by Ben Bequer
Amidst them were Dr. Retcon, his daughter and their attending army of robot servants, and Nostromo. Retcon wore his traditional costume, an impeccable three-button blue with dark grey pinstripe suit with a light purple tie and pocket square, and a cane (reputed to be full of tricks) topped by a polished amber crystal. Nostromo was also in costume, and surrounded by the strange uniformed and armored younger villains, he seemed to stand above them all, more magnificent and resplendent than all. He was aloof to everyone gathered around him, but when he saw me coming out of the elevator, and walk down the landing to the lobby below, gave me a slight nod.
Also beside Retcon was a woman I could only guess was Lady Jayne, the last of the Original Seven. Like Nostromo and Retcon, she hadn’t aged in the fifty-plus years since the incident that made her super. A woman in her late thirties, she carried herself with a grace and grandeur unheard of in these days. Her real name was lost to history, as was her past, and the only thing I knew of her was that she was part of the project that transported them to Shard World. She dressed formally, the only person besides me eschewing costume, and her style harkened back to the high fashion of 40s movie stars like Ava Gardner and Lauren Bacall. Lady Jayne was a throwback, more so in the presence of such a young crowd.
Closer to me were the guys, Haha and Cool rushed to greet me when I stepped out of the lift. Haha’s kimono was finally clean, though I was certain his katana would still be rusted and dilapidated. His rabbit head was feckless, no longer smudged and covered in dirt, but the material was faded and worn, showing the miles we had travelled together.
Cool’s smile was weary, and his hug not as strong as before. He wore crow’s feet on the edges of his eyes, and had that thousand-yard stare of someone who had seen too much, too fast. It was like the pictures I’d seen of the WWI flying ace, Manfred von Richthofen, the famed Red Baron. There was a difference between the images of the Baron early in the war, and those taken later, prior to his death. He had lost weight, his skin tighter against his face, and his youthful demeanor was gone, replaced by the knowledge of the death and carnage of war.
“You alright, man?”
“I’m good,” he lied. “After this, I’m hitting the Jersey shore for like a week. You should come, man.”
Zundergrub was mid-conversation with Baron Blitzkrieg, a Nazi sympathizer who wore highly stylized armor reminiscent of a Nazi SS uniform with gold embroidered epaulets, and more medals and citations than could be won in a dozen wars. Blitzkrieg had replaced Retcon as the world’s most dangerous villain during the doctor’s stay in jail. How he had evaded capture for over a decade, no one knew, but he was always in the news, always a menace.
Despite all the gathered villains in this room, all their stories and great history, the one I was most concerned with was Zundergrub. He and I had unfinished business.
“Ah, there he is,” Retcon said in a tone filled with pomp and circumstance. “I was afraid the lass was going to you from us this morning. I hope she left you some energy for today, huh?”
I smiled bashfully, still in Cool Hand’s embrace.
“I’ve introduced everyone here,” Dr. Retcon continued. “But the last fellow I want everyone to meet is probably the most important piece of the puzzle. This, my friends, is the great Blackjack. Out of costume, of course.”
Nostromo, of all people, started clapping, and before too long, the whole assembly joined in. It was a strange feeling, to be applauded for my villain work, for stealing property and killing a hero. Of all those there, only Cool Hand noticed my displeasure.
He patted my arm, “Don’t worry about it.”
“We’re still waiting for one more,” Retcon went on. “We have a famous super heroine with us, and I expect you all on your best behavior. She will be the only voice of reason, when all is said and done.
“Well, I promised I’d be brief,” he started, casting a wink at his daughter. As he spoke, his daughter’s service droids went around the room, distributing champagne glasses to all of us from silver trays they carried like waiters. Other robots followed, pouring 1996 Clos d’Ambonnay champagne into our glasses. To the best of my knowledge, each bottle cost a small fortune.
“I first want to thank you all, my friends, and former rivals, for coming here at my request. You’ve all given me a second chance to correct all the errors of my past, and I will be forever in your debt.”
