Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City)

by Petit, Blake M.

  In the auditorium, Gunk sat us down at the table Icebergg had occupied for his own “trial.” Every Cape and Mask in the city filtered in and glared at us, looks of hatred and disdain on their faces. This trial was just a formality. The verdict was already in.

  “Wait here while we get your co-conspirator,” Gunk said, marching off.

  “What’s he talking about?” Animan whispered. “You don’t think he’s caught Hotshot, do you?”

  “No,” I said, “Tom would have told me.”

  “Right, Tom. Remind me again why we’re following a plan cooked up by someone who still wakes up at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning just to watch Bugs Bunny.”

  “I trust him,” I said. Animan raised an eyebrow, as though he was still a bit wary, but eventually just nodded. That was enough.

  That’s about when “Lionheart” returned with someone else in tow -- someone wearing regular handcuffs instead of power dampeners, and someone who, I knew, had never seen this side of Simon Tower before.

  “Hi, Sheila,” I groaned as the Gunk sat her down.

  “Hey, Josh,” she said. “By the way, I’m never doing you a favor again.”

  “Okay,” I moaned. “Are you all right?”

  “Let’s see, I’m halfway through burning the pages in your little notebook over the stove -- after having to disconnect your smoke detector, of course, when the goon squad breaks in, drags me here and throws me in a little room with no toilet all night. Right after I drank a pot of coffee. Do you think I’m all right?”

  “Only half?” I moaned louder.

  “Think that will be enough?”

  “Oh, sure. Maybe they’ll only send half of me to the penal colony.”

  “You know, a while ago that would actually have been an option,” Animan pointed out.

  Morrie came up to my table, wearing a “sorry about this” sort of grin. “You got any questions before we get goin’, kid?”

  “Yeah,” Animan said, “how you planning on living with yourself once this is over?”

  I scowled. That wasn’t helping. “You’re not gonna send Sheila off to the final frontier with us, are you?”

  “When you’re found guilty I’ll get Mental Maid to wipe her brain an’ send her back where she came from.”

  “When you find him guilty?” Sheila barked. “You’ve already got this decided.”

  Morrie frowned, but instead of responding he just turned away and joined the faux Lionheart between the United States and Siegel City flags on the dais.

  “Who’s your friend, Josh?” Animan asked. “She’s got spunk.”

  “Right. Sheila, Animan. Animan, Sheila.”

  “Charmed,” Sheila grumbled.

  “Mutual,” he said.

  Morrie went to the podium and cleared his throat. “Okay, ladies ‘an gentlemen, Capes and Masks, thank ya fer comin’. It’s not a pleasant thing, these hearings, especially when we’ve had so many in such a short time. But it’s somethin’ that’s gotta be done. We’re here today, of course, to determine the guilt or innocence of Joshua Corwood, alias Copycat, an’ his accomplice Eugene Torin, alias Animan.”

  “Eugene?” I whispered. “I thought no one used your real name.”

  “They don’t,” Animan said. “That’s why.”

  “Speaking fer the prosecution,” Morrie continued, “is our recently restored cham-peen, Lionheart.”

  When the crowd began cheering, I leaned over to Animan. “Who speaks for us?”

  “We speak for ourselves.”

  “Great,” Sheila said. “That means we’ve got a fool for a client or something, right?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I watch a lot of Court TV.”

  The Gunk stood up and cracked his knuckles. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed they didn’t make any noise.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we all know why we are here. Joshua Corwood, known to you as Copycat these last few weeks, has willfully and without remorse committed innumerable crimes against his fellows including assault, disclosure and murder.”

  On those courtroom shows, this was always the part where the crowd started whispering excitedly. In my trial, though, everyone sat there, stone-faced, not making a sound -- except for the Goop, who was seated near the front, rocking back and forth on his haunches and whispering to himself.

  “To begin with,” the Gunk bellowed, “I have with me a notebook, found in Corwood’s apartment, written in Corwood’s own handwriting and being destroyed by Corwood’s best friend.” He held up the Spectrum-cover notebook, considerably thinner than the last time I’d seen it.

