by David Reiss
On an emotional level, the idea of vengeance was appealing. On all other levels, however, I was forced to agree with the Red Ghost: objectively, the greater good for society would be better served if an emotionally stable Titan were returned to active duty.
“I’ll begin work on my end,” I said and then ended the call.
◊◊◊
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“You’ve gotta to believe me,” Randy objects as the handcuffs were tightened. “None of that is mine, I have no idea how any of that shit got in there!”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the uniformed officer continued, clearly exasperated. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
Synthesizing the moderately large amount of LSD that the police had found in a shoe-box under Randy’s bed had taken almost a month. Twenty-nine days of pretending that I didn’t remember what had happened that evening, that I didn’t know that Randy and his friends had stripped me to my underwear and left me, barely conscious, in the courtyard at the center of MIT campus. Twenty-nine days of helping Randy with his homework and working as his lab partner.
Twenty-nine days of surreptitiously gathering fingerprints and samples of Randy’s handwriting. Every little baggy is marked with damning fabricated evidence. As is the sales ledger that will eventually be found in his backpack.
Randy struggles to twist and face the policeman who is holding his wrists, “I don’t do drugs! Ask anyone!”
A urine test will reveal trace amounts of marijuana, cocaine, LSD, and heroin. Randy always carries a water bottle with him when he shows up to class, and he made the mistake of leaving it untended while he was chatting up a pretty girl during o-chem lab.
“Do you understand the rights I just read to you?” The officer asks. “Maybe you still wanna talk?”
“I’ve never seen any of that stuff in my life,” Randy repeats, eyes wide in confused panic. “It’s not mine!”
The officer releases a long-suffering sigh, “Look, kid, we might be able to make a deal if you tell me who your supplier is.”
“I’m being set up!”
“Okay then. Let’s take a ride. C’mon.”
Randy continues to complain as the officer walks him out, away from the surveillance equipment that I’d hidden in the room. I smile, satisfied, and set down my earphones. “Maybe you can’t change the entire world,” I remember my Dad telling me. “But you can fix your little part of it. Find a way to win.”
One down, three to go.
◊◊◊
Clues found in the Ancient’s painting led me to an old library where I found a nondescript ledger hidden under one of the stacks. On a purely academic level, the ledger was a remarkable find. A quick skim through the contents did not reveal any obvious clues; it was, however, an interesting read.
The Ancient may have been an irredeemable monster, but he’d been an academically rigorous monster who documented his thought processes, successes, and failures. While a few of the studies were horrifically depraved, the majority had been almost mundane: a curious (and completely amoral) mind exploring the intersections between magic and science. At the Ancient’s last trial, the prosecuting attorney had submitted photo after photo of the ornate drainage systems in the villain’s vivisection room; much less focus had been placed on the horticulture or materials science laboratories in the same compound.
Sadly, the ledger was incomplete; I would need to find the Ancient’s hidden library to learn more. Fortunately, I had an idea where further information might be found.
◊◊◊
The previous night had been spent rescuing New Orleans families from flooding; hurricane season was still in full swing. I wasn’t the only villain assisting in the rescue efforts this time—Don Voudon had recently escaped from prison again—and there were a half dozen heroes working as well. The Governor of Louisiana was loathe to spend money on repairing crumbling infrastructure, but at least he was quick to eliminate any legal obstacles that might prevent superpowered visitors from providing free support.
Blueshift had been there. I’d never actually met him before; by all accounts, he was deathly afraid of me. There were alternate dimension shenanigans involved and I’d never delved deep enough to uncover a complete explanation. From what I’d gathered, he was an immigrant from an alternate future dimension and the histories surrounding his world’s Doctor Fid were sufficiently daunting that he avoided me like the plague.
But New Orleans was his town, and his Fidphobia was apparently insufficient to keep him from offering help to his people. When I offered assistance in towing a boat full of flood victims to safety, he’d been terse but polite.
And so it had been a tiring night, followed by a day at the office filled with interminably long teleconferences. I took a nap before donning the Mk 36b medium-duty armor and heading towards the night’s target.
For more than a decade, Imperator Rex had been unchallenged in his reign over Chicago’s underworld. The third most populous city in the United States and he’d been so fearsome that no other major supervillain dared operate in his territory. There were rumors that he was so powerful that even the mighty Valiant did not dare to face him.
That proved to be untrue; seven years ago, Imperator Rex attempted to rob the Smithsonian and Valiant had beat him like a drum. Imperator Rex had been entombed in a super-max prison ever since.
It always seemed odd that some villains were able to slip from their bonds with impunity, traipsing in and out of jail as though the walls and barbed wire were of no import, while others were caught and stayed caught. I would never have guessed that Imperator Rex would be in the latter category, but life sometimes had a way of surprising me in that fashion.
The Mk 36b bulleted through the night sky from Boston to Chicago to see if Whisper’s hypothesis as to the location of the Chicago-based villain’s lair was correct. Somewhere, Imperator Rex had hidden a significant trove of Ancient artifacts; I meant to find them.
