A Hero By Any Other Name

by Stackpole, Michael A.

  Trying to remain calm and exude a sense of nonchalance, Alex raised a hand and waved as the boy passed. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” The kid’s eyes opened wider as he stood up on his pedals and began pumping as if he were on the last leg of the Tour de France. Watching the boy roll down the path, Alex shook his head. Superheroes were supposed to strike fear in the hearts of evildoers, not ten-year-old boys riding their bikes through the park.

  After stashing the bag containing his street clothes behind a bush he walked around to the building’s side, stepping through the mottled shade of a nearby oak. He glanced around, ensuring no one was in sight, and then slipped behind a number of tall hedges that ran along the wall. Running his hand along one of the structure’s beveled ridges, he found the small lever that disengaged the lock, and pressed. A panel of stone slid noiselessly to the side to reveal a numbered panel. After inputting a seven-digit code, a large section of the wall slid to the side. Alex stepped through the opening and pressed the button on the interior wall. The door shut with a solid thud.

  Much like the elevator room at the Edison Building, this space was merely an antechamber for the elevator before him. The steel-blue metal doors parted, revealing the familiar sterile interior. Only then did he realize that the Howler could have very well been waiting in the elevator. Alex sighed and shook his head. “I am soooo not ready for this.”

  Nevertheless, he stepped inside, pressed the down button, and watched the doors shut.

  Music drifted through the speakers as the elevator descended. He had never understood why Lawman played elevator music in an elevator no one but he used, but it was there nonetheless. Presently, a Kenny G rendition of a U2 song was playing. Alex’s gaze drifted up to the speaker’s perforated holes above him, a frown on his face. Kenny G covering U2 was like squirting ketchup on a perfectly good ice cream sundae.

  A few seconds later, the elevator motor’s hum quieted and with a slight bump, his descent stopped. Erring on the side of caution this time, Alex pressed himself into the front corner as the doors slid open. He tensed, waiting for a hail of bullets or perhaps some sort of sound ray—the Howler favored those, after all—to fill the elevator. After a few moments of silence, however, Alex peeked around the corner. Light from the elevator spilled out, its illumination quickly fading in the dark and undeniably creepy hall.

  Alex let out a sigh and whispered, “Oh, goody…”

  He remained motionless, listening for any sound out of the ordinary, yet all he heard was the gentle whine of the hideout’s ventilation system. Stepping as quietly as he could, he exited the elevator and went straight for the light switch on the right-hand wall. He placed his finger on the switch, was about to flip it, but stopped. If the Howler did not already know he was here, turning on the lights would surely announce his presence. On the other hand, walking into a blackened hallway, blinder than a bat, was no way to fight an arch-villain. Keeping his gaze down the hall, he flipped the switch up. There was a soft click but the lights remained off.

  With that option no longer available to him, Alex looked to his belt. He definitely remembered Shades attaching a flashlight. Two seemingly identical cylinders hung on opposite hips: one was the flashlight while the other was a flashbang grenade. The problem was Alex could not remember which was which. He did recall the three-second window he would have once ejecting the flashbang from its cylinder before it exploded.

  Going on nothing more than a gut feeling, Alex placed a thumb atop the right cylinder, took a deep breath, and pushed. With a soft click, the flashlight or grenade slipped from the bottom of the cylinder and fell into his waiting left hand. He twisted the top quickly and was rewarded with a beam of light cutting through the darkness.

  “Phew…”

  Aiming the flashlight ahead of him, he crept down the pitch-black hall, peeking in each room as he passed. The training room, which was the size of a high-school gymnasium, appeared to be as dark and empty as the hall. Dark blue pads lined three of the walls and sections of the floors, pulley systems hung from the ceiling like thick, misplaced spider webs, and a number of training-weapons hung from racks on non-padded wall to his left. He briefly considered grabbing a weapon, but immediately discounted the idea. Every club, baton, or sword, while weighted appropriately, either was coated with a soft Nerf-like substance or had an edge so dull it would not cut room-temperature butter.

