West Pacific Supers: Rising Tide

by Johnson-Weider, K. M.

  Nightprowler didn’t let her finish. “Yeah, well, like you say, they’re the professionals. If they’re too busy to handle their workload and need to pawn it off on us, I want to know what we’re getting in exchange.”

  Midnight looked like she might explode. Loren instinctively moved his hands to his lap and slid lower down in his seat. This could get nasty.

  “God knows I don’t usually agree with Nightprowler,” said Goalie, “but she has a point. We’re the unpaid, unwashed masses you know. Come on, White Knight, you know how it is - you used to be one of us, remember? Asking us to take on your investigation means less time and resources to patrol the rotted-out neighborhoods we get stuck with because they’re beneath your professional notice. Throw us a bone here!”

  White Knight nodded. “Very well. Perhaps we could make available some surplus equipment.”

  “Surplus equipment!” parroted Nightprowler. “Please. We’re not taking your hand-me-downs, WK. We want the real stuff: ultimesh. There’s no way in hell we can afford it, but we’re the ones who are on the front line of crime getting shot at every night.”

  “You are hardly the only ones who suffer losses in the field of battle,” said White Knight, his robotic voice eerily on edge.

  “Yeah, yeah, you lost a couple people, I’ll give you that,” said Nightprowler breezily. “Doesn’t mean that we can afford to do charity work.”

  Loren blanched. Even Goalie looked like she was regretting the way the conversation was going.

  Cupid broke the tension. “Let’s not fight among ourselves. We’re all one big happy family, right?”

  “If by that you mean we’re the poor cousins from the sticks, sure,” muttered Nightprowler.

  Cupid ignored her. “The Trio’s happy to do whatever we can to help out, White Knight. But you’re in a position to show us some love, you know?”

  “Ultimesh love?” White Knight asked. It was hard to tell, but he sounded like he was being sarcastic.

  “Ultimesh would be great,” agreed Cupid enthusiastically. “But there are some other things too - like for instance, maybe you could talk to Major Dagan and smooth out a misunderstanding that WPPD seems to be having concerning myself and the Trio.”

  Midnight glared at him. “Cupid, if you go around shooting arrows at people, you can’t expect the police to sing your praises!”

  “I’m not asking them to sing my praises - I just want them to rescind the warrant for my arrest! I mean, come on - the bad guys have guns and I have a bow - it’s hardly a fair fight.”

  “It is when you start using steel-tipped arrows,” said Midnight disapprovingly. “It’s lucky you didn’t kill that guy rather than just castrating him.”

  The men in the room all winced, but Cupid didn’t look remorseful. “He was a serial rapist - he deserved the full power of my vengeance! But, I know, I know, that was bad, and I’m back to blunt wood now. Come on, you’ve got to talk to Dagan and get the police off my back.”

  “Fine,” said White Knight. “I can arrange for a limited number of ultimesh vests and I will speak on your behalf to Major Dagan. In return, we need your help in tracking down a list of missing persons who are all believed to have been involved with the PGZ factory. I’ve given their names and what information we have to Midnight. Additionally, there are a few smaller investigations that Meltdown was pursuing that we would like you to take over. There is a matter involving car break-ins at the Pacifica Mall and… ”

  Nightprowler laughed. “Meltdown was investigating car break-ins? That’s freakin’ hilarious! That’s like mall security work! Who has time for that when there are real criminals on the streets?”

  Midnight scowled. “Meltdown had a good heart. Sometimes he would agree to take on small side cases on a time-available basis.”

  “He must’ve been a pushover if he got roped into doing mall work,” Nightprowler said.

  Goalie threw a disgusted look at Nightprowler and said, “I’ll take the mall case.”

  “Thank you,” said White Knight to Goalie. He then turned his cold red eyes on Nightprowler, who blew him a kiss. Loren sank down lower in his chair. That was a fight he did not want to be part of.

  White Knight turned his attention back to the rest of the room. “There are also a few ghost sightings that Meltdown was looking into. If there is a mutant involved, we would appreciate being notified.”

  “Consider it done,” breathed the Whisperer from the shadows.

