The Tower (17 page)

This wasn't making any sense—who was ignoring him and why? Maybe he really was a paranoid fool and I was on the wrong end of the chase after all. But the “forgetting” part got me interested so I continued reading.

What “new ways?” And he'd written about the return, so the old folks and Nora Nixon hadn't been lying. Just where had they returned from? My thoughts were interrupted by the landlord saying that time was almost up. “Just about done!” I yelled back, and continued reading.

That was it, the final entry. I took the journal, left the apartment and started back. What did Knower find that had shocked him so much? And how was Ori involved in all this? I was still no closer to the truth, but I now had some proof.

Perhaps the newspapers would be interested and perhaps even Nora Nixon would wake up from her stupor and print this. But first, there was still some more checking to do in order to make doubly-sure that I wasn't just spitting into the wind with all this.

Still, I was satisfied that I wasn't crazy and I felt flush with that knowledge and also…damn, I
was
feeling sort of flushed, as in hot. Breathing hard, too, and I was also thirsty, very thirsty. In my day-long search I hadn't had much to drink. Bought a pet bottle from a vendor, downed it in three seconds and felt even hotter than before.

I wiped my forehead; I was sweating something furious, yet it couldn't have been more than 72 F outside. Hadn't sweated all that much recently, even after hard training, and the last time I'd had this feeling was…no!

Oh, hell…no
!

I tried to get back to Greenway Park as fast as I could but my legs weren't being so cooperative. Face red, breathing hard, I managed to reach the ship with the last of my strength. I'd come down with Stinson and a few others, I hoped they'd be waiting. They were. John was sitting down, looking intently at the grass and flowers around him. Odd, but then again, I was too concerned with my condition to really take notice of the whys of things. Reached the ship, and when BG saw my face, he got up and hustled over.

“You okay, Bill?”

“Jus‘ a little tired,” I managed to get out then felt myself pitching forward into blackness. I tried to whisper, “Take the journal” but nothing came out.
Damn…
.

Eighteen: Relapse

“Uuuh.”

I woke up in Sick Bay, the familiar reddish-green fluid dripping into my veins. Déjà-vu all over again, as someone once said. Avenger was adjusting the IV and he was looking at some kind of data on the monitor. The superhero then swung his masked face towards me. As always, his expression remained implacable.

“Relapse?” I asked. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't allow me. Avenger moved quickly and grabbed my shoulder and hoisted me up effortlessly.

“Yes. We're hoping it isn't bad,” he answered somberly. “This,” he indicated the IV, “should keep you going for awhile. It's an upgrade of the medicine you were given before. Apparently you've already adapted to the previous medication, and the WOMB won't do you any good now.”

“Why won't it? Can't you just pop me in for a recharge?”

Avenger almost laughed at my remark, then checked himself. “It doesn't work that way. It can only be used once for the initial purpose of regeneration. Once it's done its job, another exposure to the fluids would probably kill you.”

He paused for a second, as if figuring out what to tell me next. “You're staying here for a few days while we run some more tests on you.” Even though he still had the tough-guy voice, for some reason it didn't bother me this time.

He continued to talk about the treatment. “After that, we'll see. I…” He hesitated and then mentioned Oriana's name. “I told her you were suffering from exhaustion, a minor blood disorder. She doesn't know how bad it is.”

He lied for me. “Why?”

The superhero just looked at me for a second and then turned away. “She…cares for you.” He looked at me again. “Do you…love her?” He actually whispered that last part, he sounded like a father asking the proverbial boyfriend if he and the daughter were doing the nasty. And then I realized that the tough-guy act was just that; an act, but underneath all that he was a real softie…maybe.

“Yes,” I answered truthfully. “I have for a long time.”

Avenger's expression remained impassive and he just nodded. “We'll do what we can, believe that,” he said flatly, and then strode out, just as Oriana was making her way in. She kissed me on the lips very gently and squeezed my hand. Avenger had seen her kiss me; he hesitated and left the room. Was he jealous, somehow? Or just concerned? I didn't know which, but Ori's presence made me largely forget him and concentrate on her.

“I just got the news,” she began. “Y'gonna be okay?” Her face showed worry. I told myself to be strong, couldn't lose it in front of her.

“Yeah,” I replied, hating myself for having to lie to her. This was the second time and I didn't like it at all. “It's going to be okay.”

We talked a little bit, not once during the time there did she let go of my hand. Ori kept touching my face and stroking my hair and it felt good to be with her…but, as with all things, duty called. She'd be in later. I gave her a thumbs-up as she walked out the door and I was alone again.

