The plane didn’t ascend. The ground and the trees, though still far enough away, drew closer. He looked out toward the runway and realized he needed to aim for it. Just before the runway, he saw the traffic on Interstate 95 had been halted by State Police in either direction.
I think the back wheels have to touch down first…now go up, dammit!
He pushed hard and willed himself to fly up again.
Nothing.
He flipped over and cried out as he strained, pressing his back and shoulders against the bottom of the plane. Finally, the nose of the beast rose to match the flight path of the fighter jet. A loud mechanical clicking sound startled him. He looked behind him and saw three sets of landing gear lowering into place. Beneath him, flying over the Walmart parking lot, he saw people cheering and applauding as he prepared to land the plane.
Both fighter jets stayed with him, the second having returned to the side of the tanker. Blue Spekter assumed the pilots were communicating about airspeed and had decelerated to landing speed, but he couldn’t tell since he had never experienced a plane landing from his current vantage point.
Okay, think…what happens…back wheels, front wheels, air brakes, and reverse engines. Reverse engines? Oh no, they can’t…and the rudder is stuck left…which means the plane’s going to steer left like it’s trying to now. You have to stop the plane, keep it on the runway, and keep it in one piece. Then, go make sure the wing fires are out. Easy, right?
Blue Spekter took a deep breath and thought his plan through. There was only enough time to get this right on the first try. Seconds before touch down, he and the massive plane flew over Interstate 95. He glanced down and saw more people cheering and waving at him. He smiled, then focused on getting the nose in the right position because time, speed, and distance were working against him.
Flattening his back and legs against the bottom of the fuselage, the plane made its final approach. As it slowed he felt it pulling to the left, resisting his will to stay lined up with the white centerlines of the runway. He rolled left onto his stomach and then onto his back again, his new position giving him greater control over the plane.
It wasn’t enough.
He rolled himself over again and this time he pushed the plane back on course. Seconds before the plane touched down, he checked the front gear and the rear gear again. He pushed upward, allowing the main landing gear to touch down first. Then, the lead fighter jet landed ahead of him and the second accelerated and ascended away from the airport.
When the main gear made contact with the runway, he heard the familiar screech of rubber as a puff of white smoke appeared around the tires.
Then, the plane bucked left. Oh no you don’t.
He flipped his body around one more time and kept the mighty tanker aimed down the centerline of the runway. When the front landing gear touched down, Blue Spekter shot forward to the front left side of the cockpit and leaned against it with his back. The metal creaked and dented slightly under his body as he pushed hard and slowed the plane down, struggling to keep the plane on the runway.
Ahead of him, the landed fighter jet pulled off the runway when it could. Then, Blue Spekter felt the mighty plane slow of its own accord. The brakes must work.
Ahead of them, a plethora of emergency vehicles with flashing lights waited for the plane to come to a full stop on the runway. They began moving when the plane had nearly stopped.
Check the left engines.
Blue Spekter flew over to the left wing and examined it. The wing didn’t look like it was burning, but he flew up and down its length several times, dousing it with icy water. Someone would probably get pissed with him for soaking the avionics, but he didn’t care; it was either that or watch the plane explode. As the emergency vehicles surrounded the plane and the fire trucks pulled into position around the left wing, Blue Spekter flew to the top of the cockpit and landed on the fuselage, adopting a superhero fists-on-hips pose as he surveyed the situation. He immediately recognized the black SUVs used by the DHS.
Without the sound of rushing wind, he could hear the three crew members in the cockpit beneath him excitedly talking about what just happened. When they shut down the plane’s systems they made their way to the pilot’s hatch on the left bottom side of the nose.
Blue Spekter turned and watched the second fighter jet fly around the airport, presumably aligning itself to land behind the tanker. The pilot of the first jet parked his plane and opened the canopy of his cockpit, shouting at Blue Spekter and waving his arms. Blue Spekter waved at him, hearing the man shout about, “what an awesome job you did.”
The hatch opened beneath him and Blue Spekter jumped off the plane and dropped to the ground. The three crew members slid down the ladder and stepped away from their plane, staring at Blue Spekter, visibly shaken and speechless.
“You guys okay?” Blue Spekter asked, aware of people running toward them. One of the pilots dropped to his knees and began praying in Spanish. The second man dropped to his knees and dry heaved.
“Thank you,” the third pilot said with a thick southern accent, holding his composure. “I thought we were goners up there, but then you showed up. The flight controls weren’t responding, and we couldn’t steer the plane. I had no idea of what we were gonna do…I got a wife and two kids back home, just like these guys…how do I ever thank you? What are you?”
“I’m a friend, and I’m here to help. People around here call me Blue Spekter.”
“You just saved our lives; how can we ever thank you?” the Hispanic man asked.
“Uh, pay it forward, I guess. And gentlemen? Thank you for your service.”
The DHS crew and a number of other rescue personnel cautiously circled Blue Spekter. He turned and nodded at them. “Hi guys.” At least this time, no one’s pulling their weapons.
“Hello,” one of the suits answered, arms folded across his chest. Blue Spekter recognized him as the leader of the foiled Sheraton capture attempt.
