Origins of a D-List Supervillain (27 page)

“Originally, I planned to bury you. I couldn’t decide whether to do it here in Mississippi, or in Missouri. Naturally, I cheated. I’m spreading half here and tonight I’ll fly out to the place in Missouri to spread the rest. Actually, I was going to keep a little bit just in case I ever do make it to Costa Rica. As nice as it sounds, it wouldn’t be the same without you. Hell! I’m taking the Mark I armor to the base in Alabama, because every time I look at it, I think of you.”

Stopping for a minute, I found the words were getting more difficult. Talking to her had been easy. I’d never bantered like that with anyone before. Her wit and my sarcasm fed off each other. Now, it was like I could have food, or I could have drink, but not both.

“I hope you don’t mind the arrangements. We never really talked about things like this. Besides if we’re being honest, let’s face it; out of the two of us the one who was going to die in the middle of a super powered battle was supposed to be me. So I can say without reservation that I’d never in a million years have asked you about funeral plans.”

It felt good to get that out and I began to spread the ashes a little away from where I put Joseph’s.

“You’d have laughed over that whole insanity in Vegas. You’d be giving me a ration of shit over how easily I let him into my new armor when you had to work on me for months to get into the Mark I. I can hear you now, ‘I should have just gotten you drunk!’ Yeah, I’m an idiot.”

The anecdote was an attempt to calm me down and deflect with a little humor. She always said that my sarcasm was a defense mechanism, that if I could find a way to power shields with it, that I’d be invincible.

“You brought out the best in me and I was ready to walk away from all of this for a chance to be with you. I’m too chickenshit to follow you right now and I’d like to think you’d want me to push on, even if I don’t know what I’m pushing toward, anymore. The best of me left with you and I doubt that I’ll ever see it again. What’s left will do what I always do; get by.”

Bitterness echoed through my being at all the things left unsaid. I just stood there like a slack-jawed fool unable to string another sentence together.

Defeated, I turned away and whispered, “Be seeing you, V.”

Chapter Fourteen

A Pain in My ASH

Between the repairs to the Mark II suit along with the suggested improvements from the late Joseph Ducie, it took me over three months to get it back to what I considered fully operational. Shield generator tuning was less of a science and more of an art; that explained why I’d never paid that much attention to it. Part of my jealousy about the super powered people was that they could just recover after a fight and still have their abilities. I had routine downtime for regularly scheduled maintenance and, on top of that, there would be periods, like now, of emergency repair where I’d be out of action for weeks or months.

It was part of the reason there were only a few people in the armored suit club. A lot of work and money goes into keeping the suit functional. It’s a hobby for the rich or the obsessive; since I didn’t have enough money to hire my own squad of engineers, I knew what category I fell into.

Maybe I should try and pick up magic—not that crap Joey’s girlfriend in college was into—but the stuff that the Grand Vizier and Mystigal do. Swamp Lord probably knows a few of those voodoo types. Maybe he could hook me up? Nah, they’d probably want to steal my shadow or something. Magic would make my life easier, but it’s a little late to turn my back on science and embrace hocus pocus. Plus, the only dead language I ever learned was COBOL.

Patterson usually kept at least one spare copy of his suit around in case he needed to, “spring back into action.” I had a second suit, but I sent it away. The justification was that if I ever lost the junkyard and had to use The Pig Sty as my base again, I’d have a suit there waiting for me. Of course, that wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want to see the Mark I anymore, but I figured that if I kept telling myself that lie long enough, I’d eventually believe it.

Nothing short of the world ending would get me back in that suit.

The Gulf Coasters had taken the lead in the “Search for Stringel.” The clone’s outing in my armor had left Barton and three other Promethia employees dead and I was fairly certain a defense consisting of explaining that the clone of Ultraweapon’s chief test engineer got me drunk and took the armor out for a crime spree, stood as much chance of working as I did against Imaginary Larry. Their last public release hinted that I was a coward, hiding and waiting to see if the investigation would go away. They’d even publicly hired the now retired Biloxi Bugler as a consultant, because he was an expert on fighting me.

