Superhero Universe: Tesseracts Nineteen (15 page)

She blocks him out. Will reaches for her, hand trembling. He is nearly broken, and through the cracks there’s hope. It would be so easy to take his hand, let him pull her into his arms, share his warmth, share their pain, lessening and doubling it by half. They could grieve together.

His grip is firm against hers. Her legs wobble as she stands. He reaches his other hand for the gun, palm up.

“We’ll fix this. We’ll find a way. I swear.”

She wants to believe him. The flickering play of emotions across his strong features seems almost human. And yet, and yet.

The threads of the narrative are hungry at the edges of her vision. The baby that never was, never will be, is one more piece of collateral damage. In the images forced into her mind lie a myriad of other possibilities. Tarnished, dull, but still reflective— other realities, other ways the story could have gone.

If it wasn’t her standing beside Will, it would be someone else, some other shard of pain driven jaggedly into Captain Freedom’s heart. That’s the way the story goes, the way it always goes. Wounds scar. They heal. Memory remains, a ghost beneath the surface as a new future opens up before him. Then the wounds reopen, a fresh trauma made worse by the burden of the past. Over and over, Captain Freedom is hollowed out, broken and remade.

But the debris, like her, is left to remake itself. Or it is swept under the rug, forgotten.

She pulls her hand out of Will’s, glances at Proto Star, who leers at her, waiting. The calculation is simple. She looks back to Will, meets his eyes. Her regret is genuine.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she says, and pulls the trigger.

* * *

The prolific short-fiction writer and editor A. C. Wise is a Montréal expat currently living in the USA.

Nuclear Nikki versus the Magic Evil

Jennifer Rahn

Nuclear Nikki strutted her stuff across the Dead End Causeway and into Magic Eddie’s 8-Ball Bistro and Magnetic Disco Pub. Her orange, six-inch stilettos clacked loudly against the tile, guaranteeing she’d be turning the heads of many a punter. She struck a pose just inside the door, one knee bent outward to ensure her silhouette showed off her legs and the fact she was wearing a ridiculously short skirt along with a cape that did nothing for warmth, and a few other things that didn’t go far in the realm of practicality. Her current reality had degraded from superhero to superwhore— one little mistake in her battle with Monstrous Maxie five years ago had wiped out her superpowers.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness: six or seven men were hunched over tables. A few of them glanced up before returning to their beers and card games. The muted thud of a disco beat wafted from the back, not disturbing the dull inertia of the room. Nikki pushed down a wave of panic and sauntered over to the bar, flipping back her curly wig to make sure it didn’t cover her breasts.

Mango Joe didn’t bother serving her a drink, which enraged her because she hated being ignored, and was a relief since she didn’t have much credit. Only three more chits remained on her colony card. Once those were gone, she’d have to get off this hellhole whether she wanted to or not.

She glanced around the room and saw Savage Bill staring at her with that trademark hint of smugness playing around his lips. He had a cowboy name but dressed nothing like one. If anything, “Disco Bob” might have suited him better: white tux, no shirt, gold chains, tacky tats and blond hair slicked straight up. He leaned back as if he were all that, and slowly reached into his shirt pocket to draw out a card with five chits on it, which he loosely dangled from finger and thumb, letting it swing so that Nikki’s eyes followed it. She didn’t like Bill, no one did, because he didn’t ever play fair, not even by supervillain standards, and the last time she’d taken him on, he’d left bruises that had hurt her business for over a week. But in three days those five chits would pretty much be a stay of execution. She slid off the bar stool and clacked over to where he sat.

“Where’d you get so many?” she asked, jutting her chin toward the card.

“What do you care, hon? I got ‘em, you need ‘em, and that’s that. You’ll do whatever I want, Sugarpie.”

Couldn’t argue with him. Nikki wasn’t able to wipe the dislike off her face as she let him lead her out of the bar, but then Bill already knew the score and it wasn’t like she was trying to win over a patron who’d keep her on for a while.

