“Me too,” I say. “I just got no idea what it is.”
He takes a few steps away, toward the back of the chamber, wanting, I suppose, to disappear into the darkness. On the edge of the shadows, he pauses and turns back to me. “I been following you close lately. I mean, I know what’s up and all.”
There’s something in his voice. “OK,” I say.
“So far as I know, you’re the only living person who knows Chaos isn’t alive.” He glances down the aisle toward the looming red armor, then shrugs. “I’m just saying.” With that, smiling with friendship and brotherly love, he vanishes from my sight.
I sit there for a time, work through a few angles, worry over a half-dozen contingencies. The scheme, surely my last as a hero, is shaky at best, but the payoff would be unbelievable. The notion swells within me until I’m driven to rise. I should spend a month planning this, conferring with Ecklar and testing old equipment and having the HALO computer run battle simulations. But I don’t have a month. I’ve got hours. So I quit screwing around and start searching the Vault for Merlin’s wand.
THIRTEEN
Unexpected Contingencies. The Plans of a Madman.
A Threat to the Mission. The Man You’re Going to
Be. A Constant State of Flux.
After leaving the HALO, I touch down in the eastern field of Washington Park. Holding the long thin box in one hand, I start kicking about the oak leaves carpeting the grass, looking for a stick the right size. Pigeons take flight from the nearby walkway. Just beyond them, skate punks in hooded sweatshirts congregate at the bottom of a steep set of concrete steps. One of the kids is skidding down the railing on his board, but when he glances my way, he loses concentration. His arms flail, and suddenly he’s airborne, twisting. When his face connects with the sidewalk, his head snaps back in a scary way. An instant later, I’m at his side.
Blood streams from his nose and a gash on his forehead. I say, “It’s not broken. Tilt your head back.”
“I know,” he says, sitting up. “I’m fine.”
His buddies huddle around us. “Nice dismount, douche bag,” one of them says.
The kids look on me with a bit of apprehension, but not respect. More than anything, they wonder what I’m doing here. Just off the path I see a twig about a foot long. It’ll do. I grab the stick, hold it against the black box. “Look, I need to go,” I say, “but I’m on my way to St. Clementine’s. I’ll bring you to the emergency room.”
He sits up and looks at the blood on his hands. “I’ve had way worse.”
I look at their faces, just old enough that some of them shave. I think of Thomas. “You guys should really be wearing helmets,” I say. “You could get hurt.”
They smirk at each other, taking pride in how they face danger unprotected, as a tribe. And I envy them, sure, their youth and their confidence. Then the one who got hurt says, “I don’t need advice from some homo flying around in his underwear.”
I know, of course, that I’ve wounded his pride, that he’s trying to earn some of it back by doing this. But his snarl, the way his friends snicker and nod in agreement, it gets under my skin. Still, I’m ready to bolt into the sky when I stop and think about what I’ll be doing later. Getting into my role wouldn’t be a bad idea. “Nice board,” I say. I reach down and pick it up. Graffiti covers the top, a stylized word that is either Cougar or Courage. I flip my wrist the way you do when you toss a Frisbee, and the board spins into the sky, heading for the stratosphere.
“Dick!” the kid says, jumping up.
I find my hand on his chest, gathering his sweatshirt. A stone wall rises just past those steps, and it would take the slightest twitch for me to drive him into it. But this pretending comes too easily, feels too good. I release him and fly up, along the same angled path as his skateboard, trying to ignore just how good it felt to be bad.
At St. Clementine’s, Clyde is waiting for me when the elevator doors split open. “You take the scenic route?”
I push past him, holding up the black box like a ticket. The stick from Washington Park is shoved in my boot. He follows me down the corridor. When we get to the control room, Deb is reading something on a computer screen. She turns, catches the box with her eyes, and smiles. “Success?” she says.
I nod.
Behind me, Clyde says, “All right. You sit tight, and I’ll go upstairs and get Gypsy to come monitor all this.”
Before I can speak, Deb says, “Let her sleep. She’s been up all night.” On the video screen, Gypsy is still in the chair next to Titan, her head tilted straight back, her mouth open.
