“Okay, but that means we need to find this power source fast.”
“Agreed.”
“Alright,” I said, coming to a decision. “Hang back for a second.”
Without waiting for Mouse to reply, I shifted into super speed and went zipping down the hallway. My assumption was that, as a speedster, I could swiftly check out the area and report back, while encountering only a miniscule amount of radiation (if any at all) in the process. That would hopefully keep my mentor out of danger, as well as make up, to some extent, for my blunder with the subway train.
As I zoomed down the corridor, I didn’t see anything unusual initially, but towards the end of the passageway (which terminated in a dead end), I noticed that the walls on both sides gave way to what appeared to be jail cells – two on each side – with bars at the front.
Thinking that one of them might contain Dream Machine’s power generator, I peeked into each. All of them, however, were completely barren except the last one on the left, which contained someone that I took to be a homeless man from his appearance.
His hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in some time, and he had a shaggy, unkempt beard. Lying on the floor, he appeared to be asleep, and my read of his emotional state gave the same indication. All around him were empty liquor bottles, and from the way he smelled, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he probably took his breakfast, lunch, and dinner in liquid form.
Leaving him there, I quickly ran back to Mouse.
“There’s nothing down there,” I said. “No machines, equipment, or anything that struck me as capable of generating power.”
“So it’s completely empty?”
“Well, there is a guy down there,” I admitted. “Some wino. I was going to teleport him to a shelter or something, but thought you might want to check him first to see if he’s been exposed to radiation.”
“Show me,” Mouse practically demanded. Without hesitating, I teleported us down the hallway.
We popped up directly in front of the homeless man’s cell. The Geiger counter on Mouse’s tablet immediately became louder, producing infinitely more static.
“Where is he?” Mouse asked, not realizing that he was actually facing the wrong way.
“Over here,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder to get him to turn around. The fellow in the cell, now awake, was in the process of putting one of the empty liquor bottles up to his mouth. “As I said, it’s just some wino.”
Mouse took one look at the guy and drew in a harsh breath. “That’s not just some wino – it’s Atomic Bum!”
“What?!” I exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise.
Atomic Bum was a homeless man discovered in the middle of a huge, smoking, radioactive crater a few years back, following an explosion in a heavily forested area. In addition to Atomic Bum himself, investigators also discovered evidence that someone had been snatching homeless people off the street and experimenting on them – often with gruesome, horrifying results. After a few attempts at questioning him, it became obvious to investigators that the man they had found was mentally addled, but he provided enough information to make it clear that he had been one of those abducted.
It also became evident that he was a super, with a power set that seemed to mimic nuclear reactions. However, it was unknown whether this ability was something he possessed prior to being kidnapped or the result of an experiment after he was taken. One thing was sure, though: whoever had taken him ultimately found out that they had bitten off more than they could chew.
Because he didn’t seem to have a name or permanent address – and grew agitated when he went too long without alcohol – the media nicknamed him Atomic Bum. He was generally considered to be harmless, but when upset or flustered, his powers would activate.
Looking at him in the cell now, as he set down the first bottle and tried to drink from another, a lot of things suddenly became clear. First and foremost was that this was Dream Machine’s power supply – a living, nuclear power plant.
“What do we do now?” I asked as Atomic Bum tried to drink from yet a third empty bottle.
“Give me a sec,” Mouse said, as he appeared to examine the exterior of the cell.
The sound of glass shattering drew my attention back to Atomic Bum. Apparently frustrated at not having anything alcoholic available, he had thrown the last empty bottle forcefully against the back wall of the cell.
“Where’s my bottle?!” he shouted angrily. All of a sudden, his eyes focused on me. “You! What have you done with it?”
“Huh?” I said.
“My bottle!” the homeless man screamed, spewing spittle as he came towards me. “I know you have it!”
Without warning, his eyes began to take on a mild red glow. At the same time, the Geiger counter began making even more noise and the temperature seemed to rise.
“Look,” I said, trying to speak in a calm voice. “I don’t have your bottle, but if you just stay calm, we can get you something to drink.”
“Give me my bottle!” Atomic Bum screamed, making it clear that my words hadn’t registered with him. Now at the front of the cell, he reached menacingly through the bars, causing me to take an involuntary step back.
His eyes were now a deep crimson, and the Geiger counter was going completely crazy. This guy was obviously starting to give off a ton of radiation, as well as oppressive heat. He was still rattling on about his bottle, and it was clear that no amount of talk was going to calm him down.
“Mouse!” I shouted. “Based on what the Geiger counter’s saying, we need to get out of here!”
“Have you forgotten about Dream Machine?” Mouse asked. “If this is his power source, we can’t just leave him.”
“Then shut down whatever he’s using to siphon power off this nut!”
“There’s not enough time.”
“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll teleport this guy some place where he can go nuclear without killing anyone.”
“No!” Mouse exclaimed. “If he unleashes some type of fission reaction, you don’t know how big the explosion will be.”
