I’ve had a lot of fun with the revision notes projects and I hope you’ll enjoy this little look at an earlier draft of the piece.
The last thing you want to hear a mad scientist say is ‘Oops’, especially if the mad scientist in question has a history of making his mistakes in silence. The last thing you want to see a mad scientist do is shoot you a look of sheer terror, not when superheroes foiling his plans doesn’t phase him in the least. And the absolute very last thing you want to watch a mad scientist do is bolt for cover and leave you with no place to hide.
None of those things bode well for a person’s continued good health and fortune.
But when Professor Apocalypse did all of those things, Rodrigo wasn’t very worried. It wasn’t that he was dim-witted — he’d a degree in economics and a title to his name, after all — but he knew that superheroes always saved the day. It was part of the fabric of life around him. That was how the world had always worked and how the world would always continue to work. Tactfully, his brain declined to remember that Rodrigo had been the one to send out the invitations. Politely, his brain blotted out the knowledge that the time mentioned on the cards was five thirty and that the countdown that had caused Professor Apocalypse to hide in the bunker would be at zero at six past five. Quite understandably, his brain did what it felt it had to in order to keep Rodrigo functioning.
With a shrug, Rodrigo set about cleaning the doomsday device’s console. His job was to clean up after the scatter-brained professor and keep an eye on the man’s finances. It wasn’t the most amazing job in the world and it wasn’t really what Rodrigo’d seen himself doing, but it paid exceptionally well and he needed the money. He wasn’t an evil person. This summer job as a henchman to Professor Apocalypse was only so he could afford his sister’s medical care. Superheroes would understand that, wouldn’t they? Bulletproof did always make fine speeches about people’s integrity, and it wasn’t like Rodrigo did much that was actually evil.>
It wasn’t evil to make coffee for a man and to clean up the spill, was it? he wondered as he finished wiping the console and set out to fetch a mop. He’d never had thoughts like that before. Did working for someone bent on destroying the world (‘make it a better place’ were the Professor’s words, really) make you evil per definition? His sister didn’t think so, but then she wouldn’t, he supposed. He shrugged inwardly. He mopped.
When he was done, he looked up and saw that the countdown was in its last few minutes. No sign of any superheroes. Rodrigo went to put away the mop. He stationed himself beside the console. He’d been very specific about the directions he’d given the superheroes, so there wasn’t any point in going to the entrance to await them there. They wouldn’t be using it.
One minute. No heroes.
Panic started to set in. No heroes. Superheroes were never late to save the world. But, then, mad scientists never accidentally ruined their own devices before the presentation either. Not once they had it perfected anyway. It was up to him, Rodrigo, to save the world. He, mediocre accountant, would have to do a job he wasn’t sure he knew how to do. The world depended on him. More urgently, his own life depended on him and, slightly further in the distance of his thoughts, his sister depended on him. He could not fail his sister. What kind of brother would he be? He would focus on the bit where he’d saved the world, though.
But he hadn’t paid attention to Professor Apocalypse’s explanations of the device. He tried to recall what he’d seen the Professor do those times he’d brought the man coffee or lunch. Then it hit him. There was a plug. Silently he dove for the cord and pulled it out of the socket. Silently, because his brain couldn’t decide whether to crow with triumph or curse the Professor in all three languages he knew swearwords in.
The floor beneath the console was dusty — well, it was hard to get to and, anyway, cleaning wasn’t technically part of his contract — and when Rodrigo got up, rubbing at his head, he felt distinctly grimy and slimy. He couldn’t go home like that! Not when he’d just saved the world from certain doom. Without witnesses who’d believe him anyway? Somehow, Rodrigo doubted that Professor Apocalypse’s word would count for a whole lot. If only there were tissues…
Slowly the drone of the Professor’s voice trickled into Rodrigo’s consciousness. As heated as the professor’s voice ever got, it still sounded like an iceberg that was about to ram you, though at least it was one that had also started to melt and drip on you. Some of the words Rodrigo could make out included ‘coffee’ and ‘fool’, which seemed distinctly unfair. The Professor was shaking him by the shoulders now and some of the man’s spittle decided to settle on Rodrigo’s face.
“This would have solved all our energy pollution problems!” was the line that startled Rodrigo into paying more attention. He still felt rather dazed and uncertain about what had happened, but the man let him go. Rodrigo slumped back in the office chair. He’d helped the Professor pick that chair; it was the most ergonomic one in its price class and utterly and entirely off-limits to anyone but the Professor on pain of being fired. Rodrigo could only barely find it within himself to get up.
“What?” he managed, but the Professor paid him no heed. The man was intent on the console and the strange bleepy noises it was making. It took Rodrigo a moment to realise that the Professor was crying. If only they had tissues… Fumbling around, Rodrigo finally settled on fetching some printer paper to offer the Professor.
“I said it would change the world as we know it, didn’t I?” the man asked after blowing his nose and rubbing at his eyes the way Rodrigo’s sister used to do, before she got ill. “I never said it would destroy the world, did I? They didn’t even show up to watch and then I spilt the coffee and it started up earlier and I didn’t want everyone to come in and destroy my work before I had a chance to tell them what it was for and we could all switch it on together that’s why I had you buy the cake and they didn’t show up at all and you pulled the plug on it!”
Unsure what to do with himself, Rodrigo focused on trying to get a dark stain out of his trouser leg. “They won’t destroy it if it’s turned off,” he offered and spit onto a sheet of the Professor’s recycled paper. The man wailed so pitifully in response that Rodrigo stopped trying to clean his trouser leg and tried to make out the other’s response. It was a one-time deal, apparently. Such a set of circumstances had gone into making the device perfect that it would be years, decades, centuries maybe, before another machine could be built or another attempt made.
