The Strike Trilogy

by Charlie Wood

  “You know, Orion,” Keplar said, as they walked toward the exterior of the poisonous dome, “sometimes I think about my life before I met you, when I was just a young pup and I wasn’t attempting to break into super-villain strongholds. Sometimes I miss those days.”

  “You were also about to be imprisoned for life when I met you,” Orion said, “so there’s that.”

  “Good point.”

  Reaching the cloudy, black-and-purple Dark Nebula, Scatterbolt turned to the others and held up the blowtorch-like device in his hand.

  “I still can’t believe Junior was finally able to invent something that can cut through the Dark Nebula. How cool is that?”

  Suddenly a stream of orange fire shot out of the blowtorch’s barrel and headed straight for Strike’s head.

  “Whoa!” the hero shouted, as he dove out of the way. The fire hit a tree behind him and turned it immediately into a pile of ash.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Scatterbolt shouted, holding the smoking blowtorch. “I didn’t know it was on! I’m just so excited!”

  Orion carefully took the blowtorch from Scatterbolt. “Okay, before we head in there with three people instead of four, I’ll take that and adjust the settings. It took two months, a small fortune, and I’m pretty sure a good portion of Junior’s sanity to create this torch, so let’s be a little more careful.”

  “Yeah,” Keplar added, “and let’s remember he wasn’t that sane to begin with.”

  Strike got up off the ground, dusting the dirt off his uniform. “So this thing— which clearly has a way-too-sensitive trigger—is really gonna cut through the Dark Nebula?”

  “That’s the theory,” Orion said. “All of our information tells us this is a safe spot for us to cut—it will open to one of the only parts of Harrison without much security. But, before we cut, we gotta use these.”

  Orion retrieved the four silver, ballpoint pen-like devices from his pocket. He handed one to each of the others.

  “I’ve used these fakers before, but the hologram never lasted very long. Junior and Wakefield tell me that these new models are much improved, however, and will allow us to spend much more time in the Dark Nebula.”

  “Because these will conceal our identities from whoever sees us,” Scatterbolt said.

  “Right. When turning this on and keeping it with you, anyone who looks at you will not see your true identity. Which is good, since I’m told we are the city of Harrison’s number one enemies.”

  Strike inspected the pen-like device. It was completely featureless, except for the button on its top. “Will this thing even protect us from security cameras?”

  “Yes, it essentially covers your body in a perfectly life-like hologram, so even cameras and other technology will be fooled.”

  “Awesome, I love this kind of stuff,” Scatterbolt said. “Who am I gonna be? Someone cool, I hope.”

  “My contact on the inside has acquired four identities for us. There is some kind of celebration going on in the Trident skyscraper tonight, and nearly everyone in the city has been invited. Our identities will be a family that was invited to the party but are not able to attend.” Orion pointed to the button on his faker. “Just hold this down for a second or two and your new identities will take hold.”

  Scatterbolt held his thumb down on the button. Strike was shocked with how quickly the faker worked; within seconds, the little robot was replaced by a human, green-skinned, nine-year-old boy with dark hair.

  “Okay,” Scatterbolt said, looking himself over. “I was hoping to be someone a little more cool than a nine-year-old for once, but green is my favorite color.”

  Strike pushed his button. The skin on his hands quickly turned green, and soon he was a healthy, handsome, teenage Rytonian boy.

  “Okay,” he said. “Pretty cool.”

  Keplar pushed his button. In shock, Strike watched as the six-foot-tall dog was replaced by an overweight, green-skinned blonde woman in a flowery dress.

  “What the hell?” the dog shouted, looking down at himself, his voice now that of a deep-voiced female. “Seriously? This is what I get?”

  Strike and Scatterbolt dropped to the ground, doubled over with laughter.

  “Oh my god!” Strike shouted, holding his stomach. “That is hilarious!”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen!”

  Keplar turned to Orion, pointing at him with his painted pink fingernail. “You did this on purpose! I’m the mom? Why the hell am I the mom? I’m not going in there like this!”

  Orion couldn’t hide his smirk. “These are the only identities we were able to acquire. We had four identities, and because of your body size it makes the most sense for you to be the mother. I’m sorry, it’s all we had.”

  “This is krandor! You just did this to mess with me! You just did this so I look like an idiot!” The dog looked himself over. He tugged at the yellow and purple flowers covering his body. “And seriously, couldn’t I have worn a prettier dress? This is the best dress I have?”

  Catching his breath from laughing, Strike turned to Orion. “Who are you gonna be?”

  “I,” Orion said, pressing his button, “am being your uncle.” Orion’s image was replaced by a fifty-ish, green-skinned man in a tuxedo. “The good news is we also have these.” The old man handed each of the heroes a little metal case. “These special contact lenses will allow us to see each other as we really are. So, if we look at each other, we’ll see our real identities, not the fake ones. That will make it much more easy to identify each other in the field.”

  “Good,” Strike said, “because if I have to look at Keplar like that anymore, I’m definitely not gonna be able to concentrate on the mission.”

