The Return of Meteor Boy?

by William Boniface

  “I want to know about Meteor Boy!”

  He reared back in alarm, his face tightening up. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a blast of air as he shot violently backward, ricocheting around the corners of the gymnasium. When he settled to the ground, he got back on his feet and rushed to get into his office. His flimsy hand grabbed my arm and pulled me along with him.

  “Meteor Boy ruined the lives of my friends Funnel Boy and InvisiBoy,” he said bitterly. “And he robbed me of my rightful role as the Amazing Indestructo’s sidekick.”

  I didn’t even know what to say, I was so shocked by what he was revealing.

  “Where did you hear about Meteor Boy?” he said with as much insistence as an empty balloon could manage. “He was supposed to be forgotten.”

  “Everyone is going to know about Meteor Boy, very, very soon,” I informed him, freeing myself from his feeble, rubbery grip. “Professor Brain-Drain may have destroyed him, but the Amazing Indestructo is intent on re-creating him.”

  The look of despair that spread across his deflated face almost made me feel sorry for him—until he spoke.

  “Professor Brain-Drain didn’t destroy Meteor Boy,” Inflato said as he dropped his head into his hands. “I did.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Old Heroes Never Die

  My teammates were as shocked as I had been by our gym teacher’s confession.

  “Coach Inflato was responsible for Meteor Boy’s death?” Tadpole blurted out.

  “That’s what he told me,” I confirmed. “But he wouldn’t tell me why he thinks that.”

  “Maybe dodgeball was involved,” Hal said softly.

  “But I thought AI was responsible,” Stench pointed out, ignoring Hal.

  “That’s right,” agreed Plasma Girl. “At least AI sure seems to think it’s true.”

  “Could they both have been responsible?” asked Tadpole.

  “Anything is possible,” I answered with a shrug. “Of course the problem is that we only know what people are willing to tell us. And even that information is twenty-five years old.”

  “Maybe we can use Melonhead’s time machine,” Tadpole snorted. “Is it working yet?”

  “That won’t be an option for quite a while,” I responded. “But maybe there’s another way to see what happened.”

  “How? There is no visual record,” Stench said. “Is there?”

  “Isn’t there?” I mused. “After all, there’s still one more living member of the original League of Goodness who we haven’t spoken to yet.”

  “MagnoBox!” they all said practically in unison.

  When school let out a few hours later, all five of us headed for the other side of town to the location listed in the Li’l Hero’s Handbook as MagnoBox’s address. We soon found ourselves standing at the front entrance of a boring but pleasant-enough looking building. The sign in front of it read: WESTING HOUSE RETIREMENT HOME. Below it in smaller letters it added: For Heroes Who Are Just too Tired to Fight Anymore.

  I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to us that it was completely filled with old people. They were everywhere—in chairs, on sofas, in wheelchairs. It wasn’t until Halogen Boy tugged on my sleeve and pointed him out that I realized there was even a guy floating a couple feet above our heads. He was a little puffy looking in his white leotard. The blue briefs he had on looked even puffier.

  “Hello there, young’uns,” he said. “Yer lookin’ a mite out of place in here. Is there anything I can help you with? The name is Cumulonimbus.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied as we all backed up slightly. “We’re looking for a particular resident of the home.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “Which one would that be?”

  “MagnoBox,” answered Stench. “We read that he might live here.”

  “Oh, he does. You can usually find him in the TV room.” Cumulonimbus tilted his head in the appropriate direction as he bobbed a little from left to right with excitement. “He’s one of our celebrity residents. Used to be a member of the League of Goodness, you know.”

  “We did know,” Plasma Girl agreed politely.

  I sensed a story coming on.

  “MagnoBox won’t tell you this himself . . . too modest, don’t you know . . . but he was directly responsible for bringing down the Red Menace. Now there was a villain . . .”

  The story had the potential to be a long one, but then in the midst of his excitement at having someone to talk to, something unfortunate happened to Cumulonimbus.

