by Matt Adams
“You left them with the birdman?”
“We didn’t have many options after you sprinted away,” Warren says, giving me the stinkeye. “Thankfully, I reestablished communication with Samson Knight.”
“Don’t you think it’s significant that I found someone just as fast as I am?”
“Looks more like he was faster than you,” Warren says, pointing to a Crimsonstreak-sized hole in the Baltimore World Trade Center.
I don’t think he meant for the words to sting, but they do. I am, after all, the Fastest Man on Earth.
“Chris—” Jaci starts to say.
“Skip it, Jaci,” Warren says. “He’s just frustrated because he’s never lost a race.”
“That’s one hell of a communications disruption,” I tell Samson Knight back at Legion Headquarters. “We were afraid you guys were toast.”
“It’s Shadowsmith, Fairborne. His power-dampening cell has ceased to be effective, and his powers seem to be even stronger now. He could blanket the entire Earth in darkness without even trying.”
“Why doesn’t he?”
“Most of his attention is focused on the box near his ear. At first, he saw limitless possibilities with his newly enhanced powers. Then, the Kiltech implants started boring into his mind. He began to resist. In a brief moment of clarity, he revealed that our efforts to suppress his abilities were interfering with his capacity to fight them. We decreased the power on his restraints. Then he caused a power surge that shorted out our communications—accidentally, we think, though there’s no way to be sure. We now have him sedated. The pain sounds excruciating.”
“Samson Knight has a heart,” I say.
“The last thing we want is for Shadowsmith to lose this battle. Who would be controlling his powers then?”
“At least the other supervillains are behaving themselves.”
Samson Knight swallows, hard. “I told you before. I don’t like the idea of bringing them to Legion Headquarters.”
Allow me to translate: this was a horrible decision.
“Look, they’re not here to fight us. They’re not very happy with seeing their own people get tagged by the Kiltechs. They’ll fight alongside us. It doesn’t mean we have to be best friends with them, Sammy.”
“Your mother once trusted a supervillain, Fairborne. It didn’t turn out well.”
“It really wasn’t too bad until Dad got all… unbalanced… over Mom,” I retort. “I mean, we got a few solid decades of heroics out of Colonel Chaos before, well, you know, the New World Common Wealth.”
Samson Knight shakes his head. “It took him less than a decade to send our entire planet on a dangerous course towards oblivion. I do wonder what kind of a world we would live in had Miss Lightspeed never perished.”
“How is she?”
“You are allowed to talk to your own mother.”
A tinge of guilt comes that I can’t outrun. “Yeah, well, she’s hard to talk to these days. She isn’t…” I choose my words carefully. “She doesn’t seem quite the same.”
“All the scans say otherwise.”
“That’s what my dad says.”
“Then perhaps I should revise my opinion.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“You gambled, Fairborne. You put the city at risk, but it worked.”
I didn’t think he’d say that.
“It worked this time,” he continues. “Our initial tests on the Clermont escapees show some are outfitted with the same tech as Shadowsmith. We believe it’s Kiltech in origin.”
I smirk; I can’t help it. “Of course it’s the Kiltechs,” I say. “We haven’t met anyone else.”
“I suppose not,” Samson Knight says quietly, unfastening his cape. “It is getting late. We should rest.”
You’d never be so lucky. I’d come back to haunt you anyway…
Tell the boy I shall miss him…
When the Five come together, you must help them. You can defeat the Bluestreak…
The voice echoes in my dreams.
Familiar.
Condescending.
Straight from Downton Abbey.
Mortimer P. Willoughby, the prim and proper butler and general aide de camp for the Kensington family, once told me he’d come back to haunt us if he died. My race with my dark blue rival rushes back. I ran fast, even faster, then heard a dead man, stunning me enough to careen into a building at Crimsonspeed.
That’s gotta mean something.
