by Matt Adams
Sapphire Twelve’s brow furrows. “The Crusading Comet is right here.”
Warren scratches at the back of his helmet. “Sometimes we employ multiple agents as Crusading Comets… you know, to throw people off the trail.”
Sapphire gives a sly smile. “You sound… younger, Comet.”
“Well, you know, the crime rate’s been down, I’ve been doing more office work. Lower stress. Lower, um, you know… stress.”
“I will never forget that night, you know. Long before the invaders came. Us together under the stars.”
Part of me—the “loves a good train wreck” part—wants to watch Sapphire Twelve tell Warren about the magical night she spent with his father.
“It’s his son,” I whisper after letting a few more awkward seconds pass.
“Ah. Mortimer’s great project,” she says knowingly. “My time with your father was brief, Young Comet. Time is often cruel that way.”
“Speaking of which, we don’t have much of it,” I point out. “You said the Champions were guarding something that could turn the tide. What is it?”
“I told you earlier, Crimsonstreak. We do not know. We have searched this island and combed through your father’s research lab. It was something he captured and stored away.”
“We should not linger here,” Falcon Gray breaks in, giving his plumage a spastic shake that reminds me of a sparrow in a birdbath. “The Kiltechs could return.”
“Toucan Sam’s got a point. You should get your people out of here,” I tell Sapphire Twelve. “Talk to Comet Junior here, but don’t creep him out any more than you already have. He’ll give you the coordinates to a safe place.”
“And what of you, Crimsonstreak?” she asks.
“My team has one more stop to make.”
“What are we looking for?” Warren asks. “My scanner isn’t picking up much.”
We’re back inside the cloning lab at the research facility. It’s sufficiently rundown to be creepy, but some sections are in remarkably good shape.
“The Champions think there’s something back here that can help us,” I remind him.. “I don’t think Sapphire Twelve would lie when it comes to Colonel Chaos.”
“Whatever. Thanks for the backup there, by the way.”
“I think she’s got a thing for you.”
“We don’t have a Crossworld situation here,” Warren says. Jaci punches him in the shoulder for that one. “Ow!”
“Makes me long for the days when the superheroes weren’t best friends,” my mother says.
“I’m getting something,” Warren says. He taps a button on his scanner—let’s be honest, it’s an iPhone—to activate the communicator. “Dad, what does the Comet Analytical Scanning Apparatus have to say about this signal?”
CASA. Good to know their acronyms are also stupid en español.
“It looks like a containment field. A technology similar to what the Legion uses in its cells,” Warren Senior reports. “The power signature appears significantly stronger, though.”
Head down, Warren moves toward the far end of the cavernous room. “Whoa. Yeah, now I see it. That’s definitely a containment field. A lot like the one the High Imperator used to restrain your father, Chris. The rate of power consumption is astounding.” He stops at a wall. “It’s behind this.”
Fist- and body-sized impacts dent the wall. “Whatever’s back there, the Champions tried to get to it. Someone want to take a shot at it? Like…um…Miss Lightspeed?”
“I’m still your mother, you know,” she says, frustrated. Quickly composing herself, she straightens her white uniform and unleashes a powerful blow that adds another dent to the wall’s collection while simultaneously rattling my jaw. The wall won’t break despite repeated impacts from the mighty Miss Lightspeed.
Falcon Gray goes next. Same result, only with cawing.
“You can stand here and do that all day, but you won’t get anywhere,” a familiar voice says. Crossworld is leaning against a column with her arms crossed, clearly trying to hide the toll her constant teleportations are taking. “No one’s going to bludgeon their way through there. Your dad’s got his secrets, Crimsonstreak.”
“The Champions said the High Imperator hid something on this island that could level the playing field against the Kiltechs,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too impatient. “If you know anything about it, now would be a good time.”
“You trust me?” Crossworld asks.
“Not unless we have to,” Jaci shoots back.
