by R. J. Ross
Pan steps through the Central Hall’s security field to find a handful of black suits looking strangely at the machine that Nico had given them a few minutes earlier. “Mastermental is on his way,” one says to Pan, “but until then, we need to place this somewhere they can’t find it, right?”
“No,” Pan says, frowning. “If they can’t find it, but know it’s here, it’ll cause even more problems for the Hall. I would destroy it, but that will do nothing except further anger them… as well as Nico, no doubt.”
“Why would that anger Technico?” the black suit asks.
“If you had a device that somehow could turn a lower B-class cape into a prospective S-class, would you destroy it?” Pan asks them, reaching out and taking the device. He lets out a startled sound as his feet leave the ground. “Whoa, this was not what I expected…“ he says, trying to keep his balance. He’s never flown before, and he’s not certain that he likes it. “However did Nico bring this here without blacking out the entire planet?” he asks, turning the machine this way and that.
“So what do we do? Should someone take it away from here?”
“That might work, for a small period of time,” Pan says.
“I have to ask, sir, but how is it that no one’s ever heard of this device?” a black suit asks, staring at it with wonder. “Every D-class cape in the world would kill to get their hands on that thing. Does it work on norms?”
“I would rather not find out,” Pan says, examining the machine closely. He’s not the technopath, he inwardly complains, he’s not the one that should be stuck with this problem!
“So what should we do?” the black suit asks, again, his eyes glued to the machine.
“Why is it that they only found it now? Their father must have hidden it over thirty years ago,” Pan says to himself. He stops as his fingers brush against what feels suspiciously like a switch. “Ah… perhaps—“
“”Wait, Pan, that’s—“ Nico says over his earbud. It’s too late. Pan has already flicked the switch. The room lights up and all of the norms around him start to float for a second before the lights turn off and everyone, including Pan, falls to the ground.
“Nico? What just happened?” Pan asks.
“You just overclocked the motor,” Nico says, sighing. “Now it’ll take another thirty years for that ancient chunk of metal to generate enough energy to work again. Ladies, I have to apologize, it looks like this was a waste of time—“
“Thirty years to generate energy?” Pan says, picking up the machine again.
“It’s an antique,” Nico says. “It’s possible that even with another thirty years, it’ll never recover. But regardless, it would have only boosted one of them for a week, at most.”
“Then give it to me,” Pan hears North say. “I’ll hold onto it until it’s regenerated the energy—“
“No, give it to me!” South says. “She’ll never share it!”
“I’ll take it! And then when it does recharge, I’ll make sure everyone gets a chance to use it,” West says.
“Oh, please, West, like we’ll really go along with that,” South says. “I vote they bury it somewhere and we go and find it again when it’s recharged. That’ll give everyone the exact same chance of getting it.”
“Ladies, ladies, it’ll only be good for a week at most, even then!” Nico says. “Do you really need to make such a big deal out of it?”
“YES!” they say.
“Then I’ll make sure it’s buried somewhere top secret,” he says.
“I don’t like it…” North mutters.
“Fine, go bury it. Make sure it’s really deep this time, got it?” West says.
“And somewhere these two will never think to look!” South says. Pan holds his breath until he’s certain that the triplets have left, and then looks over as the door slides open and Nico walks in.
“Crisis averted,” Nico declares. The black suits start cheering.
“You could recharge this, couldn’t you,” Pan says, holding up the machine.
“They never asked,” Nico says, taking it from him. “Gentlemen, do some research and find a good place to bury this, would you? I need to get back to my cleanup duty.”
“How did Stormbringer spend so many years doing what he did when it would only last a week?” Pan asks as the black suits head off with the machine. “As I recall, he was famous for his earthquakes, but he also specialized in twisters, tsunamis, and several other massive acts of nature.”