  The next room down was the kitchen, also dark; the stainless steel refrigerator, dishwasher, and other appliances reflecting his flashlight’s glow. Lawman’s living quarters were empty as well. Nothing was disturbed as far as Alex could see. Same thing for the infirmary, the glass vials of medicine glistening in the dark.

  The armory was next, its door closed and, unfortunately, locked. Alex eyed the number keypad over the handle, frowning. Lawman had never given him this combination.

  The hall turned left, Alex covered the flashlight’s head, shuttering its glow, and peeked around the corner. The mahogany door to Lawman’s office was cracked open, a faint light drifting from within outlining the door’s top, one side, and bottom. Alex was staring at the outline, trying to come up his next step, when the Howler’s nail-scraping-on-chalkboard voice filled the hallway.

  “I’d ask if you were from the mayor’s office, but I think I know the answer.”

  Alex froze. So much for approaching unnoticed. He paused, considering his response before calling back: “Maybe I’m here to deliver an order of Kung-Pao Chicken.”

  “Since when do delivery men wear ski-masks?”

  Alex bit down hard, grinding his teeth. He had forgotten about Lawman’s surveillance system.

  The Howler’s voice drifted down the hall again. “Who are you, exactly?”

  Alex reached up to wipe the sweat from his eyes, exposing the flashlight for a brief second. The beam shined on his chest, lighting up the “All Star” emblazoned on his sweatshirt. Covering the light quickly, Alex called out, “People call me All-Star!”

  “Which people might that be? I’ve never heard of you.”

  Alex muttered under his breath, “Me either…” His mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this exceedingly undesirable situation. Curious as to why the Howler had the cameras on the night-vision setting, he took a step back toward the elevator.

  “Where are you going?” screeched the Howler.

  Alex froze, a tiny smile spreading under his ski mask. The Howler was watching him now, meaning the villain was most likely on the left side of the office where the bank of monitors was. Knowing that gave Alex an idea.

  Taking a quick step forward, acting as though the Howler’s question had startled him, he pretended to trip and fell to a knee. He purposely dropped his flashlight, flicking the end as he did, setting it spinning like a cheap light show in a karaoke club. As the light rattled around, his left hand shot to the cylinder on his left hip. He pushed the top, catching the small flashbang as it fell from the tube. Reaching around the corner, he placed it against the wall and then quickly rose to his feet.

  One.

  Backing up, he called out, “This was a mistake!”

  Two.

  He increased his pace. “Sorry for bothering you!”

  Three.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears as an incredibly bright flash filled the hall, accompanied by a deafening boom only made worse by the enclosed space. The meager protection offered by his hands did little to soften the explosion’s roar, but it probably saved his eardrums. Wincing, he sprinted forward anyway, dashing through the smoke lit up by his flashlight. He only had a few seconds before the cameras self-corrected after the intense flash.

  Rounding the corner, he ran for Lawman’s office, his hiking boots making nary a sound, at least to his ears. A 747 jet engine could have been roaring nearby and he would not hear it. He really hoped he had not just made himself permanently deaf. Upon reaching the door, he threw it open and burst inside, praying the boom had incapacitated the Howler. Alex wa
s the one caught off guard, however, by the scene that greeted him.

  The dark cherry table in the room’s center was bare, most definitely not holding a tied-up superhero. Instead, Lawman was sitting in the observation chair before his array of monitors, lit by their soft glow, bent over with his hands over his ears. Alex spun around, looking for the Howler but all he found was a dark and empty office: cabinets, Lawman’s desk, lamps, bookshelves, two computer banks, and a pair of comfortable lounging chairs.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  A relieved smile mixed with a painful wince rested on Lawman’s face. The hero rose from his observation chair and moved to his desk, working his jaw while rubbing his ears. He pulled the little chain hanging from his Tiffany’s desk lamp, lighting up the room, then retrieved a pen from a holder and scribbled on a pad of paper. After dropping the pen—Alex did not hear it strike the desk—Lawman handed the pad to Alex.

