Phipps snarls a bit. “The government’s always been on an Improved Human kick. It’s what gave us the Manglermals in the first place.”
The tough-talking tiger makes a point. There are at least a dozen countries out there running programs similar to this, but the idea of being swarmed over by a platoon of temporarily invulnerable commandos doesn’t sit well with him either.
“And you fought Seawall there, too?”
“Sure as shit I did. Tossed his ass into the helicopter rotors and brought it down. Didn’t kill his turncoat ass, but he’s out of action for the time being. He did this glowy cocoon thing.”
“It’s all true, Charles,” Wendy says. “He even brought back some samples of the patches they used. Andy is performing a detailed analysis of them.”
Having enough of the present conversation, I announce, “I’m going down to see if I can get ahold of Stacy and let her know about this new development. Andy, what’s the suit doing?”
“Still working at the Gulf Coast Guardians’ compound. I am clearing debris and having a conversation with Sheila concerning the restart procedures for the base’s power grid. She is not in a good mood. I believe Stacy has already learned of the news. Her light signaling the desire for conversation has been illuminated for ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I apologize for not informing you earlier, but I judged this conversation to be more pertinent.”
“You can stay in control of the armor. Any day I don’t have to talk to She-Dozer is a good day—except for today, it seems. Pump Stacy’s feed to the downstairs screen. Maybe I can talk her into checking out the bastard impersonating me, but I’m guessing the people behind this have already taken into account most of the things that could debunk the fake.”
• • •
“Holly contacted me,” Stacy says. “Any idea what’s going on?”
“Someone has a death wish,” I say into my headset, while prodding a hollowed wooden cylinder that I have been carving runes into as part of my quest to protect my armor from magic. “Let me guess, Athena’s not happy I’m alive. If she only knew!”
“She made several comments. I don’t think it would be wise to repeat them. For my part, I tried not to sound too interested.”
“OK, lay it on me. What did your BFF say?”
“Cal …” A note of exasperation creeps into her voice.
“Oh, come on! You’re always on me whenever I say something. I’m having a bad day, give me a little something here. I feed on her disappointment and pettiness.”
“OK then, if you insist. She said assuming that is really you, it proves you’re some form of cockroach since you can survive a nuclear blast. I told her that wasn’t very nice.”
“But she’s such a nice person you always tell me,” I say, verbally poking at her.
“Yeah, yeah, she hates you and you hate her. The big question is what are you going to do about this person claiming to be you?”
“As much as I would like to tell you that I’ve already scheduled that faker for a mechanically assisted colon exam, there are bigger problems at the moment. Did Holly bother to mention the attack on the Gulf Coasters?”
“Only in passing. Why? What happened?” It confirms my low opinion of Holly Crenshaw as I catch a slight nervousness in Stacy’s tone.
“All of the clones in the six-pack were killed and the real José has been kidnapped by Apostle’s people.”
“That’s awful! Why would they do that?”
“We suspect they are going to give him over to Doc Mangler for experimentation. José is more important than any poser. Besides, I was hoping that you would do the debunking for me, if ya don’t mind? Any luck with the volcano girl?”
“I’ve located her. Had to drive off a group of folks who think they should sacrifice her.”
“Can’t you just evac her and be done with it?”
“No can do,” she answers. “Anytime she strays more than fifteen kilometers from the mountain, the seismic activity starts up. It’s a hostage crisis just waiting to happen! She’s with one of the local heroes and a couple of government folks right now, and we’re trying to work out a security arrangement moving forward. Long story short, if you are counting on me to handle this new Cal Stringel, you’re going to be waiting for at least a week or more. Sorry!”
“Don’t sweat it, beautiful,” I say. “You should ask Holly to check the damn fake out and put her ass to work!”
Of course with my luck, the two of them would hit it off. That would be the ultimate middle finger from the universe.
“It’s not a horrible idea,” the Love Goddess says after a few seconds of mulling things over. “What are you doing?”
I sigh. “Watching Andy run the suit. He’s helping the Gulf Coasters get their systems back online and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s running the suit better than I can.”
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” She hits the nail on the head.
“You have no idea, Stacy.”
“You shouldn’t let it. You rock that armor. Everything it can do is because of you.”
“I know. I know.”
One of my latest obsessions is peak efficiency. Every new metric I come up with, Andy beats me by easily fifteen percent and I’ll be hanged if I know how to close the gap. I’ve built the most awesome blend of magic and tech, but other than taking it into combat, Andy runs rings around me. It is disappointing to say the least.
Deciding to change the topic, I bring her in on the other news of the day. “Also, Paper Tiger is in on our existence now. He agrees about the threat to José.”
“Really?” she asks, clearly enjoying the tidbit of gossip. My trials and tribulations aside, this is gossip and it’s important to her. “I was wondering how he and Wendy were moving forward. She finally took the next step!”
“I’m not so sure, Ms. Not-So-Hopeless Romantic. Bobby actually told him during their fight. If you ask me, Wendy doesn’t look as happy as I thought she would when Tiger showed up. Anyway, don’t be surprised if you’re here and he suddenly walks in.”