“He was an avid meteorologist, and used his weather manipulation powers to accurately predict it months before the others did,” Mastermental says as he walks into the room. “More than ninety-five percent of his so-called acts were just things that would have happened without his help. Remember, back then they weren’t as accurate as they are now. But thanks to his grandstanding, millions of lives were saved because we evacuated the areas he would ‘attack.’”
“How do you know all of that?” Pan asks curiously.
“He was part of my branch, of course.”
“I… see… but then, how did he create a machine like that? I really doubt a weather manipulator could be a technopath as well!” He looks over at Nico, since Mastermental frowns thoughtfully in response.
“That thing? I’m betting it’s ancient alien tech. It was probably used to run a space suit of some sort, long ago,” Nico says, waving it off.
“And you’re comfortable just letting them bury it somewhere? Without dissecting it?” Pan asks.
“No need to, I grabbed the blueprints on the way over here. Thanks to that old clunker, I’ve got some new toys just waiting to be made!”
SKYSTEP
When we first met Skye, she was seen as a rather dangerous enemy, and possibly the woman that killed Emily’s parents. Because Vinny’s uncle, Flameblaster, moved up to Central, she followed him (it was boring without her nemesis!) but when she saw Emily, (who looked exactly like the best friend she had lost previously,) she caused all sorts of havoc, and Liz almost killed her. Of course, as the series progresses, Skye gets a loving family and an all-girls villain group, but when she first showed up, she was probably the loneliest and most paranoid character in the series. Around that time, the Pen and Cape Society was planning to put out their first anthology. I really wanted to get a better look into Skye’s head, so I decided to use her as my MC for the short story. I have to admit that even to this day whenever I get milk at Wal-mart, I think of a scene from this story.
So without further ado: “I am SKYSTEP” (Previously published in PCS’s book: The Good Fight 2: Villains)
I Am SKYSTEP
It’s the sound of sirens that wake me. I grunt and roll over, looking at the window to see if there’s enough light worth waking up for. Hmmm . . . It looks like it’s about noon. I guess I can wake up at noon. I mean, I’m totally out of things to eat, right?
I don’t bother to take the sheets off, I just phase through them. Hey, what’s the point when sometime in the middle of the night my leg did it already? I step out of the pile of blankets and sheets that make up my bed on the floor and head for the bathroom. I turn on the water—nothing happens. It looks like they turned it off. I’m going to have to visit the water company again. That’s always such a pain—they don’t take me seriously until I do something dramatic. Then again, I LOVE being dramatic.
Something’s off. It feels like I’m not alone.
I look around, curiously—Someone’s watching me, or recording me. I know they are. They’re ALWAYS watching me. It’s probably the government. I look around, my eyes narrowing. I can’t see anyone, but—“I know you’re here!” I say, waving a fist. “I don’t know where you’re watching from, or who’s pulling your strings, but I’ll NEVER CRACK! You’ll NEVER LEARN MY SECRETS! Oh, you don’t like that, huh? HA! I am SKYSTEP! I LAUGH AT YOUR ANGER!
“Well, whatever, if you want to see something dramatic you’re going to have to wait. This is my day off from super villain work.”
I�
��m starving. I head to my fridge. (Thankfully they haven’t cut my electricity. I think Voltdrain has something to do with that. He’s such a busybody, no wonder he’s a South Branch hero.) I look inside, at something . . . green. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a vegetable to start with. I poke it, just in case, and give up when it falls over. Nope. I might be a little crazy, but I’m not THAT crazy. I sigh and close the door, grabbing my norm clothes and shrugging them on. It’s time to go shopping. I hop into the air, phasing through the wall and running through the sky, the world fifteen feet beneath me.
My socks don’t match, wait, where are my shoes, anyway? Now this probably wouldn’t be a problem if I weren’t already halfway to the grocery store, huh? I stop, just standing on the air high above the street, and look down at my shoeless feet thoughtfully. There’s that sign at the store that says “No shirt, no shoes, no service” right? I think they put it up for me the last time I went to the store in my PJs. But I need stuff to eat, if you don’t eat, you die, right? Or get really, really hungry, at least!