  White Knight nodded in his direction. “And lastly, Mr. Awesome was looking into reports of missing homeless in the Harbor District, one of the ‘rotted-out neighborhoods’ that apparently you love to operate in.”

  Nightprowler laughed. “Fine, I’ll take that one. Gotta do something to earn my ultimesh.”

  Loren suddenly realized that he was about to miss out on all of the operations. He raised his hand, feeling foolish.

  “Yes, Truthfinder?” asked Midnight.

  “Um, I - I’ll help with the PGZ case. My scientific background could help with the forensics.”

  “Excellent,” she said, “You’ll be working with me then.” She smiled at him in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

  “We will each go to our strengths,” said the Whisperer, his voice like a breezy night sky. “The Trio will discover what is known by the downtown gangs about the missing factory workers and the robbed mall cars. Midnight and Truthfinder will go where Mr. Awesome went, see what he saw, and learn what he learned. Nightprowler will stalk the missing homeless. I will uncover the secrets of the ghostly apparitions. And in two weeks’ time we will rendezvous again in order to share that which we know.”

  Everyone nodded. It was a solid plan, but simple enough to succeed. Loren wished he could toss out some brilliant addition that would impress everyone, but all things considered it was probably smarter to stay quiet and just look thoughtful.

  “All right then, you have your assignments,” said Midnight. “Class dismissed.”

  Cupid laughed and held out his hand to Goalie, who shook her head and dug a five-dollar bill from out of her goal pants. “What’s that for?” asked Loren, curious.

  “Oh, just an internal bet,” said Cupid mysteriously, pocketing the cash. “Hey, want to head back to town with us and catch the two a.m. laser light show?”

  Loren hesitated; it was a tempting offer, but then again he had to show a house in the morning…“Nah, sorry, got an investigation to finish up,” he said loftily as Midnight passed by on her way out with White Knight. “Better get back to the lab and get a head start on it.”

  “Maybe next time,” said Cupid with a wave. “Okay, you two, come on, we can all walk together like grownups, can’t we?”

  Loren ducked out before he could hear Samurai and Goalie respond. There were some damned good reasons for secret identities when you came right down to it, he thought.

  Chapter 9

  4:24 p.m., Saturday, March 30th, 2013

  Mt. Hood National Park

  Portland, OR

  Blue Star was brooding as he flew over the forest. He had once battled Vanghel shock troopers during the Invasion, sure that was forty years ago, but it was the biggest conflict in Earth’s history. You would think there would be more respect for a veteran of that war, he thought, but America is a youth-obsessed culture. He’d also been a member of both the Infinity Team and the Paragons during the 80s and 90s, the golden age of superheroes, back before merchandising and rankings took over. He had faced off against the real legends of evil, like Lord Morte, Madame Misery, and the Four Horsemen. He saved the eastern seaboard from total annihilation twice; three times if you counted when he went back in time to save John Adams from a deranged supervillain. There were two elementary schools in New York and a high school in Chicago named after him. Hell, he had been inducted into the Superhero Hall of Fame four times. It all made him wonder what the hell he was doing in Portland looking for some kid who got lost in Mt. Hood National Forest probably because he was playing s
ome damn portable game system instead of watching where he was walking.

  Blue Star sighed as he admitted the truth – he was old. Chronologically he was only 61, but Graviton calculated up his relative age to 72 when you counted time travel and the other bizarre situations he had found himself in during his career. He was in good shape due to his rigorous training regimen, but sometimes he wondered if it just wasn’t worth the effort and he should just let his body go to hell like most of the rest of Portland Legends. He hovered over a tree and pulled out his goggles; he hated wearing them, but they were prescription and with them he might have a chance of seeing this kid before he starved to death or was eaten by a bear.

  “So any sign of the kid?” squeaked the walkie-talkie. It was Hugh, Henry, something, the team’s new operations director. The team had a problem keeping operations directors, probably not surprising since Portland Legends was where legends came to die. There was an average age of 67 on the team and some of the true legends of the Industry: Graviton, Calamity Jane, Grey Wolf, Mobius, and Blue Star who was the youngest, chronologically, of the group; it was little wonder that they drove off operations directors.

