by Peter Moore
“Look who’s home from school,” he said in that rich baritone.
“How’s it going?” I put my books down and went over to the couch. He stood and we did the sideways man-hug thing. “Mom didn’t mention you were coming in.”
“Well, things seemed to be pretty under control with that mud slide in Peru, so I thought I’d drop by.”
Since he moved out of the house to join the Justice Force four years ago, I always was kind of shocked when I saw him. Not that he wasn’t on TV all the time. Seeing him in the flesh when I wasn’t used to it every day was different. About six foot three and built like…well, like a superhero: strong, square jaw; shiny, friendly eyes; and a bright white smile. It was incomprehensible that we were brothers. Or even related in any way.
And of course, it wasn’t just his looks. He was brave. He was strong. He was loved by all. He was a leader. He was thoughtful and caring. He gave his time, his effort—devoted his life—to helping people according to the tenets of the Justice Force. And he was one of the most powerful heroes in the JF, which was in accordance with his hero name: Artillery. Big guns.
“Aren’t there Peruvian rescue teams who can handle their own natural disasters?”
He laughed. Hearty was the word for it. “Well, sure there are, but if I can help, why wouldn’t I?”
Everything about him was perfect.
He was so…so not me.
The one main flaw? He wasn’t super-bright. But he had so much charm that very few people ever really noticed this about him. They viewed him as a regular guy, if you can be that and a world-famous hero at the same time. He could really do no wrong.
“I would’ve thought, after your battle with the Gorgon Corps last week, you’d want to take it easy.”
“You know what they say. ‘No rest for the weary,’ right?”
“Who says that?”
“I’m just saying. That’s what ‘they’ say. I don’t know who.”
Mom came into the living room from the kitchen, carrying three glasses of iced lemonade. “And besides, the Justice Force isn’t just about fighting crime and terrorism,” she said.
“And villain alliances,” Blake added. “Phaeton and human.”
“Of course,” Mom said. She handed one glass to Blake and another to me. “They helped divert water during the drought just last month. And wasn’t it Lynn Levy who helped kill off that livestock contagion in Guyana?”
“That was Lynn and Deena Delaney. They’ve been doing great work since they started teaming up,” Blake said.
“So? What’s the story with you and Deena?” Mom asked.
“No story. That’s all just gossip tabloids. She’s interested in someone else anyway.”
Mom shrugged. “She’s a terrific gal, Blake.”
“Yeah, she is terrific, but we’re just coworkers. And besides, I’m kind of back with Janet.”
“Oh, right, right. I forgot. Sorry.”
Blake turned on the two-thousand-megawatt smile. I didn’t need any more details about Blake Baron’s Love Life.
“I’m going to go up and take a shower,” I said.
“Okay,” Mom said. “Then, we’re going to go out to dinner.”
“Sounds good.” I headed for the stairs.
“Hey,” Blake called. I turned. “Looks like you filled out some since the last time I was home. Shoulders are broader, right?”
You didn’t need to have voice-modulation-detection powers to tell that he didn’t really believe that I had changed at all.
“Maybe. I’m a growing boy, after all,” I said, trying to sound easygoing.
We went out to dinner at McClellan’s, and when people weren’t coming over to the table to ask for Blake’s autograph, Mom and I were listening to details of the last two or three battles—blow by blow—that Blake and the JF had been in over the last couple of months.
The manager brought over complimentary champagne flutes of chocolate mousse and didn’t leave before getting a photo with Blake, their arms around each other’s shoulders. That one would go up on the wall, no doubt.
“Did you hear about the Phaeton the Power Division took care of in New York today?” I asked Blake.
Blake squinted for a couple of seconds, like he was deep in thought.
“This was the one who was smashing up all the elevators in the Empire State Building,” I added.
“Right. Until Plastique dropped her special blend down the shaft. That left Phaeton stew splattered all over the place.”
“Brad,” Mom said, making a face. She was never what I would call a squeamish person, but she seemed to get a little bit upset whenever conversation turned to Phaetons getting wiped out. “Can we keep this a little more appropriate for dinner conversation?”
“Sure. Sorry, Mom.” I turned to Blake. “So are you guys going to get Mutagion, or what?”
“He’s the big prize. He would definitely be the one to get,” Blake said, nodding. “Did you see that coverage of Meganova and the Vindication Squad today?”
“I saw that,” I answered. “The way he just—”
“Didn’t Dad team with him back in the day, Ma?” Blake asked.
“He sure did. For about seven years, I think. But I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Blake answered. “Yeah, Mega-N mentioned it when we worked together a few weeks ago. The bridge collapse?”
“Right, right.” Mom nodded. “I saw that one on a monitor at work. He’s looking a little thicker around the middle, I have to say.”
“He’s still got it, though,” Blake said. “Strong as all get-out, and nowhere near past his prime.”
I shook my head. “I don’t see what’s so great about him, to be honest.”
