Blackjack Villain (The Blackjack Series)

by Ben Bequer

  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.

  He had created a portal to another world, perhaps another dimension, and found thousands of alien civilizations. That alone was one of the greatest achievements in human history, dwarfing the works of all other scientists combined. But the revelation of the existence of the Lightbringers, and their horrible planet destroying ritual had put all of us at risk, and since he had made that discovery, Retcon had worked to save us from his terrible mistake. Years of failed plans, battling with the world’s governments to get them to see beyond his terrible powers, and ultimately incarceration for being too dangerous for all of us, and now his work was finally bearing fruit.

  Retcon was happier that morning than any man had a right to, and he plopped a cigar in his mouth (though he never did light it), only removing it to sing to his daughter, a nighttime lullaby I can only imagine he sung when he would put her to sleep. She dug her head into his shoulder and closed her arms, safe in her father’s arms.

  Yet beyond, at the edge of the island, was now formed a precipice and below the cerulean orb slowly fell away from us as we rose into the atmosphere. One of the questions that troubled me about Retcon’s plan was how he intended to properly channel something like Tesla’s Telluric energy so high into the ionosphere in order for it to form the shield. This form of energy by its very nature would disperse too easily, as it had gravimetric properties and would be challenged to escape earth’s gravitational pull. This is why I suppose Tesla had originally proposed the idea as a city defense platform, as opposed to what Retcon had turned it into. It was too hard to spread the shield properly, as the Telluric energy would slowly cascade back down to the earth.

  But Retcon had figured out a clever way to do it. Instead of building some sort of delivery system, or series of repeater towers, he would use the magnetically charged properties of the earth’s ionosphere to contain the Telluric energy, thus forming the interplanetary shield. I bet Tesla himself wouldn’t have come up with something so clever, something so simple.

  The problem still remained; how to transport or transmit the raw energy from a generator placed on the surface of the earth, up to the ionosphere, so many miles up into the atmosphere. Instead of building some elaborate contraption to do the part, Retcon had Nostromo lift the island there.

  And now we rose in the air, one island with a few dozen believers, and a desperate plan to save the world.

  Chapter 26

  Retcon never explained how we had ample oxygen in and around the island, despite being high in the stratosphere, and I never bothered to ask. We could breathe, and it was as warm as it had been earlier in the morning, before Nostromo had shown us his god-like powers.

  The island floated over the Earth like a satellite, like a second Moon, and from our vantage point the edge of the seawall lead to a chasmic fall to the surface of the planet, some 6 miles below.

  I thought of Pulsewave then, probably because I expected to fall myself, knocked off the island by one of the great heroes of Earth. Perhaps Superdynamic or Epic, come to take their revenge for their televised humiliation in New York. Maybe another super, a young powerful fellow, looking to make a name, by knocking me to my death. “I killed Blackjack,” he would say and his fans would rejoice. Or it could be one of the great silent heroes. Great demigods whose powers dwarfed all others save the Original Seven, like Lord Mighty, Dominus or Paladin. Supers so powerful they only showed their faces when Earth itself was in danger, when the planet as a whole needed a protector. They were silent guardians, stowed away in their lairs and fortresses, watching, much like Nostromo, for danger that threatened us all. A carjacker, or bank robber, or even a small war wouldn’t arouse their attention.

  But this would.

  And they would be coming.

  I understood Doctor Retcon’s defense plan, even though he had explained it as something island-wide. The first responders would arrive on our makeshift fortress, tour the place and find the defenders in the respective corners of our makeshift ring. They would see Apostle and Lady Jayne covering one side, and Nostromo on the diametric opposite, and decide against the impossible odds. On another side they would see Baron Blitzkrieg and his Dogs of War, a formidable bunch, who could easily swarm a solo hero, and even overpower a super team.

