by R. L. Ullman
It’s not unusual for Mom to check up on me after a total parenting disaster like this morning. Believe me, I appreciate it, but I’m never quite sure if it’s for my benefit or hers. I’m in the middle of texting her back when I run smack into what I think is a brick wall. Turns out it’s another student.
“Sorry,” I say.
“You got a problem?” rumbles a deep voice from high above.
“No,” I answer, my neck craning so far back to see the kid’s face I think my head’s going to fall off. Angry eyes bear down from beneath a bushy unibrow that looks like it may flutter off and attack me. “I didn’t mean to crash into your ... giganticness.”
“You making fun of me?” says kid giant.
“Well, no, I ...”
Then I notice students circling around us. They’re coming in waves, like sharks drawn to chum. I don’t like where this is heading.
“You’re annoying,” kid giant says.
“You must be pen pals with my sister,” I say. “Now how about we walk away and pretend this whole thing never happened?”
Then the kids start closing in, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Great, now I’m the morning’s entertainment. I want nothing more than to lift up into the air like Grace and fly out of here. But, of course, I can’t. I’m a freaking Zero.
Kid giant grabs my shirt collar.
“Hey, c’mon!” I plead. “You don’t want to do time for hurtin’ little old me?”
Then I see his massive fist go back. And that’s when everything goes dark.
***
Well, I may be the first kid in history to be hospitalized for fainting during a fight. The nurse told me I apparently crumpled to the ground right before the big lug swung at me and was rescued by the Cafeteria Lady who happened to be in the parking lot pushing a cart of strawberry milk.
It’s just so embarrassing on so many levels.
And to top it off, my mom had to leave the Freedom Force to meet me at the hospital while they ensured I didn’t have a concussion. After taking me home to the Waystation and confining me to bed rest, she left me alone with my neurotic thoughts. Now all I can do is sit and wonder what creative nicknames my classmates are going to bestow upon me tomorrow.
Elliott the Unconscious? Harkness the Horizontal? The Narcoleptic Kid? The possibilities seem endless. And, oh, the fun Grace is going to have with this one.
After several hours of reliving my nightmare over and over again against the backdrop of mindless cartoons, I’m antsy to get out of here. I need to do something to take my mind off it all and I know just the thing!
I yank off the covers when Dog-Gone, who’s curled up at my feet, gives a low growl.
“Oh, knock it off,” I say. “I don’t care what Mom told you. I’m getting out of bed.”
Dog-Gone turns invisible. The dude who said dogs are man’s best friend clearly never met mine.
“Hang on,” I say. “I’ll give you a treat if you don’t tell her.”
Dog-Gone reappears with a cocked ear. But then he disappears again. That dog really knows how to work a bribe.
“Two treats,” I say quickly. But he doesn’t show. Not that I expect him to anyway because I know what he’s really after. “I’m not giving you the whole bag,” I say. “You’ll get sick. Three treats or nothing and that’s my final offer.”
After a few seconds, the mercenary reappears, his tail wagging in victory.
“Okay, then. Follow me. And be quiet about it.”
Trust me, sneaking around when there’s a Meta 3 psychic on the premises is no easy task. I can only hope Mom is caught up in some complicated forensics analysis or something and won’t bother mind-linking with me.
We make it safely down to the Galley where I pay off my debt of three doggie treats. I tell Dog-Gone to make himself invisible, and then I tip-toe my way up to the Monitor Room. This will definitely take my mind off of things.
You see, the Monitor Room houses the Meta Monitor, which is our one-of-a-kind computer system that operates like a burglar alarm on steroids for detecting super powers. The Meta Monitor constantly searches for disturbances in the Earth’s molecular structure. Like the uniqueness of fingerprints, each and every super power leaves a distinct and detailed signature. The Meta Monitor reads this signature and then matches it with its extensive database of Metas to determine who, or what, may have caused it.
Currently, there are four hundred and thirty-two villains in the database. Two hundred and seventy-one are under lock and key. Ninety-nine are considered inactive—in other words, they either got out of the game, were wheeled off to an old age home, or vanished off the face of the Earth. That leaves sixty-two bona fide nut jobs out there who are completely unaccounted for and just waiting to stir up trouble.
