Fid's Crusade

by David Reiss

  “I don't believe that to be true,” I chuckled. “I've read the extended transcript of the NPR interview, when you sat beside Joanne Durand.”

  “We were simply positing theories,” he smiled in a self-deprecating manner.

  “Nevertheless, I felt quite adroitly skewered.” The sociologist had made the same observations that Starnyx had years before, identifying several incidents in which my 'crime' would have no profit save for instigating violence. The Red Ghost had offered anecdotal evidence that had supported her theories.

  “Then why was I awakened so early, rather than her?” He yawned, rolling his shoulders in a slow stretching maneuver.

  I locked my armor to keep from echoing the yawn and stretch.

  “Miss Durand is a skilled observer, but she is a civilian. She’s not a part of our world.” Also, I admitted to myself, I was a bit afraid that she would be inspired to write another book. Late in the transcript, Joanne Durand had also expounded at length about the difference in Doctor Fid's behavior, before and after the villain's five-year disappearance. Several of her suppositions had been dangerously clever.

  “So, if I'm to be denied sleep...tell me of your regrets.”

  “I regret hurting Clash so badly.” It was not the greatest of my regrets, nor even the one most prevalent in my mind. It was, however, easy to speak aloud.

  “Only Clash?”

  “We’ve insufficient time to create an itemized list.” Behind my helm's faceplate, my own smile was bitter. “Boat traffic will resume on this river in only a few hours.”

  “Then, why mention him in particular?”

  “There was a documentary aired…he’s been on my mind.” I peered downriver, watching the distant city lights along the bank. “If I offered to repair his knees, better than new, do you suppose that he’d accept?”

  “Possibly,” Red Ghost considered, “but it would be very difficult to convince him that you had no ulterior motive.”

  “Ah,” I acknowledged. “There, then, is another regret worth mentioning. The reputation I’ve earned has certain drawbacks.”

  “If you turned yourself in, perhaps people would believe that your interest in making amends was genuine,” the Ghost suggested gently.

  “I am not Beazd!” I replied sharply, a hint of warning audible even through my vocoder’s filter. “I do not have it within me to accept incarceration without resistance.”

  (Overhead, the tree-branches rustled as if in warning. The Red Ghost made a surreptitious gesture with his hand, indicating calm and safety. In the distance, Regrowth exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that had gathered when I raised my voice.)

  “If you are not seeking redemption, what do you want?” There was no accusation in his tone, merely curiosity.

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “A path forward. Or a path backwards, to correct some few mistakes in my past.”

  For a while, we were both silent. Doubtless, both of us were pondering past regrets.

  “Do you remember Blueshift?” he interjected, unexpectedly.

  “The New Orleans-based hero who claimed to be a time-traveler,” I nodded slightly. “He wasn't. Trust me, I've done the math.”

  “He figured that out eventually as well. Alternate dimension, very complicated. Blueshift was deathly afraid of you, but he also hated you with a passion.” The Red Ghost fell silent for a moment. From his fond smile, I imagined that he was remembering one of Blueshift's famous diatribes; the supposed time-traveler had been a mediocre combatant and moderately inoffensive as so-called heroes go, but his ability to construct epic rants had been second to none amongst the cape-and-cowl crowd. The Red Ghost's expression grew more serious. “Blueshift claimed that some of your technology had not been replicated even in his time, and that it could have saved millions of lives.”

  I considered. Here, I had made arrangements for much of my research to eventually be released to the public. I could not know if similar efforts had been made in the dimension from which Blueshift hailed. Even so, I knew, even in this world there were some discoveries that I fully intended to keep hidden forever. “Blueshift was right, and he was also wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “In the wrong hands, many of my inventions could become disastrous,” I bowed my head slightly. “I’ve devised technologies that could save millions, but the cost could be billions.”

  “Many would argue that your hands are already the wrong hands,” he chuckled, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to poke gentle fun at me; he was, it seemed, growing increasingly confident that there would be no violent reprisal for his teasing.

