II Crimsonstreak Page 3

  “Epsilon Team, this is Crimsonstreak, over. Epsilon Team, do you read?”

  “I’m in charge here,” Gallant says, the transmission momentarily clear. “We have it under control. We have surrounded the escapees.”

  “You need to pull back, Gallant,” I say.

  “Pressing… advantage…”

  The concussive blasts stop. A minute later, Warren and I stand to peek over the concrete barrier. Warren starts in the direction of the battle, but I grab his shoulder and yank him back into cover.

  “We have to go help Epsilon Team,” he says, trying to unclamp my fingers from his shoulder.

  “It isn’t going to do any good, kid,” I tell him.

  “Still with the kid stuff?” he says, rolling his eyes behind his goggles. “Should I remind you I’m the reigning—”

  I cut him off by thumbing my communicator. “Epsilon Team, do you read?”

  A second later, we hear a loud pop, just like the one back in the warehouse with Wainwright and his gang.

  Warren hangs his head.

  I follow suit.

  “You stood there and did nothing?” Samson Knight growls. He points an accusatory finger in my direction. “You hung back and let Epsilon Team get killed? Not only is lower Manhattan a mess, we’re on full PR meltdown, Fairborne!”

  I hope Samson Knight realizes he’s doing a great impression of every TV and movie “outraged police captain” who has ever yelled at his unruly officers. It would be a shame not to capitalize on a performance like that.

  “We were getting some intense interference from Shadowsmith,” I tell him. “I tried to warn Baron Gallant to pull back.”

  “You and the Crusading Comet just let it happen. Epsilon Team—five more heroes—gone.”

  “It was my decision. What were we going to do, march in there and get blown to hell with the rest of them?”

  The white ceramic armor plates on Samson Knight’s suit shift as he crosses his arms. “Gallant should have played it more cautiously. You could’ve run to tell him, instead of relying on the communicators. A split second, Fairborne, that’s all it would’ve taken. That’s how you use your power to save lives.”

  “What have we gotten from Shadowsmith?”

  “Not much. He’s barely lucid. Keeps rambling about control and randomly turns electronics on and off around his containment unit. ”

  “Have you sent Mindbender Baron down there? Maybe he can get something.”

  “I will take it under advisement.”

  Translation: no chance.

  “Fairborne, Theta Team was also ambushed today. There were no survivors.”

  Theta Team. Samson Knight used to run that squad.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I tell him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. I hate playing nursemaid, especially with self-important jerks like this, but Sammy has a lot on his plate. A little sympathy could go a long way. “The Clermont escapees are dangerous, but we had no idea they were capable of this. We have to consider pulling back.”

  Samson Knight shakes his head and shrugs me off. “We can’t let them run loose in our cities—especially if they’re becoming more powerful. What if their attacks shift toward civilians? The protests outside Legion HQ are bad enough as it is.”

  “They’re thinning out the ranks of our heroes. If the Kiltechs are behind this…”

  “We have no evidence of that.”

  “The last time they dropped by for a chat, it took every hero on the planet to stop them.”

  “Not every hero faced the Kiltechs,” Samson Knight says, ice in his tone. “Clermont was a damn vacation compared to what we faced.”

  I ignore the jab; reflecting on my stay at the Clermont Institution for the Criminally Insane isn’t one of my favorite pastimes. “Think about it. If heroes stopped them before, maybe they’re making sure it doesn’t happen this time around.”

  “Can’t run into a roadblock if you’ve already removed it,” Samson Knight muses. “Insightful, Fairborne. Especially for you.”

  I don’t want to take all the credit—after all, Dad helped develop the theory—but telling the Heroic Legion chief that the idea came from Colonel Chaos wouldn’t help the cause.

  Samson Knight holds nothing but animosity toward my father and the New World Common Wealth. The roots of their rivalry go back a long, long time—all the way to the day my mother decided to don tights and fight the good fight. Samson Knight never understood why one of the world’s greatest heroes gravitated toward a supervillain and ended up marrying the guy after putting him behind bars. And he never forgave my father for letting her die.