“Whenever I can get back there, you mean,” she accuses. “That’s what you’re really getting at.”
I roll the wooden cylinder and spot two more places where I can fit additional runes. “That too, but I know the drill. Maybe the two of us can schedule a rendezvous with our armor in some remote location if it doesn’t look like you can break away. Worst case scenario, if we get seen, you could say that I’m the phony.”
“That could actually work, but are you sure Mr. Hermit Crab is able to leave his shell? Are you sure you’re not the imposter?”
It works as both teasing and innuendo, so I laugh. That’s the thing people don’t understand about Stacy. Under that incredible body she has lurks a very sarcastic soul. Our wit seems to line up in some kind of harmonic fashion. The only one I ever felt anything close to this with was Vicky, before she died. Vicky had been out of my league. Of course, Stacy is pretty much out of everyone’s league, so if she has to be with someone, why the hell shouldn’t it be me?
You won’t catch me complaining!
Answering her, I say, “There’s that, plus I want those in-person revelations that you have been stalling on. Why were you so freaked out when I bluffed and pretended to be an alien to the West Coast Losers back in Phoenix?”
“Yeah. That too.”
“Stacy, our line is about as secure as it can get.” Besides, I replaced that lie with another lie fairly quickly. The Big Lie is something of a specialty of mine. Done properly, it’s a thing of beauty rivaling the woman I am talking to. Perhaps that’s my real power?
“I’d still rather have this conversation face to face,” she replies. “It’s that important.”
“I’m all for anything that gets you into my arms. You know that,” I say, sensing that she’s actually worried.
Something tells me I’m not gonna like what she has to say, but I will deal with it when the time comes.
“You’re adorable
, Cal! Duty calls. It looks like I’m needed. I’ll see what I can do about putting Athena on the fake Cal’s case. Let me know if you have anything on José Six-Pack. Don’t do anything rash.”
People keep saying that to me. Am I really that impulsive? “Will do, sweetness. Don’t let a chunk of the Philippines blow up on your end. Your PR department would be disappointed in you.”
Disconnecting, I look at the magical protection device and a piece of the dinosaur mage’s teleportation mirror that it is supposed to insulate.
Imposters, volcanos, magic, kidnappings, secrets, and super science. Apparently those count as First World dating problems of the super-powered set. Hell! If it weren’t for Stacy, I’d be sitting here obsessing over how I can compete with Andy when using my tech. Maybe those patches Bobby brought back from his fight with Seawall. He didn’t say those guys were any faster, just stronger and semi-invincible. That won’t work. Other drugs? Too risky. Hand/eye coordination training? I could practice on my drums more often, but even at the top of my game I’ll still be slow compared to Andy.
My eyes go back to the mirror fragment and I look down under the bench where the silver plates I’d taken from Tyrannosorcerer Rex remained in stasis. Magic helps run the suit. What if I magic up the suit operator? I was stronger and faster when I transformed into a human/lizard hybrid, and I’ve been doing all those exercises to strengthen the little magic I can access.
Grabbing a beat-up spiral notebook, I flip through odds and ends for my various designs and locate the next blank sheet. I almost get distracted by a couple of nifty ideas that haven’t made it off the pages yet. Forcing myself back on task, I look for my notes from my time trying to reverse Andy being turned to stone. Yeah, my Mark III armor got destroyed at that time, too, and I am absolutely not still bitter about that. To make the magic work, I had to try and become more cold-blooded to use dinosaur-based magic. After I succeeded in saving Andy’s head, I’d left the reptilian lifestyle by the wayside and focused on the more accessible and simpler human spells. Making a broom sweep up a mess, making water bottles and milk jugs float, and the like. Augmented with the totem, I managed to make a mage bolt once.
Damn near passed out from the effort, but I am stronger now . . . OK, maybe not that much stronger.
Snatching up a pen, I begin to sketch. I start with the Gepetto suit I use to control Mega. Most of the tech is external and the ambient magic shouldn’t interfere. I draw the totem containing Rex’s talon-like claw onto a belt. The belt would need to be snake or gator to have the transformation runes inscribed. The entire suit might need to be for all I know. I’d need a hole on my backside for the tiny tail, but what do I care if anyone here sees my ass. It might need one or two more things to help augment my meager power, but I already knew that I’d have to go through with the design. Destiny calls my name and it cries out for something never seen before.
A human/dinosaur hybrid-operated suit of magical techno battle armor! Why has it taken over sixty-five million years to make this happen? Let’s see some imposter dream up that shit! Stacy said not to do something rash. She didn’t say not to do something dripping in awesomesauce!
Chapter Three
A Conflict of Biblical Proportions
Back in my villain days, I pretty much swore that the moment I committed a crime, there was someone, somewhere, already dispatching a smug dipshit of a hero to stop me.
My days as a Gulf Coast Guardian showed me how stupid that notion was. In between their paid appearances, promotional events, testimonials in front of Congress, and any number of other ego-stroking activities, the hero teams blunder around in the semi-dark and occasionally stumble onto a supervillain just trying to pull a job.