They turned to me, each of them with a look as if I had just said that I didn’t understand the point of justice and humanitarianism. Which, I’ll admit, was basically what I had said.
They stared at me for probably five solid seconds before Blake slowly smiled and then laughed. “Ah, good one. You had us going there.”
They started to talk about the relative merits of various hero teams like Night Patrol, Power 11, and the Vindication Squad—who was leaving where, which ones had become free agents, and so on. I had heard the conversation (or a basically identical conversation) at least a thousand times in the past.
I woke up suddenly. It was dark, but I could see Blake’s silhouette. He was standing silently in front of my closet, looking toward me.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“You didn’t. I don’t scare that easy.”6
He nodded, then grabbed a chair against the wall. He was noticeably being careful not to make any scratching sound as he pulled it closer to the bed.
He cleared his throat, then spoke in a whisper. “Listen, I need to talk. Are you awake enough to have a conversation or should we wait until morning?”
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
“How’s that neck doing?”
“It hurts now and then. Weather changes don’t feel especially great.”
He came closer and touched the back of my neck. “Wow. That’s a serious scar, huh? And there’s a whole lot of metal in there, too, right?”
“Half a hardware store, about. I have three prosthetic vertebrae, some hydraulic crap, nanotech smart system, the works.”
“Bro, I’m sorry I didn’t get to come in to see you when it happened. Real busy with Justice Force business.”
“No big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
“It is a big deal, and I do worry about it. I also worry about you getting mixed up in flashbang games with powered kids. You can’t handle that. You should know better.”
“It’s not like I had a choice. PT isn’t optional. From now on, though, I’m goin
g to keep my distance from games or whatever where I could get hurt. I’ll hang around the sidelines.”
Blake frowned slightly, almost recoiled. A Baron on the sidelines. Pathetic. “People do know you’re my brother, right?”
I had the urge to punch him, but all it would have done was gotten me a broken hand. So instead, I shook my head, turned away from him, and lay back on my pillow. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“I don’t think so.” He reached over and easily lifted me into a sitting position, using just one hand. I could have resisted, but that would only have made me feel weaker. I was glad, though, that he didn’t have any telepathic powers, because if he had read my mind, well…
“Okay, so you got intelligence. But I can’t believe you have nothing good.” He held his arm out in front of me. “Squeeze my forearm.”
“I’m not doing this.”
“I got lots of patience,” he said. “You can cooperate now or we can do this dance. In the end, you’re going to do what I say, so why not just do it and save—”
I grabbed hold of his huge forearm and squeezed.
“Come on,” he said. “Harder. Put some muscle into it.”
I tightened my grip, but it was like trying to squeeze a tree. Solid oak. I let go. I knew that he wasn’t deliberately trying to humiliate me. Well, maybe he was.
He nodded. I could see he had his lips pursed, thinking. “Okay, so maybe strength isn’t your strength.” A white flash of teeth, the smile that was loved around the world. “No flying, huh?”
What could I do but shake my head? Was he actually going to run down the list of all the things I couldn’t do?
“No thermokinesis? No tracking, no duplication, no molecular manipulation.” Well, it seemed like he was going to list all the ways I fell short. I just looked at him, pointlessly trying to will him into feeling rotten.
Blake sighed. “Look, I know exactly how you feel.”
“You do?”
“Well, no. I don’t, but it’s, like, a saying. I’m trying to be understanding.” He shrugged. “I’m not worried about this,” he said.
He shook his head and stretched his left leg out in front of him, then twisted his neck. He didn’t say anything, but I got the feeling something was hurting him.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
“With me? We were talking about you,” he whispered.
“No, I mean, are you in pain or something?”
“Not at all.” He was lying. I had no doubt. “And anyway, I came here to talk about this other…” He trailed off, but I knew he was just trying to change the subject, away from himself.
“Other what?”
“An opportunity. I’m gonna help you. I want to take you to meet a friend of mine from the JF. You never met Rotor, did you? I’m pretty sure you didn’t. He’s working in our subterranean lab right in the city this month, so we’re gonna go talk to him. He’s a real idea man. He’ll help us out.”
“Well, I have school tomorrow.”
“No big rush. I’m back now, staying home for a little bit.”
“Staying home? Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just…I’m way overdue for vacation or a leave or whatever, and now’s as good a time as any.”
He was absolutely lying. His smile was fake. It seemed like he was stuck between thoughts—or emotions—and he wasn’t clear about what to say.
“Why don’t you just tell me?” I said.
He glanced at me, and I saw something in him that I never saw before. In fact, I don’t believe anyone had ever seen it in him.
“What are you scared about?” I asked.
It was written all over his face: Should I tell him? Will he be able—or willing—to keep the secret? Better to keep it quiet. I could read him like a storybook.
“Just say it.”
Blake shut his eyes for a second. “Okay. You know about the Battle of Chitwan Valley? In Nepal?”