  “No,” said Blue Star bluntly. In reality it would be Grey Wolf who would find the kid; he would change into a wolf and sniff the kid out. Blue Star had stupidly bet him $50 he would find the kid first, but there wasn’t much chance of winning it. He wasn’t going to give up, but he didn’t have any real equipment. Sure the team had Graviton, a true genius, but he didn’t build gear for the team so they were all stuck with garbage from Army surplus stores. Blue Star had no other option but to keep flying; the kid couldn’t have gotten that far from the campsite. In fact, it was odd the kid disappeared; it wasn’t like this was that dense of a forest. Blue Star decided that as team leader for the off-Season he should at least be methodical. “Hey, Hugh, have there been any other missing persons reports in the State the last six months?”

  “Ah, it’s Jeremy, sir, yes, ah, let me bring that up,” sighed Jeremy, who started typing with no apparent results after nearly a minute.

  Blue Star rolled his eyes. “Jeremy, go to the Crisis Reports icon and put in your password, which is ‘clueless’.” Blue Star had to smile, it was one of Graviton’s jokes, but sadly accurate. “Alright, now go to ‘database’ and click it to bring up ‘choices’ and click on ‘configure request’. Ignore most of the stuff, but on location, type ‘Oregon’ and in profile type ‘missing persons’ and check ‘last six months’.”

  “Hold on, I’m a little behind… Oregon,” said Jeremy as Blue Star heard him typing. Blue Star was happy his granddaughter Emily was returning from Berkeley next week to continue her externship with the team; she could run things for a couple of months. Maybe he could fire Jeremy, but that would require a team vote and Mobius was in one of his moods.

  “Okay, Blue Star, I have four missing persons,” said Jeremy.

  Blue Star was hoping for a higher number; he was hoping for a man-devouring mutant animal or maybe a serial killer. Stuff like that never happened in Portland; no one wanted to tangle with a bunch of geriatric supers. Worse, because nothing happened in Portland, the team was near the bottom of the West Coast Conference rankings. Well, actually, going into the Season they were #8 out of 14 teams, not a bad ranking though it was probably mainly as a sign of respect.

  “Okay, one is a man who was mentally ill and disappeared. Another is an eight-year-old and her mother who disappeared from their home with a lot of their belongings, and the final one is a married man who disappeared on a trip to Los Angeles,” said Jeremy. “Are you thinking we have some serial killer or something?”

  Blue Star ignored Jeremy’s question. He suspected the mentally ill man probably died or was now homeless, the mother and daughter probably fled an abusive husband, and the married man probably embezzled from his business and settled down with his new young girlfriend out of town.

  “Blue, you owe me $50. I found the kid,” squeaked the walkie-talkie.

  Blue Star sighed. “Good job, Grey, I’ll have that $50 when we get back to base.” He flew a lazy turn in the sky and then headed back to HQ, which was a converted church, almost sacrilege, but one of the founders of the team, Augur, would only have his base on hallowed ground. Wizards were just messed up.

  Before long, Blue Star arrived at HQ and there was Susan, the reporter from the Oregonian who was assigned to cover the team. “Hey, Susan, Grey Wolf found the kid and I lost a $50 bet for it, so that’s your headline,” said Blue Star bitterly.

  “It’s a good thing that the kid was found,” chided Susan. “So are we on for dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah,” said Blue Star. He felt a little guilty having Susan as a lover, first she was a reporter and second she was young, about the same age as Emily. He was going through a mid-life crisis, though it was actually like his fourth one. Monogamy just didn’t work for supers, too much pressure on the relationship, though of course Graviton had been married fifty years to Eileen, but the rest of Portland were a bunch of old supers who had saved the world, but couldn’t save a marriage for the life of them. Two wives, three divorces, not a good track record, but he didn’t have any delusions – he was the reason the marriages failed. His kids mostly hated him, though his grandkids mostly liked him; the only advantage of getting old was a second chance with the next generation.

  “Anyway, I’m here on a tip, and one about you,” said Susan.

