by Lucas Flint
The young man—who had to be Commander Aster—stopped and stared at Nova with huge, wide eyes. “No way. Everyone loved Nebula.”
“Not everyone, apparently,” said Commander Luna with a grunt, “if this theory is correct. And it has a lot of evidence to support it.”
Commander Aster clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yeesh. If this is true, then things are much worse than I thought. Maybe I should have skipped the meeting after all.”
“You were planning to skip the meeting?” said Commander Luna, half-rising from her chair in rage.
Commander Aster held up his hands. “Just joking, Luna. Take a chill pill, okay? Humor is good for your blood pressure.”
Commander Luna glared at Aster before sitting back down in her chair and muttering something under her breath which Beams could not hear, but which he thought wasn’t very polite.
Then Aster looked at Mr. Space and Beams and, waving at them, said, “Hi, there! Who are these two?”
“That is Jason Space, Deputy Captain of the Adventure, and Alex Fry, also known as Beams, a native from a universe where Space just recently completed a very important mission,” said Commander Nova, gesturing at each in turn as he introduced them. “Jason Space and his currently absent captain, Helena Galaxy, were on Mission RB. Remember?”
“Mission RB …” Aster stroked his chin in thought. “Was that the one where they’re supposed to assassinate that interdimensional warlord we’ve been keeping an eye on for a while or was it the one where they’re supposed to deliver a wedding cake to Chief Nebula’s granddaughter’s wedding?”
“You’re thinking of Missions AW and WC, respectively,” Commander Nova said. “Mission RB is the one where they retrieve the Dread God’s brain.”
Aster snapped his fingers. “Ah, of course! You know, I think we should really consider changing the way we name our missions. It would be a lot less confusing if we stopped using vague initials that could mean anything.”
Beams kept quiet during this entire conversation, but his thought was to wonder how someone as absentminded as Aster could have possibly risen to the rank of Commander, especially given how the rest of the Commanders didn’t seem to like him all that much. Maybe Aster was smarter than he looked.
The empty floating chair flew down to Aster, who jumped on it and kicked back with his hands folded behind his head as the chair returned to its original position. The other Commanders all looked annoyed at Aster’s lack of formality, but they said nothing of it, which told Beams that this was probably how Aster always acted.
“So …” said Aster. He looked down at Mr. Space. “Is that the Dread God’s brain you’ve got right there?”
Beams didn’t like the way Aster looked at the box under Mr. Space’s arm. Aster seemed too interested in it for his own good, unlike the other Commanders, who all viewed it with a mixture of alarm and worry in their eyes.
“Yes,” said Mr. Space, nodding. He held the box up for all of the Commanders to see. “Inside this steel box is the brain of the Dread God himself, also known as the Rubber Ball. It’s been pretty chill so far. It hasn’t even attempted to escape its box, not even when the Avatar attacked our ship.”
But Beams knew that that was not entirely true. Ever since Beams had seen the Rubber Ball again, he had sensed its anger and hatred, its desire to destroy at everyone who kept it from its body. He even shared the anger, but had to remind himself that it was just the Rubber Ball trying to influence him to join it. But he could not forget the Prophecy, nor the Avatar’s other ominous words about how he was destined to resurrect the Dread God.
“Amazing,” said Commander Meteor, stroking his chin. “I have heard many stories about the Rubber Ball, about how it has caused trouble even without a body to act as its host.”
“It’s as dangerous as a nuke, if even half the stories are true,” said Commander Luna. She balled her hand into a fist. “I say we destroy it. That way, the Dread God will never come back and the Darzens will probably commit mass suicide out of sheer despair. Would serve them right, those jerks.”
Beams’ eyes widened in shock. He looked at the Rubber Ball, briefly feeling an urge to take it from Mr. Space’s hands, but he didn’t move. He decided to wait and see what the other Commanders would say before he did anything.
“I don’t think we should destroy it,” said Commander Nova. “Chief Nebula’s orders for Mission RB were to have the Rubber Ball delivered directly to her. It was supposed to be insurance against the Darzens, because if we had the Rubber Ball, the Darzens would be less likely to try to mess with us.”
“Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” said Commander Luna. “I’d say that having the Rubber Ball makes it more likely that the Darzens will attack us, rather than less, because they’re definitely going to want to save their god. They’re religious fanatics, after all.”
“That may be true, but it is equally possible they’ll be very hesitant about attacking us as long as we have the Rubber Ball in our hands,” said Commander Nova. “In any case, we have to take it from Space anyway and put it in the Vault. We can decide what to do with it later, after we elect a new Chief.”
Mr. Space nodded and lowered the Rubber Ball to his chest. Beams, on the other hand, breathed an internal sigh of relief, but he didn’t let himself relax too much yet. If the IEA decided to destroy the Rubber Ball because they didn’t want it to be used by the Darzens, then that would also kill Rubberman, which was something Beams absolutely could not allow. But he couldn’t just take the Rubber Ball away right now and run, because he had nowhere to run to. Besides, there was always a chance that the Rubber Ball would be simply kept in storage, rather than destroyed.
“A new Chief, huh?” said Aster. “Yeah, I forgot about that. How does the election process go again? Last time we did it was like fifty years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Commander Nova, nodding. “I had my personal assistant do some research into the election process as soon as I learned about Chief Nebula’s death. As it turned out, it’s very simple. All that is required is a simple majority Commanders to vote for one of their fellow Commanders, who then becomes the new Chief and holds that title for the rest of his or her life.”
“It’s that simple?” said Aster. “Huh. Well, why don’t we get started, then? Not a good idea to go too long without a Chief, right?”
“Right,” said Commander Nova. “And because all seven Commanders are here, we will begin the voting process.” Then he suddenly looked down at Space and Beams. “Oh, I almost forgot. The voting process is only allowed to be viewed by Commanders. Lower ranked IEA members and non-members are not allowed to be present for the election.”
Mr. Space nodded. “I understand completely, Commander Nova. Beams and I will take the Rubber Ball to the Vault, where we will make sure that it is kept safe from potential intruders and thieves. We eagerly await the results of your vote.”
With that, Mr. Space turned around and walked toward the exit. Beams followed, his eyes still glancing at the Rubber Ball every now and then. A sharp sense of relief filled him at the knowledge that the Rubber Ball was not going to be destroyed immediately. It meant that Rubberman would survive after all.
But another part of him was worried about whoever the next Chief was going to be. If Commander Luna or one of the other Commanders who wanted to destroy the Rubber Ball got elected, then they would have the authority to order the destruction of the Rubber Ball.
And that was not something Beams had any intention of allowing to happen, no matter what.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cadmus led Bolt, Captain Galaxy, and Nicknacks down to the lower levels of the Facility. Peter wanted to come with them, but Cadmus gave Peter orders to oversee the repairs to the damaged caused by Bolt and Graalix’s fight, as well as make sure the Facility workers who were injured by Graalix got the medical attention they needed. But Bolt sensed that Cadmus was actually angry at Peter for allowing Graalix to escape, which made Bolt feel a li
ttle sorry for Peter, because, even though Peter didn’t like him very much, he knew that it wasn’t Peter’s fault that the Dread God enhanced Graalix’s power well beyond its natural limits.
Then again, Peter is a big creep anyway, Bolt thought as he followed Cadmus past steel door after steel door, which were all painted with numbers ranging from 1 to (so far) 25. I can save the multiverse without him, though I can’t save the multiverse if Cadmus doesn’t tell us where we’re going.
Picking up speed until he matched Cadmus’ stride, Bolt said, “Okay, Cadmus, where, exactly, are we going? You still haven’t explained how we’re going to reach the Darzens’ home world. And not everyone is a telepath like you, so I can’t just read your mind and find out.”
“Graalix wasn’t the only prisoner we kept down here,” said Cadmus without looking at Bolt. He gestured at the numbered doors. “We have a variety of other odd and interesting figures who we’ve collected over the years. Most are human … but a few aren’t.”
