A Once Crowded Sky

by Tom King

  “Look, son, I don’t want to be involved in this any more than you. Let me say that. Fighting’s not supposed to be my thing anymore.”

  “Me neither. Either. Y’know, either way. Neither way.”

  “Ain’t no choice in it though,” Soldier says. “You know that.”

  Pen looks at the comic book on the floor. “I quit this game. I’m out. And I’m going home. To my wife.”

  Soldier picks up the comic, starts flipping through the pages. “I saw Prophetier back at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, yeah, how is old Proph, any other damsels in need of distress relief?”

  “He went on about the game coming back. He went on about you. Said you were our savior and all other sorts of BS.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I shot at him.”

  “Holy shit.” Pen cocks his head toward Soldier. “Is he dead?”

  “No.” Soldier puts the comic back. “I missed. I always miss.”

  “Wow. That’s depressing, man. Look, next time you need to shoot Proph, you come see me. I’m the most powerful player left. I’ll take care of it. For you.” Pen reaches out and swipes at some material on Soldier’s pant leg. “Wait, how’d you get in here again?”

  “Prophetier said you’d probably be here. Star-Knight lent me a ride, got me a key. Teamwork. Like the old days.”

  “Yeah, except then you didn’t shoot the team.”

  “Or at least you didn’t miss.”

  Both men laugh, loud and hard. It goes on for a while until Pen can’t exactly remember what was so funny, and he rests his head against his knees. Then they’re quiet, and that lasts for a while too.

  “Did you like being a soldier?” Pen eventually asks. “For all those years, I mean.”

  “Son, we’ve got to do this. This thing here’s got to be settled.”

  “I mean, did you ever really want it, did you ever really like doing it?”

  Soldier doesn’t respond.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No,” Soldier says. “No, I never did.”

  “What? Really?”

  “It’s time to get up, Pen. It’s time to go.”

  “Didn’t like the game?” Bile rises in Pen’s throat and he chokes it back down. “I get that. Everyone knows what happened to poor Soldier, all locked up and for so long. Until Ultimate came and found you, found you in that cage . . . ice . . . thing. There you were, like a Popsicle.” Pen sticks out his tongue and pulls his arms into his chest, mimicking something he saw a long time ago, when he was young. “And he broke it open. And saved you. You remember that? Government people, weren’t they going to use you for some bad stuff or something?”

  “You were there. You know.”

  “I was there. I know.” Pen wipes at his mouth.

  “Plan was to release me in the middle of Arcadia and tell me another war was on. They were going to use it to get votes, scare people. Yeah, I remember that.”

  “Yeah? Cool.” Pen looks over at Soldier.

  “I remember it different than you though. Way I remember, it was you that did the finding, did the research into the corrupt senator, figured out what was going on, alerted Ultimate. Snuck into the compound where they’d hidden me. Got the job done. Really can’t recall Ultimate doing all that much besides some fighting.” Soldier looks back at Pen.

  “Another battle won! Well done! Well done!”

  “Another battle won. Well done. Well done.”

  “Man, I rock. Stand-Man can eat my shit.”

  “Now, there’s no need for swearing.”

  “Yeah, well, I have to call my wife.” Pen makes a last effort to get to his feet. Halfway up he starts to teeter, and for the second time that day he reaches out into the air in front of him and finds a steady hand. Soldier’s muscles quiver, but the arm holds firm, and Soldier pulls Pen up.

  “My hero,” Pen says.

  Soldier grunts, draws Pen in. “You going to help? I’m getting tired of asking.” Soldier squeezes down on Pen’s palm.

  “I don’t do this anymore. I don’t play the game.”

  “Yeah, well, did you ever?”

  Pen laughs, but he wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to look weak, not in front of Soldier. The two men are eye to eye now, and Pen can see the scars. Soldier’s face is handsome from afar, but up close you notice the crevices, dozens of them worming up and down and side to side, around his nose, down into the dimple in his chin. Pen remembers where he is. He remembers the room, the comic, the board. He remembers a barren, metal face, his own reflection pasted inside it, the scars in that curved image that were waiting to grow. He remembers that last time, when Ultimate hugged him and said good-bye.

