by Lucas Flint
“Wait, Mr. Owens,” said Teresa, stepping forward. “This black circle is not the only thing the aliens left behind. When I went out to see if the cows were really gone, I found this.”
Teresa pulled something out of her pockets and handed it to Nightbolt. Nightbolt took the object and turned it over in his hands, while I bent over to get a better look at it.
The object in Nightbolt’s hands looked like no Earthly object I knew of. The closest thing I could describe it as would be some kind of flat watch, or maybe a necklace of some sort. It was bright and shiny, in sharp contrast to the rust and dust which seemed to cover all of the other metal objects in this place. It looked very lightweight, yet strong, too, like a steel chain.
“Interesting,” said Nightbolt. He looked at Teresa again. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
Teresa shook her head once again. “Sorry, Mr. Owens, but I do not. I am not very good with tech myself. I just found it in the black circle. I think the aliens may have dropped it when they stole the cows.”
“I see,” said Nightbolt. He put the object in the front chest pocket of his coveralls. “Well, it’s an important clue, all right. Thanks for sharing it. We’ll take a closer look at it when we get back home and see if we can find out what it is.”
I had a feeling that Nightbolt knew more about the strange object than he let on, but I also sensed that he didn’t want to discuss it in the presence of the Gonzales family. Why, I did not know, but I knew better than to question why he was keeping this information to himself. I was reminded of Rubberman and his tendency not to reveal all of his knowledge or theories right away and wondered if he got that from Nightbolt.
“I hope it will help you find out how to stop these aliens,” said Jose with a sigh. He looked down at the blackened circle in disgust. “We cannot afford to lose any more cows like this. We’re struggling enough as is.”
“Don’t worry, Jose, we’ll figure it out soon enough,” said Nightbolt. He looked at me. “Come on, Beams. Let’s go home. After we finish our lunch, we can get started on your training.”
Nightbolt walked past me and I turned and followed him. I glanced over my shoulder at the Gonzales family one last time and saw Jose still staring at the black circle, his scowl deepening with every passing second. Teresa, however, glanced at me in an odd way I couldn’t explain, as if she hoped that I might say something to her.
But I was more interested in learning more about these aliens which were terrorizing this small West Texas town. I know I came here to train, but if there were actual aliens here, I didn’t know how much training I would actually do.
CHAPTER FOUR
When we got back to Nightbolt’s house, Spike came out barking once again, but he quieted down when Nightbolt tossed him a doggy treat from his pocket. Spike went back into his doghouse, with the doggy treat grasped firmly between his teeth, as Nightbolt and I entered the house. As soon as we entered the house, Nightbolt gestured toward the kitchen and said, “You can finish your lunch if you want. This old man has had enough to eat for now and needs to use the bathroom before we start our first training session.”
“Really?” I said. “We’re going to start training today?”
Nightbolt stopped in the hallway and looked at me. “Sure. No time like the present, eh?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but I thought we were going to put it off until tomorrow.”
“Originally, yes, but I’ve changed my plans,” said Nightbolt. “If these aliens are starting to attack during the day, I think it means they’re getting bolder. Which may mean they’re planning a much bigger assault or even invasion. So I want us to be ready for it, even though I don’t know exactly when or where the aliens will strike next.”
“Wouldn’t an alien invasion be more likely to happen in, say, New York City or some other big city like that than out here in West Texas?” I asked. “We wouldn’t be much use against an alien invasion if it happened in a big city.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” said Nightbolt,. “Remember, we know almost nothing about these aliens or their motivations. Perhaps they’re not interested in invading cities. Maybe they are more interested in stealing our resources than in invading our world. In any case, you are only going to be here for four weeks. Might as well get started right away.”
I nodded, but then I remembered how Jose looked at me and said, “Nightbolt, why did Jose look at me so suspiciously when you introduced me to him? Is it because he doesn’t know me? I’m not very upset over it, but he seemed almost hostile to me when I haven’t done anything to him.”
“I forgot that you’re from the city,” said Nightbolt. He rubbed his forehead. “Urban folk and rural folk tend to look at superheroes differently. In cities like where you’re from, superheroes are treated like celebrities and are generally trusted and liked. Out here in rural or small towns, however, superheroes are usually, but not always, treated with a bit more … reticence, I guess would be the word, than in cities.”
“Why?” I said. “Do they dislike us or something?”
“It’s because most small towns or rural communities don’t have superheroes of their own,” said Nightbolt. “Most small towns can’t afford their own superhero. Most superheroes don’t even want to work in small towns, anyway. Pay isn’t as good as what cities pay.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why that would make small town people distrustful of superheroes.”
“It’s more of a class thing,” said Nightbolt. “You wouldn’t believe how many superheroes turn their noses up at small towns and the people who live in them. Most superheroes believe they are too good for small towns. In return, most small towns don’t care for superheroes very much. There’s more reliance on local police to deal with crime around these parts, though some small towns do hire the occasional superhero on a one-time basis for specific tasks or jobs which the police can’t deal with or can’t deal with effectively.”
