Seven Wonders

by Christopher, Adam

  She jumped as Conroy clapped a hand on her shoulder. Keeping his back to the light, he pulled the shell of the Thuban power core from inside his tunic. He turned to Jeannie and nodded.

  Jeannie snapped out of her reverie, and brought the MIC-N to bear on Sam.

  Sam turned her head, and looked at Jeannie. Jeannie felt a rush of adrenaline punch through her chest, almost enough to physically knock her over. Sam's expression was beyond anger or rage. It was hate. Superheroes were supposed to be stoic, epitomes of fair justice. Whoever it was in her grip, Sam was killing him or her or it. Surprised at her own moral judgment, Jeannie realized that Sam couldn't be a superhero, wasn't ready for it or capable of handling the power and responsibility. She was operating on instinct. Revenge.

  "Fuck this shit." Jeannie flicked the machine on with one hand and dragged the power sliders to full with the other.

  Instantly, Sam released her captive. Caught in the light, the figure collapsed downwards, nothing more than a tangled mess of dry rags. Jeannie saw Sam turning her body to face her, raising both arms in front, her once-blonde hair streaming behind in a crown of white flames. Jeannie held her breath, and closed her eyes.

  She felt the machine kick, and had a vague feeling of space beneath her. Then her back hit the ground and the back of her head bounced sharply against the surface. Disoriented, the blackness spun behind her closed eyelids like she was drunk. She reached out blindly, realizing that she wasn't holding the machine anymore. Then she gasped as a hand took hers. Its fingers locked around her hand and she was jerked forwards − no, upwards, the world spinning back to level. She opened her eyes.

  It was Linear, mask missing, broken glasses haphazardly sitting on his face which was cut and covered in soot. Under the dirt and bruises he smiled, the eye behind the one good lens sparkling.

  Jeannie looked around in confusion. It was morning, still early, but the square was bathed in the yellow light of dawn under a sky that was filled with smoke rising from the city, but otherwise clear. Linear released her hand and went to re-join the other heroes − Sand Cat, Bluebell, Aurora, all alive and well (and in Aurora's case, blazing) and standing in a tight circle around something folded up in the center of the square.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living."

  Jeannie turned. Conroy stood, apart from the others, running some kind of scanner over the ground. He flicked it off, flipped it in half like a cell phone, and stowed it in a belt pouch.

  "What happened?"

  Conroy laughed. "Oh, you were out for a while. The others−" he nodded toward the heroes "−gave up trying to wake you about an hour ago."

  Jeannie raised her hands, expecting the MIC-N to materialize in them. She looked around in a slight panic, then exhaled as she saw the gizmo on the ground, stacked safely next to a pile of rubble.

  "Did it work?"

  Conroy nodded. "It worked."

  "The power core?"

  "Ask Aurora." Conroy turned and walked towards the others. Jeannie followed.

  Aurora watched the pair approach. Jeannie flinched at his heat, at first, then found it strangely reassuring. She pushed her way in next to him. Sand Cat moved and, amazingly, didn't complain.

  On the ground, two figures were entwined in fetal positions. One was Sam, arms and legs curled around her naked form like an angelic painting, a look of peaceful contentment on her face. The other… the other was Tony. He was alive, breathing. His body − dead body − had been in the chiller on the moon. Now, here he was, in San Ventura, naked but covered in soot. He twitched occasionally, dreaming.

  Jeannie stuttered her words. "I… Tony? He's alive? But… I… What happened? Where's the power core?"

  Aurora turned to her, eyes afire. She backed away instinctively as he faced her, opening his cloak and stretching out his arms theatrically. She swore, lip curling upward out of instinct, confused at what he was doing, behaving like some kind of superpowered flasher.

  "We'll fill you in. But the power core is safe, for the moment."

  As Aurora spread his arms, his personal superhero symbol on his chest − a stylized sun, surrounded by a moving, swirling corona, flared into life. Jeannie squinted to shield her eyes, but they could not help but widen in surprise as Aurora's chest opened, split apart like a jewelry box. The heat was like a punch in the face, the light as bright as the sun on a summer morning.

  There, swimming in yellow energy, the familiar multi-surfaced form of the power core sat, spinning gently, red light radiating from the seams along each facet. The power core was inside Aurora, part of him.

  Aurora smiled. Jeannie thought his expression was cruel.

  "The danger is not over. The Thuban are still on the way, but we can deal with them. It is time for all the superheroes of the world to join in battle once more."

  Jeannie looked around the superteam. Conroy was the only one smiling.

  All the superheroes? Jeannie sighed.

  "Well," she said. "Hot dog."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Sam awoke on the third day, to noise and light. People talking, feet pounding. Everything echoing down hard corridors, everything lit with controlled, artificial light. She felt fine, and got out of bed with little difficulty, noting the slightly odd pull on her limbs as she walked around the functional but well-appointed quarters. She didn't know quite where she was, or what was going on, or what had happened, but she was of sound body and mind at least. She opened the cupboard next to the bed experimentally. Inside she found her clothes – not the ones she'd been wearing, but a selection of work wear from her own home. She frowned, then shrugged and made her choice, replacing the clinical, hospital-like pajamas with something at least more familiar.