  Then they would see us. A rag-tag team of villain wannabes including an elderly man in a lab coat, a boy, and a robot-machine with a rabbit head. We were the targets, everything would come through us. That much was clear. We were the fodder, not the others, not Blitzkrieg and not Dr. Retcon’s friends. They’d come wipe the floor with us, then beat us into answering all their questions. Zundergrub wouldn’t speak, nor would Mr. Haha. As a machine, he had the benefit that no hero could find anything to motivate him to answer questions. I’d fight it on pure principle, but Cool Hand would talk. He would spill his guts, rather than take a beating.

  I have to admit that after all we had been through, and knowing that he was a coward, I still liked the guy. He was nervous amongst us, more so than myself or Zundergrub, because he was thinking exactly as I was. Cool could see where this all was leading, and he was no hero.

  Mr. Haha was enthusiastic, as was his way, making plans for the defense of our section of the island. He fashioned an ear plug communications link for us, with him as the hub so we could have “open comms.” Haha reconnoitered the entire area we were supposed to cover, which was dominated by an open courtyard ringed by three dilapidated buildings. The building on the far left was partially collapsed inward, like a square doughnut with its hole filled with crashed timber and shattered concrete. The robot looked at the situation analytically, having totally bought into the explanation that Retcon had given us. He figured out the angles of attack, our best location for point defense, and mapped out fall back positions in case we were in danger of being overrun.

  Zundergrub was quiet, playing with his yellow imp (the one that turned into Godzilla junior) like a person would with a small kitten or puppy, or a mother with her child. The creature cooed in his arms, and he spoke to it in a mixture of English, Hindi and baby-speak, tickling it with his extended index finger. He ignored us, me in particular, and was content to sit on a small rock, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

  I didn’t know where the real danger lay, as I watched him play with his demonic imp, whether it was from the heroes that would arrive eager to pound us and Dr. Retcon to a pulp, or from Zundergrub and his treachery.

  There was one moment he glanced up at me, almost absentmindedly, where our eyes met and it that clear that after today, regardless of the outcome, we would have to resolve this one way or the other. Our alliance was over, as was any chance at reconciliation. No apology would suffice. We would fight, and one person would die.

  Yet his face was calm and demeanor relaxed as we looked at each other, and that worried me more than anything. He wasn’t concerned with Lord Mighty, or the remainders of the Superb Seven, or any other heroes that would come. Zundergrub wanted me dead and today was as good a day as any.

  I felt a breeze in the wind, stronger than the powerful currents in this high atmosphere, and I knew that Apogee had arrived a moment before my eyes could register her presence, before I could even sense it.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have returned her friendly smile with a scowl, and sent her back to the Retcon building. Apogee was here to watch, to report, not to fight, and while she stood with us, I would be worried for her, concerned that she might be hurt. But seeing a friendly face amongst so many strangers was comforting, and noting that she was pleased to see me was worth everything we were about to endure.

  The others didn’t argue anyway. Probably in part because she had been with us all this time, she was familiar, and Zundergrub supposedly held power over her. But I think they
also valued the numbers, and any extra bit of fodder for the cannon was fine by them.

  “They’ll be coming soon,” she said looking out into the expanse of space that lay beyond the seawall, a few hundred yards away.

  Per Mr. Haha’s defense plans, we would start nearer to the drop-off and work our way backwards, using the three ruined buildings behind us as cover, and if necessary, crash them down on pursuers. He and Cool lay explosives in strategic points, and each of us had voice control of the individual detonators through Haha’s comms hub.

  “Who do you think will come first?” asked Cool Hand, fiddling with his iPod a few steps behind us.

  “The Sentinels,” she answered. “This is their thing. A guy like Retcon is exactly what they’re built for.”