  Accepting it, Alex tilted it toward the light and read the scrawled words. “See? You can do this job.”

  Alex’s head snapped up as he glared at Lawman. Ripping off his ski mask, he marched to the desk, grabbed the pen, and scribbled “This was some sort of trick, wasn’t it?” Slamming the pen on the desk, he held the paper up.

  Lawman glanced at it, shrugged once, and nodded.

  Alex glowered at the superhero. “You’re an ass!” He actually heard his shout amidst the tinny ringing in his ears.

  Lawman grabbed Alex by the arm—firm, not rough—and guided him to one of the two rich leather lounge chairs. He gestured for Alex to take a seat, turned to one of the cabinets, and opened it to reveal a crystal decanter containing what Alex knew to be a fine scotch. Lawman pulled the stopper from the top, poured two glasses, and handed one to Alex.

  While Alex was not much of a drinker, after what had just happened, he made an exception. He took a small swig of the amber liquid, winced as it set his mouth screaming, and swallowed. The liquor slid down his throat and into his stomach, followed a moment later by a warming sensation.

  Lawman sunk into the other chair, looked over, and asked, “Can you hear me yet?” He was clearly talking louder than normal, but it was necessary.

  Nodding, Alex half-shouted back, “Mostly.” Still angry, he barked, “In case you missed it a minute ago, you’re a real ass, you know that?”

  An almost affectionate smile spread over Lawman’s face. “I’ve been called worse.” He glanced at Alex’s sweatshirt and nodded. “I like the name, by the way. ‘Lawman and All-star’ has a nice ring to it.” Pointing to his sweats, drink in hand, he said, “We’ll need to do something about the outfit, though. You look like you’re ready to knock over a convenient store.”

  “The Howler was never here, was he?”

  Lawman shook his head. “Never.”

  “But the voice?”

  Lawman reached down to his properly fitting belt, pulled a device from it, and held it to his mouth. “Voice manipulator.” The screeching sounded just like the Howler.

  “What about the mayor and your demand for a hundred million dollars?”

  “The Howler—I—never really made it. I tapped into the satellite feed at the Save-n-Shop.” He nodded to back to the monitor display. “I waited until you showed up this morning and ... well, you know the rest.”

  Alex twisted around and for the first time noticed one of the monitors showed the storeroom. Jack was sitting the same chair, watching what looked like The Ellen DeGeneres Show. Looking back to Lawman, Alex slowly shook his head. “Why?”

  “Because I see something in you, Alex. Something you still don’t see in yourself. I want you working with me.”

  Alex glared at the superhero, irritated that he had been duped. “Remember? I quit.”

  Lawman smiled. “Yet here you are.” He raised his glass as if to toast Alex, then took a sip. “I would happily rescind your resignation if you would like.”

  “I told you: I can’t do this job.”

  “The fact that you’re sitting here and my ears are ringing says you can. I never expected the flashbang. Ingenious, really. But please don’t ever do that again.” He cocked his head to the side. “Now, this is my last attempt to keep you around. If you wish me to leave you alone forever, I promise I will never bother you again. So think about how you answer this next question very carefully. Are you in or out?”

  Alex took a moment—and another sip of scotch—while he considered the question. While he was nowhere near the physical specimen Lawman was, he had still managed to incapacitate the superhero. Perhaps he could do this job.

  Glancing up from his glass, he said, “I get to design my costume.”

  The corners of Lawman’s mouth curled upward. “Does that mean you’re staying?”

  Hoping the glow of confidence that he presently felt was the result of his recent actions and not the scotch warming his belly, Alex gave a firm nod. “You know what? I am.”

