Superhero Universe: Tesseracts Nineteen (28 page)

Daystar’s words echoed somewhere deep within me:
the living
must
take precedence over the dead.
It would be so easy.
No
. I owed Doc more death than I could easily count, but, if I turned my back on Daystar and left Doc’s hostages to die, I’d be no better than Doc.

I’d get another shot to bury Doctor Death. And I’d take it. I holstered one of my guns and stretched out a hand to the hostages. The eldest of them, the paleontologist, I assumed, took it first. Her trust seemed contagious, her students stood up wobbly-kneed.

“Stay in the light,” I warned.

They ran, slower than I’d have liked, but they ran, and I followed. I shot at Doc’s remaining goons, trying to drive them away from our exit zone. When we were safely clear of the altar and Doc’s dead zone, I stopped, and turned my deadeye on the god. Its body had weakened, its ancient bones were starting to crumble and flake in Daystar’s light. She could finish it, eventually. But I didn’t think she had the time. The god’s ribs scratched and scrabbled against Daystar’s protective aura. Her glow started to fade.

I had my shot. I took it.

Tombstone bullets threaded the nostril holes of the beast’s skull into where its brain had been. Daystar ripped the jaws apart, and the god shrieked in denial. Its body disarticulated, and its bones were paper in a fire, and then ash, blowing away on the wind.

Mingled with the god’s scream as it fell was something…
human
wasn’t quite the correct word, but whatever that scream was, it had come from Doc’s mouth. He may have gotten away, but I killed his god, and that pained him. I smiled.

Small victories.

I hauled Daystar to her feet.

She didn’t let go of my wrist.

It was her turn to smile. “I promised I would take you in.”

“You did.”

“Will you come along quietly?”

A shadow passed over the moon, shrouding me. In that moment I was gone. She’d never find me with my Hades cap on, not unless I wanted her to. Maybe another time. I laughed the entire way to my Lincoln. I have
never
gone quietly.

Daystar glowed furiously bright in my rearview mirror as I roared toward the highway and into the rising sun.

I also like to make an exit.

* * *

Winnipeg writer Chadwick Ginther’s novels
Thunder Road
and
Tombstone Blues
were nominated for the Prix Aurora Award.

SÜPER

Corey Redekop

Good morning. Good morning. Calm down now. Please, remain in your seats. Thank you. Can everyone hear me?

What a bright and eager group! At the risk of sounding giddy, this is always my favorite time of year. So full of promise. New recruits, new ideas, new breakthroughs.

Before we commence training proper, allow me to fill in a few blanks. Each and every person in this room was approached by recruiters from an organization known as LNF Incorporated. You were informed that LNF specialized in experimental medical procedures. After a lengthy process of interviews and examinations and background checks, offers of employment were tendered, confidentiality agreements were accepted and signed (perhaps some of you even read them, ha ha), and you were informed that LNF would be in contact very soon regarding an employment start date.

Consider today day one.

A vigorous selection process pared the number of applicants to the thirty men and women currently sitting in this auditorium. Congratulations! Your presence here serves as ample proof that each of you ranks among Canada’s finest medical minds. I know you all have many questions; indeed, your innate and relentless curiosity is a main component in how you came to arrive in this hall under such… unorthodox circumstances. Rest assured, most of your questions will be answered this morning. Any unanswered questions will be dealt with at the appropriate time.

Before I proceed any further, I must ask that you consider the gravity of this undertaking. I cannot stress this enough. Right now you are befuddled, perhaps even terrified, but I promise that those who stay will be presented with challenges that may change the course of human evolution. I do beg your indulgence for remaining so vague, but a sense of fairness compels me to offer one final chance to anyone who wishes to return to life as you knew it. If you back out, there will be absolutely no recriminations. Simply raise your hand and you will be escorted from this room, anaesthetized, and returned to your city of origin. Stay, and be assured a place among the greats of medical science. Stay, and join the likes of Salk, Bethune, Hippocrates, and Banting. Leave, and prepare for a monotonous existence devoid of meaning.