They were taunting me and playing to my ego. For the most part I ignored it, along with the emails from several villains saying that the JV squad of the Guardians was calling me out and that I should man up and go fight them.

With a few odd exceptions, the villain community wasn’t really a supportive bunch. They were more like a collection of drunken asswipes, armed with a thesaurus of insults as vast as the Internet. If it wasn’t me, and I had free time on my hands, I’d probably be joining in.

As for the Bugler, he’d made only one public comment. “Perhaps Calvin Stringel has seen the horror of taking a life and has gone into seclusion. Maybe when he emerges he will be a different man and willing to accept the consequences of his actions.”

That actually annoyed me more than the calculated jabs at my ego from the rest of those butt munchers. He might be the lamest excuse for a hero that ever threw on an outfit, but he was one of those true believer types—a Jehovah’s Witness for the superhero community or something like that.

Frankly, I was more interested in Lazarus Patterson’s contribution. He’d sent a squad of specially trained Promethia security to assist the Gulf Coasters. They were called the ASH team—Armored Suit Hunters. They were equipped with tech designed to take me down.

Any tech that could take me down could also be repurposed to take Ultraweapon down, and that was what made them more interesting than the super team I’d already fought.

• • •

“I’m glad you were able to make this meeting, Mr. Stringel. My predecessor spoke highly of your work. I hope you didn’t have any problems finding this place,” the man greeted me, doing a credible job not to be fazed by my Mark II armor.

“I’ve been here before,” I said sticking to a short answer and trying to divorce the happy memories of my time at the Branson estate. I did have a small bag of rose petals, in my cargo box, to spread under the one tree where Vicky and I used to eat take out and pretend that we were picnicking. Neither of us had been very good cooks.

“Good,” Paul West replied and gestured. “Then let’s head inside and discuss how we plan to move ahead with the capabilities at our disposal.”

I nodded and followed him into the conference room. It had a stuffy nature to it and Vicky loathed the neutral tones. Her meetings were either conducted at the breakfast table or in the hot tub. It was another item that separated her from jerks like this professional suit.

Vicky had also told me about the defenses in the room. The fact the stuffed shirt was bringing me in here could also mean that he was worried how I’d react and was taking precautions.

West took the worst qualities of someone you’d expect from middle management and somehow combined it with the sleazy salesmanship seen at car dealerships around the country. He had short, meticulously trimmed hair, no evidence that he’d ever had any facial hair in his life and a suit so laden with starch that my armor was probably more flexible.

Completing my initial assessment of the man, I decided that even if he wasn’t Vicky’s replacement, I wouldn’t like him.

“So, what can I do for your organization?” I asked, remaining standing. None of the chairs in this room could have taken my weight anyway.

“As you can imagine,” he began. “With the loss of human life at our base, there’s been an increased focus on our automated assets.”

It was a polite way of saying that they were short on warm bodies and were going to introduce even more robots. Considering Vicky and Joseph were part of those losses, his casual way of glossing over it didn’t help improve my opinion of the man.

“My proposal to you is twofold. Primarily, I am recruiting for new people on his Engineering team.”

Surprised at his opening move, I interrupted him. “You’re offering me Ducie’s job?”

West paused, almost aghast that I’d said that. “No, I’m afraid that position has already been filled, but you would be working under that individual.

“Who exactly would that be?”

“I am not at liberty to disclose that information, Mr. Stringel.”

I didn’t think he would. “I see. What kind of salary and benefits are you offering?”

West stated a number and went through a spiel. It was good, but hardly enough to make me forget that hundreds of people with similar packages were blown up when their boss decided they were worth a chance at whacking the heroes attacking his base. Too bad he underestimated Hera’s forcefields. It was barely enough to keep my armor running. Money was tight, even after Joseph’s bequest, but the biggest consumable in the armor was synthmuscle and I had an abundance of that, enough to keep this suit running for years.