  I nodded in agreement. The Sentinels were a transnational group of supers, operating out of a UN-sanctioned space station that orbited the planet. As soon as Retcon had turned on the machine, and they had received the Tesla signal, The Sentinels would have known Retcon was active, and quickly pinpointed the transmission. They were sure to arrive soon, and would come at us, instead of the other island defenders. The leader of the Sentinels was Brigade, a military man turned super late in life and he had, since the inception of the team twenty years ago, led them from victory to victory. In fact, it was The Sentinels, if I wasn’t mistaken, that had put Retcon in jail the last time, and Brigade himself who had dropped our benefactor in single combat. Brigade was more than their leader, and a keen tactical mind; he was also a Class-A super, almost invulnerable in his powersuit and stronger than I was. He surrounded himself with the finest heroes from the world’s stage, and through training and hard work, Brigade had forged The Sentinels into the toughest super team around.

  We were never worried about them, while we ran around the globe, stealing Retcon’s trinkets from museums and the houses of old retired super villains. That was way beneath their radar, and I’m sure few in the team would even know who we were. Those kinds of villains were left to lesser groups, like Rising Force or the hastily assembled Superb Seven.

  But Retcon was another matter.

  “The Sentinels,” Cool Hand worried. “Holy Fuck.”

  Apogee smiled at him, “That’s right. Those guys will cream us.”

  “Us?” he asked.

  “You here to fight with us, Apogee? I believe Doctor Retcon made it clear that you were an observer,” Mr. Haha wondered aloud.

  Then Madelyne eyed Zundergrub, who smiled and turned his attention back to his imp.

  “Ah,” Cool said, nodding and going back to fiddling with his iPod.

  “I would rather you weren’t here for this,” I told her softly, once she stepped past him and came closer to me. I was making the attempt, to get her to safety, at least for now, but I knew she wouldn’t listen to me, I knew she’d stay. And I was glad for it.

  I was at a good vantage point of an open clearing, strewn with garbage and debris from the buildings, but clear enough for heroes to pick as their landing spot. I stood atop a stairwell that led down to the clearing from the middle building, and the guys were littered beside me along the road that loped lazily down there. The open area had obviously been a small soccer field, probably for children, as the destroyed building to our left had been a school, but any evidence of that had long been destroyed by the elements.

  “Always the hero, huh?”

  I didn’t say anything, my gaze locked into the distance, for sight of anything that was approaching.

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” I asked her, changing the subject and drawing a wide smile from her. “I don’t know if you’re into this at all,” I went on. “But there’s this town down in Baja, that’s a few miles north of Cabo with this unbelievable beach…place is called San Felipe, and it’s like heaven,” I continued, her smile breaking into a full giggle. “I’ll hit the waves for a bit, maybe I learn to surf once and for all, and you can watch, get some sun. Maybe we can try scuba diving with some proper gear. Then after, there’s this place that makes these omelets...think the name of the joint is Pancho’s...anyway, they make omelet the size of a small child.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Madelyne egged me on.

  “Yeah. You can’t eat one alone. At least I can’t. It’s got everything in there; bacon, peppers, sausage, cheese…And at night, there’s this cafe...damn it, I can’t remember the name of the place. The food is good, but not great, but the beer is so cold, and you dine under the stars.”

  “The way to my heart is through my stomach,” Apogee announced proudly, though there was no evidence of that on her figure.

  “I’ll have to remember that,” I said, again garnering a nice smile for my efforts.

  “That and my mom has to like you.”

  “Then I’m golden,” I announced, noticing that Cool Hand was watching, and listening to us, with a pleased grin on his face.

  “I don’t know,” Apogee continued playfully. “She’s a tough cookie, my mom. I dated a rough crowd in high school. One time she took the broom to a guy I was seeing that had a Mohawk.”

  “Nah, moms love me,” I beamed, and went on; “I know I don’t look like much now, but imagine me all cleaned up, in a good suit. Tall, dark and handsome, baby.”

  Madelyne laughed. “Takes more than that.”

  “Oh, you mean the whole ‘he’s a villain, ruthless bastard’ thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  I smiled, “Well, I’m turning a new leaf.”