  “Gee, that’s sweet, Josh,” Sheila said. “Why does Lionheart hate me?”

  “That’s not Lionheart,” Animan and I said in concert.

  “In this notebook Corwood, a member of the press, wrote down virtually every secret of this entire organization -- training routines, choreography, research and development. Secret identities.”

  There was a slight murmur for that particular load of dung. I’d never written any secret IDs down. I made a mental note to chastise myself for ever writing any damn thing if I happened to have time later.

  “But keeping the notebook, startling as it is, is by no means Copycat’s most damning action. I personally witnessed, upon my return, the murder of the peaceful giant known as the Gunk.”

  This time the murmurs became a hiss and the Goop’s whispers became a diatribe -- “No, that’s not possible, no, it can’t be right...”

  “Now normally, the process here is for one of our holographically-empowered comrades to project a witnesses’ depiction of events.”

  “You’ve been missing for ten years, ‘Lionheart’,” Animan growled. “How the blue hell do you know what the ‘process’ is?”

  “This, of course, is impossible. One of our holographically-endowed friends, Spectrum, was beaten within an inch of his life by Copycat and his still-at-large accomplice, Hotshot.”

  What? That was ridiculous. Sure, we’d put kind of a hurt on Spectrum, but nowhere near as severely as he was making it out to be. What was he up to now?

  “But far more grave is the fate of First Light and her teammates, Five-Share. I will allow my comrade, Doctor Noble, to explain.”

  Noble moved through the hissing, growling crowd. He paused at the defense table and whispered, “I don’t know how you got your legs back, Joshie, but trust me, it won’t matter for long.”

  He went to the dais and, without being sworn in or anything, launched into a rant about how he, Five-Share and First Light bravely fought me on the rooftop. I knew the last two Five-Shares, the absent ones, could refute his story, but that was assuming he hadn’t found and dealt with them already.

  “What we didn’t count on,” he said, “is that our opponent had done his homework. He knew what happened months ago, during my tragic confrontation with Photon Man. He knew how I accidentally accelerated his powers and caused his death.”

  Noble’s voice cracked and I think he even squeezed out a tear. “Could this possibly sound more rehearsed?” I asked.

  “Give him time,” Animan hissed.

  “Copycat used this knowledge to duplicate my abilities and deliberately accelerated First Light’s powers beyond any levels she could tolerate. The resultant explosion killed not only First Light, but also Five-Share. I was lucky to escape with my life.”

  “You lying son of a bitch!” I shouted, and a chorus of Sheila, Animan and Tom (in my head) all shouted, “Josh, calm down!” at the same time.

  “Are you ready yet?” I whispered.

  “Not yet,” Tom echoed. “Stall.”

  “Who is he talking to?” Sheila asked Animan.

  “A telepathic Little Leaguer. Josh thinks he’s gonna save our lives.”

  “Oh, good. For a moment there I was getting worried.”

  Noble and “Lionheart” became a tag team at this point, painting me as a spy, a killer and an enemy of mankind. I kept waiting for one of them to p
ull out a pointer and connect me to the grassy knoll theory. They rambled on for a good half an hour, and it was nearly five a.m. before they finished. The glares and looks of hatred cascaded down on me and, by proxy, Sheila and Animan.

  “Tom,” I moaned, “how long?”

  “Soon,” he said. This time I got the impression he was the one omitting “I hope.”

  “Joshua Corwood,” boomed Morrie over the nasty, contemptuous mob, “do you have anything to say in your defense?”

  I looked around at the blazing, hate-filled eyes. Only four people in the room wore anything but rage on their faces: Sheila and Animan, Mental Maid (who looked like she was desperately, and unsuccessfully, fighting the Gunk’s control) and the Goop (who was looking more and more like somebody had just rolled over his kitten with a lawnmower).

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up. “I’ve got something to say.”

  “Josh,” Animan pleaded, “these people are out for your blood! Anything you say, they’re gonna twist to use against us. What are you gonna do?”