  “Perhaps other minds could come to different conclusions.” I considered my opponent. “Your opinion would be appreciated.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Here’s one invention that I’d originally intended to ‘accidentally’ —,” I made a finger-quote gesture, “— leave behind to be reverse engineered. I’ve developed the capability to create a bounded field, within which it’s possible to shunt kinetic energy from this world into an artificially-created microdimension. This capability can be used to minimize the effects of inertial forces on human bodies within the field, such as sudden impacts or high-speed maneuvering.

  “The technology is currently very expensive,” I continued, “but my calculations show that mass-production could bring the costs down ‘til the devices could be deployed in mid-end and high-end automobiles.”

  The Red Ghost looked like he wanted to comment, but I cut him off before he could begin:

  “Last year in the United States alone, there were nearly thirty-five thousand fatalities from vehicular accidents, and more than two point two million injuries.” I breathed out a pained whisper, “My projections show that the inertial-dampening technology could reduce those numbers by fifty percent.”

  The Red Ghost twisted to stare at me, as if noticing only for the first time that he was seated next to a monster. “How can you possibly justify keeping that technology to yourself?”

  “The formulae necessary to dampen inertia are enormously complex. Using the technology to produce weapons of mass destruction is much simpler.” I shrugged sadly. “Using the sun as a point of reference simplifies the maths rather significantly, but the Earth travels in its orbit so quickly…Create a large enough field, and you could tear an entire city from the planet’s surface at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour. Or worse, driven directly into the earth’s crust…”

  “My God,” the Red Ghost continued to stare. I watched his expression as he did damage calculations in his head. “Have you built such a device?”

  “Of course not. What would be the point?”

  “With that kind of power, you could hold the entire world hostage.”

  (A quarter mile away, Regrowth rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Stop giving the armored supervillain ideas, Miguel.”. She maintained her vigil, gauss cannon still aimed carefully in my direction.)

  “How, exactly, would that work? ‘I – Doctor Fid! – desire all of the hot-wings, celery and blue-cheese dressing that a man with a genetically augmented metabolism can eat, lest I throw the city of Detroit into space! Bwahahaha.’ Then the manager of the local chicken-wing emporium would delay, claiming that they can’t offer the lifetime supply certificate unless the threat is verified. Joanne Durand would call NPR and note that I’d never actually activated an area-effect weapon where innocent civilians could be caught up in the blow. You’d concur, and then Regrowth would shoot me in the head with a gauss cannon.” I gestured to the west. “Then there would be a fight, I’d escape, Detroit would remain where it is, and I wouldn’t get my chicken wings.”

  (To the west, Regrowth’s finger whitened on the trigger of her gauss cannon.)

  “Most villains ask for more than fried wings,” the Red Ghost was staring at me again, “when threatening to unleash a doomsday device.”

  “I'm hungry,” I explained. “Also, a high-powered inertial dampener lacks sufficient drama to be an effective
doomsday device.”

  “Part of me now wants nothing more than to pick your brain regarding your theory of proper doomsday device construction.” The Red Ghost covered his face with both hands. “The other part is concerned that you seem to know where my teammate is and don’t seem particularly worried about the gauss cannon.”

  “I have access to very good sensors.” I chose not to mention my microdrones (some of which were still exploring and mapping his home; the workshop in his basement was organized in an efficient manner but lacked much of what I considered to be essential safety equipment). “And I would not expect your partner to initiate violence unless provoked.”

  “And we’re back to me not understanding you.”

  “What’s not to understand?” I shrugged. “I arrived unexpectedly, and you and Regrowth took reasonable precautions. I’m not offended.”

  “Most people are more distressed when a high-powered weapon is pointed in their direction.”

  “I've been an active supervillain for more than twenty years,” I laughed. “I've had some time to become accustomed to the sensation.”

  “This conversation just keeps getting stranger.”

  “I'm sorry.” Once again, I was grateful for the vocoder that successfully stripped my amusement from Doctor Fid's voice. “That wasn't my intent.”