So I leave it to you. Stay or go? Yea or nay?

Lovely. I’m proud of you. That minor detail out of the way, welcome to the greatest challenge any of you will ever face. I am Doctor Haddon Nickle, and—

I’m sorry, as I said, please hold your questions; we have a great deal of ground to cover today. Figurative and literal. But as you’re all so keen; yes, I am he. I, along with Professor Carlyle Lalumière, am co-discoverer of the Lalumière-Nickle Flux,
the
most important event in
Homo sapiens
history. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but, if elementary school textbooks label it as such, who am I to argue? Ha ha.

Did you know, the names Lalumière and Nickle, separately and together, were in the top ten choices for baby names for almost a decade after the discovery? Both boys and girls? Fascinating. And flattering.

I digress. Each and every one of you has been recruited as ideal candidates for what you will discover is one of, if not
the
most compelling, unique, and challenging opportunities in medical science. There isn’t one person here, with the exception of Colonel Tidhar — he’s that rather intimidating fellow standing at attention at the back of the room — who hasn’t graduated at the top of their respective classes. You are all world-class doctors with genius-level intellects.

You all are also, to a one, completely alone in this world. Not one of you has a single living relative. Few have friends. None are in relationships, or in any event, relationships that will be missed. Your profiles indicate a high degree of borderline personality disorders combined with near-crippling social phobias that would, in individuals not as innately driven as yourselves, result in lives of silent paranoid misery. You are each a perfect storm of intellectual and introvert.

Simply put, despite your brilliance, not one of you will ever be missed. In the slightest. I can attest with absolute certainty that your social impacts on the world thus far have been, at best, negligible.

Ooh, I see some frowny faces out there. You’re thinking this is not what you signed up for. I sympathize, truly. But you are, of course, wrong. This is exactly what you signed up for.

You just didn’t know it at the time.

Lest you forget, I
did
provide one last chance to leave. You’ve been allowed many opportunities to change your mind, but your insatiable inquisitiveness drove you on, past the onerous paperwork, past the byzantine confidentiality agreements, past the heavily armed guards who knocked you unconscious and transported you here in the dead of night.

Where
here
is, exactly, will remain my little secret. For now.

From this point on, no one shall be allowed to leave the base until training is complete. Anyone attempting to leave will be met with the harshest penalties permitted under the secret codicils to the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. That means you will find yourself terminated before you set foot off the base. And by
terminated
, I do not mean you’ll be on the unemployment line the next day. Nosirreebob.

This is another reason why you are all, to be blunt, loners. Because should any of you leave, or whisper a word of what goes on within these walls, not only will you be executed, but every single person we even
think
you have a connection to will be eliminated as well.

Settle down, please. Settle! Sit down, please! Oh dear, every time… Colonel Tidhar, if you would be so kind?

Ah, now I have your attention. Now who was that exactly, let me just check the chart… yes, Dr. Dowhy of Fort McMurray. I always pad the numbers for exactly this eventuality, but I do keep hoping we’ll one day not have to make such provisions.

Dr. Dowhy will be missed.

Or, rather, he won’t. My point.

Please remain calm; the Colonel will have the remains taken care of when we are done. For now, let the doctor’s smoky corpse serve as a friendly reminder.

As I was saying, the time for misgivings ended five minutes ago. As we speak, teams are being dispatched to close up all loose ends. Tomorrow, media outlets across the country will be reporting on the death of A from a house fire, or the deadly hit-and-run of B, or the accidental corso-oscillated disintegration of C.

From this point on, it’s either remain and learn, or cremation.

Now, that nasty business out of the way…

Welcome to the Canadian government’s Sanatorium for Überhuman Palliative, Emergency, and Restorative care, or SÜPER. And no, I was not on the committee that came up with that acronym. LNF is merely a front to keep the public from discovering our true role, although we do have a nifty side business in product testing.

