by Nick Svolos
“Archangel,” Herculene called out. “Call the SkinSuit Corporation and ask them to send out a rep. Captain Stand-in will need a proper costume.”
***
They say you should learn something every day. In all my time working the Hero Desk, I never thought to ask why they called the durable skin-tight combat suits “skinsuits”. They’d been called that for so long that the name had just become part of the language. That day I learned that all genuine skinsuits come from the same place, SkinSuits Inc., in Whippany, New Jersey. There were a lot of companies that churned out knockoffs, more suitable for Halloween costumes than for real superhuman work, but if you wanted the real deal, with their proprietary fabric that stood up to the roughest treatment while allowing you full freedom of motion, you got one from the source. They kept their operation quiet—they didn’t want a lot of calls from wannabes—and they didn’t care what side of the law you were on. They just wanted to make supers look good when they were flying around out there, and they made a lot of money doing it.
Their local rep showed up after lunch, took my measurements, and sat me down with an electronic catalog to go over color and design choices. Herculene and Mentalia, of course, took control at that point, swapping things in and out of the holographic display, playing with the colors, and generally having a blast.
They finally settled on a design that wasn’t half-bad. The suit was dark blue, with a deep crimson utility belt and matching gloves and boots. A half-hood covered the face from the eyes down, the same kind Ultiman wore. A tribute, Mentalia explained. The whole thing looked very functional, and I kind of liked it.
There was just one problem. “I think we should go with a full hood. My hair’s gonna stick out all over the place with that thing. I’ll look like a paintbrush.”
“Hmmm, good point.” Herculene swapped out the headpiece. “How’s that?”
“Great.”
“Excellent.” The SkinSuit representative smiled and activated another menu on the device. “Now, an insignia is complementary. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Can it be a screen-print? I think ‘The Scream’ would look good on the chest.”
“Uh, um,” the rep stammered. Could I really be the first guy to come up with that? “I don’t know, actually. I’d have to call back to the home office.”
“Ignore him,” Herculene said. “He’s just trying to be funny. What about this?” she selected a quill pen from the catalog and placed it on the costume. “You know, because you’re a writer?”
I didn’t like it. “Not sure I want to broadcast my day job. Besides, that’s a little, I don’t know, old-fashioned. Do they have a keyboard?”
“No, besides people would think you’re a hacker or something. You want an insignia that states your purpose, inspires people. You know, something that people can look at and say, ‘Everything’s going to be fine. Captain Stand-in is here.’”
“Neither of you wear one. Maybe I can just skip it.”
“Whatcha mean?” Herculene asked. She pointed at her sleeve, “See, I have this Aegean wave pattern all along the hems.”
“And I’m rockin’ this ‘fro.” Mentalia pointed to her hair. “That’s more than enough to let folks know what I’m about, honey.”
I watched as Herculene paged through the catalog’s insignia section. And then I saw the perfect one. “Oh! Stop. Has anyone ever chosen that one?”
“Why, no.” The rep looked at my selection with ill-concealed distaste. “I don’t even know why they keep that one in the catalog. I think it was put in as a joke.”
I grinned. “Perfect.” I dragged the icon onto the hologram, dropping it on the headpiece. The image shrunk and centered itself on the forehead.
“Oh, good lord.” Mentalia guffawed.
Herculene sat back. “You know, with your sense of humor, that actually works.”
I smiled at the white barcode emblazoned on the hood of the now completed outfit. “Yeah. Captain Stand-in, the generic hero.”
***
By the time Helen and I finally made it out to my dad’s ranch in Norco, it was mid-afternoon. I stopped by the house to check in with my old man, but he was out. One of my dad’s helpers told me he was delivering the 1941 Cadillac Series 62 that he’d just finished restoring. Helen and I changed into our coveralls and headed to one of the many barns on the property. When my dad retired, he’d sold his car restoration business in Santa Monica and bought this ranch. Over the years, I’d tried to get him to slow down. He was getting up in years, and I worried about him. But, the old grease monkey couldn’t stop turning wrenches. It was in his blood. So, slowly but surely, the former dairy farm found itself overrun with corrugated steel sheds, army surplus quonset huts, and ancient piles of automotive history, waiting for my dad to breathe life into them once more. Since he wouldn’t slow down, I’d talked him into hiring on a couple of guys to help him. They doubled as my spies, making sure the old guy took his medicine and didn’t push himself to hard.
Dad let me have the wooden barn that came with the place. It was mostly a place for me to store spare parts, which could be hard to find for a 1940 Ford Super Deluxe. I pulled the tarp off the old gal. She greeted me with a gleaming burgundy and chrome smile. Alright, I know, it was just a car and it couldn’t smile. But in my imagination, she grinned, eagerly anticipating the installation of her windshield and driver’s side window so we could hit the open road again.
The woody had gotten sort of flattened when Fist knocked Herculene into it during the fight at the Angel Tower last summer. One of the downsides of having a superhuman girlfriend was that sometimes she got into fights and broke my stuff. One of the upsides was that she was more than strong enough to help bend things back into place when it came time to fix it.
