In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition

by Michael Stackpole

  “And you chose not to believe.”

  “He was wrong.”

  I looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”

  Nighthaunt brooded, so my father filled the silence. “Nicholas and I both share a fate. Our parents were murdered in front of our eyes. He had a kindly butler who took care of him and raised him to be an upstanding young man and hero. I had an uncle who was a thief and worse. He raised me. Nicholas saw crime as a plague upon this city. I realized it was a consequence of the powerless wishing to assume some modicum of control over their lives. He approached crime his way, and I, mine.”

  “You made it worse, Doctor. You organized bumbling fools.”

  “Much as you’ve done now.”

  “No, this was different, completely different.” Nighthaunt sat forward, his cold laughter chilling my marrow. “People had lost track of what crime meant. Yes, it is a plague, but one they’d lived with for so long they forgot how deadly it could be. I had to remind them.”

  “Oh, but Nicholas, you remained willfully blind to reality.” Sinisterion paced before a giant replica of a Mercury Dime standing on edge. “I saw it coming. The backlash. There’s always a backlash. This is why I went international.”

  “You never saw this coming.”

  “Not the final direction, no, but it is delicious. Had I seen it, I never would have gone away.” My father looked at me. “He’s lied to you, my son. It’s not that crime has become low-grade and chronic, to torture that medical analogy, but because it has become entertainment. People no longer feared crime, they looked forward to it. They profited from it. Twenty percent of the jobs in Capital City can be traced directly to the industries that deal with the aftermath of crime, and there is no job that isn’t touched by it somehow. And it has become such a popular entertainment that someone like me can author a packet of lies, and have it rocket to the top of the bestseller lists. And you, Nicholas, you couldn’t even get a publisher for your memoirs, could you?”

  “People have lost sight of what is important, but they will regain their vision after tonight.”

  “But they will never see what you want them to see, will they?” Sinisterion leaned back against a small robotic velociraptor. “They’ve forgotten that Capital City was built on what was once Haste Island, haven’t they? And they don’t know who Thomas Haste was, despite the monuments you’ve raised, the university chairs you’ve endowed, the charitable foundations you fund. It’s all been for naught.”

  “They will remember. I will make them remember!”

  “But not the true story. You’ll make them remember the myth.”

  “That is the truth.” Nighthaunt stabbed a finger in my father’s direction. “It’s a pack of lies, what you know. Puma was wrong.”

  “No, Puma was right. You and my son have more in common than we do.”

  I shook my head. “Lies or truth, someone connect the dots.”

  “Nicholas?”

  “They’re your lies.”

  “Lies, my friend, are complex, but the truth is simple.” My father straightened up, taking on the air of a mortician’s professional solemnity. “Thomas Haste, beloved industrialist, scion of Capital City, made a fortune in the war. Arnold Chase, a lowly accountant in Haste Incorporated, found evidence that Haste Arms Limited had gouged our government and had been trading with fascist forces during the war.”

  Facts clicked in my brain. “They ran guns through Von Gurgen.”

  “Very good, my son. There are even rumors that the President’s death was accelerated to prolong the war, enabling Haste to continue profiteering. Poor Arnold, who admired Thomas Haste no end, came to him with the evidence, convinced Thomas Haste had known nothing of the dealings. Haste thanked him and rewarded him by asking Chase and his family to enjoy dinner at a restaurant of his choosing that evening. Haste made all the arrangements. Including the hiring of an assassin to murder Arnold.”

  “That is not true.”

  “But it is, and you know it. Ben Frost, my uncle, murdered your parents in retaliation. Letting you watch, he figured, was fair since I’d watched my parents die.” My father’s eyes became dark slits. “But you didn’t know any of that, did you, until Puma sent you a note. What did he say?”

  Nighthaunt stood, his cape shrouding him. “He commended your son to me, and asked me not to prejudge him, because he and I had come from the same situation.”

  “Yes, your fathers were both arch criminals.”