  Fragments of memory came back to her as she pulled her boots on. She paused, on the edge of the bed. She remembered light. She remembered the city under attack, not from supervillains or terrorists but from space. She remembered Geoff Conroy's hillside mansion. And then… nothing.

  She stood, then realized where she was. The artificial gravity, the conditioned air. She was on the moon again. But unlike the mausoleum it had been on her first visit, this time felt different.

  The door slid open and she stepped into the corridor, then shrank back.

  The moonbase was full of people.

  Dozens strode past in both directions. Some smiled as they passed, others ignored her. A lot were in a generic blue uniform, support staff of some kind. But their lack of color and distinction was more than made up for by the eye-popping variety of the rest.

  Red, white and blue. Orange, yellow. Flat colors, glowing colors, colors on fire and leaping from backs, shoulders, heads. Acres of cloth like decorated circus tents sweeping any available airspace between the throng of pedestrians. Skin completely covered, head to toe, or skin almost entirely exposed with only some tiny, daring coverings − on both men and women. Soft, organic, friendly people with smiles and perfect muscled forms. Mystery men and women in hoods and cloaks and shadows. Hard, metallic, robotic forms, shiny and percussive as they marched down the corridors.

  Sam took a breath and found she was leaning back against her door, making herself small if not actually shrinking back in… fear? No. Surprise, for sure, but something else.

  She smiled, and laughed, and pushed off from the wall, joining the walkers and matching their pace as she strode with confidence toward the conference room.

  The moonbase was full of superheroes. They had returned.

  The conference room was filled to standing room only, every available space − extending even to the wide observation windows − packed with superheroes. Somehow Jeannie had managed to find herself seated at the conference table, ingratiated into the inner circle of the Seven Wonders. She wasn't quite sure how or why or even quite when the transition had been made, or even how long it would last, but she wasn't complaining. She was still in the fluorescent orange prison jumpsuit, but she was among the least brightly dressed in the room.

  All but o
ne chair was occupied. Aurora sat at the head of the table, Bluebell on his left, Sand Cat on his right. Then Linear and Conroy, left and right. Jeannie sat next to her former partner. She wasn't sure whether she'd intended to or not, but they naturally gravitated to the same side of table. Opposite her sat the last member of the core team. Holding the powerstaff in one hand, he was perhaps the most out of place in the room, dressed in a cheap blue suit and white shirt, tie loose at his neck. Jeannie supposed a new costume for the Dragon Star's new body would come later. She smirked. His former partner was going to get a hell of a shock.

  As Jeannie counted the places she realized with a jolt that perhaps this really was it, and they were the new superteam, the new Seven Wonders. Her mind raced. She wasn't sure this was quite what she wanted. Or perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. Then there was the mystery of the empty seat. Jeannie frowned.

  The entire room stood silent, waiting. They'd been like that for minutes now. Jeannie was pleased she had a seat. Even the all-powerful supermen and women squeezed into the room shifted slightly on their heels, arms folded, expressions set, waiting, waiting. A room full of good guys, as many of the best of the best that would fit – leaders of other teams, mostly, and a few solo heroes deemed to be most senior. But even Jeannie was sure that at least a few of them were eyeing the others up, flexing biceps, pushing out breasts. A multicolored display of superpowered masculinity and femininity. The most perfect of the human race.

  They'd all come. It had taken two days, but all, all, had heeded Aurora's call. They came in groups: the Chicago Nightguard, United International, the Army of One, the Coven, the League of All-Stars, the Computer Council, the Manhattan Manhunters, Volcanic, the Pan-African Hero Society, the Devils You Know, the Phenomenals, the Scienceers. The superteams alone counted for more than one hundred heroes. But that was just the start. Over two days, the remaining superheroic population of the Earth had journeyed to the moon − by ship, teleport, magical portal, elemental transduction − mostly alone, some in pairs or small groups, not big enough (or so self-important) to have given themselves a group title, but small teams or collectives, and solo protectors: the H-Man, Pangolin the Protector, Glass Tambourine, Omega-Mur, Hammer and Sickle, Jackdaw, the Infinite Wisdom, Doctor Mandragora, Czar and Tzar and Star, Kalamari Karl, Lightning Dancer, Doctor Chlorophyll, Jack Viking, Monomaniac, the Gin Fairy, the Holy Ghanta, the Bandolier, Vengeance, the Gray Claw, Senny Dreadful, Batmonster, the Nuclear Atom, the Mysterious Flame, Moonstalker, Cataclysm and Inferno, the Skyguard II, Your Imaginary Pal, Dark Storm, the Hate Witch, Psychofire, Rabid, Riot, Fox and Hound, Hydrolad, Captain Fuji, Captain Cape Town, Captain Australia, Captain… Jeannie lost count, one uniform and one costume blurring into another. Behind Aurora, on the right. Was that Doc Madness, or the King in Yellow? Or Strange Dynamic in a new cape? And farther back, head visible a full two feet above everyone else: Iron Giant, or the Steam King, or Train? Jeannie really didn't know. Some of these heroes were still in the public eye but a lot − most, even − had long since retreated from the world. Over there, standing behind Linear: Colonel Storm and his partner, Spacelord. Jeannie had thought they'd both died years ago, yet here they were, as large as life. Larger, even, in this moonful of superheroes.