  “Today’s villains don’t know the meaning of . . .

  Uh-oh . . .”

  Suddenly, there was a loud clap that sounded like something else, but for politeness sake I’ll say it was thunder. And then a downpour erupted from Cumulonimbus. We all backed farther away, grateful that none of us had been right under him. The way they began puffing up, I quickly realized his briefs were actually diapers. In fact, I’m sure they were the same brand my dad’s team had been offered an endorsement deal on. But no matter how absorbent they were, they couldn’t handle this big of a job.

  “Oh, dear,” Cumulonimbus blushed with embarrassment, “I used to have no problem at all controlling my power.”

  I felt really awful for him, but I didn’t know what to do to help. As he floated off to get assistance, I led my teammates toward the TV room.

  When we got there my heart fell. The dimly lit space appeared empty. My first fear was that MagnoBox had gone to take a nap or something. The only thing in the room was an old-fashioned television set, and it wasn’t even turned on. Then, I suddenly realized that the TV was sitting on top of a slightly stooped pair of shoulders, which in turn belonged to a body that was slumped in an easy chair. There was only one superhero I had ever heard of who had a TV for a head, and we had clearly found him.

  I paused for a moment, looking at the darkened screen. Hesitantly, I reached over to touch one of the knobs.

  “Excuse me. Mr. MagnoBox?”

  Then, without warning, it suddenly lit up and a face appeared on the screen.

  “Oh, my goodness, we’re on the air!” he announced as he realized he had an audience. “What can I do for you, children? Comedy? Quiz shows? Cartoons? Do you kids know that Moo-Maid brand Milk Shakes Build Little Heroes’ Muscles? And please. Call me MagnoBox.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, as we all tried following his rapid-fire delivery. While it’s a little hard to tell with someone whose face is on a screen, I got the sense that MagnoBox was quite old. His features were well-lined despite what looked like some heavy makeup and strategic lighting, but the eyes were still lively and intelligent.

  “If we could, we’d very much like to ask you some questions about an event from twenty-five years ago—that is if you think you might be able to remember.”

  LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK

  PEOPLE

  NAME: MagnoBox. POWER: The ability to broadcast real-time events occurring at any location. LIMITATIONS: Prone to commercial interruptions and reruns. CAREER: His ability to reveal the actions of criminals in the act helped make the League of Goodness unbeatable. CLASSIFICATION: MagnoBox is entertaining, informative, and a treasure trove of knowledge. He is seldom utilized these days.

  “Child you wound me,” he said melodramatically, “which is why I always keep Blitz Bandages on hand. You see, I’ve always had photographic memories, and I still have the ability to replay them all.”

  “You remember everything?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t sounding too eager.

  But MagnoBox picked up on it as he turned to me and the face on the screen raised a suspicious eyebrow.

  “I sense a mystery over the airwaves,” he said with a sly expression on his face. “Do tell what you’re looking for, and if it’s in my listings I will be happy to program it for rebroadcast.”

  “We’ve come to see you about Meteor Boy,” I replied gravely. “Can you tell us what happened that day you all faced Professor Brain-Drain—the day Meteor Bo
y disappeared?”

  “Ahh! A sad day, indeed. But I can do better than tell you, my boy.” He smiled. “I’ll show you.”

  MagnoBox’s face vanished from the television screen and was replaced by an image that we all instantly recognized. It was set off in the distance, but there was no mistaking the water tower that sat atop Crater Hill in the center of Telomere Park. It was just as Lord Pincushion had stated.

  The water tower looked different than it does today, but before I could pinpoint why, the image turned and we found ourselves looking directly into the face of Meteor Boy himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rerun

  It was Meteor Boy all right—in living black and white. For the first time, we were all seeing him as more than just an image on a collector card. This was a real person.

  “Come on,” he said, looking straight at us. “We have to stop Professor Brain-Drain.”

  Of course he was really looking right at MagnoBox almost twenty-five years earlier. I watched in fascination.