“Hey! Hey you! Lady!” I say, walking down invisible steps and onto the sidewalk. “What size shoes are you wearing?”
“Um—seven?” she offers.
“Darn it, I need an eight!” I complain. “Does anyone here wear a size eight?” The entire crowd on the sidewalk look at each other and then at me, shaking their heads.
“There’s a shoe store right over there, Skystep,” a little girl offers with a huge grin.
I get in her face, because—”YOU DO NOT GRIN AT A SUPER VILLAIN!” I yell, waving my arms in the air. She starts laughing her head off. I straighten and cross my arms over my chest, tapping my foot as I wait for her to stop. For some reason, that makes her laugh even harder. Soon I hear little snorts of laughter from the crowd, so I turn to glare them into submission.
“I like your socks,” the little girl says as soon as she calms down, pointing at them.
Well, then, that’s more acceptable, I think. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m very fond of them, as well.” One has Maximum’s logo the other has a teddy bear. They rock! With my ego appeased, I strut off to the shoe store, certain I made my point—whatever point that was. The bell rings over my head and I look around the shoe store, seeing a college age girl sitting at the front desk. When she sees me she stands, a strange look on her face.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I’m looking for shoes,” I say, heading down the aisles, “I need them to go shopping.”
“Okay,” she says, “but don’t you need them to go shopping here, too?”
“What would be the point of shopping for shoes if you already HAVE them?” I demand. “If I had shoes I wouldn’t have to buy shoes so I could go shopping! Duh.”
“That’s a good point, I guess?” she offers as I grab a box off of the shelves and pull out a pair of tennis shoes.
“How much damage can you do with these?” I ask her, holding up the shoes. “Do you think you can break skulls with them?”
“Probably not,” she says, “but they’d be good for running?”
“I do a lot of running,” I say thoughtfully. “Do you have any with metal toes? I think it’d be a great compromise!”
“Not the tennis shoes here, sorry. I mean, they exist, but I’ll have to special order them. Maybe we could find you some boots that have rubber soles?”
“Great idea!” I say, “To the boots!”
“Can I ask—are you Skystep?” she asks. “I mean, you’re out of uniform and all that, but you remind me of her so much.”
“Why would you think I was Skystep?” I ask.
“Because you’re walking half a foot off the ground?”
I look down. Whoops. I drop down to floor level. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say in my best “bland” voice.
“I’m a huge fan of Skystep,” she says, “I’ve even got her poster at home. She’s just so…”
“So?” I prompt.
“Fun to watch,” she says, grinning widely at me. “Here, these should work,” she says, picking up a pair of display boots and showing them to me. “What size?”
“Eight, can I get them in neon colors like the tennis shoes?”
***
I decided on the tennis shoes after all and I stole them! Well, sort of. See, Century once dropped a credit card during one of our epic battles and I stole it from him! So every time I go shopping, I’m robbing the head of the South Branch Hall, it’s AWESOME. I figure he’s just so loaded with cash that he doesn’t even notice I’m using his card, so he hasn’t canceled it yet. I even had her order some steel toed tennis shoes for me! I’m really looking forward to those.
Now, I think as I head for the grocery store, it’s finally time to go shopping! I’ve got all my clothes on this time, shoes included! So they shouldn’t have any reason to yell at me for coming in, right? I head into the Wal-Mart, holding my head high and even grabbing a shopping cart. I glance down, making sure I’m walking on ground, and head into the store. I nod at the old man that greets people, but my attention is already drawn to all the things in this place. Movies! Clothes! I bet they’ve even got shoes. If they’ve got the steel-toed tennis shoes here, I am going to be SO mad.
I head down the main aisle, looking around curiously. There’s an entire display of T-shirts to the right featuring Voltdrain. He’s been even more popular since he did that press release about his daughter going to that school, Cape High. (It’s in Central, like that silly Panther—who I totally beat as a super villain! I rock!) I refuse to wear Voltdrain material, but for once I have no desire to cause a ruckus about the whole massive display. I suppose, of all the heroes, he’s the one I can tolerate most… possibly.