Now I understood why Jose looked at me so warily back at his ranch. “Huh. Rubberman never told me about that.”
“Not surprising,” Nightbolt said, shaking his head. “Dennis was a city boy. Better than most, I’ll admit, but still a city boy through and through. He never understood why small town or rural folk don’t care much for superheroes and, based on your ignorance, it’s clear that he still doesn’t.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” I said. “He’s just—”
“I didn’t say he was,” said Nightbolt. “I know what Dennis is like; I trained him, for God’s sake. I’m just pointing out that his perspective is limited, just like anyone else’s. He’s not the worst superhero about it anyway. I once trained a guy—a pretty big name you would recognize if I told you—who was so stuck-up about dealing with ‘bumpkins’ that he always stayed at the house. I had to practically beat the prejudice out of him, but as far as I know, he still thinks he’s better than people from flyover country.”
I bit my lower lip. “I don’t think I’m better than these people. Though to be honest, I never really think about them, because I’m usually too busy thinking about how to protect the people in my city.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” said Nightbolt. “I’m just saying that if the townsfolk treat you with a little suspicion, it isn’t personal. It’s just how they deal with superheroes in general, including sidekicks.”
I nodded, but then something else occurred to me. “But why did Jose and Teresa come to you for help if they don’t trust superheroes?”
“Because one, I’m a retired superhero, not a working one,” Nightbolt said, holding up a finger. “And two, I’ve spent the last three decades working on integrating myself into the local community. Most of the people in Los Congrejos don’t view me as an outsider anymore. Therefore, when they have these kinds of problems, they are willing to come to me for help. But I’m the exception to the rule, and I’m grateful that the people treat me that way, even though I don’t always deserve it.”
To me, it sounded like Nightbolt still thought of himself as an outsider, whatever he may have said to the contrary. It made me wonder how the townspeople would start treating me by the end of my stay. Would I be treated like Nightbolt? Or would they always look at me like Jose did: warily, distrustfully?
I didn’t know. All I knew was that I would just have to try to be on my best behavior. And if the people never ever accepted me, well, I would be gone in four weeks. Then they would never need to deal with me ever again.
“Anyway, enough talking,” said Nightbolt. “When I get out of the bathroom, we can begin our first training session of the day. We’ll do it in the Arena.”
“The Arena?” I repeated. “What’s that?”
Nightbolt chuckled. “You’ll see soon enough, kid, you’ll see.”
-
The ‘Arena,’ as Nightbolt called it, was a renovated old barn set behind his house. I would have said it was in the ‘backyard,’ but Nightbolt’s house didn’t really have much of what we’d think of as a backyard. Mostly, it was just the back porch and a lot of dust and dirt, though there was a tool shed, a hose connected to the water faucet, and a few small cacti here and there.
But the Arena was located beyond the fence surrounding his house. I didn’t know how I hadn’t seen it when I first arrived at his house earlier today. It was twice as tall as his house, appearing like an old barn with the roof torn off on the outside, its heavy barn doors kept closed against the elements. If I was just a visitor passing by on the main highway, I probably would have dismissed it as an abandoned old barn and nothing more, but that would have been a mistake, because it was a lot more than just an abandoned old barn.
When I stepped inside the Arena, I found that the wood floor was completely swept clean of all hay, animal droppings, and other things you might find on a barn floor. Indeed, there wasn’t much left in it at all, although the walls were covered in gashes, burn marks, cuts, and even a few bullet holes, while thick ropes hung from the rafters, though I didn’t know what they were used for. In one corner were old-looking weights, along with a few exercise mats. In another corner was a gun cabinet; I recognized it, even though it was a different brand, because I’d seen one in my neighbor’s house once which looked very similar.
“Here we are,” said Nightbolt, spreading his arms wide. “The Arena, in the flesh.”
I stood in the doorway, still looking around at the interior of the Arena itself. A mass shoved past me and I looked down to see Spike rush into the space, sniffing the floor and walls. He sat down on a pile of hay in one corner which seemed to have been specially prepared as a bed for him and then lowered his head onto his two front paws. He looked over at me and Nightbolt as if to say, What are you two waiting for? Let’s start the show!
“It’s … nice,” I said. “Very open. Lots of room to move around.”
“I intentionally designed it that way,” Nightbolt explained. “You always need a wide-open area when you train, especially if you have powers.”
“But there’s barely any training equipment,” I said. “Back in the Elastic Cave, we have training robots, weights, exercise machines we can store or bring out depending on our needs, and lots of other things that help us train. You’ve got weights, but they look so old, and some weapons, but—”
“Bleh,” said Nightbolt, waving off my concern. “The mark of a spendthrift is lots of unnecessary toys. Sounds to me like Dennis let himself get swindled by some exercise equipment salesman.”
