by David Reiss
My brows furrowed. “And what’s that?”
“You didn’t say that you’d only do good things.”
“Oh,” I replied, and the word tasted like ash.
“If you tell me…” she offered, her synthetic voice sounding very small and young. “If you tell me, I’ll believe you.”
“I know you would,” I nodded sadly. “And I wouldn’t promise it if I didn’t mean it.”
“…you’re not going to promise, are you?”
“I can’t.”
Nyx sensed his mistress’ distress and licked at her fingers comfortingly, his ears and little tail held low. Whisper’s own expression was tortured as she whimpered, “You would’ve promised Bobby.”
Doctor Fid had endured a long and painful career. I’d been beaten near to death dozens of times, pummeled and mutilated and crushed and twisted in ways that beggar the imagination. And yet, I wasn’t certain that I’d ever been skewered quite so adeptly.
“You’re probably right,” I grimaced, eyes burning with unshed tears. “But I would have been lying to him, and lying to myself. I’m hoping that I’m a better big brother now.”
She crawled into my arms and I hugged her tight; we comforted each other, even though we both knew that nothing had truly been resolved.
“I’m still afraid,” Whisper eventually murmured.
“As am I,” I chuckled painfully. “I can’t make the promise you want to hear, but I can promise I’ll try.”
“Maybe that’ll be good enough,” Whisper replied, but she didn’t sound convinced.
I wasn’t convinced, either.
◊◊◊
With Whisper (and Nyx) visiting her friend Dinah, the house felt far too quiet. I’d lived alone on that property for more than a decade before Whisper came into my life; how had I failed to notice how oppressively silent the halls were?
Fortunately, an alert notified me that my new appendages had finished growing. The teleport platform hidden in my office allowed me to escape the mute prison and find my way to the medical facility in the Appalachian mountains instead.
Even though only one leg had been ruined in the battle against the Ancient’s squidmonster, I’d decided that the other might as well be amputated as well. It would, after all, be easier to maintain even wear upon the new parts if the replacements were performed symmetrically. I’d already programmed my surgical automatons to perform the operation, so it was merely an issue of scheduling the procedure. And there was no time like the present: I’d arranged for a vacation day from the office and would be able to spend twenty-four hours floating in a recovery tank while the nanites in my bloodstream worked to make final adjustments and repairs.
Feeling heartbroken and confused about my conversation with Whisper had no effect upon my choice to spend the next day in a drugged coma. The opportunity was only a happy coincidence.
◊◊◊
“You’re not a hero,” the Red Ghost graveled angrily, the eyes of his cowl narrowed to slits.
“This is true,” I agreed, ensconced within the Mk 38 and floating lower to settle on the ground; the Ghost had summoned me to the now familiar abandoned warehouse near the docks, and I’d arrived as soon as could be managed. “Why did you want to talk? Is there a problem with scheduling Titan’s treatment?”
“You’re not going to try and defend yourself?” The hero spat, ignoring my question, with an expression twisted between fury and puzzled betrayal.
I was equally bewildered. “Defend what?”
The tension in his shoulders made me grateful for the impulse to scan for weapons and reinforcements before I’d dropped from the sky; we’d formed a tentative partnership, he and I, but at that moment I worried that this meeting would end in blows. That the Red Ghost had left behind his more powerful armaments was a positive sign, but he was a tremendously resourceful opponent.
I silently increased my shields’ intensity in preparation against a surprise attack…just in case.
“Cloner, Blueshift, Valiant…they all came to me and asked if I thought you were still a villain.” He closed his hands into trembling fists. His Chilango accent was more pronounced when he was enraged. “I defended you, damn it!”
