by James Maxey
“If they aliens wanted Golden Victory, they could have just asked for him,” I said.
“Could you please not stand on my rug?” the Prime Mover said, looking at me. “Water will ruin it.”
I looked down and saw that I was standing on an oriental rug that looked like it had to centuries old.
“Blood will ruin it even more if you don’t stop playing games,” said Retaliator.
I stepped off the rug, feeling a little bad about messing up such a nice antique.
The Prime Mover said, “The aliens are unaware of Glorgon’s true identity. Even Golden Victory is ignorant of his previous life as ruler of an empire spanning twelve solar systems,” said the Prime Mover. “The ‘Aussies’ felt it was far too dangerous for him to be left here knowing who he truly was, so they erased his memories.”
“What does Australia have to do with this?” asked Blue Bee.
“The Aussies are an alien species whose true name can’t be spoken by a human mouth,” said the Prime Mover. “As for why they’re called Aussies, Earth is a prison planet for the lawbreakers of their species. They’re dumped here unceremoniously, the way the British once sent criminals to Australia. They can survive in any environment due to their hyperadaptive DNA. They’re shapeshifters who can look like anyone or anything, and who can acquire any ability they wish simply by manipulating their genetic code via force of will. Their DNA is so adaptable that many have crossbred with humans. Many members of the Legion possess remnants of this alien genetic code. During stress events, their genes adapt to give them inhuman powers.”
“I get my powers from a radioactive pollen,” said Blue Bee. “No aliens required.”
“The pollen would prove fatal to anyone else who ingested it,” said the Prime Mover. “You survived only because your alien DNA adapted to use the stressing agent.”
One of the unconscious henchmen at the side of the room stirred. Smash Lass went over and flicked her finger against his temple, knocking him out again. She said, “Why, exactly, are we talking to this lunatic? Let’s slap him back in prison and go find some alien invaders we can punch.”
“He’s telling the truth about the Aussies,”’ I said. “Cut Up Girl’s father worked for the DAI, studying the genetic markers.”
“And Cut Up Girl’s father worked for them? I thought her father was a supervillain,” said Blue Bee. “Wasn’t he Professor Power?”
“He developed his superpower drugs to mimic the biological pathways used by the Aussies,” I said.
“I thought the Department of Anomalous Individuals was fiction,” said Smash Lass. “Something Cut Up Girl invented to sell books. I mean, the government doesn’t really have a top secret agency devoted to keeping tabs on us, does it?”
I glanced at Retaliator. I wasn’t sure how much I was supposed to say. When I first joined the Legion, the founding five had taken me aside, Golden Victory, Tempo, She-Devil, Arc, and Retaliator. They knew I’d escaped from the Butterfly House, and the price of joining the team was that I had to keep my mouth shut. From previous conversations I’d had with Smash Lass, it was plain she didn’t know a thing about the DAI or the Butterfly House. I was spared from saying anything when the Prime Mover decided he had more information to share.
“Most Aussies aren’t terribly dangerous,” said the Prime Mover. “The Aussies have a strictly regimented and regulated society where even minor infractions will get you branded a criminal and removed to the remote backwater of Earth so you don’t contaminate their society. It’s as silly as if we threw people into prison for selling a relatively harmless drug like marijuana, or jailed a woman for choosing to trade her sexual skills for income. The Aussies among us don’t care to conquer the world, or use their genetic gifts to enrich themselves. Most live quietly, almost invisibly, making as little impact on our world as possible, since even before birth they’ve been hardwired with values that make calling attention to themselves a source of great shame.”
“Now you’re contradicting yourself,” said Blue Bee. “Golden Victory has publicly been a superhero since before I was born. He dresses in gold, not the most low key costume choice. And good luck turning on a TV news channel and not seeing him being interviewed.”
“The Aussies wouldn’t have put him on our planet if he’d been respectful of their values,” said the Prime Mover. “He was an atavistic throwback to an earlier age of their species, when aggression and ambition had been evolutionarily rewarded, and violence had been a useful tool for managing a society.”
