by Tom King
The superheroes of Arcadia City fight a wonderful war, and play a wonderful game, forever saving yet another day. However, after sacrificing both their powers and Ultimate, the greatest hero of them all, to defeat the latest apocalypse, these comic book characters are transformed from the marvelous into the mundane.
After too many battles won and too many friends lost, The Soldier of Freedom was fine letting all that glory go. But when a new threat blasts through his city, Soldier, as ever, accepts his duty and reenlists in this next war. Without his once amazing abilities, he’s forced to seek the help of the one man who walked away, the sole hero who refused to make the sacrifice—PenUltimate, the sidekick of Ultimate, who through his own rejection of the game has become the most powerful man in the world, the only one left who might still, once again, save the day.
A tour de force debut novel from a former CIA counterterrorism officer, A Once Crowded Sky fuses the sensibility of bombastic, comic-book-style storytelling with modern literary fiction to bring to life a universe of supermen stripped of their powers, newly mortal men forced to confront danger in a world without heroes.
TOM KING served in the CIA as an operations officer in the Counterterrorism Center. Prior to working at the CIA, King interned at marvel and DC Comics. He lives in Washington, DC.
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JACKET ILLUSTRATIONS BY TOM FOWLER
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Thomas K. King
Illustrations by Thomas Fowler
Lettering by Steve Bryant
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First Touchstone hardcover edition July 2012
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
King, Tom.
A once crowded sky : a novel / Tom King. — 1st Touchstone hardcover ed.
p. cm.
“A Touchstone book.”
Summary: “Tom King’s debut novel opens in an imaginative world of comic book superheroes struggling to take on normal lives after sacrificing their powers to save the world”—Provided by publisher.
I. Title.
PS3611.I24O53 2012
813'.6—dc23
2011042729
ISBN 978-1-4516-5200-0
ISBN 978-1-4516-5202-4 (ebook)
For my wife, COLLEEN
Contents
The Heroes of Arcadia
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Three
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part Four
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Five
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Six
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Seven
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Eight
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part Nine
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Acknowledgments
Her skywards gaze inspired my imagination,
compelling my eyes to mirror her action,
and I looked upon the sun for longer men usually are able.
More power is allowed there than here
by the nature of the virtue of that place,
the true home of the human species.
Still I could not bear the shine for long;
I was only able but to glance at the light’s rolling sparkle,
like molten iron escaping from the fire.
Then suddenly the day blared too bright,
as if the One Who Has The Power
had adorned the heavens with another sun.
Her eyes remained fixed on the eternal circles;
even as I turned away from the light;
And set my eyes back upon her.
Now seeing her, I began to change
as once mortal Glaucus changed after eating an herb that
allowed him to roam the sea in the company of the gods.
Such superhuman transformations cannot be
expressed in words; let this story serve as a simile
until grace grant you the experience.
—Paradiso,
Dante Alighieri
SUPERMAN: Somewhere out in trackless space there must be more particles of Kryptonite! I hope none falls to earth again! Perhaps it may never happen . . . but perhaps it may . . .
—Superman #61 (1949),
Writer: Bill Finger
Artist: Al Plastino
2
Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #566
Their lives are violence. Month after month after month, they fight a wonderful war, play a wonderful game, forever saving the next day from the next dastardly villain, the next meteor falling from the sky, the next giant monster emerging from his cave, his rock-fists swatting at the heroes rising into the air around him, and Pen slides the spatula under the half-cooked pancake and flips it over. The raw underside splatters wide and spreads across the pan. The circle starts to lose its shape as it falls into itself.
“I think I’m doing this wrong,” Pen says.
Anna turns from where she’s cutting the strawberries and looks over his shoulder. “You’re doing that wrong.”
“Don’t mock me,” he says as he pokes the goo with the side of the spatula. “I’m a very powerful man. I could very easily flick this pancake into the sun.”
“Yeah, you’re still doing it wrong.” Anna takes the spatula from his hand and begins to gather the dough back into a credible shape. “Pancakes for dinner, poorly cooked pancakes. This is what comes from marrying someone raised by a robot.”
“Hey, The Man With The Metal Face never poorly cooked anything in his entire life. That the great Ultimate maybe possibly did not pass these skills along to his
somewhat less great sidekick is not that poor guy’s fault.”