  After carefully putting the contact lens into his eye, Strike blinked and looked at his friends. Once again, he saw a blue-and-white Siberian husky, a purple-and-green robotic boy, and a grey-haired man in a red coat.

  “There?” Keplar asked. “Is that better?”

  Strike shrugged. “Weirdly enough, I actually think I liked you better the other way.”

  Keplar closed his eyes and raised his nose. “Don’t get any funny ideas, I’m a woman with values.”

  “Now, if you look at yourself in a mirror,” Orion explained, “you will still see your fake identity, so don’t get freaked out if you pass your reflection, okay? Is everyone ready?” He handed the blowtorch back to Scatterbolt. “Here you go, start cutting. And please be more careful this time.”

  Eager and excited to get another try at the blowtorch, Scatterbolt knelt down and began using its orange flame to cut through the swirling wall of the Dark Nebula.

  Strike stood next to Orion. “You totally didn’t need to make Keplar the mom, did you?”

  Orion smiled. “I’m sure we could have figured out a way to make him the father. But I figured we could all use a good laugh. Plus, it’s good karma for him, considering how many times I’ve had to deal with his angry ex-girlfriends.”

  A few minutes later, Strike, Orion, Keplar and Scatterbolt were walking along a quiet sidewalk in the northern section of Harrison.

  “Okay,” Orion said. “As you can see, a lot has changed around here.”

  “You’re telling me,” Strike replied. Even though he was in Boston, he was surrounded by a foreign world: the city’s trendy stores and college bars were replaced with diners and ice cream shops, and three silent, gliding blimps were floating in the sky overhead. The boy was having a hard time figuring out where he was, but then it hit him; he was on Newbury Street. His favorite place to grab a slice of pizza before a Red Sox game—Vesuvio’s—was now a butcher shop, with sausages, racks of lamb-like animals, and the ribs of some kind of beast hanging in the window.

  “They have certainly made it their own, that’s for sure,” Orion said.
“And there’s even less people out and about than I thought.”

  “Yeah, this is really creepy,” Scatterbolt said. “Where is everybody?”

  “The big celebration is happening at the Trident skyscraper, and it seems everybody that was invited decided to go. Which is great news for us, because it means less eyes on us in the streets.”

  “You okay over there, Keplar?” Strike asked, eyeing the husky.

  Behind them, Keplar was looking at his reflection in the window of a department store, checking out the figure of the large-boned Rytonian woman looking back at him.

  “I’m not sure,” the dog replied. “I think I’m having a hot flash. Is that possible?”

  Orion laughed. “No, it’s definitely not. Okay, our target is right in the middle of the Boston Public Garden, next to Boston Common. Everyone here knows what the Trident looks like, and we all know it won’t be hard to miss.”

  Sure enough, soon Tobin saw it; the soaring, three-pointed skyscraper with its hundreds of crystal clear windows was resting at the eastern end of Boston Common, in the middle of the Boston Public Garden, towering over every other building in sight.

  “Remember,” Orion said, as they drew closer to the building. “We know that the next phase of Rigel’s plan involves two major components. Keplar and Scatterbolt, you will investigate whatever is in the basement computer mainframe, while Strike and I head to the 105th floor to see what we can find.”

  “And there’ll be a car waiting for us outside in case anything goes wrong?” Strike asked.

  “Yes. My contact has gotten us a getaway car that closely resembles the vehicle of our nice little family here. If there’s any sign of trouble, we are to get out of the building and meet back at the car immediately. Everything make sense to everybody?”

  “Yup,” Strike said.

  “Got it,” Scatterbolt agreed.

  “Nothing makes sense anymore,” Keplar replied. “I’m starting to look at the world in a whole new light. Why are men such jerks?”

  “You know,” Orion said, “this should have no mental effect on you. It’s just a hologram.”

  “Then I suddenly have way more issues than I ever knew about.”

  As the group made their way to the front entrance of the Trident, Strike noticed a group of people waiting to get into the building, along with a large, green-skinned bouncer, who was holding an electronic tablet.

  “Uh-oh,” Strike said. “There’s a line. You sure our names are on the list, O?”

  Orion stepped into the back of the line. “I’m positive. My person on the inside has assured it. Plus, we have one important factor working for us: Rigel is way too overconfident, and security is incredibly lax. He thinks there’s no way we’ll be able to get past the Dark Nebula, and is clearly not prepared for us to be here. So, when you get to the front, just act natural.”

  “I will,” Scatterbolt replied. “I’ve already created a whole back story for my guy. My name is Felix and I’m a computer science prodigy billionaire with my own video game company. I’m also just an adult who looks like a kid, and I’m married to the most beautiful supermodel on Capricious, a woman named Larianne Esmeralda.”

  “How about we just stick with ‘you’re a nine-year-old Rytonian kid named Felix?’” Strike suggested.

  “Okay,” Scatterbolt said. “It might be easier that way.”

  “Just slightly,” Strike said with a smile.

  Keplar caught another glimpse of himself in the skyscraper windows. “I just can’t stop thinking about how wide this dress makes my hips look. Seriously, my body has just never been the same since the baby.”

  Strike stepped forward in line. “And, I’m officially creeped out.”