How do I know all this? Well, I guess you can call Meta-mining my hobby. I’ve spent countless hours digging through the database, studying up on every villain I could; memorizing their origins, aliases, powers, weaknesses, fighting tendencies and so on. I figure if I’m going into the family business, then I should probably have this stuff down cold. Plus, it beats the pants off of doing homework.
The Meta Monitor has state-of-the-art telescopes that can pick up visuals of any point on the Earth’s surface. I key in a few commands and the screen begins rotating through a number of famous landmarks. The White House; The U.S. Capitol; The Hoover Dam; Mount Rushmore. Everything looks peachy. Nothing suspicious. Maybe if I fish where the fish are?
I punch in some more commands and up pops an image of a gigantic prison. It’s known as Lockdown, or more formally, Lockdown Meta-Maximum Federal Penitentiary. It’s the only super-maximum-security prison specifically designed to contain the world’s most dangerous Metas. Dad told me that Lockdown almost didn’t happen. The skeptics didn’t believe that one place could safely hold so many super-powered criminals. After all, the potential for something to go horribly wrong increases dramatically when only a few feet of concrete separate the most evil beings on the planet.
Over time, however, Lockdown has more than proven its worth. One reason for this is TechnocRat, who designs each and every cell to neutralize the special abilities of its occupant. For example, if a villain has Meta 3 super strength, then his or her cell is outfitted with super-malleable walls designed to absorb the energy of a power punch and send it back with twice the force. TechnocRat can devise a way to contain any criminal. And fortunately, its worked every time.
The other reason is my dad. His day job as warden of Lockdown allows him to keep close tabs on the inmates. Of course, his Meta identity is a secret so none of the villains know that he’s the one who put them there in the first place.
It’s also a well-guarded secret that the only set of blueprints for Lockdown and the way out of each and every cell is stored in a special vault right here on the Waystation. That’s another reason our headquarters is in space. It keeps the prisoners on Earth and their escape plans in orbit.
Well, it seems like there’s nothing doing at the prison either. Perhaps—
“Elliott Harkness!”
I jump a foot off my chair.
Busted.
I turn around to find Mom standing with her hands on her hips, also known as full anger pose. Dog-Gone is by her side. I should’ve given that mutt four treats.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Mom asks. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I’m bored,” I answer.
“And since when does boredom give you permission to ignore the doctor’s orders?” she asks.
“Um, when I’m really bored?” I answer. “Besides, I thought you might have sent a telepathic hint to my mind suggesting it would be okay. So, whose fault is this really?” I smile. She doesn’t. Never, ever, try reverse psychology on a psychic.
“Okay, okay.” I set the Meta Monitor on auto-pilot and slide off the chair. “Nothing ever happens on my watch any—”
“Alert! Alert! Alert!” the Meta Monitor bl
ares. “Meta 3 disturbance. Repeat: Meta 3 disturbance. Power signature identified as Meta-Taker. Alert! Alert! Alert! Meta 3 disturbance. Power signature identified as Meta-Taker.”
“Really?” I say. “Like that couldn’t have happened a minute ago?”
“Elliott, not now,” Mom says, racing to the console. It looks like she’s seen a ghost.
She hits a few buttons and a visual of the villain called Meta-Taker appears. The first thing I notice is the outfit. He’s wearing a dark hooded cloak, like some sort of monk. But when he moves, you can see massive muscles rippling beneath his robes. Then, the camera pulls in closer and I do a double take.
His skin and hair are pale white, like bone—and a strange orange energy that seems to have a life of its own blazes around his eyes. For his tremendous size he’s surprisingly graceful, yet there’s something robotic about him. And he’s standing near a gigantic hole in the ground which makes the whole scene look like the Grim Reaper surfacing from the underworld itself.
Dog-Gone growls.
“Um, Mom. What’s up with that guy?”
“His name is Meta-Taker,” she practically whispers. “He’s the most powerful enemy we’ve ever faced. We thought he was dead … buried alive … it’s been over twenty years.”
