by David Reiss
I’d decided against adding hidden programming for the devices to eventually install subcranial explosives into Titan’s gray matter. Having endured such an explosion first hand, I was reluctant to share the experience. That particular mode of termination felt oddly intimate, personal; it was mine now and no one else’s.
There were no surprises; the microscopic machines would do their work. William offered the surgeon a grateful smile and retreated from the operating theater without a word.
When the neurosurgeon announced that the completed operation had been a success, no one cheered…but the release of tension was palpable. The young woman still talking to the priest burst into relieved tears.
After only a few weeks of recovery, the former leader of the Boston Guardian’s concussion-induced Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy would be a thing of the past. What the effect on his personality would be would take time to determine. I hoped that he would revert to the Titan of old: a dedicated, professional opponent. A proper leader for the superhero team stationed in Doctor Fid’s domain. Red Ghost would certainly welcome Titan’s return; the Ghost was competent enough, but he did not relish command.
“Thank you,” the object of my reverie said, emotion rendering his Chilango accent more pronounced than usual. “Titan could have killed you during the kidnapping rescue, yet immediately you volunteered your company’s resources to make this possible. You’re a good man, Doctor Markham.”
“Thank you for saying so,” I chuckled, shaking his offered hand. “But really, it’s just enlightened self-interest. Boston will be safer when the Guardians are back at full force.”
There had been some minor unrest since the citizens of Boston had been released from Skullface’s stasis crystal; there’d been no riots, but the people were rightfully disturbed. There was anger and distrust, and the heroes were working harder than usual to ensure the public that they were protected.
The Ghost smiled and clapped me on the shoulder in a friendly manner, then returned to conversing with his fellow Guardians. With little else to do, I took my leave.
The hospital was a place of healing, and the creature roiling underneath Terry Markham’s skin did not feel comfortable here.
◊◊◊
There existed no reasonable means to attend in person, but I streamed audio and video from microdrones that had sneaked into the church and been spread throughout the estate where the reception was held. The wedding was lovely.
The service wasn’t lavish, but the amount of care and affection that had gone into every aspect of the ceremony was readily apparent. Miguel (the Red Ghost) and Elaine (Regrowth) had written their own vows; they were so poignant that the bride’s mother burst into tears. Members of both the Espinoza and Goldman families got along fabulously, all smiles and laughter and immediate friendship.
There was so much joy in that reception hall that it hurt to look upon.
As a wedding gift to Regrowth, one of my drones had delivered a ‘To Go’ bag with a sample of the painkiller she had jokingly stated that she wanted more of after our unsuccessful collaboration against Skullface (and the formula to reproduce it if she so desired). To the Red Ghost, I offered up several medical and safety technologies that his company could claim to have reverse engineered and thus offer to the public.
It wasn’t certain that the Red Ghost would accept the gift. I hadn’t acted with my usual care when tracking down and slaughtering Skullface’s second in command; footage of Doctor Chaise’s ruined corpse had made the rounds of the news programs, and Doctor Fid was feared once more.
Even though the first of the new replacement armors was complete, I’d been reluctant to seek out the Red Ghost to defend my actions. What justification could I offer? The way I’d killed Dr. Chaise hadn’t been the act of a penitent man seeking redemption for past evils; it was a vicious, calculated choice made by a monster. That I’d been mad with grief and fear for Whisper was no exoneration. For some acts, there can be no excuse.
For a while, I thought, there’d been a seed of respect and friendship between the Red Ghost and Doctor Fid. That sprout had now withered, and whenever the hero and villain next met it would be as adversaries. In the end, this shift was likely for the best. I wished Miguel and his new wife every bit of happiness that they could squeeze from this world.
They deserved better than for Doctor Fid to hold any non-adversarial role in their lives.
◊◊◊
I’d deployed microdrones to infiltrate a New York hospital as well.
“You okay?” Cloner asked. This was one of his bodies that I hadn’t seen before: willowy and slim with dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing his old costume, the one he’d used before his retirement. I’d once owned action-figures with that blue and gray color scheme.
