Collateral Damage

by Steve Beaulieu

  The bailiff swore in the jury and things escalated rather quickly after that.

  “Your Honor, members of the jury, I, Gerald Dean Dugdale intend to prove the guilt of Paul “Baron” Steel. We believe our evidence is conclusive and expect this to be a short trial.”

  “Thank you,” the judge said. “Defense?”

  I looked around, and for the first time, realized my lawyer was not present.

  “Defense?”

  I had no idea what to do next. Sure, I’d seen these things done before, but never by a half-drunk ex-superhero businessman. I stood up, holding the table as my knees wobbled.

  “Your Honor, my name is Paul Steel and I will apparently be representing myself.” My words were slurred and I hoped no one would notice.

  I looked behind me before sitting down. I saw Mary, my receptionist and the only witness to the crime sitting next to Solar Flare. I almost didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a new costume that actually looked good. I’d have to give compliments to Lewis, my tailor, when all this was over.

  I gave them both a nod and a look that I hope conveyed the right level of concern. Mary winked, which did very little to ease my mind.

  “I call as the first, and only witness who is currently not in Hospice on life support—”

  “Objection!” I said, standing.

  “On what grounds, Mr. Steel?”

  “It’s Baron, actually—never mind—I don’t know, but I feel like he’s trying to—”

  “To what? Prove the severity of this situation?” Dugdale said.

  “Overruled. Sit down, Mr. Steel.”

  I sat down and glanced over at the jury. I couldn’t read a single one of them. It was a varied group, let’s get that right. An old lady who looked like she’d been alive when the Guild was formed. A young, tattooed hipster who had apparently not been told he was going to a court of law today—wearing a “Guns and Roses” T-shirt and cargo shorts. And ten others who’d answered the call to justice. I hoped they’d see that I’d been the one to suffer injustice.

  “I call Mary Villafranco to the stand.”

  Mary took the stand, swore the oath and began answering questions.

  “Did you see Mr. Steel attack the victim?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Would you tell the jury what you did see?”

  Mary turned to face the jury. “Good afternoon,” she said. “You must understand how difficult it was to see inside that room. It had just been set on fire by the victim, and the sprinklers were on. There was smoke and quite a bit of chaos.”

  “Yes, but you saw Mr. Steel and Spencer Groves alone in the room with Groves buried underneath a desk?”

  “Not exactly,” she said.

  There was an almost comical collective breath drawn and the judge slammed the gavel again. “Order.”

  “What does that mean, Ms. Villafranco?” the judge asked.

  “He wasn’t alone in there.”

  “Objection, your Honor. We have it on good authority that Steel and Groves were the only people in that room.”

  “Were there cameras?” he asked.

  “None that we are aware of,” the prosecutor said.

  “Then you have nothing but hearsay as your “conclusive evidence?”

  “Your honor, the only witness just lied to you in a court of law!”

  “Is this true, Ms. Villafranco?”

  “No, sir. He was not alone.”

  “Who else was there?” the judge asked.

  The trial was interrupted by a sudden crash and several small explosions went off in the air above. In less than a few seconds, everyone within the room was completely frozen solid, encased in a layer of ice. I could see but I couldn’t move and I could only hear muffled sound.

  “Well, look at this,” said a voice from behind me. It was impossible for me to guess who it was. But then I didn’t have to. Ice Cap appeared in front of me, tapping on the ice which surrounded my body.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in my business, old man.”

  I didn’t know what to address in my mind first. The fact that I’d just been attacked in the middle of a government facility. That the room was filled with heroes who could have taken this man out in a moment, but were too frozen to do anything. That Ice Cap was implying I’d involved myself in business of his when I know Solar Flare had yet to engage him on any level. Or the fact that he’d just called me an old man.

  “Draco Oculi was my new partner. You might know him as Spencer Groves. Now, he is dead and someone will pay.” He paced for a moment. I watched the best I could without moving my eyes.

