Nuklear Age

by Clevinger, Brian

  Until it turned to water and washed away. Nihel stepped out of its crater and walked to Norman. “You pathetic wretch,” he growled. “Haven’t you been listening? I am performing my destiny. You can’t stop it.” He tossed the spare arm at him. Norman winced. “Are you watching, boy? Are you watching what Fate is doing to your friends?”

  Norman suddenly felt like he was on fire.

  “See what fate does? It deforms you. It is an inevitable process.”

  Norman began melting. It was like his veins pumped lava. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t give Nihel the satisfaction.

  __________

  We’re running through campus. I ask Rachel “Why? We’re already late.”

  “Okay, do you want to be any more late to Dr. McDougal’s class than you have to?”

  “Good point. Speed up, woman!”

  We hurdle over a row of bushes, throw open the big double doors to Floyd Hall, run down the hallway and burst into Room 112. Loudly. Our classmates snicker.

  She squeezes my hand (too tight, what? What’s wrong? Tell me, tell me!)

  “Nice of ye to join us,” Dr. McDougal says. He’s sitting on his desk, his feet dangling above the floor, a book in his gnarled hands with his tiny thumb marking a page. He spoke with a slight Scottish accent and wore his beard as full as possible. He was fond of plaid shirts.

  “Sorry.”

  Rachel doesn’t say anything. We get to our seats as quickly and quietly as possible. We sit right in the middle two seats of the middle row. It makes me feel centered.

  I haven’t been sitting for a full minute before a meaty finger pokes me in the back. I turn around even though I already know it’s Norman. The Intellijock. This guy is nearly seven feet tall, practically four hundred pounds of ebony muscle, he’s got a full ride football scholarship, and he’s got a 3.9 GPA. No tutors or anything. And the girls are all over this bastard. I’d hate him, but he’s just so damn likable (magnetic?).

  “Kinda late, aren’t ya?” he smiles his big damn smile.

  “Ehh, time is relative.”

  “Punctuality, it would seem, is not,” he says.

  I laugh and turn back around. Dr. McDougal is, of course, ranting. The man is certainly passionate about his philosophy.

  “What ye have to understand is this. The mind is not special. It’s easy to think it is. Natural humanocentrism practically makes us believe that our minds are special or somehow separate from the material world. There is no rational or empirical reason to believe this. Our minds are simply the result of evolution. It was advantageous for our species to have individual members communicate to one another for the sake of survival and propagation. The fact that these minds turned out to be so good at collecting, trading, and storing information that as time went by the minds, less concerned with the basic needs of survival , could then reflect upon their own existence, well, it’s an interesting advantage, certainly more diverse than claws, but that does not put us ‘above’ any other creature!

  “Our minds are as natural a part of the universe as anything else. They are simply the product of the cosmos. This does not subtract from our dignity. Far from it. This is our dignity. Our beauty. And this is why murder is wrong. It destroys a part of the universe. It is a disruption of symmetry. It’s a waste. A bloody (bloodybloodybloodybloody hands of fire, soul, hate destroy—go from here!) waste.”

  __________

  Norman looked like a wax statue of himself that had been left in the sun too long. He lay on his back, most of it in a half-congealed puddle while the rest of him slowly lost its shape. He wanted to scream, but whatever mechanisms that would have allowed him to do so had already melted away. It didn’t matter though. In his mind, he was screaming. Sickly blue threads of energy limply extended from his malformed body. It was the only way to scream.

  “Don’t you creatures know when you’ve lost!” Nihel yelled at the melting Tungsten Titan. “Look at you! You’re not alive. You’re not dead. Heh. You don’t even possess a specific material shape anymore.” He leaned in close to Norman’s mangled face. “I’d change you back to your biological form if doing so wouldn’t end your torment,” he whispered tauntingly.

  Not that it mattered. Norman couldn’t understand a word Nihel was saying. Just as he had lost his capacity for speech, so too had he lost his ability to hear. Or see. All he knew was pain. All he wanted was to scream and bleed and die. He could feel himself falling apart. There was nothing else.

