A Once Crowded Sky

by Tom King

  And not only heroes. Those poor people that stand next to them when the buildings fall and the bricks come down. The daughters. The wives.

  Doc Speed once saved the rest of The Liberty Legion when he discovered a Death Virus that was transforming heroes into zombies, a transformation that would’ve been permanent if The Surgeon of Speed hadn’t done seven simultaneous operations in less than a minute, saving the world just ahead of another dreadful deadline.

  Burn detested his power, condemned by his ever-searing flame to not being able to touch another person, to not being able to hold his child or run his hand along his wife’s skin; but still he fought and fought hard, Lord knows why, but he wanted to help—it was all he’d ever wanted.

  Star-Knight had already explained it all, as they always do after a fight. Sicko saw Ultimate land on the roof and called Star-Knight, worried about this unexpected development. While Sicko rushed in to see what was going on, Star-Knight rounded up his men, his guns, and even Strength, who was helping him now, who was doing what she could to help now. They got there as quickly as they could and entered the room, their fantastic guns beautifully blazing; and Ultimate fled, crashed through the wall of the apartment and flew off into the clouds.

  It was one of those great last-minute rescues out of which Pen patched together most of his life: a climactic cliff-hanger providing seemingly no avenue of escape until, at last, so predictably at last, someone comes and saves the day. He’d been through a lot of those. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t relieved when it happened, was unmoved by the details. Or maybe it was the woman in his arms, the absence of her voice, the lack of response to the stories he’s telling.

  Starry and Pen tried once to form a teenage Liberty Legion, The Young Yeoman, but nothing ever really came of it: there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to be in a team, play sidekick, get through school, handle your latest crush, and do all you could to get better, to make sure you were always prepared when the fog descended.

  Herc was a giant of a man, had a giant smile; he was always telling jokes, making sure everyone knew that whatever the great problem that day, whatever the imminent threat to mankind and all we held dear, there’d be another day after this one, another enemy tomorrow, another cold beer after a night of fists and guns.

  The stories are idiotic; it’s all just pointless nonsense: good guys defeating bad guys, buoyantly breasted women and robustly chiseled men absurdly dedicating themselves to overcoming whatever uncomplicated dilemma presented itself that month. At its core, in its house of origin, the game is nothing more than a child’s fantasy, puerile desires satiated through the exaggeration of human qualities.

  Everyone engaged in it, all those heroes and villains beating the shit out of one another, knew this, understood each day that their lofty efforts were meaningless, mere extensions of this immature beginning. It’s why they refer to it as a game, the tacit acknowledgment that the stakes were never real, only the powers. Even death didn’t bother them because they knew: everyone comes back. How silly is that? How utterly devoid of any worth?

  Sure they strove to justify their existence by emphasizing the nobility behind their deeds, the transcendent virtues inspiring their punches and kicks. But after The Blue, after the game faded and they finally won the peace they’d always fought for, that strained effort was exposed. Without the mutated DNA, the radiated monkey, the inner-space virus, without all the other outsized oddities and manly mysteries that propelled orphans beyond the stratosphere, without villains, the participants in the story were revealed to be not the upholders of a godly good, but instead to be little children, rising from a dream, shouting out in the middle of the night for mommy to give it back, to somehow let them have it all back.

  And they hated Pen; they all hated him for still retaining some token of how things once were, how they were once perfect and how now they’re all so normal; how they were once part of The Story, and now they microwave hot dogs for their kids on Sunday night.

  Once they were gods; they were more than gods; they were the myths from which gods are drawn. But what good is that to her? How does that help her? His wife. It’s fine to tell stories, to read them and appreciate them. That’s fine. But stories end. And when you put down the book, place the pretty words on the pretty coffee table, and lean back to fall asleep and expect her to follow, to cuddle into you and quell the early shiver of dreams—and she’s not there; she’s gone—what use are the stories then?