I look at Clyde, who is shaking his head. “I want insurance on this. Someone with mystical abilities needs to be in that room in case something fishy starts happening.”
“Something fishy,” I say. “Magus is nearly eighty years old. He’s a damned preacher. I vouch for the guy.”
“Your word doesn’t mean anything to me. I need you to make this thing go smoothly. But I’m not lowering my guard. I’m responsible for this operation, and I have to plan for unexpected contingencies.”
“Fine,” I say. “Go wake up an old lady because you’re afraid of an old man.”
Clyde and I turn, square off chest to chest. “This isn’t lunchtime in the schoolyard, Vince. Mocking me won’t make me do something stupid. I’ll remind you that you’re here as a guest.” His left hand crosses to his right, holding the Danger Ring. “I can have a half-dozen Guardian Deputies in this room in three minutes.”
I want to say, You’d need a dozen, but I get control of myself. Soon enough. I back away and dip my head as a sign of submission. “This is your show, All-Star. You make the calls.”
“Good,” he says, a bit surprised. “I’m glad we’re clear on the chain of command. I’ll be right back.”
The moment the door closes behind him, Deb says, “Asshole.”
It’s hard to argue. She asks, “How’s your back?”
“Hurts like a mother. But I’m fine. Last night was something else, huh?”
“Strange night. You’re lucky you didn’t get your ass kicked.”
“I did get my ass kicked,” I say. “Just nobody noticed.”
She laughs, and it’s a blessing. If I had time, I might tell her everything, about Billy and Chaos and Magus and all of it. I might tell her that my fear of being a bad husband has become so great lately that I’ve felt on the verge of quitting. But the way she burned in the night sky, the way she spoke of her faith in the man I want to be, that’s given me a second life. “Deb,” I say. “I’ve got to go in there.” I’m looking at the interrogation room door.
She looks confused. “When Clyde gets back.”
“No,” I say. “I’ve got to go in there now. Before Gypsy’s here.”
Her eyebrows cock. “What’s the deal, Vince?”
“I need Magus for thirty seconds. He might get rattled by Gypsy. For all we know, her presence may jam his abilities.”
“Clyde will go ballistic,” she says. “This is asking for a lot.”
“No it isn’t,” I say. “I’m only asking you to believe in me, one more time.”
She looks at the monitor, where Clyde is standing over Gypsy, hands on her shoulders. The sorceress stirs.
“Trust me, Deb.”
“Go,” she says, and I’m halfway to the door.
A minute later, when Clyde bursts in with Gypsy, I hold a hand up to still them. “He’s close,” I say. What the two of them see is Magus sitting very still, both hands on the base of his wand.
“Damn you, Vincent,” Clyde says.
Gypsy says, “Hush.”
Magus contorts his face, sways a bit to the left and right, even rolls his head, all of it for effect. He looks like he’s close to breaking a sweat. Finally, he opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Tell me,” I say. “What did you see?”
A sly smile starts to form on his lips, but he forces it away. “I can’t tell you where Chaos is hiding,” he says.
> “Glorious!” Clyde shouts. “Give me that dumb wand.” He reaches across the table.
But Magus pulls his hands back. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t be hiding for much longer.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s on his way,” Magus says. “Chaos is coming.”
Clyde glances at Gypsy, who closes her eyes and stretches her mind into the future. I hold my breath. She says, “The magician speaks the truth. I can see it, a strong probability, an image of Chaos in battle with the Guardians.”
“How far in the future?” Clyde asks. “Where?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t see where. There’s a highway. Flames. As for when, it’s soon.” She opens her eyes. “It’s today.”
Clyde turns pale, and his anxiety has him looking around the room for something to do. He finds me as a target and aims a finger. “I gave a clear, direct command.”
“I’m not a Guardian anymore, remember?”
“Fine, then. You broke the law by entering this room without authorization. I’ll have—”
I reach across the table and snap the stick from Magus’s hand, break it in two before Clyde’s face. “There was never any danger. You want to bitch about the past, or plan for the deadliest battle you’ll ever be in? Today will define your whole career.”