“What would I be doing?”

“Robotics and weapons development, I’m told.

His answer was exactly where I figured this was going. I decided I’d head this crap off at the pass. “So, what you’re really saying is that you don’t want to pay the markup on my cannons and it would be less expensive for you to just bring me in house. Can we just skip the part where we pretend I’m an idiot?”

Naturally, there were some in this world, and some who’ve departed this world as well, who would argue that I wouldn’t be pretending.

West paused to collect himself, before continuing, “Let me assure you, Mr. Stringel, no one believes that. We wouldn’t be offering you employment if that was the case. You are obviously a good engineer. You wouldn’t have been on the Ultraweapon team if you weren’t.”

His answer didn’t reassure me. In fact, it did the opposite. “Would I still be able to use my suit for my own personal gain, or would I be giving that up?”

“Initially, no. A posting to one of my employer’s many bases worldwide usually prohibits such outside activities. With a few exceptions, most are not allowed out of the confines of the base for the first eighteen months of employment, given the secretive nature of our business. I’m sure you understand the need for that.”

It sounded wrong, even if I was a bit of a shut in. I still had the option to go places, just not the desire. Plus, I could see a villain simply deciding one day that all his employees were really just slaves and would work just for the sake of some food and not being killed. Labor laws didn’t exactly apply in this vocation. The offer was getting less tempting by the second. They should’ve come and gotten me when I still worked at that brake and muffler shop back in the day.

The idiot I was back then would have jumped at that job...and have been pulled out in several pieces from that destroyed base. The idiot I was now had more reservations than the Native Americans had these days—just not the casinos.

“Would I be allowed access to the copy of the Ultraweapon armor in your employer’s possession?”

“Perhaps that could be possible down the road, but for the foreseeable future, I doubt it. I don’t have any authorization to allow that. Any access would have to be granted by The Overlord himself. We are interested in you for your exceptional skills as an engineer, and not as a supervillain.”

“I should be flattered,” I replied. “But I’m not. I’m sorry, Mr. West, but I am going to pass on this offer. I’d much rather retain my independent contractor status. Since your employer is appreciative of the weapons I can provide, perhaps we can discuss a larger run of pulse cannons. The assembly line I possess is in standby, but can be online within the week. My capacity is currently one hundred and fifty units per month, and if you are willing to commit to a thousand units, I am willing to lower my markup from twelve percent to ten percent out of respect for our past business dealings.”

He looked disappointed, and I wondered how far he’d try to drive the price down. His next words disappointed me. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Stringel.”

“Guess your new people fall on the plasma side of things then.”

“Actually, no. Our new chief of development is impressed by your design and the simplicity behind it. She has assured me that we can reverse engineer that technology and have a production facility able to deliver three times your capacity within ninety days.”

“So, your offer is, work for us or we’re going to steal your design. I’d expect this from Patterson’s people, but I thought you operated differently. I guess not.”

He disliked my tone and became combative. “You were paid quite well for those cannons. Quite possibly better than you should have been, but that may be a reflection of Ms. Wheymeyer’s personal opinions coloring her business sense. Speaking frankly, we can and will reverse engineer your design. Having you onboard would make the process easier, but you are overestimating your value and suffer from the delusion that you are irreplaceable. The fact is you are extremely replaceable.”

Yeah, I’d about had it by then. “Oh, when you frame the offer that way, I guess I’ll have to change my answer.”

There was a split second of a smile where he thought he had me before I leaned forward and gripped the edges of the cherry conference table with my gauntlets and snapped a piece off. “My answer was just no. Now, it’s hell no!”

Paul crossed his arms and tried to look unimpressed. “Is your display supposed to frighten me? You’re a joke in that suit of yours. Maybe a decade ago that would have caught people’s attention. It’s been evaluated by our new people and our old people and been found wanting. Further, if you were stupid enough to harm me, I can assure you that there would be no hole deep enough for you to hide in, Stringel. My employer would see to that.”