Just Cause: Revised & Expanded Edition

by Ian Thomas Healy

  -1 Corinthians 15: 50-55

  January, 2004

  Denver, Colorado

  Sally spent an enjoyable hour in a class of seniors at the Hero Academy with kids who were only a year behind her, but seemed frighteningly young and inexperienced. John Stone set aside the syllabus for the afternoon and instead led the students through a question-and-answer session with Sally, who answered everything she could. As the kids asked their questions, they seemed respectful and subdued, as if they had a real live hero in their midst instead of someone who graduated only six months ago.

  “I’m nothing special, really,” Sally said as kids fawned over her. “I got the same education you all are now. I just happened to get an internship with Just Cause.”

  “But you already got to deploy. You stopped the Antimatter Woman from blowing up the planet!” said a sharp-faced boy.

  “They’ve already named her? I don’t think it was quite as exciting as that,” said Sally. She wondered who of the current class would make it onto Just Cause next. Certainly the organization would have to start taking more interns as the pool of available talent grew. Maybe more than one of these kids would be on the team with her next year.

  Mr. Stone ended the class and reminded the students they had assignments due at the end of the week and that Mr. Griego would be back tomorrow. Collective groans issued from the kids as they filed out of the room to head back to the dorm.

  “Thank you so much, Sally,” said Stone. “The class really enjoyed having you stop in. I hope you will again.”

  “Of course, Mr. Stone. I mean John.”

  “Now then, you wish to continue our discussion about Destroyer?”

  “Yes, please.” Sally fumbled for her notebook and pen.

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if someone else joined us? I normally have dinner with Mrs. Echevarria on Wednesdays.”

  Estella Echevarria was the Principal of the Academy. Like Stone, she had also been a long-time member of Just Cause. She’d certainly had experience with Destroyer, but Sally wasn’t sure how much she’d want to talk about him. Destroyer had killed her sister in his sneak attack in ’85. “If you think it’s okay,” Sally hedged. She didn’t want to definitively say yes or no.

  “It’s fine. She’ll be happy to have you join us. If you don’t have dinner plans already, that is.”

  “No, I don’t have anything.”

  Stone retrieved his briefcase and hat—a fedora he’d worn for forty years—and led Sally across the campus to his bungalow. “They said I didn’t have to live on campus,” he said, “but I’d rather be closer to the students in case something comes up. Besides, there aren’t many places elsewhere I can safely go with my weight. I’ll crack a normal sidewalk just walking down it, and leave footprints in asphalt.”

  “I never thought about that.”

  “Quite all right. After forty years, I’m used to it. Now then…” Stone opened the door to his house and turned on the lights to ward off the early winter darkness. “Make yourself at home. I have plenty of furniture available for my softer guests.”

  The bungalow wasn’t much larger than a studio apartment, but Stone had made it comfortable despite the overbuilt furnishings. Sally looked around at the pictures on the walls from his days as an active Just Cause member. One picture in particular caught her eye. It was undated, but there inside the frame stood her parents and Lionheart. They must have been in their early twenties, thought Sally. They all looked so young and vibrant. Her mother was laughing between the two men while her father mugged at the camera from one side and Lionheart snarled like he was about to roar in mock fury from the other.

  Stone clattered around in the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind spaghetti and meatballs,” he called. “It’s what I planned to make anyway. Estella should be here in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No thank you.” Sally moved on to examine other pictures of the past. “I have to say, this is a little weird, Mr. Stone. I mean John. Nobody ever thinks about principals or vice-principals having a life outside of school.”

  Stone broke into guffaws that shook his little house to the rooftop. He came out of the kitchen with a large stoneware tumbler. “Now then, where were we in the story of Destroyer?”

  “He’d just been arrested after his rampage.” Sally checked her notes.

  The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Estella. Come in!”