“Your girlfriend doesn’t really care for me, does she?” the villainess coos with a knowing smile. “I always like a little competition. Keeps things interesting.”
“When this thing is over, you and I are going to have a little discussion,” Jaci says. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy it.”
“You’ll never catch me,” Crossworld says, teleporting right in front of Jaci, who swings at her and gets nothing but air. Crossworld materializes next to me. “I’m always a step ahead.”
“Don’t trust her, Chris,” Jaci warns.
“We don’t have a choice,” I say with a shrug.
“There’s always a choice.”
“Allow me to agree with your consort,” Crossworld says. It looks like Jaci’s not particularly thrilled with that classification. “There’s always a choice. You can trust me or not. The results of that choice could tip the balance one way or the other.”
“What do you know?” my mother asks.
“Miss Lightspeed, always a pleasure. You ruined a truly great man, and I hope you’ll understand if I’m a bit reluctant to—”
Before Crossworld can finish the sentence, Miss Lightspeed’s got her by the spandex, lifting her into the air with one arm. The villainess never saw it coming; my speed does come from my mother’s side.
“You can teleport yourself from here to Rio de Janeiro and back three times over, but if you ever talk about my husband like that again, it won’t help you. I’ll be waiting. If you’re here to help us, then help us. Otherwise… crawl back to your Kiltech masters.”
My mother’s acidic tone is alarming. It’s not that I’ve never seen her talk tough to the bad guys, I’ve just never seen a homicidal look in her eyes quite like this. The only other time was back at the Clermont Institution of the Criminally Insane.
That wasn’t my mother.
“Put her down,” I tell her.
“I could make this nuisance go away permanently. The ultimate teleportation. Where would you end up then?” Miss Lightspeed asks without even looking at me. Crossworld tries to maintain her calm composure, but I see panic in her eyes. “I wonder… could you move so effortlessly between heaven and hell?”
“We’ve got bigger battles to fight against enemies much more dangerous…”
My mother turns toward me, malice shining behind her eyes. “You always think it’s about fighting the great fight and beating enemies on a grand scope. The tough battles—the ones that really count—are always personal. This is personal.”
Crossworld gasps, her face taking on a purplish tint.
With the slightest effort, my mother could take the life of this woman. It takes much more control and determination to keep Crossworld at death’s door, to keep her suffering.
“We need her. We need you, the real you. Don’t give us a repeat of the Supreme Court incident.”
A few months ago, my mother was convinced the High Court Gang, a group she and my father fought together years ago, had returned. She busted through a wall in the U.S. Supreme Court, holding the temporary justices hostage to prevent them from carrying out a murder plot she stopped a lifetime ago.
“This woman is a threat to my marriage,” my mother says, eyes narrowing. “She just finished traveling around the country, robbing banks to get Bill’s attention. I don’t want her in my way any longer.”
Crossworld gasps. “Please… help,” she says in a desperate, husky voice.
This is another one of those times I wished I’d
inherited super-strength from either of my parents. “No… she’s not… it’s not…”
“Karen, this isn’t 1965 anymore,” Jaci says gently. “Crossworld and Colonel Chaos aren’t an item. Let her go. Please.”
Crossworld kicks her legs in a desperate effort to get free.
“Struggling will only make it worse,” my mother says.
“That is enough, Miss Lightspeed,” Falcon Gray squawks. “Let the traveler go.” When she doesn’t, he grabs her left arm with a mighty arm-wing in an effort to pry it away.
Good move for Crossworld, who drops to the ground.
Bad move for Falcon Gray.
My mother connects with a blow to the birdman’s chest, sending him airborne. He flaps out of it.
“Polly should learn some manners,” she says.
Falcon Gray dive-bombs, knocking my mother over as Crossworld catches her breath. Miss Lightspeed springs to her feet, swinging wildly at Falcon Gray, whose birdlike reflexes keep him a step ahead until the punches start coming at Lightspeed. He blocks, but he can’t keep up, and she looks like she’s ready to pluck him feather by feather.
