1999: A Superhero Novel

by Hodden, TE

  She ran across the beach, sinking deeper and deeper into the Abyss of the warp. She leapt, and drove her spear through the storm into the face of the Avatar, through the broken eye, deep into the anvil shaped head, and down into the body.

  Then she surfaced.

  The displacement ballooned and bubbled in the body of the robot. The plates of armour buckled and split. Flashes of white energy shot out through the splits, venting in long jets.

  The robot dropped to its knees and sagged, a dead weight.

  The storm subsided. The assault paused. Barney and Harris still watched the robot down the sights of their weapons. Matthew landed on the beach, and caught Angel, as she staggered off-balance, exhausted.

  Charlie wavered on his feet, he hands held ready to weave a spell. “Is it dead?”

  Catherine reached into the spear, as she held it out to scan. Too late she felt the build up of energy welling within the robot. She didn’t even have time to shout a warning.

  The white ray flashed from the eye, and hit Charlie square in the chest. It lifted him off his feet, melted his armour away, and threw him over the beach, into the air, and pounded him against the bricks and concrete of the lighthouse that stood sentinel above the beach.

  What was left of him, scarlet and raw, dropped like a ragdoll.

  The Avatar took to the sky, breaking the sound barrier as he leapt into flight.

  Catherine sank into the Warp, and chased after him, speeding across the island and the water, into the city itself, and out the other side.

  01100

  Melisa watched the robot streaking overhead, from the controls of her Manta.

  Her heart sank. “That can’t be good.” Dread filled her. She suddenly remembered her older self, carrying the spear. She tapped her earpiece. “Cathy?”

  “I’m okay,” Catherine answered. “He got past us, I’m going to get to the weapons facility first and be waiting for him.”

  Melisa banked sharply, and flicked on the stealth field. “We can’t risk him getting to the facility. Find somewhere clear of civilians and I will put him down on the floor, where you can fight him.”

  “No!” Catherine snapped. “You aren’t a match for him. The Manta isn’t a match.”

  “Do you have a better plan?” Melisa demanded.

  Catherine paused. “No. We can use that plan. Everybody! Track my location. I’m finding somewhere out of the city, maybe the woods Up State. Angel, and Osprey, join me on the ground. We will be the anvil. Praetorian and Scimitar are the hammer.”

  Melisa growled. “I’m closer, and I’m faster, and…” She paused a moment. “And Charlie?”

  Catherine softened her voice. “You can get him to a hospital, then head to the Facility. Find out if there is a way to destroy the weapons before he can use them.”

  “Hospital?” Melisa asked, quietly. “Is he okay?”

  01101

  Barney Mitchell crouched in the woods, behind a dirt bank, a cigarette in his lips. The Osprey suit had configured itself into a walking tank, with overlapping layers of armour, and hefty tactical shield. On the other arm was nebula cannon. “Are you sure of this?”

  The suit showed him its analysis of their fight with the Avatar.

  “Okay,” Barney sighed. “Guys? When you attack the target, could try not to take out the eyeball ray gun?”

  Scimitar responded. “I do not like that idea.”

  “Osprey?” Matthew asked. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Sure,” Barney said, with more confidence than he felt. “Just try and encourage it to shoot me.”

  “The plan is growing on me,” Scimitar snarled.

  “Are you sure?” Matthew asked.

  “Yes,” Barney said, in a way that sounded a lot like a no. He closed the communications link, and sucked on his cigarette. “I really hope you are right about this Osprey.”

  On the other side of the clearing were Angel and Catherine, spread out to avoid catching each other in a crossfire.

  Barney reached the end of his cigarette, and ground the stub into the mud.

  Time seemed to drag.

  Boredom took root within his absolute terror.

  “Engaging now,” Matthew reported.

  The sounds of the battle, of sonic booms, explosions, and the crash of titanic impacts, echoed down from the night sky, getting louder and closer, and closer, until, the Avatar crashed through the treetops, and landed in a crouch. It swung its gaze over the clearing and leapt back into the sky.

