by JD Cole
“I’m fine, dad. Really.”
“Derek, nothing like this has ever happened before-”
“And if I forget something again, I’ll let you know and then we’ll go to the doctor. I plan to look into it on my own anyway. You seriously think there’s a doctor who’d know more about this than I can find out?” Both of his parents conceded that point to him with shrugs and wiggled eyebrows. “I’ll take some medicine and get some rest. No big deal.” He let that lie hang in the air as he headed back upstairs. It was a really big deal. How in the world did I forget a whole day? And what happened to the roadster? My armor, my uniform? He was lost in thought as he entered the bathroom and relieved himself before opening the medicine cabinet. Robotically, he grabbed a sneezy-stuffy-achy-knock-you-on-your-ass pill and swallowed it with some water, then went back to his room.
A cursory check under his bed and in his closet confirmed his Hood disguise and equipment were not here. Were they back at his lab in the junkyard, locked away and hidden where they belonged? Was the roadster there, too, and if so, how the crap did it get there without anybody noticing? Why did he not remember any of it? The medicine took effect quickly, and his mind was too cloudy to keep up the worry. Besides, he was stuck here for now: he wasn’t about to disobey his father. He had no problem breaking civil laws and lying to his parents about his vigilante work, but when dad told you to do something, You Did It. What the heck kind of hero disrespects his parents? Derek dozed off, wondering if Kelli would be impressed at his maturity.
~ ~ ~ ~
Queen Kelli was not impressed with much of anything at the moment, save for her agony. Her joints felt like brittle limestone, lubricated by sand. Her muscles could not decide whether to loosen or constrict, and it seemed as if she had sweat away half her body weight, something her five foot, five inch, one hundred six pound body would probably not survive if that were true. Her skull felt like it was home to every hockey player in the world, playing the biggest, most violent tournament in history, and her ears were the goals. She managed to turn her head to the side, a few strands of her long, silver hair falling over her emerald eyes, and she saw Sorvir Moniscii lying in a bed next to hers, in much the same condition she was in. His green eyes, a mirror of her own, met hers, and they both shared a moment of tears for each other.
Sorvir was her cousin, a sprite so distantly removed that Kelli still did not think of him or any Moniscii as family. Unlike Kelli, the full-blooded sprites didn’t look even remotely human; Sorvir was eight feet tall while still as thin as Kelli, and snow-white in complexion. His long, narrow ears were reminiscent of the elves, except that they stood out nearly perpendicular to his head. Along with a few other relatives, he had helped Kelli master the Birthright magic for a short time, unlocking its power for her so that she could battle the Chek’than that had wanted to steal her magic by way of body-snatching. Sorvir had warned her that she would pay a high price when the spell broke. But he had not told her that he and the others would also pay that price with her.
Somehow, Sorvir found the strength to reach over to Kelli, and lightly gripped her small hand in encouragement. Kelli managed a weak smile, then closed her eyes. Neither of them noticed that the door to their room had been cracked open slightly, nor did they notice when it closed.
“You are shrewd, Dufangen.” Trennh Moniscii, Sorvir’s youngest brother, raised his eyebrow at the tiny mystic when she looked up at his proclamation. Her long, beaded braids crackled against her cheeks, and her large, wide ears perked up through the blue mane of hair on her head. She wasn’t tall enough to face his knees, and she felt her neck protest as she met Trennh’s gaze.
“The Queen will wed a sprite,” she said simply. No one had questioned the mystic when she had ordered the Queen and Sorvir be watched after together, while the four other sprites who were suffering the effects of the joining spell all had their own separate quarters. “Your older brother is fond of her, and worries after her well-being. She trusts him. That’s as fertile a beginning for love as I can ask for.”
“She is already in love. With a Dragon.”
“The Queen is young. She doesn’t know what love is.”
“That is a bold assumption, counselor.” The two began walking down the corridor, leaving the patients to their recovery. “Especially from one who has not, to my knowledge, ever taken a mate.”
“Do not presume to know my personal business, young one!” she snapped.