  “My father was not a criminal!” Nighthaunt’s shout reverberated and unseen bats flapped to more peaceful roosts. “This town would be nothing if not for my father. If would be nothing if not for my family. We created it, we built it. It is our city. It is my city. The old ways are gone. We will have peace and law and order because that is the way I will it to be!”

  His hand came out from beneath his cape. He pointed a thick black cylinder at my father. Even as I drew and threw a shock rod, Nighthaunt hit a button. A black beam swept out, blasting my father from sight.

  The shock rod flew true and knocked the cylinder from Nighthaunt’s hand.

  His other hand whipped forward. Three of the older, lethal Spookstars spun at me. One hit directly over my insignia, but the ceramic trauma plate stopped it. The other two whirled off into the darkness.

  I balled a fist. “Don’t imagine you’ll win.”

  “Blood will out.” He leaped from the throne and attacked. He threw move after move at me. Savate, Krag Mava, aikido and straight-out karate. His arms and legs blurred. He came fast and, for a man of his years, extraordinarily so. I dodged most of the attacks, and blocked a few others. A couple of punches connected, but only glancing, and the mask absorbed the shock well.

  I waited until I had his measure, then counter-attacked. I came at him straight forward, aiming kicks low. I had age on my side. I could hit harder, and his bones would break easier. I’d have added more punches to the mix, but my left hand wouldn’t cooperate.

  We battled back and forth before his throne. Ducking, dodging, spinning and then attacking, we moved round and round. I tagged him with a punch and a kick, the latter catching him right over his big belt buckle. He retreated and rubbed his middle.

  I went for him.

  It was about halfway there that I realized the truth of the saying “Old age and treachery will beat youth and beauty.” Not that I was that young or beautiful anymore, but he was ancient and steeped in treachery. I aimed a kick at his right knee, but he whirled to the side, then flicked his cape over my face. I grabbed at it and yanked, tearing it from his neck, leaving me blind with both hands full of fabric.

  A kick to the back of my right knee dropped me. He pounced, slamming with both knees on my chest. Ribs groaned. Two punches full in the face. And then, as the cape came away, he nailed my wounded hand with an elbow.

  Pain arced, jolting me. That gave him all the time he needed. Nighthaunt yanked my cowl back, then pounded me again and again. Three more shots, blackening my eye, cutting my cheek and splitting my lip. Lights shimmered. He slammed my head into the stone floor.

  He raised his fist one more time. “My city. Mine. Not a place for your ilk.”

  I spat blood, staining his ghostly insignia. “The same ilk, remember.”

  His fist fell.

  I met it with my other shock rod. I hit the button.

  Nighthaunt grabbed the rod and laughed. “Insulated.”

  “You’re not the first.” I cranked the handle. The spikes shot out.

  Spikes caught the Kevlar of his gloves, but didn’t penetrate flesh. He shook his head. “Armored.”

  I tugged the handle toward me and twisted again. “I’ve been waiting for that, too.”

  The battery immediately discharged all its energy into a second set of coils, turning the shock rod into a powerful magnet. Before Nighthaunt could rip his hand free, the shock rod yanked him up and back. It mashed his hand against his statue’s ankle. Various loose pieces of metal flew through the
air. A Spookstar clanged against the rod and a fragment from the pendulum kissed his ribs.

  Then the charged failed.

  Nighthaunt dropped into a crouch. He pulled the shock rod from his glove as if it were nothing more than a burr. He studied the weapon for a second. “Live by the shock rod and you’ll die by it.”

  I swiped at blood and got up unsteadily. “You’re a murderer, just like your father.”

  He snarled and came for me. I’d expected the remark would enrage him. Getting him too furious to think was my only chance of winning.

  As chances go, it turned out to be pretty crappy. I went to dodge and slipped on his discarded cape. I went down to one knee. Nighthaunt rose above me. “Now my city will be safe!” He branded my spike-festooned shock rod high in both hands, ready to dash my brains out.

  Another Spookstar whirled through the air. Nighthaunt staggered. The shock rod clattered to the ground. He stepped back, a hand falling to his throat. He pulled the blade free and stared at it, disbelieving.