  Angel slammed it back to the clearing with her force projection. Catherine blurred out of the trees, and pinned the Avatar down with a blizzard of displacement strikes.

  The Avatar lashed out with the white ray.

  “You wanted him angry?” Catherine asked, as she blurred away from the ray. It trailed behind her, exploding the trees into smouldering splinters. “I got it nice and mad!”

  “Time to get its attention!” Barney whispered, opening fire with the nebula gun, scoring three direct hits into the Avatar’s chest.

  Its head twisted and the white ray flared.

  Barney hunkered down behind his tactical shield.

  The ray struck the shield with the force of an express train. He dug his boots in, and pushed back, holding the shield out, as the ray shattered against it, like a wave hitting the rocks of a cliff. The jarring pressure of the impact echoed down his arm, through the armour. He angled the shield, and reflected the ray back.

  The Avatar howled as its own chest was burned away.

  The ray cut off, and the Avatar knelt, grunting and wheezing.

  Barney leant on a tree, his knees jelly, his heart pounding so fast and hard he felt weightless. “Was it enough?” He whispered. “Can you do this?” His suit folded and reconfigured, replacing the nebula gun, with a cannon shrouded in fanned heat-sinks and vents. “Matthew?”

  Matthew and Harris dropped down into the clearing.

  Matthew waved his hand, and lifted the Avatar from the floor, with his aura. “Look at me!”

  The Avatar stared at him. “Do not think this stops me Praetorian. Slay this body and I will still come for this world. I have underestimated you once. It will not happen again. I am on my way, and I am Legion.”

  Matthew shook his head. “We have no desire to go to war with you. If you force us to, we will defend this world. We will¬”

  The Avatar squawked, and the light behind the eye of the Avatar went dark.

  Harris pointed at Barney. “Make sure the robot is inert.”

  Barney fired the white ray from the cannon on his arm, and burned the heart out of the machine.

  01110

  Catherine found Melisa in the hospital room, sitting by Charlie’s bedside, reading to him from a battered and dog eared paperback, one of her collection.

  Melisa got to the end of the page, and marked her place with a paperclip, before she looked up and greeted her aunt with a smile.

  “How is he?” Catherine asked.

  Melisa shrugged. “No change. Stable, but…” She trailed off.

  Catherine stepped over and looked down at Charlie. The Englishman looked fragile as he lay on the bed, being fed oxygen with the help of a wheezing machine, his scrawny body wrapped in dressings, over the deep burns where the Avatar’s rays had burned him through his armour.

  For weeks now, the Doctors had said he was healing, faster than anybody should have, repairing broken bones and internal injuries that should have snapped his life away in an instant, but he had been unresponsive, in a state as much like a trance as it was a coma. The fragments of his broken vertebrae were knitting themselves whole again, he nerves were splicing back together, and his burned flesh was renewing itself, little by little, day by day.

  When Melisa had failed to find any friends, family, or next of kin to inform of the incident, she had taken on the duties herself, remaining at his side as often as she could.

  Melisa curled up on her chair. “He’s still in there. I can sense him, but it
’s like… an echo. Like he’s anchored here, but… so far away.”

  Cathy perched on the arm of the chair, and draped an arm around her niece. “Want to tell me what was going on with you two in LA?”

  Melisa sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh.” Cathy smiled. “What kind of complicated?”

  Melisa frowned. “The kind where he was contacted by a future version of me, to investigate it, and I ended up having a chat with a future version of him, who was still annoying, but I think… in the future we are meant to be closer… and I saw…”

  “Yourself?” Cathy asked.

  Melisa gave her a pained look, and nodded slowly.

  Catherine softened her tone. “And you didn’t like what you saw?”

  Melisa gave her a pained look. “I was carrying the spear.”

  “Oh.” Catherine pursed her lips. “You think…”

  Melisa nodded and curled into the hug. “I am trying, very hard, not to think about that.”

  Catherine stared at Charlie. “Was that what they wanted you to change?”

