by Ben Bequer
I wondered what it took to get that close to a woman like Madelyne. What it took to get her so interested in you. Seeing them together, with how comfortable she seemed with him only brought back memories of her facial expressions, and body postures during our exodus from New York City. Apogee was always defensive and protective, wary of me. How much that was Zundergrub’s work and how much it how uncomfortable I made her, I couldn’t tell. But there were so many clues that let me know how she really felt about me. Seeing her so comfortable in this picture, in essence the diametric opposite of how she behaved with me, only reminded me of the distance between us.
“Dale,” she yelled.
I shot up and saw her in a robe next to me, her hair rolled up in a towel.
“What is it?”
“What are you doing with that?” she said, ripping the picture out of my hands. I had forgotten I was even holding it.
“Nothing, I-“
“This is private,” she said, studying the picture a moment.
“I’m sorry-“
She looked at the picture for a moment, probably reliving that night, before she said, “Do you know who this is?”
I shook my head no.
“This is Barry Ashbourne. You knew him better as Pulsewave.”
That explained a lot.
“You and him.”
“Yeah,” she said, watching the picture.
“When you said he left a wife and kids...”
“That was after,” she said. “He met her a few months after we stopped seeing each other.”
“I’m never going to say ‘I’m sorry’ enough, am I?”
“No,” Apogee said, closing her eyes and feeling the evening breeze in her face. She unrolled the towel and let her wet hair fall.
“The things you do stay with you forever, Blackjack.”
I sighed, “And I guess I don’t have such a good track record.”
She turned back to me, “You’re still young.”
“Not if your boss gets a hold of me,” I snapped. “He wants to put me away for forty years.”
Apogee agreed, “You’ll probably get your own wing at Utopia Prison.”
“Why don’t you turn me in right now? I’m sure you have a way to contact them, here in this apartment. Instead of taking a shower you could have had a dozen supers show up here and beat my ass. Probably get yourself a nice bonus.”
“For me it’s not about the money either, Blackjack.”
“That’s easy to say,” I snapped, with a tone and force to my voice that harsher than what was warranted.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well you’re passing judgment on me, sitting in the lap of luxury. I had nothing when they tossed me from school. I didn’t have shit,” I snapped, pounding my fist on the railing and bending it. “Dammit, sorry,” I said, fixing it as best as I could. “I had no degree, no reputation, nothing. I couldn’t get a job cleaning floors. Your system fucked me, Madelyne. You want to know why I became a villain?” I gestured to her as if my argument was the reason.
She crossed her arms and shook her head, “Because the system made me that way? Are you kidding me?”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” I fired back defensively but she wasn’t going to hear it.
“That’s a cop out and you know it.”
“It’s true.”
Apogee crossed her arms and shook her head.
“I messed up in school, ok? I messed up bad and I had nothing else I could do. Nowhere to turn.”
“I call bullshit.”
“What the fuck do you know?”
“Bullshit!” she snapped again. “You were left with few choices. But you chose the easiest, the coward’s way. You chose to hurt others for your benefit, steal from others hard work. You chose, Dale. And while I understand that you had it hard, a lot of people have it harder, and they don’t commit crimes. They don’t hurt innocents. They don’t kill people.”
I looked down the nine stories, wondering when, if ever, I would make amends for that one horrible mistake. I guess she was right. It would stay with me forever. I had chosen sides, and it had cost a man his life. The worst thing Zundergrub had ever done was tie a noose around Apogee and I, for there was no greater torture than her presence as a permanent reminder of my failure.
“The truth is,” I started, swallowing hard, “I’ve fucked up at everything I’ve ever tried.”
I could feel her looking at me, standing behind me.
“You think I should turn myself in?”
She shifted, but said nothing.
“I was ready to go down for all of it back in New York. Before Zundergrub came and did his thing. You had me.”
“I remember,” she admitted.
I turned around, gazing at her alluring face, framed by her wet hair. Apogee had never been lovelier, yet more inaccessible to me.
“I’ll go,” I said finally. “Call your people.”
She placed her hand on my chest. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” I admitted. “If I turn myself in, Dr. Retcon will come after me. But I don’t see another way out of this.”
She looked down at the picture of her and Pulsewave.
“You could tell me what Retcon has planned.”
I shook my head, “If I knew, I’d tell you. Trust me.”
She smiled.
“I’m starting to.” Her hand flattened on my heart and she closed her eyes, mumbling something under her breath. Was it a prayer? She moved beside me, leaning on the railing.
“Do you want to know why I haven’t turned you in?”
“Because of Zundergrub, because of-“
“Yes, in part. It’s this God-awful need to keep you from trouble. Like someone walking their dog, keeping it from shitting in the neighbor’s yard.”
“I’m a dog now?”
“Putting it mildly,” she chuckled. “But it’s more Dale. Whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into, all this craziness. I really think you’ve got to get yourself out. Call me crazy, but I think that’s your only way out of this.”
I nodded, looking away, not wanting to make eye contact.
“I guess Braxton and his boys can wait a few more days, huh?”
“It’s not over yet,” she said.