  “Really? Please tell me I’m on the short list for the President’s Team,” said Blue Star with a smile.

  “You haven’t been on the President’s Team for like 15 years, right?” asked Susan sympathetically.

  “Nine years actually, but what’s the tip?” he asked testily. Being on the President’s Team, the 12 supers who advise and serve POTUS, had been the biggest honor of his career. He was on the first team under President Sharpe in 1985 and served most years till 2004 when President Cardile, a moron who created a demographically balanced team, felt “legendary super” didn’t fall into a significant voting demographic. If he had just announced he was gay he would have gotten a spot on the damn team. Now with Carlington as President the odds were even worse, but that was for personal reasons.

  “You’re being traded,” Susan told him.

  “What?” Blue Star looked at her incredulously.

  “Doctors Matthew Hodges and Annie Sterling of West Pacific Supers are in town and stopped by HQ an hour ago while you were sightseeing. They’re waiting up in your office for your triumphant return. Jane told me,” said Susan. “So what’s up?”

  “I don’t know, but you probably need to keep this quiet. West Pacific got mauled this week and they might be here to get one of us to join the team to reassure the community,” said Blue Star, who was wondering which member of the team he should loan to West Pacific. He would love to go, but as team leader he was needed in Portland – theoretically at least.

  “I can sit on the story, but you’ll need to bribe me tonight for my compliance,” whispered Susan as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. She walked past him. “Call me once you know, and remember - I get the exclusive on this!”

  “Absolutely,” said Blue Star, watching Susan go. He had to admit she was nice, but she was no Linda. Blue Star turned and headed into HQ and walked up the stairs. He entered his office to find Dr. Matthew Hodges, the mind behind WPL and the Hodges Institute, a non-mutant who probably had done more for mutants than any dozen mutants. He was with the infamous Dr. Annie Sterling, who looked younger than he expected, but who was not a pretty woman. Her hair was too short, her glasses out of style, and her suit was from the 90s. If she cared more about her looks she wouldn’t be half bad, but then again maybe that was the point.

  “Matthew, good to see you again,” said Blue Star, shaking his hand.

  Dr. Hodges smiled. “Jacob, I don’t think you’ve met Dr. Annie Sterling, our operations director.”

  “Dr. Sterling, a pleasure,” said Blue Star, shaking her hand brie
fly. He knew Dr. Sterling by reputation. Her penchant for unorthodox training methods was well known, including one instance where she hung a secretarial assistant off a building for a simulated rescue drill. She was probably most known in the Industry for managing the 2007 West Coast Conference’s team in the All-Star Super Challenge and sidelining Captain Seattle, Roulette, and Savant for skipping practices. Needless to say, the West Coast Conference lost and that was the last time she managed the Conference’s team, though most of the Industry agreed that those three definitely needed a lesson in humility.

  “Jacob, let me cut to the chase; we need you. We want to hire you as team leader for the next two Seasons,” said Dr. Hodges.

  “Really?” said Blue Star. He had been trying to get a real team leader position on a top-tier team for years, but he had repeatedly lost out – he was too old-school in a new-school world, whatever the hell that meant.

  “The team was ambushed and we think we’re going to have a rough Season because of it, and that means we need a sure hand at the wheel,” said Dr. Hodges.

  “If I may ask – why me?” asked Blue Star.

  “You’re good, perhaps the best team leader in the Industry,” said Dr. Sterling. “We need someone with experience because we run a very sophisticated operation in a complicated city. You’re a four-time Hall of Famer and a proven performer who can handle the pressures of the job. We need the best, because we are the best.”

  “And Ms. Omega was busy,” said Dr. Hodges.

  Blue Star smiled. “Well, I’m under contract with Portland, and that means it takes a team vote to approve such a decision.”

  “Mobius has faxed me his support for the plan and wishes you good luck,” said Dr. Hodges.

  “Oh. Alright then, what’s the deal?” asked Blue Star.

  “Two years, $10.6 million per year, and all the typical stuff,” said Dr. Sterling. “We’ve faxed everything to your agent and lawyer to review but it’s a good contract – we want this done today. And yes, your salary is the highest as tradition dictates.”