“I’ve never lied to you about what I am. Not even once!” When I was wearing my armor—when I was Doctor Fid—my instinct was usually to inflict violence upon the source of any undesired emotion. And I certainly did not enjoy confusion. Nevertheless, I unsummoned the warstaff that had somehow found its way into my hand and dismissed the energy that had been building in my gauntlets. My occasional nemesis was seething, barely rational; I’d rarely seen him in such a state, and it was disturbing to think that I was the unintentional cause. Causing intentional emotional harm to an opponent was one thing. Doing so by accident was unconscionable.
“You let all of us believe that you’d changed!” the Red Ghost declared, glaring as though he’d gained a new superpower to inflict judgment upon me.
“If you didn’t bring me here to talk about Titan’s treatment,” I snapped defensively, “then I have no idea what we’re even talking about.”
There was a long, tense silence before the Red Ghost bit out, “I was asked to assist in an investigation in Chicago. I think you know what I discovered”.
Ah. “You found Imperator Rex.”
“I found Imperator Rex’s killer.”
My fury dissipated and was replaced with curiosity; I hadn’t thought that I’d left any evidence behind. At the moment, however, I doubted that my accuser would feel comfortable setting aside his animosity to explain his forensic techniques.
“What would you have me say?” I asked softly.
“I want you to give me a reason—any reason—why I shouldn’t see you arrested!”
“I’ll provide two reasons. First…I made every attempt to avoid conflict and was acting in self-defense. Second, while I have some level of respect for you as an opponent…” The stars within my armor began to swirl. “…I would resist arrest. Vigorously.”
Some of the indignance slipped from his demeanor. “The battle started in Imperator Rex’s living quarters; it looked as though you’d surprised him there.”
His sense of betrayal made more sense, now. The Red Ghost had examined the evidence and concluded that I’d traveled to Chicago with the intent to commit cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder; that would not be a sin that he would easily forgive. An unintended fatality, however…that, he would treat differently: as a tragedy rather than a contemptible decision. For my own part, I saw it less as an unfortunate turn of events, and more as an inevitable consequence. In either case, it was gratifying to realize that the Red Ghost seemed quick to take me at my word.
Both of us often failed to reveal our whole truths. We chose our words carefully, we manipulated and twisted each sentence to our own advantage…but we didn’t lie outright. It was a strange relationship, but it was almost like trust.
“I hadn’t been expecting violence at all,” I reassured. “I was negotiating access to view a few works of art in his possession.”
The scarlet-clad hero paused and gave me a considering stare, eyes unfocused as though attempting to peer at the man behind the distant stars contained in my mask. “The Ancient’s lost treasure is a myth,” he eventually smirked. “I wouldn’t have thought Doctor Fid to chase after fairy tales.”
I hadn’t realized that the legend had been known to the heroic community at all, but I’d forgotten that Cloner had been a long-time patron at Lassiter’s Den; who knew how much gossip Cloner had gathered and spread to other spandex-clad do-gooders? I imagined that the Red Ghost had researched some of the items that Skullface had gathered and recognized the connection.
“No myth,” I conceded, rewarding the Red Ghost’s rather impressive logical leap with honesty. “I found the Ancient’s remains. When I’ve completed my research, I intend on donating the majority of the recovered artifacts to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.”
Not the gold and sil
ver bullion, of course. I was certain that a more productive use would eventually be found for those riches.
The Red Ghost chuckled wryly and rolled his eyes. “I should have known.”
“I wasn’t certain when I began my search,” I admitted, moderately embarrassed.
“And yet, you found it. Hundreds of seekers before you, and you unburied a legend in only a few months’ time.”
“There are certain tasks at which I excel.”
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “For the accusation, earlier.”
“It wasn’t unwarranted.”
“It was…unkind. Truthfully, I’d come here hoping that I’d misinterpreted the evidence.”
In retrospect, that seemed obvious. The Red Ghost had no weapons that could possibly have overcome my defenses and my scanners did not detect any other reinforcements near enough to impede my retreat. Had violence erupted, the Red Ghost would have had no choice save to escape to the safety of his mist form until I’d flown away. And yet, he’d stated that he would see me arrested.
The realization struck like lightning.