  About the Author

  R.T. Kaelin is an accidental writer. In 2009, while in search for a hobby, he joined a local gaming group and soon found himself writing short stories for his fellow players. When urged to try his hand at something larger, R.T. threw caution to the wind and went at it. Progeny, the first volume in The Children of the White Lions series was self-published in late 2010. The book garnered critical acclaim and hit top 10 top-rated historical fantasy at Amazon. The second in the series, Prophecy, was published in September, 2012. Numerous short stories have appeared in anthologies, including the charity collection Triumph Over Tragedy (which he edited) from which all proceeds are donated to the American Red Cross for Hurricane Sandy Relief. In February, 2013, he signed with a literary agent to pursue a traditional publishing deal for the series and other works. His novels and short stories are steeped in rich, detailed worlds, his characters are rounded and real, and his readers can always expect to be surprised. R.T. lives with his wife and two children in Columbus, Ohio. www.RTKaelin.com

  About the Story

  All-Star is a continuation of the tale of Alex Butterworth, the accidental sidekick to the city’s most famous superhero, Lawman. We first meet Alex in Interview, a short story in the 2013 Origins Game Fair anthology, HEROES! Unfortunately, Alex’s training sessions with the great Lawman have not been going well—he is undersized and does not possess any particular skill superhero-worthy—and he has had enough. He resigns his position, says farewell to being a hero, and returns to his life as a grocery store clerk. Yet when the arch-villain Howler captures Lawman and demands a hefty ransom from the city, Alex must rise to the occasion as only he knows where the great hero is being held.

  Hero Today, Gone Tomorrow

  Ron Garner

  Crack! Boom!

  Mortar and brick dust billowed through the hole where the wall of the bank used to be. Light streaming through the cloud touched briefly upon the forms of the frightened customers huddled on the floor. A hazy, gray figure slowly came into definition through the newly formed aperture, gaining clarity as it moved forward. Eventually, the gray outline solidified into a man costumed in blue and gold.

  “You all know who I am and why I’m here. Hand over all the money, and no one needs to be… inconvenienced.”

  “It’s him.”

  “Sonic Force.”

  The whispers carried a short distance then faded in the dense tropical air of a New Orleans summer.

  Sonic Force’s lip curled slightly upward. A reputation was a wonderful thing. Bank guards were lowering their weapons as they would not have done if faced by any run-of-the-mill criminal with a gun.

  “Smart move, gentlemen. Drop the weapons and show me your hands. No need for dramatics here.”

  A series of sharp metallic clicks echoed as pistols struck the floor.

  Sonic Force absently scratched at his mask as his eyes drifted around the bank, lighting periodically on the guards, but focusing more on the marble floors and columns. The ornate, almost antiquarian, wooden desks seemed, for some reason, disson
ant with the large computer monitors sitting on them. This would be a rich take.

  The villain sensed a contrary movement out of the periphery of his right eye. His body turned with his head in a move that appeared dramatic enough to appeal to his sense of presence, but was more to move his massive shoulder pads out of his field of vision.

  “Ahhh. A hero.”

  The guard was not exactly aiming his gun at Sonic Force; he had not yet dropped it, either.

  “Hmmm. Circumstances would suggest that you already know this, friend, but my specialty happens to be the use of sound waves to affect change on my physical environment.” Sonic Force ran his right hand through his hair, pushing a wave of blond locks back above his eyebrows. “Have you ever seen what sound waves, properly utilized, can do to the human body?”

  A quizzical look, and the guard shook his head, sending rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck to add to the spreading wet stain on the collar of his gray and black uniform.

  “Well, of course, I could just cause your head to explode, and you would never feel anything. But that would be messy and, let’s face it, inelegant.” Sonic Force raised his left hand to inspect his immaculate fingernails with cold blue eyes. “No, the true art lies in finding just the right focus and just the right frequency to rupture the internal organs without harming the surface. Much cleaner, much more… artistic.” The eyes shifted back to the guard. “Painful, though. Death can take some time.”

  A metallic click sounded as the gun struck the marble floor.

  “A wise choice.” Clapping his hands, Sonic Force turned to a cowering overweight man, sporting the most fantastic comb-over he’d ever seen. That comb-over was the only thing visible through the teller’s window. “Well, then, back to business! Mister Manager, if you please.”

  After a couple of ticks of the second hand on the bank’s old-fashioned wall clock, the head grew eyes, then a chin, then shoulders, and finally an entire upper torso.