Secrets of a D-List Supervillain (16 page)

“I’m the only team leader you’ve ever had.”

“Nah, I’ve worked for villains, too. You’re loads better than they were. All I’m saying is focus on being a great hero and don’t worry about what kind of leader others think you are.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It goes without saying that I’d like to bring him in alive.”

“Then you’d better get to him before I do. Just saying. I’m pretty sure whacking his ass or not whacking his ass won’t change anyone’s opinion of me, so I’d just as soon do it, even if it costs me the pardon.”

“I could ask you not to do it, but won’t. You didn’t hesitate to back me when it came to Mather, and I won’t ask you to forsake your revenge on Patterson. Maybe that’s not the hero way, but my view of the world is a lot different from the eight year old girl who first discovered her powers.”

Her eyes held a weariness that seemed out of place in someone just barely over the age of twenty-one. She was a bona fide force of nature, but that power, that life, had exacted a price from her by taking her innocence.

“When are you going to find out the sex?” I asked, searching for a way to change the subject.

“Ultrasound in three weeks. You want to come?”

“I will have to check my calendar, because I’m such a busy person, but yeah, if I can. Are you going to go with one of those weird names that celebrities give to their kids? With your last name, you could call the kid On Time and make the middle name To.”

“On Time To La Guardia?” she asked and laughed.

“Well, how about Clear Skies Over?”

“No way in fucking hell!”

“Watch your language, Wendy. Little Delay At La Guardia might hear you.”

“Stop, Cal. Just stop.”

“You know that’s not likely.”

She sighed. “Watch yourself out there, Mechani-CAL.”

“Thanks for being one of the few people who actually try to say my name right.”

• • •

“I’m still trying to figure out why you don’t just try and shack up with her,” Bobby commented, knocking back a beer.

My mouth waters slightly, but I resist the urge, and grab a sip from a water bottle. “Dude, she’s not my type. It’s just not there. Part of my wishes it was! When she told me she was pregnant I offered to marry her, and she turned me down faster than Hermes can circle the block.”

“Sounds harsh.”

“Yeah, but she’s one of the only ones who actually respect me. I get the feeling that if we had tried that would’ve been the first thing to go.”

As strange as it sounded, I’d rather have Wendy’s respect, than have her as a girlfriend. Just goes to show how badly my priorities have been screwed up.

“Maybe you’re still too hung up on the one that got away.”

I don’t bother trying to refute his statement. Stacys and Vickys don’t come along that often and I’m already looking closer to forty than thirty.

Instead of dwelling on the sad state of my personal life, I focus on the important task at hand, killing Ultraweapon. On the side monitors, I pull up available imagery and layout of Promethia’s sprawling industrial complex. Sure, I’d worked there, but that was more than a decade ago.

There was a perimeter set up by the police and the military. The inside looked like a robot convention taken to the nth degree. There were robots everywhere and they were armed to the teeth, and I noted a distinct lack of non-lethal ordinance. Patterson wasn’t going to give up without a fight. There was no sign of his new nuclear tinker toy, and I hoped it wasn’t ready to make its debut, because there were plenty of Type D Warbots to go around.

There were very few humans to be found. Thermal analysis showed less than a dozen living people. Fanatics or loyalists, did it really matter? I wondered if the people I used to work with were in the sublevels below the main compound. Was Joe down there or had he gotten out when Patterson went over the edge?

No one on the chariot seemed interested in speaking with me, though I did catch Stacy looking over in my direction, twice. At the moment, it seemed like there was only the burnt remnants of a bridge for all that water to run under. The realization of just how much I didn’t belong with this crowd hit me. Screw them! They don’t belong with me.

“Bobby, can you link those belts of grenades into the launcher. Might as well get ready for the action.”

My available grenades went from twenty-four up to sixty-four in a few quick seconds as the chariot drew closer to the Promethia complex. My radar lit up with a barrage of surface to air missiles fired from launchers. Hera stepped forward to erect a shield, while several of the others flew off the back of the chariot. I waited for the first wave to be intercepted before joining them. I didn’t unlock the launcher yet. Ultraweapon needed to show up first.

Instead, I concentrated on attacking the warbots before opening up the broadcast channel and letting the insults fly. To be honest, I might have done this without any prompting from Bolt Action. My spleen needed to be vented, and I hadn’t realized how much anger I’d been toting around. Lazarus had this coming, and I was more than willing to let him know what I thought of his predicament.