“Well, I can assure you, he ain’t dead,” I offer.
“No, he’s not,” she says, her voice quickening. “I’m activating the distress signal.”
As soon as she says that, I know it’s serious. Each member of the Freedom Force wears a special nano-communicator housed inside an everyday object—like a watch or a necklace—which produces vibrational patterns signaling different things. The distress signal is reserved for the most urgent of issues and directs the team to head immediately to the Waystation—do not pass go—do not collect 200 dollars.
“I need to get ready,” Mom says.
“I’ll help,” I say.
“No,” she says forcefully. “This isn’t a game. This is a job for the Freedom Force.”
I look down. The words sting.
“Elliott,” she says, grabbing my hands. “Trust me. You need to stay here, where it’s safe, and rest up. Keep an eye on Dog-Gone.”
“I understand,” I say reluctantly. “Be careful.”
“I will,” she answers, squeezing my hands before leaving.
I take a deep breath. Dog-Gone and I stare at the image of Meta-Taker.
I heard what she said, but I’m getting awfully tired of sitting on the sidelines.
Then a light bulb goes off.
“You know what, old boy,” I say. “You’re not the only one here that’s good at hiding.”
I DO SOMETHING ASTRONOMICALLY DUMB
While the team assembles for a briefing in the Mission Room, I buy Dog-Gone’s silence—this time with five doggie treats—and stow away on the Freedom Flyer. The Freedom Flyer is the rocket-powered shuttle we sometimes use to get from the Waystation to Earth and back again. It’s spacious enough to hold the entire team and is outfitted with weapons and reflector shields in case of attack. It can also really motor, reaching the upper limits of supersonic speed at Mach 5.0.
This shuttle is actually Freedom Flyer II. Freedom Flyer I is grounded in the Hangar due to some steering column damage that happened when Master Mime used it as a battering ram against the Brutal Birdmen. After that episode, TechnocRat revoked Master Mime’s pilot’s license.
The Freedom Flyer II is designed to be more durable than the original, but more importantly, it has a larger supply compartment big enough to fit yours truly.
Now I just have to wait for the team to show up.
Since I’ve got the time, I download Meta-Taker’s profile to my mobile. I realized that I’d never come across his record before because it wasn’t logged in the active database at all, but instead was in the file of deceased Metas. After a few seconds the profile appears. It reads:
*Name: Meta-Taker
*Real Name: Unknown
*Height: 8’0”
*Weight: 1,200 lbs
*Eye Color: Orange
*Hair Color: White
*Meta Class: Meta-morph
*Known Powers: Can duplicate the power of any Meta in his immediate vicinity. Can duplicate the powers of multiple Metas at once which may result in a cumulative power build if Metas are of a similar power type. This may result in Meta 4 power levels.
I stop and read that section again:
This may result in Meta 4 power levels.
What??
I’ve never even heard of Meta 4. I didn’t even know it was possible. If Meta 3 is classified as extreme power then what is Meta 4? God-like? No wonder Mom turned as white as a ghost. I keep reading:
*Known Weaknesses: None
*Origin: Unknown
*Background: A being of unparalleled power, Meta-Taker emerged with the sole purpose of ruling Earth by eliminating its Meta hero population. With powers too strong for any one hero to stop, a group of heroes banded together with the united goal of ending his rampage. They called themselves the Freedom Force. Despite heavy casualties, the Freedom Force eventually subdued the villain, burying him alive thousands of feet below the Earth’s surface.
*Known Crimes: Responsible for the murders of original Freedom Force members Dynamo Joe, Madame Meteorite, Robot X-treme, Rolling Thunder and Sunbolt.
*Status: Assumed deceased
I swallow hard. It dawns on me that I’ve never asked my parents how the Freedom Force came together in the first place. Ever since I can remember they’ve always been there. They’re the good guys. The idea that heroes can die never even crossed my mind.
Right now, hanging with Dog-Gone is beginning to sound better and better. I decide to split, but when I move to pop open the compartment door, the team boards the Freedom Flyer.
I’m trapped!
Just. Freaking. Wonderful.