“Sounds like good superhero material,” I admitted. The others looked at me. “What? Isn’t beating up people our main contribution to society?”
The Prime Mover continued: “Unrestrained by the values of other members of his species, Glorgon fled his home planet before they could banish him to the relative safety of Earth. Instead, he settled on the home world of the think-weed, the vegetable alien present in Sterngeist’s broadcast. Conquering the think-weed was simple, though unrewarding. Their vegetative minds found violence such an impossible to grasp concept they didn’t even have a word for it in their language. They might to this day still be unaware that they were conquered. They were, however, extremely advanced in their understanding of solar energy and geo-engineering, having turned nearly every surface within the inner planets of their home system into lush greenhouses. They numbered in the trillions, and barely noticed that Glorgon had killed thousands of them and declared himself king of a world with no concept of kings. But, he stole their geoengineering technology and weaponized it. A single seed, sufficient water, and sunlight, were enough to transform any planet into a habitat suitable for the think-weed, a transformation that would utterly obliterate the existing biosphere of the world where the seed took root. With this ultimate doomsday weapon, Glorgon conquered the world of the Dasans, the bird-like creatures, masters of multidimensional travel, then the Tanz, the rhino-spiders, who perfected the science of taming black holes to access unlimited energy. Again and again Glorgon stole new technologies, building an armada manned with slaves to conquer every intelligent race within a thousand light years of his home planet.”
“What if he’s telling the truth?” I asked, as Smash Lass looked at me with the very same question in her eyes. “I mean, these aliens didn’t come here just for their own amusement.”
“Sterngeist has tried to conquer the planet before,” said Smash Lass. “Maybe Sterngeist is manipulating the aliens to get what he wants?”
“On the contrary,” said the Prime Mover. “When Sterngeist left the planet, he, too, tried to conquer the first alien race the encountered. But, he was no Glorgon the Conquerer, only an old Nazi with a pistol and no way to get more bullets. His attempts at conquest would have been a joke, but the Tanz recognized in him the aggression that had been bred out of their own race, and saw a chance to get justice on their old oppressor, Glorgon. The aliens give Sterngeist the technology to conquer Earth as a means of finding Glorgon.”
“If Glorgon fled the Aussies and conquered all those worlds, how did he wind up here?” asked Smash Lass.
“The Aussies couldn’t turn a blind eye to his conquest forever. Eventually, they captured him. But, they were still a race that hadn’t made use of a death penalty in nearly a million years. So, they stripped him of his memories and dumped him onto their prison planet. For years, Golden Victory lived as a mere human, slowly rediscovering the powers given him by his alien DNA, until emerging as a full-fledged superhero. Even now, his instincts as a conqueror seep through. He does, after all, command the most dangerous army on the planet.”
“I don’t know that I’d call the Lawful Legion an army,” said Blue Bee.
“You enforce the edicts of authorities by legally sanctioned violence,” said the Prime Mover. “This is the very definition of the purpose of an army.”
“I again need to see some evidence,” said Blue Bee. “I mean, how do you know all this stuff?”
“Omniscience,” said the Prime Mover.
Blue Bee shook her head. “If you’re so omniscient, why didn’t you see we were going to come here and kick your ass?”
“I did know that you’d come here,” said the Prime Mover. “I sent the Fourth Horseman specifically so that part of your team would seek me out instead of the whole team traipsing off to outer space. My motive should be obvious. Golden Victory has been a thorn in my side for a long time. If a team of aliens wishes to imprison him, I feel I should facilitate it.”
“Yeah, but the fact you hate Golden Victory is also a good reason to lie,” said Blue Bee.
“He’s not lying,” said Retaliator, who’d been strangely silent. “He’s telling the truth. At least, what he thinks is truth.”
“You believe him?” asked Smash Lass. “You think Golden Victory is an alien?”
“You don’t?” I asked.
“Golden Victory’s adaptation go far beyond those shown by hybridized Aussies,” said Retaliator. “I’ve tested strands of Golden Victory’s hair. His DNA appears human. Too human. Almost as if it knew I was testing it, and could adapt to give a false result. It wasn’t the DNA strand of a man I knew to be bulletproof, or capable of flight.”