It might have been my mocking, or maybe Patterson decided he was losing too many of his toys. He finally came out to play and I was ready to make the most of it.

My minigun, now tied into the suit’s power system, sent a steady stream of energy at him. His force blasters bludgeoned my forward shields. If I hadn’t had the additional two generators in the upper torso, my armor would have been in trouble. Raising my suit’s left hand, I grabbed the handle of the powercell launcher and slid it off the back. The HUD updated and added the targeting grid for the bazooka and I continued to spray energy in his direction.

Cursing the heroes who kept interfering, I’d inched closer and closer to bracketing him, when Wendy insisted on my presence. I resisted until she conveyed threats of physical violence. I can freely admit that I was being a complete tool over wanting to finish Lazarus first, but I caved, rather than let the young lady with my bun in her oven do all the heavy lifting against this thing.

At least, I got to see how much damage my launcher could do, even if it wasn’t against Ultraweapon. Bobby let out a whoop when the hip assembly detonated.

• • •

“Shit! I’m so stupid!”

“So that thing’s engine is gonna blow anyway?”

“Probably,” I said, and looked for anyone who could take care of the situation... anyone other than Wendy. Finding none, I knew I’d have to sacrifice this suit. “It’s up to me.”

Switching over to my external speaker, I tell Wendy that the fusion reactor is my problem and that I’ll get it to the ocean and then cut it off, as I lift off with my deadly payload.

“Bobby! Pull the grenade launcher out of the crystal and take it upstairs. Then, come back and grab everything you can and get it upstairs, too.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m transferring control up to the computer upstairs. There’s going to be a nuclear explosion on the other side of the suit and those three little entry points are going to let a little of it get through to here. I’d rather not be down here, if it is all the same to you.”

“Can’t you just shut those things off?”

“No. I can use the crystals, but I’m still a long way from figuring it out what makes them work. We’ll need to block the stairwell. I can spin them so they aren’t pointing toward us. That should keep the radiation risk low.”

“You’re nuking my damned base!”

His priorities seemed out of order. “Yell at me later, Bobby. Move now!”

Taking my own advice, I unhooked the suit umbilical after putting the automatic pilot on the suit. Next, I spin the C-clamps holding the crystal shards toward the wall, and grab as much of the stuff on the workbench was I could carry. All those heroes, who barely acknowledged my existence at best, or acted like I was the walking equivalent of herpes, were now trying to say something to me. At the moment, I was a little too busy ensuring that my fake death was really going to be a fake death, to answer. Heroes get off on this whole self-sacrificing bullshit. Mechani-CAL was going to die today, but there was no reason in Hell that Cal Stringel had to buy the farm.

Up in central command, I made certain the suit was still on course and told Bobby which things to toss into the stairwell.

“You could help,” Bobby said, tossing a locker down.

“I’m a little busy with the reactor right now and I’d just be in your way.”

“You’re speaking words, Cal, but all I hear is stupid.”

“Whatever,” I declared. “In the main storeroom, there’s a box labeled Radiation Kit. Grab it and meet me in the elevator. We have about 2 minutes.”

Bringing up a blank message, I quickly type.

Megan,

Looks like we don’t have to wait for the pardon after all. I’m programming the transfer of the last group of video footage from my servers. It may cut off when I blow up or it may continue until it finishes. My proceeds go to Wendy’s kid, for obvious reasons. Gotta go nuke myself, now. You will have to enjoy Patterson’s downfall without me.

Cal

I’d be able to scrub anything that I needed to, and Megan will just believe that it is the lag behind it. I trigger my transmitter and then give my final speech. Ever since I’d first considered faking my death, I’d made up a few versions of this speech, and I steal what I need from two of them, winging the rest of it...

I’d like to think that it was a pretty damned good speech. I didn’t have time for anything else. Meeting Bobby in the elevator, we rode it upstairs when the suit hit the water and the reactor detonated. The lights in the elevator dimmed, but we continued our ascent. Once safely at the top, I broke out the gamma radiation meter and began a quick survey. After a minute, I breathed a sigh of relief; rad levels were at background levels. Sixty feet below us might be a different story.

“I outta kill you,” Bobby muttered.

“Didn’t you hear,” I said with a laugh. “Cal Stringel just died. You’re too late!”

“I hate you sometimes, Strings. You know that. What do we do now?”

