Disclaimer added for legality's sake, since I know you all know that this is copyright ©2004, James C. Taylor, all rights reserved

Prologue

I would like to have said it was the day they killed the Mime. Yes, he was evil. Yes, he was going to face God for all the evil acts he committed. But at that moment, he was innocent until proven guilty. But Sergeant Static said, “Kill him.” And they killed him. And I said nothing. But I knew it wasn’t right. And it gnawed at me.

It wasn’t when Sergeant Static allowed a supposedly reformed Alien X to rebuild his laboratory in New Charleston over the objections of about half the squad. When the other half kept saying “We trust Sarge; he wouldn’t steer us wrong,” I knew that wasn’t right either. And it gnawed at me.

No. It was later, when they kicked Mr. Baseball off the squad because he said something Ghost-Man didn’t like, that I knew something was very wrong. The elite members of the Honor Society of America were going to take over the world. Because they could.

I quit, hoping I could fight them from without. A few others joined me: Corporal Cliff, Everyman, Mr. Baseball, Space Angel. A few stayed in to see what they were up to, see who was in on it and who was just along for the ride. The problem was, other than our moles on the inside, they all were.

And then the order went out: we were to be destroyed. And then the Bookworm, a supposed mole, showed his true colors, pointing out our inside men. Firebrand and the Magician fled and warned us. And now we’re on the run.

Chapter 1

Mr. Baseball was in the corner, brewing up more baseball grenades while listening to the Cubs game. The Magician was on the bed, reading. I was slowly spinning the globe, looking for the spot where this all would end.

“Trish, look what I found in Bookworm’s notes! Did you know that Sarge has on retainer someone who can control people’s brains?”

“Yeah, Magician, I did.” I turned to him. “And please don’t call me Trish, okay?”

“I had better whip up some talismans that will prevent him access to our minds.” He began mumbling an incantation.

Mr. Baseball looked up. “Could that be why they follow him?”

“Unfortunately, no. I have never seen anyone like that around the Honor Society. They just agree with him. You heard what Ghost-Man said ‘Order is more important than freedom.’ ”

“It was right after that when I said ‘I’ll have a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake.’ I got kicked out of the HSA for a joke about fast food.”

The Magician stopped his incantation. “You’re joking, right?” He looked at Mr. Baseball and myself. “You’re not.” He sighed and returned to incanting.

“Well, I have enough trick baseballs to last for a while. So what are we going to do?”

“Everyman and I believe there are more paranormals than us, ones that could be recruited to aid us. So we hit the road.”

“Where to?”

“Everywhere. I bought us a cover.” I handed him the brochure.

“The Ming Ling Brothers Traveling Carnival and Circus?”

“A legit operation. They get a mysterious cash infusion if they take us on as performers and roustabouts and ask no questions.”

“Speaking of questions, I have one: where are Space Angel, Everyman, Firebrand, and Cliff?”

Chapter 2

“It’s not right, Mary. And you know it isn’t.” Kevin (Space Angel) took a sip from his tea. He and Mary (Fritzi) were seated in a booth at a downtown diner. The place was bustling.

“I owe Sarge a lot. And the world will be a much better place once we’re running things. You’ll see.”

“No, I won’t, Mary. Because I’ll be dead, remember?”

She looked down at the tabletop. “It doesn’t have to be that way. Join us.”

Kev laughed through his nose. “Do you remember why I am on Earth?” She looked up and shook her head no. “On Roggenath, the Space Police were revered. We were the living end. A particularly stupid politician was elected Grand Vizier. We knew he was an idiot. We knew he needed to go. So some of the Space Police got rid of him. And then they decided that other members of the council were stupid, too. And they went. And when I said I wasn’t sure this was the best way to go about things, I was stupid, too. So I grabbed a space pod, removed the warp tracker, and came here.” He took a sip of tea. “Mr. Baseball made a joke about order. And for that Sarge has sentenced people to death. It’s a little too familiar to me.”

Mary started to cry. “I really hoped this would go better. I liked you, Kev.” She pressed a button on her wristwatch.

Ghost-Man phased his hand through the wall and squeezed Kev’s throat.

The waitress came over and looked at Fritzi. “And I so thought you had the hots for me.” The waitress touched Fritzi’s wrist. Fritzi fell immediately unconscious and the waitress was suddenly Fritzi. “She” ran out the front of the restaurant and around to the back.

“Stop, Ghost-Man. He’s dead.”

Ghost-Man released his grip and brought his arm back out. “‘Bout time. The winged freak.”

“You’re solid now, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Fritzi” kicked him in his groin. Immediately, Ghost-Man fell unconscious and “Fritzi” became “Ghost-Man.” Space Angel ran around back, rubbing his throat.

“Took you bloody long enough.”

“I had to know what they were going to do before I did anything.” Everyman resumed his normal appearance. “Let’s get back to Sparky’s place. There are going to be some angry people who won’t get their dinner ‘cause their waitress is gone.”

Space Angel wheezed. “Don’t make me laugh; it hurts.”

“Hey, be grateful; I could have gone with Cliff and Firebrand.”

“Where did they go, anyway?”

Chapter 3

“She won’t do it.” Cliff stood behind Firebrand (both in civvies) with arms crossed against his chest.

Firebrand stood relaxed at the apartment door, bouquet of flowers in hand, and rang the bell. “She’ll do it.”

Cliff narrowed his eyes. “She left before Trish did. She won’t do it.”

“She’ll do it.”

Cyber Scarab opened the door with a towel around her waist and one around her hair.

“Hello, ma’am. We’re door to door Bible salesmen and were wondering if you could use a good book.” Firebrand smiled his winning smile. Cliff rolled his eyes.

“You might want to ask what I would use it for. Come on in, boys, before I have to charge my neighbor for the show.”

They walked into the living room of her apartment. CS waved in the general direction of her sofa and headed into another room. Cliff sat first. “Do you always come to the front door half naked?”