“You tested his DNA without him knowing?” asked Blue Bee. “There are some serious ethical violations there.”
“I torture enemies, hack computers, and have broken into the Pentagon on five separate occasions. Few criminals I’ve turned over to the authorities arrive with all their bones intact. We live in a world where men like the Prime Mover go to extremes to hurt others. I’ll go to any extreme to stop them.”
“Well, I for one am not in favor of turning over Golden Victory to alien invaders,” said Smash Lass. “A: I don’t believe he’s Glorgon and B: Even if he is, we shouldn’t give in to the demands of terrorists.”
“C: I don’t think we could hand over Golden Victory if we wanted to,” I said. “I mean, I punched him as hard as I could and it didn’t even muss his hair. I don’t think any of us can make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”
Smash Lass cracked her knuckles. “I arm wrestled him once. It ended in a draw when we broke the table. I’ve always wondered if I could take him in a fair fight.”
“We won’t need to turn Golden Victory over to aliens,” said Retaliator. “The other team will neutralize the threat to the moon.”
“You sure of that?” I asked.
“If they don’t, maybe She-Devil will pop in at the last second to save the day,” said Blue Bee.
“She-Devil will be busy for a while, I fear,” said the Prime Mover. “I convinced a few of my angel friends to lay siege to hell. Defending her realm will occupy her for quite some time.”
“There’s another claim we have absolutely no way of verifying,” said Blue Bee.
“Whether we believe him or not, the most important question still hasn’t been answered,” said Retaliator.
“That’s because you haven’t actually asked it,” said Prime Mover.
“You’re omniscient,” I pointed out, though I didn’t actually believe he was. “You should know our questions before we ask them.”
“But I do,” said the Prime Mover. “And this one is a very good one. A very good one indeed.”
“Enough!” Retaliator barked. He grabbed the Prime Mover by his collar and lifted him, chair and all, from the floor, pressing his face so close to the Prime Mover’s that their noses nearly touched. “Where are the other Three Horsemen? I checked the tesseracts where they were imprisoned. You’ve freed them somehow. Where are they?”
The Prime Mover, so chatty until now, said nothing as he broke into a broad, toothy smile.
But as unnerving as his smile was, I didn’t really feel a sense of panic take hold until Blue Bee said, “Hey, is anyone else suddenly hungry?”
Chapter Sixteen
Famine
Harry’s Story
Crap,” I said, feeling my own stomach tightening. I knew a lot about hunger, having just been lost in the jungle, living on bugs. The hollow in my gut felt ten times worse than that.
“It’s the Third Horseman,” said Retaliator. “Famine. Quick, we need a crucifix!”
“Good luck finding one of those here,” said Prime Mover with a smirk.
“What’s happening?” asked Blue Bee.
“The Third Horseman!” said Retaliator. “Just being near Famine leaves you with the worst hunger imaginable. If he touches you—”
He touched me. Even though no one was visible in front of me, I felt two skeletal hands close around my throat. Instantly, my blood sugar crashed, leaving me with spots before my eyes. I might have lasted a few more seconds if not for the fact I’d already lost a lot of body fat during my jungle ordeal. As it was, a second later I was on my knees. Retaliator didn’t have the full story on the effects of the Third Horseman’s touch. It wasn’t just hunger that hit me, but a burning thirst that made it feel like I had sand in my throat. I tried to swallow, but my tongue was glued to my teeth by the rapid desiccation.
“What the hell am I supposed to hit?” Smash Lass said, running to my side, fists clenched. “There’s no one there!”
“The Third Horseman is the cursed ghost of an Irish peasant!” said Retaliator. “Unlike the rest of the horsemen, he doesn’t have a physical form.”
“How do we fight a ghost?” asked Smash Lass.
“That spirit rifle we used on the Fourth Horseman would be a good start,” said Blue Bee, racing toward the shattered window. “I’ll grab it from the chopper!” She jumped into thin air, dropping from my fading sight. A fraction of a second later, she zoomed upward on her Bee Wing, which she’d summoned with an ultrasonic whistle that my ape ears could just barely hear.