  Melisa shuddered. “No… they had warnings about… somebody called Misrule and…” She frowned. “And they said we had to hurry because we had to play our part in stopping what was happening now. They must have meant the Avatar, but you didn’t need us.”

  Catherine gave her a thoughtful smile. “Maybe things are already changing.”

  “Maybe,” Melisa whispered, unsure. “Maybe…”

  Catherine kissed her forehead. “I thought maybe I could watch him for a while. Give you time to shower and change before the funeral.”

  Melisa’s eyes widened. “The… Oh… I am so sorry. I forgot. I lost track of…”

  Her aunt smiled. “You were busy. He will understand. Go and prepare.”

  Melisa placed the book on the bedside table, and grabbed her aunt in a hug. “Thank you!”

  01111

  Professor Jeff Warner walked briskly down the marble steps, into the Throne Room, escorted by Husks, the mummified corpses, in their close fitting boiler suits, layers of body armour, and silver balaclavas, carrying their heavy calibre machineguns.

  The Last Martian leant forwards in its towering throne, many times too big for him. He stared down at Warner, through the eyeholes of the black marble mask, inlaid with silver and copper circuits, under a deep hooded cloak, once regal, but now threadbare and ragged, like the skeletal, leathery, Martian itself.

  The Throne Room was a vast, spherical camber, of dark stone, decorated with a complex web of psionic circuits and machinery, that melded seamlessly into the grand statues, and richly detailed engravings of Martian history and legend.

  Warner knelt at the foot of the throne, and bowed his head. “My Master. My…Emperor Niloc.”

  The Martian drew a rasping, breath. “I have reconsidered your offer.”

  Warner hid his triumphant smile, turning it to a humbled look of concern, as he raised his head. “You have?”

  The Martian’s reptilian claw reached out of its threadbare sleeve, and gestured for the Husks to back away. “The Staff of my fathers was where you said it were, but the… vermin who have infested the colony world were… better prepared than anticipated. There was…”

  “An augmented human?” Warner enquired. “The Honour Guard. With the deepest respect, My Master, I did try to warn you.”

  “The Vermin are primitive, but have evolved further and faster than expected,” the Martian sneered.

  “Indeed,” Warner said, rising to his feet, and putting his hands behind his back. “A direct assault is folly. Even if successful, it will draw unwanted attention, and risk exposing your existence, your forces too soon. Your enemies would recognise the threat you pose, and move against you. I have other… more subtle means, in mind.” He put his hand to his chest, in a Martian salute. “With your leave?”

  The Martian drew another long, rasping breath. “With my leave. You shall begin.”

  Warner smiled, and clicked his heels. “Excellent.” He turned sharply, and marched back towards the stairs. His triumphant smile had returned, and his eyes shone with dark and terrible ambition. He chuckled lightly to himself, and whispered under his breath. “Excellent!”

  10000

  Luther Allistaire stepped out of the helicopter onto the deck of the cargo ship.

  He ducked under the rotors, and down the steps to the vast open deck, where a motely band of mercenaries were waiting for him, along with a white haired, feline young woman in a business suit, mirrored glasses and killer heels.

  Allistaire presented himself to the young woman. “Miss Shriving.”

  Miss Shriving’s smile was cold. “Mister Allistaire. This way.”

  She moved quicker than somebody in those heels should have been capable of, without a hint of tottering or swaying, as she descended the narrow steps into the gangway.

  A palace of sorts had been built in the hold of the ship. Where once there had been stacked cargo containers, and dank metal, there were two floors of opulence and luxury. On the lower of the two, there were deep carpets on the floor, and walls of soundproofing tiles, hidden behind regal wall hangings. Beautiful young men and women, all of them athletic and statuesque, glowing with health and vitality, from across the full spectrum of humanity, lounged in loose, simple uniforms of buff cotton, clustered in small circles, in deep leather chairs, talking, laughing, or playing songs on guitars, and singing along.

  As Allistaire stepped into the deck, the scattered youths fell silent, and all turned to stare at him.