And without the journal—I'd just realized it was missing! They'd taken it! Why? That was the proof needed to tie it all together, the only proof I had and it was gone. Asking about it would do no good for who'd believe me? Sinking down into the bed, it was back to square one.

The next week saw me going through a battery of tests: Blood samples, metabolic stress tests, checks and rechecks. After the fifth day, I felt a little stronger and asked to be discharged. I wanted to go back to work, to feel useful, if to no one else then to myself. And, yes, to carry on the search. “Wait,” the doctor said, “we're not finished yet. Rest first.”

Cathy and Dan stopped by, as did most of the Ultras and the cafeteria crew. Tenkita came by and treated me to a private show. Nice to see all the old familiar faces again. Ori came in as often as her schedule allowed, and we talked and held hands while I rested. She almost cried twice but held up pretty well; me, if the situation had been reversed, I would've been bawling my eyes out.

Still, I couldn't help thinking that she was part of it in some way, and then the emotional side of me took over and said no way, it couldn't be true; my love for her was that strong. Maybe I was fooling myself, but I believed in her and knew she wouldn't let me down.

On the sixth day, Avenger came in. “The vibratory signatures are exacerbating the effects of your leukemia, it's returned,” he began. “As soon as the portal is ready, I think it's best to send you back.”

Some comfort. Would I revert to my younger days, would I even live? If I did go back, who would remember me? While I'd been here just a little over a year by my calculations, it seemed a lifetime. Everything back “home” was nothing to me. All I'd ever wanted was here.

I was trapped between the dimensions more than ever before. On the one hand, if I went back, there was a chance I wouldn't live more than a few months; if I stayed here, the medicine would help, but that was no guarantee, either.

On the seventh day, I was discharged, and Avenger told me that I'd be doing only two shifts per week and no patrols, no interstellar missions. I was to remain as stable as possible, no added excitement. I'd come in once every two days for a shot of the serum, that would keep me whole.

John and the other staff members welcomed me back, and all the Ultras were on hand when I turned out my first breakfast upon my discharge. “No one can turn an omelet like you,” BG said, and while that seemed like a half-assed compliment, everyone else echoed his sentiments, and it felt good to be praised.

Oriana came in and fluffed my hair, adding privately that she liked my new look. “You look very distinguished…for an old guy,” she said with a smile.

“Old guy?” I asked her, only slightly pissed off. Just what I needed, more half-assed compliments. But this was coming from the woman I loved so it was all okay.

During my downtime, I stayed in my room as much as possible, except for two workout sessions a week, fairly light weights, a bit of sparring, and that was it. Eat, eat, eat, said Dr. Fustus and I tried my best, even though food wasn't high on my list of things to do. And since I had so much extra time on my hands, I started, for the first time in a long time, to put the pieces together. I'd had suspicions, my shadows of doubt, my run-ins with inconsistencies, and I'd chalked all of them up to this being a different place.

But there were some things I couldn't ignore. Even without the journal, the facts were there and in no particular order, here they were.

Fact One: The Association members were all too intelligent. All of them spoke multiple foreign languages. I could see PowerGuy, Avenger, Deanna, even BG doing it, but Big Gelt? No way. He was as dumb as a bag of rocks, yet spoke fluent Mandarin and Cantonese as well as Dutch, and it was hard for me to believe that he'd invented all those gadgets he wore. I could see radar and sonar…maybe, and that was a stretch, but inventing an anti-gravity device? No friggin' way!

Fact Two: The conspicuous absence of a number of Association members. There had been at least thirty from the list given in the comics and on the Net, but no Black Demon, DragonFlitta, or Plutonian; how long could they be away? I'd been told that they'd gone on a deep-space mission with no estimated time for return, but that was just another cover-up to me; something had to be wrong. Along with them being no-shows, no Dr. Karma or Professor Ling, no Inviso, no Melter, and no Expando. In all, by my estimation, there were a good ten or so members missing in action and the same had been true of the super-villains. No data, no knowledge, nothing.

Fact Three: The eating. No one could eat that much every day of the year. The Ultras were chow hounds and even the human side of the Ultras, Oriana, for example, ate as much as everyone else. And they were vegetarians. Okay, they ate eggs, too, but
all
of them? Code of ethics, maybe—I'd stopped eating meat because I lost my taste for it, not because I was against the practice.

They also seemed to be very powerful, almost off the scale. I'd seen Blue Lancer work out and he was a big man, squatting over six hundred pounds for reps which very few other men could do. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. However, when I saw Skree work out and then Temptress—and both of them weighed only about a hundred or so—lifting three hundred pounds-plus pounds on the bench and dead lifting almost five hundred each and never breaking a sweat, I wondered what kind of special supplements they must have been taking. They could out lift
me!
No one could be that strong!