  She was never Samson Knight’s to protect, and while he has a soft spot for my mother, even the reincarnated version, anything else Fairborne-related automatically becomes an object of derision.

  Makes for great conversations.

  I missed out on the Kiltech Incursion, but the rest of the Heroic Legion remembers it well. Each time the name “Kiltechs” is uttered, a pall falls over the entire room as heroes remember lost and fallen comrades. They united under my father and the cost, in many cases, was too much to bear.

  Take Freedom Glider, for example. A proud, strong hero from New Mexico with the ability to conjure a mystical eagle, he fought with a coalition of superheroes from across the world. During the Kiltech Incursion, his son, Eagle One, fell in the final offensive. When someone mentions the alien invaders, Freedom Glider turns stoic and cold. Loss and hopelessness cloud his eyes. Though we all know he thirsts for revenge, something tells me that won’t be enough.

  Jenny Lifter is one of the world’s strongest heroes, her super-strength even outpacing my mom’s and dad’s outsized abilities. Yet Jenny now refuses to lift anything at all. She’s a lost hero whose confidence is gone, her considerable skills wasted. She watched in horror as a Kiltech ship ran into—and subsequently killed—a squad of superheroes. She tried to stop it but couldn’t. She’s never forgiven herself. Perhaps she never will.

  Sapphire Twelve is a fearless hero who believes she’s the deposed queen of a distant planet. Perhaps she is, but some members of the Legion wonder if the ol’ blackjack deck is missing a few cards. She was held hostage on a Kiltech ship, emerging as unstable as the magical, deep blue power she wields. I mean, it probably takes a pretty good dose of crazy to get yourself bounced out of the Enforcer Corps and sent to a Colorado Supermax facility—Clermont West, if you will. After the overthrow of the New World Common Wealth, she flew into space and vowed to protect the Earth, standing guard out there, alone, for sixteen weeks before someone convinced her to come back down.

  Unfortunately, “someone” happened to be the Champions of Justice.

  Stories like these litter the Heroic Legion. Everyone lost someone or knew someone who died fighting the Kiltechs. Others had friends and loved ones on the West Coast when a battle cruiser gave the Golden State the Independence Day Treatment. The aliens are a menace everyone wants to forget and no one wants to fight again. A menace that makes the Heroic Legion back down. A menace that has apparently returned.

  Does the Matrix of Leadership Come in Crimson? And Where’s Stan Bush?

  “We’re not exactly proud of this place,” Samson Knight says, guiding me into the depths of Heroic Legion Headquarters. The Legion has apparently watched too many movies and read too many books about super-secret government facilities. They’ve got the whole schmear: keycards, gleaming silver walls, huge glass mirrors, lots of serious-looking people… and are those laser sights?

  It reminds me of the SPECPRO division from my father’s old digs in Chaopolis, which I can now happily refer to as Indianapolis again. I casually voice this opinion to Samson Knight.

  “It was not an influence, I assure you,” Sammy says.

  “Oh, I assure you,” I shoot back.

  The Fletch reference sails over his helmeted head.

  “What are you doing down here?” I ask, trying to remain tactful.

  “When the Kiltechs tried to t
ake over, we commandeered some of their technology. We planned to reverse-engineer their own weapons to use against them.”

  “Does this mean I get a ray gun?” Finally!

  His sigh is deflating for both of us. “Fairborne, there is a certain inevitability to what’s about to happen, if indeed the Kiltechs are back. Perhaps this time they’ll give us a choice: join them or die,” the Heroic Legion leader says. He grabs a nasty-looking rifle from a nearby wall and powers it up with a piercing, electronic hum. “I plan to fight, but we’ll be horribly outnumbered.”

  “Same thing happened last time,” I remind him. “We won.”

  Samson Knight shakes his head slowly, powering the rifle down and placing it back on the rack. “We had the element of surprise and an enemy convinced of its superiority. This time, we will have neither.”

  “So why are we down here?”

  “Fairborne, I don’t like you,” Samson Knight says. He acts like this is some big revelation that will shake the foundation of my world.

  Hardly.

