Behind Distant Stars Page 18

  “I just told you that I’d visited a world where you’d died, decades earlier. Mortality can be a hard thing to face.”

  “If that had been an alternate version of me, then that version had died while sacrificing himself for a loved one. There’s no sadness in that, and no regret.”

  The Red Ghost smiled softly, “I was right. You would make a good hero.”

  No. It was a bittersweet comfort, though, to know that some other Terry would have been worthy.

  “What was his name, Paradigm’s assistant?”

  “His first name was Robert,” the hero frowned, disgruntled and embarrassed. “Relaying the story of his brother’s…of your death left him distraught, and he excused himself. Paradigm activated the interdimensional matter transport device before I could press further.”

  I glared suspiciously, though I knew that he could not sense it through my armor’s faceless helm. None of my data trawling programs had reported any unusual searches for information about Terrance or Bobby Markham, and there’d been no hint of recognition when the Red Ghost had met my civilian guise face to face. Given all the surgical and genetic alterations that I’d performed to change my appearance, I supposed that the CEO the Red Ghost had met wouldn’t at all have resembled the other-dimension laboratory technician.

  Generally speaking, I was skeptical of good fortune; whenever I encountered some, it seemed that there was sure to be a price extracted at a later date. If the Red Ghost was being truthful then the timing of his travel represented an instant of remarkable serendipity. I made a note to prepare a bunker for when the other shoe dropped.

  If he were dissembling, then he either knew or would soon discover the connection between Doctor Fid and Dr. Terrance Markham. In which case, I made a second note to prepare for war.

  “Are you all right?” the Red Ghost asked.

  “I’m simply…digesting the information,” I replied. “For the record, I’m glad that you were able to make your safe return. Also, I have an idea for a single-use cross-dimensional travel device that you could carry on your person should this happen again.”

  “Already?” He looked amused.

  “It will require testing and fine-tuning before I construct an easily-carried prototype,” I said, defensively.

  He shook his head, chuckling, “I didn’t mean to start a competition between you and Professor Paradigm.”

  I coughed dismissively. A competition between Paradigm and myself would not be much of a competition; the white-lab-coat wearing poseur would build a beautiful motorcycle, and I would build something to make motorcycles obsolete. Still, the alternate-universe Professor Paradigm had managed to return my nemesis, so I supposed that he wasn’t wholly incompetent.

  “Oh,” the Ghost added, his expression suddenly solemn. “There was something else that I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Go on,” I prompted, strangely relieved that the source of my foreboding would finally be revealed.

  “I’m sure that you’ve noticed that Titan has been…increasingly erratic.”

  I cut my armor’s external speakers to keep from broadcasting my disbelieving snort.

  “He has made some ill-advised choices of late,” I finally replied, dryly. Terry Markham still sported remnants of bruising from Titan’s ‘rescue’; medical nanites had long since repaired all the internal damage, but the external persisted. I’d forgotten how slowly unmodified humans heal.

  “It had gotten to the point where I was considering leaving the Guardians and moving back to New York. I could not, in good conscience, support him if he continued to lead the team in such a reckless manner.”

  Cloner’s close contact with the Red Ghost suddenly made more sense.

  Selfishly, I didn’t want him to leave. The Red Ghost was my nemesis, my rival, and I didn’t want to share him with New York City’s villains! Someday, Doctor Fid would return to his chosen career, and I’d expected that the Red Ghost would be present to oppose me. Even with my teleportation platform located in the bowels of Manhattan, it would be inconvenient if I needed to travel every time I wanted a proper opponent.

  Beating upon the remaining Guardians would become very boring, very quickly.

  “I wish that you would reconsider,” I said finally. “Without your presence to keep Titan in check, his actions might endanger this city’s citizenry.”

  “I came to the same conclusion,” he nodded. “Instead, I reached out to the Guardians’ insurance company and expressed my concerns. Titan was brought in for psychiatric and medical treatment.”