“I was working,” she yelled from inside. “This guy has a Janet Leigh - Psycho thing going. But the doorbell ruined the suspense.” CS came back in blue jeans and a T-shirt that read ‘Yes, they’re real; I paid enough for them.’ Her hair was completely dry. “I thought I had turned the sound off on it. So to what do I owe the honor?”

Firebrand leaned forward in his seat. “Well, number one, we’re establishing an alibi, since Bookworm’s house was destroyed.”

“No.”

“Yeah. It looked like someone bashed it up with sledgehammers and then set it on fire.” Cliff smiled. “Can’t say I am sad about it, though.”

“You know they’re trying to kill us, right?”

“Yeah. Bookworm still hasn’t found the backdoors in the HSA computers.”

Cliff’s eyes narrowed. “Are you with them?”

“Would I have opened the door if I were?”

“That’s a question.”

“No. I am not with them. But I am not with you. I am already dead.”

Firebrand raised an eyebrow.

“I ‘died’ in a car accident about four months ago. Lorraine Beemis, who drives the same model car I do didn’t die in her car accident and moved here. So if you ever see me outside of this apartment -and you won’t- my name is Lorraine.”

“Sounds like we have the right person for the job.”

“What job?”

“We need fresh identities. All of us. Ones they don’t know about. Ones they can’t trace. Complete ones, not shells. Can you do it?”

“Step into my office.”

***

Covering one entire wall were several PCs and Macs interconnected by cables and mounted in rack shelving. Attached at various points were a large plasma screen, a broadcast quality camera, a document center, and a mixing board.

Most of the other wall was blank and lime green. Off to one side were a box of props and a rack of outfits.

Cliff shook his head. “You...”

“Make lonely guys with too much spending money very happy.” She sat down at the keyboard. “I could do this here. But sometimes it’s easier to dive into things all the way.” She sparkled, digitized, and vanished. Cliff saw her first, as Firebrand was looking at the costumes on the rack. She was on the plasma screen. “Over here. I built Igor to graphically render what I am doing.” They watched as she pulled out identities and put them on her zip drive, authorizations to pick up new IDs. “Take the disk, Hotlips, while I go check on the HSA.”

As Firebrand ejected the disk, he heard Cliff gasp. “Scarab, it’s Bookworm!”

Okay, my impression so far:

First, it's an interesting, if not altogether original, story. It has potential. It could be an exciting genre piece.

It really, really needs fleshing out, though. I'm trying to visualize this as a comic book as I read it. What I'm seeing is one of those black and white indy books you used to see a lot that consisted entirely of generic-looking figures running around with hardly any backgrounds.

What you have here so far is nearly all plot, action, and dialog. To really evaluate this, we need to see some descriptive passages. I can't really get much of a handle on what the characters and their world look like. I'm sure you intend to have more of that emerge as this progresses. But we need to have some idea of this early on. What kind of world do these characters live in? What do they look like? What does ANYTHING in this story look like?

All we know about that diner in which one scene takes place is that it's a diner and it's "bustling." What does a bustling diner look like? Is it an old-fashioned place with round bar seats and a sizzling grill you can see as you come in, with checkered tables and glass salt shakers and bright red ketchup bottles? Is it modern and bland, all blank walls and tables painted in bright colors to make you want to eat fast and clear out? Is it light or dark inside? Are there corner booths where people on the run can have a chat without anyone overhearing? Is it in good repair and clean, or kind of run-down and slovenly? Is there a table full of noisy kids that everyone is trying to ignore? Is the person behind the counter a nervous kid, a gruff old lady who's been there for thirty years, a recent immigrant whose English needs work? Just a few details like this could quickly and efficiently sketch out the location for the reader and provide a sense of being in the place. Touches like this would go a long way toward enriching this story.

I don't know if it might be helpful, but here's a passage from a superhero story I wrote some time back. I don't hold it up as an example of great writing. It does give an idea of the sort of things I'm talking about. A Chicago-based superheroine called Blue Fox has come to New York City to attend a convention in her day job and follow a lead in her other identity. She pretends to be ill to get away from her companions and goes out for the night.

Returning to her room, she put on her carefully concealed costume and taped up her ankles and wrists. Her cowl-helmet and line shooter went into a shoulder bag, and her ankle-length trench coat served to conceal her outfit. It was fortunate that her convention had been held in a time of cold weather, or she would not have been able to use this method of traveling incognito.

At length the creaking, swaying rattling subway arrived at her station, in a neighborhood to the west of Prospect Park. It looked like most small stations along the line, dim, dingy, but not especially squalid. A fair amount of trash lay strewn along the tracks at the base of the platform, with a little more on the platform itself. As in most stations little areas of mosaic like that surrounding the station’s name were spaced along the walls to relieve the monotony of the tiles and concrete—reminders of a bygone age when public works had been expected to have some kind of decoration. Jill saw no one around, apart from the professionally inconspicuous ticket vendor.

The streets seemed almost as deserted. Snow from a recent fall lay piled along the sidewalks and on the stoops and the tiny bits of front yard that the more residential buildings boasted. The shop fronts along the commercial blocks bore signs in English, Spanish, and what appeared to be Polish. This was good; the neighborhood’s varied ethnic mix meant that her fair-complected, blue-eyed face would not look too badly out of place on the street. It was just as well that there was hardly anyone around anyway.

There was her address, three doors down from the landmark intersection. A modest, three-story brick building with arched windows of a type built anywhere from sixty to a hundred years before, with a store front below and apartments above, it looked like one of thousands of buildings in Brooklyn—quintessential Brooklyn architecture. The well-protected storefront seemed deserted.

Having gotten a good look at her target from the street, she proceeded to the end of the block, rounded it, and found herself in an alley. After making sure that the alley contained no unofficial residents, she removed her overcoat and hat, donned her helmet and line shooter, and stuffed the coat and hat into the shoulder bag. She hid the bag behind some trash cans, then stealthily climbed up the nearest fire escape to the roof.