  “We’re right behind you,” I heard MagnoBox’s voice, only it was a much younger and richer voice than the one I had heard just moments ago. “Telomere Park is right ahead of us. And did you know that Dr. Telomere’s Potato Chips are a key—and crunchy—part of a healthy hero’s diet?”

  The image turned slightly, and I saw that the heroes following Meteor Boy were actually moving quite fast, but only appeared slow in comparison to Meteor Boy’s extraordinary speed. It was the entire League of Goodness. What amazed me was that they all appeared to be flying! The Animator had on a thick pair of aviator goggles in place of his regular glasses as he soared through the air with his arms extended like a bird. The Bee Lady was in the midst of a swarm of bees. Lord Pincushion was dressed just as I had seen him the previous day, in pinstripes and tails, but he also held a top hat tightly to his head. The numerous sharp objects sticking from his body were all bending back into the wind, giving him the look of an aerodynamic porcupine. Of course there was no sign of MagnoBox, since this was all from his point of view.

  LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK

  PLACES

  TELOMERE PARK

  Running north of Dr. Telomere’s Potato Chip Factory, and alongside the impassable Carbunkle Mountains, Telomere Park contains over a thousand acres of land ranging from heavily forested nature preserves to beautifully manicured picnic and recreation areas. The most obvious feature of the park is the enormous water tower that sits atop Crater Hill in the center of the park, providing water to the enormous Telomere potato fields to the south. Though privately owned by the factory, the park is open for public use.

  I had no idea how a group of heroes with no flying ability among them could be doing just that, but then the perspective changed. And there was Zephyr, gliding on air currents above the others and obviously commanding the winds to carry his teammates along. Then suddenly Meteor Boy whipped right by them again. The speed of the wind seemed like nothing compared to his power.

  “Where’s the Amazing Indestructo?” Meteor Boy asked as he slowed himself to coast alongside the league. “We’re going to need his abilities against someone as powerful as Professor Brain-Drain.”

  “Apparently, this is something that he considers his sidekick’s duty to handle,” Lord Pincushion said sarcastically. “I believe he has an important meeting with an investor to attend.”

  “Look! There he is!” Meteor Boy announced.

  “Who?” asked the Animator. “The Amazing Indestructo?”

  “No,” said the Bee Lady. “It’s Professor BrainDrain!”

  MagnoBox’s replay switched angles and focused on the Professor. The first thing I noticed was that he was standing next to a large lever mounted on the floor of a platform that surrounded the entire base of the tower. Arrows pointing in opposite directions were painted on the side of the tower on either side of the lever. Mounted between the two arrows was a digital counter, but it was too far away for me to make out the numbers on it.

  Professor Brain-Drain looked quite a bit younger and still had hair on his head. Quite a bit of it, in fact. He actually had a big bushy head of hair. Resting atop his do was the familiar colander that he always wore.

  Without any warning, the water tower began to spin—slowly at first, but it built up speed rapidly.

  “You’re all too late.” I heard Professor Brain-Drain cackle as he grabbed the upright lever and pulled it all the way to the left. “My Tipler has begun turning and when it reaches full speed, Superopolis will be destroyed.”

  Well, if nothing else, Professor Brain-Drain’s goals had remained remarkably consistent over all these years. But what was a Tipler? And what was it supposed to do? We all leaned toward the screen.

  “What’s happening?” I heard the MagnoBox of the past ask in surprise. More worrisome, the image on the screen began to get fuzzy.

  Then the image vanished altogether, replaced completely by static and snow.

  “Where’s the picture?” I asked with a tone of panic in my voice. “Or even the sound?”

  “I’m afraid that’s all I was able to record,” MagnoBox said as his own face reappeared on the screen. “Whatever that device was, it interfered with my reception. Of course, Electro-Bunny brand antennas provide crystal clear reception! Perhaps it was due to the stolen meteorite that Brain-Drain had mounted atop the tower. Meteor Boy was attempting to retrieve it when he vanished.” when he vanished.”

