by Ben Mason
A door opened up on the other side. A low growling filled the air as a large dog padded into the room. It kind of looked like a pit bull, if pit bulls were the size of a grizzly bear and had large red fur and sparking yellow eyes. The thing’s ears were scarred and long, drooping near its mouth.
“I believe it was around…here,” Christoph said, beaming as he stepped onto one tile a moment before the beast rushed across the room.
Chapter 7
The dog stopped two inches in front of him. The heat from its nose blasted out smelling of sulfur and sardines.
Christoph fought the urge to turn his nose away. Reaching up, he latched on to the end of the dog’s left ear and started rubbing it. The dog stopped growling, blinked twice, and then broke into a doggy grin. It rolled over a second later, panting happily.
“You never change, do you, Clifford?” Christoph started rubbing its belly…or trying to, and the dog twisted around while making sure not to crush its new friend. “Or is this one a clone?”
“It’s a clone. That’s why it didn’t recognize you,” a voice said. It was a small man’s voice, filled with respect. A voice that expected others to be quiet if they wanted to hear it. A voice that commanded respect and gave it in equal measure.
The short figure of Dr. Murakawa walked into the room a second later. He was a pudgy Japanese man who wore a lab coat with an ID. Despite the fact that he didn’t work for any company and had never gone to college. The last time Christoph had seen him he had gotten into styling his hair into an Afro and keeping a bushy mustache. The hair was now white and stuck up straight, but the mustache remained.
Christoph stared down at his old acquaintance. He marveled at how a man so small was capable of being around the greatest heroes and villains and never once showing fear, despite the chance of being betrayed or overpowered by any of them. And never once had the doctor broken privilege on any death ray, lair, or super suit he had helped make.
Now there were all sorts of corporations and budget warehouses meant for villains with a budget. A one-size-fits-all approach he found appalling. Christoph sighed as he gave Clifford’s clone one last loving pat. The dog whimpered it’s disapproval.
“He’s as soft as the last one,” Christoph said.
The doctor shrugged. “Only if you have the proper touch,” he said patting the dog twice. “Clifford, go to bed.”
The dog rolled up, its tail drooping along with its ears. It gave one last longing glance before padding off.
“I’m surprised you never changed the routine. Not that I’m complaining.”
“You’d be surprised how many people make mistakes when they haven’t been invited,” the doctor said, a bit of his teeth shining through his whiskers. His eyes danced with mischief, not all of it harmless.
“Same as ever, Doctor,” Christoph said. “Glad to see you got rid of the last hairstyle.”
Dr. Murakawa sniffed. “I thought I looked sexy.”
“To each his own.”
The doctor gave Christoph the once-over. “I see my gift is holding up.”
“I appreciate it,” Christoph said, holding up the cane.
“But this isn’t a social call.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Well then,” Dr. Murakawa said, smiling, “let’s see what we can do.”
Not much, as it turned out.
They had gone down into the deeper levels of the dank caverns of Montmoore. All around them were pieces of cutting-edge technology. Some of it was stolen, some of it made, and some of it didn’t look like it came from Earth at all. He recognized a few markings as Shirrashi, proving some of his fellow villains had been more enterprising in their world-saving ventures.
Or maybe the doctor had come by them through more mysterious means. No one was sure of his past, or the extent of his technical abilities. Christoph had never thought to ask. All that mattered to him was the good doctor’s silence and decorum. He hoped the feeling was reciprocated.
Dr. Murakawa shook his head, his mustache drooping as he read the screen. Most of the words were in red, the rest in yellow. None of the words were in English (or any other human language for that matter), but their meaning was clear.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” the doctor said, spinning around in his chair. “I don’t have the supplies or test subjects to fix this. Your powers have declined.” He pointed to a skeletal frame on another screen. “And your body has been beaten down by the fluctuations to its mass. Your bones have held up well, but any rigorous testing is out of the question.”
Christoph felt the last strings of hope cut free. His shoulders sagged. “There’s no cure?”
Murakawa sighed, his eyes softening. “I can’t cure old. Otherwise I’d still have my Afro, minus the gray.”
Christoph gave a quick, severe nod. “I won’t bother you again. It was good to see you. I’ll take my leave now.” He had gone five steps when Murakawa called him back.
The doctor’s words echoed off the hollowed-out spaces of the caverns.
“There is one way. Maybe.”
Christoph turned.
“Avros.”
“The Bird-brain,” Christoph said. Avros had been a spindly man dedicated to flight and being free. Part of his freedom included not wanting to work for money and stealing it from those who did. Needless to say, he had fallen into the criminal category. He, like Murakawa, had been a wizard at technology and biological modifications. He had also been a touch paranoid. Built a bunch of traps in his secret lair and—supposedly—been killed by one of them.
“No one’s seen him for decades,” Christoph said. “Disappeared into his lair, I suppose.”
“Dead,” the doctor said, getting out of his chair. “Turns out the rumors are true. Died in his castle.”
Christoph cocked an eyebrow. “It was a castle?”