OK, maybe it’s not that bad, but I’ve been on both sides of the fence, so my opinion counts for more than others’ opinions—just ask me.
Either way, sit a week after one of my few hero friends’ abduction, sifting through information that Andy’s algorithms have fed me, looking for any clues where José might be and scoring a big fat nada. To say it is disheartening would be an understatement, but it’s all I can do at the moment.
Frozen in Impotence, the true story of Calvin Matthew Stringel, I think, while sifting through another intercepted Interpol dispatch and waiting for the translation feature to do its thing. If I borrowed the necklace that tamps down Larry’s power, I wouldn’t need a translation engine, but Larry is still too scared to take it off.
The circumstances behind his several decades of insanity involved his obscene power levels and the death of his mother caused by those same obscene power levels. Back then, he retreated into the recesses of his mind because he couldn’t cope. All of us have worked with him, trying to convince him that he’s more mature, and better able to cope with his telekinesis. It hasn’t exactly worked, but with repetition it might sink in.
I guess I’d be scared too if I had that kind of power, but I have reached the point where I am by being nothing more than a clever guy who also happens to be an asshole—or maybe just an asshole who also happens to be clever. It is kind of tough to decide which one comes first. Opinions vary.
Not seeing anything useful in the translated dispatch, I close it and bring up the latest footage of the sphincter pus that is impersonating me holding a press conference.
“Mr. Stringel? Mr. Stringel? Are you planning to rebuild your armor and rejoin the Gulf Coast Guardians?”
“I do plan to get back into a suit of armor, but I’m going to do it on my own terms. First, I’m waiting to see what kind of back pay I’ll be getting from them and clearing up all my other financial issues relating to my return. Once I have a good handle on how much I have to work with, that’ll determine whether I just go with a version of the Mark Three or if I can start designing a Mark Four. But more important than that, I need to try and see my baby girl.”
“So you’re saying that you’re prioritizing your daughter over being a superhero?”
Fake Cal has clearly mastered my “I’m surprised you can breathe and be that stupid” look.
“What do you think, idiot? Did you even read my autobiography? I signed on for a paycheck and a pardon. It took my almost dying to get that pardon they kept dangling over my head. Now I’ve got it and I’m missing all that money from when I got sent forward in time. I need to get things straight with my publisher to start getting my book earnings, especially now that I’m back on the bestseller lists. After all that’s been settled, then yeah, I might consider returning to active duty with one of the Guardian teams. Next question.”
“If I could follow up,” the reporter comments.
“No!” the version of me onstage says. “You’ve already had your chance to be a moron. How about we give someone else a chance to lower the room’s IQ? You, over there! Dazzle me!”
Sadly, it sounds like some of the things I would say. A clone is becoming more likely, but the question is how they replicated my thought patterns.
The next reporter took her time, appearing to carefully choose her words. “Mr. Stringel, I’m still a little unclear about how you were teleported almost two years into the future. Could you share a little more about how that happened?”
There’s my eye roll and a deep breath. “OK, this one’s for the people that will be leaving this event on the short bus. I invent things, in case that’s escaped your notice. In this case, it was a prototype of an emergency teleportation device. You know, a way to get out of my armor in a hurry, like maybe when I’m holding an overheating nuclear core that’s about to go. Seems like it worked, but the only thing I can think of is that it absorbed some of the power that core was throwing out and that caused the rift I opened . . . Shit! I can already see I’m wasting my breath on most of you. Let me put it this way: The prototype got a big push from the reactor and I got a chance to call myself a time traveler. If you want more detail, we can do that, and it’s going to cost you. Also, you better get ready for all the people watching this to tune out.”
“But shouldn’t the radiation have killed you?”
“If I didn’t have all that shielding and an experimental teleportation unit powering up, yeah, it should have. I’m lucky to be alive. Damn lucky! And you can bet your ass I’m going to be on a first-name basis with my oncologist, who will be screening me for cancer every damn month! Next stupid question.”
Despite my natural anger, I must confess I am enjoying this. The imposter is maybe a little too smooth with his answers and his insults are playing to the crowd. The reality of me in front of the press would involve more stuttering and stammering than this well-rehearsed indignation. The fact that Megan Bostic is standing on the stage along with him makes me see a conspiracy.
Then again, Megan is the very definition of an opportunist and my suddenly being alive must be very good for her business. Don’t get me wrong; Megan and I had some good times when we were putting my book together. She’s as jaded as I am when it comes to heroes, maybe more. As bad as Patterson screwed me over, he literally screwed her over and then left her.
I ponder her bitterness as a reflection of my own as I watch the fake handle additional questions and I search for the chinks in the imposter’s armor. Categorizing his answers, I judge how I would have answered the same questions. At least knowing the background of who the imposter is interacting with will help me when I finally decide to confront the person, or the clone, who stole my life.
Odds are, their defense would be that I wasn’t really using it anyway. I do confess to being curious about the denials the fraud will try. It might be the only thing that keeps them alive for very long.
I asked Andy to make sure that he’s recording all of this so we can build a database on the imposter. After all, how often do you get the opportunity to psychoanalyze yourself?
Rise of a D-List Supervillain Page 3