  __________

  Shiro’s ship raced through the clouds. He opened up all sensors and focused them on the Mall. Atomik Lad, Mighty Metallic Magno Man, and six standard humans were accounted for in the vicinity of the alien stranger. Shiro was puzzled by Nuklear Man’s apparent absence until the sensors finally made sense of an extra-dimensional anomaly in the same area. “Ahh,” he said. “Enemy of intelligence is like spirit. Smart time. Encapsulated the capturing with supaa space dragons of universalities multiplied.” The Mall rushed below him. Shiro looped back and his target floated above him. A pair of crosshairs were superimposed on his view by the Heads-Up Display. They were aimed at the hypergeometric cube. He was weightless for an instant where time stood still. “Nothing that to be was made can’t not then the solvent by exploding action!” He pushed the ship’s Whisakey-Fusion Drive to Critical. His craft was seconds from becoming the reaction mass of a fusion bomb.

  Shiro was heavy with power.

  __________

  Middle row, the seat to the right of the center. Rachel beat me to it just to annoy me. She’s like that. I love her for it. Second class of the day. I’m taking notes now, but not too many. Rachel takes notes like her life depends on it. I don’t know why. She never looks over them for tests or anything.

  Dr. Menasavich. Short jet black hair and pale skin. I usually dig olive skin tones, I mean look at Rachel. But on Menasavich, yowza. Everyone knows at least half of the people who sign up for this class, guys and girls, only do so to have an excuse to look at her for an hour every other day. Hopefully they’ll get something more out of it though. It’s really interesting stuff. Political Science. Specifically, the Philosophy of Revolution. I could listen to her all day. The accent isn’t hurting.

  “What you have to underztand is thiz. Oppression iz a natural part of any zociety, inzofar az anything about a zociety can be zaid to be ‘natural.’ There iz nothing wrong with oppression az long az thoze who are oppressed are aware of it. Consciousnezz of oppression leadz to anger, outrage, and finally action—of varying legality. Only through knowledge of oppression can there be any change. Anger iz the only motivation. Happinezz iz ztagnation. Anger promotez change. Change iz life. Happinezz iz zuffocation. Happinezz iz silence, iz death. Anger iz the fuel of revolution. Revolution iz change, iz life. But here iz the catch. Revolution dizposes of the old order and replacez it with the new. Thiz new order will zeek to ztabilize itz own power. Thiz power muzt come at the expense of otherz. Thuz, revolutionariez inevitably commit the zame crimez az their oppressorz.”

  I swear Rachel would be writing it down word for word, but Menasavich isn’t talking that much!

  “You will, in the courze of your livez, ztand on both zides. You will be oppressed. You will be oppressive. It iz a cycle. It iz Fate (that makes me kill, it is you who let me do it—go!).”

  __________

  The ship approached terminal velocity. Shiro grit his teeth as the craft pierced the clouds and fell to the Earth with rocket boosted speed. He watched the engine’s heat gauge climb closer to the hazardous red area. “High way to Danger Zone!” he commented to himself as Metroville rushed up at him. The little superimposed cross hairs were in the center of his Forward Viewport. The Altimeter looked like it was trying to count down to zero in record time. The heat gauge finally pushed into the red. “Danger Zone lastly at the way of height when attained from fast with speed.”

  He pulled a lever and shot out of the cockpit into the the atmosphere rushing past him. Luckily, his Tetsu: Samurai Arm
or was sturdy enough to withstand the violence of motion. His Tetsu: Little Rocket flared to life and guided him to a nearby rooftop as gently as colliding with a solid surface at several hundred miles an hour can be. He tumbled to a stop and stared up at white fluffy clouds.

  Exactly .8 seconds later the ship plunged through Nuklear Man’s hyper-dimensional box wherein the craft suffered a complete protonic reversal. Its ton of mass and fifteen gallon tank filled with whisakey, the most volatile substance on the face of the Earth, were instantly transformed into antimatter by having the engines set to Self-Destruct. The resulting matter-antimatter reaction was more than enough to obliterate the walls of the higher dimensional cube imprisoning Nuklear Man by destroying the matter they were built from. All part of Shiro’s plan. Shiro's mission was a success. The Tiny Typhoon could tell because he had not been vaporized in the explosion. Also part of the plan. He breathed a sigh of relief as clouds slowly wafted through his sight.