“With the themed guys? It’s always a castle. One of my electric eyes found it before being brought down.” Dr. Murakawa paused. “He wrote me an email right before he died.”
“Avros?”
The doctor nodded.
“This was in the seventies,” Christoph said.
“Yes,” Dr. Murakawa said, the implication lost on him. Christoph imagined a world where the doctor wasn’t a hermit. In it he exposed the secret to teleportation to some housewife in the fresh produce section while they examined loquats.
“Anyway, Avros told me he found a biological serum to give superpowers or—and this is the important part—increase the strength of those who already have them.”
A sour taste filled the back of Christoph’s mouth. There it was. All he had to do was violate one of the most sacred rules of villainy, break into another supervillain’s fortress and steal from him. Alive or dead, it didn’t matter. The rules were the rules. Even if the younger generation didn’t follow them.
Dr. Murakawa held up a hand. “Before you get on your crusade, I’m sure Avros is dead. He would’ve come after me by now if he wasn’t. We…didn’t see eye to eye on certain issues.”
“It doesn’t make it right, pilfering his things.”
“No. It is smart, however. You want one of the new guard finding it, using it to wipe out a city of people or a bunch of opposition?” The doctor got up, stretching his legs, staring at his equipment. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. “I’ll confess I’m curious as well. It’s been years since I worked on anything. I don’t take on new clients. Every once in a while there is a child who shows up. No respect, all entitlement, shocked I’ve never heard of them.” He gave a smile. “Saves me having to buy more dog food.”
Gripping his cane, Christoph forced his breathing to stay normal. To stay in control. It was an abomination, but—what were his other choices?
The phantom feeling of flames wrapped around him broke him into a sweat. He surpassed a shudder. Horrible way to go. And he had no doubt the Kimbles were on the line as well. That was the thing about fire. It never passed up on spreading the misery.
�
��You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Dr. Murakawa said.
“When would I leave?”
“Tomorrow. One of my transports would pick you up at your house. Discreetly. Or you can stay here if you like.”
Christoph nodded. Now it came to business. “What would I owe you?”
The doctor templed his fingers. “Fair trade. Avros had one other experiment in the works at the same time. I supply you with a map and sensor where the energy is radiating from and you retrieve it.”
Christoph didn’t bother asking what the experiment was. Dr. Murakawa would have lied. It was on his face.
“Why me?”
“Because out of all my old acquaintances, you’re the only one I trust.”
A bit of pride flickered in Christoph’s chest before it was smothered again.
How far am I willing to go?
He thought about the Kimbles and Heat Streak and her men one last time.
“Fine,” he said, struggling to push the word out. “May I see my room?”
Chapter 8
In the morning Christoph dressed. Instead of a jacket he wore a tactical vest with reinforced zippers and pockets. His pants were reinforced on the knees and he had traded in his shoes for work boots with extra grip.
He felt like a bird watcher from the Cretaceous Period.
Clutching his cane with a steadied hand, he sighed. It was undignified. He had never once fought in anything less than a suit. There had been the incident with the Mucus Monster where he had been forced to pilfer something off the rack (all parts of that sentence made him shudder), but he had never had to go into a job with anything less than business formal. Because villainy was a business and he was a professional.
Until today. He tried to dismiss the voice as noise. Walking back into the white room, he saw Clifford bounding around. The dog had thankfully done its morning business and was now filled with playful energy. He ran up to Christoph and shoved his head forward, giving a soft yap of joy when Christoph started scratching.
“You going to join me on my mission, Clifford?”
The dog gave him a tilt of its head, its large yellow eyes glowing.
“I suppose not,” he said, sighing.
Staring to his left, he saw the sleek, black aircraft and was impressed. The doctor’s aircraft made the government’s best efforts look like a cheap toy. It had no windows, no noticeable marks where it had been welded together, and no working area for a pilot.
“You had breakfast?” the doctor asked. He was in his lab coat from the night before. It was hard to tell if the man ever slept. The bags under his eyes said no, but they had been there even as a young man when he had started in his trade.
“Can’t eat in the mornings anymore,” Christoph said, tapping his nose. “Nasal drip. Ever since it got broken.”
Dr. Murakawa whistled. “How did it happen again?” he asked as he walked forward.
“Vanguard. I moved left, he stepped right. Just the wind pressure. The oaf didn’t calculate for his super strength.”
“They never do,” Dr. Murakawa said, his voice staying even. He put his hand out. In it was a black rectangle with a loop. “Here. So we can keep in contact when you touch down.”
Christoph put it against his ear. The fit was comfortable. As if it had been designed for him. “A late night?”
The doctor gave a big grin, the bottoms of his top teeth showing. “No reason to make you uncomfortable.” He gestured at the earpiece. “It has a tracking system in place. I’ll keep track of it so you don’t have to listen to the constant beeping.”
“We can go now? I’m fresh earlier in the day.”
“Certainly,” Dr. Murakawa said.
“Can you tell me any special points?”