  She nodded.

  “Then maybe you have a chance.”

  I turned my attention back to the ruined soccer field, and the sea wall beyond, towards the edge of the island.

  “You know, Madelyne, no matter what happens today,” I started, turning suddenly serious. “No matter how it ends up, I want you to know-”

  “I know,” she said, touching my shoulder

  “No, I need to tell you. I need to say it.”

  She shushed me with her gentle fingers to my lips.

  “Dale,” she said, more serious than I had ever seen her. “I know.”

  We locked eyes, and for a brief moment, the world was gone. All my fears and worries washed away, and for a second in time, it was just her and I. The guys, the island, Doctor Retcon and his allies were something far off and away. The island itself could have fallen to Earth, and the power of her gaze alone could have carried me aloft.

  “Oh shit,” Cool Hand shouted, interrupting our reverie.

  I followed his pointing arm and saw Nostromo slowly hovering down at us, surrounded by a wave of his amazing power. He landed before us, and climbed up the road a few steps.

  “How’s everyone doing?” Nostromo asked.

  “We’re cool,” Cool Hand answered for us, trying hard to conceal his nerves.

  “Good, good,” Nostromo looked around and saw the vestiges of our plan and nodded. “You know they’ll come this way, so expect a lot of action.”

  “We’re ready,” Mr. Haha announced, proud at his defensive strategy.

  “Good.”

  Nostromo walked over to Haha and spoke softly with the robot, nodding quite a bit. He was probably asking about strategies and contingencies in case we were overrun. The robot did most of the talking, but they spoke out of earshot, and I figured the big guy was coming over to give each of us a pep talk. He did the same successively with Zundergrub and Cool Hand, taking him aside for a personal chat, then he came over to us.

  “So are you ready?”

  Apogee and I nodded. He looked at her closely, then at me, almost surprised that she would be with me. Then Nostromo’s eyes narrowed, focusing off into the distance, and the smile faded from his face.

  “We have our first guest,” he said so everyone could hear.

  Apogee was wrong, someone had beaten The Sentinels.

  A lone figure crashed into the middle of the soccer field, in an explosion so powerful it cratered that section of the island, and sent flying wood and rock throughout. A tall man emerged
from the explosion, his red cape flowing back from his chiseled physique, and strolled through the dust and smoke toward us.

  Our first visitor was Lord Mighty.

  * * *

  As his name would suggest, Lord Mighty was one of the most powerful creatures on the planet, probably only second to the Original Seven. How he came to be, no one knew, nor could anyone attribute his moniker to anyone. For his part, when asked what his name was, he would merely say, “I’m a friend”, but at some point the name had stuck, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He was almost as tall as I was, but impressive and magnificent where I was not. Not only did he have the demeanor of a king amongst his subjects, but his body crackled with power, and was surrounded by a reddish anima banner that pulsed with energy. Like Retcon and the others, he was ageless; having fought evil on this planet (and on others) for many decades, Lord Mighty appeared to us as he had on the cover of Life magazine when I was a boy, unchanged. His short black hair was slicked back from a stern face with high arching eyebrows that gave him a further imperial look. His eyes were small and a long nose added to the appearance, but what was most impressive about him was his physique, which was unmarred and perfect, like a statue by Michelangelo or Leonardo. The only thing he wore, beside the cape that fluttered dramatically, were some tight red leather shorts, in a style more fitting with hero styles from the 60s, and a pair of black, ankle-high leather boots.

  As the smoke cleared, and he came closer, we saw that Mighty wasn’t walking. He floated in our direction, admonishing us with his gaze, sizing us up for a battle we had no chance to win. I stepped forward, giving him the most obvious target, but barely warranted a glance once he saw Nostromo amongst us. He approached, unconcerned of any threat that we might have posed.

  “What is the meaning of this, Nostromo?” he demanded, using a commanding voice with a not so subtle tone of regality.