When I close my eyes, I can see Morty with his white gloves, thick, dark spectacles, and creaseless jacket. Was it a vision? A hallucination? A collect call from beyond? Morty does seem like the type to pawn off his afterlife phone bill on me.
My memory—usually sharp under most circumstances—fails me as I try to recall every detail of the race with the mysterious blue blur. Morty sounded different—maybe less condescending than normal. A revelation hovers on the edge of my mind’s eye, but I can’t grasp it.
Time to consult the Crusading Comet. Both of them.
“When’s the last time you took a vacation?” Warren Senior asks. He uses his good hand to pull a scanner from his belt, which lets out a droning bleep.
“It’s been awhile,” I admit.
“The Comet Scanner is picking up the remnants of some tachyon pulses,” he says, handing the device to his son. “What do you make of it?”
Now maskless, Warren IV clears his throat. “Do you remember anything different about this particular acceleration into Crimsonspeed?”
“I was going very fast, almost as fast as I can go. When I’m going fast—I mean incredibly fast—I enter a different zone my father calls a ‘speed rift.’ It doesn’t happen often.”
Warren hands the scanner back to his father, who fixes it back on his belt and then, like his son, clears his throat. “We’re not talking about time displacement, Crimsonstreak. This appears to be place displacement. This is a rare occurrence?”
“Very rare,” I agree. “I’ve never lost a footrace. No one’s ever challenged me like that before.”
“It looks like the aftereffects of a multiversal rift to me,” Warren says.
“The multiverse? Again?” Warren Senior scoffs.
“It’s not a fantasy. My father proved that,” I say defensively.
“Hmmm. Your father,” Warren Senior says, stroking his chin. “I wish the plans to his interdimensional transporter were stored someplace other than his head. I’d like to know what drove that technology.”
“Maybe it’s not in his head at all, Dad,” Warren says slowly.
“What do you mean?”
“If Colonel Chaos knew about Chris’s speed rifts, then maybe he used that as his model.”
The elder Comet nods, looking thoughtful. “It’s a sound theory, son, but it doesn’t explain why the other Colonel Chaos was able to create a transporter of his own. In his reality, his son was dead.”
“He’s a genius, just like the real Colonel Chaos. It’s as simple as analyzing the energy signature and replicating it.”
Warren Senior smiles. “And you say Chaos is a genius.”
“Glad to see you two have become closer,” I tell them, taking a deep breath. “I’ve got something else I’d like to discuss with both of you.” The Comets look at me expectantly. I take another deep breath. “You guys haven’t heard from Morty, have you?”
“Mortimer?” Warren Senior asks, sharing an alarmed glance with his son.
“I heard Morty.”
“What? When?” Warren Senior asks.
“I was chasing the... Bluestreak, I guess. Clear as day, I heard Morty tell me that I have to ‘defeat the Bluestreak.’ He said I had to help something called ‘the Five.’ Does that make any sense to you?”
“You did slam into the side of a building,” Warren Senior says thoughtfully. “Possible head injury, maybe? A hallucination?”
“Hearing Morty is what made me slam into the side of a building,” I point out, just a little irr
itably. “It felt like he was standing right over my shoulder. It startled me so much that I lost my sense of direction.” Both the Crusading Comets shrug. “I never lose my sense of direction while traveling at Crimsonspeed.”
“We’d love to have him back, but—are you sure you heard what you thought you heard?” Warren asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s hard to say what it was. It was like—”
Alarm klaxons sound off inside Heroic Legion HQ.
In an instant, I’m in the main conference room, where Samson Knight, Great Alexander, and other assorted heroes stand in front of a mammoth viewscreen.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
No one acknowledges me.
“Anybody care to let me know why the alarms are going haywire?”
Great Alexander turns and points slowly toward the viewscreen, which is completely black.
“You guys might want to turn that thing on,” I tell them. “Is there a remote around here? I can’t seem to find—”
My snark evaporates as the image on the screen zooms out to show a large, black spaceship hovering right over Heroic Legion Headquarters.