As usual, Mouse was right; I had no idea how much damage this guy could truly cause. Moreover, even without considering how big the blast radius would be, there would still be the other effects of a nuclear explosion to contend with – everything from radiation poisoning to flash blindness to nuclear fallout.
No, I couldn’t teleport him without knowing more about the likely outcome.
“Phase the bars,” Mouse suddenly ordered, catching me by surprise.
“What?” I said, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly.
“Phase the cell bars,” he said. “Make them insubstantial.”
I phased the bars as directed. Atomic Bum, who was leaning against them at the time, still reaching for me, fell forward off-balance and toppled to the ground.
Mouse stepped forward, and I simply watched, unsure of what he would do. Maybe try to talk some sense into Atomic Bum? Or promise him a drink if he’d just calm down? Or –
My thoughts were cut off as Mouse, planting a foot just as Atomic Bum came to his hands and knees, kicked the fellow solidly in the jaw. Atomic Bum flipped over onto his back, unconscious.
Or that, I said to myself.
Chapter 2
Mouse’s kick sent Atomic Bum into dreamless unconsciousness, at which point he seemingly stopped generating radiation and heat. My mentor then spent a minute poking around the cell Atomic Bum had been in until he found what appeared to be a hidden panel. Behind it was a fair amount of sophisticated tech and equipment, which was apparently designed to siphon off radiation and – ultimately – use it to create electrical power.
“There,” Mouse said with finality, after fiddling with the equipment behind the wall panel for a moment. “Dream Machine’s power supply is no more.”
“And the upload?” I asked, almost timidly.
“I’m not connected to Dream Machine’s network anymore,” Mouse admitted, looking at hi
s tablet. “But I’m using a remote link to monitor the satellite’s systems, and all indications are that the upload aborted.”
I allowed myself a small grin, thankful that my earlier faux pas with the train had not had lasting repercussions.
“I think we’re done here,” Mouse added. “Why don’t you head on back to HQ and get checked out? We can do the formal debrief tomorrow morning.”
It was a kind gesture on his part. He knew that – aside from the mission – I had a lot on my mind.
Basically, I had just returned several weeks earlier from a sojourn to the distant planet Caeles – the homeworld of my maternal grandmother, an alien princess known as Indigo. My grandmother herself had been called home decades ago, leaving my grandfather to raise their infant daughter alone.
My own visit to Caeles had been fraught with peril, and I’d almost been killed on more than one occasion. Needless to say, I was happy to have made it back to Earth in one piece. Even better, Queen Dornoccia – ruler of the Caelesian Empire – had allowed my grandmother to return home with me. (Indigo had essentially been under house arrest on her homeworld.) Unfortunately, the queen had also required me to come home with something else that was entirely unexpected: a fiancée.
To someone on the outside looking in, it probably appeared that I had won the lottery. My betrothed was a Caelesian princess named Isteria (although she preferred that I call her “Myshtal,” which was one of her many middle names). She was a great-great-granddaughter – and favorite – of Queen Dornoccia. Because of the way Caelesian politics worked, Myshtal was not necessarily in line to inherit the throne, but she was heir to a considerable fortune. On top of all that, she was breathtakingly beautiful, with a sharp wit and lively personality that made everyone she met practically fall in love with her – everyone except my girlfriend, that is.
Frankly speaking, however, the arrangement with Myshtal was more of a business deal than anything else. On Caeles, it’s not uncommon to use betrothals to cement commercial partnerships or political alliances. In my case, it had been the cost of getting Queen Dornoccia’s support for my Caelesian family, which was under political attack, among other things. In exchange, I was to bring Myshtal home with me and look after her. (Myshtal had some budding super powers, and the queen had felt those abilities would be better developed on Earth, where such talents were more common.) Of course, I would have made Myshtal’s well-being a priority even without the formality of an engagement, but apparently that’s the Caelesian way of doing things, and when in Rome…
As might be expected, I wasn’t wild about the situation – for quite a number of reasons. First of all, I was only sixteen, so marriage (even to someone who was quite fetching, and a princess) was one of the furthest things from my mind. Next, even though she was an adolescent by Caelesian standards, Myshtal was considerably older than me. (Caelesians live about five times longer than people on Earth.) Finally, as previously noted, I already had a girlfriend. The only good news was the fact that – once again – this was really nothing more than a business arrangement. That being the case, there was no guarantee that it would end in matrimony. (And even if it did, I had been assured that the date for any nuptials would be well in the future.)
All in all, I had a lot on my plate at the moment in terms of my personal life. Thus, the mission to deal with Dream Machine had been a welcome distraction. Now that it was seemingly over, however, my mind naturally began to turn once again to all the issues I was grappling with. Still, dealing with the AI and its machinations had made me acutely aware of how negligible my problems were: they were still bothersome, but compared to threats like world domination, they didn’t carry a lot of weight.
My mind back on our present situation, I contemplated Mouse’s suggestion that I take off only for a moment before discarding it. My mentor was a bright guy and I was confident that he could handle himself, but – from what I’d been able to glean – he had no discernable super powers. Thus, I wasn’t about to leave him alone in what was obviously the lair of a supervillain (albeit one we had allegedly stopped), and I stated as much.