“Let’s wait a day or two before going back down and seeing if there is any contamination to clean up. Want to go get something to eat? We’ll have to do a drive thru. I can’t risk showing my face.”

Bobby had a look on his face, a cross between angry and constipated, so I asked him what was wrong.

“My damned keys and my wallet are still downstairs. We ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Well, that stinks.”

• • •

Stacy’s laughter makes recounting the story worth it. “How bad was it?”

“Actually, not too bad,” I say. “I overreacted. Some nasty crap got through, but the shards exploded a few seconds into it. The C-clamps, or what was left of them, went into a lead lined box and we had to get rid of some other stuff. Don’t tell Bobby, but I used it as an excuse to get rid of the prison cells. He was really paranoid about the radiation levels and I might have used it to my advantage.”

“You?” she asks in mocking accusation. “Use a situation to your advantage? I can’t possibly imagine that.”

“Easy on the sarcasm there, Stacy. But yeah, I didn’t really go into that day planning my death. It just sort of played out that way. Good thing I already had a plan in place.”

“Good thing,” she agrees, but I don’t hear the sincerity.

“Well, I did need to protect myself from Devious and the Overlord. There’s been a large amount of chatter on VillainNet about how they are already after Megasuit. Straight up, I can take both of them, but she’s Devious for a reason and the Overlord won’t come alone. Fortunately, I have Larry and Wendy on my side. They’re a big step up from the folks I used to team up with, and less likely to stab me when my back is turned.”

“Are you talking about the villains or my team?”

“I was talking about the villains, but I guess it could apply to Holly and the rest. Though Holly didn’t really stab me in the back so much as spit on my face and rub my nose in it.”

“Not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not anytime soon. I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

We laugh a bit, and I check the GPS on the suit. “Better call upstairs and tell Wendy to get ready for her close up. I’m about thirty minutes from Phoenix.”

“Actually,” she answers and starts toward the staircase. “I promised to help her with her makeup, so I’ll go. She might be in for a disappointment. My powers give me a natural beauty and, as a result, I don’t have to use very much of it at all.”

“I won’t hate you because you’re beautiful,” I offer to her retreating form, and get a single finger in reply. “Now that’s a rude gesture, Stacy! What would your fans say?”

“I can see why you call it the poop chute,” Stacy says, as I replay the video of Wendy sliding out the backside of Megasuit, behind the CBS Phoenix affiliate’s dumpster. “It looks like you just crapped out a superhero.”

Mega remained behind the dumpster as Wendy walked with purpose into the building, intent on getting an interview. I didn’t have the heart to make fun of her, as someone who has also had warrants for their arrest out on them.

“Andy? Can you help me hack directly into their cameras and their interior security system?”

The robot processed my highly questionable request and said, “I can do that to ensure Wendy’s safety. I also have no known location on the West Coast Guardians. The other Guardian teams are accounted for, and the majority of the Olympians remain in Europe, are listed as inactive, or are seated next to you. There are no reports of local superhuman activity in the Phoenix area at this time.”

“Good, continue to monitor. My guess is the West Coasters were on the way to back the government up with me, so they’ll be in the area.”

“What’s going on?” Larry asks coming down the stairs.

“Wendy and Mega are in Phoenix so she can do an interview. Uncle Sam is trying to crack down on us. Mind suiting up and being on stand-by? We might get a visit from the West Coast Guardians. How was the game?”

“Panthers won. I always thought Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest.”

“No rest for the weary or the wicked, take your pick as to which one applies to us,” I reply and wink at Stacy.

“All right,” Larry says and turns toward the staircase. “I’ll get into my costume and be ready in ten.”

I begin monitoring the security cameras inside the station. Naturally, the fools inside are hesitant to believe that one of the most famous supers in the world just walked in off the street and requested an interview. The main lobby experiences a sudden windstorm before someone runs to fetch the general manager.

There’s a brief wait, until a woman in business attire rushes down the corridor to greet Wendy and escort her to one of the smaller studios, while one of the junior reporters appears to be teetering between eagerness and panic as she rushes into the makeup chair.

“Well, it looks like we have some more time while she does her interview,” I say. “Are you ready for more story?”

“Sure,” Stacy replies. “What happened after you died? Did you go into the light?”

“If you mean the light in the bathroom, I went in there all the time.”