“Of course, my apologies, counselor.” But Trennh made no effort to wipe the grin from his face. Honorable and friendly though sprites were, the males could be mischievous devils when the mood took them. The pair continued along, and the sight of them might have been comical to anyone unfamiliar with faeries. Even with the sprite slowing his gate, Dufangen hopped five to six steps for every one of Trennh’s, and unlike sprites, mystics had no wings with which to fly. Dufangen had once found that fact to be supremely unfair. Mystics were not the most physically capable faeries in the world, but they made up for it by the massive amount of magic they could channel. A mystic’s life-span was also three-hundred times longer than a sprite’s, but that could be a curse as much as a blessing.
She was dressed, as always, in a plain green robe, an old wiry vine serving as a belt around her narrow waist from which to hang pouches and minor tools. Absent was the wooden staff she usually carried. Trennh, ever the fashion-conscious youth, was dressed in a spectacular ensemble of richly exotic silks that blended golds, reds, greens, and blacks in perfect harmony. As per custom, both he and the counselor were barefoot on the smoothly finished stone floor of the castle.
“Your brother,” Dufangen continued, “expressed his own reluctance to separate the Queen from her youthful infatuation with Bennett. And Sorvir is much too chivalrous to actively court the Queen. I confess his concerns are valid; we do not want to alienate either the Queen or the Dragon. But they can not remain together, not as lovers. You know this as well as I.”
“I know the danger, but do not forget that I helped administer the Lifishi’un trial that judged the Queen and her friends. What exists between Kelli and Bennett is not mere infatuation. Perhaps romance can fade from their hearts, but they would sacrifice anything for each other’s needs without hesitation. Such selflessness goes far beyond emotional and physical attraction. I would suggest that we simply tell the Queen the facts, explain why she cannot be involved with the Dragon she loves. After all, such an affair would only bring misery to both of them in the end. If we present this to her as beneficial to Bennett-”
“That would not be wise. I will concede you were able to see their character deeper than I in the trial. You are right, I am too dismissive of what they feel toward each other. But she is still extremely young, and will not accept the truth. No, I deem that subtlety is the way to approach this.”
“My brother is not an idiot,” Trennh chuckled. “Sorvir will see right through your attempts at subtlety. He will not play along.”
“I may be a crone in your eyes,” she replied slyly, “but I know of what I speak. When it comes to love, one’s heart does not cooperate in matters of sense. Which is why, if the Queen loves Bennett as you say, we cannot confront it directly. I have already seen the seed of potential romance between Kelli and Sorvir. Just leave things to me, and they will draw together before either of them realize it.”
“We’ll see,” Trennh said, still grinning impishly as he tried to visualize Dufangen as a spirited, attractive youth. He failed miserably with a loud snort.
~ ~ ~ ~
Several days passed, and Derek took the opportunity to rest and recuperate from his adventure with the faeries. He was still supremely disturbed by the twenty-four-hour gap in his memory, but he was grateful for the quiet leisure time with his family. He reflected on how incredibly lucky he was; unlike most of the comic book inspirations for his crime-fighting alter-ego, Derek had a stable, loving family. He put on the costume, originally, just because he was a bored teenager looking for
something exciting to do. But through that, he had met Kelli, discovered the world of faeries in the Arctic, and, as he finally accepted it, he had been onboard an ancient, galaxy-jumping starship. His first priority, after solving the mystery of his blackout, was to find a way back into Sen’giza and learn all of its secrets.
As did many people following the Boston attack, Derek’s dad had taken time off from work. There was an electronics parts wholesaler in town where Craig Hawkins was the manager. While not exactly a Fortune 500 company, it was a decent living that allowed his family live in relative comfort. Many of their biggest customers were in Boston, however, and so were the primary shipping services they used. No one knew yet how badly the local economy might suffer.
