First War (Minimum Wage Sidekick Book 6)

by Lucas Flint

  “Well, Fro-Zen was a member of the Vigilante Legion,” said Frank, folding his arms behind his back and digging the tip of his shoe into a loose floorboard. “A lot of the students and faculty think that the Legion might attack the school in order to avenge him or something.”

  “Has there been any evidence that the Legion would even attempt to do something like that?”

  Frank shook his head. “No. So far, the Legion has ignored the school, but there’s still a lot of students and faculty members alike who think it’s only a matter of time before those maniacs attack. Mr. Peters is the worst about it. He keeps talking about how they wouldn’t need to live in fear if a certain someone hadn’t drunk that serum he made half a year ago to give himself superpowers.”

  “You mean the one I drank,” I said. I almost added, The one that gave me powers, but again caught myself, reminding myself that Frank did not know that Mr. Peters’ serum had worked.

  “Yeah, the one that made you throw up,” said Frank, nodding. “I think he’s just yapping, though. That serum didn’t give you powers, after all. Even if he had managed to drink it himself, he’d be just as powerless as he is today.”

  I nodded in agreement, even though I knew that what Frank said was blatantly false. It did make me wonder, though, what would have happened if Mr. Peters had managed to drink his serum and gained the ability to shoot lasers from his eyes like I had. Would he have fought Fro-Zen, instead of me? Or would he have moved to some other city so he wouldn’t have to compete with Rubberman? Maybe the two of them would have worked together to beat Fro-Zen. Or maybe they’d have spent so much time bickering with each other that Fro-Zen would kill them both easily.

  All I knew was that if I hadn’t drunk that stupid serum on a stupid dare, I would not currently be forced to choose whether to kill Rubberman or let Takeshi kill my family. Heck, Takeshi might even kill Frank, too, because he was my friend and all. Frank, of course, did not know any of that, but he must have seen the grim expression on my face, because he said, “Alex, what’s the problem? You look upset.”

  I shook my head and put on a fake smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. Probably just my shoulder. It tends to flare up at random opportunities.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know what you mean,” said Frank. “I broke my collarbone when I was six. It hurt like hell, even after I went to the doctor and got it fixed. Anyway, I heard you and Greta broke up.”

  I stiffened. “Yes, we did. Did Greta tell you?”

  “Yep,” said Frank. “Well, first I heard rumors, but then I asked her and she told me. She didn’t tell me why she broke up with you, though I think it has something to do with her dad.”

  “Her dad doesn’t like me anymore,” I said flatly. “So he doesn’t want her dating me anymore.”

  “What did you do to piss him off?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” Frank bit his lower lip. “But you and Greta sure did seem like a great couple to me. Sad to see you two apart like this, even if Greta didn’t really want to do it.”

  I was surprised by the sincerity in Frank’s voice, but because I still didn’t want to talk about it, I just shrugged and said, “That’s just the way life is sometimes. No point in worrying about it, in my opinion.”

  “All right,” said Frank. “So, um, back to the Beams Fan Club. Have you watched the interview I did with Beams yet? I showed it to the Fan Club six weeks ago and everyone loved it.”

  In the excitement of the last month and a half, I had almost forgotten about the interview that ‘Beams’ did with Frank. Prior to leaving for Los Congrejos to train with Nightbolt, I had done a quick interview with Frank as Beams. Frank had been very nervous and even jittery during the interview, no doubt because he had gotten a chance to interview one of his personal heroes, but I did remember that he managed to ask some good questions just the same. I recalled that one of his fellow Beams Fan Club members—a guy with dreads whose name I couldn’t recall off the top of my head—had recorded the entire thing on his phone, but I had not known that it had been published.

  Thus, I could truthfully say, “No, I haven’t seen it, but I’m glad everyone loved it.”