  “What else?” I said, with what I hoped was a confident grin. “Filibuster.”

  I gulped and began.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed colleagues would have you believe that I was a killer, a murderer, a philanderer and a bunch of other big words that end in ‘er’. And I would say to them, ‘I know you are, but what am I’?”

  Sheila groaned.

  “If they have their way, my co-defendants and I will be spending twelve years in Leavenworth. Or eleven years in Twelveworth. Or five to ten at Woolworth’s.”

  “What the hell is he doing?” Animan hissed.

  “The Marx Brothers, I think,” Sheila said.

  “What’s this all about, Corwood?” Morrie asked.

  “If his honor would allow me a little leeway,” I said, “I think I can make that quite evident.”

  Gunk and Noble both had fire in their eyes and for a moment I thought Morrie was going to break. Then I saw Mental Maid, her face clenched in concentration, and instead Morrie shrugged and said, “okay. But this better be good.”

  “You may be asking yourself why you should believe me when I claim this man before you is not Lionheart? Particularly when any fool can tell at a glance he’s Lionheart. Well I ask you, who are you gonna believe, me or your own eyes?”

  Animan moaned something that I believe included the phrase, “Gut us like a speckled trout.”

  “Oh Christ, he’s gonna do Abbot and Costello next,” Sheila whimpered.

  And I did. I did “Who’s on First?” I did “Niagara Falls.” I proved mathematically that seven times thirteen was twenty-eight.

  Once I ran out of old comedy routines, I did some Shakespeare. Hamlet’s soliloquy. Romeo’s balcony scene. Then the Gettysburg address. The preamble to the Constitution. The “Mr. Adams, Dear Mr. Adams” number from 1776. A particularly moving speech I remembered Kermit the Frog making once. The assembled Capes and Masks kept scratching their heads, whispering each other, nobody knowing what was going on or what to do about it.

  Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to go into my William Shatner impression, two things happened:

  Morrie shouted, “Mister Corwood, is there a point to any of this?”

  Tom’s voice screamed, “Josh! We’re ready! We’re coming through!”

  “Yes, there is a point!” I howled, staring right at “Lionheart” and Doctor Noble. “Bring ‘em through, Tommy!”

  My head suddenly felt like it was being pounded with a thousand jackhammers, from the inside. There was an eruption of pain and light and noise, but when my head cleared I could see between me and the dais half a dozen figures. The Defender, the Tin Man, Condor and Oriole, Miss Sinistah and my old pal Hotshot. The room screamed as a single unit and there was a mass of shrieking and confusion, and I was grinning like a maniac.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” I said.

  JACKPOT

  On my mental slot machine, I already had two BARs and the third roller was still spinning like a Ferris wheel. It seemed like it had been spinning forever.

  But it was slowing down.

  On the dais, Morrie looked like a guy who couldn’t make out the last number on a winning lottery ticket. Noble was muttering something I would have bet was along the lines of “Now what?” and the Gunk’s Lionheart-eyes were suddenly flaring orange with rage.

  “Stop them!” he screamed.

  “Stop what?” asked the Defender, stepping forward. His voice was an echoing bass, the type of voice that makes speeches that send men off to war. “Have we done something wrong? Aren’t we welcome here, ‘old friend’? Or are you just afraid we’ll uncover something you don’t want getting out?”

  As he debated with “Lionheart,” the Tin Man fell back to the defendants’ table and began picking the electronic lock on Animan’s power dampeners.

  “You can shut these things off?” Animan asked.

  “You kidding me?” Tin Man said. “Who do you think taught Particle to make ‘em?” Even though the only part of his face we could see through his faceplate was his eyes, I could tell they were both smiling like an old firehorse that’s been called back to duty.

  “If these young men are as guilty as you claim,” the Defender continued, “what was their motivation? What have they gained from their supposed crimes? Or perhaps there were no gains at all, perhaps all the gains can be laid at your feet!”

  “Is he making a speech?” Sheila asked.

  “Ah, he used to do this stuff all the time,” Tin Man said.