“Want to try and put another bullet in my leg?” Quinn asked. The agent’s eyes widened with surprise at the recognition.
Nearby, one of the firefighters started clapping. “Thank you, Blue Spekter,” the man said loudly, glaring at the agent. Then, another joined in. Eventually, everyone except the DHS agent was clapping in support and appreciation of what he had done to save the crew and the citizens of Portsmouth.
Blue Spekter took a step toward the DHS team leader. No one flinched or reached for their weapons. “I’m here to help, nothing worse. See ya.” Then, he rocketed into the sky, a silly and wonderful grin dancing on his face.
❖
Blake
“That should have been me!” Blake shouted into his phone. “Why can’t I do the things he can do?” He paced between the first and second bases of the baseball diamond in Hislop Park.
“Can he do all the things you can do?” Victor patiently asked.
“No, I don’t think so. He can fly, Victor. We were zapped with the same energy; the same power. It doesn’t make sense, we should have the same abilities.”
“You’re not identical people, Blake. It’s entirely possible the energy reacts to DNA and your biological make up. This is why Mother Superior’s newfound idea is so terrible; we don’t know what will happen if we put other people into the reactor. Right now, you’re fire, he’s water; you run super-fast, he flies.”
“But we’re both really strong, we both recover quickly, we both have super hearing and vision, and we’re bulletproof.”
“And you can move objects and he can stop objects. I don’t have the scientific data to explain why any of this is the way it is, Blake. I’m sorry. With time and proper research, we could learn so much from both of you.”
Blake sighed.
“Listen, buddy, there’s still no evidence that suggests you won’t develop identical abilities in the future. You told me once that you hovered over the ground when you almost wiped out on your bike, have you tried to hover since?”
“Baby steps, Blake. You might have to be the superhero who hovers for a few weeks before you can fly through the air. I don’t know what else to tell you, except to remind you that you didn’t run six-minute miles at school without training and conditioning. Some of these powers might need training to develop. I can also tell you this: While you sulk, Quinn practices. If you want to get better than him, then practice harder.”
“Yeah, fine,” Blake said, not feeling the encouragement Victor tried to impart. “Listen, I gotta go.”
“Okay. One more quick question: have you had any luck convincing Quinn to come back?
“Oh, yeah. He’s agreed to help us.”
“Fantastic. I look forward to your return.”
“You do?”
“Yes, why?”
“You know we’re going to majorly fuck with your Order, right? You seem happy about it.”
“Oh, right, sorry. I mean, Mother Superior has to be stopped. All cards on the table, I’ve been told that if she’s taken out, I’m up next for promotion. That’s why I’m excited.”
“So, you’re going to become Mother Superior?
Victor laughed. “No, we just call her that. Her title is Hegumenia. I would become the Hegumen—that’s the masculine version of the word.”
“Right, whatever. Well, good luck with that.”
“See you soon, Blake, and thank you. What you’re doing far surpasses what any superhero would do. I know how amazing you will be—you’ll overshadow Quinn in no time.”
2-21 | Frustrated
Quinn
“DAMMIT,” QUINN EXCLAIMED, SLAPPING HIS hand on the coffee table while he ate dinner and watched the evening news with his dads in the living room.
“What’s wrong?” Daddio asked, startled. His other dad raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry. I just don’t get them—the reporter and the Chief of Police. Blue Spekter has done nothing but good things around here and the police still won’t say anything nice about him.”
“Ah,” Daddio responded.
Quinn stood and paced around the living room. “I mean, come on, he just saved the city from annihilation by a fuel-filled plane that…”
“I don’t think the city would have been annihilated, Quinn,” Dad said, his voice sounding gravely.
“You don’t think that wouldn’t have been a freaking disaster, Dad?” Quinn asked, exasperated and frustrated that he couldn’t share details about the plane’s malfunctioning flight control surfaces.
“I didn’t say that, Quinn,” his father answered, uncrossing his legs.
“Wow, you’re really passionate about this guy, huh?” Daddio commented, leaning forward.
“He’s a superhero, dads! He saves people and all they want to do is stop him. It makes no sense.”
“Do you know him?” Daddio asked.
“What?” Quinn asked. Whoops, calm down, Quinn.
“You’re really worked up about this. Is it Keegan?”
Quinn burst out laughing and then looked his dad in the eye. “I don’t think the guy I’m dating is a masquerading superhero.”
“You just seem like…you have a vested interest in this, that’s all.”
“Daddio, you’ve bought me comics since I was a kid. We’ve watched all of the superhero movies at least ten times each. Why would I not want the world’s first superhero to succeed?”
Daddio nodded in agreement. “When you put it like that, you have a point.”
“Maybe he should just go on record and talk to someone,” Dad commented. “He might be the world’s first superhero, but he’s also the world’s biggest secret next to the country’s nuclear launch codes.”
“Or hang out and talk with people,” Daddio added.
“He needs a costume, too,” Quinn said. “I bet he can’t get close to people—they might see his face or something.” I wonder when Camilla will broadcast my interview?