  “I don’t see it, but others do apparently see something... worthwhile... in you, especially the younger heroes. I fear that perhaps you’ve inherited your father’s penchant for troublemaking and demigoguery,” he says. “Thankfully, you’ve put it to at least vaguely responsible use. You have mentored the young Crusading Comet to the best of your abilities. Helped Miss Graves take flight once more. Alpha Team hasn’t been a complete disaster.”

  O Captain, My Captain, shower me with praise.

  “The Kiltechs will hit us hard, Fairborne. They will strike when we least expect it. I will die in the battle to come.”

  “How could you possibly know that? If the Legion stands together, no one can stop us.”

  “Time Rider has seen my fate,” Samson Knight says, shrugging. “And while I don’t necessarily agree with everything he says, other leaders of the Heroic Legion have sought his counsel in the past. My futures all end after the Kiltechs return. This one prediction seems likely despite the source.”

  It takes every ounce of willpower for me to stifle a laugh. No one listens to Time Rider. Hell, the idiot didn’t see the New World Common Wealth coming. “Rider of Infinite Futures,” my ass. He keeps betting for the Cubs and against Rocky.

  “We lost so many heroes the last time the Kiltechs came here,” Samson Knight laments. “During the final offensive, dozens upon dozens sacrificed their lives. Time Rider says this will happen again on a scale no one can imagine. Who will lead then?”

  I half expect the Matrix of Leadership to pop out of Samson Knight’s chest. I have a feeling I’m an Ultra Magnus and not a Hot Rod.

  “I think we should probably concentrate on strategy right now instead of stewing over visions from a crackpot time traveler,” I opine.

  Samson Knight lets out a derisive snort. “Perhaps so. Surely someone will survive to show the Legion the way. Great Alexander. Matsumoto. The elder Crusading Comet. Amazing Merrick. Mega Meg. Twilight Gazer. Your mother. Even your father.” He swallows hard and continues, “Time Rider says their paths take them elsewhere. When this war with the Kiltechs begins, many will lose hope. Someone must lead. Time Rider is insistent on who it should be,” he says, raising an eyebrow at me significantly. A door hisses open behind us, and Samson Knight turns to leave. “A certifiable crackpot, indeed.”

  Time Rider’s not a bad guy.It’s just that his predictions tend to look like something you’d see at the grocery store checkout. You know, ripped from the pages of the Weekly World News. If given free rein, Time Rider’s visions would’ve had Bat Boy rise to the presidency.

  Sometimes they’re just that batshit-crazy-insano.

  Why would Samson Knight buy that particular prophecy, of all of them? The guy hates me. He always has.

  Washington, D.C. July, 1993.

  We’re inside the main headquarters of the Heroic Legion. This place has it all—statues of past heroes, awesome technology, big maps of the world, and a huge conference room with a gleaming silver table.

  It’s just like the stuff I’ve read about in comic books—the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice or Xavier’s Manor. And trust me, I’ve thumbed through plenty of comics. They’re required reading for real-life superheroes.

  It’s kind of a funny thing: superheroes like Superman and Batman were created a few years before real superheroes came out publicly. So by the time folks like the Crusading Comet and my parents came to the scene, people “got” the concept of superheroes, thanks to the fictional ones. The comic book companies never stopped churning out their four-color masterpieces, though, even as members of the Legion saved the day and fought supervillains. We find those fictional superheroes pretty entertaining, what with their melodrama, “event” comics, and relatively meaningless deaths.

  That’s so not what it’s like for real-life superheroes.

  My father gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and I realize he’s been trying to get my attention. “I’d like to introduce you to my son,” Colonel Chaos says. “He starts middle school next fall.”

  I hold out my hand to a large man clad in shining, white ceramic armor, but he makes no move to return the gesture.

  “We have a strict policy forbidding the admittance of children into secret parts of Heroic Legion Headquarters, Fairborne,” Samson Knight says, his tone cold enough to keep an iceberg from melting. In the desert. At noon. “But I’m sure as head of the Legion, you feel you’re entitled to special privileges.”