Fact Four: Avenger. For a combination sleuth/inventor/action hero, he never did much outside of checking the consoles and consulting with the other members, and I never saw him go to Earth and fight crime there. Granted, he was the leader, but Mr. Wonderful was in charge of sending out personnel on missions so that task was taken care of. What did Avenger really do? I wasn't sure anymore, not of him, and not of anyone else.

That last fact led to Number #5 on this list. What did they do for their day jobs? The Snuffler was a teacher. He taught geography at a high school in Pacific Crest city, just outside of San Diego. Tenkita was a telekineticist, and that was it. Looking through the files, PowerGuy a.k.a. Mike Dent worked for an insurance company.

Yet, when I'd called his office about a month back, the secretary told me, “I'm sorry. Mr. Dent has taken a leave of absence.”

“When was this?”

“Around two years ago,” she said

For a high-profile multi-millionaire, Avenger appeared infrequently at his company's parties and meetings, and no one else ever mentioned what kind of jobs they had. In fact, outside of what they did on the Tower, they didn't seem to do anything outside of saving the planet. No hobbies except for gardening; nothing at all.

I suppose it was possible that they were full-time employees but even so, were all of them so independently wealthy that they could afford to be up here 24/7? It
was
possible if Avenger was footing the bill, but I didn't really think so. None of them really cared all that much for money—Oriana certainly didn't. All they seemed to care about was their jobs and eating.

And then there were the lapses of Phyllis, Nora, and everyone else; no one could account for the gap in time and I didn't have a clue, either.

Those facts made me think of something else—reporters. While they covered the action when the Association was helping out and the various happenings were shown on the Search-Net the next day or in the newspapers, I never saw one interview with any of them, not once. Not even with BIG, the publicity hound. If anyone was the logical choice to run and give an interview, it would've been BIG, but no, no one ever asked questions yet the next day it was all there in banner headlines:

“Association Saves Day Again”

So, according to the press, all was well. But how could they know if they never interviewed anyone?

Finally, there was the lack of information from the main guys themselves. None of the Ultras ever volunteered any information about their pasts; “privacy” was the word they used most often. Never did they say anything, anything at all, about past friendships, romances, villains, or whatnot; it was like a universal tabula rasa was in effect.

So what did it all mean? There were no real answers.

Continuing my investigation—such as it was—what was
my
role in all this? I sure as hell couldn't be the villain. That part had been played by Mark Evans, and as had been written in older/other novels, he'd been beaten, vanquished—his part in this drama was over and done with.

But Mark hadn't really been the villain. He'd been mean and nasty, a punk, a total reject from humanity by my standards, but thinking about it hard, I realized that he was just like all the other morons in my school days. And since he was gone, no one else to conquer—there was no need.

If I were to cast all this as some kind of movie and idealize it all, then Oriana would've been the obvious choice as the star and heroine of this epic: She had the looks, the moves, and the attitude. She had charisma to the max and when she walked into the room all eyes were on her, even the lights dimmed, her presence was that powerful.

If some producer were to find a role for Avenger, he would be the wise sage and counselor, the one who had all the answers, the one who knew just what to do and when to do it and was always around to guide everyone else. He was the special type who never cowered in the face of danger, the one who gave confidence to and inspired others. He was the leader.

Deanna and PowerGuy were the faithful lieutenants who carried out the orders and fulfilled their missions no matter how great the danger. They, like Avenger, were the wise ones, the people to whom others rallied around, the ones who everyone else envied and tried to emulate. They were also like confidants, friends who would never betray any secret or anyone, no matter how personal and no matter what peril was involved.

The other Ultras were like the band of merry men and women. They provided the back-up, the sounding board to the lead sage/counselor, they were the righteous Greek chorus. They were there for support and interaction; they made up the supporting cast.

The Snuffler was the comic relief.

As for the other Tower techs and personnel, they were the extras, so that left this flick with only one more role that had yet to be filled. That of the young and inexperienced, yet oh-so-eager male disciple taken under the wings of the more senior members, shown the ropes and in time, the younger man…becomes the hero of the tale; me.

But I didn't think of myself as being a hero. Outside of the Ultras, everyone else on board had done heroic deeds, even Dan, who reluctantly went along on planet-side missions. He'd broken his hand during the cleanup of a typhoon-swept area, yet he never complained and kept working. And there was Cathy who helped out in floods, and Nick who'd risked his life to run into a burning building to bring five children out alive. Were they heroes? Damn straight they were. And that made me all the more confused about what I was really doing here and who I was working with.