Anna smiles, and the phone rings; Pen looks around, trying to remember where he left the receiver, and she reaches around him and picks it up from the microwave.
“Hello,” she says.
“Did I mention the powerful, sun-flick thing?” Pen asks.
She hands him the phone. “For you. Puppeteer, I think.”
“Prophetier?”
She rolls her eyes. “You think I can keep them straight?”
Pen sticks out his tongue and takes the phone. Prophetier’s voice is, as ever, low and cracked. “Strength. She’s headed out again. I’m watching her now. Probably to the same place. The alley off of Third. She’s too weak now. They’ll kill her. You have half an hour.”
“Hello, Proph. How are you?”
“That’s all I have.” A click, and Prophetier’s gone.
Pen puts the receiver to his forehead. Like in the old times, his heart quickens and his senses reach out; the world sharpens. He looks up at his wife and counts the fifty-seven specks of gold in her left eye. On top of them his own features are lightly reflected; he can see the wires on his cheeks begin to glow.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m the only one who can.”
“I know.” She turns back to the pancake. “Don’t be too late. You promised to work on your speech tomorrow. The funeral’s coming up.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and she turns back to him and hugs him close.
“It’ll be fine,” she says as she rests into his shoulder. “Just be safe. Save the day PenUltimate, then come home and be safe.”
Strength, Woman Without Weakness #486
It’s now, and there are three men around her, and they’re moving closer. But she’s not worried. The one nearest to her is battered, scratched, and bald. He has a tattoo slipping around his chin and a gun in his hand that he points with unearned confidence. He’ll be first. She lunges toward him, and he fires.
It’s nine years ago, and there are three men around her. The Big Three: Star-Knight, Ultimate, and The Soldier of Freedom. They have invited her to be the fourth member of the group they’re forming: The Liberty Legion! We will work as one, as a team to defeat our enemies. We are searching for the best to join us. We want you. Her own reflection blankets Ultimate’s metal face. She looks so young.
It’s six years ago, and there are three men around her; villains is what they all call them, one who fires lightning from his eyes, another who transmorphises into an elephant with tusks of fire, and another who can disappear and then reappear before he left. But she’s not worried. She spins and flips and moves as no one has ever moved. They have powers, but they’re weak, and eventually, inevitably, she wins.
It’s twenty years ago, and there are three men around her, and they’re dead. Her father and her two brothers lie still in a house in the suburbs of Arcadia City. Just minutes before, she watched as they dragged her mother away to debase her and kill her. You, you are nothing. You have no strength. We don’t need to hurt you. You’re nothing but a weak little girl. So they left her in her room alone, surrounded by books, stories of princesses kept behind castle walls, and after a while she stops hearing the cries. She’s untouched, but she can’t walk, and she has to crawl over to her father’s body to beg for his forgiveness, to plead with him to remember that she wanted to be strong, but she just couldn’t. She’d tried. She’d tried so hard.
It’s five years ago, and there are three men around her, and one of them just fired a gun. The bullet lashes through the air. But she’s not worried. She reaches out and captures it inside her palm. Slowly to her, but so-very-fast-to-them, she twirls and chucks it at the one behind her. And he goes down. The one with the gun fires again, and she catches that bullet too. Without even looking, she flings it to her side, and another one falls. She glares back to the one with the gun. Come on, she says, one more time.
It’s four years ago, and there are three men around her, two villains and a hero. PenUltimate, Ultimate’s noble sidekick, throws a punch as she throws a kick, and the villains reel back. They’d been dating for four months, and yesterday she’d told him she loved him, told Pen how strong she knew he was, how strong they would be together, forever battling side by side. Today he’d brought her someplace quiet to tell her he was ending it. He wasn’t strong, he said, not like her. He never would be. Before she could cry, they were attacked, and Strength smiles as the villains recover, charge, and her fists again sink into flesh.
It’s ten years ago, and there are three men around her, but she’s not worried. She should be. She’s never done this before, never done anything like this before. One man charges, and she shuts her eyes and flinches, and he slams his fist into her face, and it breaks—the fist, not the face. Her eyes widen. One of the other men gives up and runs away. The one remaining fires a gun at her. And she can see it. She can see the bullet in the air. It hangs, metal against blue sky. She opens her hand, grabs at it, then closes her hand. She unwinds her fingers and looks at the pummeled lead in her palm. She smiles. The bullet clinks to the ground, and the two men run.