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt like it had shrunk to the size of one of those tiny straw coffee stirrers you see in convenience stores. My hands withered before my eyes, growing thinner. Spasms wracked me from scalp to toe as accelerated starvation caused my body to start devouring the protein in my muscle. If I’d been an ordinary man, I’d probably have been dead by this point, but I had 800 pounds of protein to burn through, so at least I could have the comfort of knowing that the Third Horseman was going to be wasting precious seconds trying to kill me, giving the others time to get away.
With superhuman effort, I wheezed, “Run!”
“Great idea!” said Smash Lass. “How fast can a ghost move?”
That sounded like an interesting thing to check on Wikipedia, but I was too weak to make that lame joke, which is a good signal of how dire my situation was. Luckily, while even the Retaliator was trembling, weakened by hunger, Smash Lass so far didn’t seem bothered by the starvation field surrounding the horseman. She grabbed me and slung me over her shoulder, then ran toward the shattered window and jumped.
Instantly, I felt a flash of relief. I was still hungrier than I’d ever been in my life, but I couldn’t feel the skeletal fingers around my neck. However fast a ghost could travel, it apparently couldn’t keep up with thirty-two feet per second per second as we dropped toward the pavement sixty stories down.
“Funny,” I said, as the wind whipped past. “One second I’m hungry for pizza, the next second I’m going to be street pizza.”
“I take it we’ve escaped the ghost?” she said.
I had no time to answer as the street raced toward us. Smash Lass let go of me and twisted to fall face first, both fists pulled back, the muscles in her back and neck bulging. A nanosecond before impact, she punched with both fists. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but Smash Lass wears these high tech gloves filled with airbags that muffle her punches so she doesn’t kill everyone she hits. Punching the sidewalk caused both airbags to inflate to the size of beanbag chairs. I hit these and bounced. She leapt to catch me before I hit the pavement, cradling me in her arms.
“Don’t tell Jenny,” I said, my voice still trembling, “but you are totally my favorite Legionnaire.”
She grinned. “I’m a big fan of Sh
e-Devil myself. I cosplay her when I go to conventions.”
“You know you’d make a really convincing Smash Lass, right?”
“Yeah, but going as She-Devil lets me get my bad girl instincts out in the open,” she said. “And the fact her costume has high heels gives me a chance to feel tallaaaaAA!”
She doubled over, grabbing at her throat. A fresh wave of hunger swept over me. At that second, there was a loud BOOM! Through a veil of smoke I could see the Blue Bee about ten feet away, holding the Angelic Rifle. She’d aimed at Smash Lass’s chest, knowing the bullet would bounce off, which would have been my strategy as well. But Smash Lass was still holding her throat, and her already ripped physique was growing even more defined before my eyes as her body burned through whatever tiny amount of fat she possessed.
“Maybe it’s behind her!” I said, unable to stand.
Blue Bee ran closer, shooting the rifle point blank at Smash Lass’s throat. The Third Horseman still kept her in its grasp.
“The rifle’s not working!” said Blue Bee, her voice on the edge of panic.
“The rifle’s still in the material realm,” said a gravelly voice behind me. I turned to see Retaliator emerge from the shadows. “Famine is in the spirit realm. You’ll need to use your venom gun on the maximum setting, Blue Bee.”
“My venom gun does shit against ghosts,” said Blue Bee, her hands trembling with growing hunger as she reloaded the rifle.
Retaliator pulled the rifle from her grasp, and said, “You won’t use the venom on the ghost. You’ll use in on me. At maximum dosage, the anaphylactic shock will kill me in seconds. But I assume you have an EpiPen in your utility belt, and trust you’re certified in CPR.”
“Retaliator,” Smash Lass wheezed, her face thin now, her spandex costume starting to loosen on her limbs. “D-don’t d-do it.”
“I don’t have a better plan,” said Blue Bee, pulling out her venom gun and turning the dial to the red zone. She pressed it against the Retaliator’s neck and pulled the trigger. He dropped instantly, the Angelic Rifle clattering on the pavement.