Ever since she had first gotten hooked on comics, Jill Loughead had dreamed of racing across the rooftops of New York, on the way to battle evil. Chicago had plenty of neighborhoods that looked a lot like what one found here. But there was something about finally getting to see the real thing. All around her she saw TV aerials, plumes of steam, ancient brick parapets and cornices trimmed with snow. It was all so…so New York! Even the winter air felt more brisk than chilling, now that her system had begun to rev itself up.

She reached her target building. As expected, it had a convenient rooftop entrance. She could find no evidence of an electronic alarm, and the lock proved fairly easy to pick. The enemy’s lack of security did not surprise her too much, considering that this was probably a temporary base of operations.

After letting her catlike eyes become adjusted to the dim light, she slowly, carefully walked down the stairs. She stepped lightly, on tiptoes, treading next to the wall where the steps had the most support and creaking was least likely. They still creaked, but she knew that minor creakings in an old building were unlikely to draw special attention. At the bottom of the stairs she slowly, cautiously opened the unlocked door.

Opening the door broke a concealed thread, which in turn released an ingeniously mounted garland of empty metal beverage cans. The crashing cans ruptured the silence as effectively as any electronic alarm. Too late, she recalled a previous mission in Chicago, where a similar low-tech solution had frustrated the best electronic counter measures.

A pair of armed men burst into the hallway from one of the rooms on that floor. A third, unarmed man appeared behind them a few moments later. She had no chance of escape.

“Put your hands behind your head!” the unarmed man ordered. She complied. His accent sounded Eastern European.

The henchmen and leader got into an argument in what sounded like Russian. She guessed that they were debating whether to kill her then and there. Probably they had heard rumors of America’s highly dangerous vigilantes and did not know what to do next. Criminals in this situation were very prone to hasty, ill-considered actions—actions that might either set her free or do her in.

In the darkness behind the light streaming from the door to the thugs’ room, she thought she saw something stir. With a strangled cry, the leader was abruptly pulled backward into the darkness by an unseen force. The armed men whirled to see what had happened. A split-second later they gasped in pain as something simultaneously struck both of them across the throat. Their weapons clattered to the floor unfired. Then came the sound of the wind being knocked out of their lungs. A third pair of well-aimed blows sent them to the floor.

In their place stood a cloaked, powerful figure, clad from head to toe in the color of midnight. The feeble light in the hall glinted eerily from the mirrored lenses of a cowled mask. The dark figure’s presence filled the entire hallway, looming over the fallen gangsters like the shadow of doom.

Jill had seen and worked with this figure before, during the apocalyptic Fourth Horseman affair. Despite this, despite the fact that she belonged to the vigilante club herself, she could not help feeling awed in his presence.

“Good work, Blue Fox,” Dark Knight said. “We’ve captured all three of them according to plan.”

Chapter 4

“X-Aliens!” Mr. Baseball yelled over shattered glass.

They swarmed through my windows and were pounding against my door. The Magician levitated above the room. I flattened against the wall next to the window and fired electric charges into the swarming hordes. Mr. B from across the room tossed fastball grenades into them. The Magician was casting stasis spells at the group streaming in the door, allowing me to blast them from across the room.

“Invisible yourself and Baseball, stat,” I yelled while running to the corner. The hordes followed me. They pummeled me with their slimy appendages. Their rank odor made me want to vomit. But I needed as a large a group as possible before I launched my attack. I couldn’t wait any longer. I did an area-wide electrostatic burst felling a large group of them.

Baseball, invisible and at their backs, tossed another grenade into the remainder. My apartment was pretty trashed.

“Looks like they know we have Bookworm’s books.”

“Let’s find out what else they know.” It was Space Angel and Everyman, bringing in a rather unhappy-looking Alien X.

“We found Mr. Personality here outside. X, I mean, not Space Angel.”

“You won’t win, you know. You can’t.”

“You know guys, rather than play the interrogation game, how about I just rip it out of his mind?” The Magician looked grim.

“Go for it,” I said. “We may not have much time.”

The Magician did the spooky spell thing and Alien X seemed to glow for a minute. Then he started babbling.

“Sarge has offered all hypervillains a deal: an expunged record for all of us and the continent of Australia once they take over if we take you out. The ones who actually get you get cash.”

Unlike myself, Sarge wasn’t heir to a chocolate chip cookie fortune. “Cash? From where?”

“They’re selling action figures, graphic novels. And Bookworm launders our stolen cash as attorney’s fees.”

That got Everyman’s attention. “How long has Bookworm been defending hypervillains in court?”

“For months. How do you think I even got out of prison? Bookworm represented me and Sarge spoke for me at my parole hearing.”

I held my chin in my hand. “Well, we need to leave New Charleston now, that’s for sure.”

Baseball smacked his bat into his palm. “Only one thing, Trish. What do we do with X?”

Chapter 5

“It’s not Bookworm. It’s a tracerbot from the HSA trying to get back to Igor. Firebrand, Cliff, you’ve got to destroy Igor.”

Firebrand and Corporal Cliff looked at each other.

“If you don’t then we’re all dead. Do it. Now!”

Cyber Scarab punched Bookworm’s tracerbot in the gut and then kicked its head up and back violently. It smacked her full flush across the face, sending her sprawling across the fantasy plane.

Firebrand began to shut down the computers one by one. Cliff shook his head. “That’s not going to do it, Smoky. You know what we have to do.” Cliff’s hand turned solid stone, and he began wailing away at Scarab’s computers. Sparks flew as cases dented.

Firebrand pinched the bridge of his nose and then pointed his hands toward the debris from Cliff’s flailing and began steadily turning it to slag.

Scarab’s image began to distort on the screen. She had “Bookworm” in a chokehold while kneeing “him” in the ribs. And then, suddenly behind her was a second one with a large machete. Firebrand and Cliff stopped, frozen to the screen. They saw the knife plunge down on her. Through the rapidly deteriorating picture they saw what looked like Scarab being cleaved fully in two. And then the picture went black.