  “I don’t like trophies,” Pen says, ducking his chin to his chest.

  “Okay.”

  “If we do good, we can’t get any trophies. This place has got to stay like it is.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “All right,” Soldier says, “is that it?”

  Pen pops his head up, licks his lips, and smiles. “Let’s go then. Let’s find the marvelous threat. Let’s save the world! You. Me. And—if we can get him—the Stupendous Stand-Man. But, y’know, I’m just dreaming here. He’s kind of an exclusive guy. What with the whole standing thing. We may have to do this ourselves.”

  “There should be more,” Soldier says.

  Pen ignores him and stumbles forward, wobbling to the steps that lead back to the mansion, to a phone so he can call his wife. He hears Soldier’s boots hit the ground behind him, their echo trembling up and down the metal walls.

  Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #573

  The fluffed bathroom mat’s more comfortable than it should be, but it’s too damn short. Silently, so as not wake up his wife (who’s awake in the next room), Pen drags his knees into his chest and attempts to situate as much of his six-foot frame on the miniature gray island as he can. Unfortunately, his fetal attempt proves to be too taxing on his stomach, and Pen jolts up to get his head in position over the toilet bowl, his chin bone-crunched against the hard front of the seat.

  The nauseous feeling must be worse than the act itself, though when the act comes, he reminisces fondly about that same, cozy nausea. Afterward, he blows his nose with some toilet paper and washes out his mouth before sliding back into his position on the gray mat.

  “Penny, you okay? You need anything?”

  “I’m good, honey,” Pen says, stretching his back, targeting the aches that have cleverly hidden themselves there.

  “Are you sure? I can get some water or some . . . a pillow, if you need a pillow.”

  “Good. Going to rest.” Pen kicks his leg out at the open door (which is closed) and hits only air—though he doesn’t remember this after a few hours pass, and he wakes in a small puddle of drool. With seemingly superhuman power, he manages to stand and make his way out of the bathroom. It’s dark in the room, and Anna’s mostly sleeping. He climbs up onto his side of the bed and lies on top of the comforter, resting the back of his hands on his forehead.

  “Are you all right?” she whispers from afar as she hugs her body into his.

  “Go to sleep, Annie. It’s all fine, I swear.”

  She hums a bit and curls herself into him and is gone. In the morning he’ll have to tell her. He’ll have to find a way to make it seem vital but not dangerous, to explain it so it has urgency without terror.

  I need to be a better husband, for her, I need to be a better man. His head hurts, and her hair is warm, soft. He’ll think of something in the morning. It’ll all be easier then, and if it’s not, at least it’ll be later, at least it won’t be right now. And Pen closes his eyes and once again escapes.

  1

  Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #574

  Their lives are violence. Another threat, another crack, the sixth since the hospital. They’ve been at this for three weeks now, chasing these explosions, helping with the cleanups. There’s no
reason to it, no clues as to why it keeps coming. No ransom notes. No patterns. No villains wanting the world. Just explosions, bombs falling from the sky.

  Once again, Pen runs in and comes back out, places another saved woman on the curb outside. If she says thank you before he turns back and rushes in again, he doesn’t notice. Soldier’s outside taking care of those details, ensuring everyone gets listened to and cared for. The physical stuff, the rushing and the lifting, that’s all Pen’s now.

  Afterward, once everyone’s as safe as they can make them, Soldier and Pen sit together on a half-scorched bench across the street from the latest disaster. Though his eyes retain their sky-blue purity, Soldier looks so different now, wilted and frail, hunched forward, bent and crooked in places that used to shoot straight out.

  “Hey, you remember that one time?” Pen asks.

  Soldier looks up at the burning building and squints. “Yeah.”

  “That was something.”

  “Hell of a thing.”

  “You know if I save one more person this month, I think I get a free bagel.” Pen exaggerates his smile.