Warren simply looks mystified by what’s transpiring in front of us.
“Stop,” I whisper, putting a hand on her shoulder and taking a deep breath. “Mom. Stop. This is not an enemy.”
“He attacked me,” she barks, attention focused on Falcon Gray as she brings her arm back for a devastating blow. “We don’t need him.”
“Master of your fate, Mom.”
She shudders for a second and looks back at me. “What?” Letting go of Falcon Gray, she backs away slowly, a softness falling across her face. “Why am I… what happened?”
“You tried to kill Crossworld. Then you tried to kill Falcon Gray.”
“Just like with the High Court Gang,” she says, rubbing her temples. “I thought I was somewhere else. Felt like I was someone else.” She pauses before wrapping me in a gentle embrace punctuated with sobs.
The mighty Miss Lightspeed, my mother. Back, but not truly herself.
I doubt she’ll ever be.
Crossworld makes a quick recovery, but her voice is still faint. “Trust me,” she says. “Just this once.”
Neither Jaci nor my mother seems to like that idea. Warren shrugs while Falcon Gray bobs his head up and down.
She points at the wall, coughing. “You can’t get through that wall. I can. I don’t know what your father has hidden back there, but it’s important. Let me take Crimsonstreak with me.”
I see the distrust in everyone’s eyes, and I understand it. “If she had something up her sleeve, she could’ve taken me a long time ago,” I point out.
“And how I wish I’d taken you a long time ago,” she says, snaking an arm around my waist. A coughing fit spoils the brief flirtation, though the implications of her comment are still mildly arousing.
One look at Jaci extinguishes that line of thinking. “You’ve got ten minutes,” she says. “Then bring him back here.” She walks up to Crossworld. “If you really want us to trust you, ten minutes.”
We disappear, leaving the others behind.
We emerge on the other side of the wall in a white chamber with ridged walls that are vaguely organic-looking. A tall, white spire sits in each corner of the room, projecting beams of green light that converge on the sunken center. The whole thing is eerie enough that I half expect to stumble across a Space Jockey.
“What is this place?” Crossworld asks.
“A containment cell, I guess. But for what?”
As we approach the center of the room, Crossworld takes my hand. I decide I’ll leave out that little detail when I tell Jaci about this. The steps are uneven, more reminiscent of earthen ridges than actual stairs.
“Be careful where you tread,” a man says. “I would hate for anyone else to get stuck within this construct.”
A closer look shows a humanoid figure floating in midair, his arms and legs shackled by the containment beams generated by the spires. A glowing orange headband makes him look like a futuristic castoff from the American Basketball Association.
“These beams are disrupting my Band of Power,” the man says.
My first thought is that “Band of Power” sounds an awful lot like an Eighties-era superhero hair band, but that would be too easy.
“Any idea what’s going on here?” I ask.
Crossworld just shakes her head.
I look back at the captive. “Who are you?”
“I would ask the same of you. With my Band of Power neutralized, I cannot sense your intentions.”
“My name is Crimsonstreak. I’m with Crossworld. Well, I mean, I’m not with her.”
“Yet it appears you are, brave traveler,” the man says, raising an eyebrow. “But this does not help my predicament.”
“You run into a guy about, oh I don’t know, six-foot-five, dark hair, graying temples, perpetual, joyless sneer?” I ask. “Super-strong? Really smart, bit of a smooth talker?”
“That sounds like the man who imprisoned me within this containment field.”
“Well, that guy was my father. Colonel Chaos,” I say without thinking.
The man bows his head. “I see. Here to finish the task, then. Here to destroy me. Here to turn me over to the Kiltech Empire.”
“He wasn’t my father, but he was my father,” I explain. “We had a little trans-dimensional incident that kind of sent our world on an interesting tangent. It used to be a nice place. We’re hoping it will be one again someday soon.”
The man looks up at that. “Trans-dimensional? You opened a rift?”