Derek enjoyed his anonymity, and through it had illegally acquired a vast fortune with which to fund his personal research, but that money could never be used directly to help his family. He did a mental inventory of his discoveries and inventions, making note of things he could safely patent, trademark, and sell for legitimate profit if his father’s business took a dive. He hoped it would not come to that. Derek had gone to a lot of trouble ensuring that there was as small a public record of his existence as possible.
Today, with his dad back at work, Derek sat in front of the television as his mother spruced up the living room. Women, Derek thought, ‘neat’ is never enough for them. Or maybe it was a mom-thing.
The news reports replayed a lot of amateur video footage of the battle. Some of them had managed to capture Devon Kunali’i in his Dragon form. “You believe this?” Derek asked his mother, pointing at the screen. Trina shook her head as she watched the Dragon in action. It was blue-scaled, quadruped, and sixty feet in length from nose to tail. It also had six wings: the two largest pairs were both fused to its forward shoulders, while the smaller pair sprouted from its haunches.
“You have to take the news with a grain of salt,” his mom answered, “but there seems to be a whole lot of eyewitnesses. You tell me, what do you think it is? A dinosaur?”
“I don’t know, but I’d love to get my hands on it for study-”
“Not while it’s alive you don’t, young mister! Look at that thing, it’s dangerous!”
“He’s gotta have air sacs or something in his abdomen, those wings shouldn’t be able to hold him up like that. And look how fast he flies! Hollow bones, definitely, but his body can’t be filled with muscles and organs, despite how big he is. Gotta be air sacs. Helium, maybe… some kind of gas, for sure.” Derek had to stifle a laugh as he remembered Devon’s talent for farting on demand in his human form.
“Oh, look, there’s the Hood,” his mother pointed out. Curiously, his parents both seemed to be fans of the Hood. The vigilante was shown lifting the end of a steel girder from the ruin of a collapsed building. Derek remembered doing it; it had taken every last bit of juice he could squeeze from his armor to lift that thing. The reward was two survivors that the news cameras had captured him helping from the rubble beneath, to the cheers of nearby firemen and onlookers.
The news reports were still speculating as to the source of all the violence, and while European communists were still the primary target for blame, other theories involved secret government agencies. Devon’s presence only added to the confused mess of aftermath commentating. One of the talking heads, a Massachusetts senator, even went so far as to suggest space aliens were involved, and Derek snorted, as did his mother; both of them for different reasons.
Derek, because that guy hit the nail on the head.
Trina, because that was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.
The picture changed once more as the news anchor began interviewing a guest expert. Derek turned the volume up to listen, as the guest was one of the few people on earth whose intelligence impressed him. Nathan Locke was a billionaire philanthropist, with financial interests in nearly every aspect of the global economy. But first and foremost, it seemed to Derek that Locke was an engineer and researcher. The man could connect dots and knew how to drill down to find the questions that most needed answering. He also had his own rock band, Marcath 0, which was beyond cool.
“Mr. Locke,” the anchor was saying, “we understand your foundation is not only making sizable contributions to the local relief efforts, but several of your companies have provided volunteers to the rebuilding efforts as well?”
“Yes, Phillip,” Locke replied. “We had so many people requesting time off... not just at the foundation, but across all the divisions at Marcath Inc. and Ivo Polyaero, so we-”
“There are some who are questioning why Ivo would be involved in these activities, after all Ivo Polyaero is a defense contractor that designs weapons of war. There are those who say that it’s nothing more than a PR initiative to distract people from the expensive new contract you have with the Air Force for their new fighter.”
Derek loved the look that came over Locke’s face at the stupid reporter’s stupid question. The genius billionaire answered: “Phillip, really, have you heard that statement spoken by so many people that you had to ask such a rude question, or are you just trying to goad me? Look,” Locke didn’t bother waiting for a reply, “I make no apologies for any of Ivo’s defense contracts any more than I apologize for curing cancer.”
Derek smiled at that. He had contributed tons of data to the research at Marcath that had finally defeated that disease.