  (Regrowth made a decision. She stood and slung the heavy gauss cannon over one shoulder, then took a quick running jump into the trees; the leap was made easier due to the oak lowering a massive limb for her to land upon. With a groan of straining wood and stretching bark, the limb shot up and threw Regrowth forwards towards Red Ghost and me in a ballistic arc, dozens of feet over the forest's canopy. In a dazzling display of athletic prowess, the young woman soared more than two hundred feet before smoothly flipping forwards to descend feet-first into the leaves of a maple, which creaked and thundered with the effort as its branches contorted to carefully catch the heroine then toss her again into the air. The quarter-mile distance evaporated remarkably quickly.)

  “Does that promise of non-violence still hold?” Regrowth asked, dropping out of the foliage to land at the edge of the clearing. Leaves fluttered to the ground around her, torn from their branches by the speed at which the tree had responded to her will.

  “It does, yes.”

  “Great.” Her smile was fierce. “You're an idiot!”

  I looked down at my hands. Yup. Still clad in starfield-and-glowing-red gauntlets, more than a hundred moving parts shifting in silent harmony as I closed my hands into fists and then again straitened my fingers. Micro-pneumatics and myoelectric fibers cooperating smoothly to function as part of what is often referred to as the most innovative and advanced powered armor in human history.

  “Interesting assessment,” I said in a measured voice. “Please, explain.”

  “You think your technology is dangerous? You're right!” She waved expressively; the Red Ghost lay a warning hand on her shoulder, but she ignored it. “Humans have been mis-using technology since before the first time we rubbed two sticks together and came up with fire. That's not an excuse to stop advancing.”

  “Last year, there were over fifty-six thousand cases of arson reported in the United States,” I countered. “That statistic makes me reluctant to release the destructive equivalent of thermonuclear matches.”

  “Your armor and robot components self-immolate to avoid reverse engineering,” Red Ghost pointed out. “If the commercial units had the same safeguards, it would limit the threat.”

  “A) We both know that most corporations would cheerfully strip the safety enhancements and risk mass casualties if they thought it would save them a nickel per unit,” I began, “And B) Even if the actual commercial device can’t be reverse engineered, a hacker or villain would still be able to steal the specifications directly from the manufacturer.”

  “So, license the technology to the car manufacturers, but keep back one critical component that they have to buy from you,” Regrowth suggested, “and make sure that one component is completely tamperproof.”

  “That...has potential,” I considered. “It would, however, be a significantly more complex task than simply releasing the technology to the open market.”

  “But it could be done?” the Ghost asked, hopefully. “This could save many lives.”

  “Perhaps. I've ideas on how to handle the component manufacture,” I lamented. “The greater difficulty lay in negotiating with all the stakeholders. A company would need to be created to handle the business end, to respond to customer requirements, to litigate liability, trademark and copyright issues, etc. I do not think that I could be directly involved in such a company.”

  Regrowth looked thoughtful, “...and, even if you controlled manufacture of a critical component, the parent company would ostensibly need to be the 'owner' of the patent in order to make deals with major corporate buyers.”

  “You'd need to set up a third party as the 'face' of the inertial dampening technology,” Red Ghost added.

  “Someone who has a background in finance, to handle a large company.” Regrowth sounded amused now. “And someone who has a history of reverse engineering Doctor Fid's inventions, to provide a convincing provenance for the technology.”

  “Someone trusted.” I drank another mouthful of scotch, feeling as though the world were shifting oddly beneath my feet. I checked; no seismic activity. But Regrowth and the Red Ghost were both correct in their assessment. “Or at least...someone respected.”

  “Ah.” Behind the Red Ghost's crimson cowl, Miguel Espinoza blinked in surprised understanding. Then his eyes narrowed. “You are offering me a position likely to generate significant wealth and respect, as well as the opportunity to take part in the creation of a device that will save thousands upon thousands of lives. As deals with the devil go, that is fairly attractive.”