• • •

“...In conclusion, Calvin Matthew Stringel was a flawed man. His story is a lesson in perseverance and rising to the challenge when it matters the most. It often is said that one way to judge a man is to see how he behaves when he thinks no one is watching, but I submit to you that the opposite is also true. You can also judge a man by what he is willing to do when everyone is watching. Heroes step forward when needed and something you can take away from Cal’s life is that whatever your past, even if you aren’t a well-liked person, or an especially nice one, you can still make the choice to be the hero you were meant to be. I don’t know if Cal considered me a friend, but I shall always consider him one.”

Not everyone gets to watch their own funeral, and I’ll confess I was a little choked up by Bo’s words. I’d been hard on the Biloxi Bugler, mocked him mercilessly at times, but it was because he was the genuine article. What he lacked in power, he more than made up for in conviction. I was on the fence about considering him a friend, but he’d more than earned my respect.

Bobby pointed to the monitor and proceeded to kill the moment, “You sure you weren’t seeing the Bugler on the side?”

I gave Bobby an incredulous look and said, “No.”

“He sure seemed to like you. Just saying.”

My empty casket memorial was in Biloxi, Mississippi of all places—also Bo’s doing. In attendance was a who’s who in the superhero world and even a smattering of political folks, including Wendy’s father. My guess was that the PR folks had worked overtime to convince most of them that it would be a good idea to attend. The President hadn’t come, but he’d sent along a statement and my long overdue pardon.

That might come in handy down the road
, I thought.

Aphrodite had released her own statement before the funeral, separate from the one made by her team, that was both kind and gracious. I figured that meant she hadn’t read the book yet. It also lacked anything that indicated her memories had returned.

I did have to laugh at the shitstorm my memoirs had kicked up. It was an international bestseller already. Promethia’s stock was at an all-time low and there was talk that they might even change their name, the way the tobacco companies did.

The next person to take the stage made me gulp involuntarily. Wendy looked like she hadn’t slept since my armor blew up, and I immediately felt bad.

“I can’t help but wonder what Cal would think if he were here,” she began. “He’d say something completely inappropriate, I’m certain. I don’t honestly know if I taught him anything about being a hero, but I can say that he taught me how to be a better leader, just by trying to keep up with him. He was a handful and a hot mess. He had this unfiltered personality that never failed to let you know what was on his mind. Cal could walk into a room and ten minutes later, everyone would be ready to strangle him. If this sounds like I’m insulting him, I’m not. Anyone who spent time with him knows this. In his book, he lamented that he had no real power to call his own. From my perspective, he had the ability to wield the truth in such a caustic and brutal manner that it angered you to hear what he said. When my child is old enough to ask about his or her father, I will say that he was a poor role model, who made a never ending series of bad decisions, but there was no one better to have at my back when I needed someone, because that was the kind of person Cal Stringel was. My child will grow up knowing that Cal died saving the city of Los Angeles, and was the primary reason the world was rescued from the control of the bugs. One could never accuse him of having noble intentions, but he did these things regardless, and that says everything you’d ever want to know about him. Thank you.”

Bobby passes me a beer and says, “If she ever finds out you’re alive, she’s gonna kill you!”

Nodding, I didn’t exactly relish the thought of telling her. “Hopefully, she never finds out.”

“So, how long do you think it’s gonna take you to build that new set of armor?”

I picked up the schematics I’d been working on ever since we’d gotten back inside, and removed what little contamination and irradiated materials there had been from the downstairs.

“I’ve got enough synth stockpiled to wire it, but I’ll need some extra. I’m a little short on armor plating and that’ll eat up a chunk of the remaining cash, but I still have a decent amount here of what Wendy loaned me, to get new armor. We shouldn’t have to worry about money for a bit. I’m guessing three months for construction, since I don’t really have much else going on.”

“So,” he said. “You okay with me going out on more jobs?”

My immediate reaction was to say no, but then I started thinking. “Actually, I guess there isn’t a reason not to. No one knows the location of this base except for you and me. Hell, Aphrodite doesn’t even remember where it is. I don’t see why not. Go for it.”

He looks all smug. “Guess I’m not the idiot you said I was in your book.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“No. Are you surprised I could read?”

“I said that on purpose to make sure people think that I really didn’t like you. You have to believe me. I was just covering all the bases.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, not looking completely convinced. “So, you really have that sex tape of you and Aphrodite in your room here?”

With a groan, I replied. “No, you can’t see it. Do you really want to see me having sex? Weren’t you just accusing me of some kind of relationship with the Bugler? Are you jealous or something?”