Cliff burst his fist through the screen full force, sending splinters flying. Firebrand incinerated the rest of the equipment save for the zip drive and the zip disk, and then pulled the flames back in him before the apartment building caught fire as well.

“She’s dead, Hotfoot. And she wasn’t even one of us.”

“Come on, Cliff. We need to go.”

“This is worse than anything the Master Maniacs have done. This is war.”

“Come on, Cliff. We need to go.”

“Too late” the familiar electronic voice said. “We’re here.” In the hallway were the Tin Man and his Tin Cans, their buzzsaws screaming their high pitched antiseptic whine.

I've noticed that the characters all speak in essentially the same voice, with the same speech patterns. There needs to be more variety among the character voices. In a non-illustrated story their distinctive voices, personalities, and ways of acting are essential to help us tell the characters apart. And to care about them as well.

A couple of suggestions from Chapter 5:

Have Tin Man talk more like a stereotypical evil robot being:

"It is too late. We are here." Might even try all caps or italics to further set the character's speech apart.

Also, for emotional scenes, add more inflection:

"She's dead, Hotfoot. And she wasn't even one of us...." (.... shows voice trailing off).

"Come on, Cliff. It's time to go."

"This...this is worse than anything the Monster Maniacs have done. (Hesitation shows the character is shocked about this).

Cliff stared at the ruined screen, fists clinched (description of body language--remember, the reader can't SEE these little details of what's going on and has to be told)

"This is WAR!" (inflection--italics might be best. Alternatively, you could describe Cliff as saying this in a calm voice full of suppressed rage)

"Come ON Cliff! "It's time to GO!" (inflection adds urgency to the repetition).

Just suggestions.

Chapter 6

“This is...odd.” The Magician was in his black performing tux for stage magic, rather than the white one he wore for superheroing, having just left his audience of one.

“At least you’re not wearing a bustier.” Everyman adjusted the magician’s assistant outfit on his newly female form. “You never said anything about an audition, Sparky.”

“How was I supposed to know the kid wanted to see our acts? Who is the woman, by the way?”

“A girl I dated once in Youngstown. Figured it would be an easy one to duplicate from memory.”

“Well, you have nice taste.”

“Quit flirting with Schizo. Who’s next?”

“That would be me.” Mr. Baseball pulled three non-lethal baseballs out of his sack, walked out on stage, and began juggling. “I am the master of the sphere” he said, throwing one, then two, then one, then two baseballs up in the air. “And I am having a ball. But not only can I throw the balls in a circle, I can also throw them in a straight line. If my lovely assistant would come out with that glass of water from back stage.”

“Who, me?” Everyman looked stunned.

“You’re the only one who looks like a girl.”

“I know we’re running for our lives and all, but come on.”

“Do it,” the Magician and I said simultaneously, pushing Everyman out onto the stage.

“Now if the lovely Melanie would stand against the wall and place the glass of water on her head.”

Everyman’s jaw dropped. “Come on, Melanie, we don’t have all day.” Everyman walked to the far wall and shakily placed the glass on the flat of her head.

Mr. Baseball dusted his hands. “And now I will knock the glass off of her head.” Mr. Baseball reared back and fired a seed right at the glass. Or rather right at where the glass was before Everyman ran off hysterically. “Sorry. Not my regular assistant.”

Willy Harkness laughed. He was young to be running a carnival and circus, but that’s what happens in a family business when the patriarch goes to jail. As the Electrician, I had helped his father recover money underworld types had stolen from him and his investors. But since Ronny Harkness was a conspirator, he had to do some time himself. “I have an idea to see if you’re really any good.”

We went out to the midway to the milk cans booth. Willy set up three sets of cans, produced a bow and arrow from behind the booth, and then walked to the other side of the midway. He notched an arrow, sighted his target and let fly, sprawling the five of the six cans.

Mr. Baseball wound up and fired off his “change up,” which ran about 120 mph, scattering the cans.

“Wow. Why aren’t you in the majors?”

“No one will catch me.”

Suddenly the third set of cans scattered. “What was that?”

“It was a potato!” Space Angel thundered.

I turned to see Farmer John, sidekick to the HSA, and his potato launcher. “Stand aside, kid. I’m bringing these guys in.”

Chapter 7

“And look who else is here, Buckethead!” Cliff pointed over Tin Man’s right shoulder. Because of his armor, Tin Man had to turn with his full body to look.

Cliff tossed Firebrand to the door. Firebrand sprung up to his feet and took off running. Tin Man ran out of the door after him toward the stairs. Firebrand was putting distance between them fast. “Bird in the hand,” Tin Man muttered, then returned to the apartment.

“All right, Stonehenge. Time to die.” Tin Man’s robotic minions, the Tin Cans, had already plowed forward at Cliff, who was now in his stone form. Cliff attacked them with a berserker’s fury, smashing open their panels and exposing their circuitry. Their force beams slowed him, but part of the problem was that there were so many they were getting in each other’s way.

Cliff used the confusion to fight his way toward the bathroom, then shut the door. The Tin Cans thundered against the door, rattling the hinges. Cliff checked the sink first and then the tub. There he saw a telephone shower. Cliff pulled the pin on the faucet to activate the shower and waited.

“I’m tired of wasting time, Rocky.” Tin Man ordered the Tin Cans aside and burst through the door himself. Cliff turned the water on full blast and aimed it at the doorway. The exposed circuitry of the shattered robots and the water threw a large arc of electricity that jolted Tin Man. He fell to the floor, stiff and smoldering.

Cliff shut off the water, gingerly jumped over Tin Man, and left the room. Cliff started to walk to the door but stopped, picked up the phone and dialed 911, asked for an ambulance, then hung it up.

“Why?” Tin Man croaked beneath his mask. “I would have let you die.”

“Precisely.” Cliff walked to the door. “I wouldn’t want to be like you.” He closed the door.