“You’ve discovered my civilian identity,” I said, and my armor’s vocoder stripped the weary resignation from my voice.
He startled then relaxed when no attack seemed imminent. ”Yes. I have.”
There was a long moment of silence as I considered the ramifications. A quick scan of the Internet using my neural tap saw no hint of negative press at AH Biotech, nor did a scan of my home’s security cameras reveal any approaching police. However the Ghost intended to use his information, the information hadn’t been made public yet.
I rather liked the Red Ghost, but sudden and complete annihilation was still tempting. I was, unfortunately, very certain that the meticulous crimefighter before me had taken precautions to discourage that option. If I chose that bloody path, he would surely have engineered a pre-planned means for my identity to be revealed in a catastrophic manner.
I found myself already missing my too-quiet house and the endless meetings at AH Biotech, barbecues with my CTO, and bringing my adopted sister to the park to play with Nyx. The Ghost could take all of that away with a word. It was a sobering feeling. Was this what he’d felt when I had stood across from his home and woken him with a phone call? When I’d revealed Doctor Fid to be hiding in the shadows in the park where his nephews played? If so, I’d failed to gloat sufficiently; it must have been terrifying to the Red Ghost and I’d barely noticed. In my defense, I’d been drunk. Next time, I would be certain to bask more thoroughly in the thrill of victory. If ever there was to be a next time.
I resisted the urge to contact Whisper mentally; wherever she was, she deserved at least a few more moments of peace and happiness.
“How’d you know.” he asked suddenly, “that I’d figured it out?”
“We’ve fought many times, you and I.” Behind my black starfield mask, I felt a wry smile touch the corners of my lips. “You’ve never seemed the sort to bluff; you said you’d see me arrested but brought no means to defeat Doctor Fid. The threat would only have teeth if you thought you could reach me outside my armor.”
“Hm. I should have been more careful. I didn’t intend the grand revelation just yet.”
“Hoping to catch me unawares?”
“Honestly?” he grinned. “I was hoping to wake you up with a surprise phone call, the way that you did to me months ago. Turnabout is fair play.”
That didn’t sound like the actions of an enemy. Tit for tat is a game played by equals; against a more dedicated adversary, permanent solutions would be a wiser choice. For a moment, I felt something approaching hope…but that sensation faded as I realized that the sword of Damocles dangled overhead. If ever I stepped out of line, I would risk the destruction of a great many relationships that I’d come to value.
And perhaps that would be for the best. With choice ripped from my hands, I could be the creature Whisper wanted me to be! I could be Terry Markham, her brother and guardian. Fid’s bloody crusade could finally come to an end.
The mission would be over. Rage warred with relief, and I was genuinely uncertain which emotion would struggle to primacy.
“When did you make your discovery?” I asked, still reeling.
“I had suspicions after my cross-dimensional jaunt, but I didn’t know for certain until after you stepped in to protect Cherenkov.”
The Red Ghost had visited my house twice since he’d returned from that other world, and I hadn’t noticed a hint of wariness or misgivings. His acting abilities were impressive; he’d fooled even the scanners that I’d had watching for microexpressions and unconscious biological tells.
I was still pondering what connection he’d found when he tilted his head curiously, “Do you prefer ‘Greg’ or ‘Gregory’?”
Exhilaration and disappointment pounded through me like a physical wave, crushing the breath from my lungs. If not for my armor’s pre-programmed body-language control algorithms, I would have slumped in place.
“I prefer Doctor Fid,” I managed to reply, dizzily.
The Red Ghost—a former forensic accountant and one of the most competent investigators I’d ever faced—had uncovered the wrong identity!
“As you wish,” he chuckled, oblivious to the jarring shift in my mood.
I could imagine how it must have played out: In that other world, he’d met an adult Robert Markham—an alternate version of my deceased brother—and heard my fraternal analog’s last name being spoken aloud. Given that the Red Ghost claimed to have been in close contact with Valiant, it was likely that my disclosure in Chile had provided a timeline for the Ghost to begin his inquiry.