He paused a moment, looking at the gathered faces.
“In one way or another, we’re all tied together. We’ve all walked the same path and its lead us to this point. It all started with an experiment gone wrong in a small college lab, and now we’re at the end game, trying to fix the damage done once and for all.
“Today is going to be a red letter day. A day that humanity will long remember. I don’t know what will happen, or if we will be victorious, but I think we’ll show the world something to remember…”
He trailed off, lost in thought.
“It’s the future were here to protect,” Retcon began again, after pausing so long an uncomfortable silence to spread. His eyes shot across the room and he flashed a bashful smile before raising his glass in a toast. “Ok, enough of this crap. To the future,” he said, with more grandeur than he felt, or that the moment called for.
“To the future!” we all called back, as the elevator dinged and slid open, revealing Apogee to the host of super villains.
I wondered how many she had faced, how many she had incarcerated, but it seemed like all when she entered the room for a deathly pall came over the place, and every eye was upon her.
And what a sight. It was amazing what a couple of hours of sleep and a hot shower could do. She was aware of everyone in the room watching her, the seething demeanor of the room. Apogee strutted down the stairs and stopped at the base, standing with her legs spread out and fists at her hips, almost taunting the entire room, waiting for anyone to threaten her.
But instead of a fight, she got quite the opposite. Dr. Retcon crossed the room, sipping his champagne, and took her arm in his.
“This, my friends, is Apogee,” he said, leading her to us. “Though, I’m sure most of us here know who she is. For today, at least for today, she is our friend.”
He scanned the room, taking a moment’s pause to make sure it settled in.
“Alright, let’s go make history,” he said, leading Apogee, and the rest of us, through the lobby doors.
* * *
We had expected something grand and instead we were met by what reminded me of Berlin after the war.
“Hashima Island!” Retcon waved about in magnanimous form, but none of us were much impressed.
The Retcon building lay in an open courtyard, surrounded by other similar buildings, though far more dilapidated and some partially collapsed. One had fully fallen upon itself and its neighbor, spilling wood, concrete and stone all over.
“This was once a gas mining facility,” Retcon said. “It was abandoned in the seventies, when the gas ran out and now it is our battlefield.”
A few groans resounded in response, and Blitzkrieg himself stepped forward.
“What is the meaning of this, Retcon?”
Retcon was pained at being questioned, but to his credit, responded with a measured smile.
“It will all become clear to you soon enough,” the doctor said, but saw his explanation wouldn’t suffice. “You must forgive me; I’m used to being so nebulous when it comes to my plans. Give them just enough to tantalize.” He giggled to himself.
“My sanctum is more than a base,” he began, pointing at his building. “In the core, is a large chamber housing a Telluric device which is the whole point of today’s exercise. To those of you who don’t know what the Telluric device does, suffice it to say, it’s a powerful shield. More powerful than even Nikola Tesla, the man who created the technology to begin with, could have imagined. I have taken his theories, and brought them to life.
“Over the past few years, I have gone to great lengths to sh
ow you all the danger of the alien now watching us from the moon of Jupiter, Callisto. This alien is a member of a predatory species, intent on destroying our planet and eradicating almost all life on Earth. What we will do today is a display of power, utilizing the telluric device. Once the alien sees that we are capable of encompassing the planet with a shield so powerful that even they are powerless against it, they will move on, and leave us undisturbed.”
“The reason I’ve chosen Hashima Island for the final battle is two-fold. Firstly, I designed my sanctum to appear similar to the broken structures here, and they will camouflage the chamber, until the very last moments, of course.”
Indeed, looking back at Retcon’s building showed it now to be as gray and despoiled as the rest of the structures around it. Only close cursory examination would reveal the very top of the dome jutting out of the top, the massive door entrances at each corner, leading into the device chamber.