“But it’s all helpful,” I said. “Maybe it’s not strictly necessary, but—”
“That’s the problem,” said Nightbolt, shaking his head. “In my day, we had to make do with what we had. Most superheroes didn’t have a fancy training room complete with equipment they bought for themselves. Most made do with whatever they could find, yet they were a lot better and more heroic than this current generation of supers, if you ask me.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest. “Yeah, and you had to walk two miles through snow to get to school and back, right?”
“Actually, it was just one mile,” said Nightbolt casually. “But that’s irrelevant. What matters is that I am going to train you in the old ways of superhero training. Once you’re done with this, you’ll be one of the best sidekicks in the country, maybe even in the world. At the very least, you’ll be able to go toe-to-toe with most supervillains, which puts you ahead of most sidekicks.”
I supposed I should have believed him, but one look at that frail old man made me wonder whether Nightbolt’s training would actually pay off. Not for the first time, I didn’t know if his old body would be able to withstand even the lightest attacks from me.
“Now, let’s stand in the center of the Arena,” said Nightbolt. “You stand at one end, while I will stand opposite you. Then we will begin.”
Nightbolt and I walked over to the center of the Arena. Nightbolt stood on the north end of the Arena, near the back wall, while I stood on the south end, near the entrance. There were no markings on the ground for me to orient myself in relation to him, but I supposed that Nightbolt would probably just chide me for needing something like that and how in the old days sidekicks didn’t need lines on the ground to know where to stand when training.
“All right,” said Nightbolt. “First off, tell me what a supervillain is.”
I paused. “What?”
“Tell me the definition of a supervillain,” said Nightbolt. “The legal definition, that is.”
“There’s a legal definition of supervillain?”
“Sure,” said Nightbolt. “Didn’t Dennis tell you that?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. I always just assumed that supervillains were stronger-than-usual criminals.”
Nightbolt sighed. “That’s not quite true, or at least not complete. The current legal definition of a supervillain is An individual or criminal who uses an assumed identity and illegal equipment or powers to commit large scale crimes.”
I frowned. “That doesn’t sound very different from normal criminals, except for the emphasis on committing large scale crimes.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” said Nightbolt. “Supervillains are different from your average street crooks. I thought you’d know the difference by now, given how you’ve faced several supervillains already, but I can see that your education in this matter is practically nonexistent.”
“Why do I need to know it?” I said. “Whether supervillains or normal crooks, they’re all people I am legally obligated as a sidekick to stop, right?”
“Because they’re not the same,” Nightbolt said in an impatient voice. “Your average criminal’s highest aspiration is to pick your pocket to get money to fuel his drug addiction. The average supervillain, on the other hand, desires to take over a city, a state, a country, even the whole world, or else maybe pull off serious crimes if they’re less ambitious, like robbing entire banks. As a result, the two will use different tactics and different actions to further their own agenda.”
“Different enough that supervillains require specialized training to deal with them?”
“Correct. Not all superheroes or sidekicks get this kind of training; some will never fight a supervillain in their lives, because supervillains are much rarer than street crooks. Nonetheless, it is a good idea to get this kind of training, because it will make you more effective in dealing with supervillains should you ever run into them.”
“Or vigilantes.”
“Or what?”
“The Vigilante Legion. Didn’t Rubberman tell you about that when he called you?”
Nightbolt suddenly nodded. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot about that group. Yes, this training should help you deal with them as well.”
“Why are we going through definitions and stuff, anyway?” I said. “Why not jump straight into the training?”
“Because knowledge is just as important as action,” Nightbolt said. “Unless you put yourself in the mindset necessary to deal with supervil
lains, you will have a much harder time defeating them. Part of this training will require learning the necessary mindset to allow you to fight them and win.”
Nightbolt suddenly held up a hand and gestured toward himself. “But first, I want to see how good a fighter you really are. Come at me with everything you’ve got.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure about that? I don’t want to send you to the hospital accidentally or anything like that.”
“Trust me, Beams, I can take care of myself,” said Nightbolt. “The only thing I ask of you is to not use your eye beams. Just use whatever martial art techniques you know. Act as if I am a supervillain trying to blow up the world and you only have a few minutes in which to stop me.”
I still didn’t want to hurt Nightbolt, but because he was asking for it, I decided not to hesitate.
So I ran toward Nightbolt, my hands balled tightly into fists. He didn’t move an inch. He just stood there, his thin arms crossed in front of his chest, a look of amusement on his face. I don’t know if he was trying to look like a supervillain or not, but his amused expression did annoy me, so I aimed my punch at his face.
Abruptly, Nightbolt raised one of his hands and caught my fist. His hand closed around my fist and tightened like a steel clamp, causing me to cry out in pain before he punched me in the chest with a fist that hit harder than I expected. His punch knocked the wind out of my lungs and sent me stumbling backwards. I nearly tripped over my own feet, but before I could recover from his blows, Nightbolt got behind me and slammed me to the ground. He twisted my arms behind my back with shocking strength, putting so much pressure on my arms that I was sure he was going to break them in two.
“How does that feel?” said Nightbolt. He didn’t even sound like he was straining; it was as though he was holding down a piece of paper. “Does it hurt?”