“I’m fine,” Cherenkov replied bravely. His bandages would need to be replaced soon; the wound on his chest was apparently still oozing and the gauze was developing a sickly yellow tone. “How’s Exbow?”
“We got her out in time,” Cloner smiled. “You saved her life.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah, me too. She’s a good kid.”
“She’s the same age I am,” the wounded young hero whined.
“You’re a good kid, too.”
“Whatever you say, old man.” Cherenkov grinned and then winced as he shifted on the bed.
“It was a brave thing you did,” Cloner praised. “No one would have blamed you if you hadn’t leapt in right then.”
“I would have blamed me,” Cherenkov whispered.
For a while, both heroes were quiet.
“You familiar with John Wooden?” Cloner inquired suddenly.
“Huh? No…who’s that?”
“He was a basketball coach out in California. I guess he was before your time, infant.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“He once said, ‘The true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one’s watching’.”
“Huh,” Cherenkov replied, though he looked confused. “I like that. A basketball coach said that?”
“Yeah. All the philosophers played hoops back in the day.” Cloner winked to let the patient know that he was kidding. “Y’know, you took a damn near impossible risk…you came out of nowhere.”
“I had to or else it wouldn’t’ve worked.”
“I know. The point is…No one was watching you, ‘n I think I know a bit more about your character now.”
Cherenkov looked embarrassed. “Thanks.”
“You’n I haven’t been working close for a while. I know there’re reasons for that but it’s gonna stop now. What you did was stupid brave, so next time you gotta be smarter. Soon as the Doc says you’re good, I’m bringing you in to train with the senior team.”
“That’d be awesome! You mean it?”
“I mean it, kid. If you still want it when you graduate, there’ll be a place for you in the New York Shield.”
“Thank you!”
“You’re a hero, kid. Don’t ever doubt it.”
Beneath those bandages were a series of burns and deep cuts and two broken ribs, but no hint of pain could dim Cherenkov’s broad, goofy grin.
Whisper would be overjoyed to discover that my machinations hadn’t harmed her friend after all. And it was gratifying to see how much he’d matured from the image-obsessed teen who I’d hospitalized only a few months prior.
If ever Doctor Fid were again active in New York, facing young Cherenkov in battle would be a worthy endeavor.
◊◊◊
The Red Ghost was convinced that the man inside Doctor Fid’s armor was a Department of Metahuman Affairs employee named Gregory Marcum…a false identity so old that the Ghost’s first investigation had found no flaws. Given that the Red Ghost was now more likely to deepen his searching, I’d been slowly adding more details to the nonexistent agent’s cover to lessen the likelihood that the mistake would be discovered. Nothing blatant was added, just little dribs and drabs
of supplemental material—hints that would make the identity feel more real.
I was contemplating how to leave a physical trail when serendipity struck.
In exchange for free room, board and a moderate salary, the reclusive Agent Marcum was able to convince an out-of-work actor from Colorado to live in Marcum’s house and perform his errands. Sooner or later, the actor would be caught on film and the Red Ghost would have a face to tie to the name of Gregory Marcum.
For all his childhood flaws, Kenny Bryant was by all accounts a decent actor. It would be interesting to see how the ruse eventually played out.
◊◊◊
Aaron’s expression was grave and the beer in his hand had gone untouched for several minutes.
“Are you sure about this?” the CIO of AH Biotech asked.
“There will never be a better time,” I replied. “Titan’s treatment is generating a tremendous amount of good press, and I told you that Henry Collins’ crew has been dealt with. We’ve got enough momentum that our stock price won’t take a hit if we announce a re-org.”
“This isn’t just a re-organization that you’re suggesting.”
“No. But let me worry about the board. I’ll make sure that the permanent appointment goes through.”
“I’m not worried about the board,” Aaron grimaced. “I’m worried about you.”
I forced a chuckle that I hoped was reassuring, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re my friend, Terry. You brought me in when the company was just a handful of ideas drawn on the back of napkins. You trusted me…so I need to know that this is what you really want.”