  Soldier coughs a few times. “I think I’ve heard that before.”

  “What?”

  “During some fight—you and me. I think I heard that before, when you were fighting and talking.”

  “Yeah, well, that was me, the sidekick with the quips and—”

  “You see her?” Soldier asks, interrupting Pen. “Her red hair.” Soldier points to the crowd gathered around the flames.

  “Again with the disappearing devil?”

  Soldier squints again, clicks at his teeth with his tongue. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He pats Pen’s arm. “You did all right, kid. You’re doing good.”

  “Thanks.” Pen laughs. “I guess things change. Hell, the whole world’s changing.”

  “It ain’t changing me.” Soldier stands.

  “So, tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early. We’ve got that appointment with Star at 0800, don’t forget.”

  “Oh, I won’t. Pretty sure that’s when I pick up my bagel.”

  “0800,” Soldier says, and with nothing more than that, he walks, or rather saunters, which is to say he sort of just limps off toward the yellow police line surrounding them. Pen thinks to shout out something clever, but nothing good comes to him, and he slouches back onto the bench and watches the streams of water curve down into the fire.

  Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #575

  Soldier and Star-Knight go over all the details, and Pen stares up at the wall, at a large, framed picture showing Star-Knight flying in full uniform, green-on-purple spandex, a blue flame shooting from his belt. Next to Star-Knight flies Ultimate, his right knee bent up, his fist thrust up and out, his muscled metal wrapped in red tights, a red cape flowing behind him.

  After a while Star-Knight asks if they’re done, and Soldier answers him, and everyone pushes his chair away from the magnificent round table at the center of Star-Knight’s office.

  “Wish we knew more,” Soldier says. “All we’re doing is responding.”

  “My people are working it from this end,” Star-Knight says. “We’ll find out what it is. We always do.”

  Soldier smiles. “Appreciate that, Georgie.”

  Star-Knight gives off a sarcastic hum as he looks over to Pen. “Thought it was over, friend. Thought we didn’t have to do this anymore.”

  “I don’t know,” Pen says.

  “They all come back,” Star-Knight says.

  Soldier stands, and the other two follow him up. Star-Knight walks over and shakes Soldier’s hand before walking over to Pen. “Starry says hello, by the way. You two should get together sometime, I know he’d like that.”

  “Yeah,” Pen says, taking Star-Knight’s hand; he looks back at the picture on the wall. “Sun called me, but, you know, I haven’t had much time.”

  “Of course. Whenever you get a moment.”

  “Hey,” Pen says, looking back at Star-Knight, “whatever happened with that cat? The metal cat.”

  Star-Knight shrugs. “I gave it away. You remember Prophetier? He loves that junk.”

  “I thought it was for charity.”

  “Trust me, kid, no one needs more help than that poor man.”

  “I guess.”

  “Let the crazies have the crazy,” Star-Knight says as he leads them to the door. One of his secretaries takes them from there.

  As they drive out, Pen looks through the windshield of the truck, watches Star-Knight’s building disappear into the high clouds.

  “It’s weird,” Pen says. “There’s something off about that guy.”

  Soldier grunts and pulls the car onto the highway.

  “Him all up there, while we’re down here.”

  “Georgie worked for his,” Soldier says, “like you.”

  “I know.” Pen scratches at his lip. “But he seems kind of different. Like it all got to him somehow.”

  Soldier grunts again, levels his eyes to the road ahead.

  “I appreciate the help, I do, and I know without all his money or whatever, we wouldn’t be able to do this. I get that. But he’s weird now, right?”

  Soldier looks over to Pen and then back to front. “Georgie’s fine. He’s doing his best.”

  Pen leans his head back in his headrest. “I guess.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “I know you think that, I get it.”

  “I ain’t saying it to make you upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I mean, fuck.”

  Soldier’s quiet for a few seconds. “It don’t mean I don’t take your opinion. Just my own opinion is all.”

  “I get it.”

  “Just my opinion. Ain’t more to it than that.”