  Pen once soared through a crowded sky, and his wife was dying. And he wanted her back. He just wanted her back. He loved her. He loved her so much. He had all the power in the world; he hadn’t given it up, he still had it. And it meant nothing. It was just nothing. Just a stupid story.

  Star-Knight saw himself as second to no man, no man that is except The Man With The Metal Face; only to Ultimate would Star-Knight ever concede an argument or yield in a fight, only to Ultimate would Star-Knight ever admit that he wasn’t the best—there was one out there, just one, who was better.

  One time, after Prophetier predicted Red Rapist would use Liarliar to convince a bevy of heroic women to marry him, The Liberty Legion had Mindy Mind-Reader dress up as Strength—so that when Liarliar made his first try at seduction, he was met by a mental blast that sent him reeling back.

  She moves. A breath, a tiny breath. And then another.

  He watches her, wills it to be more. Something’s working. The stories. She likes them. And he’s afraid to stop. He tells the stories, though he hates them; he hates them all. But she likes them.

  Soldier and Mashallah made love only once, and though they tried to keep it a secret, everyone ended up knowing after Purgatory took control of Mashallah’s soul and exposed the worst moment of her life: laying naked in bed afterward, telling Soldier that she had to leave—she loved him, but she loved God more.

  She moves again.

  Techno placed the mind of the world’s greatest detective in a helicopter a few years ago, and to everyone’s astonishment, it worked pretty well for a while: it seemed for, like, six months, this large machine, its rotators churning, would land whenever there was an unsolved murder, then take off again into the skyline, dedicated to finding the killer, though it couldn’t really ever get indoors to question anyone, which might’ve been its downfall.

  On her neck, underneath her skin, a quiet heartbeat. He can feel it now. It was gone for a little while. For a few moments. But now. He can’t get closer to her. He clutches her and kisses her and tries, but he can’t get any closer.

  Runt was chasing Bombs-Away through a downtown mall when he saw his own father, Survivor, at the end of the walkway just as the fleeing villain was beginning to power up, beginning to build to an explosion that’d kill all three of them.

  They’re coming. Don’t worry. They’ll be here soon. Star-Knight’s talking. Strength is too. An ambulance is coming for her. We can take care of her. Talk to her, keep her engaged. Keep talking. Say anything.

  Once there was a boy who lost his parents and was adopted by a man with a metal face who was the most powerful man in the world and who promised the boy that together, if they became a team, they could make a difference, they could put the good ahead of the individual.

  Once there was a man with a metal face who was the most powerful man in the world, born as his creator died, and if he wanted to, he could have killed them all; however, he chose instead to lead and to inspire them and ultimately to show through his own sacrifice that he was not his own man, he was merely a reflection of all of them, most of them, flying off into the blue.

  She stirs, squirms in his arms, and then is still again. Just hold on a little longer, Annie. Just a little longer. Help is coming. I promise. I swear to God. Just hold on a little longer.

  Once there was a boy sitting in an apartment, his dying wife cupped in his arms.

  Once there was a boy, and he was lying on the floor. The boy’s great mentor had once again been turned by an unknown villain, and he had bl
asted through the boy’s house, attacked the boy’s wife. So the boy needed to move; he had to save her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He lay still as his love was hurt in front of him. Eventually he leapt. It was too late, but he leapt, ready to die, ready to die with her. But he didn’t die. At the last minute he was saved. A knight of the stars and a woman of strength came and scared away the metal man. The danger retreating, wires in the boy began to repair him, so that he could stand, so that he could go to her, hold her. Even more astonishing, his wife too got a little better, managed to start breathing again, maybe just enough to make it to the hospital, maybe just enough to survive, to live and remember and maybe forgive him for what he’d done to her, to crawl under his arm again and fall asleep again, as the book lay open on the table, until they were again awakened by the quiet whoosh of heroes soaring through the night.

  This last is an absurd tale, but he tells it anyway. It seems she likes it; she breathes a little harder, perhaps responding to the sound of his voice, which he tries to hold together and fails.