  The principal of the Hero Academy strode into the bungalow. Formerly known as Sunstorm, she had led Just Cause for more than a decade. Her auburn hair, now shot with gray, was pulled back into a severe bun rather than the wildly flowing mass of her youth. The best skin care regimen could not hide all the wrinkles, but age hadn’t dulled her fiery temperament in the least, something misbehaving students were quick to learn. Her mind still burned as quick as dry kindling, much to the chagrin of those who would try to outsmart her.

  “Hello, John,” she said in her soft contralto. She paused as she recognized Sally. “Miss Thompson. This is a surprise.”

  “Hi, Ms. Echevarria.” Sally gave her best winning smile.

  “Sally is here on official Just Cause business,” said Stone. “We’ve been discussing Destroyer. Perhaps you’d share some of your own insights with her.”

  Color rose in Echevarria’s cheeks. “Insights? I’ll give you insights. The bastard murdered my friends and my sister, and he deserves to die for his crimes.”

  Sally gasped at the woman’s sudden vitriol. The pain of her loss was evident in her voice, even eighteen years after the event.

  “Easy, Estella,” said Stone. “It’s hard to discuss, I know. I lost friends as well that day.”

  “I’m sorry, Salena,” said Echevarria. “It’s still like a fresh wound to me.”

  Stone clattered some pans in the kitchen as he began to prepare the dinner. “We had just covered Washington’s first appearance in ’77. Despite all the evidence against him, the Judge wouldn’t permit him to be tried as an adult for his crimes. He was remanded to the custody of the state and sent to a juvenile detention facility, where he stayed for six months.”

  “Only six months?” Sally gaped in astonishment. “For everything he did?”

  Stone smiled sadly. “He cut his own sentence short. He escaped on his fourteenth birthday.”

  Echevarria had brought a bottle of wine to share with Stone, and poured herself a glass. “We don’t have any specific information about Washington’s activities over the next seven years. He had no money, no home, and no surviving family. He was a zero, completely off the grid.” She sipped at the wine. “But I think I can fill in some of the blanks.”

  “Well, he had to build the battlesuit he used in ’85,” said Sally. “And those materials had to come from somewhere.”

  “As well as the tools to build it, a facility in which to work, and financing,” said Echevarria. “And he was just fourteen years old. I suspect he used his intellect to work his way into organized crime. One thing about those groups is they respect intelligence, and Washington always was a pretty large cut above most people in sheer brainpower. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to impress someone powerful, and then it would just be a matter of playing the system.”

  “You think it was really that simple?” The smell of Stone’s dinner preparations made Sally’s stomach rumble in anticipation.

  Echevarria shrugged. “This is all conjecture on my part. I couldn’t have done it, but you have to remember Washington is dangerously brilliant. He sees people as tools, nothing more. A means to an end. The crime families in the late ‘70s would have been the best resources he could find.”

  “It makes sense to me,” said Stone from the kitchen. “Sally, do you want salad?”

  “Yes, please,” she said. “Dinner smells really good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s your interest in Destroyer?” Echevarria asked Sally. “Does this have something to do with you running across him in Chicago? Yes, I follow the
news.” She held up a hand to forestall the inevitable question of how she knew about it.

  Sally shrugged. “Kind of, but it also really is part of an official Just Cause investigation. As I was researching, I discovered most of his file was lost on 9/11, so I’m trying to recreate what I can of it.”

  Echevarria raised an eyebrow. Sally was certain the woman didn’t buy her answer. “Very noble and professional of you.”

  “Look, Ms. Echevarria, you lost your sister to him. I lost a father who I’ve only ever known through other people’s stories. I just want to know more about the man who took him away from me, that’s all.”

  Echevarria sighed and drained her wine glass. “’85 was a very difficult year for us as a team,” she began. “Tornado, who was calling himself Stormcloud by then, had contracted full-blown AIDS and it ravaged him until there was almost nothing left of him by the end. He was always such a kind man, and a great hero. We never expected to lose one of our own that way. We’re supposed to be privileged to die with our boots on in combat, not wasting away to some incurable disease.” She made a small sphere of flame jump between her fingers. “How do we fight something like that?”