***

Firebrand stopped after a time and looked back. Tin Man had decided not to pursue him. He waved the zip disk in his hand for a moment, then ran to his car and put the disk in the glove compartment. Firebrand then ran back to the apartment. He was almost at the door when he heard the sirens and saw Cliff walking out.

“You should have been gone by now. I didn’t throw you all that way for nothing.”

“I know. I came back for you.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

Firebrand shrugged his shoulders. “You owe me money. Let’s beat it.”

As they walked to the car, Firebrand turned on his cell phone and heard the chirp of messages waiting. He dialed his message center and listened intently.

“You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“They’re at a carnival.”

***

“Kid?” Willy knitted his brows. “Who are you calling a kid? You’re not even a full-fledged member of the HSA!”

“When I bring in these renegades, that’ll get me in the HSA for sure. And I didn’t trail Alien X to these guys just to argue with some dumb kid.”

Willy in one swift motion notched a bluntly tipped arrow and fired, striking Farmer John in the bib of his overalls. “Kid that.”

“You didn’t want to do that kid. You’re going to have the whole HSA on your butt!”

“But they’d fit on yours!”

Farmer John got red in the face and fired a high-speed potato at Willy and Mr. Baseball. Mr. B drew back to toss a concussion grenade, but before he could, Willy let fly with another arrow, which exploded at Farmer John’s feet.

“What kind of a carnival act uses that?” I muttered.

Farmer John flipped a switch and his potato gun began to fire repeatedly toward Willy, as Mr. Baseball sought cover. Willy fired another arrow at Farmer John’s feet, which exploded into a cloud of gas. Farmer John froze on the spot.

I then fired an electrical bolt across the distance at the gun, disabling it. I met Willy and the Magician over at Farmer John’s body. “What in the world do you need with fancy arrows like that?”

“I’m going to be a superhero.”

“What?”

“I want to join you guys. I’ll let you hide here with the carnival and circus, but in return, I want to join you.”

“We’re not with the HSA anymore, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. And my dad tells me the rumor in prison is that the rest of the HSA is trying to kill you in order to take over the world. I don’t want to be taken over, so I want to join you. So do we have a deal?”

I shook his hand. “So what do we call you?”

“I think I am going to be Blue Archer. At least until I think of a better name. But what do we do with him?”

“That’s my job.” The Magician recited his incantation and reduced Farmer John to a pewter statue. He carefully picked him up and placed him in the box next to Alien X. “We’ll bring them back when the time is right.”

“Don’t hurry.”

Firebrand and Corporal Cliff ambled up the midway to the rest of us. Firebrand smoothed his hair. “What is all of this?”

“Home, for now. But what happened with Scarab?”

Cliff grimaced. “You’re not going to want to hear this.”

Chapter 8

I sat in my new trailer, sipping a Jack and Coke and mulling over my new name. Gordon Shumate. It reminded me too much of Alf. Gordon was my age, from my part of the country, born on my birthday even. Scarab does good work. Did.

I scanned the information on the zip disk to go over the other guys’ names; I would have to start using those too. I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I turned around to find a woman standing there.

She was blonde, wearing a black mask, a white tube top, white bicycle shorts, white calf boots, and fishnet stockings. She had a locket around her neck. And wore a pair of wings.

“I like a girl with large wings.”

“You’re not surprised to see me?”

“I’m more surprised I’m not dead.”

“I’m not with them.”

I took a pull on the Jack and Coke. “But you know about them.”

“I do.”

I set down the glass. “How did you get in here?”

“I can wander anywhere I want. Call me Wander Woman.”

“I’ll get sued. So, do you like teasing washed up superheroes on the run or is there a point to your visit?”

“I can’t stop them. But I can tell you what they’re planning.”

“How?”

“I can wander anywhere I want.” She walked toward the computer. “They weren’t able to frame you so they could go after you en masse. And none of them can take you one on seven. So they’re going to switch to teams of two. And they’re going to try to pick you off one by one. Stay together. At least groups of two. See if you can pick up allies. I will bring you news as I get it.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What they’re doing is wrong and it needs to be stopped!”

“Then you have your answer. And your instant messenger is flashing.”

I turned to the screen, but saw no flashing icon. I turned around and she was gone. Was she telling the truth? Was she even real? I looked for the bottle of Jack.

So now Everyman has an idea of what it's like to be a superheroine and have to deal with wearing absurdly revealing outfits!

Chapter 9

At a farmhouse just outside of Batavia, New York an unusual group of visitors paid Polly Randall a visit. There were women, maybe twenty of them, thronging around a man in an ice-cream pink suit. The ones that could stand on the porch with him did, the others trailing behind onto the lawn. They were all dressed in the same high fashion outfit, although the colors varied. He rang the bell and smiled a billboard full of white teeth.

Polly opened the door a crack, three tough looking chains across it. “May I help you?”

“I am looking for Polly Randall. Are you she?”

“Who’s asking?”

“My friends and I represent the Goodwife Guild, an organization to promote family values through baked goods. We thought you might be interested in joining our organization.”

“I didn’t say I was Polly.”

“No. You sure didn’t. But that’s easily enough taken care of. Are you Polly?”

“What if I am?”

Handsome Harry yawned. “This is tiring. If you’re not Polly, you can be a day laborer. Girls, knock the door down.”

The throng of women battered the door, pressing against it, slamming into it, until the wood bowed, then broke. The women streamed into the room. Polly fired off a round of buckshot into them. Some of the women fled back out onto the porch, but Harry and a few others walked forward.

Harry fixed Polly’s eyes with a powerful gaze, and then, she felt something in the back of her mind pop. “You love Harry now, don’t you Polly?”

“I love Harry” Polly said absently.

“You want to be a Harriette, don’t you?”

“Yes, make me your follower.”

“Sure. Join Harry. Love Harry. Worship Harry.” Harry pointed at Polly and the middle-aged woman felt herself transforming. In a flash she now looked like a variation of the other women surrounding Harry. “All of you, out to the car. I need to leave a note, then we’ll go.” Harry breathed in deeply and puffed his chest out. “Nothing gets your morning started off on the right foot like revenge against Firebrand.” He left a note on the table and walked out to his admiring throng.