“Yes,” Locke continued, “The F-37 has stirred some controversy, but to suggest that people who work in the defense industry, or that people who serve in uniform, are only interested in helping as a way to make themselves look good? Our people responded to this horrific attack with empathy and giving hearts, and I am proud to be associated with each and every one of them. So much so that everyone who requested time off to volunteer in Boston will not need to worry about their salaries for up to four weeks.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Derek whistled.
“And that’s on top of the fifteen million dollars you’ve committed to the city of Boston and its people. No one is questioning your generosity, Mr. Locke.”
“I would love to meet that guy someday,” Derek said.
“I’m sure you will, hon,” his mother told him. “And I bet he’ll be every bit as impressed with you as you are with him!”
The anchor continued chatting with Locke about the recovery efforts, before pivoting to talk with the billionaire about his thoughts on the very likely possibility of war following the Boston attack.
America had been building up a military presence in Eastern Europe because of the violent New Communism that was springing up throughout former Soviet states. The leash would be coming off Western forces now, despite the fact that there was no concrete evidence tying Boston’s attack to the communists. Derek wouldn’t blame the military for taking advantage of this calamity; you win wars by taking every advantage you can, honest or not, and for all they knew, the communists really were behind the attack. And after all, it wasn’t like Derek gave concessions to his opponents; his crime-fighting was really tantamount to kicking puppies. He subdued criminals by using unmatched skill and advanced technology, over-killing the matter to the point of being absurd.
But then the Chek’than had come along and kidnapped Kelli. The alien had nearly killed Derek, and only Dragon magic had saved his life. That thought refocused his priorities. It was time to get back to work.
“Mom? You think it’s okay if I head to the junkyard today? Things seem pretty quiet in the city, and I won’t be going anywhere near there, anyway.”
“Your father thought you would be asking that today. He says it’s okay, as long as that’s the only place you’re going. And be home by dinner. What are you going to work on?”
“My memory lapse, mostly. I have simulations I wanna run, but our computers here aren’t up to the task. Also, I had an idea when I was camping. You know how they went and gene-spliced trees to be more robust, survive harsh environments, and planted them in the hydroponics sections o
f the lunar labs?” Trina nodded. Through Derek, she and Craig kept abreast of all the “cool” things that went on in the scientific world. “Well, I was thinking maybe I can figure out if there’s a way to get plants to grow faster, especially trees. You know, so we can cut them down for what we need, and then replace them within a year or less. Or say something goes wrong on the moon and the trees get destroyed. You know?”
“That would be incredible, Derek! Let me know how it goes, I could use that technology for my garden. And be safe on your way out there!”
“I will, thanks.”
There was a time when Derek had felt guilt whenever he lied like that. But he recognized his current callousness for what it was, and took it as a serious life-lesson. Anything can become easy if you do it over and over again. He tried to limit that callousness in other areas, but he knew parts of his soul were already tainted. During the events that led to his getting tangled up with Kelli, Derek had assaulted a pair of men, killing one of them and incorrectly thinking he’d killed the other, too. They’d been monsters who had murdered an eight year-old girl in Boston. And he’d found that he didn’t care one bit about their deaths at his hands, aside from regret that they hadn’t died before they could kill little Ashley Benton.
Later he had witnessed faeries slaughter a gang of human teenagers, street punks of the type that the Hood had made a habit of hospitalizing in and around Boston. The punks were murderers interfering with the faeries’ quest, and so they’d died. Again, Derek could find absolutely no remorse at their loss. He knew that was a dangerous road to continue traveling. It would help if the world wasn’t full of people and things that just needed to die. He decided to push those thoughts away to concentrate on more pressing matters.
A half hour later, Derek was at the junkyard, having biked from home, as was his habit. Sometimes he jogged for the exercise, though he really did not need it. His body required very little exercise to maintain a high level of fitness, something he had not realized until his first year of high school when he began seriously judging himself against other boys. He was in fantastic shape, a fact he kept hidden under baggy clothes and lackluster performances in gym class. The less assuming he could appear, the better for the Hood. Oh, there were times he was sorely tempted to show off for the girls, no question, especially given the way so many of the jocks behaved, like they were the most amazing athletes in history.