  __________

  Nuklear Man stumbled a few steps. He rest his palms on his knees and let his head hang for a moment. “Woo!” He stood up straight once again. “Man. That was messed up! I could see the music. Sounded kinda like Hendrix.”

  Nihel growled. “Why do you things insist on fighting the inevitable!” He spun to face Nuklear Man, his red-black cape flowed behind him almost too slow to be natural. “I can see we’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

  “Blame Sparky?”

  “Enough!” Nihel bellowed. He punched Nuklear Man.

  Nuklear Man fell back a step from the impact. He wiped blood from his mouth even though there wasn’t any. “Oh, I see how it is. Resorting to genre conventions, eh? Well two can play at that game!”

  The Climatic Fight began.

  Nuklear Man flew into a rage of blows that struck with earth-shaking force. Literally. Shockwaves emanated from the power of every punch like explosions without the pyrotechnics. The ground shook, the walls cracked, but Nihel was completely unaffected. He grabbed Nuklear Man’s fist on one of its assaults and squeezed it.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” Nuklear Man yelped.

  Nihel’s free hand clenched into a fist. He pulled it back and slammed it against Nuklear Man’s jaw. The Hero sailed into the parking lot where he slammed through several stray cars before coming to a stop in a mutilated minivan. He tore through its metal frame like it was a spider’s web. He plant his feet firmly on the ground and promptly wobbled while holding on to his head.

  “Okay, world. Quit movin’ around.” He blinked a few times and looked at Nihel who was still standing in the now distant Food Court Junction. “Aw c’mon. One was bad enough, but now three of him? All dancing around like that?” He gave a tired sigh. “This is only going to get worse before it gets better.”

  __________

  Ima floated up to the Scientific: Communications Panel. She wiped her brow with her lab coat. “Veronica. I am finished.”

  Dr. Menace appeared in the view screen. “Are you ready to jettison the Skyjumper?”

  Dr. Genius breathed deep. “Yes.”

  “We have been at oddz for mozt of our careerz, but I swear that I will do what I can to bring you back down.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. All you have to think about is getting that Nega Bomb of yours on the Skyjumper’s hull before it reaches the surface. I adjusted the KI Alteration Drive. Ordinarily, it makes an antigravity field around the ship about thirty meters in diameter. It should now treat the affected radius as though it was the extent of the entire universe. Anything can get in, such as your bomb and our two targets. But, once inside, nothing can get out. This should include the explosion since, to anything inside, there is nothing outside.”

  “Excellent. When will you make the drop?”

  “As soon as you’re ready to launch the bomb.”

  “I have to get to the roof. Give me one minute.”

  Ima nodded and pushed herself to the Watchtower’s Scientific: Main Computer. She punched in the Dock Release code. Lights flashed to warn personnel that wasn’t there to keep a safe distance from the Airlocks. Ima smiled. The only other person on the automated Scientific: Satellite was Yuriko. And she certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

  Alone. With but one window to the world below. My world. It’s going to be a long wait for any rescue party. Things should work well enough in my absence. Überdyne’s world order is practically a perpetual motion machine. It only needs the occasional tune up. Everything will be fine. There should be enough heroes left to stop Veronica from trying to disrupt anything in the meantime.

  Seconds ticked by. Her hand hovered over the Release button. She pressed it.

  __________

  The hot afternoon sun beat down on Menace like a giant hammer of fire. The impromptu Nega Bomb was tucked under her arm. She ran to her makeshift delivery system. It looked like an oversized mortar launcher with a little display screen and keyboard stuck to it. She stuffed the bomb into the shaft and switched on the mini-computer guidance system. “Scanning,” the screen blinked in big red letters.

  The mortar beeped and reported, “Positive Lock,” at the bottom of the screen. In another corner of the small screen a mini-cam projected the image of the falling Skyjumper. She could just make out its fiery hairline of friction-fire with her own eye as it fell. The mortar adjusted itself while calculating velocity, wind, and so on.

  The screen count down.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The tiny missile flew into the sky. It would intercept the Skyjumper in just under a minute and attach itself to the craft’s hull. It would then set its own timer so that it would go off a microsecond before impact with the ground right in between Nuklear Man and Nihel, eradicating all traces of them forever to save the galaxy.