  “I didn’t bring it up to have a fight.” Pen flicks his fingers against the window. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying he wasn’t a good hero. I don’t know, maybe The Blue broke him or messed him up or something. Like it did with Doc Speed. Maybe he’s all fucked-up now. Maybe he couldn’t take it.”

  Soldier looks over at Pen, then looks back front. He jerks on the wheel, screeching the car to the side of the highway, earning a spattering of honks. Pen protests, but Soldier doesn’t respond. After the car’s stopped, Soldier gets out and crosses to Pen’s side, opens Pen’s door. “Get out.”

  Pen again starts to object, but stops with his mouth half-open. “Whatever,” Pen says as he steps out of the car and follows Soldier to the side of the road. The old man stands close to him, almost touching.

  “Listen,” Soldier says.

  “Hey, if this is about—”

  “Just listen.” Soldier raises his voice. “You’re one of the one’s who likes to jabber on, and I ain’t. But stop your jabbering now and listen.”

  Pen nods. “I mean, yeah, sure—”

  “Goddamnit! Shut your mouth, boy. Shut it and listen.”

  Pen looks down, thumbs the long scar on his chest.

  “I never had one of these sidekicks,” Soldier says, “one of these kids running after me. I never did that. Mostly because I thought it was cruel. This world’s cruel, this game, and it ain’t got an inch for children. And I felt bad for you. And I felt sorry you had to do that. I did. Going through what you had to. I saw it, son. I was there. And I’m sorry for that. I’m damn sorry.”

  Pen bends his head down, then cocks it to the right, looking up at Soldier.

  “But I expected you to be there. He expected you to be there. I don’t care what you been through, we all showed up, we’ve all done our part. You suffered, you had something put on you. Fine, that’s fine. But who the hell hadn’t? Who the hell was there that day that didn’t have something wrong with them?”

  Pen puffs up the air under his lips. He lets it leak out in a wrinkled whistle.

  “You got the powers now, you can do good, and that’s all right. But don’t let it make you think you’re special, that you can judge those that showed. Just because you
can jump and swing. You ain’t special. You ain’t better than Doc Speed, you ain’t better than Ultimate, and you sure as hell ain’t better than Georgie. Those men—those men gave up everything, just damn everything. It cost them everything.” Soldier looks down and then back at Pen. “You understand that, you understand the lesson here.”

  Pen hesitates, plucks at his scar a few more times, rubs his hand on his face. “Soldier, look, that’s not what I meant, okay? I’m sorry.”

  “No, son, it’s exactly what you meant. You just don’t know it.”

  “Goddamnit!” Pen yells. “I’m trying to be nice here, but fuck you. I didn’t have to be there. Okay? It was my fucking choice! I had a choice, it’s not fucking slavery!”

  Soldier doesn’t say anything. He just waits a while, licks at his lips.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Pen says, after a long minute.

  “Are you done?”

  Pen doesn’t respond; he just looks away.

  “It ain’t slavery,” Soldier says.

  “Man, I know—”

  “It’s just doing what you can, or else someone else dies. Those are the rules. That’s the choice. Showing up. That’s the game. That’s all it is. That and it never ends. We all keep coming back.”

  “Look, I know—”

  “There’s a threat, and we got to stop it. We got to find whatever’s causing these attacks, whoever’s throwing these bombs. So people can be safe. Until the next one. And that’s it. There ain’t more to it than that. No matter what you think of you or Georgie or any of us.”

  Soldier places his hand on Pen’s chest, and Pen feels it tremble against his own heart.

  “All right, okay, Soldier, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything, okay?”

  Soldier says nothing; he just pats Pen’s shoulder a few times and walks over to the truck. The engine roars, then whines, and Pen goes back, hops back into the passenger seat. They drive for a while before Pen asks where they’re going. Soldier tells him that there’s nowhere to go really, they might as well wait, the enemy’s not clear yet, above us and coming, always coming, but not clear. So they drive and wait for the next one to come crashing down.