Something like fear settles in his eyes. “You’re right,” he says. “We’ve got to get ready.”
Back at the HALO, we have to clear off the War Room’s conference table, which had been covered with Clyde’s latest draft of the team’s semiannual self-assessment. He and I sit at opposite ends and are joined by Debbie, Bigfoot, Speedstress, Ice Queen, Jersey Devil, Kid Cyclone, and Ecklar, who begins by asking a fair question. “Why should Chaos return now?”
“Revenge?” Bubba says. “Maybe he’s out to settle an old score?” Though there is no immediate threat, the young hero is enlarged to about eight feet tall, perhaps just as a precaution.
“If that’s the case, then Titan may be in danger,” Debbie says.
Ice Queen says, “But he couldn’t know about St. Clementine’s. He’d come looking here.”
“From a tactical standpoint,” Clyde says, “it’s better to assume Chaos knows more than we think he does. Assume we have no secrets.”
Ecklar shakes his head. “I find it unlikely that Chaos would risk so much for mere vengeance. There is no gain in that formula. The only other variable that has changed recently is the apprehension of Bone Crusher. That is the likely catalyst and his likely target.”
Speedstress asks, “You think Chaos is going to try and bust his old friend out?”
“Chaos is a villain,” I say. “Not a hero. His target may be Bone, but it’s not out of loyalty, I promise.”
“What then?” Bubba asks.
Ecklar’s thin fingers are moving on the edge of the table as if he’s playing the piano. “Perhaps Bone Crusher has knowledge Chaos is afraid we will acquire.”
Clyde stands. “We need to split up. I want two full action teams to escort Bone Crusher to the airfield, stay with him all the way to the Megajail. A third squad has to remain at St. Clem’s in case he shows up there. Can anyone think of another possible target?”
“Us,” I say.
They turn to me.
“This station. I agree that he’s probably not out for revenge, but if he’s looking to cause maximum damage, the HALO’s a big-ass target. And it’s parked over nine million people.”
“Bloody hell,” Kid Cyclone says.
Clyde looks concerned. He knows I’m right. “Even if we call in everybody, splitting into four teams spreads us way too thin.”
“I’ll handle the HALO,” I say.
Everyone looks at me, most of them taken aback. I tell them, “Don’t get me wrong. Nobody wants in on this fight more than I do. But I’m not at full strength. Chaos never had to contend with Ecklar’s battle suit. You’ve got to put me or him in the field, and it should be him.”
Clyde listens and nods. “That’s, uh, unusually sound thinking, Commander Invincible. And very big of you.”
Across the table, Deb studies my face. She’s not sure what I’m doing. Then again, in a lot of ways neither am I.
Ecklar says, “You can’t defend the whole station.”
“That’s not what I mean. We have no idea what this madman has planned. If he launches an all-out attack—robot drones, proton bombs, a null field—he’ll bring the HALO down. No matter how many of us are on board. I’ll get Nate to safety, then park the HALO somewhere Chaos would never look.”
The Jersey Devil looks astonished. “You’re suggesting we hide?”
“I’m suggesting we initiate a tactical retreat. The HALO doesn’t have the weaponry to repel Chaos. Defending it adequately would take all our other resources, which is just stupid.”
“Vincent’s right,” Ecklar says.
Deb leans forward. “We could set up a temporary command base at St. Clem’s.”
“OK,” Clyde says. “Venus and I will get to work on drawing up those teams. We’ll meet on the roof at St. Clementine’s ASAP. I need to check on one more option, then I’ll meet you all up there.”
“Affirmative,” Ecklar says.
As the room clears, Deb rounds the end of the table and comes to me. She holds both my hands and rises on her toes to kiss my cheek. “I admire how you’re dealing with this.”
For the second time this week, it seems I’ve won my wife’s approval by running from a fight. I don’t know how things will play out, and I wonder if she’ll ever know the truth.
Deb and Clyde start divvying up the heroes, and I follow Ecklar. He tells me he’s going to try and rig up a radar cloaking field, as well as an ion cloud that should mask the HALO’s energy signature.