She was a great help in getting this thing put back together, and we had a lot of fun on these trips out to Norco. Somewhere along the line, it had become our project. That suited me just fine. She didn’t know anything about cars when we started this project, but she was turning out to be quite the mechanic.
Helen rolled my toolbox over to the car as I started unwrapping and inspecting the window. Satisfied, I went straight to work removing the interior panels to gain access to the window well.
“What’s that?” Helen asked, pointing off to the other side of the barn. Something sat under a thick white cloth.
“I don’t know. Maybe Dad’s finished another resto and put it in here. Here, hold this while I get the last screw.”
Helen came over to hold the panel while I installed the laminated glass. We were just finishing up, testing the mechanism to make sure it rolled up and down smoothly, when I heard my dad call out, “She’s lookin’ pretty good, Reuben.”
Helen stood and smiled back at him. “Yeah, your son does good work, Pops. Just look at this thing.”
“The car? Hell, I was talkin’ ‘bout you, sunshine!” My dad laughed and gave my girlfriend a hug. He just adored her. Like father, like son.
I finished snapping the interior panel into place and rose to collect my own hug. “How you doing, Dad?”
“I’m good. You’re the one I’m worried about. North Korea? Can’t you just stay the hell out of your own stories?”
“I keep trying, but they keep pulling me back in.”
“Well, it’s good ta have you back. You kids stayin’ for dinner?”
“Of course,” Helen answered. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Naw. I was just gonna grill some steaks. Nothin’ I can’t handle. You kids finish up here and come on over when you’re done.” He turned away, but came back, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. “Oh, almost forgot. This came for ya while you was in Korea. Some lawyer brought it.” He was grinning. I knew that grin. It was the one he got when he knew something I didn’t. I called it the ‘Christmas grin’. He always sported one at Christmastime, when I was a kid staring at my gift, wondering what might be inside.
I suspiciously opened the e
nvelope and unfolded the letter I found inside.
Reuben,
I just thought I’d drop you a line to let you know how things turned out. After I dropped off that Force stuff in your jail cell, I decided to hop forward to see if it worked. You did good. I’m pleased to report that 2030 is there and waiting for you when you catch up to it. You got some hard times ahead of you, but hopefully you’ll believe me when I say you’ll come out on top. I could tell you more, but you know how it is. Spoilers.
After that, I went back to my own time for some much needed R&R. It was a little odd, having to explain to all my friends how I’d suddenly become ten years older, but it was alright. A strange thing happened, though. Once I got back home, the watch stopped working. I guess it did what it was supposed to do, and now it just sits with a few other souvenirs on a shelf in my little office, marking time.
It’s not all that bad, though. With my time-traveling shenanigans put to an end, I decided to settle down. I met a great gal, and we raised a houseful of beautiful daughters. No boys, though, which left me in a bit of a quandary. You see, none of my girls have much interest in automobiles except as a means of getting to some place or another. I needed someone to take care of my old breezer. Then I remembered a promise I made to you. You asked for a look under her hood. Well let me do you one better. It’s not much in the way of a reward for saving the world, but something tells me you won’t mind. Just be sure to read the notes I left for you in the glovebox before you go playing with any of the buttons. I’ve made a few modifications over the years.
Say, if you can do me one last favor, I left the watch in there, too. I’d like the Gunny to have it, if you don’t mind. I’d have sent it directly, but I can’t get the post office to understand the concept of a giant tower full of superheroes being built in downtown LA in sixty years. They just look at me like a crazy old man. So, I was hoping you’d be a sport and deliver it next time you’re out that way. His apartment could use some decoration.
Thanks, kiddo.
Sincerely,
Evan Esquer (AKA Doughboy)
October 12, 1943
My dad grinned, and pulled back the white cloth. Helen gasped.
It was the ReVere.
Dad stared down at it in equal measures of reverence and boyish excitement. “That’s Doughboy’s car, isn’t it? Alice? I remember it from when I was a kid.”
“It’s beautiful,” Helen said.
“Abso-lutely,” I replied. My hands trembled a little as they reached for the latch that opened the hood.
***
“I can’t believe you called that guy ‘citizen’,” Herculene said over the communicator in between bouts of laughter.
“What? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?”
“Sure, if you’re in the 1950’s.”
I banked right over Fairfax, and continued on our patrol route as Herculene bounded along below. This was technically a training run, with Herculene as my instructor, but in truth, this was our version of Date Night for the week. Ultiman was running me ragged, sending me out on patrol every night with whichever Angel was on duty. It was all necessary, of course. For all my years of watching this stuff from rooftops, I was a complete novice on how things worked on this side of the mask. It was a good thing Harry had given me the week off.
The ‘citizen’ thing arose from my discovery of a mugging. We’re not supposed to get involved in normal-on-normal crime, and I knew I’d hear plenty about that from Ultiman tomorrow, but it drew my focus, and before I knew it, I’d glided to the ground between a man with a gun and the frightened couple he was robbing. I knew I couldn’t hit him or anything, so I did the only non-violent thing I could think of. I stuck my pinky down the barrel of his revolver.
“Hi. How ya doin’?” I asked.
