Matt, Kalomo and Jay arrived. Susan activated the jump in her Wonder Boots and leapt to the top of the Kick-Blade. She looked into the cockpit and said, “I can see him. He’s not moving.” Susan drew back her right hand and screamed, “Hai!” as she brought her palm down on a transparent aluminum cockpit window. The window shattered even as below, on the ground, Theodore was successful in opening the door to the Kick-Blade with the help of Matt and the energies of his ultramarine Wonder Gauntlet.
“We’re in…” began Theodore, before being cut off by the sound of shattering metallic glass.
Susan ripped into the cockpit and dragged Walter’s unmoving body out. Holding him in her arms she leapt to the street and laid him down gently. Her sensors showed no life signs. Walter Watanabe was dead.
“No,” said Susan out loud as she easily ripped the faceplate off Walter’s Domaru Armor. She switched to her gauntlet’s first aid mode and a series of microtubes popped out of her clenched right fist. She gently stabbed the microtubes into Walter’s exposed neck, injecting nanobots into his blood stream even as she conducted a shock of electricity into him, in an attempt to restart his heart.
Matt was kneeling beside her. “Readings show he suffocated, Susan. He’s brain dead.”
“No,” said Susan, overriding the safeties in her Wonder Gauntlet and injecting more nanobots and more electricity. For her efforts Walter’s heart gave up a few feeble beats, but then stopped.
“No,” said Susan a third time, and then she started to cry. Matt moved closer and took her in his arms. Around the Wonder Heroes gathered a small crowd.
Slowly it dawned on people that Walter Watanabe, Japan’s greatest hero, was dead.
It was the middle of the night when Theodore, Jay and Kalomo returned to Wonder Base. As they stepped off the teleporter pad the three friends regarded each other in silence. The death of Walter Watanabe had shocked the team. Matt had stayed in Japan with Susan, where General Rumpole had arrived to help sort through the inevitable tangle of issues that would come up in the wake of so much battle and death.
Kalomo dismissed his armor and grabbed a white robe from the peg on the wall. He looked at Theodore and said, “Theodore, I just want you to know. No hard feelings, okay?”
Theodore looked confused for a second, and then realized that Kalomo was talking about the nightclub in New York. His first impulse was to laugh, but he betrayed none of this to Kalomo as he said, “Yeah. No. No hard feelings man. I’m sorry.”
This seemed to satisfy Kalomo. “I’ve got to get to my room. Linnea’s really upset.”
Kalomo left, and Jay followed silently.
Alone in the teleporter room, Theodore smiled broadly.
Theodore did not return to his quarters. He had not been there in weeks, preferring to spend most of his time in his New York apartment. Instead Theodore visited the fifth floor, walking barefoot through the darkened empty corridors in his yellow tee shirt and briefs.
“No,” answered Theodore aloud, “I won’t let you.”
He was all alone.
“Please,” said Theodore, smiling cruelly, “like you have a choice.”
Theodore grabbed his left pinky finger with his right hand, said, “Please, don’t…” in a weak voice and then wrenched his finger out and back with an audible crack of bone.
“Arrgh!” said Theodore, doubling over in pain and leaning on a wall to avoid falling over.
Slowly, Theodore stood up and continued walking. “I’ve explained this before, Theodore,” said Theodore, “I get the pleasure, you get the pain.”
“What about the plan?” asked Theodore, trying to get his mind off the pain, “You’re still months away…”
“The plan has to move faster,” Theodore said simply, “Matt’s stupid, but he’s going to figure it out soon. Summoning the Wonder Giant gave me away.”
Theodore was quiet at this, until he suddenly noticed where he was. “What are you going?” he asked, his voice betraying his fear.
Theodore walked up to a doorway that opened silently as he approached. “I haven’t visited mom in months,” he said, “Thought I’d pay the old lady a visit.”
Theodore walked inside the room, and the door closed silently behind him. “It’s the middle of the night,” said Theodore, whispering now, “She’ll be asleep.”