  It was almost too easy.

  __________

  Walking through campus now, Rachel’s shoulder playfully bumping into mine with every alternate step. I love it.

  It’s an early afternoon of Spring. Not too late in the day or season to be hot yet. But it’s getting there. We’re going back to Rachel’s car, a sporty little import. Red, of course. We’ll go back to my house and fuck our brains out. Life is good.

  “Could you drive?” she yawns while putting the keys in my hand.

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why are you so tired, anyway?”

  “Some of us actually wake up on time.” She sticks out her tongue and winks. “Now open the doors.”

  “You really think twenty minutes of lying down in the car will recharge your batteries?” I open the doors and we climb in.

  “You’ll find out, now won’t you.”

  “Yowza.”

  __________

  Shiro listened to the last of the thunderous blows echo through the city. He chanced a look at the streets below. The roads were clogged with wrecks as far as he could see. The sidewalks were littered with bodies. Some of them were accompanied by helpers or scavengers, he couldn't tell which. He could hear sirens screaming in the distance from all sides. He had to look away from it all. He turned to the heavens. “From what of is? The why of being now!”

  Something glinted in his vision. “Nani?” He flipped down his Tetsu: Ferocious Demon Mask to benefit from its high-tech sensory gadgetry. “Seeing Eyes of Sight. Focusing the sector of area. Ninety seven-ten.” His sensors focused on the rapidly plummeting Skyjumper. “Projection the divination time now when later at!” His suit calculated a 99.999% chance that the craft would strike down in the vicinity of The Mall. “The calamities aren’t to ending from multiplications!” he said with an exhausted gasp. He flipped the face mask back up and peered at the free-falling fireball with eyes tempered by determination.

  “Hero of tomorrow is winning today before born yesterday!” His Tetsu: Rocket propelled him into the dangerous sky at nearly escape velocity with a corkscrew trail of smoke in his wake.

  Shiro
slapped up against the hull of the plummeting Skyjumper like a bug splattering against a windshield. The impact made him feel like his teeth had been knocked out with a hyperactive tuning fork. His ferocious demon-style mask had automatically deployed itself to protect his face from the fierce winds of speed. His limbs sprawled out to the fullness of their shortness. Shiro clung to the Skyjumper’s nose like one of those stuffed animals that always get suction cupped to the inside of car windows. “Fukazake Shiro! Action the time is being—GO!!!” he yelled above the cacophony of motion around him. His red oversized firecracker-looking rocket flared into action pushing against the craft to slow and stop it.

  The Skyjumper was unaffected.

  Shiro’s little fingers clamped against the hull. “Please! Strength from dragons on now. Ancestors which mighty when there to be forming!” he pleaded with himself. “Computing! The boost energy from powaa, that could taken Whisakey Overdrive!”

  The computer in his helmet made a few calculations as requested and superimposed the results of his query onto his vision. Sadly, it would be impossible to halt the Skyjumper’s descent. All available power, plus the incredible energies afforded by his Whisakey Overdrive still wouldn’t be enough.

  “Kuso,” he muttered. Shiro devoted more of his suit’s power to the rocket, but the Skyjumper continued to gain speed. The Mall raced up to him. The Mall. “With at Sparky-san and Nuklear-san and Norman-san there is. Surviving probabilities, but the standing by innocently? Many are killed the way of falling!” He grit his teeth. “Shiro, not the stand of it! Exploding action cannot to have then!”

  He checked over his suit’s power levels. “If the way of cooling dragon engine becoming instead the way of dragon engine fire, adding of powaa Whisakey, the chance is heavy with smallness! Having to is the hero now. Can’t the failure!” In a matter of seconds the Skyjumper would impact the Earth and kill a hundred? two hundred? innocent people trapped throughout the Mall and its surrounding areas. He could stop it. He willed every last ounce of his suit’s power to the rocket. Including the power for the vital Cooling System that was keeping him alive. In a matter of seconds, Shiro would effectively be welded into his suit by its own heat and be cooked to death in an iron oven. He knew this. He engaged the Whisakey Overdrive. His small rocket threw out sparks and white hot flames. He could already feel his suit beginning to overheat.