  “Yeah,” cooed Animan as his dampeners popped off. “Isn’t it great?” Then, to Tin Man, he asked, “We’re about to do something really stupid, aren’t we?”

  “You bet.”

  “Woo-hoo!”

  Tin Man turned to me and began picking the lock on my dampeners. Unfortunately, Noble’s eyes were a lot sharper than his sense of morality.

  “He’s breaking Corwood out!”

  “Stop him!” Gunk spat even louder. This time I could actually see orange waves of energy coruscate from his head to those closest to him -- the Arachnid, Whipstar and Arrow Ace, among others. They all turned and charged us.

  “Hold them back!” Hotshot shouted, and the LightCorps sprung to action. If being in retirement for ten years had lessened their skills any, they didn’t show it. The Defender took Whipstar out in three swift chops. Oriole grew to her full size while delivering a flying kick to the Arachnid’s solar plexus. Condor took the fight to the air, sweeping down at Doc Noble and dodging a series of teke bursts.

  “Hurry!” I shouted.

  “I am hurrying!” Tin Man yelled as the crowd erupted. Most of the Capes and Masks were frozen to their spots, confused, unsure of what to do. The Goop was actually ripping chunks out of his head, which were quickly reabsorbed into his slimy flesh, screaming like a child being forced to choose between his parents.

  Some of them, though, the ones who weren’t particularly bright or forceful (including, I’m sorry to say, the Conductor) began to zero in on us like the living dead.

  “Hurry faster!” I bellowed, but the point became moot a second later when there was a twang, a clang and a spark. Arrow Ace actually banked a shaft off the Tin Man’s chestplate and lodged it in the power dampeners before Miss Sinistah took him out.

  “He destroyed the locking mechanism!” Tin Man cried.

  “Well isn’t that swell?” I yelled.

  “Wait, let me!” The Defender leapt over the melee and aimed his sword at the center bar. Just before he brought it down in its arc, though, the sword leapt from his grasp and speared upwards, implanting itself in the ceiling.

  “Telekinesis,” Noble said, hovering above us. “It’s a beautiful thing.”

  “Son of a--” the Tin Man fired his boot-rockets and launched into the air, shouldering Noble aside and racing for the sword. I didn’t see what happened next, though, because just then the doors opened and Flambeaux and Spectrum bolted into t
he auditorium, both wearing hospital gowns.

  “There he is!” Spectrum shouted, pointing straight at me.

  “Damn!” I ran for the dais. “Mental Maid! Mary, help!”

  She looked down, her eyes glowing purple. Then, her arm trembling like a weeble in an earthquake, she aimed at me.

  “Hit him!” the Gunk shouted. “Hit him with the Soul Ray!”

  “Yaaaagh!” I replied, leaping from the dais just before the Ray hit. Spectrum charged me, trying to trick me into retreating into the beam, but I held my ground and he passed right on through. Once the hologram cleared my vision, I saw Solemna leaping at me, her hands smoking.

  I ducked and lashed out with a foot, flipping her onto her back. Then I smashed her on the back of the head with my power dampeners, knocking her cold but not turning the damn things off.

  “I’ll kill you!” Justice Giant announced, eyes flashing a bright orange. He shot up to twelve feet tall and tried to smash me with his huge fists. I darted to a clear spot and heard a snarl. Animan, now Wolph, had jumped on the Giant’s back and was slashing with his claws.

  “Murderer!” There was a blast of accordion music and I fell to my knees. The Conductor backhanded me and I fell to one side as the music subsided.

  “I’ll stop you!” he shouted. “I’ll stop you if it kills me!”

  “Ted, for God’s sake, listen to yourself! Do you think the LightCorps would be here fighting if that was really Lionheart? You’re smarter than that!”

  “No!”

  I rolled to my feet and lashed out with a kick, knocking him down. He looked up just in time to see the power dampeners falling down to his face.

  And I stopped them there.

  “I could have bashed your head in just then, Ted. If I was what you thought I am, I would have, I’ve got nothing to lose. For God’s sake, BELIEVE ME!”