“You see, as soon as it is engaged, they will know I have returned, and respond with desperation. I’m mad, or so they believe, and this is another hair-brained scheme to destroy the world. Little do they know that all my efforts have led to this. Some of my plans have been quite drastic, I admit. Like when Nostromo and I attempted to hurl the Earth’s moon at Callisto over a decade ago.”
He put his hand on Nostromo’s shoulder.
“Or the time we stole the Soviet Union’s entire nuclear arsenal to design a bomb to destroy the alien altogether. Sadly, that came at a time when detente was at its height, and...well...things got quite complicated.
“But today we rid ourselves of a threat so potent, that it forgoes the usual good versus evil concepts that we have been so unfairly painted with for so long. Again I thank you for your help, and for your trust.”
Baron Blitzkrieg looked around, the explanation sufficient to others, but he still had questions.
“I understand the threat, old friend. But our role here is, as of yet, undefined.”
“It’s simple. You will hold them back. You will buy me time to fully engage the device.”
“So we’re fodder,” complained UVee, though from behind the re-breather of his black armored mask, he was more a drone than an embodied voice.
“Hardly,” Retcon shot back. “Without you, fighting the good fight, they would be upon me in no time. And while it would take quite a few to put me down, the device, I fear, is not so sturdy.”
“I don’t like it,” snapped Nexus, Uvee’s Beta Blast team mate. Nexus wore tight spandex over a formidable athletic frame, but what was most noticeable about him was the raw power flowing around his form, a red anima banner that glowed bright even in full daylight.
“If it’s not to your agreement, then we’ll part ways, and that will be that,” Retcon said, crossing his arms.
“What guarantee do we have that the device will work?” Psionicler said. He was a mastermind, almost to Dr. Retcon’s level, but a sadist, and borderline psychotic. His costume was an anachronistic shout out to decades past and ill-fitting, far too tight bright red and white leather, with his famed ‘confabulator goggles” from which his powers flowed.
“It will work, my friend. My word should more than suffice,” he said, but it didn’t, at least not with the majority of Beta Blast, who eyed each other, as if communicating telepathically, and decided as a whole.
“We’re not satisfied,” UVee said, spokesperson for the group, and they took off into the air, almost in unison and sped off.
“Retcon’s word is enough for me,” said a voice in the distance, coming from a slowly approaching swath of raw black energy. When it was closer, within the energy, the figure of Apostle became visible.
He was a tall black man, bald, with imposing eyebrows and a trimmed Van Dyke marring his otherwise shaven face. Apostle was one of the Original Seven, companion to Nostromo, Retcon and Lady Jayne. Only three of the originals were missing; Valiant was long dead, as was more recently Ed Watters by his own hand. Where Global was, no one knew, nor dared to ask. He was the youngest and most effervescent of them, always approachable, always a helping hand, where Valiant was a more distant and aloof hero, Global was the most beloved of the Original Seven.
But Apostle was a heavy hitter, more powerful than a thousand other supers. He emanated an aura of power, deadly to any creature daring enough to approach him. He was also a master of darkness, wielding the shadows themselves as constructs and weapons. Apostle was as close to omnipotent as a human could become, and now he stood beside us.
“Vernon!” Retcon shouted, and walked up to Apostle, who’s aura diminished, almost disappearing altogether, revealing him to be a tall, muscled black man, aged unlike the others and perhaps in his early sixties. He was in prime physical fitness, though, even for a man his age, and what passed for a smile came across his otherwise stern face.
Retcon embraced his old friend. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to come.”
“You called, brother, and I came.”
Retcon turned to us, overwhelmed with the joy of the reunion, unabashed with the tears that welled at the corners of his eyes.
“This will make things much, much easier,” he announced. “If you and Jayne can cover the Northern quarter,” Retcon began, pacing back toward us while Apostle kept his distance protecting us from his deathly aura, “and if Ricky can handle the South, then Baron Blitzkrieg can take West and my new friends can handle the East,” he finished, pointing in the cardinal directions from the central hub where his building lay. In each of the directions was an approach between the ruined factories and apartment buildings that remained on Hashima Island.