  I don’t know what he wanted to say. His words came in red bubbles.

  Redhawk limped off the pendulum shaft. “I had to. You’re not Nick. You’re not Nighthaunt. Not anymore.”

  Nighthaunt’s hand went to his utility belt.

  I swept his legs

  He dropped onto his back.

  And right on top of the shock rod.

  Nighthaunt’s body tensed, then slackened. It twitched a couple times, then Nicholas Haste lay still.

  Redhawk helped me to my feet. “How did your father…?”

  “That wasn’t my father.” Shaking my head, I wandered over to the robot dinosaur and knelt beside Sinisterion’s body. I brought both his hands together, palm to palm, and twisted. My father’s shape quivered, then melted as nanites retreated into the rings.

  Selene smiled and sat up. “That ray locked the costume, otherwise I would have done more.”

  “You did everything that needed to be done.” I smiled, despite my face hurting. “Blue Ninja know you borrowed her rings?”

  “She gave them to me, and reprogrammed them to look and sound like your father.” Selene stood and caressed my swollen cheek. “I figured Nick would be willing to confront his old foe, and I’d get a shot at him. You and Greg just got here first.”

  “How did you know it was him?”

  “Nick once showed me a painting he’d done. It was of Capital City. Very clean, everyone well dressed. I asked if it was from his childhood. He said it was his vision for the future. He said it was how he wanted to see his city again. That sense of possession stuck with me. The only man who would have the resources to remake a city was Nick, and only Nighthaunt had the skill to break the city.”

  “What made you think of that?”

  “The painting hangs the hospital lobby.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know if anyone else had figured it out, so I talked to Blue Ninja and here I am.”

  “And the family histories?”

  “Puzzled together from things I’d heard over the years. Didn’t click until I heard you talk about your father after he died.” She kissed my cheek. “And Nick was wrong. You’re not alike. Not in the least.”

  I led her back to where Redhawk stood over his fallen mentor. I squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “I just couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t let him murder you.” He shook his head. “I just wish there had been another way.”

  “There wasn’t.” I hooked my good hand around the back of Redhawk’s neck. “He’d trained himself to save the city from one problem: crime. It was his whole being, and then circumstances all changed. His training was useless. He tried to make a comeback and failed. No one appreciated him or his father or his family. He didn’t lose a career, he lost his life and legacy. He desperately wanted all of it back.”

  “Oh, Nick.” Redhawk shivered. “If anyone could have seen this coming...”

  “One man did.”

  Greg frowned. “Who?”

  “Nighthaunt. Think about it. If he’d wanted to, he could have done all of this without pitting you and Constitution and me against each other. In doing that, in forcing us to come together, he gave us a chance to see what was really going on. Even though Nick had given himself over to his Mr. Big personality, what was left of Nighthaunt still sought to bring him down.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure if that was true, but Greg accepted it with a weary nod. “It makes as much sense as any of this.”

  I got beneath one of Greg’s arms and Selene the other. “It was as you said. He wasn’t Nick. He certainly wasn’t Nighthaunt. We’ll leave Mr. Big here, at the feet of the man who ultimately was his undoing.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  We piled into the Chaser and raced back into the city. Cruising down into the Fishkyll River valley some fire was visible–most notably around City Hall–but there was far less of it than I would have expected. We came across the Allen bridge and headed directly west toward City Hall. Getting close, travel slowed because we no longer drove through empty streets.

  Citizens walked those streets, and walked them with purpose. I expected the destruction to shock them into zombies, or gawkers with video cameras recording everything in hopes of selling the footage later. Even armed individuals, carrying bats and sticks, out to exact justice, that would have made sense.

  But we saw nothing like that. Sure, here and there a gang member marched with his arms up within a cadre of citizens, but somehow the criminal looked more relieved than aggrieved. The citizens, as they gathered, greeted each other cordially, then moved together toward the locus of trouble. Along the way they gathered debris and litter, piling bricks together, dumping trash in the baskets they set right again. Several men undertook to straighten a street sign, and others lifted a car from the sidewalk and replaced it on the street.