Apogee was looking beyond me, towards the ocean and I tried to determine at what. I could see a light from the sea, as something approached at high velocity. It reached the shoreline and slowed, sauntering toward us down the San Diego streets. It was a large ambulating structure, with two long spring-like legs. Atop the legs was Dr. Retcon’s building, like some robot from a 50s Japanese movie featuring Godzilla or Ultraman. Watching it near, I laughed, at last understanding how the thing moved.
“You should go,” I said. “Really,” I continued. “This is your chance to get away.”
“You want me to leave?”
“Apogee, you don’t want to be around for what comes next.”
“You big idiot,” she said, looking at Retcon’s building, now only a few blocks away.
“Madelyne, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She smiled.
“You remember when we were being chased?” she began, “back in the Shard World. You grabbed your bow, and you ran up on that hill? You were trying to save us, right?”
I shook my head, “it wasn’t like that.”
“I know it wasn’t. I know.”
Apogee took my hand in hers and turned to me. She stared into my eyes, but I glanced over at the building, now more visible. On one of the balconies of the many floors, Cool Hand was doing some weird dance. It was a mixture of ‘the robot’ and the ‘sprinkler’ with a little bit of MC Hammer thrown in for good measure. It was insane, but hilarious. I couldn’t help but smile.
“You sacrificed yourself for me, Dale”
I looked back at her, but was afraid to say something I would regret later, especially with what we were facing.
“What about yo
u? Why did you come after me? There was no way you were going to grab me and get away. They wanted me, not you guys. You could have gotten away.”
“I’m a superhero. I had to try,” she admitted.
“And that’s it?”
“I don’t know about the rest,” she said, again her face wincing, and in an instant it had all come back, the chasm that stood between us had returned. I put my other hand on her shoulder and felt her come closer so we were almost embracing. I was a dirty mess, but she didn’t care, and I was intoxicated by her fragrance, her flawless skin. I was lost in her candle-lit eyes.
“I’ll do anything to keep you from getting hurt,” I said.
“I know.”
Retcon’s building came right up to ours, so close I could see his bouncing iPod earphone cables, and his new t-shirt, a black one that read, “ORGASM DONOR” in white letters. Apogee was tight against me and I let go in fear Cool Hand or the others would see. They had stood against me, against her, before, and if they saw Zundergrub’s last spell falter, they might do something more drastic.
“I’m sticking with you until the end,” she said, also releasing our embrace as the Retcon building came to a final stop a few dozen yards away.
* * *
“They’re not going to take you back,” I told her as we watched the snakelike legs retract, and the Retcon building slowly land.
We stood in front of her apartment complex, with Francisco and the other guards calling the police, half-hidden from in the doorway inside.
The Retcon mobile base took a long time to find a flat spot to park, and took even longer to retract the lanky legs, giving Madelyne enough time to dry herself and throw on a clean Apogee uniform.
“We’ll see,” she said, in full hero pose, looking as formidable (and sexy) as she ever had.
“You should go get help,” I said, not really believing, nor hoping she would.
“I’m not sure anyone would believe me.” She laughed. “Would you believe it if you hadn’t lived it? I mean, there’s another dimension with floating planet shards and aliens watching us from the moons of Jupiter.”
“I guess. But you’re Apogee, sexy heroine chick extraordinaire,” I mocked.
“Fuck you,” she snapped, half joking. “The truth is; I’m curious myself. I can see the danger of the alien, and I want to know what Retcon’s plan is. And besides, if things get hot, I can always call for help.” Apogee smiled. “I’ve got a warning beacon in my suit.”
“What?”
She laughed.
“You could have called for help all along?”
“If I had been in any danger,” she smiled coyly.
Finally, the legs disappeared under the first floor of the Retcon building and it settled on an open area of the parking lot of Apogee’s apartments. The landing lifted a cloud of smoke much like Retcon’s rocket arriving. The front doors opened, and to my surprise, Dr. Walsh came out, a few of her lab robots in tow. We rushed over, protecting our faces from the dust cloud.
“Blackjack,” Dr. Walsh started, reaching out with her hand, which I shook. “It’s so good to see you again. The others told me of your troubles back on the Shard World, and of your bravery.”
“I don’t know all about that,” I managed bashfully, watching Apogee’s smile as I tried to fumble my way out of a heroic deed. “This is Apogee, by the way.”
Dr. Walsh looked over, a broad, pleasant smile on her face she outstretched her hand and shook Apogee’s hand, “Ellen Walsh, Dr. Retcon’s daughter. I am a big fan of yours.”
“Thank you,” Madelyne managed.
“Would you like to come with us?”
Apogee nodded.
“Excellent. Please,” she said, motioning us towards the Retcon building lobby.
She brought us into the grand lobby of the building, which was as I had remembered before, except I saw that Apogee was oblivious to the decorations, more concerned with Dr. Walsh.
“I don’t understand,” Apogee interjected. “Nothing in the files pointed to Retcon having a child before the incident. And how could he have children when the rumor was the Original Seven were all unable to?”