  “I am...trying to be less of a devil, these days.” I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands, as though massaging at my temples. Any positive effect was psychosomatic; my helm was sufficiently protective that any pressure exuded by the movement was easily eliminated. “Over time, if this arrangement works well, I would like to give you access to other technologies, too. And provide recommendations for physicists and engineers who might help you reproduce some of my other inventions.”

  “The offer continues to sound too good to be true,” the Red Ghost frowned skeptically.

  “I've kept these discoveries to myself because I believed that choice to be the safest option.” I sat back up to look the Red Ghost directly, even if he could not see the eyes hidden by Doctor Fid's faceless helm. “It would be nice to know that there are contingencies in place, in case my choice proves wrong.”

  “That wasn't an admission I expected from you,” Red Ghost smiled supportively, looking to be pleasantly surprised.

  “I am trying to be less of a devil,” I repeated, “but the effort has been more difficult than I'd anticipated. I'm...concerned. If I'm being honest, that is why I woke you.”

  “Having trouble keeping your oath of non-violence?” Regrowth asked casually. Only a slight shift in her shoulders betrayed her sudden tension, the worry that I might betray my word.

  “No. And yes,” I sighed. “I'd hoped that my...emotional excesses...would be curtailed as I finished repairing the last of the scarring on my amygdala. And yet...I'm still so angry.”

  “You can repair glial scars?” Regrowth asked evenly; I recalled that (according the the profile that I'd automatically generated earlier in the morning) Elaine Goldman's father was a well-regarded psychiatrist, and her mother a noted neurosurgeon. Brain damage had likely been a common topic of dinner conversation in Regrowth's household during her formative years. “Blueshift was right to blame you! Do you have any idea how many people suffer brain injuries every year?”

  “Nearly three million TBI related emergency room visits in the United States,” I waved my hand dismissively. “That capability was stolen from a company that's alr
eady working towards human trials. The only thing keeping that particular panacea from saving lives tomorrow is bureaucracy, not my paranoia.”

  “Good,” Regrowth shrugged one arm, resetting the slung rifle's weight on her shoulder.

  “I'll need to spend time considering your offer. You mentioned that you are angry?” Red Ghost changed the subject, making another warning hand-gesture to Regrowth. “What has been bothering you?”

  “Many things. Personality conflicts, a feedback loop of feeling of loneliness and betrayal,” I closed my eyes. “I do know what kicked off the cycle, I think.”

  “Go on.”

  “I joined the FTW with the intent to participate when they exposed Sphinx’s and Peregrine’s crimes,” I stood up, gesturing annoyedly with one hand. “That effort, obviously, was derailed when Sphinx made her public announcement. Her timing was too perfect to be coincidence; someone within the collective must have warned her. Whoever it was...it's their fault that those two so-called 'heroes' received no real punishment.”

  “And yet, you still have said that you intend to hold true to your oath,” he pronounced the sentence as though it were a statement, but I could hear the hidden question within.

  “I didn't take the oath for them!” I gritted through clenched teeth. “I took it for Nyx. He was a better friend than I deserved, and a better man than I could ever hope to be. I have to believe that, if he really was better, then his way, his methods must also have been superior.

  “But...He loved the eff-tee-dub,” I continued. “He would have crawled through broken glass to help any one of them. It tears me apart, to think that he was barely gone before one of the members was willing to sell out their peers.”

  “It's possible that whoever it was didn't think of it as betraying the FTW. Perhaps he or she was trying to save the FTW from your influence,” Regrowth pointed out softly. “Even if they knew Starnyx was your friend, they also knew your reputation.”

  “Thank you. That helps, actually. But even so, I'd had hopes to find common cause among those my friend left behind. To mourn among allies and to help rebuild Starnyx' legacy,” I exhaled, shaking my head sadly. “Instead, they accept my help but not my camaraderie. They treat me as though I were still the creature I was two decades past; I can never pay those crimes, but I've torn out and replaced parts of my own brain to keep that monster at bay! If I were still that Doctor Fid, then Nyx should have hated me.”