  I pulled the Chaser over. Selene freed the nanites again, but shifted things to take the form of The Scarlet Fox. Redhawk pointed at the Murdoch in a tavern’s window. We exited the car to take a closer look.

  The Murdoch randomly scrolled through channels, but the image remained constant. It displayed the destruction wrought–shots taken from various private and municipal security cameras. Direct feeds from Terry’s armor, or Red Angel’s, supplemented the footage. The images revealed a ravaged city, but also a city where law was winning against the criminal element.

  Jimmy’s voice narrated. “Citizens of Capital City, these are the images you’re not supposed to see. This is what has been done to your city. You have to get out and help. You have to support the life you want to live. You can’t wait for heroes, you must be heroes. You know what to do. All the triumph of evil requires is that good men do nothing. The defeat of evil requires good people to do something. Act for your city. Act now.”

  I keyed my radio. “Guardian, what’s happening?”

  “Mopping up. It’s all good.”

  “And the Murdochs?”

  “It’s the kid. He takes this command and control thing seriously.”

  A guy in a flannel shirt and a Metropolitans hoodie came walking over. “Yo, Redhawk, man, thanks for the help. Got ‘em on the run, right?”

  Redhawk smiled. “Yeah, everyone’s pitching in, thanks.”

  “Cool, cool.” The citizen jerked a thumb back at a knot of young men and women. “Me and my crew, we want to do our part, you know. We was going to City Hall.”

  “So are we.”

  “Mind if we tag…? He didn’t wait for an answer. He and his people got out in front of us and started clearing the way. “Hey, heroes, coming through. Show some respect.”

  Crowds parted and a parade formed behind us. Kids marched along side. Well, they marched along side me because they were trailing Redhawk and the Fox. People started cheering those two as if they were the mayor and first lady. Someone finally did ask my name. I replied.

  It spread through the crowd as “and Redhawk’s sidekick, Revenant….”

  Po
lice had restored order at City Hall. Criminals all sat peacefully on the lawn by the fountain, with the police forming a cordon around them. Citizens gathered and stacked bricks–and not a single one flew toward the criminals, not even Mephistopheles. Over on the far side folks lined up to have their pictures taken standing on the giant robot’s crushed skull, all nice and orderly, with no one even thinking of charging for the honor.

  Redhawk mounted the City Hall steps. A big cheer went up. Despite his ankle, he made the long hike without complaint and shook hands with Golden Guardian and Coyote there at the top. Red Angel, Blue Ninja, Puma, Vixen and the others appeared to accept accolades. Gravilass, Gravé and Karate King took a bow as a unit.

  Our self-appointed phalanx leader called out for a speech, but Redhawk waved that away. “Speeches are for politicians. This is a time for heroes. Heroes save their breath for hard work.” And with that he limped back down the stairs and started cleaning up.

  And the citizens, following his example, saved their own city.

  Over the next couple of days we were able to put together a few of the things that marked the point when Nicholas Haste finally snapped. Ethelred had probably discovered he was Mr. Big and tried to stop him. Mr. Big killed Ethelred, transforming Nick into the murderous image of his father. His prohibition against murder thus destroyed, he had no compunction against ordering Selene’s death. She had, after all, rejected him when he’d offered to marry her and become Vicki’s father.

  The Tony Ramoso connection also straightened itself out. Nick had singled him out for attention because Ramoso had rejected the chance to play Nick Haste in a biopic. Ramoso had reportedly said he couldn’t understand why they wanted to do the pic, since the man clearly couldn’t sustain a normal relationship with women, and had lived his life in the company of his childhood nanny.

  Nick set Ramoso up for the compromising photos, but that hadn’t been enough. He pointed Panda-moanium at the actor and when Ramoso survived that ordeal, Nick decided to use him. He’d later expose him, tarnishing the actor and Puma both.