The doctor shook his head. “Other than the emails and the general area, I have nothing. I’ll be able to get you close to the hideout, point you in the right direction…” His voice trailed off. They were both thinking the same thing. There was no way of guaranteeing the mission’s success or Christoph’s life.
“Well, if supervillainy wasn’t difficult, it wouldn’t be called super,” Christoph said. He held out his hand to his friend. He thought about telling him about the Kimbles and asking for their protection and decided against it. If he died or disappeared, Heat Streak was unlikely to hurt them and more than likely to take credit for his vanishing act.
Anyway, if he did change his mind, the doctor was right in his ear.
Christoph started walking toward the plane. “Where is old Avros’s place anyway?”
“In the middle of the Atlantic,” Dr. Murakawa called out. “And about a few hundred feet up.”
Chapter 9
There were three kinds of lairs as far as Christoph was concerned.
There were the repurposed warehouses or condemned buildings anyone was able to break in to and use, from a common criminal to a D-list super who had stitched his outfit in his mother’s basement. The second type was older castles or fortresses either taken or made in secluded areas. This was the area of the C- and B-list.
Then there was the third type. The third type was anything from a moving doomsday weapon to a floating spaceship to an ancient temple in the middle of the Amazon hidden by magic runes. These were the kind your average citizen saw articles and artist’s renderings of on the Internet. They belonged to the top villains, scourges of the space ways and superheroes.
Avros, for whatever reason, had managed to avoid all of them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Christoph said. He thought he heard Dr. Murakawa suppress a giggle.
It was a giant, steel bird’s nest, with twisting strings crawling up from the base of the lair into the sky, then curving inward.
Only Avros.
The man had earned the moniker Bird-brain both for his fixation on avian creatures and his ability to not have one iota of common sense stuffed between his ears. The best example was when he had pulled off the perfect crime, stealing all the hard currency from every bank in Selenium City in the span of sixty minutes, without leaving one shred of evidence other than his wallet, which had dropped out of his pocket. No video, no eyewitnesses. Just his driver’s license. And what did a man with the ability to make actual working wings need with a car?
It made the others in the criminal community shake their collective heads and avoid the poor man with the stork-like build as if he had smallpox.
So, on a hovering island cloaked from heroes, ships, and planes, the man had a giant crumpled ball of steel as his home.
The post-modernists would love it.
Walking forward, Christoph took in deep breaths. The air was shallow up on the island and the smell of the ocean barely made it beyond the edge of the hovering pads and rock. The island itself was small but strange. It gave off a gray sort of feeling despite the calm weather and sunny sky.
The only sounds were his cane tapping against the ground, the hum of the machines beneath him, and…birds.
They were circling. So many of them it made Christoph dizzy for a moment. They flew in a tight circle, fighting the air currents.
Then they caught sight of him. Swinging down in sharp angles they landed, two and four at a time, slamming onto the grates. The second the first fell he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Saw the lines in their chrome plating a second later. There were all shaped like hawks but with the bulging, idiot eyes of pigeons.
One took a step forward.
“Shiny?”
“Shiny?” another called. Soon all of them were calling out.
Christoph gripped his cane, trying to shrink.
“Shiny?” another called, confused. The birds started to turn one way and another. Christoph started to loosen his hands when he stopped.
“Doctor?” Christoph said, keeping his voice steady.
“I’ve picked up the targets. They seem to have lost their defense protocol. Let me make some quick adjustments.”
The birds started to advance in uni
son. Christoph pulled his strength from within, trying to measure how much of a gravity field he was able to create. He pushed out three feet and got no further. Exhaling, he gave up.
“Doctor, just so you know, there are worse ways to go, and if I survive this I promise you I’ll spend no time at all thinking about them.”
The birds came one more step and froze.
“Done,” Dr. Murakawa said, his own voice relaxing. “Be careful. I’m not sure how well it will hold.”
“Understood. And thank you.” Christoph advanced toward the entrance of the nest, keeping his eyes on the creatures as he did.
He thought he heard their necks turn as he walked inside.
The inside of the nest was just as messy. Strands of metal expanded into walkways leading to small circular metal balls with small holes in the bottom. Probably rooms. The place smelled like—well, oil and seagull shit.
Christoph took two steps.
Power surged through him. Not as much as in his earlier years, but easily as much as when he had taken his last mission. The dull ache in his leg started to dim. The power moved like a stream spreading out across the room, pulsing at every corner.
“A gravity well.”
“Tear most people apart, or cause other supers’ powers to go haywire,” Dr. Murakawa said.
Yes, but how did you know? Christoph shoved the thought away. The earpiece must have been feeding the doctor data.
“The beacon is coming from your far right. Be careful. I’ve put the birds off, but I suspect it’s alerted the other traps.”
Glancing around, Christoph saw the beam in question. It started near his feet and curved at a forty-five-degree angle until it got to the top, taking a ninety-degree angle into a large basket hanging like a grape from a stem.
Christoph started marching up. He thought about putting his cane aside. He decided not to. It was a gift, and with the area around him being such a mess there was a good chance of never finding it again. As the path turned up he went with it, watching his whole world turn on its side and finally upside down.