  “It’s a relief that they did,” said Frank with a sigh. “I was sure that I came across like an idiot, but no one even talked about how I stuttered every question or how I asked the same question about Beams’ favorite color twice in a row. They were all just really impressed that I managed to get an interview with Beams. I’ve even got a few requests from the media to borrow clips for their own reports, which I’ve always granted so far. I know Beams isn’t a big fan of the media, but I think he’d be fine if I did that, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he would,” I said, trying not to smile. “It’s not like he’s being interviewed by those people, after all. They’re just borrowing clips.”

  “Yeah,” said Frank. He hesitated and stroked his chin and then said, “You know, I actually enjoyed interviewing Beams a lot more than I thought I would. And not even because I’m a Beams fan, either. I just liked the interview process itself. And so I was thinking of becoming a reporter when I graduated school.”

  “A reporter, huh?” I said. “Like for a newspaper or something?”

  “More like an independent journalist, I think,” said Frank. “I mean, with the Internet, I could start my own podcast and do my own journalism without needing to go work for any of the big media companies. I think I could pull it off, though I don’t know how to start.”

  “Just start,” I said. “Why don’t you start a blog and go from there? Or maybe start a podcast instead, if you enjoy interviewing. I think you’d do a great job at it, no matter how you started it.”

  “Thanks, Alex,” said Frank. “But what do you want to do when you graduate? I know you’re planning to go to college, but what are you going to major in?”

  That was a question I could have answered fairly easily just a couple of days ago, but now, I wasn’t sure what to say. I certainly couldn’t tell Frank that I was a sidekick and that I was thinking of just going straight into the superhero business once I was out of high school. On the other hand, I also didn’t want to tell him why I wasn’t sure if I was going to go to college or not; that would require answering far too many questions that would compromise my secret identity.

  Luckily, I was saved from having to answer that question by loud knocking at the door, followed by Mom’s voice saying, “Alex! You have another visitor!”

  “Another visitor?” I repeated, exchanging a confused look with Frank. “Who is—”

  I was interrupted by the door flying open—nearly knocked off its hinges—and smashing against the wall, nearly hitting Frank in the process, who somehow managed to jump out of the way at the last minute to avoid getting the door slammed in his face.

  But I was not paying attention to Frank anymore. Nor was I paying attention to Mom, who leaned against the wall of the hallway outside of my bedroom as if she had just been shoved to the side by someone and was using the wall for support.

  No, my attention was on the person standing in the doorway, his retractable eye scope moving in and out in a creepily mechanical way.

  “Cyberkid?” I said in shock. “What are you doing here?”

  Cyberkid frowned. “For help. Your help.”

  “My help?” I said. “What do you need my help for?”

  All of a sudden, I noticed that Cyberkid looked tired. He seemed barely capable of standing. His helmet was dented in a few places and his suit had a few slashes across the chest area.

  Cyberkid chuckled. “I don’t need your help. Rubberman and the others, however, do.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, bewildered. “What happened?”

  “Everything went wrong,” said Cyberkid. His voice suddenly became weaker, more tired. “Everything …”

  Cyberkid suddenly collapsed in the doorway, where he looked as dead as a corpse.

  CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

  Dad, James, and I worked together to transport the unconscious Cyberkid downstairs. Well, Dad and James did most of the lifting, because I was still not in any real condition to do any heavy lifting. But I followed them downstairs, to the living room, where they put the unconscious Cyberkid on the couch. As for Mom, she had gone into the kitchen and emerged from it at the exact moment we put Cyberkid on the chair with the house’s first aid kit. She immediately went to work cleaning and bandaging any visible wounds on him, though it was obvious that Cyberkid was going to need actual medical expertise from a real doctor if we were going to make sure that his wounds didn’t get infected.

  As for Frank, he followed Dad and James downstairs as well, even helping them move Cyberkid down the stairs. I thought the sudden appearance of Cyberkid—along with his ominous, cryptic warnings—would have made Frank totally catatonic. That was how I would have reacted under similar circumstances, after all.