“The one last week? You’d have to live under a rock not to know about it. We watched it at school.”
“Well, the thing is, I think I got injured.”
There was almost nothing in the world he could have been less likely to say, and somehow, it didn’t surprise me at all. “Injured? You don’t get injured.”
“I know. I know that. But I think…well, I am now.”
“How?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Vilify, but it could’ve been one of the others. Four of those damned Phaetons got me in a ravine. The TV cameras didn’t catch it. I fought my way out, but I’m guessing that was when it happened.”
“So what’s wrong?” It was astonishing that I was asking him how he was hurt.
“Some small things. Ligaments in my left knee. Spleen, maybe, something in my guts—I don’t know what. But the real problem is…my internal gyroscope system is way off. Can’t fly straight, not easily. My pitch and yaw are screwed. So I have some trouble with what’s up and what’s down when I’m airborne.”
“That’s kind of serious.”
“No kidding. And I have to go so slow, I’m like a what-do-you-call-it.”
“A sitting duck?”
“Right. Exactly. And the vision in my right eye is off. Blurry. Triple vision.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Well, you have to get it all checked out.”
“Hell, no!” It wasn’t loud, but it was strong. The glass of water on my night table hummed from the powerful low frequencies in his voice. “Nobody—not a soul—knows this. And nobody can know. You understand?”
Oh, I understood, all right. If word got out that Blake Baron was not in top fighting form? The Justice Force would become the targets of every major villain—solo or team, human or Phaeton. When the strongest link suddenly became the weakest, lots of people would want to break that chain. “But you can’t go around injured indefinitely.”
“Oh, no. It’s definite. I’m injured.7 But I’ll figure out how to deal with it. I mean, I’ve punched through granite walls to rescue hostages. I’ve pulled sinking cars out of rushing rivers. You think I can’t handle this?”
“I get it. But this is pretty different. You need to—”
“No! Nobody. Especially not Mom. Nobody. I probably shouldn’t’ve even told you, but, hey—you’re my brother. I’m going to have to trust that you have enough…discreetness—”
“Discretion?”
“Whatever, yeah. Enough discretion to understand how dangerous and serious and important it is that you don’t breathe a word of this to anybody.”
“I won’t say a thing.”
“Okay. I trust you on that.”
Blake gave me what, for him, was no doubt a light bump on my upper arm with his fist. I thought he might have broken my humerus.
“Ha. No, but seriously. Just in case anybody gets the idea to check out what’s in that mysterioso mind of yours for some reason, just make sure you don’t, like, think about it at all.”
Sure. Not even for a second.
One thing struck me as pretty funny. After he spent the last twenty minutes running down the list of all the ways I was inferior, he undid all that in a few seconds. When he told me about his injuries, little did he know that the knowledge gave me an insane amount of power.
Misguidance
While we were walking out of linear calc, Ms. Matthews put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. “I got a message on my computer that you’re needed in the guidance office.”
“Me? What for?”
“It didn’t say. Guidance, I would guess.”
I barely had the chance to sit down when Miss Davenport came out of her office. I didn’t know for sure if she was a Regular or if she just had really low-level powers. Either way, she looked like a normal person and
never gave a hint about any powers she might have. She smiled at me in a way that seemed practiced and held the door open.
I stopped dead in the doorway. There were three chairs facing her desk.
One was empty.
My mom was sitting in the second.
And Blake was sitting in the third, by the window.
I had no idea what was going on, but I knew one thing for sure: it wasn’t good.
“Hi?” I said.
Mom’s “hi” was falsely cheerful.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Mom said, none too convincingly.
“We’ve just been talking with Miss Davenport for a little while,” Blake said.
Really. How long had they been there? “So, what’s going on, then?”
“Have a seat,” Miss Davenport said, putting what was obviously meant to be a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about offers the same amount of reassurance as This won’t hurt a bit.
I took the empty chair and she sat down behind her desk.
“So,” she said, “I know you’re wondering what could be going on that would cause me to ask your family to come in for a meeting.”
All I did was nod. I didn’t trust my voice. I honestly couldn’t think of anything I had done that was so bad or so weird that the school would have to call in my mom and Blake for a guidance meeting.
Miss Davenport took a breath. “Well, I’ll tell you straight, Brad. We have some concerns about how you’ve been doing in school.”
“My grades are mostly okay.”
She had my school transcript right there in front of her. “Well, yes. Yes and no. Sure, you do fine in things like history, English, and math. But, well, why don’t you have a look for yourself?”
She slid the paper across her desk. It wouldn’t show anything I didn’t already know. I pretended to examine it even though I knew where the conversation was heading.
“I think you’ll see a pattern there,” Miss Davenport said. “Straight academics are fine, but you didn’t do too great in Practical Combat Techniques, Aeronautics I, Physical Training, Speed Optimization, to name a few. In terms of classes that require application of powers? Well, you do fall a bit short there—I’m sure you would agree.”