  “I suppose that more congratulations are in order then,” I bowed my head respectfully. “I assume that you’ve been granted leadership of the Boston Guardians?”

  “It’s only temporary, I hope,” he grimaced. “Titan was a good man, once.”

  “I suppose…”

  “It is only in the last few years that his control has wavered,” the hero asserted loyally. “When he’s recovered, I’ll gladly hand his title back.”

  Grudgingly, I had to admit that there was some truth to his claim; Titan had been relentlessly dedicated when he’d first come to Boston. His tactics had been more nuanced then, and the early battles genuinely challenging.

  “You know that I have no love for the man,” I told the Red Ghost, “but for your sake, I wish Titan a speedy recovery.”

  “It’s funny you should say that,” the hero smiled, and I felt as though I should check my surroundings for a trap. “You see, the hospital discovered that Titan has Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy; it is—as I’m sure you’re aware—a degenerative brain disease usually associated with concussions and traumatic injuries. The medical community does not know of any successful treatment or cure.”

  I groaned softly, knowing what he was about to say next.

  “Fortunately,” the Red Ghost continued, still smiling in a manner that made me think of a cat that had successfully dipped a canary in cream, “I just so happen to know a former villain who has the technology to repair damaged neurons and glial scarring.”

  Damn the man.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "You should say 'No'," Whisper insisted, one hand absently petting at her puppy’s neck.

  I wasn’t terribly surprised; while the little android was usually unfailingly generous and kind, she also had something of an unforgiving streak. The monstrous part of me thought that to be adorable, but the portion of my soul that remembered being Bobby’s older brother knew better. She’d grow out of it, I was certain…and when she did, I’d rather that she not have unnecessary regrets.

  “I haven’t made my final decision,” I replied, “but there’s no harm in at least examining the medical records.”

  “Titan’s mean!” The tired black dog’s chin was resting in Whisper’s lap, his tail wagging slowly. They’d stolen a corner of my study, quietly (and sometimes not-so-quietly) playing while I worked. A conference call with a supplier in Bangalore had been thoroughly—though pleasantly—derailed earlier in the evening.

  “He is, yes.” I quirked an uneven smile. “But maybe he won’t be after I fix him.”

  “By ‘fix’ do you mean ‘replace his brain with a baked potato’?”

  I tried to be stern but couldn’t help but chortle. “Whisper…”

  “He’s mean, and he hurt my big brother,” she pouted. “And a baked potato would be an improvement, so he should be grateful!”

  “He’s ill,” I corrected. “Is Titan mean, or is his disease mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I,” I admitted. “I’m beginning to think that it may be worth the effort to find out for sure.”

  “Mm,” Whisper said, not sounding convinced.

  “If I move ahead with this procedure,” I added, “then Titan owes me his mental health and his career. I can hold that over him forever.”

  And besides…I was reasonably certain that I’d be able to sneak a few rice-grain sized high explosives into Titan’s skull for fu
ture entertainment purposes. I doubted that I’d ever choose to activate them, but their presence would still make me smile behind Doctor Fid’s faceplate every time Titan interfered with one of my future plans.

  ◊◊◊

  The terrible music made my skull feel too tight: pounding bass and distorted vocals, with the volume raised past the point where the audio component’s fidelity suffers. I can fix that. I have an idea for a slim, picture-frame-like speaker. A tympanic membrane overlaid with an ultrafine copper mesh, stretched taut within the frame. Electromagnets strategically placed…It will be able to exceed the volume of the current equipment and the midrange fidelity will be clearer. Crisper.

  “I can fix that,” I try to say. The slurred words sound alien, as though someone else is using my mouth to speak. “I k’n fiiz thaa.”

  “Jeez,” someone laughs. “The kid is wasted!”

  “Nah, he’s fine.” A strong hand claps me on the shoulder. My lab partner for o-chem, Randy; I helped him study and he invited me to meet his fraternity brothers. “You’re fine, right? Here, drink this.”