  “I’m not gonna tell anybody!” I exclaim. “And I’m gonna be a hero one of these days!”

  “I’m sure you will be. What powers have you developed?”

  As soon as he finishes the question, I’m standing in front of him with an ice cream cone.

  “Super-speed, I see. Like your mother. What else can you do?”

  “It’s just the speed for now, Gary,” my father explains. “He hasn’t grown into the super-strength just yet. But I think he’ll be just as strong as his mother and me—maybe even stronger.”

  Samson Knight wraps an armored hand around my right bicep. “Hmmm. Seems a little puny, Fairborne. No apparent signs of super-muscular development in the upper body. I’d say the boy is purely a speedster.” He takes a step back. “Do you know what happens to speedsters, young Fairborne?”

  Nervous and unsure how to answer, I shake my head.

  “The speedsters pride themselves in their ability to outrun anyone. Speed becomes their identity, their entire being. When they finally lose a race—and they do eventually lose—they can’t handle it,” he says before leaving the room.

  “That guy’s an asshole,” I say once Samson Knight is out of earshot.

  “Watch your mouth, son,” my father warns, his face softening.

  “Don’t pay any attention to that man,” my father says, sitting inside his containment cell. A pulsating yellow force field keeps us separated. “Samson Knight’s doing what he thinks is best for the Legion. It’s hard to fault him for that.” He holds up his hands to show off his power-restraining manacles. “I wish they’d take these off, though. It just makes it look like they’re afraid of me.”

  “Should they be?” I muse.

  He scowls. “You know better than that. How’s your mother?”

  Ever since the unlikely “return” of the “real” Miss Lightspeed, this question has been tough to answer.

  “You know how it is, Dad. You can’t tell if she’s going to hug you or punch you in the face. Sometimes she still thinks I’m playing high school baseball. The next minute, she thinks you’ve held the U.N. Building hostage.”

  Sadness washes across Dad’s face.

  When Zeus Caesar ran into my dead mother’s parallel-world doppelganger, it triggered what Medical called “transformative quantum signature transference.” Basically, Caesar transferred the stored memories of my mother to Evil Lightspeed’s body. Dozens upon dozens of scans prove one irrefutable truth: the Miss Lightspeed who now lives inside the Heroic Leg
ion HQ is the same Miss Lightspeed who died thirteen years ago.

  Even three years later, I don’t believe it. I can’t. I saw the malevolence in that woman’s eyes. She’s no hero, no mother of mine.

  “She’s your mother, Chris,” Dad says.

  “She’s more like a free radical. You don’t know what you’re going to get from her.”

  “No one gets the chance to see a loved one return from the grave. No kids get their mother back. Why can’t you embrace this?”

  The conversation is dipping into territory that will likely signal another blow-up between the Fairborne men.

  “I don’t want this to sound unsympathetic, Dad. I miss her, too. I’d love nothing more than to have her back. But she’s not. That Miss Lightspeed isn’t our Miss Lightspeed. I know what the tests say, but she’s just too unstable.”

  Dad leans against the yellow electric wall dividing us. It crackles briefly, but my father doesn’t even flinch at the absurd amount of energy coursing through his body.

  “If the tests say your mother is back, then your mother is back. The medical team has provided me with all the records relating to her cell structure and temporal signature. They all match up exactly with the scans the Heroic Legion has on record. There’s no way to fake that. There may be some complications…”

  “Complications? Like when she mistook the entire Cincinnati Reds organization for a front for the Soviet Union?” A sigh escapes despite my best efforts to contain it. “We need you, especially if the Kiltechs are back. But you’re staying here in the Super Marriott.”

  With a click and a brief flash of energy, Dad breaks out of his power-retraining manacles and reaches through the force field to put a hand on my shoulder. “The Heroic Legion can’t hold me and they know it. If I wanted to get out of here, I could’ve done it the day after handing myself over. I wanted to prove to them that I’ve changed. So I sit here desperately wanting to see you and your mother, hoping the Legion will understand how much I want to help fix this mess. They’re only interested in punishing me because Samson Knight has tunnel vision.”