“Suit yourself,” Mouse said with a shrug. “But support is en route, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He was proved right about a minute later when Buzz, the speedster of the Alpha League, zipped down the corridor and halted in front of us.
“You took your time,” Mouse said, admonishing him.
“Hey, man, you’re lucky I got here this fast,” Buzz droned as he acknowledged my presence with a nod. “Do you know how many underground tunnels and hallways I had to search to find you? The homing beacon doesn’t come with a map. It told me where you were, but not how to get here.”
Buzz was, of course, speaking of the communicator that all Alpha League members carry with them as part of their standard equipment. It addition to allowing two-way communication, the device served a dual function by also operating as a tracker/homing beacon. Apparently Mouse had reached out to his colleague without me noticing. (Or, more likely, he had previously instructed Buzz to join us after the mission was over.)
Confident now that Mouse had adequate backup, I teleported back to Alpha League Headquarters.
Chapter 3
I popped up in the infirmary at League HQ. Because of the Dream Machine mission, an emergency response team was already on standby in case someone came back in dire need of medical attention. I didn’t think possible radiation exposure was anything they were expecting, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way they reacted.
In essence, the medical team operated like a well-oiled machine, switching immediately from idle into high gear from the moment I appeared – testing, probing, and evaluating my condition at a pace that was almost dizzying (even for a speedster like me). Within twenty minutes, I was pronounced fit and released. That might have seemed hasty by some standards, but the Alpha League – in keeping with their prominence as the gold standard for superhero teams – had the best doctors, the best equipment, and the best facilities available. If their medical team gave me a clean bill of health, then that meant I was good to go.
From the infirmary, I teleported to my room. Like all members of the League’s teen affiliate, I had my own quarters at HQ – a comfy, one-bedroom unit with a cozy living room, a kitchenette, and a small breakfast area. (In truth, the League actually had several floors designated as on-site residences, so every League member had their own individual living quarters.) Historically, however, the teen apartments were seldom used; they were really only utilized the few times each year that teen supers were required to stay at HQ for extended training – usually during summer. That said, we could actually use them any time we liked.
The first order of business when I arrived was to take a shower. Having just come back from a mission that took place almost wholly underground (and involving a lot of dusty places), I felt a little grimy. However, it was nothing that soap and water couldn’t fix.
Fifteen minutes later, after a leisurely – but not overlong – shower, I felt ready to go out. Now dressed in a pair of khakis and a navy-blue sweater, I teleported to the teen lounge area of Alpha League Headquarters.
The lounge was a break room for members of the League’s teen affiliate that housed, among other things, dart boards, video game consoles, and a billiards table. Needless to say, it was a favorite haunt of many teen supers, including me and my friends.
When I popped up, there were a fair number of people in the lounge, but not so many that you would call it crowded. But it was only early evening, and on a Friday at that – still lots of time for the place to fill up (which it probably would).
My sudden appearance caused a few heads to turn in my direction, but didn’t really startle anyone. A couple of teens greeted me with a wave and I returned the gesture, all the while scanning the room for…
There!
Near the rear wall, striding towards a table at the back of the lounge, was my best friend, Smokescreen. I began walking in hi
s direction, giving perfunctory greetings to several people that I knew as I moved through the room. By the time I reached him, Smokey (as he liked to be called) was already sitting at the table, which was square-shaped, with a chair on all four sides. I took a seat across from him.
“Hey,” he said as I sat down. “That was fast.”
“Huh?” I muttered, not sure what he was talking about. The mission, maybe?
“Never mind – I forgot who I was talking to,” he stated with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “Anyway, here you go.”
He pushed something across the table towards me – a bottle of soda. Now that my attention was drawn in that direction, I noticed that he had one as well.
“Good timing,” I acknowledged, before taking a quick drink of soda.
Smokey gave me an odd look and for a moment, I sensed confusion coming from him. However, it vanished a moment later as he leaned in.
“So,” he said in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, “can you tell me about the mission now?”
“Uh, sure,” I answered. His phrasing struck me as a little odd, but I quickly forgot about it as I telepathically reached out and gave him a quick overview of events.
Although technically a telepath, I consider my abilities in that arena to be limited. While I can broadcast my own thoughts, I can only pick up the surface thoughts of others and anything they willingly want to share. True mindreading – being able to burrow into someone’s brain and ferret out information – is not really one of my gifts.
That said, telepathic communication occurs much faster than actual speech, so it only took a few seconds to bring Smokey up to speed. Under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have been discussing the mission at all. It was classified, and I hadn’t been debriefed yet. However, due to our playing a significant role in saving the planet a few times in the past, several of us teen supers – including myself, Smokey, and my girlfriend, Electra – had been given special clearances. Thus I wasn’t violating any rules by talking to him about the Dream Machine mission. (To be honest, he was probably the only teen in the lounge who even knew about it.)
Replication Page 3