***

Willy was driving (it was his van) with Firebrand in the front seat, Willy not at all buying into the notion that pork chops cooked with fruit would be edible. Firebrand defended his Aunt Polly with gusto, while the Magician and I watched from the back. I used the opportunity to ask the Magician more about his powers.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Theoretically, no. In practicality, yes. Everything you’d want to do in magic is predicated on your knowing the proper spell and having the necessary ingredients to pull a particular spell off. Spells I can cast all the time are stasis, hovering (for myself,) darkness, and invisibility. In most situations, there is enough water vapor in the air for me to send a bolt of psychic force or to cause people to zone out. And it goes like that.”

“We’re here,” Firebrand said over his shoulder. As we walked toward the house, it was apparent something was wrong; even in the country you don’t leave your door wide open. We all changed to our action suits, including Willy, who was now calling himself Bowhunter, and ran inside. On the table was a note, reading “I can kill her and all the rest of them, or I can kill you. Your choice. Love, Handsome Harry.”

“Harry, again! How many times can one guy be a thorn in my side? And how did Harry find my aunt?”

I looked at the note. “I think I know. Look at the stationery. Does it look familiar.” Firebrand looked at it closely. “Yeah, it does. The last time I saw it, I was setting it on fire.”

The Magician raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Bookworm” Firebrand and I said simultaneously.

Chapter 10

“I don’t get it,” Bowhunter said, palms out. “Why would Bookworm send a note pretending to be Handsome Harry?”

Firebrand clutched the note tightly. “He’s not pretending to be Harry. This note is from Harry all right. But it’s on Bookworm’s stationery. On purpose.”

I went to the phone table and took out the Yellow Pages®. “He did that so we’d know how Harry knows. And who was behind it all.”

Bowhunter scratched his head. “So how did Harry get out of jail, anyway?”

Firebrand sneered. “Bookworm is a lawyer in real life. He probably represented him. But how did Bookworm know about Aunt Polly? We destroyed his computer and we took his books.”

I turned to the home improvement section. “Memory, most likely. When you read a whole list of names, generally one or two will stick in your mind, at least for a short time. Your aunt was the ‘lucky’ one.”

The Magician looked at Firebrand from under his brow. “You do realize this is a trap, right?”

“Yeah. I know. This is what we used to do before we became circus acts, catch guys like this.”

“There is also an address on the note,” I proffered. “Some place in Buffalo.” I picked up the phone and dialed a number. “He’ll be waiting for us there.” I made arrangements for someone to replace Polly’s door, and then we shuffled off to Buffalo.

***

We walked slowly through the industrial park, looking for signs of life.

“You know, I can see where being able to hypnotize all women could come in handy, myself,” Bowhunter whispered.

“Some of us don’t need the help,” Firebrand shot back.

I felt live electricity in the fifth building, more than the others. “Here.” Firebrand scorched an X in the street. “The others are on their way. Let’s see what this is all about.” The Magician cloaked us with invisibility, and we entered.

***

As we slipped in the door, we noticed the Harriettes milling about, some fawning over Harry, some attending to the cages, cages labeled for our convenience, since the Harriettes all look alike. One was labeled Polly Randall. And one was labeled Carol Thurston. My ex-wife.

“That’s your aunt?” Bowhunter whispered with a frown. “I am sorry, but your aunt is hot.”

The Magician pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s an illusion.”

I moved closer to Willy’s ear. “Shoot an arrow to the other side of the compound while we free the women.”

Bowhunter notched an arrow and let it sail across the room. Unfortunately, the arrow he chose was an explosive one. About half of the Harriettes turned toward the explosion, while the other half came directly at us.

“I can’t keep us invisible and fight, so...” The Magician gesticulated and we appeared out of nowhere. Firebrand threw fireballs while I started throwing low-level bolts into the crowd. The Magician was zoning them out while trying to stay out of the crossfire. “Bowhunter, a trick arrow would be nice,” I yelled.

“They’re girls.”

“This is no time for chivalry. Bomb arrow, gas arrow, whistle Dixie arrow, something!”

“You don’t want to hurt us,” one of the Harriettes said to Bowhunter. “You love us like we love Harry.”

The Magician looked panic stricken. “Don’t listen to them!”

Bowhunter already had that look in his eyes. “I’ll take care of the kid. Stop these zombie women.”

I fired a hard bolt into Bowhunter, stunning him for a moment, while Firebrand and the Magician herded took down the non-caged Harriettes. Harry was in the corner raving.

“An army of women. My beautiful army of women, and you’ve ruined it.”

The Magician restored Polly Randall, Carol, and the other captive women. I prayed Carol would be so traumatized from the experience she’d keep her mouth shut, at least for the short term.

I flew to the corner to interrogate Harry. “Sorry, Harry, but you won’t be collecting any bounty on us today.”

“But we will!”

We all turned to the doorway, thunderstruck.

Bowhunter gulped. “It’s Bookworm and Page!”

Chapter 11

They stood on the perimeter of the Buffalo industrial park, staring into the blackness of the night.

Silver Shield took a drag on a cigarette and then coughed violently, sputtering sputum.

Dart shook his head. “You don’t smoke. Why do you do that?”

“Because it makes me look serious, Dart. It enhances my rep as the Silver Shield.” Shield stubbed the cigarette out, breaking it off almost at the filter.

Dart kept scanning the horizon for signs of Hardcastle and Ultra Violet. “So how did you get to be the Silver Shield, anyway?”

“I was attacked while patrolling a neighborhood full of orphan news paper carriers, so I forged this shield and donned this outfit to get revenge.”

Dart touched his temples with his fingertips, then snapped his fingers. “Ha, ha. Very funny. That’s the origin of the Guardian. Really, now, how’d you become the Silver Shield?”

“Well, don’t let it get out, but I was part of a secret government project. The shield was made from a special, top secret formulation.”