“I was conceived in-vitro,” Dr. Walsh said, settling the matter. “Father utilized his own cells, and those of his wife, my mother, who passed away several years before the incident.”
Apogee nodded, but I only saw all sorts of problems and wondered how Retcon had overcome them. Especially forty-some-odd years ago, as Ellen Walsh appeared to be, when gene technology was in its infancy.
“Will we meet Dr. Retcon now?” Madelyne asked.
“Shortly,” Dr. Walsh said. “Father is still recovering. We only broke him out of Utopia prison this morning, you see.”
Chapter 24
On the ride up Dr. Walsh had an eerie smile, her gaze directed at the roof of the elevator, lost in her own thoughts. She also hummed something that I couldn’t identify, with her hands dug into her lab coat and a little bounce as she swayed in the balls of her feet. At one point, she realized I was staring at her and smirked, returning to her little song.
Apogee’s face was intense and focused. She watched us both and kept an eye on the lift numbers climbing up the list.
There was no button pad for you to choose what floor to go to. Instead, the elevator seemed to have a mind of its own, or perhaps Dr. Walsh had a control in her person. I couldn’t tell, but halfway up, the car came to a stop and the doors slid open.
Two of Dr. Walsh’s lab robots waited at the floor, which I remember being where my old room was.
“This is your stop, Apogee,” Walsh said, holding the door open.
Apogee didn’t move, confused and a bit upset.
“Isn’t she-” I began but Dr. Walsh interrupted me.
“You have a meeting. I’m afraid, she can’t come.”
Madelyne seemed about to object, but she nodded and stepped out, following the robots.
“I’ll be back down in a few moments,” Walsh continued, “And we’ll have a little chat.”
Apogee stood at the elevator doorway, facing me. She nodded reassuringly. I sometimes forgot who she was.
Then the elevator shot up again.
“If anything happens to her,” I started but again the doctor interrupted me.
“Please don’t worry Blackjack,” she assured me, then after a moment, added; “You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but she actually fits into our plans perfectly.”
“No games, Walsh. If she’s hurt, I’ll bring this place down to the ground.”
She actually smiled at my threat.
Moments later the door slid open to reveal a floor I hadn’t seen before. The decoration style was mostly wood, with 1930s Art Deco flair with odd geometric shapes of wood with brass and glass adornments. She led me down a hallway to a double door monogrammed with an exquisite terracotta sunburst design etched into the wood, and inlaid with brass.
The door slid upwards and I was treated to Dr. Retcon’s private sanctum. It was a large chamber dominated by a curved rear wall with shelving for an impressive library. The floor was of some polished wood I couldn’t recognize, with a faded Persian carpet spread out near the shelving, and a pair of “Dragons” leather chairs sitting at either side of a small mahogany table and light. Atop the table was very old copy of Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography, The Story of My Experiments with Truth, beside a still smoking cigar.
Two hallways led out of the room, one up to a more brightly lit room, an open observation deck with a huge wireframe window that overlooked the onrushing ocean. The other led down into darkness.
“Go on down,” Dr. Walsh said. “My father is waiting for you.”
I studied her face, trying to get any read from her. Was her father down there, or some anti-Blackjack device to kill me? I had no idea; she flashed me a nondescript pleasant smile that told me nothing.
There was no avoiding going down those stairs. Once inside the stairway, which twisted to the right, I was i
n total darkness, only the smoky fumes from the cigar assaulting my senses. The stairs down were oaken, covered with red carpeting and complained with every step down.
“Ellie,” a voice called from below. “Can you get my cigar?”
A bit of light intruded into the final few steps of the stairway, and I came out to a small, cozy chamber, Dr. Retcon’s vestiary. On either side of the walls were long rows of suits, shirts and pants, all of the finest tailors, but some were of older styling, including some pretty ugly wool and polyester sets.
Standing in the middle of the room, atop a small box, and surrounded by a pair of droids who worked to tailor his suit was the man himself, Dr. Retcon.
As I came out of the stairwell, he was ducking and turned away from a massive floor-length mirror, his demeanor surprised and wary. His hand glowed slightly, as he had some power ready in case I was an enemy. When I was finally revealed, Retcon smiled, straightened up, and waved me closer as he released the energy from his hand.
“Blackjack!” he beamed, hopping off the box and motioning me over. “Get your ass over here.”
He looked different than when I had seen him a few days before, older, more haggard, deeper bags under his eyes. His pale face was clean shaven, but his hair unkempt and long, badly needing a trim.
From what I understood, they had broken him out of Utopia prison this very morning, so the man I had met with in the Karesansui garden was a younger version of him. Dr. Retcon was a man unstuck with time, with access to previous versions of himself throughout the space-time continuum.
I walked up to him and felt his warm embrace, his face lit up with the joy of seeing me alive. Or at least he made a good show of it.
“Hell’s bells and cockle shells,” he exclaimed after getting a good look at me. “You look like hell spat you out.”
Indeed I did. No item of garment was whole and complete, and all my clothes had a dark gray pall and my hair was covered in grime and dirt. I didn’t want to even think of what I smelled like, but Dr. Walsh hadn’t given me a chance to clean up.