“My father did. Things have been pretty screwy since then.”
“Excuse me…‘screwy?’”
“Oh… you know… wrong. Messed up. The balance upset.”
“Ah… yes. Your human vernacular is sometimes daunting,” he says. “I came to this planet to talk to its leader. I encountered your Colonel Chaos and warned him about the Kiltech Empire. He asked to study my Band of Power. Instead, he imprisoned me within these walls.”
“That sounds like him, all right,” I say, eyes scanning the room for a control panel. A post with a rectangular box sits on the other side of the construct, and I start toward it.
“Don’t take another step,” the man says. “The machine could sense you and imprison you as well.”
“Crossworld?”
A second later, we’re standing in front of a control panel full of flashing lights and monitors. The man now has his back to us.
“I don’t suppose you know how to work this?” I ask hopefully.
“It should be a simple matter of decreasing the intensity of the containment field,” the man says. “I believe I could break free with any moderate drop in power.” To emphasize his point, he rotates slowly until he faces us.
“I need to ask a few questions first,” I say carefully. “Colonel Chaos—at least the one you encountered—may be mostly evil, but he also has a bloodhound’s nose for danger. Why would he consider you a threat?”
“It is difficult to say—”
“Cut the bullshit. If you’re contained, you’re contained for a reason. Before I let you go, I’d like to know if you’re going to destroy the Earth or something. Seems like the responsible thing to do.”
The man stiffens. “I am the member of a brotherhood known as the Orange Bands, a body of interstellar peacekeepers who guard the cosmos against significant threats. I came to this planet to warn of the Kiltech Empire.”
“Peacekeepers. Right,” I sigh. The High Imperator would throw anyone in jail for looking at him cross-eyed, but a member of an intergalactic U.N.? There has to be something threatening about him. The skeptical look on my face prompts the guy to contine.
“My Band of Power. He was awed by it. He took it from me, but a Band must be given willingly to be used. When he could not integrate its powers, he placed me within this containment field. I was sent here as a scout, tasked with learning about the scope
of the Kiltech invasion. If set free, I can bring the full might of the Orange Bands against them. I can save your world.”
“Wait a second,” I say, regarding the man with a suspicious eye. “Your name isn’t Hal Jordan, is it? I mean, the color’s wrong—the color’s all wrong—but the story sounds the same. Please tell me you have an oath. Or do you have an aversion to wood? You know, a little Golden Age thing?”
The man, still spinning slightly, looks absolutely flabbergasted. “I don’t know what you mean,” he insists. “My name is Klem.”
“Just Klem?”
He nods.
I turn to Crossworld. “Does any of this make sense to you?”
“The part about Colonel Chaos capturing him sounds like a classic Bill Fairborne maneuver. Other than that, I’m lost. If they can defeat the Kiltechs…”
“I’m not looking to trade one overlord for another,” I say. “I don’t know anything about these guys.”
Crossworld smiles. “And so you put your faith in me? Entrust me with this decision?”
“Hell, no. You’re just the only person here to bounce it off.”
“Then the decision is yours.”
My mind tries to process the flashing lights and meters on the console, but I don’t understand any of it. “I could use Dad right now,” I whisper. A red panel has the distinctive look of a “do not touch” button.
I press it, and the green beam from the spire closest to me fizzles. In an instant, three quick bursts of concussive orange energy destroy the remaining posts. Our visitor still floats in midair, this time under his own power.
“An Orange Band, an Orange Sight/Guiding Power, Orange Light/Orange Bands Unite, Rejoice!/In Orange Power and Orange Voice!”
“So he does have an oath,” I say to Crossworld. “You know, I think it comes off better in the comics.”
Klem’s bodysuit glows bright orange. “Thank you.” His voice sounds deeper now, more commanding. “The Kiltechs forced our hand, and I was unable to stop them. I have been trapped for five years. The Band only knows what they’ve been doing all this time.”