  “Guys,” Orion whispered, growing impatient, “can we please take this just a tad more seriously since we’re almost at the bouncer?”

  Strike looked up; the heavy-set, scowling bouncer was staring down at him. His round face desperately needed a shave, and also featured a tattoo of a twisting string of barbed wire around his right eye.

  “Name?” the bouncer asked.

  “Uh, Kurt Peterson,” Strike replied.

  The bouncer checked his list. As Strike peered forward, he could see that there was more information than simply the names of the guests on the tablet.

  “Where are you from?” the bouncer asked.

  “You mean now?” Strike replied, remembering the information Orion had told him to memorize. “I’m from right down the road, on Baum Street. But back home in Capricious I lived in the town of Barrie.”

  The bouncer looked at the list, then checked off Strike’s fake name.

  “Okay,” the bouncer said, smiling for the first time. “Have fun. Long live Rytonia.”

  “Absolutely,” Strike said with a grin.

  Stepping past the bouncer, the boy waited at the open entrance to the skyscraper. He could hear the celebration inside as he nervously watched the others reach the front of the line. But, there was no need to be worried; one after the other, the bouncer allowed Orion, Scatterbolt, and Keplar into the party.

  “Okay, Peterson family,” Strike said, as the others regrouped with him at the entrance. “Let’s see exactly what the heck is going on in here.”

  In a grand ballroom on the tenth floor of the Trident, Rytonia’s most famous singer—a beautiful, busty, blonde woman named Luna Davis—stepped onto stage from behind a golden curtain and belted her new hit song, all while the big brass band behind her joyously played along. Decked in a skin-tight white dress beaded with diamonds, she was a sight to behold.

  Oh we came here from another world, looking for a place to call our own

  The Daybreaker took us in, kept us warm, and made us feel at home

  When the world expands, and the Earth is ours, the universe will be free

  But until then, as the leaders get to work, come cel-e-brate with me!

  As the party guests danced in their finest suits and gowns and sipped from the champagne glasses being handed out by the dozens of waiters around the ballroom, Rigel stood awkwardly near his table, surrounded by two of Harrison’s most well-known power couples—the Carroways and the Elmsberrys.

  “I have to say, Rigel, you’ve really outdone yourself with this celebration,” Albert Carroway remarked.

  Rigel smiled and tugged on his collar, uncomfortable in his tuxedo. “Yes, well,” the red giant said with a smile, “parties aren’t usually my thing, but I knew it would be good for the people of the city. Vincent always told me how important celebrations were for the community.”

  Albert’s wife, Stella, finished her drink and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. “Well, I know I have spoken to many citizens tonight, and they could not be more thrilled. Celebrating like this in the Trident is a wonderful luxury for them.”

  “And for the party to be a celebration of the new world, and the fulfillment of Vincent’s dream?” Oscar Elmsberry added. “That just makes it all the better.”

  Albert nodded. “It really is an amazing achievement.”

  Oscar waved his glass around, his speech starting to slur. “Just being here, with all these people, so proud of their heritage and our new home, and just so happy to be with one another. And just celebrating our new lives...it’s really, truly amazing.”

  Dottie Elmsberry chuckled. “I think someone has had a little bit too much to drink.”

  The group laughed.

  “Maybe,” Oscar said with a grin, holding up his drink. “But I’m not going to stop now. We’re celebrating our new conquest, after all. Imagine: a life where we don’t have to worry about the barbarians of Earth.”

  Albert held his glass up. “Now that’s a reason to celebrate.”

  As the men clinked their glasses together, Rigel took advant
age of the opportunity and stepped away.

  “Yes, keep going,” the red giant said. “Enjoy yourself. I’m a little uncomfortable with all this extravagance, but I know—” The communicator on Rigel’s belt buzzed. He looked down at it. “I’m sorry, excuse me a moment,” he said, before stomping across the party to a group of admiring partygoers gathered around Nova.

  “It’s something we really wanted to do,” the grey-masked man said to his captive audience. “We wanted to open up the skyscraper to the city, and throw other celebrations around the city, to show this belongs to all of us. We hope to make it an annual—”

  Rigel made his way through the crowd and grabbed Nova’s shoulder.

  “Nova, I need to speak with you,” he said, making it known it was not a request.

  Nova turned to the guests. “I’ll be right back.”

  The red giant and the grey-masked man stepped off to the side of the dance floor, in a corner where there were no partygoers.

  “What is it?” Nova asked. “What’s so urgent?”

  “They did it,” Rigel whispered. “There’s been a breakthrough.”

  “What kind of a breakthrough?”

  The red giant smiled. “The one we’ve been waiting for.”

  On the fourth floor of the skyscraper, Rigel and Nova followed Dr. Arthur Brooks into a science lab tucked away in the far corner of the Research and Development wing of the building.

  “Show it to us,” Rigel said. “Show us what you’ve found.”

  The green-skinned Dr. Brooks—dressed in his pristine, white lab coat— handed Rigel a manila folder. “Well, it’s just as we thought. Based on the findings from our tests on the Daybreaker, and the readings from our extractions, it is absolutely certain that his powers are transferable.”