Bolt suddenly heard a loud snarl emit from a door labeled 26, followed by the door shuddering as if it was under heavy assault. Cadmus stopped, glanced at the door, and then the door stopped shuddering. No more sounds came from beyond the door now, but Bolt thought he heard a soft snoring sound, as though the creature on the other side had suddenly fallen asleep.
Resuming walking, Cadmus said, “The Facility is not merely where we perform clandestine scientific experiments to further the interests of the United States. It is also a prison for prisoners who we do not wish to put in normal prison.”
“Like Ultimate Max?” said Bolt, thinking of the best and strongest prison for superhuman criminals in the country.
Cadmus snorted. “Ultimate Max is where ordinary superhuman criminals go, the ones everyone knows about. But there are some whose existence is a mystery to everyone but the government. And I have every intention of ensuring that knowledge of these criminals stays within the walls of this Facility.”
“Do you mean like the Test Subjects from Project Neo?” said Bolt.
“Similar, but not the same,” said Cadmus.
Bolt frowned. “Sounds kind of illegal.”
“It’s a gray area,” said Cadmus. He met Bolt’s eyes. “Besides, are you going to challenge me down here now, knowing that you have much bigger fish to fry than me?”
Bolt bit his lower lip. He hated Cadmus’ tendency to put him in these sorts of situations. One of these days, he was determined to punch that smug bureaucrat’s face, but for the moment, he nodded and said, “Fine. But maybe I’ll let slip what I see when I leave.”
“You’re assuming anyone would believe you if you did,” said Cadmus. “The G-Men are very good at swaying public opinion. Our contacts in the media would be more than happy to listen to us.” He frowned. “Or would, if President Plutarch would stop insulting them all the time in public.”
“Not too happy with the current President?” said Bolt. “Interesting. You never struck me as one to criticize your superior.”
Cadmus’ face became as expressionless as stone. “My own personal opinions don’t matter. I’ve served under many presidents over the years, some I’ve liked more than others. Regardless, they are my boss and I do what they say, even if I personally disagree with their orders.”
Bolt was dubious that Cadmus didn’t do things behind his boss’ back, but before he could say anything, Cadmus came to a stop and said, “Here we are. Door Number Thirty-One.”
Bolt, Captain Galaxy, and Nicknacks stopped in front of a steel door that looked like every other steel door down here, except with the number 31 painted on it in blue paint. Had Cadmus not stopped and pointed it out, Bolt would have walked straight past it.
“And who is behind door number thirty-one?” said Bolt, looking at Cadmus.
Cadmus finished a key card out of his pocket and stepped forward. “You’re about to find out.”
Cadmus swiped the key card in the door’s lock. A small click indicated that the door was unlocked, so Cadmus turned the handle and pushed the door open. It was pitch black inside, but Cadmus entered without a fear in the world. Bolt followed, as did Captain Galaxy and Nicknacks, and as they did, Cadmus flipped a switch on the wall and lights on the ceiling suddenly came on.
The lights revealed that they stood inside a small, concrete room. It was incredibly bare, with nothing on the walls, ceiling, or floor, aside from the lights and the light switch. The only thing of interest was the table in the middle, upon which lay an incredibly old black man who looked oddly familiar to Bolt, even though Bolt was fairly sure he had never seen this guy before. The old man had short, wispy white hair. He was as thin as a rail and looked as fragile as a glass vase. He wore a prison jumpsuit that seemed to be the smallest size available, but it still hung off of his thin frame like it was two sizes too large.
The old man was strapped to the table and had an odd-looking mechanical spray can aimed in his face. His eyes were closed, like he was asleep, but he was so still that Bolt thought he was dead until he noticed the subtle rising and falling of the man’s chest as he breathed in and out. The number 31 was written on the front right chest pocket of his suit and he smelled like an old person, except worse, as if he hadn’t showered in a week.
Cadmus walked up to the old man and, stopping by his head, said, “Dwayne, wake up. We have an important job for you to do today.”
The old man’s eyes flickered open. They were a dull green and seemed to be partially covered with cataracts. His eyes darted up at Cadmus’ face and the old man’s thin frame began to shake terribly. “Oh no. Are you going to resume torturing me? I was told you weren’t going to make me see that again.”