  “We can’t.” Stone brought salads in from the kitchen. “He was a good friend. He loved baseball and rock music.”

  “Tornado passed away in October, and his parents wanted him buried in his hometown. Kansas City. John—” she nodded at Stone “—and Lionheart had just retired. Only Imp, Javelin, and my sister were still on the team from ’77. Your mother had retired when she became pregnant with you, and your father decided he was better suited to administrating the team than being an active member.”

  “And you were leading the team then?” Sally speared a cucumber and ate it.

  “Yes. We were the largest we’d ever been then. We had Fast Break, the Timekeeper, Foxfire, Danger, the Steel Soldier, and even Juice and Crackerjack—both still in college and only on the team part-time.” Echevarria shook her head in amazement as she counted them off on her fingers. “Ten—no—eleven of us on the team, plus your parents who were still actively involved. A real supergroup. We were the most powerful parahuman organization on the planet. We’d put away the Tyrant, the Malice Group. Parahuman violence was at an all-time low then. Nobody wanted or dared to challenge the might of Just Cause.” Echevarria paused to take a bite of her own food.

  Stone took up the reins. “So there we were, all of us in Kansas City at Tornado’s funeral. Even your grandparents and their surviving American Justice teammates were attending. It was the perfect opportunity for Washington to commit his revenge against us.” He shook his head bitterly. “He threw a plane down on the funeral. He’d killed the pilot in mid-air, shut down the engines, and used his battlesuit’s strength to fling it at us from on high. We had almost no warning. If it hadn’t been for your father hearing its approach, things might have gone much worse.”

  “My dad heard it?” Sally finished her salad.

  Echevarria nodded. “His hearing always was exceptional. I grabbed your mother and flew her to safety. Both Fast Break and my sister tried to get your father clear.” She bowed her head. “Neither was fast enough. The plane came down on top of them.”

  Sally shivered at the thought.

  Stone went back to the kitchen and returned bowls filled with generous portions of spaghetti and meatballs. “At least they didn’t suffer,” he said quietly. “They most likely died instantly with the impact. A piece of debris decapitated Danger and another impaled Lionheart. Neither of them survived more than a few moments.”

  “Your mother started to go into premature labor,” said Echevarria. “Fortunately Dr. Devereaux was there for the funeral. She was able to get your mother stabilized or else you might have been born three months too soon, Salena. But things had gone crazy. Everyone was running, shouting, trying to clear the wreckage away to find those who were underneath it. That’s when Destroyer arrived.”

  “My mom hasn’t ever told me any of these details,” said Sally. She felt like she’d been cheated of this her whole life.

  “Certainly you can understand her perspective,” said Stone with a gentle rumble. “She lost her husband, her friends, and nearly lost you. It is a very painful memory for her. I don’t blame her for not wanting to dredge up the details. It’s hard enough for me.”

  “And for me,” added Echevarria. “I still miss Gloria even today. Although it’s more like the pain of an old injury when the weather changes. I’ll see something and think how I wish she could have seen it too.”

  Sally wound noodles around her fork, careful not to splatter any sauce on her costume. “So then what happened?”

  “Destroyer dropped out of the sky like a blue missile,” said Stone. “We didn’t know it was him yet, of course. We’d never seen a battlesuit like his before. Nobody had. The Steel Soldier warned him to surrender. Washington just transmitted a signal of some kind and the Soldier exploded. Then he said stupid machine, I never should have fixed it in the first place. That’s when we knew it was him.”