  The Lord Of Misrule was sat at the far end of room, where it narrowed into the prow, and the palace became a library, with many bookcases, of dark old wood, filled with antique, leather bound books. He was hunched over his wide desk, peering at his notes through his horn rimmed glasses.

  The Lord was a wrinkles, knotted, old figure, of a venerable age, bald and hawkish, dressed in a pure white suit, of a distinctly old fashioned cut. He waved Allistaire forwards and gestured to one of the rickety antique seats, on the far side of the table.

  Allistaire adjusted his suit, and sat.

  The Lord looked up at him, over his glasses. “Are you afraid of me, Mister Allistaire?”

  “I am fully aware of your capabilities,” Allistaire answered.

  The Lord clucked his tongue, put down his fountain pen. “Yes, then. Good. Good! And which of my capabilities is it that you are afraid of, Sir?”

  The Lord stared over the top of his glasses at Allistaire. His eyes were set deep, lost in shadow. They were the golden orange of glowing embers. The body may have seemed frail, with parchment thin skin, and crooked bones, but his eyes betrayed an inner strength.

  Allistaire swallowed, unable to look away.

  “It is a simple question,” the Lord said, his lips moving into a slight smile. “Are you afraid because I have the capability to… expose you? Because I might blackmail you? Because…” He glanced briefly at the mercenaries. “Well, because your body might be laid to rest on a seabed, never to be found?”

  “No,” Allistaire whispered. “I fear you because one day it might be my daughter you have kidnapped, and one of those… things… put in her head.”

  “And well you might,” the Lord agreed. “Your eldest is fourteen I believe? And already in the habit of slipping away from her school in search of adventure. It must be terrible for you, having to keep her safe, afraid of her resenting you, and pushing back to the point that she runs away, and becomes… easy pickings?” The Lord pursed his thin lips. “And if not one of your daughters, then your wife… your lover…” He waved a finger. “Of course, I took no pleasure in what I had to do to poor Eloise Croft. Her father reneged on his responsibilities, and had to be reminded of the debts he owed me. As long as he continues to live to his end of the bargain, there is no need for his daughter to ever be… welcomed into my fold, is there? She can continue to be treated.”

  “Will she?” Allistaire asked. “He is into his second t
erm. When he is no longer president, will he still be of use?”

  The Lord tapped a finger to his lips. “I see no need to punish her. Croft has done his best, but he is… slow. He is behind schedule. Projects that should be completed by now, languish and wallow. What I need is a new business partner. Somebody who has the drive to match our mutual friend’s ambitions. Now… I could…force the loyalty of a President. I could tether them on a leash and choke them into submission. That does not mean I should want to. What I would desire is to have somebody who already knows why they should be afraid of them, so I will never have to… demonstrate my capabilities. Somebody who will be wise enough to agree to an understanding.”

  Allistaire cleared his throat. “I could… approach the Vice President as your envoy.”

  The Lord shook his head. “The Vice President is not sat before me.”

  Allistaire trembled. His chest turned cold, and his heart knotted. “What is it you wish?”

  “A great, sweeping, wave of American reform,” the Lord of Misrule said, in a hissing voice. “I want all my projects soaring ahead by the turn of the Millennium. A golden age of renovation in the USA. New schools, hospitals, libraries and housing projects, across the land. They do not have to be completed, but the foundations must be lain, and the bunkers in place, as Croft promised, years ago.” He took a dossier from a drawer, and slid it across the desk to Allistaire. “I want you, Mister President, to rise from a terrible tragedy, as a hero.”

  Allistaire closed his eyes. “And if I refuse?”

  The Lord leant forwards, close enough for Allistaire to smell the faint hint of brimstone on his breath. “You will not.”

  10001

  Charlie Gull was not alone. He could feel eyes on him, as somebody followed him, moving swift and silently between the shadows of the trees.

  The Dream was a primordial forest. Ferns, bluebells, and clover grew between the bulbous roots of bloated oak trees. Butterflies and moths danced in the dappled rays of golden sun that pierced the knotted canopy.