Just Cause: Revised & Expanded Edition

by Ian Thomas Healy

  True to her classmates’ predictions, only Sally had made it to the Big Time—the main Just Cause team. Just Cause’s Second Team in Virginia had picked one of the boys, a technical genius who called himself Orb. Sally’s roommate, Vapor, had chosen not to join any team, instead opting to head straight off to college. She would just be starting her second semester of her Political Science major by now, thought Sally. The other four graduates had banded together to form their own team, and were doing their best to police New York as the Young Guns.

  Sally felt pangs of guilt as she thought of them; she had promised to stay in touch with all her classmates after graduation, but she’d failed in that regard. She told herself as soon as she got her feet underneath her with Just Cause, she’d organize a reunion or something. They’d watch movies, eat popcorn, and share tales about what they’d done since graduation.

  First, she had a reunion of a different sort to arrange.

  She had taken special care to check her costume for stains and dirt, so she’d make the best impression possible on John Stone, the Academy’s Vice Principal. She slipped into her overcoat and walked briskly through the cold wintry air down the path to the Academy.

  She’d never been much of a troublemaker during her time at the Academy, so she didn’t have the same awkward feeling of waiting outside the office that someone like, say, Surfboy or Johnny Go might have. Instead, she felt a profound sense of nostalgia in the familiar halls, even though it had only been half a year since she’d last been in them as a student.

  “Goodness, is that Salena Thompson?” asked the elderly receptionist as Sally stepped into the administrative offices.

  “Hi, Mrs. Adams,” said Sally. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Congratulations on your internship with Just Cause. I understand you’ve made quite a stir over there so far.”

  Sally shrugged. “I guess so. I’m still finding my way at this point.”

  “You must be Mr. Stone’s two o’clock. He’s waiting for you. Please, go on in.”

  Sally thanked her and knocked on Stone’s door.

  A gravelly voice bade her to come in. She turned the knob and stepped into the office, a cheerful place painted in a pastel yellow with heavy hardwood furnishings. John Stone sat behind his desk like a granite statue. He smiled at her. His face didn’t look like it was capable of movement at all. Despite the appearance of rock, Stone’s body was actually flesh, but compressed to a molecular density approaching that of his namesake. He’d joined Just Cause back in the Sixties and spent nearly twenty years fighting the good fight on their behalf. After retiring, he’d devoted his life to teaching what he’d learned to the next generation of heroes, and eventually became instrumental in the creation of the Hero Academy.

  “Welcome back, Salena,” he said, “or do you prefer Mustang Sally now?”

  “Just Sally’s fine, Mr. Stone.”

  “Then by all means, please call me John. Can I get you a soda or water or anything?”

  “No thank you.” Sally sat down and clasped her hands over one knee.

  “Well don’t keep an old man in suspense. Why are you here?”

  “Mr. Stone—John—I was wondering if you could tell me about Destroyer.”

  Stone stiffened in his reinforced chair, which still made dangerous creaking sounds under his seven hundred pound body. “Perhaps this might be a better discussion for you to have with your mother.” His voice was a soft rumble.

  Sally shook her head. “Mom can’t talk about Destroyer objectively. She won’t even talk about the day my father was… about Tornado’s funeral.” She shifted positions in the chair. “But Destroyer’s actions shaped my entire life, made me who I am. I think I deserve to know as much as I can about him.”

  “Is this some sort of revenge trip?” asked Stone. “I’d hope we taught you better than that in your time here.”

  “No, of course not.” Sally felt a desperate need to do something with her hands, and settled for toying with the end of one of her braids. “But I had to face him in Chicago last month with the Lucky Seven, and now we’ve got information that he might be working out of the country, and nobody alive knows more about him than you do.”

  Stone laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Sally. Certainly there are detailed reports in the Just Cause archives you could look at.”

  She shook her head. “The file is incomplete. It didn’t all survive 9/11.”

  “I see.” Stone scraped his hand across his chin; it sounded like cinderblocks rubbing together. “I suppose I should tell you what I know. Especially in light of this being an official Just Cause investigation.” He fixed a firm gaze upon her. “This is an official Just Cause investigation, is it not?”

  “It is.” Sally berated herself for not thinking of that phrase sooner. She promised herself to remember it; a phrase like that could open doors in the parahuman world.

  “Where would you like me to begin?”

  “At the beginning, I guess. His first appearance back in ’77.” Sally pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her coat.

  “So… 1977,” began Stone as Sally wrote the date on the top of her page. “It was July. New York City. We’d been in the World Trade Center for three years then. It was a crazy, decadent time for superheroes. The parahuman villain community was laying very low back then, so we didn’t have much to do except throw parties, go out on the town, and Wednesday Night Poker. Your mother was quite a player, Sally. She could bluff anyone except Lionheart, but that’s only because he said he could smell dishonesty.” He chuckled. “I even remember one night she cleaned out the Steel Soldier in one hand. He said she must have cheated because he’d calculated probability to nine places and she still beat his hand.”

