  “Oh, I get it. So you want me to do all the legwork and then simply hand it over for Summer’s face to present.”

  “Look, we’re a team here at ARK, Jamie-Lyn, and we all have a part to play,” Chris responded awkwardly. “We’re family.”

  “That’s bullshit, Chris, and you know it. I’d say that I’m ten times the journalist that Summer is, but she isn’t even a journalist, is she? She’s a pretty face in a short skirt and a blouse two sizes too damn small!”

  “C’mon, kid, what do you want from me? Everything flows downhill, from Fontaine to me to you. He gives the orders; I just pass them on.”

  “What do I want? I want you to fight for me, Chris. Hell! Forget me – I want you to fight for what’s right.”

  The station manager squirmed in his chair, and Jamie-Lyn could see that it was useless talking to him. It was currently Summer’s face that paid the bills at ARK and that was all that mattered to the suits above. No amount of journalistic ability was going to change that.

  “Okay then,” she finally said with a sigh.

  “Great, then you’ll do it?”

  “You misunderstand me, Chris. I mean I quit.”

  Jamie-Lyn stood up from the desk and turned to leave. Chris jumped to his feet.

  “Now wait just a minute. You can’t quit!” he exclaimed.

  “Yeah, I think you’ll find I just did.”

  “C’mon, kid, don’t do this to me!”

  “I’m not doing anything to you, Chris. Honestly I’m not. But I can’t work here anymore, not like this.

  “Look, maybe I can talk to him, to Fontaine, get you… hell, I don’t know, a pay rise? Associate producer credit?”

  “No, I think I’m done here, Chris.”

  Jamie-Lyn reached the door and turned the handle to leave.

  “I know you too well, kid,” Chris called angrily after her. “You can’t walk away from this. It’s in your blood; it’s in your DNA.”

  “I’m walking away from ARK, Chris, not the life.”

  “Goddammit, you can’t just jump ship. What about your contract?”

  “Maybe you didn’t look too carefully at my last renewal. I asked for, and received, a quit notice clause. I guess the suits didn’t value me enough to argue about it. I guess they never thought a woman over 40 would have options in this industry.”

  “So what, you’re going to go to NTN? To Channel 6?”

  “I don’t know. Hell, I doubt they’re any better than ARK. Maybe I’ll just write a book.”

  “You’ll never work in this town again, Jamie-Lyn!” Chris yelled after her as she left the room. “You screw him and he’ll screw you right back! You just see if he doesn’t!”

  “You take care of yourself, Chris, and try to remember that you’re better than him, better than this,” she said sadly as she left the office and her old life.

  ----------

  The funeral for the man known as Andrew Marshall and the hero known as Six-Shooter took place on a seemingly inappropriate sunny day.

  Jamie-Lyn stood at the back of the gathered crowd, a laminated official Queen’s Guard pass around her neck surprisingly provided by Jesus. She wasn’t entirely sure of the man’s intentions, but then again, she assumed no one ever was.

  The ID badge had been waiting for her on her kitchen table upon her return from the TV station. Someone had ominously been inside her home without disturbing a lock or asking for permission, somebody who presumably already knew that she’d quit the station.

  She had been immediately struck by the familiar feeling of how things worked inside the privacy of the government’s machine: they didn’t answer questions, and they never sought consent.

  There was a chance that after the Queen’s Guard had been retired, things might have been dragged out into the light, but she doubted that they’d reached all the way out of the shadows. It had been an infuriating and often unsettling experience to be behind the curtain, but she had to admit, after all this time, part of her still missed it.

  29 YEARS AGO

  Jamie-Lyn entered the room feeling nervously out of place. CJ sensed her unease as he usually did.

  “You belong here as much as any of us do,” he said quietly as they entered.

  “Well that’s a load of crap, but thanks anyway.”

  “I know that you’re unsure about this Jamie-Lyn, but the SOUL threat is a very real one. Those people are dangerous, and it’s my fault.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Look, let’s be honest for a minute. Yes, you were what started them off on their nutty crusade, your face may have got the ball rolling, but trust me, CJ, humans like them – if wasn’t you, then they’d have found another reason for their actions. People like that always do. It would have been another religion, another country, another race. They’d have found something to target their anger on.”

  The Queen’s Guard conference room was large but largely empty. There was only a long wooden table in the centre of the room with several chairs around it but nothing else.

  They weren’t the first ones to arrive. A man and a woman were sitting at the table while a second man was pacing nervously about the room looking uneasy.

  Upon entering, Jamie-Lyn was surprised by the lack of reaction to CJ. Normally, when people laid eyes on him for the first time, their responses ranged from excitement to outright terror.

  The seated man was broad and powerful-looking with wide shoulders and ice-cold eyes that seemed to never blink. He wore dark clothing and what should have been a comical-looking Stetson hat on a Brit – should have been, that was, but the man’s strong stubble jawline somehow carried the look off.

  “Captain Marshall.” CJ greeted the man and was met with a curt nod and a tip of the hat in reply.