  A red plastic cup is pressed into my hand and I swallow a mouthful of the sickly-sweet tea. It’s warm in here, with the loud music and the dancing and the boisterous crowd. The air is thick with smoke, too, stinking of pine and skunk. It’s too hot and the drink is cold, so I gulp it down greedily.

  “Can fix thaa,” I try again. “I k’n.”

  “Nothing’s broke,” another of Tony’s frat brothers says. I was introduced to him earlier. James, from the rowing squad.

  “Th’ noise…”

  “TURN IT UP!” James shouts over his shoulder, and the cheering drowns out my objection.

  “Air,” I gulp. “Please?”

  “All right let’s go.”

  I’m lifted and passed towards the partially-open window. It’s embarrassing how easily they can manhandle me, but I’m grateful nonetheless. The cold breeze strikes my face like a punch and I’m giggling and I have no idea why.

  “I got the kid another drink,” someone says. Another plastic cup is in my hand.

  I’m sitting with my back against the wall, and the not-really-music continues its assault. My chest aches and nausea spikes in time with the beat. A tympanic membrane overlaid with an ultrafine copper mesh. I want paper and a pen so that I can take notes, but it’s too hot in here.

  “Woah, hey, kid…Don’t take off your shirt.”

  “Leave him alone, he can do whatever he wants. He’s a graduate student, right?”

  “Studen’”, I agree.

  “He’s like, what, fifteen?”

  “The teachers suck up to the little freak like he’s Hawking or something.”

  I should’ve invited Michael to this party, even though the music is too loud and the world is kind of spinny and the room is too hot. He doesn’t go to parties. This is the first party I’ve been invited to; I’m not sure that I like it, but it feels nice to be asked. A sudden tremor shoots up my spine, and the liquid in my plastic cup sloshes over the lip while I concentrate on breathing.

  “Damned kid’s gonna graduate before I do.”

  “Don’t worry about it, man.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay. It’s just that he’s an arrogant little shit, y’know? Thinks he’s better ‘n the rest of us.”

  It’s Randy speaking now, and I want to object, but I’m so tired. I lean back and close my eyes just for a moment…

  And wake up to sunlight and the sound of mocking laughter.

  I wince and struggle to sit up. The world swivels but I still blearily recognize Randy and three of his fraternity brothers’ backs as they sprint away. They’d been carrying me, I realize.

  Fresh cut grass presses against the bare skin of my legs and I stare stupidly at my socks. I know this place instinctively; I recognize the sounds, the echoes, the movement of the trees. The flavor of the air is familiar, even through the acidic taste of bile. Killian Court; the green field at the campus’ center.

  More giggles, hushed and embarrassed. A few students are making their way to the physics department entrance and I can feel the weight of their furtive glances as they pass by.

  I hug my bare knees to my unclad chest and try not to cry.

  ◊◊◊

  “So,” I began in Doctor Fid’s digitally modified voice, “If I were to agree, how would we proceed?”

  “It’s almost five AM,” the Red Ghost—or rather, the hero’s alter-ego Miguel Espinoza—groaned. Even over the phone’s limited audio fidelity, I could hear him fumble his way to a seated position in his bed; from the sound, he’d put the call on speaker. “I promise that I will answer the phone if you call at a more reasonable hour.”

  “I wanted to speak at a time when I knew you to be alone.”

  “He’s not alone,” Elaine Goldman (Regrowth) commented sleepily. “But don’t mind me…I’m still asleep right now. I must be dreaming this because no sane person would pick up the phone at five AM.”

  I laughed, but neither of the two heroes seemed to find the statement humorous.

  “Should I call back in a few hours?” I asked, hesitantly.

  “No,” Miguel sighed. “We’re awake now. What was the question again?”

  “If I were to agree to help Titan, how would we proceed?”

  “Doing what now?” Elaine asked.