In fact, I could see the logic behind it; they would see us as obvious targets, rather than the Retcon building itself, which was relatively disguised amongst Hashima’s native structures. We would garner the attention of anyone who responded, and hopefully delay them long enough for the Telluric device to start functioning.
“I have a question,” I said, wandering aloud. “Once you activate it, they will come straight for the building, straight for the device itself. How do we keep them away?”
Dr. Retcon smiled.
“By then, things will be too far along to stop, I wager. The walls of the Telluric chamber are twelve feet thick of concrete and steel. Each one of you will have a door open to you. These doors are even thicker than the walls, and when closed, will be magnetically sealed. Once things are dire, we will close the doors, and finish the procedure inside the chamber before-”
“How long will it take to engage the device?” Mr. Servo asked, only his head human, the rest a cyborg construction ridiculously larger than his head in proportion.
“The device will be operational in a few minutes. What will take some time, perhaps as much as an hour is for the Telluric emissions to circumnavigate the planet via the ionosphere,” Retcon answered. “But first we have to raise the island.” He turned to Nostromo.
“I guess this is where I come in.”
Nostromo opened his arms, radiating purple energy from his body. We all stepped back as the energy coalesced, formed, and extended outward in two massive tentacles. These two tendrils soared high and back around, splitting and spreading into a web of raw power that encompassed the whole island.
“Hang on to something,” Retcon said, giggling uncontrollably.
And then Nostromo plucked the island out of the water, and raised it into the sky.
* * *
Don’t ask me how he sheared the top of an island in seas that were 10,000 feet deep. Whether his powers bored into the rock, tearing it apart or did he unscrew the top off like a coke bottle cap.
I have no idea how his incredible powers worked, and since there was nothing visible, nothing other than Nostromo himself, standing there with his arms crossed with a stupid shit-eating grin, then there’s no way for me to theorize how he did it.
I mean, I couldn’t even see what was happening below, none of us could. The island simply shook, like under the effects of a minor
earthquake, causing havoc amongst the dilapidated buildings, and bringing several down altogether.
But from where we stood, the quake had only a slight effect, for ten or fifteen seconds. Nostromo’s expression changed only once, when he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, giving it one final ‘heave to,’ and finally ripping the island from its foundation to the sea bottom.
The sound was horrible, like a chorus of grinding metal and concrete as the buildings swayed from side to side. Structures released decades of dust and soot, raising a cloud of the stuff that followed us as we freed from the earth and sea and slowly rose in the air.
Nostromo opened his eyes again, and pursed his lips, the hard part over, but he strained a bit as the island gained altitude, slowly at first then faster and faster.
I was unaware of the others, amazed as I was at what we were experiencing, but I took a moment to look around and saw everyone in awe. Apogee mouthed, “Amazing”, and Cool Hand was muttering something under his breath that I think was “this is so cool,” over and over like some sort of prayer.
Only Baron Blitzkrieg was unimpressed, or at least made an effort to appear that way, with one arched eyebrow, as if he was witnessing something disturbing or unpleasant, and an otherwise scowl marring his face. I’d never met the man, nor seen a good picture of him, so it was possible that was his ‘holy crap that’s so awesome!’ facial expression.
Apostle’s eyes were closed, his arms crossed across his massive chest, as if he was helping the process, and perhaps he was, but the swath of darkness that he exuded had returned, and he kept himself well distant of the rest of us.
Lady Jayne had a proud smile on her face, like an approving mother, but there was also a sense of arrogance from her posture and demeanor, as if the display of power by one of her contemporaries would cow us mere mortals. Other than the Baron’s diffidence, it did.
Dr. Retcon was also smiling, but his expression was one of exuberant joy, and he hugged his daughter and spoke to her softly. This was the culmination of decades of work for him, and he was enjoying the whole of it, overwhelmed that it had even become possible.