It’s six months ago, and there are three men around her. The Big Three: Star-Knight, Ultimate, and The Soldier of Freedom. A light burns blue beneath them and around them. We are the founders of The Liberty Legion; it has to be up to us. There’s only one way to fight this threat. We have to save them; they’ve trusted us, and we have to save them. The Blue will destroy us all. Someone has to be the one. Someone has to carry this burden, absorb the powers of all the heroes, and stop it. Someone has to make the sacrifice. Someone has to die. They look at her with a veiled smirk of pity. It can’t be you. We’re sorry, we won’t allow it. Her reflection blankets Ultimate’s metal face. There are tears in her eyes. She looks pathetic and weak.
It’s two years ago, and there are three men around her, and they lie still. They’re not dead, just unconscious, though they’d be dead if she’d wanted them dead. The CrimeBoss and his top assassins: Heroin and Red Rapist. Their reign ends here. They had gone too far. They had decided to challenge Strength in her city, and their reign ends here.
It’s eleven years ago, and there are three men around her, and they are gods. I am Ra of the Egyptians. I am Odin of the Norse. I am Jupiter of the Romans. We have come back to choose a champion. There is a destiny ahead that will cause the end. Someone must stop it; someone must be the one. One must have The Strength. Only one without weakness can bear this burden. We have scoured the stars to locate such a person. We have found only one. We all have destinies, this is yours. It will be painful, every day it will be painful. But she’s not worried.
It’s now, and there are three men around her, and one of them just fired a gun. She waits to see the metal against the blue, and she reaches out her hand—and the bullet rips through her palm. There’s blood and pain, and she falls. No. She’s back on her knees, but one of them is on top of her. He kicks her in the gut, and she drops to the concrete. Red seeps into her mouth, and he kicks her again. Another of them cracks her in the face with something hard, and she’s gone, but she comes back. Fuck you, she wants to shout, but she’s gagging on something bitter. God, she’s so heavy. She twists onto her back, and she can see the sky and all the stars not hidden by the towers of Arcadia. Her hollowed hand twitches.
Fuck you. I’m Strength. You bastards are weak. All of you are weak. Everyone is weak. Except me. I am Strength. I am Strength. She hears laughter, and she hopes it’s her own.
It’s now, and there are three men around her, and they’re moving closer. But she’s not worried.
Ultimate, The Man With The Metal Face #567
One of them already has his pants down; he’ll have to be first. On the other side of the alley, Pen bends over and selects a particularly jagged rock. Pen cocks his arm and throws. The rock slices into the man’s right cheek, and he topples over scratching at the new blood on his face. The other two look up from the woman held beneath them. Th
ey squint into the darkness.
Pen knows them, can read the bubbled thoughts they believe are original. There’s something out there, maybe a few hundred feet away, standing in the dark. One of them points his gun out, but he doesn’t fire. Of course. It’s too far. Too dark.
Pen closes the distance. He keeps to the shadows—even the night has shadows, one of Ultimate’s first lessons. I am metal, and in the day I reflect light to blind my enemies. In the night I must use the dark as I have the light, as a weapon to be wielded against those who try to breed evil into the streets of Arcadia. Jesus, will that voice ever get out of his head?
The gun goes off, but Pen’s not worried. Let him waste his bullets at this distance. People have been firing guns at Pen since before his twelfth birthday, and they’d never managed to hit him; but it gives them confidence, and he lets them have it. Confidence can also be a weapon—that stupid robotic voice again.
Pen nears them, within fifteen feet, and his mind focuses. The fight now is everything. Like countless times before, he’s dragged from his body, replaced by training and experience, by wires responding to countless repetitive drills from an instructor who never felt fatigue, whose artificial joints and muscles couldn’t become raw or worn.
There are fourteen spots on a man that can render him unconscious; there are many more that can kill him. Pen evaluates each of the three attackers in turn: A, B, and C. A has the weapon, but he’s left spots four and eleven clearly open; B is also vulnerable in spot four, and has additionally left seven, eight, and thirteen hanging; on C, who’s still trying to hold back the blood coming out of his face, twelve of the fourteen spots glow. From a shadow no one else can see, PenUltimate once again leaps into action.