In the dark, thanks to the Wonder Gauntlet, Theodore could see perfectly well. The apartment was neat and orderly, and filled with plants. His mother’s cat watched him from its perch on the couch. Theodore used to be allergic to cats, but the Wonder Gauntlet had cured him of that when it corrected his eyesight. The cat’s eyes glowed in Theodore’s night vision.
Theodore walked into his mother’s bedroom, and saw her sleeping in her bed on her back, mouth open, covers pulled up to her neck. Theodore was afraid to speak, he did not want to disturb her or wake her up and frighten her.
“Why don’t you ever visit her anymore?” asked Theodore, too loudly.
“You know why,” whispered Theodore in response.
Theodore nodded and smiled. He raised his hand and aimed the golden Wonder Gauntlet at his sleeping mother. “One shot,” he said, “that’s all it would take.”
A tear fell from Theodore’s eye, crawled down his face, and landed on Theodore’s tongue.
“What’s it going to be, Theodore?”
Theodore was quiet, and it was only when he felt the energy for a death shot building in the gauntlet that he finally acquiesced and nodded. “All right!” said Theodore, “You win, Harlan.”
Wonder Heroes 4.24
Mostly humanoid, with a head reminiscent of purple asparagus stalks and arms that ended in something akin to a writhing cat-o-nine tails, Captain Tr’ter picked his way through the crowded space station filled with aliens of even more outrageous appearance towards what humanity might consider a bar, but what some other races might consider either a suicide clinic or a religious shrine, depending on their physiology. Tr’ter had never seriously considered the place at all; his sustenance relied on access to silicon and starlight, neither of which was supplied by the barely legal business that occupied this part of the space station.
Tr’ter understood that aliens of various races came here to access foods or medicines that might alter their perceptions. He knew, for instance, that alcohol, distilled from varieties of vegetation found throughout the galaxy affected the brains of many species. Tr’ter’s people, called Broccloids, were not opposed to the idea per se. Broccloids are essentially a race of intelligent plants, and have no need to seek chemical stimulation outside themselves because they are able to create the chemicals needed to alter their consciousness internally and naturally.
Though it was rare for a Broccloid to enter such an establishment, no one paid Captain Tr’ter much mind. The captain made his way towards the back of the business, where the patrons were sparse, and some seemed extremely dangerous. Here sat a large alien creature of a race Tr’ter did not recognize, at a small table, wearing a hooded robe. The alien held in front of him his two large, bronze colored hands on either side of a large cup of steaming amber liquid. The tables and chairs all around the alien were empty, as if none dared get too close.
Tr’ter approached the alien, but stopped at a respectful distance. The alien seemed to radiate a personal space larger than normal.
“I seek Onalark the Electric,” said Tr’ter, his head stalks waving as he spoke.
The voice that emerged from the robe was deep, but not unpleasant. “What are you? Broccloid?”
“I am.”
“Then I can’t offer you a drink.” The alien’s large three-fingered hand gestured to the chair in front of him. “I forget. Can your people sit?”
Captain Tr’ter sat in the proffered seat. “We can. Thank you.”
“So,” said Onalark, “you seek, you find. What now?”
“My name is Tr’ter, Captain Tr’ter of the Vanishing Spirit.”
“
I’ve heard of it,” said Onalark, “Pirate ship. Are you a pirate, captain Tr’ter?”
“We are a salvage vessel, and from time to time we take other jobs,” said the Captain carefully.
“As you say,” replied Onalark. He lifted the amber liquid to his face. In the dark Tr’ter could not perceive much, but he caught the wide slit in the face that Onalark used for a mouth, and saw the glint of something white on Onalark’s wrist.
Tr’ter said, “I have been recently tasked by the Untime Grindcase Consortium…”
“Criminals,” said Onalark, “Mobsters.”
“Entrepreneurs,” corrected Tr’ter.
Onalark barked a laugh. “As you say.”
“I have been recently tasked to capture an Aierta.”
Onalark laughed again. “A fool’s errand. The Aierta are a myth. If they ever existed they are all dead.”
“There are rumors that several made planet fall on Earth,” said Tr’ter.