The mugger’s eyes went wide and he dropped the weapon. I plucked it off my finger and wadded it up like a piece of paper. The guy, after seeing what I did, turned and ran, tripping to a halt when he saw Herculene leaning casually against a building in his path. She held up her hands. “I’m just standing here. Everybody saw that, right?”
The couple assured us that they did. The woman was already on the phone to the cops. The mugger compliantly waited for their arrival. Once the police were on the scene, we decided to make ourselves scarce. Before we left, however, the man we’d saved thanked us for our help. I responded, “Glad to be of service, citizen.”
Herculene couldn’t resist giving me a hard time about it. “We should change your moniker to ‘Captain SixtyYearsAgo’. Say, you getting hungry?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m starving.”
“Good. Follow me, and I’ll show you why I chose this route.” She turned east on Melrose and then north on La Brea, and I knew where she was taking us. My gut growled with anticipation.
The line outside of Pink’s Hot Dog stand, even at this late hour, stretched down the block. There was always a line. The place was just that good. We touched down and took our spots at the end of the queue.
The guy in front of us looked back and stepped aside. “Please, take my place.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Herculene protested. “We really couldn’t.”
“You really can.” He grinned. “One of those robots was right next to my building. Please, let me show my appreciation. It’s the least I can do.”
Further up the line, people started clapping, stepping aside and motioning us forward. Amid the cheers and applause, we didn’t have much choice. So, we walked to the front of the line, shaking hands and gently high-fiving as we went. I’d never seen anything like it. By the time we made it to the counter, I was completely choked up.
Man, I loved this city.
Herculene ordered a half dozen chili dogs with all the fixin’s and a black cherry soda. It sounded good, so I ordered the same. Here’s a little tip to keep in mind in case you ever find yourself in this situation. Bring cash. It’s not particularly easy to get a credit card with the name “Captain Stand-in”. It was almost a moot point, because the night manager insisted that our meal was on the house.
Herculene refused. “Rojelio, you know I can’t do that. Ultiman would have us washing the AngelJet for a month.” She forced our cash into his hands.
We signed autographs and smiled for selfies while we waited for our order. Somehow, I found myself in possession of several phone numbers from some very lovely young things. I made very sure that Herculene saw me throw them away after the ladies had passed from view. She just laughed, taking it all in stride. I wam sure she’d collected her share of digits, too. She was just more used to it.
I collected our food, and we waved good bye to our fellow Angelinos, taking to the sky and finding a nearby rooftop to enjoy our late-night snack in peace.
“That was amazing,” I said. “Is it always like that?”
She bit into a dog. “Nope. Sometimes it’s pretty good, but I haven’t seen anything like that since I left Kansas. Feels like maybe we’re turning a corner.”
“That would be nice.” I chomped thoughtfully on my chili dog. “You did see me throw those phone numbers away, right?”
She hit me with a playful bump. “Of course. Don’t sweat it. That’s gonna happen a lot. I have nothing but confidence in your fidelity.”
We munched in silence for a while, enjoying the lights of the city below. “So, you’re pretty adamant about getting rid of your powers. Sure you won’t miss them when they’re gone?” She sounded a little sad.
“I probably will,” I admitted. “It’s fun. Hell, it’s exhilarating, doing this stuff. But, there’s a couple of things. I just can’t see a way past them.”
“Yeah? What are they?”
“When I was in Korea, there was this one guard. A real bully. Kept hitting me in the back with his rifle butt. Bastard thought it was funny. When I busted out, I ran into him.” I sighed, remembering the event. “It was like Longshot all over again. Helen, I was gonna kill him. I was gonna do it, and I was gonna
enjoy it.”
“My God. What stopped you?”
“He pissed himself.”
Black cherry soda erupted from her mouth, and she rolled into me, laughing. I let her finish before continuing.
“It sounds funny, but it really isn’t. I was gonna do it. The only reason I didn’t was because I was laughing too hard.” I paused for a second to prepare my words. “I mean, I’ve always tried to be a good man. But, I can’t stand bullies. I hate them. So, I gotta wonder. Am I a good man because I’m good? Or, is it just because I’ve never had the power to be bad?” I looked away. “I worry about what this might do to me.”
She considered me for a long while. Just sat there, looking at me. Eventually, she said, “I just don’t get you sometimes, Rube. You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”
“Well, that’s only because I know me so well.”
“Bullshit. Wanna know what I think? You’re a good man because you’re a magnificent man. If you sat down and looked back at all the things you’ve done, with no powers at all, mind you, I think you’d realize that. You just don’t want to admit it. Sure, you’ve been pushed a little closer to the line than most folks. You think you were turned back by some external circumstances. I don’t buy it. I think—hell, I know—you were gonna pull back anyways. You let yourself use those circumstances as an excuse. You’re a better man than you think you are. I know you don’t like it when people say it, but you’re a hero. My hero. That’s why I love you.”
I looked into her eyes and saw the honesty there. “I love you too, babe. I just don’t want to let you down.”
“You won’t. You never have. So, what’s the other thing?”
“What other thing?” I absently answered, momentarily distracted by something flitting by between a couple of buildings.
“You said there’s something else nagging at you. Another reason why you don’t want to keep the powers.”