That dig really got Bobby’s hackles up, which made me feel better as he launched into a long and descriptive, profane rant.

But it did remind me that I needed to find a different hiding place for the drive containing that video. I wouldn’t put it past Bobby to crack open my safe like a coconut, to get it.

• • •

Even a technohermit like me could get cabin fever. When I opened the safe to hide the only copy of my meaningful encounter with a love goddess, I dug out one of my old fake identities—Jason Durso. After dying my hair black and not using my shaver, I looked more like Jason and less like Cal.

With my new armor about forty percent complete, I decided to head down to the Gulf Coast and take in the sea air. Inevitably, I found myself drawn to the spot where I’d spread the ashes of Vicky and the clone of Joe Ducie. The last time I’d been here had been just before the bugs, when I still had a base a short distance away, where that little crater now sat.

I’d liked that base. I saw a homemade sign where one of my neighbors was selling Mechani-CAL memorabilia. I had to laugh. I had a gift shop and had put this little spot of Pascagoula on the map. Vicky would have laughed her ass off.

Either my base self-destruct or a lightning strike had damaged the tree. The old oak had been battered, but had somehow survived. It was a fitting comparison to my life. I’d endured so much since the last time I stood in this spot.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “Look who came back? I’d have come back sooner, but I’ve been busy. Who would’ve thought that being dead would tie a person up so much? Since I’ve been gone, I’ve saved the world, became a poor excuse for a superhero, got the girl, lost the girl, fathered a kid with another girl, succeeded in knocking Lazarus Patterson from his perch, and faked the most epic death scene in history!”

Sitting down on a rock, I stared out over the water, talking to and joking with, a pair of dead people for close to two hours. The last time I was here, I’d hit what I thought was rock bottom and had been close to going insane, or was that even more insane? Tough to tell. I was in a better place now and not hearing any imagined voices. I was also at a crossroads. In roughly two months, the most powerful suit of armor in the history of this planet would be ready... and I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do with it!

“Sure,” I said, wishing either was here to give me advice. “I could go back to robbing places. Odds are no one could stop me. I could do the hero thing again, but it turns out that being a hero is more tedious than extraordinary. Monitor duty stinks, patrols stink, and it’s more cliquish than any high school ever! That’s the thing, rolling around in a pile of cash with everyone praising my name used to be the dream. People’s opinions don’t really mean anything to me anymore, and a villain’s life is usually about the money, but it just doesn’t cut it now. I guess I need to figure out where I’m going and what I want to be when I grow up, but that’s on me... or whoever I’m pretending to be now that I’m dead. Maybe I should just pack it all up and move to Costa Rica, like we always talked about, huh, Vicky?”

The sun was close to setting as I stood and said my goodbyes to my fallen friends, wondering what either of them would do in my shoes. Joseph, the clone, would have likely overthrown his master and would be halfway to world domination. Vicky, naturally, would have already conquered the world and would be having the best time, ever, doing it.

Me? I’d always prided myself with being the idea guy. Unfortunately, I was out of those at the moment. Starting down the hill, I saw a car moving at an excessive rate of speed for the bumpy access road. The tires spit gravel when the red sedan braked hard and came to a stop, nearly hitting Bobby’s truck. The driver threw open the door and came barreling out, staring at the cellphone in his hand.

Thankful there hadn’t actually been a collision, and trying to think what this chump’s problem could be, I was surprised when the man started running up the hill toward me. My pulse pistol was under the seat in the truck, so I became more than a little apprehensive. I stopped moving down the hill and waited for him to get closer.

“Hey!” he called, panting his way up the last half of the few hundred feet. The guy looked younger than I, late twenties I hazarded a guess, and was a bit on the overweight side.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“Were you just up there?” he asked pointing to the top of the hill.

“Yes.”

“Was anyone else up there with you for, like, the last hour?”

“No. Just me. Are you looking for someone?”

He seemed to relax and slowed his frantic pace. “I guess I’m looking for you then. I was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago, but got a damned flat; bet he saw that coming too!”

“What? What do you want?”

“To give you a postcard and ask you two questions.”

A postcard? Who runs around giving people postcards? I let the stranger get closer. He didn’t appear armed, and I was confident I could outrun the slob. “Okay,” I said, very cautious now.

The man pulled out a postcard, folded in half, that’d been stuffed into his back pocket, and finished closing the distance between us. He had this giddy look on his face that was more than a little creepy. “I can’t believe it’s finally over! This is the last one!”