Onalark drank deeply of the amber liquid, and then put down the empty cup. “Never heard of it.”
“Really?” replied Tr’ter, “I am surprised. The planet is developing quite a reputation. They are protected by Cassiopeian technology.”
“Then I pity them,” said Onalark, “but at least I know why you’re here. You want me to broker contact, am I right?”
“I was told you might be amenable to such work.”
“I am,” said Onalark, “but I’m not cheap.”
Captain Tr’ter’s head stalks bristled, the Broccloid equivalent of a smile. “With what the consortium is paying us, I’m sure we can settle on a fee you will find more than adequate.”
Onalark nodded. “Good. I’ve spent too long sitting here, drinking this too sweet swill and reminiscing about dead worlds.”
Onalark stood up and removed his robe. Captain Tr’ter had heard the alien was large, but he was unprepared for the spectacle of Onalark’s full ten feet. The alien was also broad of shoulder and muscular, but what set him apart from every other life form on this space station were the two Cassiopeian gauntlets he wore. On his right arm was an off-white gauntlet and on his left arm was another gauntlet, electric blue in color. Onalark was covered from boot to neck in armor that swirled in shades of blue and white. The two powerful gauntlets and the alien’s fearsome, even legendary reputation marked Onalark as the most dangerous being Captain Tr’ter had ever met.
“When do we leave?” asked Onalark.
“Immediately,” answered the captain.
Two weeks had passed since the Kaiju Cult had summoned the Neboukichan in Japan. For the last ten days Walter’s body, dressed in the Domaru Armor he had used to defend his country several times against the incursions of alien invaders, had been on display at a temple on the outskirts of Tokyo. A steady stream of pilgrims, over two hundred thousand according to some counts, had journeyed to the temple to pay their respects to the man who had helped to save Japan, and the world, from certain destruction. Susan was staying at the Conrad Tokyo Hotel doing her best to honor the memory of the man she had only just begun to love.
Susan stood in front of a full length mirror in her hotel suite, dressed in an exact duplicate of black dress she had worn to the funeral of the original team of Wonder Heroes nine months previously. Her eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep; she was out of tears. Thanks to the intercession of the ever-efficient General Rumpole, Susan did not have to worry about the finer details of international protocol and Japanese customs regarding her status and her place in the final funereal arrangements for Walter. Walter had no living parents or close relations, and his will specified a simple Shinto service, but the government stepped in and decided to bury Walter Watanabe with all the pomp and ceremony usually reserved for the death of an Emperor. Like the power of the Neboukichan the funeral seemed to grow exponentially, until it became one of the largest affairs of its kind in years.
The exact circumstances of Walter’s death had not been revealed publicly. Officially he had died in battle assisting the Wonder Heroes in defending Japan against the Neboukichan. It was thought to be prudent not to reveal the grisly specifics. After summoning the Wonder Giant the team had merged their consciousnesses into one mind, combining all the memories, experiences and abilities of the five Wonder Heroes into one six story tall robot built for battle. The Wonder Giant automatically enclosed the Wonder Heroes inside protective, coffin-like enclosures that were moved to heavily shielded areas deep within the Wonder Giant. Each Wonder Hero fell into a state of suspended animation, as shock-absorbing foam flooded the compartment and held them immobile. Walter, however, was not an authorized pilot, and did not possess Wonder Armor, so he was left out of the merging of the minds, and his armor did not automatically put him into suspended animation. The shock absorbing foam paralyzed his armor, and left him only a very small amount of air to breath.
The autopsy revealed that Walter had struggled to escape from the interior of the Wonder Giant, ultimately attempting to cut his way free with the use of a welding torch like energy weapon built into his Domaru Armor. He must have known that if he could not cut his way free that he would burn up the small amount of oxygen he had in his attempt to escape. Walter’s death was ruled accidental; cause of death: suffocation.