  The Soldier of Freedom #528

  Soldier stands outside the hospital. It’s late, too late to be out. At first the stars’d been kind, providing a quiet glow while he waited. But there’re clouds coming in now.

  Mashallah’s body’s already gone from here, sent back to a home she should’ve never left. Strength’d come to him in tears claiming this’d been something Ma would have wanted, to have gone out fighting, playing. That’s what Strength said, and if that helped her, fine.

  But Anna. Anna was still here. For now, she was still here.

  The door swings open, and the fluorescent lights of the hallway peck across Soldier’s pupils, blinding him. When his vision clears, Pen is standing right in front of him, real close in.

  “I’m sorry,” Soldier says.

  Pen’s lips part, but he says nothing.

  “I don’t know what this is,” Soldier says. “Why Ultimate’s here. But we’ll figure it out.”

  Pen takes a step back, and his features begin to blend into the night. Soldier can’t help but think of how young the boy is, what battle Soldier was in when he was that age.

  “It’s her heart,” Pen says.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But that can get fixed. I’ve seen it, it can be fixed.”

  “Her heart. It’s dying.”

  “She’ll be fine. They’ll fix her.”

  “Like they fixed Mashallah?”

  “Son, that ain’t—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Son, we’ve suffered in this, we need to get together on it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “We can solve this thing, make an ending of it. You got to listen now.”

  “I have to fight him,” Pen says, again stepping back, fading farther into the dark. “They’ve got control of him. Whatever it is. It’s got Ultimate. I think all this stuff, all these explosions, I think it was just him, throwing stuff, hitting stuff. I think that’s it. Someone’s using him. And he’s going to come for her again, and I have to fight him.”

  “I know, son. And we’ll do it. We’ll get it done together.”

  Pen laughs. “Yeah, what can you do, right? The last player in the game, and I couldn’t even save her.”

  “It ain’t like that. You know it.”

  “I can’t fight him alone. We need more.”

  Soldier swallows, and his hands go to his guns. “We’ll find a way.”

  “We have a way. It’s Star-Knight. Like Mashallah knew. Proph confirmed it. Star-Knight. He knows how to do it, get the powers back. He’s been hiding that.”

  “Son, listen,” Soldier says, “I don’t know about that.”

  “No, I don’t want to hear that shit anymore.”

  “Pen—”

  “I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

  “PenUltimate, I’ve known Georgie since almost the beginning. So’ve you.”

  “Don’t you see, man, don’t you see? There probably wasn’t even a Blue. There was only him. Him wanting to be better than all of us.”

  “Georgie’s a good man. Like Ultimate was. Ain’t no way around that.”

  “I’m going after him,” Pen says, his voice strong, confident. “I’m going to get the powers back, and we’re going to fight this thing, we’re going to get back Ultimate, and we’re going to win, and we’re all going to save the day, all of us.”

  “Son, you ought to listen to me here for—”

  “And if you get in my way, Soldier, I’ll kill you. I will.”

  “Son—”

  “It’s her heart. It’s her heart.”

  And Soldier starts to shout at Pen about how he can’t understand some things and he can’t always trust the easy answers; but Pen’s already gone. He’s been gone for some time; it just took too long for Soldier to notice his words weren’t reaching anybody.

  1

  Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #579

  Pen encounters the usual security measures: rotating laser sensors, remote infrared cameras, former elite spec-ops guard force—that sort of thing. He dips and dives, pivots, plants, and flips through the air, avoiding anything that might alert Star-Knight to his ascent of the tower. With routine grace, he overcomes all obstacles, slipping unnoticed into the penthouse office in order to be ready prior to the CEO’s arrival.

  These are the old methods, the spectacular tricks showcased in their original form. These are the classic moves, once abandoned, now delivered with perfect precision. Every move, every dodge and tuck, is a promise broken.