  The conference room door swished, and people shuffled. From her position at the table, Jeannie could see the crowd parting, letting someone in. Everyone at the table turned to see, except Aurora, who just sat, staring, his powerful arms outstretched on the table before him.

  Sam walked in, the superheroes parting on either side like a multicolored sea. Sam stopped at the end of the table, opposite Aurora, by the empty chair. Jeannie wondered what she was waiting for, then almost as one everyone in the room turned to the Dragon Star.

  Sam sat gently. Her expression was fluid, betraying a mix of emotions and the turmoil she felt in her mind. Nervousness, confusion, fear, uncertainty.

  Hope.

  "Joe?"

  The Dragon Star flexed the fingers of his right hand, adjusting their grip on the powerstaff. The man met Sam's eyes, but did not nod or shake his head or offer any form of expression. He spoke softly, in Joe's voice, but it wasn't Joe.

  "I am sorry for your loss, Detective Millar. I am the Dragon Star."

  The day passed, although on the moon it was hard to tell. The nightscape beyond the observation windows didn't change. The superheroes stood as the meeting continued, except for the Seven Wonders, and Sam, and…

  No, it wasn't Joe. Sam knew that now. It had taken an hour to fill her in on a day of missing time. The power core, SuperSam, the Living Dark. How Joe had died trying to help. How the Dragon Star's body − the anonymous cheerleader − had been killed, but how the alien life force within had found a new host. Detective Joe Milano. Now, the superheroes said, Joe could live on, fighting for justice and avenging his death. So the superheroes said. Sam's face was hot and her eyes hurt. The only thing she wanted to do was run back to her quarters and throw up.

  But then the Dragon Star in Joe's body had done something that made her want to stay and watch and pay attention. He − it, she? − rolled his shoulders, loosening his neck muscles, as he sat quietly, listening to Aurora's appraisal. It was not an uncommon movement, a typically human fidget. Except the Dragon Star was not human, and in the body of the cheerleader had never so much as twitched all the time Sam had spent with her.

  There, again. A shoulder roll, smaller this time. The body language was like a signature. Detective Joe Milano. There was something left, something buried beneath the alien intelligence that had occupied the still-warm body, repaired the plasma wound, and flown it to the moon.

  So Sam tried to stop rubbing her eyes, and sat and listened.

  She'd never been sure of the hierarchy of command of the Seven Wonders, aside from Aurora being the leader. The other six had always seemed to rotate as deputy as the needs demanded, the expertise of each coming into play when Aurora asked. Right now, Aurora and Conroy were leading the discussion and battle plan.

  The news of the San Ventura disaster − Sam was sure a neat-o soundbite title had been devised by the news media already, but she didn't know it, and the superheroes didn't use it − had been followed by all of the superheroes of the Earth, and they all knew that that was not the end of the danger, given Aurora's summons to the Apollo Fortress. The revelation of an alien attack from the Thuban was something of a shock, but these were the best the Earth could provide, and in such numbers, there was an air of confidence in the room. An air that was steadily sapped as Aurora, Linear, Bluebell and Sand Cat gave a detailed analysis of the fight with the Living Dark and the powers granted to him by the Thuban. The atmosphere cooled and quieted as the magnitude of the threat became apparent.

  Supercharger clicked his fingers with a spark. He was another speedster, a former classmate of Linear caught in a bizarre repeat of the disastrous college science experiment that had granted superspeed to his friend. Supercharger was faster than Linear, but he couldn't fly. They were the only two superheroes who drew their power from the Slipstream.

  "We've been supposing and maybe-ing for hours. Isn't there someone in this moonbase that could just go and suck the data out of Mr Prosdocimi?"

  Bluebell shook her head and began to explain that Tony − the Living Dark − watched in his quarters by members of Force 10, had no memory of his resurrection or link to the Thuban, but Supercharger's comment stirred something in the audience. Sam realized that the superheroes were impatient.

  "There must be a residual trace," said a tall woman in a striking black and white checked cloak. She wore a simple domino mask and her black hair cascaded to her shoulders through a white tiara. "Something beyond the abilities of Bluebell?"

  Ouch. Bluebell's lips pursed. Aurora shifted his white-eyed gaze to the speaker, just slightly. "The prisoner is not dead yet, Veil. While he remains on this side of the void, your powers will not be required."

  The Veil said something to the hero next to her, a
muscle-bound wrestler in skintight blue costume and red bandana wrapped around his bald head. His folded tree-trunk arms shook as he suppressed a laugh.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we waste time." Lady Liberty. And now everyone shut the hell up.

  Lady Liberty didn't need to push her way to the front to address the conference table, the crowd just made room for her. She was only one row back anyway, but Golden God and Killswitch stepped to one side each way, giving plenty of room for her copper-green cloak to open as she raised her right hand into the air, famous torch flaring as all eyes fell on her.