An hour later, the Guardians congregate on the flight deck. Deb is leading the team that will cover St. Clementine’s. She’s got Kid Cyclone, the Jersey Devil, and the Speedstress. Clyde has the real muscle with him. Bigfoot is up to nearly twelve feet, and Ecklar’s battle suit gleams in the midday sun. And the Ice Queen can be formidable.
Nate is standing next to Deb, one arm wrapped around her leg, listening to Clyde give a speech. It’s about defending the helpless, defeating evil, rising to the challenge of a powerful enemy. He sounds a lot like my high school wrestling coach. But the effect is impressive. I can see it in the faces of the young heroes gathered here. Their eyes are wide with that crisp mix of terror and joy, the eager anticipation of battle and the chance to prove oneself. “Trust your training,” Clyde says. “And trust each other. Go! Go! Guardians!”
They repeat his chant, and the feeling that I’m at a pep rally becomes palpable. There should be a band, tiny bouncing girls with pompons. Deb bends to Nate, gives him a kiss, then hugs him, stands, and passes him into my arms. She says, “See you soon,” and I know this good-bye is meant for both of us. The heroes split off, either taking flight directly or racing to the hovercars. They storm off to face a danger that doesn’t really exist, and I think about what a shame that truly is.
After they disappear from the sky, Nate follows me to the control room. “Why can’t I go with Mom?”
“Mom’s working,” I say.
“But I want to go with her.”
“You’re staying with me. We’ll have fun.”
“I don’t want to have fun. I want to go with Mom.”
I can hear the tremor in his voice. “How about a snack?” I try.
“I want Mom,” he says, starting now to sniffle. “I want Uncle Ecklar.”
I stop, turn, and drop to a knee. “Hang on,” I snap. “Don’t you start crying. There’s no reason to cry now.” This, of course, brings forth a burstdam effect, and before I know it, my son is wailing uncontrollably. I recall Dr. Janet telling me that denying the pain of another is no different from denying the person.
I reach out and pull him into me, try to soothe him, rubbing his back and shushing. “Come on,” I tell him. “What movie do y
ou want to watch?”
Now he’s blubbering on my shoulder, a mix of snot and tears running down the indestructible material of my costume. I realize the mission may be in jeopardy. A tantrum was not on my list of contingencies. “How about if I let you fly the HALO?”
Like a shut-off faucet, the sniffles stop. My son looks at me with puffy, wet eyes. “OK,” he says. And just like that, crisis averted. If you took away bribery, I’m not sure what parenting skills I’d be left with.
Half an hour later, I’m steering the command ship over the Susquehanna River. Nate’s sitting cross-legged up above the controls on the dashboard, gazing out the panoramic windows and finishing off the chocolate ice cream I got him for lunch. He asks permission to lick the bowl, and I say, “Sure.”
When he’s finished, he sets it down and asks, “Did you figure out why you weren’t telling the truth?”
He’s got a drop of chocolate on his nose, and his whole face is bright with anticipation. “Things have been kind of busy lately,” I say. “I haven’t had a chance.”
“Maybe you could think about it now. I’m really curious.”
We enter a cloud bank, but radar shows nothing. So I turn and say, “Look, I may never know why I did that. Not everything has a reason. You’ll learn this.”
“That’s not so. Everything does have a reason. You can’t have a question without having an answer. It’s like having an out without an in.”
“You sound like Ecklar.”
This makes him smile a bit. Again, I wonder if my son could choose his father, where I would be on his list. I check our ETA. Fifteen minutes. Nate climbs down carefully and says he’s going to go wash his own dishes. This will mean lots of running water, half a bottle of detergent, and a sink full of suds. He’s dropped the subject of why I lied and may never bring it up again. But that doesn’t mean he won’t think about it and come to his own conclusions. “Hang on,” I say. My son comes back to me, and I activate the autopilot. I lift him back onto the control board so we’re almost face-to-face. “I lied the other night because I was afraid. Fear is like the grouchy bug. It makes you do things you shouldn’t.”
The Midlife Crisis of Commander Invincible: A Novel (Yellow Shoe Fiction) Page 21