“It’s what I need,” I said, and if my voice wavered then neither of us commented upon it. “And thank you. You’ve been with AH Biotech since the beginning. You know the business inside and out…That’s why it has to be you.”
“I’m honored, y’know.”
“Don’t be. You have no idea how much work is ahead of you.”
“I think I have an idea,” he chuckled softly then finally raised his drink to his lips.
“Then you accept?”
“You said it’s what you need. Of course I do.”
There was so much empathy, so much understanding in his expression that my heart clenched. I managed a smile, “Then let’s make this official.”
I shook his hand, then reached for my computer’s mouse and clicked ‘Send’.
◊◊◊
From: Terrance Markham
Tue 4/3, 1:43 PM
To: ahbt-all
First, I wanted to thank you all for the outpouring of support and sympathy that I’ve received in recent weeks. When this company was founded, it was done with high hopes…but I could never have imagined how wonderful a group of colleagues would be assembled. You all have made me proud to have been a part of AH Biotech’s evolution.
The decision to retire has been a difficult one, but I am confident that Aaron Schwartz will do an exemplary job as interim Chief Executive Officer; Aaron was one of our earliest hires and has been involved at every stage of our company’s growth. He has the experience, leadership capabilities, customer focus and passion to lead AH Biotech through the next phase of expansion. I leave the company in good hands and look forward to watching your future success.
Announcements regarding the transition team will be made shortly…
◊◊◊
When the stasis crystal was shattered, the residents of Boston were instantaneously returned to the locations from which they’d been abducted. There had been a few injuries—people who tripped upon reappearance or discovered themselves suddenly mid-air due to movement of whatever they’d been standing or sitting on when the ritual was enacted—and quite a bit of confusion, but only one fatality that could directly be attributed to the mass abduction: a man who had been scheduled for a kidney transplant, but the donor organ had been granted to another recipient when the citizens of Boston disappeared.
For a few days, the entire city had seemed to be in shock. Quiet and withdrawn, the people hunkered down and reconnected with their friends and family. There was some hue and outcry—angry and scared people doing the sorts of things that angry and scared people do—but for the most part, the city had recovered smoothly. The lights were on, the streets were as safe as they ever were. The Boston Museum of Fine Arts re-opened on time. With the exception of the unfortunate victim of kidney failure, life resumed…for all but one.
Whisper slept.
The spell had not been designed with a unique creature like Whisper in mind. Instead of seizing her body, the spell had grabbed only her psyche: the part that made her a person. Her akashic identity. Her soul. And when the crystal fractured, that part of her did not return to the circuits and crystal matrices of the complex network of quantum computers that made up her physical brain.
My sister wasn’t dead. I wouldn’t allow it.
The first law of thermodynamics states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed…that it can only be transformed. The crystal had taken and later released something from Whisper. She still existed, a ghost without a shell. I was certain of it!
There was work to be done. New armors to be constructed, additional studies to be conducted, and more operations performed upon my brain to ensure that I was properly focused upon the task ahead. Now more than ever, I needed to be Doctor Fid.
Because Doctor Fid was going to find my sister and bring her home. Even if doing so meant burning all of creation to ash in the process.
DOCTOR FID WILL RETURN!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
While growing up, David was that weird kid with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds. He was the table-top role-playing game geek, the comic-book nerd, the storyteller and dreamer.
Fortunately, he hasn’t changed much.
David Reiss is a software engineer by trade and long-time sci-fi and fantasy devotee by passion, and he resides in Silicon Valley with his partner of twenty-seven years. Until recently, the house was shared with a disturbingly spoiled cat named Freya.
Two new kittens have since taken over the home. The author is thoroughly smitten.
David’s hobbies generally involve exploring the crafts and skills found in works of fiction. He’s built replica lightsabers and forged medieval armor, programmed autonomous drones and brewed his own mead, started fires by rubbing two sticks together and started fires with lasers. Also, he has become equally mediocre at numerous martial arts, archery, sword fighting, paintball and lasertag.
Behind Distant Stars is David’s second completed novel-length project and it certainly won’t be his last—he’s having far too much fun!