My discovery of the Flux in the late 1970s was a turning point in human development. I don’t mind admitting I accidentally stumbled upon its existence during my attempts to fully decode the human genetic structure. The previous year, Professor Lalumière had invented what we now call the Lalumière Orb, a portable device capable of generating a sphere of self-renewing, self-sustaining nuclear fusion. It is not an overstatement to say that this device transformed the world, solving the energy crisis in one blow. We have a tiny orb onsite, powering our facilities. They say it will continue to function well into the thirtieth century.

I had theorized that selective exposure of DNA to Orb radiation could trigger controlled mutations. As you see, I am a prime example of my research. Perhaps it’s the humanitarian in me, but I would never expose any test subject to a procedure I would not willingly undergo myself.

I’ve always believed that scientists may strive to better our world, but it’s only the
mad
scientists who get anything done.

However, due to an undetected instability in the prototype Orb, spontaneous precipitation of genetic mutations occurred on a global scale, a process of forced evolution that will continue until that particular sphere runs itself dry. Which, by Lalumière’s estimation, does not appear likely in this millennium.

Zero point zero zero one percent of the world’s population was immediately affected. Most, happily, suffer only the most trivial of abnormalities. I include myself among that number, although I’m sure most wouldn’t classify the extemporaneous growth of a third leg and an extra pair of arms to be trivial. Well, it
has
cost a fair amount of money to have all my clothes tailored appropriately. But my surgical skills have improved dramatically, and there doesn’t exist a three-legged race I can’t win. Ha!

Oh, at first I was chagrined, but I’ve learned to take the entire incident as an instructive lesson in safety checks. I always say, forewarned is four-armed. Ha ha!

Some, of course, were affected to a degree beyond mere extra appendages or kaleidoscopic hair. They are why we are here today. These quote unquote
superheroes
are now the civilized world’s first, best, and only defense against the evils that beset us, primarily those generated by so-called supervillains.

Seems like every day there’s another one, doesn’t it? Today a Havoconda or Machismollusk, tomorrow a Doctor Destruction or Doctor Damage or Doc Dojo. (And do
not
get me started on supervillain abuse of the word “doctor”; only a bare handful have
any
medical or scientific training at all, and Doctor Damage has a doctorate in
Medieval English
— bah!)

All this is why we need superheroes, or, as we here call them,
supercapables
, on our side. It is of critical importance that these beings be in tip-top shape at all times. Until now, you have been aware only of the
public
face of supercapables. The reality behind their heroism is where you come into play.

I’m sensing confusion. I think, at this stage, it would be best to start our tour. If you’ll all please follow me to the elevator…

Everyone in! Don’t worry, room enough for all. This is an industrial elevator, reinforced several times over. Considering the size of some of our patients, a load of thirty doctors will not strain it in the slightest. We’ll be descending some one hundred and fifty metres, and it’s quite a… Whoa! Apologies; I neglected to warn you of the sudden acceleration. Not to mention the deceleration. You’d do best to hold onto the handrails for the zero-gravity portion of our descent.

Ah, Level One, Hero Triage. The outpatient level, where our, how shall I phrase it,
less complicated
warriors fly in for a tune-up. Your Fantasias, your ‘Lastic Lads, your Apexes. Run-of-the-mill supertypes, but they get the job done. Consider this an emergency ward for superhero boo-boos.

You see, supercapables, for all their gifts, do require medical care from time to time, and there isn’t a hospital on Earth that can effectively handle their unique needs. And when you factor in a hero’s need for anonymity, well, you begin to understand why facilities like this are so vital. We cater exclusively to the curative, remedial, therapeutic, and restorative needs of the überbeing. We tend to their aches and pains, and they make themselves available to world governments when their services are required. Most of your more prosaic heroes will go their whole lives without receiving a single phone call requesting their aid, but they are still granted access to all the medical knowledge, technologies, and care at our command. In the long run, the cost of running this facility, and its equivalents in other countries, is negligible compared to the savings in global infrastructure expenditures.