  “Did he succeed?” Hal asked in a quiet voice.

  “Well, let’s take a look,” MagnoBox said as we all simultaneously held our breaths. “As soon as he vanished in a blinding flash of light, the interference vanished as well.”

  The image of the water tower reappeared on Magno-Box’s screen. The first thing I noticed was Professor BrainDrain howling in furious despair. Obviously his plan, whatever it was, had been ruined. Then I noticed that the lever was now pulled to the right, and the view was close enough to show what was flashing on the digital panel. It was the number twenty-five.

  What could that mean? But I didn’t have time to puzzle over the mystery. Instead, along with MagnoBox’s own view, my gaze rose up and up and up to the top of the tower. There I focused on my first close-up view of the water tower. There was no sign of any meteorite, but what I did see sent an eerie shudder down my spine. Attached near the top of the cylinder was a wire structure with three ringed spokes. Each of the rings had a distinctive metal cone resting point down within them. I had no doubt whatsoever that they were identical to the cones now being stolen from my uncle Fluster.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Let ’Em Eat Cake

  “It’s the cones,” I said. “They’re the exact same ones my uncle has been using on top of his truck. That’s what Cyclotron and the hippies have been after.”

  “The same cones!?” asked Stench. “How could they be?”

  “My uncle got them from your dad,” I said frantically. “In fact, your dad told me he’s had them sitting in his junkyard for over twenty years.”

  “I’d believe that,” Stench grudgingly admitted.

  “But what use are they to anyone?” Plasma Girl insisted. “Professor Brain-Drain is dead, and whatever he invented was taken apart.”

  “The young lady is correct,” MagnoBox’s face appeared once again on his screen. “After apprehending Professor Brain-Drain, we dismantled his device and returned the water tower to its normal function.Free-Lax will leave you functioning normally, too!”

  “What did you do with the pieces?” I asked.

  MagnoBox thought about it, and the expression on his face turned grave.

  “We scattered them around to various junkyards throughout the city,” he admitted. “I fear your suspicions may be on target.”

  “And if I’m right, it means that there is one more cone these crooks are still trying to get their hands on.” I turned to Stench in a panic. “We have to get to your dad’s junkyard.”

  We dashed from the Westing House
Retirement Home. As we neared Windbag’s junkyard, it wasn’t hard to see that something big had happened. Three blocks before we got there we already noticed police cars, fire trucks, and even an ambulance heading in that direction. Without speaking, we all began to pick up our pace. By the time we neared his house, we were practically running. I also began to notice strange-looking chunks littering the ground as we got closer. I realized they were pieces of cake.

  “Something has gone really wrong,” I said.

  As we reached Stench’s yard it wasn’t hard to see what had happened. My father had taken my advice to the extreme. He hadn’t just used the swimming pool to create a single cake, as I had suggested. Dad used it to make multiple cakes which he and the rest of the team had stacked into a gigantic layer cake. My guess was that they had completed seven layers, each of them twenty feet across. Stacked up, they must have been over fifty feet tall. The only problem was that the New New Crusaders’ seven-story cake had tumbled over.

  My only question was: Where were the New New Crusaders? Then I caught sight of . . .

  “Uncle Fluster!” I shouted to him as he wandered out into the middle of the road, looking dazed. “What’s happened here? Where’s my dad?”

  “I tried to warn them,” he rambled. “I tried to warn them, but they insisted it would be a piece of cake. Oh, I think I made a joke, ha-ha. Get it?”

  “Is my dad okay?” I pressed him. I even grabbed him by the collar and began shaking him. Whatever the reason, he began to get more lucid.

  “I was preparing to attach the cone to my truck,” he said. “But the moment Windbag brought it out, those horrible hippies attacked. And then all the flashes went off.”

  I suddenly realized that there were reporters and photographers crawling all over the scene like maggots on . . . well, on an enormous cake.

  “Where did they all come from?” I asked.