The fear in the old man’s voice was palpable and thick. Bolt glanced at Captain Galaxy, who looked just as put off by the old man’s pleading as he was. He felt sorry for the old man, who had clearly been tortured by the G-Men, though Bolt didn’t see any scars on his body to indicate what kind of torture they had put him through.
“Don’t worry, Dwayne,” said Cadmus, patting Dwayne’s shoulder. “I’m not going to torture you today. In fact, I need your unique powers to help some guests I’m having over today.”
“Guests …?” Dwayne’s eyes darted to the entrance. His eyes went from Nicknacks to Captain Galaxy quickly, but then locked on Bolt.
It was like a switch had been flipped in his head. Dwayne’s eyes widened with anger and his trembling became even worse, because it was now fueled by anger rather than fear.
“You …” Dwayne spat. His voice became lower, practically demonic, and became harder to understand due to the anger distorting his words. “You … you murderer! Monster! Bigot!”
Bolt took a step back and held up his hands. “Hey, man, calm down. You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“No, I know exactly who you are, you evil oppressor,” Dwayne hissed, his voice now strangely high with rage. “You killed my hero and ruined the lives of me and my friends! Die!”
All of a sudden, a portal opened behind Bolt. The portal had a powerful sucking force, which nearly sucked Bolt into its interior, but Captain Galaxy and Nicknacks grabbed his hands and pulled him back. Bolt tried to help by using his flight powers, but the sucking force of the portal was so powerful that he couldn’t even escape it. He just felt himself being slowly ripped out of Galaxy and Nicknacks’ grip, being drawn ever closer to the endless void behind him. He didn’t know what awaited him on the other side of that portal, but he didn’t want to find out.
Abruptly, yellow gas poured out of the sprayer by his face. Dwayne inhaled the yellow gas and suddenly began coughing and hacking. The portal closed shut behind them and Bolt fell to the floor, though he was quickly helped back to his feet by Nicknacks and Captain Galaxy.
“Cadmus!” said Bolt, looking at Cadmus. “What the hell was that?”
Cadmus held a small remote in his right hand which was connected by a wire to the sprayer. “That was powerless gas. Dwayne here has a personal
supply of powerless gas underneath his bed, which we have to spray him with every so often whenever he has one of his tantrums. Had to do it after losing a couple of agents to one of his earlier tantrums, but I thought he had gotten over them by now.”
“I’ll … never … get over … the Leader’s death …” Dwayne said in between coughing and wheezing. Tears trailed out of the corners out of his eyes. “The Vision will live on …”
“Ah, I see now,” said Cadmus. He nodded at Bolt. “Seeing you must have triggered him. I should have realized that something like this would happen if I brought you here, but I was in too much of a hurry to take such precautions. My apologies.”
“It’s fine,” said Bolt, rubbing the back of his neck. “But why would Dwayne get so triggered just by seeing me? I’ve never seen him before.”
“Yes, you have,” said Dwayne. His cough had subsided by now, but his voice sounded worse than ever. “How could you forget me? I was there when you killed the Leader. What, did you forget about me to soothe your own guilty conscience?”
“Dwayne is correct that you two have met before,” said Cadmus, before Bolt could respond. “His real name is Dwayne Masters, but you knew him under a different name: Hopper, a former member of the Young Neos and a top member of the superhuman cult known as Vision.”
Bolt’s eyes widened. He remembered Hopper now. Hopper had been a member of the incarnation of the Young Neos prior to the one Bolt had been in. In truth, however, Hopper had belonged to Vision, a cult founded by deceased US Senator Barnabas Sagan with the intention of spreading their odd ideas about the social construction of superpowers to the whole world.
The last time Bolt had seen him, Hopper had given up his youth to Sagan with the intention of restoring Sagan to his former glory. But then, of course, Bolt killed Sagan, which had left Hopper reduced to a slobbering mess of an old man. After that, however, Bolt hadn’t known what happened to Hopper or even if Hopper was still alive.