  “Repairing the neural damage from Titan’s Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy,” I replied.

  “Oh, my—I should have known! That poor man…I wasn’t told about this!” she accused, and I heard Miguel yelp. Presumably, she’d poked at her lover in punishment. Regrowth would not, I was certain, be willing to assist in future tasks intended to harass Titan; she was the child of a psychiatrist and a neurosurgeon and her ingrained empathy towards those afflicted with a degenerative brain disease was sure to outstrip the personal enmity she felt towards her former team leader.

  “His medical records are secret,” Miguel defended. “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  “But you told a supervillain?”

  “I told a medical professional whose talents I was hoping to enlist,” the Red Ghost corrected. “As the temporary commander for the Guardians, my medical proxy rights are limited….I couldn’t say anything to you. But if a supervillain happened to reveal confidential information to you, then I can’t be held responsible.”

  Which was likely why he’d put the conversation on speaker rather than simply slipping out of bed to take the call on his own.

  “You’re tricky,” Elaine grumbled. “And I need coffee. I’m going to start a pot, I’ll argue more later.”

  I waited until I’d heard the heroine leave before asking, “So, once more…How would we proceed?”

  “You would need to document the procedure, then our insurers would create a panel to review your abstract and determine if an experimental procedure is warranted.“

  “That sounds quite time-consuming.”

  “Less so than you’d think. It’s in the company’s best interests to have Titan healthy and on the streets; they stand to lose a fair amount of money if he is forced to retire.”

  “A financial benefit?” I chuckled. “I was expecting an argument about the greater good for society as a whole.”

  “I’d be happy to make that argument, but they’re an insurance company. To them, there is no greater good beyond numbers on a spreadsheet.”

  That was an unexpectedly cynical attitude, but I could empathize; my civilian persona had to deal with the board of directors’ chairman, after all.

  “And when the panel gives the go ahead?”

  “Then you provide the data, instructions and all technology to a neutral third party, who will perform the actual procedure.”

  And so vanished my dream of hiding high explosives within Titan’s gray matter. Ah, well. If worse came to worst, I could always simply spend the next few years re-concussing him.

  “I’m not certain that I like the idea of giving my technology to a supposed
ly ‘neutral’ third party,” I complained. “I can’t think of many who would understand the nanotechnology well enough to react if something went wrong.”

  “Whoever is chosen would be able to contact you as an outside expert, if necessary.”

  “Even so…I’m beginning to think that it would be simpler to just kidnap him and perform the procedure myself.”

  “That’s not amusing, Doctor.”

  “I wasn’t joking. If the intent is to see Titan healed, an abduction and forced neurosurgery would be significantly more efficient.”

  “The goal is to see Titan healed and returned to his place as leader of the Guardians,” Miguel replied, though his voice had gained that subtle intensity that I normally associated with his red-garbed alter-ego. “You may have gathered goodwill for your actions in Chile, but no one will trust him if you’ve gotten your gauntlets directly inside his skull. The team’s backers will dismiss him in a heartbeat.”

  “Titan’s return is your goal,” I chuckled. “I’m less convinced.”

  “After Starnyx’s death, you told me that you were trying to be less of a devil and I believed you…but Titan stood against you when you were still the Doctor Fid of old.” I could hear the difference in his tone; Miguel was speaking wholly as the Red Ghost now. “He was a good man and I believe that he will be a good man again.”

  Titan had always been arrogant. He’d always been a bit of a bully, relying on his size and strength to intimidate many into submitting to his decisions. He had been flawed, even from the beginning! In a real sense, the former leader of the Guardians had been precisely the sort of hero that Doctor Fid had come out of retirement to punish.

  If the purpose of punishment was to change Titan’s behavior, then allowing his retirement and decline would be counterproductive; likewise, if the desired end was to dissuade other heroes from committing their own similar misdeeds. It was only if the objective were vengeance that such a fate could be justified.