  “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for someone with fire abilities came along? Look around you—oh wait, you can’t! It’s not that common a power, Paul. None of your friends have pyro skills! And now you’ve taken him from me! You’ve broken up Ice and Fire—and for what? Because Draco couldn’t make you a cup of coffee? You disgust me.”

  I wasn’t sure what he’d expected. None of us could talk. We were forced to just sit there and listen to his monologuing like he was some kind of terrible James Bond villain.

  I knew I was shivering but my body couldn’t move. If I stayed like this much longer I was sure I’d suffer permanent damage.

  “What am I going to do with you, Baron Steel? Maybe I’ll just wait here until you all die of hypothermia. That could be fun. Or I could hit you with a sledgehammer and watch as you shattered into tiny pieces and melted into a puddle of blood and gore.”

  As he spoke, I could feel a sudden warmth on my back.

  “What is that?” Ice Cap asked, spinning a slow circle. The entire room was filled with a prism of color and I felt the ice melting all around me. It was nearly instantaneous. The warmth was overwhelming and felt amazing.

  My head was free and then my arms and finally, my legs. I thought about taking Ice Cap down, but that was the very reason I was here in this room. I looked around and saw more supers than I could count all walking toward Ice Cap with vehemence in their eyes.

  I saw Solar Flare, his hand still shining. He’d done with the ice exactly what I’d intended him to do with the magnification glove I tried to get for him. He used his absolutely useless gift in the most useful way imaginable. I could have shed a tear—not really, but the thought was there.

  “Guys, guys,” Ice Cap said. “I’m sorry. I—I was just trying to avenge my friend. Surely you understand? All of you are avengers of something, aren’t you? Please?”

  A furious rain of fists came down on him from every direction and the judge looked the other way. Finally, the unconscious body of the frozen bastard was taken out of the room and the judge brought the gavel down again.

  “I am aware of the circumstances, but we still have a trial to see through. Are you okay to continue testifying, Ms. Villafranco?”

  “I—I—I be—lieve s—so-so,” she said, clearly freezing.

  “Who else was in the room with him?” he asked for the second time.

  “I was,” Solar Flare said, standing. “And I was one who Groves beat by.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. First of all, both of them were now guilty of perjury, but considering the circumstances, I hardly cared. Secondly, did GreyWulfe not even attempt to teach this kid how to speak English? Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful, but geezalou.

  My only real concern was I knew Solar Flare hadn’t been licensed by the Guild yet.

  “And are you licensed, Mr…”

  “Ray of Light,” he said, smiling in my direction.

  I shook my head and chuckled.

  “Papers are submitted,” he said. “But I not have gotten of license.”

  The judge looked at Eaglestar.

  “Turns out we just forgot to email him.” Eaglestar looked at me with the faintest hint of a smile which vanished almost as quickly.

  Judge Bristol’s gavel hit wood three times and everyone rose.

  As I left the courthouse and made for the stairs, Sol
a—I mean, Ray of Light, what a stupid name—Mary and Eaglestar all approached me simultaneously.

  “Thank you all,” I said, smiling. Maybe I’d overthought this whole having relationships thing. I could get used to someone having my back.

  “You’re welcome,” Ray and Mary said harmoniously.

  “For what?” Eaglestar said.

  “For lying for me back there.”

  “Lying? I do not lie—especially not in court.”

  “But you said his papers…the email…”

  “That was not a lie, Baron. We have had a bit of trouble in several of our departments over these past months. Had all this not happened, it was my plan to approach you and request you consider ending this silly endeavor of yours and return to your place in the Guild.”

  I began to speak when he interrupted.

  “And if I find out that any of you did lie today, you will be in the Trench before you could say, ‘boo.’ Is that understood?”

  Without waiting for our responses, he burst into the air like a rocket, leaving us all staring at the sky.

  When we looked down at one another, we broke out into uncontrollable laughter. A few minutes later, the moment passed and Mary looked at me with a serious expression.