  “We think when Washington rebuilt the Soldier back in ’77, even then he was planning on his revenge. None of us understood the technology that had gone into that robot, so we wouldn’t have been able to identify a bomb. We’re certain that after the Soldier took him down once before, Washington wanted to ensure the robot couldn’t do it a second time. Devious little bastard.” Echevarria bitterly speared a meatball. “Javelin and I cut loose on him. We were the only ones able to do so. But Destroyer was ready. He had shields to deflect my flames and Javelin’s lasers. He shot a brace of missiles at Javelin, who dodged most of them but broke his arm when he caromed off a tombstone.”

  “The rest of us did what we could to help,” said Stone. “Juice tore away one of Destroyer’s guns. Estella melted another away with her plasma stream.”

  Sally turned to look at Ms. Echevarria, who smiled at the memory.

  “She was angry, furious at Destroyer for his temerity. She rained so much fire onto him in that suit. It’s a wonder she didn’t cook him inside it. It was as if she’d opened up the very gates of Hell. She burned the ground all around him into glass and smelted metal out of the surrounding tombstones. I was afraid for my own skin.” Stone laughed. “Something that’s almost never happened in sixty years.”

  Sally set down her empty bowl and regarded Echevarria with newfound respect. She’d known the woman was one of the more powerful parahumans ever to be in Just Cause, but the way Stone described it, Echevarria might be one of the most powerful in the world. And with all that power at her disposal, she’d still elected to devote herself to teach the future generations of heroes, like Sally and her classmates. For the first time, Sally really understood the phrase with great power comes great responsibility. It occurred to her that her own speed abilities placed her in the top echelon of parahuman performers, and she ought to think about how else she could use those powers to benefit the greater good besides being in Just Cause.

  Maybe she’d look into a position at the Hero Academy herself once she retired from Just Cause, although she figured she’d have to be old before she ever considered something like that seriously. At least thirty, she figured.

  “Whatever else I did, I scared him,” said Echevarria. “He had an escape pod built into the torso of the suit. I must have done enough damage that he used it. It was like a coffin-sized missile shot out of it, driven by an intense rocket that accelerated faster than any of us could follow. The rest of the suit self-destructed and nearly caught the rest of us in the explosion.”

  “Area radars hadn’t tracked him either on his incoming vector or the escape pod’s course.” Stone collected the empty bowls and headed to the kitchen with them. “We don’t know where he went after that, except certainly it was to build the next model of the Destroyer battlesuit. Does anybody want more spaghetti?”

  “No thank you,” said Sally. Echevarria likewise declined.

  “We only encountered Destroyer onc
e more before we lost Headquarters on 9/11,” said Echevarria. “We were fortunate that time—nobody was killed and only a couple of us were hurt. He’d come back to New York and was gunning for us.”

  “He was gunning for you,” corrected Stone. “You were the one to take the suit down in ’85. He’s always had a strong vindictiveness about him. The Soldier took him down in ’77 and Destroyer blew him up. You took him down in ’85 and he came looking for you in—what was it, ’94?”

  “Yes,” replied Echevarria. “The same year I retired and handed Just Cause over to Juice. Destroyer tried to attack us in our Headquarters. Fortunately, we were able to repel him without too much collateral damage to the World Trade Center. Not that it ultimately did that much good.” A tiny curl of smoke issued from one of Echevarria’s nostrils like the fire inside her threatened to spill out.

  “Easy, Estella,” said Stone.

  “He hated us, hated Just Cause so much,” she said, still very much angered. “I’m sure he was jumping for joy on 9/11 when the plane hit and took out most of the team in one shot. The only downside for him would have been he wasn’t the one to take them down.”

  “That’s awful,” whispered Sally.

  “He’s an awful person,” said Echevarria. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d somehow had something to do with the 9/11 attacks.”

  “I think you’re reaching, Estella,” said Stone in the tone of someone who’d had the same argument many times over.

  “Am I? You know how long he’s carried his vendetta against Just Cause. You know the depth of his hatred. Do you really think it’s so far-fetched that he’d be involved in terrorism? He may not have been at the controls of the plane, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have been involved.”