I’d debated using the Mk 37 for this journey, but the fall of Imperator Rex must surely have precipitated the rise of other villains who’d have snapped up power and influence in the region, which in turn would have attracted professional heroes and unlicensed vigilantes to combat the chaos. The odds of Doctor Fid being drawn into an unexpected battle were greater in this city than in most others. A truce declared with one local authority might cause another to lash out; I had little understanding of the local politics and the likelihood that I might negotiate my way free of conflict was uncertain. Of all my functional armors, the Mk 36b was best suited for combat in an urban environment.
When in doubt, the capacity for violence would always trump diplomatic skill.
Strangely, as I approached the city the only aerial surveillance that I was able to detect was the Federal Aviation Administration’s radar systems. I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed on the local heroes’ and villains’ behalf. Even without Imperator Rex’s guidance, I would have expected at least some proactive warning measures! If they hadn’t wanted to invest in one of Professor Paradigm’s full-spectrum monitoring systems, they could at least have purchased a more generic model from Paragon Research. I’d long since developed technologies to overcome those devices, of course, but other lesser threats might have been identified.
Even with the middling stealth capabilities of the Mk 36b, I floated unchallenged into the city of Chicago. My target was downtown, in the Loop. I kept expecting a trap: for sirens to blare and floodlights to snap on. Sadly, there was no resistance from the city below. Just the normal traffic and activity one would expect from a city of this size.
Once upon a time, this region of Chicago had been perforated with a complex web of tunnels forty feet below the city, used to transport coal and other sundries. They were abandoned now, and some routes had been flooded. I dropped into the water with barely a splash and followed the Chicago
River inland to the DuSable Bridge.
A block or so southwest, I knew, there was a truly wonderful steakhouse. In the guise of Terry Markham, I’d exploited their truly excellent ribeye to woo a potential employee away from the University of Chicago. Alas, they were surely closed by this hour. I was also reasonably certain that they did not have seats sufficiently reinforced to support the Mk 36b.
For now, I scanned the dark depths for an entrance. Supposedly, there was an open tunnel here that allowed water to flow south past the Field Museum. I’d never taken this path before and the records had been poorly kept, but the entryway was eventually located. Still, I detected no hint that my arrival had been noticed.
I drifted my way under Chicago.
The arched tunnels were oddly small—perhaps seven feet from floor to ceiling—and there were iron tracks still laid upon the ground. Pipes, now decayed, ran along the tunnel’s apex. Whatever carts or trains had once been employed to carry mail and coal through these tunnels, they must have been low slung. Navigating these tunnels felt tight in the Mk 36b; the Mk 35 wouldn’t have been able to fit at all.
The tunnel branched three ways, and then another three. I deployed microdrones to explore and map what passageways hadn’t been closed off, but Whisper’s research had already suggested which twists and turns I should follow. Deep beneath Grant Park, I began to slide west. I passed two tunnels that had been sealed by the city and later re-opened by criminals; the water level dropped as the tunnel followed an incline and I floated now through air. From here, the path was less obvious; effort had been made to disguise the route. If I’d had to rely solely upon flashlight and visible light, I would likely have been at a loss. Fortunately, my armor’s built-in scanners were capable of far better. I located the hidden passageway and, still dripping, found myself at a locked door.
Beyond this door was a sub-basement originally connected to one of the city’s most beautiful theaters. Construction (and graft) had seen entire sections of the building walled off and completely disconnected from the public’s eye. According to Whisper’s research, Chicago’s most infamous supervillain had taken one such chamber to use as secure storage.
There were still no hints of surveillance or monitoring. This was simply unprofessional. A steel reinforced door and two admittedly-well-constructed deadbolt locks were all that stood between me and my goal. I could have simply battered my way through, but I picked the locks just to feel as though something useful had been accomplished.
And so I opened the door and was momentarily surprised when I stepped into what looked to be a living area; sonar and radar had both indicated an uninhabited storage locker. The loft-style room was well appointed with a cream carpeted floor, comfortable-looking furniture, a den, and a kitchen and dining area with hardwood flooring.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” said Imperator Rex as he closed the refrigerator door. “Would you like a drink, or should we proceed directly to your brutal murder?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I'd been operating the Mk 36b in blackout mode to avoid detection while flying over Chicago, so I believed it possible that Imperator Rex hadn’t recognized me. A thought was all that was needed for stars to fade into being within my armor and for the armor’s seams to allow an angry red glow to escape. Instead of seeming a random armored infiltrator, I was now Doctor Fid.
The infamous Chicago crimelord, dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt, seemed unmoved. His only adornment appeared to be a gold chain from which hung a stylized charm shaped like a hammer.
“I’ll take that drink,” I said. “We should talk.”
He grunted assent, re-opened the fridge and then tossed a can of cheap American beer to me. Behind my helm’s faceplate, I grimaced; in the interests of diplomacy, however, I opened the can’s top and extended a straw-like appendage from my forearm into the can.