  But I guess I didn’t know Frank as well as I thought, because instead of going silent, he just kept jabbering the entire time we moved Cyberkid downstairs:

  “Oh my god what the hell where did Cyberkid come from what did he mean about Rubberman and the others Alex why did Cyberkid come to your house did he really pick the right house or did his wounds mess up his thinking and is he dead oh I hope to God he isn’t dead because if I just saw a kid die on the spot I’m going to hurl and if I’m going to hurl I need to know where your bathroom is so I can—”

  “Frank,” I said, standing in the living room, watching as Mom bandaged Cyberkid’s chest, which seemed to be where the worst of his wounds were. “Can you please be quiet, just for a moment? I honestly don’t have the answers to your questions. The only one who does is Cyberkid, and he’s, well, not currently awake.”

  Frank took a deep breath and then said, slightly slower, “Sorry. I just didn’t expect the door to come flying open like that or for Cyberkid to come in and talk like a character in a superhero comic. I don’t have a lot of experience with superheroes and sidekicks, so I don’t know if this is normal or—”

  “It’s not,” I said. “That much I can tell you. Whatever made Cyberkid come here is not, by any definition of the word, ‘normal.’”

  Frank nodded as if I had just shared one of the secrets of the universe. “Wait, how do you know what’s ‘normal’ for superheroes and what isn’t? You’re not a sidekick or anything like that.”

  I only hesitated for a moment, but since Cyberkid’s story would inevitably involve revealing my identity, I said, “Actually, I’m Beams.”

  That made Frank go silent. He just stared at me for a full five seconds, his eyes and face blank. The revelation that I was Beams seemed to me a lot less shocking than what happened to Cyberkid, but I guess Frank just had different priorities from me.

  Finally, Frank said, “You’re joking.”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I’m not. Let me show you.”

  I picked up a half-eaten apple on the coffee table and looked directly at it. Being careful to keep the energy level low, I fired the smallest, thinnest laser beam that Frank could still see clearly at the apple. The beam burned a tiny hole in the center of the apple, but did not go through it, because I didn’t want it to go through the apple and hit the floor or my hand underneath.

  I handed the apple to Frank, who took it as if it was a bomb that was about to go off. “See? I can shoot lasers from my eyes. Only Beams can do that.”

  Frank turned the apple over in his hands, like he thought I’d played some kind of trick on him and he was trying to figure it out.

  Then he looked up at me, but his face wasn’t blank anymore. He was smiling, smiling wider than ever, and he looked like he was about to explode he was smiling so much.

  “The serum worked!” said Frank. “I can’t believe it. For all these months, we thought Mr. Peters had made a dud, that his serum was always destined to leave him powerless. But now we know it worked. If only Mr. Peters knew—”

  “Don’t tell him,” I said quickly. “Remember, I can get my sidekick license revoked if my identity is made public, and I think Mr. Peters would definitely tell the world who I was if he knew, if only so he could take credit for my powers.”

  “Sorry,” said Frank. “I was just thinking that Mr. Peters might be nicer to us now, if he knew that his serum worked. Maybe he would even make another one and finally retire from teaching for good so he can become a superhero. Then we could get Mrs. Naomi back and science class will be fun again.”

  I thought it more likely that Mr. Peters would treat us even worse, because it had probably taken him a long time to make that serum and he had gone a long time thinking it had failed and that he was going to be stuck teaching forever. I was quite glad that the law said my identity needed to be a secret; otherwise, Mr. Peters probably would have become one of my enemies.

  In any case, I said, “Well, he’ll never know for sure, that much I can tell you. And it doesn’t really matter, anyway. I’m far more interested in finding out why Cyberkid is here and what he came to tell me than in whatever Mr. Peters is doing.”

  Just as I said that, Cyberkid suddenly groaned. He put his hand on his forehead, like he had a big headache. “Ugh. Where am I? What happened?”

  Mom—who had just finished applying bandages to Cyberkid’s wounds—pulled her hands back, almost like she had gotten burned, and said, “You’re in a lot of pain. You shouldn’t move or anything.”