Crossworld appears next to me. “Time to go,” she says, grabbing my arm.
Back Home Again in Indiana
We reappear in a cornfield.
“Ray Liotta better be on the other side of that,” I say. “Or I’m going to punch you in the face.”
Crossworld smiles. “You’re lucky I like your father. You’re lucky I like you.”
We march through what feels like miles of itchy, stiff cornstalks before a clearing presents itself ahead. There is no Ray Liotta, no Kevin Costner, no James Earl Jones.
Not even Timothy freaking Busfield.
“You care to explain what’s going on here? I thought you were on my side,” I grumble as Crossworld drags me through dry, dead grass.
For a second, a twinge of regret mars Crossworld’s smooth features. For a woman technically in her fifties, she is otherworldly youthful. “Several members of my group were sleeper agents. I thought we’d rooted them out, but now they’re in control of Legion HQ—or they soon will be.”
When we finally make it through the fields and I take a look around, I know exactly where we are. Once, long ago, it was a little town with a single traffic light and a post office. Then High Imperator Chaos wiped it off the map and I took the blame. “What brings us to the thriving metropolis of Williamsburg, Indiana?”
“Think for a minute,” Crossworld orders. “The Heroic Legion has installed surveillance across the entire country. They’re everywhere, but they’re not here.”
“There’s nothing here worth spying on,” I say, realization dawning.
“Exactly.”
What’s left of the Fairborne family home sits several hundred yards away. Some of the superstructure is visible, but not much else. The High Imperator’s trip from his universe to ours took its toll on the entire town. Dad’s lab is about the only thing that survived the resulting blast, its entrance buried beneath mounds of ash and soot.
“Your father’s lab is the most secure location I could think of,” Crossworld explains. “I just hope the others got out in time—and let’s pray they brought your father with them.”
With a squawk from above, Falcon Gray descends with both Crusading Comets, one in each talon. Neither of them looks happy about it. A second later, Jaci and Miss Lightspeed land. Crossworld continues to survey the sky for several seconds before giving up.
“This is it?” Crossworld asks. “This is all we have?”
“I could not get to Colonel Chaos,” Falcon Gray says. “He was guarded too well even before the invaders arrived.” The birdman bows his head. “I am sorry. I did not wish to attack and disable those on our side, and my stealth abilities are limited.”
“I would imagine it’s hard for Big Bird to slip past security,” I agree.
Even though Falcon Gray can’t exactly smile, the man-bird manages to look amused. “Indeed.”
“Colonel Chaos was the key,” Crossworld says. “We needed his mind. His strength. At least we have Miss Lightspeed.” She jabs a finger at Jaci. “I did not invite you.”
“I figured somebody needed to be the brains of this operation. Besides, the kid invited me,” she says, tipping her head in Warren’s direction.
“Look, Crossworld, Jaci’s… Jaci,” Warren stumbles all over his words. “She’s a very… we need her.”
“You should have consulted me,” the villainess growls.
“I would’ve appreciated a consultation as well,” I quip. “Although the bamf was very dramatic. You brought Miss Lightspeed in on this?” I try to ignore the hurt that flashes across my mother’s face.
“I wanted the entire Fairborne family,” Crossworld says. “I suppose we’ll make do.”
Miss Lightspeed takes a cautious step forward. “Why did you bring us here?”
“Someone has to stand against the Kiltechs,” Crossworld explains.
“I know that,” Miss Lightspeed grumbles. “Why here?”
Crossworld’s eyes shift between my resurrected mother and me. “Miss Lightspeed, I told you exactly why I wanted to meet here. I thought Bill would be able to use his old lab to help us defeat the invaders.”
“Is that what you thought? This isn’t the time, dear, for an international crime spree,” Miss Lightspeed says. “Bill isn’t coming.”
“Can we have this discussion downstairs? I would hate to get picked up by Kiltech surveillance,” I say in an effort to defuse the tension—and to ignore the fact that my mother seems to have lost the plot again.