  “I didn’t know Mom played poker,” said Sally. “She always told me that Just Cause was all training and patrolling and stuff.”

  “Oh dear me, no. No, we did that—patrolling and such—but we were young, powerful, and it was the height of the Seventies. I’m ashamed to say that we didn’t cut a very professional image back then.” He coughed, embarrassed. “Alcohol, drugs, promiscuity. We had as many vice problems of our own as we were fighting on the streets. Not your mother and father,” said Stone quickly, seeing how Sally had stopped writing. “But the rest of us had our problems. Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, though. In our defense, it was the culture of the time.”

  “What about Destroyer?” Sally tried to steer the conversation back on track.

  “Of course. Forgive me, I do enjoy reminiscing about the past.” Stone poured water from a heavy stoneware pitcher into a similarly heavy tumbler and took a sip. “It was a Wednesday night. Normally that meant poker, but Tornado, Sundancer, and I had decided we’d take in the night game at Shea Stadium, so the others decided to throw a party back at headquarters.”

  “A party?”

  “Are you familiar with Studio 54?”

  Sally shrugged. “I saw the movie with Mike Meyers. It was pretty good. Was that how your parties were?”

  “At a certain level, yes. Lots of young, famous people. Up-and-coming actors, musicians, celebrities. One of those parties was going on that night when the lights went out.”

  “That was the Blackout?”

  “Yes. The infamous Blackout of ’77. Many people still think Destroyer was responsible for the lights going out, even though it has since been proved that lightning strikes were the culprits. Anyhow, it was about 9:30 that night when Shea Stadium went dark, along with the rest of New York City. After a few minutes of darkness, people began to get a little upset. Somebody must have gotten a backup generator running, because the stadium organist started playing Jingle Bells, of all things.” Stone laughed. “It truly was Christmas in July. People started singing along and pretty soon we had an entire stadium full of people singing Christmas songs in the darkness. I don’t know what might have happened if the lady on the organ hadn’t started playing.”

  “So what did you do?” asked
Sally.

  “Sundancer, bless her heart, flew out over the pitcher’s mound and lit herself up. She looked like a star out there hovering over the infield. She made enough light for people to find their way toward the exits. It was about this time your mother came to meet us. She’d run all the way from headquarters to come find us.”

  “Why didn’t they just call you?”

  Stone took a sip of his water. “We didn’t have slick little phones back then. State of the art meant a military-spec walkie-talkie. They were big and heavy to carry around and when we weren’t on duty we didn’t often bring them along.”

  “Was this when Destroyer showed up?”

  “Oh, dear me, no. Not yet. Faith came from headquarters, as I said, and told us the entire city had lost power and people were beginning to panic. Your father Bobby was standing on the roof of the Trade Center, using his hearing powers to locate the worst trouble spots. He was coordinating for us, sending each of us to where he thought we could do the most good. Your mother went to Harlem along with Imp, whose family lived there. I went to help folks stuck in subways.”

  “Wasn’t Imp Destroyer’s sister?”

  “Yes.” Stone pushed his chair back and gathered up the titanium cane, which rested at the side of his desk. Sixty years of fighting against gravity in his seven-hundred-pound frame hadn’t been kind to his body. He leaned on the cane and limped casually over to look out the window at the overcast sky. “We didn’t know that right away, of course.”

  “Mr. Stone, please… tell me what you do know about Destroyer.” Sally kept her pen poised over the notebook. “It’s important to me.”

  “Of course. Harlan Washington was thirteen years old at the time of the Blackout. He’d apparently been spending time in a junkyard at one end of Harlem and turned it into his own personal engineering lab.” Stone shook his head in amazement. “The boy was some kind of sick genius. He had booby traps all over this junkyard, where he’d hidden his younger sister. We found automatic sentry guns that fired engine block bolts. Javelin was almost killed by one. He was lucky.”

  Sally shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

  “An excellent word to describe Washington,” said Stone. “He lived with his mother and two sisters in a tenement. He was a poor student, forced to go to summer school, and apparently not well liked by the other kids in his neighborhood. They teased him about his tinkering and loitering in the junkyard. When his older sister Irlene discovered her parapowers, she came and talked to us and we immediately brought her into Just Cause as Imp. Harlan was quite jealous of her success. I suspect that may have been the event which sent him over the edge into the chasm of his psychopathic madness.”

  “And he built his first suit?”

  “Yes. It was a terrible thing to behold. I didn’t get to see it because I was underground, helping to clear people from stalled trains, but your mother and the others described it for me. Two semi-truck cabs stacked on top of each other, with heavy armor welded all around. Hydraulic arms and legs, driven by twin Diesel engines and heavy-duty transmissions. The way he’d managed to put it all together by himself, with no help, was simply amazing. He had bolt guns, a giant sawblade, and a flamethrower. A flamethrower, for God’s sake, in Harlem!” Stone shook his head. “So many of those tenements were already rat-infested firetraps, ready to go up at a moment’s notice. When the Blackout hit, he must have decided the time for his revenge was at hand, and he took his suit on a killing spree.”