  “You know him?” Jamie-Lyn whispered.

  “I think it’s probably best if we don’t whisper,” the seated woman said gently.

  Jamie-Lyn looked over at the attractive woman somewhere in her early thirties, athletically built with dark hair and eyes that appeared quite black under the artificial lighting.

  “I’m Dr Helen Forbes,” the woman said warmly.

  “What kind of doctor?” Jamie-Lyn asked.

  “The kind that shrinks heads,” the second man spat from across the room as he paced back and forth.

  “And you would be?” Jamie-Lyn asked.

  “I would be none of your damn business.”

  Jamie-Lyn felt CJ bristle at the man’s rude response. She knew that the rules of politeness were a big deal to their visitor.

  “His name’s Royce Langston,” Marshall said in a gruff voice from his chair. “And you’ll have to excuse his lack of manners. I don’t think this doggy’s been housebroken yet.”

  Langston was wiry thin but moved like a dancer with grace and precision even given his agitated state.

  “Screw you, man,” Langston spat. “I don’t answer to you or anyone else here.”

  Marshall stood up slowly from his chair, an
d Langston stopped pacing to hold the other man’s gaze.

  “From the short time we’ve been here, Mr Langston has shown himself to have somewhat of an antisocial problem,” Dr Forbes offered clinically. “But I’d wager that there’s a whole lot more bubbling under the surface. You can put them away, boys. This isn’t the schoolyard.”

  The two men remained locked for a moment before Marshall broke away.

  “My apologies, ladies,” Marshall said, sitting down again.

  Jamie-Lyn and CJ took seats at the table as Langston started pacing again.

  “I don’t think he likes the confines,” Dr Forbes said to the table as Langston roamed. “A common side effect of long term incarceration.”

  “That true, fella?” Marshall called out. “You a con? Current or ex?”

  Langston didn’t answer.

  The door opened again and a short, slightly rotund, balding, bespectacled man entered. He walked across the room silently before taking a seat several away from the group, but while Langston radiated antisocial behaviour, the new man seemed painfully shy.

  “Hello,” Forbes welcome him. The man blushed furiously before nodding slightly.

  “Jamie-Lyn, Marshall, Dr Forbes, Langston, and this is CJ.” Jamie-Lyn made the introductions.

  Again, the man only nodded slightly, keeping his head down.

  “And you are, partner?” Marshall asked.

  “Harrison. Harrison Millington,” the man offered in a tiny choked voice.

  “Well, then. Welcome, Harrison.” Forbes beamed warmly. “You’re among friends here.”

  Langston snorted.

  “Mr Langston, perhaps you would do well to remember your manners,” CJ said with a warning.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, freak,” Langston responded with an aggressive tone, and again, Jamie-Lyn touched CJ’s hand, but this time with a little more pressure.

  CJ caught Forbes staring at him, and for just a moment, his bubbling anger shifted towards her and away from its intended target.

  “I’m sorry.” She blushed.

  “That’s quite alright, doctor. I’m quite aware that my appearance is somewhat… unusual.”

  “Well I’d love to get you on my couch… Strictly in a diagnostic sense, you understand.” Forbes laughed and then the others joined in, except Langston.

  “Does anyone know what this is?” Jamie-Lyn asked.

  “Just got orders to be here.” Marshall shrugged.

  “You’re military?” Jamie-Lyn enquired.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’re a psychiatrist?”

  “That’s correct,” Forbes answered.

  “Mr Millington?”

  “I’m in construction. Nothing fancy.” The short man shrugged.

  “And you’re a… well, a criminal, Mr Langston?” she tested.

  “So?” the man growled.

  “So nothing. Just seems like an interesting group is all.”

  “And you, ma’am?” Marshall asked.

  “Reporter. Well, I was. I am? I’m not sure at the minute.”

  “You’ve been handling the coverage for our visiting friend here,” Forbes probed.

  “Up until now.” She nodded.

  “Jamie-Lyn is my friend,” CJ announced.

  “Well ain’t that sweet,” Langston sneered, and Jamie-Lyn instinctively put her hand onto CJ’s.

  “Easy,” she whispered as Forbes took note of the control that Jamie-Lyn exerted.

  “You know…,” Forbes started, “you guys ever read any comic books?” CJ was the only one that answered in the affirmative.

  “Oh yes. I must say that I find myself quite taken with your Man of Steel.”

  “Ah, you know that stands to reason – a lost son from a planet far beyond his reach anymore, a stranger that walks like a god among mortal men; a super-man, if you will.”

  “Wow, I wouldn’t have had you down as a geek, Doc.” Jamie-Lyn grinned.

  “There is a lot to be learned about mankind’s nature through the art form. I can bore you all to death with my thesis at a later date, but right here, right now, I’m kind of thinking that this feels a lot like a superhero team origin.”

  The twin doors at the other end of the room burst open and in strode God himself.

  Alexander Barrington was a tall slender man with a ramrod straight spine. He marched rather than walked, and he moved with an air of natural authority that took command of any room he entered.