“Were there any problems scheduling Titan’s treatment?” I asked, as though nervously changing the subject.
The investigation would have spanned through mountains of old records to find information about the villain attack that had claimed the other world’s Fid…except that I had been exhaustive in my efforts to make minor changes to old newspaper and police records; instead of finding Terry Markham, the hero had followed the breadcrumbs and found my oldest false identity instead: Gregory Marcum, who’d been known as a reclusive inventor more than three decades prior and who had made a small fortune selling inventions to oil companies. Who’d disappeared for five years after Bobby’s death when Fid was at his maniacal worst.
Who’d resurfaced about the same time that Doctor Fid came out of retirement, and had acquired a job with the Department of Metahuman Affairs, and maintained that career for more than sixteen years…
“No,” the crimson garbed hero replied. “Everything looks to be proceeding smoothly. The slowest part seems to be working through the insurance paperwork.”
I’d written remarkably complex automated scripts to maintain that identity. Correspondences, occasional social media posts, the day to day workload required of an off-site data analyst…It was possible that an artificial intelligence like Whisper or Cuboid might uncover the ruse but no human observer would see the patterns. I’d made too many changes over the years and intervened manually when necessary.
“One of the many advantages of villainy: no paperwork to file.”
Even better was that there were many in the main office who would swear that they’ve met Gregory Marcum, even though the man had never existed.
(Simple social manipulation technique: “Hey, this is Greg from Records; I know I haven’t seen you since the Christmas party, but I need a favor…” If the message is ended with personal information—such as asking after the target’s son and remarking about how time flies—it is quite easy to convince someone that the fictional interaction at the Christmas party had been a friendly one. Over time, the target will invent a memory.)
“There are advantages to standing on my side of the line,” the Red Ghost eventually replied, a strange note of intensity and yearning in his voice. “You might find that you enjoyed it. In the long run, I think that you’d be welcomed.”
Gregory M
arcum had decades worth of history, begun long before Fid was even an idea; it was no wonder that the Red Ghost had been fooled. I hadn’t intended for that persona to be a decoy identity, but I’m not certain that I could have done better if the effort had been planned.
Doctor Fid and Terry Markham were both safe. AH Biotech was safe. Whisper was safe.
(Cherenkov would likely be viewed with suspicion for the rest of his heroic career. Ah, well.)
“There’s still a part of me that is a monster,” I warned. “I try to keep it chained, but don’t forget who and what I am.”
“You’re the man who defended the entire planet single-handed, who helped Valiant rescue a school-full of children, and who is working to repair my former team-leader’s sanity.”
“And saved a kitten,” I added, defeated.
“If you’re not a hero, then what are you?”
What was I? Exhausted and confused. Without any better answer to offer, I offered a polite farewell and launched back into the night.
◊◊◊
In science and math, I found my place of calm. Clarity. Also, the rationale behind the Ancient’s final missive became clear.
In the early days—the first journals, when curiosity and high ideals drove every decision—the Ancient had envisioned magic to be part science but also part art. A sorcerer, he felt, trained to focus his instinctive understanding of the flow of supernatural forces. Scholarship provided an outline, but nuanced intuition formed the structure of a supernatural working. He’d spent a lifetime exploring this link, making suppositions and rigorously testing his theories. Year after year, he’d stretched himself to his limit and beyond in search of perfecting his understanding.
I identified the pattern first: He’d had his observations backwards. It wasn’t that his instincts improved; instead, it was forces from outside our dimension that were gaining greater influence over his subconscious mind. The ‘sorcery’ that he’d come to revere was not the mastery of preternatural forces omnipresent in our world…it was merely another power caused by the interdimensional ripples set off by the Legion scientists centuries ago. A connection to dimensions so different from our own that there were no words that could adequately define the otherworldly laws of physics.