  “Are you going to do it?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Go back to the Guild. Close up shop and work with them again? It sounds like a good plan, Paul. I don’t want to see it happen…but it sounds like a good plan.”

  I looked from her to Ray and back again.

  “No. I don’t think so. It sounds like a terrible plan. My place is right here.”

  A Word from Steve Beaulieu

  I hope you enjoyed reading “Baron Steel” as much as I enjoyed writing it. This story takes place in Christopher J. Valin’s Raptorverse. I started reading his books last year and loved them. Within a short period of time, I was asking if I could write into his world. We are currently working on a full-length novel together based upon my story in Volume 2 of Superheroes and Vile Villains (you can find links to all of those below. You can also find some of Chris’s stories in volumes 1 and 4).

  I love writing. I love color comics (digitally) and I love putting together these anthologies. You are reading the third volume in a (currently) four volume series.

  The first one: It’s A Bird! It’s A Plane! A Superhero Anthology.

  The second one: World Domination A Supervillain Anthology

  The fourth one: Ha!Ha!Ha! A Supervillain Anthology

  If you’d like to let me know what you think of “Baron Steel” or if you just want to say hello, feel free to email me at stevebeaulieuwrites@gmail.com. If you’d like to find out more about me or read more of my stuff, sign up for my monthly newsletter. I promise not to spam, and I’ll send you free stuff.

  PASTIME

  BY WILL SWARDSTROM

  PASTIME

  BY WILL SWARDSTROM

  BYRON STONEMILL DIDN’T NEED ANYTHING. He was rich, retired, and relished living alone. After sixteen years in Major League Baseball, “The Stone,” was learning to value his quiet time. No reporters sticking their microphones in his face, no cameras following him around as he changed clothes, and he wasn’t graded on how well he cooked his breakfast each day. He was set for life. His last contract, signed seven years ago, would take care of his children’s great-great-grandchildren, if he even had any kids—which he didn’t.

  Sixteen full seasons, mostly playing in Seattle, with fourteen All-Star selections, five MVP awards, eight batting titles and too many other awards to even bother listing on the back cover of his biography. That’s what the inside was for.

  Which is what he was reviewing as he laid next to his pool on a day late in June. A game was on the radio, but he didn’t know who was playing. He supposed it was to keep up appearances for any paparazzi who might try to peer over his concrete wall, but Bryon had long lost his love for the nation’s pastime. Probably about three MVP’s ago, he figured. But the money was good, and his teammates were fun, so he kept it going.

  He read over a few paragraphs, not sure what was missing from the text.

  Playing baseball was easy for me. I was gifted with natural ability from birth. My mother, Gloria Stonemill, always said I was born with a bat in my left hand and cleats on my feet. I was made to play baseball, apparently.

  Looking at my stats proves it. No one before me or in the years after I retired has topped my lifetime batting average of .397. The great Ty Cobb could only muster a paltry .366 with weaker competition back in the 1920’s, but he didn’t have everything I had going for me, either.

  What made The Stone so great at baseball? Was it my 6’5” frame? Was it my weight at 260 pounds with just a slight 6% body fat on the day of my retirement? Was it my IQ score of 163?

  Yes, yes, and yes, but those don’t even scratch the surface of what made The Stone who he was.

  His eyes strayed from the page to the pool guy skimming the surface with a net. Bryon thought his name was...Rick? Phil? Frankly, he wasn’t sure, but the guy came by a couple times a week and did his job without any fuss. Part of his motion with the pool skimmer reminded him of his swing at the plate, which brought back a flood of memories.

  He knew the real reason for his success in baseball, but he wasn’t yet sure if he was prepared to share it with the world. He discovered what he could do—what he was—when he was just seven years old. By the time he had hit high school, he was already on the radar of at least a dozen MLB squads. Two years out of twelfth grade he was already facing the high heat in front of thousands of fans all across the country. Analysts chalked up the success to his hard work in the batting cages as well as a gift of natural size and ability. All that was true, more or less, but no one had ever really discovered the truth.