Bill dumped her in a back alley when he was finished, her hosiery ruined, wig gone, one of her shoes broken — but none of her bones this time — leaving her to wipe the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand that tightly clutched the card of chits. Normally she’d charge a month’s worth for that kind of service, but paying clients were pretty slim pickings these days. She got up from her knees and stumbled along with her broken heel until she slipped in the muck draining through the alley and whacked her head against a dumpster. Before she blacked out, she had just enough awareness to hope the pavement wouldn’t further wreck her face.

* * *

Nikki woke up in a plasticast basement with weak daylight trickling through the slit of a window near the low ceiling. Father Mike was busy by his little camp stove, boiling something he was probably going to make her drink. He wore a heavy apron, gloves, and goggles; the leftovers of his former supervillain costume. He’d once terrorized the universe with his psionic superpowers; now he was trying to make amends by bringing salvation to the fallen supers in this backwater outpost.

“My chits!” She ran her hands over where her pockets should have been and felt around on the sheets covering the couch.

“What? These?” Father Mike shoved his goggles up on his head and held out the clear plastic card that now had a bloody smear across it. “They’re fake. They’re just breath mints glued onto an empty card. Honestly, Nikki, you know better than to trust Savage Bill. Why did you go with him?”

She wanted to say something tough, but instead burst into tears. Father Mike brought over the tea and sat down next to her. “Maybe now you’re ready to take that pet rescue job I lined up for you?” he asked.

Nikki shook her head. “They only pay two chits per week. What’s the point?”

“Well, it’s part-time work. You’d have to also take other positions.” He wouldn’t let her push the cup away. “Drink it. There are painkillers in it.”

She took a few sips, then gingerly stood, wanting to spend her last futile days of misery in private.

“Thanks, Mike,” was all she could manage. His face fell and he hovered around her helplessly as she shrugged back into her cape and picked up her things.

“I wish there was more I could do to help.” He fingered his own card of chits thoughtfully.

“Keep ‘em,” she said. “There’s no point. And thanks for all you were able to do.”

She trudged back to street level, holding her useless shoes by the straps and walking barefoot along the deserted promenade. The morning bells chimed, signifying the start of another workday. Right on cue, thousands of TinHead drones shot into the sky, monitoring the weather, checking stability of infrastructure, and scanning for garbage, both the regular and the human kind. One of the TinHeads skimmed toward her on its hover jets. She held out her card to let the inquisitive robot pluck a chit from its surface, and got her stay permit updated for another day. She wandered aimlessly, feeling too empty to head back to her scruffy flat and get cleaned up so she could find some new clients.

Caught up in her misery, she didn’t notice the tail until she was halfway across the skywalk, too far away from anywhere she could run and hide. Resigned, she turned to face her stalker, probably a villain intent on stealing her last two chits.

She’d attracted the only supervillain in the colony who was full-goose crazy. Rodeo Rick had wandering yellow eyes, which matched his pants and gawdawful neckerchief, but not his stupid purple boots or lasso. He had a rep in the villainous circles as being into the demonic stuff. She hoped he wasn’t in the mood to beat her up as well as rob her. He hung onto the railing as he shuffled toward her, his stringy hair and manic grin a complete mess.

“Nuclear Nikki?” he asked as he came near.

“Yeah?” she answered.

He giggled annoyingly. “Have I a job for
you
.”

“You’re contracting
me
?” she asked skeptically. “Right.”

“No, no. Really. I’ll even pay you.”

She tiredly raised an eyebrow. “How much?”

“A year’s worth.”

“You don’t have that much, and I don’t do villains.” That was a lie, but Rodeo Rick creeped her out even more than Savage Bill did. She turned to leave.

“Oh, but I do have that much.” He jogged around in front of her, panting like an idiot. “Here, I’ll even pay you half in advance.” He pushed six cards into her hand. She held them close to her face and squinted at them carefully. They were real.

“What do you want?”

“Turn a trick on a supervillain.”

She sighed. “Where? Here?”

He almost seemed normal for a few seconds as he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, not
me
. Never, ever
me
.”

“You want me to do someone else?”

“
Yesssss
.”

He pulled something out of each pant pocket, presenting the item in his right hand first. Nikki plucked the translucent yellow stone from his palm and looked at it curiously. “Swallow it,” he instructed. When she hesitated, he added, “I’ve
paid
you.”