“But it would’ve destroyed the world instead of saved it, malfunctioning like that?” The question was only a nose-length away from being a statement, but Rodrigo’s temper finally caught up with him. “You hid in your bunker!”
The Professor whirled on him. “Of course I hid in my bunker!” and that voice was all bubbling, seething magma that made Rodrigo try to take a step back and fall into the chair behind him so suddenly had it erupted. “I didn’t want to watch everyone destroy my best creation yet, did I?”
“But –”
“Did you even read those papers I gave you?” At Rodrigo’s head-shake, he continued, “You’re supposed to read them, fool boy! So it’d generate another flood. Think of the power in that water. We’d never want for electricity again!” Never pollute the world with fossil fuel again! You’re fired, boy! Fired!”
“But –” All he’d wanted was the money to save his sister. He needed his job with the Professor. Rodrigo started to stammer an explanation, when he realised that the Professor wasn’t paying him any attention and stopped. Surprisingly, the first of their guests actually used the door. The Masked Crusader — so brightly decked out, he never worked at night — and Cinnibird (who was far less painful on the eyes) strode in. Rodrigo thought they might’ve been frowning, but it was hard to tell under the masks.
“What’s going on here?” Cinnibird asked.
Rodrigo attempted to explain, punctuated by the wails and sobs of the Professor that at some points quite drowned out his word
s. He had to explain it several times too as more of the world’s heroes gathered in Professor Apocalypse’s secret lab. Eventually someone found the cake. It looked, Rodrigo understood now, very much like the Professor’s new world would have looked (except very, very flat) if Rodrigo hadn’t pulled the plug.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Cinnibird was walking Professor Apocalypse around the lab, apparently trying to soothe the elderly man. Rodrigo wasn’t sure how he felt about that either.
“We’ll take you home,” Bulletproof offered, a slice of blue cake in his hand. “If there’s anything we can do, give us a call. We owe you one.”
Rodrigo nodded numbly, then had a thought. “Do you have a job for me? He fired me.” Being a superhero’s aide wouldn’t pay as much as the Professor had (and was a lot more prestigious), but a job was a job. “Only, I need the money. My sister’s very sick.”
“How about we pull some strings for your sister?” That was the Masked Crusader. Everyone said he knew a lot about medicine, so Rodrigo just nodded again. All of a sudden, he felt very queasy and sat himself down, not even caring that his suit would get even dirtier. Heroes were talking to him. They were thanking him. He’d saved the world. His sister would get the help she needed. He was fired. He’d saved the world.
So why did he feel so miserable?
Original Author’s Commentary
Made to Be Broken is one of my ongoing revision projects, which means that I share each revision publicly along with sharing notes on why I made the changes I did. This version of the story is the latest completed version at the time the collection was originally published.
The story itself is a back-burner project so updates for new drafts are particularly slow, but I enjoy it when I do work on it and I’m learning a lot from the process.
If you’re curious about the numbers, this version is the third draft. It’s getting there. These first few drafts are all about finding my feet in the superhero genre somewhat. I’d never written in it prior to this story and it still shows.
This book could not have been created without the generosity and encouragement of friends and strangers alike. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my friends and my writing circle. In alphabetical order because that’s probably fairest, my thanks go to: Selene Broers, M. “Pantha” Cleaton, Rhian Crockett, Amy Rae Durreson, Anna Elliott, Sina’i Enantia, Elizabeth Fitzgerald, Clare K.R. Miller, Maria Stanislav, Anna Thompson, and others who prefer to remain anonymous. I love you all loads. All the hearts.
I also owe a ton of gratitude to the friends and people I met on Dreamwidth, especially alee_grrl, avia, jjhunter, lizcommotion, more people who prefer to remain anonymous, and the moderators of the Cotton Candy Bingo challenge and the moderators of Inking It Out.
I’m only scratching the surface of the people I’m grateful to, but I tried to stick to those people who helped out with this particular collection in some fashion. I feel like I’m writing something extremely clichéd (and sappy), but I think anyone who has ever tried to write acknowledgements knows how I feel I’m so scared of forgetting someone I shouldn’t have forgotten too… There are so many people who deserve a mention or a shout-out, both who worked on this collection and who didn’t. I can — I have — written whole (albeit short) essays on this topic. It’s easy to get carried away.
I am also deeply grateful to everyone who has ever read my works. I’m especially grateful to the people who let me know they liked my stories when I’d just started sharing them. Their thoughts and appreciation helped me grow from an insecure child who loved to tell stories into the writer I am today. Thank you. You may never read this, or remember who I am, but thank you. Those early comments meant the world to me and continue to mean a lot today.
And thank you too, dear reader, for taking a chance on my stories. I hope you’ve enjoyed them!
Lynn O’Connacht has an MA in English literature and creative writing, but wouldn’t call herself an authority on either. She currently resides on the European continent and her idiom and spelling are, despite her best efforts, geographically confused, poor things. Her tastes are equally eclectic, though fantasy will always be her first love. She has been chasing stories one way or another since she was old enough to follow a narrative.
Connect with Lynn online:
http://www.leoconnacht.com
http://twitter.com/lynnoconnacht
Thank you for reading!
Books by Lynn
Courage Is the Price
Feather by Feather and Other Stories
The Passage of Pearl
A Promise Broken
Sea Foam and Silence
Tales of the Little Engine
Copyright 2016 © Lynn E. O’Connacht. All rights reserved.
First published in 2013.
Cover design by Lynn E. O’Connacht.
Wings by wongvaris chaidam from shutterstock.com.
Feathers by kstudija from shutterstock.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.
Please report errors to Lynn E. O’Connacht at [email protected] so that they can be corrected in future versions. She would also love to hear comments!
Feather by Feather and Other Stories Page 29