  “Lights,” Star-Knight says as he walks into his office, his feet clacking on the glass-screened floor. But Pen has cut the lights. You always cut the lights. “Lights,” Star-Knight says again, and the door shuts behind him; the room goes black.

  Pen is on him. He puts his hand in Star-Knight’s back and shoves the great hero into the floor, pinning him down, twisting his nose into the glass.

  “What did you do?” Pen asks.

  “Emergency—upper office, now!” Star-Knight screams, pressing a number of supposedly hidden buttons on his suit. You always cut the communications too.

  “No one’s coming.”

  “Pen is that—what the hell’s going on here, Pen? PenUltimate have you—get off me!” Star-Knight pushes back into Pen, and he might as well be pushing into the earth.

  “What did you do?” Pen asks, lifting Star-Knight’s head.

  “I have no idea—”

  Pen doesn’t let him finish; instead, he shoves Star-Knight’s head back into the floor, opening a cut above Star-Knight’s eye.

  “This isn’t the time. No banter. Tell me what you did.”

  “Pen,” Star-Knight says, arching his neck off the ground. “Get off me, boy. I saved your damn life, remember? You’re not going to—for God’s sake, I saved you.”

  “My wife’s dying.”

  “Goddamnit, boy, yes, I know. I’m the one who saved her. I’m not your damn enemy. Let me go!”

  “What did you do?”

  There’s no answer, and Pen bobs Star-Knight’s head back into the glass. A crack stretches across the dark screen in the floor, specked on its edges with drops of blood.

  “Jesus Christ!” Star-Knight screams. “Jesus Christ, boy! Goddamn—I saved you.”

  “I don’t play the game anymore.”

  “No, I’m saving you!”

  Pen again knocks him into the floor. Tremors lace Pen’s fingers, and he knocks him into the floor again.

  “Stop,” Star-Knight says, his voice broken under the blows. “You stupid kid.” He sniffles in stray red as Pen puts him down again. “I’m trying to save you.”

  Pen dips him back down, and it goes on this way for a while. And then there’s a distance between them: Star-Knight lying still on top of all those empty screens; Pen sitting, slouched against the wall, his hands aching with blood.

  Strength, Woman Without Weakness #495

  There are three
men around her, and Strength pivots to the left as one reaches out to her, tries to grab her, tries to pull her down. His fingers close around her arm. Strength crouches and then uncoils, throwing her weight behind her palm, popping it into the underside of his nose. He screams. His face bursts red. She brings her knee up, hits the inside of his thigh, rolls it hard up to his crotch, folds his flesh back. He screams again, falls to the ground screaming, and she turns to the other two.

  Come on. One more time.

  The two men look at their friend, watch him holding his face, crying into his blood. They laugh as they pull out their guns. They’re only a few feet away, one on each side of her. They aim their guns, and they laugh and laugh.

  She was weak. They took her family, let her listen. And then the gods came, gave her power, told her that she was the Woman Without Weakness, that someday she would show her strength, she would save them all. She was strong, she was strength, and she fought, and she waited to show them all, and Ultimate flew off into the blue, took it all with him, leaving her far behind.

  Strength stands straight, her arms hanging, her shoulders squared. She shakes the hair from her eyes, looks from one man to the other. She lowers her head and smiles.

  Baap!—a gun fires, a man screams, and Strength brings up her fists, twists, slams her fist into the one to her right, pushing her knuckles into his neck, forcing his Adam’s apple back and up. She comes around with her knee, pounding it twice into his ribs. The man stumbles back, drops his gun. And Strength is on him, jumping into him, bringing him down. They hit the asphalt, and Strength bends and cocks her arm, puts her elbow in his teeth.

  Something cold at her neck. Metal. She looks back, sees the first one, his nose still pouring, a gun in his hand, the tip dragged across her neck, her chin, up to her lips. He laughs.

  Baap!—a gun fires, the man slumps forward, falls on Strength, blood from his temple falling on her chest. The man beneath her cries out through a broken mouth. He bucks, turns, reaches for his gun.