If Mom finds me, I’m dead meat. And, Grace will have an absolute field day at my expense. Better to stay quiet and sneak out once the mission is over and we’re back safe and sound at the Waystation. Just then, I hear the hatch close so I brace myself for take-off.
My thoughts wander back to Meta-Taker. If he was buried thousands of feet below ground then how did he get out? Had he been clawing his way to the surface for the last twenty years? Didn’t he need to eat and breathe?
Before I can figure it out, we’ve landed. I hear muffled voices from the team, including Grace’s over-confident platitudes, and then the hatch opens. I get bounced around as they file out of the Freedom Flyer.
After a few minutes, I open the compartment door and confirm the cockpit is empty. I move to the front and duck behind the pilot’s chair so I can safely look out the front windshield without being seen.
We’ve touched down at some sort of construction site. To the side, I can see the hole Meta-Taker emerged from. It looks much bigger in person, like it was made by some kind of giant mole or something. But as fascinating as that is, I’m here for the main event, which is unfolding about a hundred yards away.
The Freedom Force is circled around Meta-Taker, giving him a wide berth. Meta-Taker stands calmly in the center, that freakish orange energy crackling wildly from his eyes. But even more freakishly, despite the threat of all the heroes around him, his face is expressionless.
Dad is calling out. He’s ordering Meta-Taker to surrender, but the brute isn’t responding. Dad picks up a nearby pick-up truck and throws it at Meta-Taker, who reaches out casually and catches it like a Frisbee. Then he tears it in half like paper.
That’s when the other heroes jump in.
Nearly faster than my eye can track, Blue Bolt launches at Meta-Taker. She’s the fastest Meta alive and wears a lightning bolt on her costume because she strikes at super-charged speed. I once clocked her circling the globe in ten seconds flat, which is ten times longer than it takes her to eat a double cheeseburger.
Meta-Taker, however, isn’t impressed. He duplicates Blue Bolt’s power and swings a
t her like he’s playing baseball without a bat. There’s a massive popping sound and then all I see is a blue streak flying through the sky. It looks like she’ll land hundreds of miles away.
Then Master Mime steps into the fray. His parents died when he was a teenager, and he took up street miming to survive. One day, he found a strange purple amulet in his tip jar. With the amulet, Master Mime discovered he could conjure hard-light energy constructs in any form he could imagine. And with all his years of miming, he’s a must-have partner on the Waystation for charades.
I watch Master Mime forge a javelin of purple energy and hurl it at Meta-Taker. But the villain has already duplicated Master Mime’s powers, forming a shield of purple energy that easily blocks the javelin, shattering it in half. Then Meta-Taker creates an energy lasso and hog-ties Master Mime, sending him crashing into Shadow Hawk.
With those heroes out of the way, Meta-Taker uses Master Mime’s powers to make a massive energy hammer and tries to pound the remaining good guys. My parents and TechnocRat dive for cover, barely avoiding being flattened. This isn’t going well.
And then I realize, I haven’t seen Grace.
She wasn’t standing in the original circle and isn’t in the fight. I look high above, but can’t spot her in the air. My heart starts beating fast. Where is she? Is she hurt? Or dead? I need to find her!
I punch the hatch release, jump out of the shuttle, and land on top of something I’m not expecting to be there. The impact of my hand hitting skull dislodges my phone from my grasp. I tumble onto my backside.
Sitting up, I’m suddenly staring at a short, bug-eyed, bald man with crooked teeth and a more crooked nose. He’s wearing a reddish-brown costume covered in some kind of goopy slime. Although I’ve never seen him before, he seems oddly familiar. Then my mind clicks to his Meta profile.
It’s the Worm.
The Worm is a small-time criminal, a Meta 1 meta-morph with the unusual ability to secrete mucous from his pores, allowing him to tunnel through the ground like an earthworm. He’s mostly wanted for street muggings and the occasional bank job. What’s he doing here?
Then I realize there’s something even stranger hanging around his neck. At first it looks like a Christmas ornament on a chain, but then I realize it’s some sort of orb. It’s smooth and white and pulsating. My eyes are drawn to it. I can’t turn away. It’s absolutely mesmerizing.