“Skystep.”
I’m just thinking about him and now I’m imagining his voice, huh? “Skye,” I hear him say again. Slowly I turn, seeing a muscular Hispanic man standing behind me. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says “America’s Son” across the chest.
“I could have sworn America’s Son was a blonde,” I say, tapping my chin. He just looks at me with that “I see what you did there” expression. “I’m just grocery shopping!” I say, raising both my hands in the air. “I’m not here to break the law this time!”
Okay, there might have been a few little incidents at various grocery stores, a few slight misunderstandings. I’m not perfect and I swear that the checkout lady started that last one. “Don’t you have more important things to do, Volty?” I ask, grabbing my cart again and starting down an aisle. Just as I expected, he follows me. He’s such an annoying goody-two-boots. “Oh, look, Valentines candy is still on sale!” I wheel away from him to go raid the aisle, barely hearing him as he calls someone.
“She’s just grocery shopping,” he says. “She will behave herself, I am sure.”
And he’s gone, leaving me to peacefully continue my shopping spree.
Wait, why did I come again? Oh, hey, there’s one of those game stations! I look at the ten year old playing and grin. No competition.
***
Century leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up on his desk and rubbing his temple. Skystep going anywhere is a pain in the neck. It’s easier now, of course, since he “accidentally” dropped a credit card last fight. She isn’t nearly as apt to just walk out of the place with her loot this way. He’s positive she takes joy out of the fact he’s “unwittingly” buying all her stuff. Thankfully she’s too ditzy to realize just how much she could get away with spending. As it is, he’s paying less this way than he would if she were on the official South Branch Hall docket. That actually worries him a little when he thinks of it. Is the girl even eating?
Wait, now’s not the time.
He looks at the male standing in front of his desk, an even bigger headache threatening to emerge. “So you’d like to join the South Hall,” he says. “Is there a reason you came to my alter ego’s business to ask me about it? This place has nothing to do with the Hall,” other than that s
ilent “I know who you are” threat. He’s sure the boy is gloating over the fact he knows Century’s secret identity. The boy, who looks about sixteen, is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. It’s a wonder that he even managed to make it into Century’s office. The security at Texan Son Oil is usually good enough to catch things like this.
“Because I’m going to show you that I’m ready,” the boy says. “You were just talking about Skystep, right? I’ll take her out and prove it.”
“Now just wait one moment, son,” Century says, trying to hide his reaction to that cockiness, “at least tell me your name and powers, we don’t want to start anything with Skystep—”
“So you ARE scared of her!” he says, “That’s pathetic! An entire Hall afraid of a single girl!”
Century groans, running a hand over his face as he tries to keep from yelling at the boy. “You don’t seem to understand, son—”
“I am NOT your son! I’m Treble Clef!”
“Trouble Clef,” Century says.
“TREB-uhl,” Treble repeats, “I’m music powered.” Century just stares at him. There’s a long enough pause for Treble to look a little awkward before he shoves his old-fashioned boom box forward. “I get my power from this,” Treble says.
“And you think you can take out Skystep?” Century asks blankly.
“Tell me where she is and I’ll prove it!”
He’s sending the kid to his own butt-kicking, Century thinks. “She should be getting out of Wal-Mart on 75th Street soon,” he says with an inward sigh. “Let me make a few calls and get everything arranged.”
Well, if the boy survives, he might send him up to Central. They seem to do well with little upstarts like him.
***
I don’t like any of these milk dates. I’ve been looking through them for several minutes and none of them are good—it should last a month, at least, right? Growing irritated, I step through the milk and shelves to see if they have more milk in the area behind the shelves. The old man working there screams and falls back, grasping his chest as if he’s about to have a heart attack. “Do you have ANY fresh milk?” I demand, completely ignoring his shock.