  Stone paused, as if he waited for a question or interjection, but Sally didn’t interrupt him. This was the part she’d wanted to hear about.

  “He took his infernal creation through his neighborhood, destroying vehicles, buildings, and terrorizing the residents. Fifteen deaths were directly attributed to his actions, either directly at his hands or indirectly from fires he set.” Stone turned away from the window. “Including his mother.”

  “God!” Sally wondered what would cause someone that age to go suddenly berserk.

  “Your father heard the sound of Destroyer stomping through the streets. He radioed us to say it sounded like Godzilla was in Harlem. Imp and your mother encountered Destroyer first. They could do little against his devastating weaponry and heavy armor. I believe your mother managed to knock out a couple of his cameras, but the suit was far too large for Imp to affect it with her shrinking powers.”

  “At least they got a couple licks in, right?”

  “Indeed. They were able to draw Destroyer’s attention away from civilian targets and keep him occupied until the heavy hitters arrived. Tornado, Sundancer, and Javelin—the fliers—got there quickest. Lionheart was too far away to get there in time, especially with the gridlock from traffic signals being out. Destroyer held his own against Tornado’s winds, Sundancer’s energy beams, and Javelin’s lasers. He wasn’t able to hurt them, but neither could they punch through his armor.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The Steel Soldier finally arrived.”

  Sally recalled the Steel Soldier had been a highly advanced android. The robotic being had successfully won a legal battle in the Supreme Court to be recognized as a sentient being. “The Soldier succeeded where the others failed?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He used his cannon to punch through Destroyer’s fuselage, holing the fuel tank and leaving the suit unable to move. But before the Soldier could tear open the armor, Destroyer caught him in a burst from his bolt guns and chewed the Soldier’s torso to shreds.”

  “That must have been scary.”

  “It was, without question. Destroyer’s spilled fuel caught fire from the brief fight with the Soldier. Only Imp was small enough to get inside the armor quickly enough. That was when she discovered her brother, nearly overcome by the heat and smoke, was driving the suit. She shrank him down and pulled him to safety.”

  “And then you all had him arrested?”

  Stone bowed his head. “No, not immediately. He claimed he could repair the damage he’d done to the Soldier if we could get his sentence reduced. May God have mercy on our souls… we accepted his deal.”

  “You what?” Sally couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “You made a deal with him? With Destroyer?”

  Stone sat back down at his desk, heavy and despondent. “The Soldier was dead, or at least nonfunctional. He was our companion, our teammate. Harlan had already proven he was a genius of engineering. Javelin watched him closely while he repaired the damage to the Soldier and reactivated him.”

  “You let him work on one of the most highly advanced machines ever built.” Sally’s tone grew accusatory. “Did any of you even think for a second that he might learn something?”

  Stone shook his head. “Not until it was far too late. I believe our actions gave him the tools and knowledge to build his next battlesuit… the one he used when he attacked us at Tornado’s funeral.”

  “God,” Sally struggled to find the right words to say. “It must have felt like… I don’t know what it must be like,” she finished, unable to complete the thought.

  “It’s a terrible feeling,” said Stone. “I try not to feel guilty about it. His actions are not due to mine. I didn’t kill all my friends and teammates in ’85. He did. But some days I feel like I might as well have been the one hurling that plane down upon them.” A tear rolled down his angular nose to drip from the end.

  Sally reached across the desk and touched Stone’s rocky hand with her own. “Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Stone. He’s devious and scary smart. He would have figured out the tech sooner or later anyway.”

  Stone wiped his eyes with his thick, granite fingers. “It was because of him that I chose this career after my retirement. I swore on the graves of those he killed I would take it upon myself to teach other heroes, to train them to fight evil more effectively than we ever did in our day.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly done that. Look at what you have done here with the Academy. I’d never be where I am today without you.”


  A ghost of Stone’s prior jovial demeanor danced across his face. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, Sally. You were one of the best students ever to pass through this school. You’re a real credit to your mother, who was always a very good friend during and after our time together in Just Cause.”

  “Oh stop.” Sally felt herself blush. “So what happened after Harlan Washington was arrested?”

  Stone glanced over Sally’s head at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take this conversation back up later, Sally. I have a class to teach.”

  Sally’s face fell. “Really? Okay. What class?”

  “Parahuman History,” said Stone. “I’d be honored if you’d sit in. After all, you’re very much a part of that history with your lineage.”

  “I guess I could do that,” said Sally. “How come you’re teaching it instead of Griego?”

  Stone smiled. “I’m just subbing. Mr. Griego is out sick.”

  Sally glanced around, just in case anybody else might be listening in, and then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Good. I think he’s a lousy teacher.”

  Stone dropped his own voice low. “So do I.”

  Chapter Nine

  I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’