  “What?” said Cyberkid. He suddenly looked at me, realization dawning in his one exposed eye. “Beams, is that you? You’re not wearing your costume.”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, patting my chest. “But how did you know where I live? I never told you my secret identity.”

  Cyberkid rubbed his forehead, but then lowered his hand to his side. “Rubberman told me where you live in case he needed me to contact you. I haven’t told anyone else where you live, if it helps.”

  “Why couldn’t Rubberman just call me?” I said. “He has my phone number. Or if he couldn’t call me, he could have had Adams call me instead.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Cyberkid. “Rubberman isn’t in any condition to call you, or Adams, for that matter.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “Earlier, you mentioned that something had happened to Rubberman, but you didn’t say what.”

  Cyberkid sat up. Even though he had clearly taken a lot of serious injuries, he did not appear to let his pain stop him. “It’s a long story, and it might be too late now, but I guess I’ll tell you anyway. You’re the only one who can do anything about it.”

  Cyberkid suddenly grabbed his chest and lay down again. He didn’t look like he was in any condition to talk, yet if what he said was true, then we had no time to waste.

  “All right,” said Cyberkid. He looked at me again, though now he looked more tired than before. “Do you remember what Blast told you? About the Big Boy bomb?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Rubberman told me that he and the other members of Heroes United were going to go to the abandoned factory where the Vigilante Legion was building it. They were going to ambush the Legion there and take out the bomb, if not the Legion itself.”

  Cyberkid sighed. “Yes, that was how it was supposed to go, but as we all know, plans usually don’t survive impact with the first problems they run into.”

  “Wait, you mean they already acted on the plan?” I said in surprise. “Rubberman told me they were going to do it at midnight tonight.”

  “That was the original plan, yes, but Prime Man heard about it,” said Cyberkid with a scowl. “He heard about the plan from Myster and insisted that they put the plan into action right away, instead of waiting for midnight to come.”

  “What?” I said. “But Prime Man isn’t in charge of the team he sent here to help Rubberman and me. Myster is.”

  “Yeah, but Prime Man is higher up in Heroes United than Myster, so he overrode his authority,” said Cyberkid. He shook his head. “Said
that he was worried that the Legion had finished the bomb already and were going to use it tonight. He thought that if we acted now, rather than later, then we could ensure that the bomb was destroyed and maybe catch a few vigilantes in the process.”

  “That’s stupid,” I said. “Attacking in the middle of the day? Come on. Even Prime Man has to know how tactically dumb that move is.”

  “I don’t know what Prime Man does or doesn’t know, but I do know that both Myster and Rubberman tried to argue against him,” said Cyberkid. “Of course, he didn’t listen to them, and even threatened to kick Myster out of Heroes United if he kept arguing against him. In the end, Prime Man got his way, so Myster and Rubberman led the team to the factory on the outskirts of Golden City, to the location where Big Boy was said to be being built.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would Prime Man do that? Does he really believe that that is the best way to deal with the situation?”

  “Who knows?” said Cyberkid. “All I know is that this version of Prime Man is more of a Cape than a Mask. At least, that’s what Myster has always told me. And I believe him, because everything I’ve seen of Prime Man the Third is that he doesn’t have much experience in actually dealing with criminals.”

  “He probably just wants the glory of defeating the Legion while he’s in town,” said James, shaking his head. “But without actually doing the work himself, of course. Unless he himself actually led the attack, that is.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” said Cyberkid. He chuckled bitterly. “Prime Man is far too important to concern himself with actually leading people. He just wants to go and make big business deals with billion dollar corporations that will expand his already enormous business. Actually stopping criminals is for the little people, don’t you know.”

  Cyberkid sounded surprisingly bitter, almost like a vigilante, but that was understandable. Based on what I had seen of Prime Man when I met him in the hospital earlier, I was not surprised to hear that he was more interested in his own fame and glory than in actually doing the right thing. Especially when I remembered what Rubberman had told me about Prime Man’s own insecurities about his accomplishments.