“That’s Captain America. If you don’t stop that, I am going to catch up to Ultra Violet.”

Shield snorted through his nose. “Like you need an excuse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been after her ever since we first met.”

“I have not!”

“Then you won’t care when I tell you she’s really a guy.”

Dart kicked a rock into the air. “Bull.”

“Dude look like a lady!” Shield sang loudly.

“Stop that. You have to keep quiet so we can hear if Bookworm calls for us. And she’s not a guy.” Dart scanned the horizon again. “What makes you think she is a guy?”

“Besides that she’s taller than you, has bigger biceps than you, and a deeper voice than you?”

“That’s from her Ultra Violet powers! And besides, lots of women have deep voices.”

“Like?”

“Like...” Dart frowned. “Like Whoopi Goldberg.”

“Dude, you’re not helping your case.”

Hardcastle came up behind them from the compound. “All clear so far.”

Shield turned to the gunsmith and said, “Hardcastle, where’s McCormick?” Shield and Dart snickered.

“That wasn’t funny the first time you did it. Now quit clowning around and be ready. The others could be here at any moment.”

***

Everyman took the earpiece from his ear and smiled at Space Angel. “I guess the Space Police don’t have search warrants or those nasty Miranda rights to worry about.”

“No, they don’t. But they should.” Space Angel once again peered through his hyper-binoculars.

Everyman looked at the array of technical hardware before him. “You guys seem to have a tool for everything. I bet you can get cable on one of these things.”

Space Angel watched keenly as Dart sped into the complex and back out. “Dart seems to be very fast, even faster than me. I’ll take him.”

“How, if he’s faster than you?”

“We have a tool for that, too.”

Mr. Baseball took a few practice cuts in the night air. “I’ll take the guy with the shield and Cliff can take the guy with the pistol.”

Space Angel put down his binoculars. “That leaves--”

“No. I ain’t takin’ the girl. Why do I always have to take on the girl?”

“Fine. You take the guy with the shield and I’ll take the girl.” Mr. Baseball picked up the second set of binoculars. “The very, very large...girl?”

Chapter 12

They stood tall in the doorway, Bookworm’s arms folded across his chest, Page’s arms akimbo, as if they were posing for a monument.

“I could expect such depravity from an evildoer like Handsome Harry, but to have former members of the Honor Society in collusion with criminals is just awful!” Bookworm thundered in his courtroom baritone.

“Collusion?” Harry said to no one.

“It’s time to book into action!” Page said, pounding her fist into her hand.

“Right you are, my legal aid!”

Handsome Harry walked past me and toward Bookworm. “Are you trying to say that they’re working with me?”

Bookworm threw a Punctuation Bomb at Harry and knocked him out. We all scattered to different parts of the room

“Bowhunter, try to get these women out of here, while we deal with Bookworm and Page.”

Page whipped her exploding leaflets and razor sharp business cards at Firebrand and me. “Remind me to thank Mr. Baseball for inventing those for her” Firebrand hissed through his teeth.

“Fahrenheit 451, FB.”

“Yeah, I know.” Firebrand launched a jet of flame at the young legal assistant.

Bookworm was lobbing comma bombs at Bowhunter when the Magician pegged him with a bolt of astral force. “Make your break now, Bowhunter!”

“Ladies, don’t let him kidnap you!”

Carol stopped and glowered at her. “Kidnap us? He’s rescuing us. You might want to cut bigger eyeholes in that mask.” I was never so happy to hear Carol’s mouth since she said “I do.”

“Bookworm, what does she mean by that?”

“It’s a trick. She’s obviously in collusion with them.”

Page scrunched up her face. “She’s an anchor on the six o’clock news in New Charleston. How could she be in collusion with them?”

“Open your eyes, girl, before it’s too late.”

“Bowhunter, get them out of here!” I yelled.

Bowhunter slipped the women out of the door, closing it behind him.

“Page, we’re not villains.”

Bookworm began throwing his punctuation bombs again. “Don’t listen to him. He’s obviously lost his mind.”

The Magician levitated. “Why do you think he keeps telling you not to listen to us?”

“Because you’re lying!”

Firebrand shot a jet at Bookworm. “Did those women seem afraid of us? Did you hear us actually colluding with Harry about anything?”

“Well, no.”

“You double check a story back to the facts. Do any of your facts support what Bookworm is telling you?”

“But what about the threat you made?”

I laughed. “Did you hear me make a threat, or did Bookworm tell you I made a threat?”

“Stop listening to them!”

Page stopped throwing her cards. “Everybody wait. Just stop fighting a second so I can think about this.”

I gave Firebrand and Magician the thumbs up. We stopped and waited.

“It’s a trap!” Bookworm was practically frothing. He hurled a question mark bomb at me, but missed.

“Stop, Bookworm.”

“They’re using a mind control trick. You have to fight them.”

“They stopped. Why do you want to keep fighting?”

Magician smiled. “Yeah, B. Why do you want to keep fighting?”

I folded my hands across my chest. “I’m not fighting anyone. You?”

Firebrand whistled aimlessly.

“They’re twisting things around so that I am the bad guy, Page.”

Firebrand nodded. “Yeah. Next thing you know, you’ll be saying we burned your house down.”

“But you did!”

Page looked at him with a mixture of fear and pity. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore. Things always seem to be different than what you tell me they’re going to be and I am tired of it. I think I’m going back to being Paige Stanislowski, legal secretary.” She took her mask off and threw it on the floor. “And not for you.” She walked out.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you? Well, I have a surprise for you. It’s time for you to meet the Travelers!”

There's been a rather drastic shift in tone in these last few chapters. The story began with what seemed a basically serious tone, albeit with comic relief. Now it's moving deep into parody territory. I'm not entirely sure which the story is supposed to be. Either approach could be valid. But which is it?

The only thing I regard as anything approaching parody is the conduct of Bookworm and Page as a duo (which is intentionally evocative of Batman and Robin), but as you can see (and Page herself says) Bookworm is a huge put on, and so the hugest faker in the story being hugely fake is quite consistent.