Most of the truly strong superhumans had a tendency to look the part. Titan was nearly seven feet tall with a powerfully muscular build. Valiant was even taller and broader, a veritable god among men. Imperator Rex, on the other hand, was a slim man of average height and average build. He was an oddly unattractive fellow with dark hair and eyes, an olive complexion and a pencil-thin mustache; he was the sort of person who could disappear into a crowd, who could wander past in the grocery store line without attracting notice. Until one looked into his eyes. Imperator Rex had a quiet, malevolent confidence that was legitimately disturbing to behold. When he smiled, I imagined someone else’s blood between his teeth.
“Thank you. If I’d known that you were out of prison,” I began, “I would have called ahead.”
“If you’d known that I was out of prison,” he chuckled, grabbing a second can for himself but didn’t open it, “then we would have had other difficulties, you ’n me.”
“I hadn’t heard even a rumor,” I admired. “If your freedom was intended to be a secret, then you’ve succeeded admirably.”
“You’ll never hear a word. My people know how to keep their mouths shut.” He bared his teeth in a self-satisfied smile.
If my hasty research was correct, then what he’d managed was truly remarkable; some unfortunate soul had been shipped off—and remained—in the black site prison, but that person could not be the supervillain before me. Imperator Rex had never set a foot in jail nor had he allowed a hint of this information to become public knowledge. Presumably, he’d lurked in the shadows and maintained an iron grip on his criminal empire this entire time.
As best as I could determine, the only opportunity for a body-double switch had been directly after the trial. Whoever was impersonating Imperator Rex must have been incredibly loyal to have upheld the ruse for so long.
“Impressive,” I said, and he looked smug.
“So. Fid. Whatcha want to talk about?”
Reluctantly, I consumed a mouthful of my beer. “I would like to negotiate access to a few artifacts that I believe to be in your possession.”
“You came here to steal from me, then. That’s good,” he smirked. “I thought you might be thinkin’ of takin’ me back in.”
“I came here to look, not take,” I lied. “And I’m not out to arrest anyone.”
“Yeah? The talk shows seem to think that you oughta add a white cape to that getup.”
“I’m no hero,” I growled, reflexively triggering the command that increased the red glow that seeped from the junctions of my armor. The angry glare boiled forth, trailing wisps of plasma like smoke. “I am Doctor Fid!”
“And I’m unimpressed.” He popped the tab on his beer and took a swig. “You’re in my home. Back the hell off.”
I lowered the intensity of my armor’s display. “My apologies. I didn’t intend any offense.”
“Yeah. Cause offending me ’d be stupid, and I never got the impression that you were stupid.” Again, he grinned viciously. “Crazy, maybe, but not stupid.”
“There’s no need for name-calling,” I replied softly, gesturing with both hands to indicate calm. “I’m here to do business.”
“Ok, sure. Sure, let’s go with that.” He took another swallow from his can. “You wanted to look at some stuff I own? Which stuff?”
“I wish to examine the artworks once owned by the Ancient.”
“Huh.” He set his can down on the kitchen counter. “You chasing fairy tales, now?”
“I am very good at puzzles and I have no interest in the Ancient’s lost treasure. All I want is his library.” Both of us knew that the Ancient’s scavenger hunt was no fairy tale; I’d found hints already, and the answers might be found in objects that Imperator Rex had gathered years before. “If you let me inspect your collection, then I will give you the lion’s share of whatever spoils I uncover.”
“That sounds like a good deal,” Imperator Rex said, stretching slowly. “But I’m goin’ to have to decline.”
I tilted my head, confused. “If you wish some payment up front, I’m certain that we can come to an accord.”
“That doesn’t seem like an equitable arrangement.” I was more surprised than angry; when last we’d met, he’d treated me like a respected peer. For a brief moment, I wondered if this were the impostor and the true Imperator Rex was imprisoned after all…but no. This man’s maddening, predatory smirk could not have been duplicated.
“There’s no ‘equal’ here,” Imperator Rex spat, then visibly reigned his temper. “Here’s the thing: I’ve been watching the news, ’n you’ve been saving people left ’n right ’n it started with a kid. So I figure, whoever’s inside that star-covered tin can has a family now, ’n you’ve gone soft. No shame in that; it happened to some of my best men. But those guys don’t work for me no more, ’n they definitely don’t set terms.”
“I showed up unannounced, and I think that we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. Fortunately, the Mk 36b’s vocoder limited how much anger was transmitted aloud. “But I should warn you-”
“Naw, Fid, I’m warnin’ you. You give me what I want, or maybe I find your family ’n do to them what I did to Governor Culver’s!”
I stilled. “Is that your final offer?”
“Damned right,” he replied, smiling as though he knew what was about to happen.
I summoned my scepter and the red gem at its handle blazed like a dying sun…but Imperator Rex was already moving, impossibly fast, and I wasn’t in position to block his first punch. A flash of yellow-white energy erupted from his fist at the moment of impact on my solar plexus and I was blown backwards with enough force that the poured-concrete-and-rebar wall disintegrated, and bedrock fractured against the Mk 36b’s back. I responded with a blast of kinetic energy aimed from my scepter; the superpowered gangster was driven to one knee but laughed mockingly nonetheless.