She put the hard object in her mouth, feeling it soften and slide past her tongue easily. Warm as it went down, it wriggled in her esophagus, then stuck somewhere in her chest, as if it had slid around her heart. “What is this?” she asked.

“Look! Look!” Rodeo Rick hopped as he pointed at her knees.

Nikki glanced down, looked back at him, then at her knees again. Were they healing? She rubbed her fingers against the broken skin, finding the torn edges were disappearing and seeing the bruises lighten as she probed the holes in her stockings. The stone was giving her a real superpower.

“Where’d you get this?”

He ignored the question and crept back toward her, holding out an old-fashioned perfume bottle. Made of pink crystal, it was topped by a gold spray atomiser with a little pink tube connected to a little pink bulb with a perfect pink tassel. When she took it, he jerked his hands back and wiped them on his jacket.

“Be careful,” he advised. “It’s perfume.”

“I can see that.”

“Okay, here is your job. You go see him,” he handed her a card with an address on it— Hawthorne Mansion, “and make sure, make ssssuuuurrrre, you have the perfume sprayed on your shoulders. Especially the neck area. He likes to kiss there, okay?” He had been pointing at her neck and shoulders as he spoke, but now wiped his hands on his jacket again. “Just dust it on lightly, not too much, or it will kick in too fast. And then that’s it.”

“And then you give me another six months,” Nikki reminded him.

“Yes, of course I will.”

He ran off, but since she now had six months of time, she relaxed. She could take one day for herself, indulge in some new clothes, maybe even a facial. Father Mike would definitely be getting one of these cards, especially if she had six more coming.

* * *

Six o’clock. Nikki presented herself at Hawthorne Mansion, which unlike the other colony-side places with pretentious names, actually was a mansion. She wondered who would have enough money and political influence to land such an extravagant home, or for that matter why the villains always got the nice places. The steel gate opened onto a cobblestone pathway that led through a real garden. She sauntered up to the front door, feeling confident in her new blue silk bodysuit and stiletto boots, not to mention the blond hair extensions she’d had put in just that morning. Little makeup had been required, seeing as how the yellow stone had taken care of most of the damage. She didn’t much care for the scent of the perfume she’d been given, but what the customer wants, the customer gets, and after a while it kind of made her lightheaded, in a good way.

She rang the bell, letting her finger press the button a little longer than necessary, before striking her customary pose as the security cameras swivelled toward her. After several moments, the door opened. Nikki’s heart flipped as she recognized Rodeo Rick’s buddy as DethKode, the top dog in supervillainy these days. She was surprised he’d live out in the open, but now it made sense why double R wanted to buy him a treat— getting on his good side would definitely have advantages. DethKode looked like some kind of demonic nerd, staring at her from his half-hidden position behind the half-opened door. He was wearing the obligatory paraphernalia, from crushed red velvet suit to the upside-down gothic cross around his neck. He was starvation-skinny, his dark hair hung limply around his pale face and his beard was shaved into one of those styles that made the chin look extra pointy. Very retro. Scrolling numbers glowed from the computer screens lining the walls behind him.

Nikki inspected him slowly, smiling at how much it discomfited him. “Hi. Your friend sent me over.” She handed him the address card she’d been given.

He took it with impossibly thin fingers and examined it closely before staring at her again. “Who was it?” he asked.

Nikki might have been reduced to turning tricks, but she wasn’t in the mood for doing villains any extra favours. Since Rodeo Rick hadn’t said to name him as benefactor, she decided to leave that detail out. “He never gave me his name. You know how it is in this business, Sugar. But guess what? He paid half your bill, so this is only going to cost you half a month of chits.” She pulled down the zipper on the front of her bodysuit and stepped toward him, still smiling, actually enjoying herself. He let her in. He probably hadn’t had any in a long while, because he got into it as soon as the door was closed; as promised, he really seemed to like her neck and shoulders.

He may have bitten her a few times, Nikki couldn’t quite remember. Maybe she bit him back. She was flying high by that time, even though she couldn’t remember what they’d been smoking, or if they’d shot something up along the way to a couch somewhere in the third, computer-stuffed living room. Everything was black, red, or silver, but that just made her laugh. She thought DethKode was having a good time too, since he didn’t slow down all evening.