It was unknown to the investigators that before attempting his escape, Walter transmitted a final message to Susan. These were Walter’s final words, and Susan had decided not to share them. No government investigator had heard the message and Susan had not let her teammates or General Rumpole listen to the recording. In her life as a Wonder Hero Susan had to learn how to live her life in the public eye. Her relationship with Walter was fodder for magazines and television, and there was precious little of her life that was private. The final message Walter had sent her was packed with statements that the public might not understand, and she would never have been able to bear hearing reporters and commentators parse the words, searching for hidden meanings and insights into the small amount of time she and Walter had shared. The words were for her and her alone.
The message had been stored in the memory of Walter’s Domaru Armor until after the Wonder Giant had dissolved the group mind and Susan was able to release Walter’s body from cockpit of the Kick-Blade. Alone in her hotel room, Susan listened again to Walter’s final message.
“Susan,” said Walter, “with luck I will not have to send this message, but if my attempt to escape fails, I will die, and never be able to tell you this in person.” Walter paused here, and Susan tried to imagine the emotions that played across his face as he sought to compose the last words he would ever say. “I must confess that I studied everything I could about you before we met. I planned to meet you, and becoming your friend, because I desired access to the technology of the Wonder Heroes. I am ashamed of this, because being with you I have learned something of what it means to be a better person.”
Walter paused. “I can feel the Wonder Giant moving, engaging in battle. I have no idea how long I will be trapped in here. It could be hours, but I will be dead in minutes, unless I find a way out. My only chance of survival is to try to use my armor’s weaponry to make an air hole through the foam and the walls of this compartment, but doing so will use up my oxygen in seconds, rather than minutes. If I fail, I die.
“Listen to me Susan. This might not be the right time to say this, but I cannot die without saying it to you at least once.” Susan pictured Walter’s face, as he said, “I love you, Susan.”
Susan looked away from the mirror, and a sob escaped from her. She mouthed the words, but no sound came out.
An hour later Susan joined the rest of the Wonder Heroes in the hotel lobby. Matt, Jay and Kalomo stood close by Susan, trying to be supportive, but Theodore seemed bored and distracted. Susan felt that Linnea, Kalomo’s fiancé, was overdressed in a stylish black dress with a hat and veil. Linnea treated every public appearance like it was a tryout for a modeling gig. Nearby the President of the United
States conversed in low tones with the Prime Minister of Pakistan and the King of Sweden, but otherwise the conversation was nonexistent. It was driving Susan crazy to be left alone with her own thoughts.
“Matt,” Susan asked, her voice cracking slightly, “how’s Cassie?” She had not spoken in hours, and her throat was not prepared.
“She’s good,” said Matt, “She’s difficult sometimes, but that’s her age.”
“Kids are difficult at every age,” said Kalomo, “At least that’s what my mom says.”
Susan forced a smile. “You guys are getting married next month.”
Linnea brightened. There was nothing she liked to talk about more than her wedding. “It’s going to be in Hawaii, and it’s going to be awesome.” Linnea turned thoughtful and continued, “And I know it’s kind of soon, but I’m inviting a lot of people to this thing. I’ve got some male friends who are dying to meet you Susan.”
Susan’s fake smile became a real frown. “You’re right, it is kind of soon.”
Linnea nodded, not picking up on Susan’s meaning.
General Rumpole, his polished shoes clacking loudly, walked across the tiled floor to join the group, “Okay Susan, here’s the drill. The Wonder Heroes will be in the second car, the Prime Minister of Japan and the President of the United States will be in the third car. Linnea, you’re coming with me, in car five.”
Linnea objected. “I can’t be with Kal?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” said the General, “I explained that you two were engaged, but exceptions can only be made if you’re already married.”
Linnea crossed her arms and said, “This is stupid,” but at a look from Susan Linnea reconsidered. “Okay. In the interest of international relations I’ll suffer.”
Linnea walked away with the General, unable to avoid radiating annoyance. Kalomo, embarrassed by her behavior, held up his hands and said, “Sorry.”
The team did not acknowledge Kalomo’s apology but walked towards the waiting cars. Jay stayed behind, slapped Kalomo on the back and said, “Don’t worry about it, man.”
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