  “Miss Anderson,” Barrington said as he marched towards them, “I do not like you being here, and I want you to know that I strongly objected to it. I have no respect for your profession and I feel that your mere presence here will be a compromising factor to this operation. If I had my way, I’d place the entire press core under a military embargo. ”

  “Well… don’t sugarcoat it, will you?” Jamie-Lyn responded to the man’s bluntness.

  “I believe in being up front and honest with people, Miss Anderson,” Barrington replied, standing in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. “Unfortunately for me, however, someone above my pay grade has deemed that our visitor friend here is hardly built for stealth operations,” Barrington said, nodding towards CJ. “As a result, we are to open ourselves up to a certain level of publicity. That’s the bad news. The good, however, is that the amount of clarity we offer is up to me. So, Miss Anderson, I’d advise you to get comfortable riding the bench.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Jamie-Lyn demanded.

  “Now you would be the alien,” Barrington said, carefully sizing CJ up and down, as though Jamie-Lyn hadn’t spoken.

  “That’s an astute observation,” CJ replied with a smile across his green and scaly reptilian features.

  “I’ve seen your file, son. You can do some extraordinary things. I guess I should be glad that you’re on our side.”

  “They didn’t tell us much, Mr…?”

  “My name is not important, but this newly formed department is my domain. This team will be formally known as the Queen’s Guard and from this day forward, you will all refer to me by my code name: you shall call me God.”

  Jamie-Lyn offered a short laugh at the man’s attempt at humour, but soon stopped when he fixed her with an icy glare and she saw that he wasn’t joking.

  “Well, okay then.” She nodded.

  PRESENT DAY

  While Six-Shooter had been a national figure, it wasn’t until his retirement that Andrew Marshall had stepped out of the shadows.

  His masked persona had been a deadly marksman and an asset in the field, but Andrew Marshall had continued to work for the government in a PR capacity visiting children in schools and preaching about the right way to live your life.

  Quite naturally, the formation of a real-life superhero team had garnered mass fascination from a rabid public, and many a government agenda had been pushed using men like the unmasked Six-Shooter, even long after the SOUL organisation had been officially deemed to no longer be a threat.

  Long before the incident at Havencrest, Jamie-Lyn had been thinking of moving into the media on the back of her own fame, or infamy depending on who you spoke to.

  The choking net of government censorship and puppeteering had finally proved too suffocating for her to handle, and while CJ had asked her not to leave, in truth they had drifted apart long before Havencrest.

  The National Memorial Cemetery held only those deemed worthy of honouring or, indeed, those from the right backgrounds and connections.

  Jamie-Lyn watched on as several faces that she recognised mingled with many more that she didn’t.

  In her experience, the Queen’s Guard machine was largely made up of interchangeable faceless men with posh accents and a variety of dull plain suits. Right now, the only one that stood out was the man she’d only ever known as Jesus.

  While his father, God, had run the team, his son had been occasionally noticeable in the background, a young suit being groomed for greater things.
<
br />   The service for Marshall was short and — mercifully — not televised, but Jamie-Lyn couldn’t help but notice that the encircling TV cameras had a largely unencumbered view from outside the cemetery gates and she knew that wasn’t accidental.

  “Hello, Jamie-Lyn.”

  She turned to find Helen Forbes watching her from behind.

  “Dr Quantum…,” she began, before they both flinched at the use of the artificial moniker.

  “I think it’s probably best if we stick to Helen.” Forbes smiled. “That other name was a lifetime ago, a life I’m still trying to leave behind.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Jamie-Lyn gasped as she looked around, suddenly afraid that they might be overheard; fortunately, the press outside the fence railings seemed not to notice or care about two women standing at the back of the main crowd.

  “Don’t worry; I don’t think that anyone’s interested in us, not anymore,” Forbes said as if reading her mind, which, of course, wasn’t a million miles away from the truth — at least it hadn’t been back in the day. “Do you know why they’re here?”

  “No,” she replied as she looked over at the gathered throng jockeying for position with their long lenses.

  “I thought that was your job?”

  “Not for a long time now.”

  “That’s a shame. Perhaps if it was, then this would all be going a little quieter.”

  “Meaning?” Jamie-Lyn couldn’t help but bristle.

  “I’m sorry, that probably sounded accusatory. I honestly didn’t mean it to. It’s just… well, it’s just that there seems to be a lot of interest being stoked up at the moment.”

  “Interest?”

  “I was in a taxi from the airport yesterday. The driver had some talk station on the radio; they were doing a panel and taking calls about us.”

  “The Queen’s Guard?”

  Forbes nodded. “Apparently, there was some article recently in one of the right-wing papers.”

  “News Day,” Jamie-Lyn confirmed.

  “Well apparently, that’s got people talking about what we did and why we did it.”

  “I read it. It was just a bunch of right-wing theories about the government exaggerating the SOUL threat, stoking up the fears of the public so that Williams could hang onto power; it was all bullshit from the ill-informed who weren’t there.”