As you note, there is humor from the beginning, but my hope is that the humor functions the same way that Hitchcock's humor does, which is to periodically break the overall heaviness of the story.

Chapter 13

“Travelers triangulate!” Silver Shield’s cry reverberated across the buildings of the industrial park. The purple giantess plugged her fingers in her ears, as Dart took to the air and Hardcastle fired a steady stream of bullets at Cliff.

“Triangulate?” Cliff muttered as he advanced on the shooter. “What kind of battle cry is ‘triangulate?’“ As Cliff closed in, Everyman completed his loop behind them and charged the Silver Shield full speed, knocking him forward and onto the ground. Everyman then became the Silver Shield.

When he saw that, Mr. Baseball began winging in baseballs at Ultra Violet. They bounced off her now glowing skin and toward Everyman, who deflected them with “his” shield. “Take her down, E!”

“I can’t,” Everyman pleaded as Violet’s fist thundered into the shield. “This guy doesn’t have any powers except this shield. I’m surprised he can even lift the thing.”

Cliff was now chasing Hardcastle, who, realizing his bullets were just ricocheting around endangering everyone else, decided retreat was the better part of valor.

Violet unleashed a powerful beam of energy, which Everyman blocked with the shield. “Why didn’t I take the girl? I should have taken the girl.”

Not wanting to risk hurting Everyman, Mr. Baseball ran up to the indigo behemoth and began smacking her with his baseball bat.

Meanwhile, three-quarters of the way to Niagara Falls, Space Angel stopped in mid-flight and whirled around to face the rapidly closing Dart. “You aren’t my brother, so you must be heavy!” Space Angel fired the density altering beam, immediately quintupling Dart’s density. He fell to the ground like a rock. A couple of shots of the force beam rendered the speedster unconscious.

Mr. Baseball continued to smack Ultra Violet with his bat, while she continued to try to pummel Everyman, who blocked most of the blows with the shield. “Help me,” Mr. Baseball panted. “I’m starting to get winded.”

“I can’t! This guy hits like a girl. And anyway she seems to have a fixation on beating up me. Or maybe this clown.”

Cliff and Hardcastle ran between the buildings in classic Scooby Doo fashion, the gap between them neither widening nor closing. Suddenly, a light flashed down from above and Hardcastle slowed to a crawl. Cliff smacked him once to knock the gun away and once to knock him out and returned to the action.

Space Angel swooped down and fired his force beam at Ultra Violet, which had about the same impression as Mr. Baseball’s bat swings. Cliff came over and started punching as well, but the purple giantess had eyes only for the converted Everyman. “Come on, guys.”

Space Angel stopped in mid air. “I used my force beam.”

“Well, try something else. An energy beam. A box of chocolates. Something.”

Space Angel shrugged his shoulders, then fired his energy beam into her back. She and Everyman went flying across the macadam. Space Angel fired his energy beam again at her. She stopped glowing for a moment then once again glowed with energy and then took off into the air toward him. “Uh oh.” Space Angel fired his energy beam full blast, catching her squarely in her midsection and dropping her to the pavement. He landed next to her. “I didn’t realize she could fly. There’s no way I could have handled both of them in the air.”

Cliff shook his head. “If Schizo had just taken the girl in the first place this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll take the girl. Or at least, I won’t take this guy. Check out what I found in his pocket.”

Mr. Baseball peered into Everyman’s hand. “Tic Tacs®?”

“Besides those.”

“It looks like an invitation.”

“That’s because it is an invitation. An invitation to a meeting regarding what to do about the HSA. And its from American Boy and Sneakthief.”

Space Angel raised his eyebrows. “What could bring American Boy and Sneakthief to the same meeting?”

“Well, after we find the others, I think we need to find out.”

Chapter 14

Bookworm looked at the door.

Magician and Firebrand looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders.

Sweat formed at Bookworm’s brow. He was repeatedly pressing something in his hand.

Firebrand looked at Bookworm with confusion and sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay, damn it!” Bookworm spat. “If those goons ran away, I will throttle them.”

The door opened and Space Angel, Mr. Baseball, Corporal Cliff, and a guy carrying a silver shield entered. “We’re right here. Or did you mean those other goons?”

Bookworm stared at them blank-faced. “Don’t look like you don’t know me, Wormy? I’m the non-serious one that has some good points but in general just causes problems.” Everyman returned to his normal appearance.

“Where...where...”

Space Angel smiled. “Where is the welcoming party? Well, one of them is touring Niagara Falls. And the rest are enjoying the great sleeping weather.”

“The purple chick had a crush on Schizo, though. A rather painful crush.”

Everyman shot Cliff a sideways glance. “Ha ha.”

Firebrand, Magician and I moved closer to the others. “Did Bowhunter get out all right?”

Mr. Baseball absently tossed a ball up and down. “Yes. He was driving some women out of the compound when we found the X. One of them looked like Page. And one of them looked like your--”

“Friend from back home. Yes.” I shook my head. “Who am I fooling here? My ex-wife. You know all of this, Bookworm. We read your notes. You have more stuff on us than any of us knew about each other. You missed a few things, but--”

“What’d I miss?”

“Ah. That would be telling. Why? You told us you thought they were wrong to do this. Why them?”

“What I said was that they were going about it the wrong way, not that they were wrong. The system is a joke I can massage at will. Wouldn’t it be better if we were calling the shots?”

“No,” several of us said in unison.

“Anyway, I learned early not to back a losing horse, and I am sorry but your horse is munching oats at the starting gate. You’re going to lose. You have to know that.”

“I don’t know. We’re doing pretty well so far. We took care of Alien X, Farmer John, and you and your cronies.”

“They’ve hired a specialist, a finisher. She’s good.”

“She?”

“They call her the Dispatcher. As in sending you on your way. Permanently. You’re toast.”

Mr. Baseball smiled. “I guess that makes you crummy.”