  “Mr. Stonemill?”

  Bryon snapped out of his own thoughts, realizing the pool guy was talking to him.

  “Yes?”

  A glaze seemed to pass over the pool guy’s eyes and he straightened a tick. His body language changed. It was subtle, but noticeable, especially for Bryon who had an eye for that sort of thing.

  “We need your help.”

  Bryon reached out, but felt nothing. Only an emptiness. He had never felt anything like it before. “I’m sorry?”

  “Please. We need you.”

  “Who are you?” What do you want from me?” Bryon asked.

  The pool guy slouched again, back to his normal posture. Whatever had been there—whatever had changed—was gone. He was back to himself.

  “I...were you saying something Mr. Stonemill? If you don’t need anything else, I need to get over to Ms. Lopez’s house next. She is very demanding.”

  The look on the guy’s face suggested Ms. Lopez demanded more out of him than just pool services, but Bryon didn’t care. He waved him off, dismissing him.

  Bryon was speechless. In nearly forty years on this planet, he’d never once experienced anything like what had just happened. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew Rick or Phil or whoever the pool guy was had just had an out-of-body experience—or something. He was shaken to his core, retreating to the safety of his home, away from the sun, away from the world.

  • • •

  A few days later, Bryon ventured out into town. He knew the owner of a great Italian diner across town who would give him the privacy he wanted, so he shot off a message to Lorenzo and made his way there. His table wasn’t by itself in a separate room or anything, but he could dine by himself without looking like a hermit. He liked people for the most part, but the stress of seeing thousands day in and day out for nearly two decades wore him out.

  After his Chicken Parmesan came, Bryon picked up his fork and knife, ready to tear into the entree. Then it started.

  A woman at a table about ten feet away turned around, her eyes locked on Bryon.

  “Well, it’s about time you left your house.”

  “I’m sorry? Do I know you?” Bryon asked, his fork hove
ring over his plate, ready to cut his chicken.

  She stared for a second, something in her eyes wavering for a moment, then her eyes softened. Bryon got the sense that something was happening. Something like he experienced with the pool guy the other day. As the woman continued staring at him, her face began to redden and she suddenly turned back around. Then the man she was with stood up and walked toward him. Great. He probably wants an autograph, Bryon thought.

  Bryon had never seen the man before, but the man’s confidence made him search his memory for any recollection.

  “You’re a hard man to track down, Mr. Stonemill. It’s hard enough talking through these people, but when you keep to yourself, it’s virtually impossible to keep a conversation going.”

  Bryon pulled out his phone, ready to call the police. Florida had a reputation for crazies, and Bryon was sure he’d just hit the jackpot. But his hand hesitated. There was something wrong. Something...missing from these people.

  “Put the phone away. We need to talk,” the man said. Then without warning, his posture relaxed and he shuffled back to his seat, looking confused. In his place came the waiter, a man Bryon knew as Jimmy. Right off, though, Bryon could tell whatever he was, he wasn’t Jimmy.

  “I know who you are,” Not-Jimmy said.

  “What the hell is going on? Jimmy?” Bryon asked.

  Not-Jimmy held up his hands, which looked unnatural for some reason. As if the motion was familiar, yet copied from someone he’d just met. “Give me a second, Mr. Stonemill. I need to get adjusted.”

  Bryon was taken aback, but kept his mouth shut for the half-minute it took for Not-Jimmy to close his eyes, sway a bit, and re-open them.

  “Okay. I think I’ll be able to stay with Jimmy here for a bit. As you might have guessed already, I’m not really Jimmy, I’m just temporarily using his facilities,” Not-Jimmy said. He chuckled for a second as if his own words amused himself. “Please allow me to make a proper introduction. I’m Kina. Yeah...that’s a girl’s name, so this is a little weird. Normally I try to use bodies a little more similar to mine.”