“A costume with a mask, then,” Daddio said, “Like Batman or the Flash.”
Quinn smiled. Now that would be really cool.
❖
Blake
After work the next day, Blake met up with Quinn at the employee door on the side of Breaking New Grounds. Quinn had agreed to talk with him on his break, so the boys walked up Daniel Street toward the Memorial Bridge while Quinn wolfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“I still can’t believe you landed a freakin’ fuel tanker yesterday,” Blake exclaimed, shaking his head with disbelief and admiration.
“Neither can I,” Quinn answered, half-smiling through a mouthful of PB & J.
Though cheerful, the air between them remained tense. Blake could tell Quinn had lost trust in him, but he wasn’t sure if it bothered him or not. Although their differences regarding Victor Kraze and The Order seemed to be driving a wedge in their friendship, Blake knew he could count on Quinn to do the right thing and help him derail—if not stop—The Order.
“I know we can do this,” Quinn said. “Mr. St. Germain gave me a great idea…”
“You told him?” Blake asked, shocked.
“Of course,” Quinn said, looking at him with a confused face. “He’s our mentor, remember?” Quinn took another bite of his sandwich.
“Right, sorry,” he responded, deciding to avoid an argument about Victor’s ability to help them more than their comic-loving science teacher. “So, this idea of yours?”
“Yeah, remember in the second X-Men movie when Magneto used his powers to rearrange the plates in Cerebro and it completely changed its functionality?”
“Yup.”
“That’s what we need to do…well, you need to do it with your telekinesis power since I can’t. The reactor core walls are lined with those hexagonal plates. Mr. St. Germain thinks that if we shift a bunch of them around, it could be disastrous for the reactor core—assuming each panel is in a specific spot for a reason.”
“What exactly does he think that will do?” Blake asked, unconvinced of their brilliant plan. Do I really want to destroy the facility? Is that what Victor truly wants me to do?
“The chamber focuses and converts orgone energy. Shifting the panels around will disrupt that process and effectively reprogram it to scatter the energy all over the place. Basically, the next time they power it on, it will become unstable, short circuit, and hopefully fry itself. I don’t intend to leave it to chance, though. I intend to figure out how to power on the chamber and watch it fry.”
“Uh-huh.” This sounds too easy.
“We can do this, Blake. We could also rip the chamber apart; I think breaking the tubes will disperse the energy and if we pull down that weird silver thing from the ceiling, we’ll set them back quite a bit, if not destroy the whole thing. If this is their test site, and they really don’t want to risk damaging one of their newer sites, then we have the upper hand.”
“You know this won’t stop them forever.”
“Right, but if you keep working with them, we’ll have you on the inside to…”
“Who’s we?” Blake asked, irritated with Quinn’s future-planning.
“Uh, well, I mean, you and me, and Mr. St. Germain. I just thought…”
“I’m not your sidekick, Quinn. So, don’t go there, okay?”
“Sheesh, sorry.” Quinn took another bite of his PB & J.
The boys remained silent for a few moments as they passed by a family on the sidewalk.
“Are we going to do this tomorrow or something? And how do we get there?” Blake asked.
“Saturday. I can’t cut school this week and neither should you. We’re both going to act really sick Friday at work and then tell our bosses we plan to call in sick on Saturday; that will give us the day to take out the reactor core. As for getting there, I can fly pretty fast. I could, uh, carry you, if that’s not too weird.”
Blake smirked. “It will look funny, but it will work.”
Quinn smiled at him. “If we leav
e early enough, no one will see us.”
“True,” Blake agreed, nodding.
“Hey, what’s up with all the cops?” Quinn asked pointing to the check point at the Memorial Bride. It was similar to the one Blake had been processed through the day prior.
“They’re looking for you with dogs.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, they think the dogs will sniff Blue Spekter out because you smell different or something. They ask a couple of questions on the way through, too.”
“Why would they even think that’s possible?”
“Well, when I walked through yesterday, the dogs were very interested in me. I’m lucky I happened to have been eating beef jerky; the cops assumed the dogs wanted the meat.”
“Oh, wow.” Quinn shoved the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and tossed the baggie in a public trash bin.
“Needless to say, I have no idea if they’d react the same way without the beef jerky on me. But the fact that they’re even trying suggests the police think it will work. Do they have something of yours? Did you leave anything behind at the Sheraton the dogs could use to track you?”
Quinn shook his head. “Not that I know of…unless…” Quinn stopped walking and stared at nothing for a moment.
“Unless what?” Blake asked, stopping and turning to face his friend.
Quinn looked at him. “Unless some pieces of my sweatpants or sweatshirt fell to the floor while they were shooting at me. That’s the only thing I can think of that would have my scent on it…but they would have been small fragments of fabric.”
“That’s all a dog needs. So, you better be really careful about how you get into town.”
“Thanks for the tip. Look, I know you think Victor’s your friend and all now, but you have to realize this doesn’t stop with him, right?”
Blake folded his arms. Dammit, I didn’t want to get into this. You just don’t understand what it’s like.
The Guardians Omnibus Page 36