“Crimsonstreak is correct. This is not the time for squabbling,” Falcon Gray says. “We have a common foe. All within the nest must work together.”
At least the birdman’s on my side. I walk toward the mostly empty spot where my home once sat and motion for Falcon Gray to follow. “We need to clear away all this ash,” I tell him. With a little superspeed-induced mini-cyclone and some determined flapping, we manage to do it. Using some of the remaining superstructure as a reference point, I think I’ve found the spot leading to Colonel Chaos’s lab.
“We start digging,” I say. “And when we’re done, we go downstairs and see if we can find a snack.”
“Your father built in an impressive amount of redundant systems,” Warren Senior says as he and his son adjust the settings on a generator in the back of the basement. “The cataclysm that destroyed this town crippled the electrical system, yet your father’s generator works remarkably well. We’ll have full power restored here in just a minute.”
The generator’s not the only thing in good shape—our basement looks habitable enough. When he designed the house, Dad divided the basement into two different sections. The front looks like a home theater, with racks of movies, a leather couch, and a few leather recliners. We watched a lot of movies down here. It was never one of my mom’s favorite places to be—she always referred to it somewhat derisively as “the Pit.”
The back section of the basement is Dad’s laboratory. He hoarded all kinds of scientific equipment back there. It’s also humongous, and I suspect its boundaries violate the neighbors’ property. What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em, I guess. The lab includes an absurdly large viewscreen, all manner of analytical computer equipment, prototypes of various gadgets and weapons, and clean rooms for biological testing. It wasn’t unusual for Dad to spend his Saturday afternoon back in the lab while I watched a college football game in the media room. He always said he did his best thinking down here.
Let’s hope it rubs off on the rest of us.
“And there we go,” Warren Senior says as the emergency lights power down. A second later, the full house lights come on. Things are even dustier than I thought.
I want to make a joke about how Morty would have a field day cleaning this place up, but given recent events, that doesn’t seem like such an good idea. Leave it to Morty to take the fun out of needling
him.
Warren Senior flips a switch. An electronic beep follows.
“The computer system is coming online,” he explains. “With this much processing power available, I imagine the boot cycle will take a while.”
I zip past the Comet toward the back of the lab. Dad always kept some food stocked in his office, and I dig around until I find some protein bars. I make it back to the generator room with an armful, giving a bar to each member of my team and saving the rest for myself. I could eat three boxes of these things.
Warren unwraps a protein bar for his father, who takes a bite and chews while talking. “Our first priority should be getting in touch with the Legion.”
“It’s no use,” Crossworld says. “The Kiltechs have overrun your headquarters. I believe that was their plan.”
I swallow a huge bite of protein bar. “You could’ve warned everyone. We could’ve been prepared.”
“I don’t trust everyone,” Crossworld counters. “They don’t trust me, either. You think Samson Knight would listen to anyone who ever had an evil thought? He wears that white armor for a reason.”
Instead of joining the repartee like normal, Warren’s attention is focused on his scanner.
“What’ve you got there?” I ask.
“I don’t recognize this waveform,” he admits, handing the device to his father. “Have you seen this before?”
“That’s a Kiltech energy signature,” Warren Senior says, adjusting his goggles. “They’ve embedded the code in the Legion’s communications system.”
“Can you crack it?” I ask.
Warren Senior shrugs. “Depends on how powerful your father’s computers are.”
I take another look around the neglected laboratory. Seriously, I fear murder by dust bunny. “Dad always kept his tech cutting edge, but this place has seen better days.”
The Comet directs his attention to a nearby monitor. He scrapes gloved fingertips across the screen, holding his hand up to show the disgusting film left behind. “I suppose we can at least see the screen now,” he says, using his good arm to wipe away more of the grime. He assaults the keyboard with his left hand, resulting in a series of determined clicks and clacks. Not bad for a one-handed typist.
