DCU - Dial "H" for Hero #5: Immense Accountability

“What was the thought-process here?”

 

There hadn’t been much of one, really.

 

“We call the Dunbars and they tell us you aren’t there. They say Roger told them he would be HERE for the night.”

 

Yeah, that had been a rookie mistake.

 

“It’s one thing to lie to us, it’s another to let your friend be a part of it. Did you forget that we are your parents, and we want to know you’re safe? Chris.”

 

Chris jolts out of his internal reflection. He’s back at 231 Jewel Avenue. His mother sat forward on the couch, hands clasped under her chin. Some strands loosened from her otherwise kempt hair, and the dark of her eyelids, betrayed the anxiety she was trying to bury. His father had not spoken since driving Chris away from the scene at Frannie’s place.

 

“We… I didn’t do it to make you upset,” Chris explains sincerely.

 

“We don’t think that,” his father sighs.

 

…

 

“What we think-“ began Mrs. King.

 

“… is that you’re restless, moving back here,” Mr. King resolves, earning a fixed stare from his wife. “But we know, now that you and your old friends have caught up, you’re going to be focused on things like, let’s say, your classes. And you’re going to be responsible, not looking for trouble. Am I in the ballpark?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. King follows up with ultimatums. Chris puffs air behind his lips, cringing as he takes turns studying each of their expressions. The living room clock ticks incessantly throughout their still largely-unfurnished home.

 

“Well,” Chris pitches forward onto his feet. “I guess if that’s all sorted out, I can make it to class if I hurry.”

 

“Chris, where-“ Mrs. King objects as he darts to various corners of the room, recovering his backpack and materials that had been dropped the other afternoon. “You haven’t slept or even-“

 

“Going to school, being responsible!” contests Chris, one arm through the wrong strap of his pack, attempting to unlock the already-unlocked front entrance. “I’ll be home on time! We won’t get into any more trouble, I promise!”

 

He manages the door and peels out down the sidewalk, in the direction of Hamilton Junior High. Chris’ parents approach the stoop uneasily. Detective King’s fingers curl in and out of a fist on the doorframe as he watches his son.

 

Mrs. King laces her fingers at her waist. “Couples finish each other’s sentences.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“You didn’t finish mine correctly though.”

 

…

 

“I was going to tell Chris that we think he needs to stay at home when he’s not at school, for the time being. Until he can be honest with us. Be honest with himself about-“

 

“Liz.”

 

Her husband’s interruption is indistinct, but only so in volume. Behind the airy word, a storm brews. “… Can you appreciate… that I cannot and will not tell our son how he should be handling this? We know what… happened. Christ I don’t even know how I’m handling this.”

 

“Forgiving yourself is a good place to start, Greg.”

 

“Easy for you to say, you were always the bigger man,” Greg King chokes on a laugh, and his wife lays one hand on his shoulder.

 

“I can’t t-“ he begins, faltering. “… take more of his life away from him.”

 

“It’s our job to keep him safe, not in the dark” Liz King asserts resolutely.

 

“Our son is fine.”

 

 

***

 

 

The room didn’t hurt anymore.

 

Bryan wasn’t sure how it had been hurting in the first place, but, whatever it was, it had finally dulled.

 

No. It hadn’t? Now that humming, which had plagued him every moment he could remember being here, was inside him. It didn’t hurt; it fueled him. He was a furnace, unquestionably alive.

 

He was standing upright as well: an unexpected revelation. The woman with the calmative eyes was there, like always. Her staid face, and even the way she stood, was a veneer, hiding a dangerous avidity.

 

“Wait,” Bryan stops her as she clears her throat. “You’re going to ask me if I… I know my name. You keep asking me that. It’s Bryan Smith. And I’m here. ‘Here’ is…”

 

“Out of the woods, Mr. Smith,” she affirms warmly. “It was about this time last week that you were caught in an atmospheric phenomenon brought on by the meltdown of Trojan Labs’ greenhouse reactor.”

 

“I’ve. Always heard people, like, died to that kind of thing.”

 

“It was highly experimental, we knew. But we had run enough simulations and smaller models, to persuade the city we were secure. To know there wouldn’t be malfunctions,” she elaborates to a puzzled Bryan. “… We thought we knew. We might have been looking at a termination of all our funding and projects, but you’ve pulled through. More than that, you’re why we aren’t back at square one.”

 

As she said this, someone very new swaggered into Bryan’s makeshift recovery room: Dressed in fluorescent green and baby blue, with a collar and beard of equivalent extravagance. He grinned with just his bottom teeth and gave the pair a tiny salute.

 

Bryan nearly blanked on everything the woman had just conveyed. “Uh, how’s that?”

 

“We lost the reactor, but we gained you. You didn’t simply survive the event; the energy we lost control of superseded your physiology. As we speak, your cardiovascular and respiratory systems are essentially backup generators; you’re running on emissions that weren’t scientifically recognized last week.”

 

Before he knew what was happening, the woman takes him by the back of his hand, and places it under a lip of the capsule in which he had been convalescing. She applies almost no pressure at all, and the bed lifts like a sheet of paper. As Bryan’s eyes bug out, she steps away, leaving the feat of strength to his body alone.

 

“That’s you,” is her assurance.

 

“Wh- HOW is that..?” he grasps the frame, for fear of it crashing down. “… Oh god, what did I eat last night?”

 

The amusement on the new arrival’s face had not broken for a second, even as he made to mollify Bryan’s perplexity. “Your eyes do not deceive, friend. You’re like a real superhero, what do you think about that, eh?”

 

Bryan lets the cradle drop to the tiles at their feet, and pinches his arm. “Real?.. I have to get home!”

 

“Mr. Smith- BRYAN!”

 

The woman’s outburst cuts short his sudden beeline to the closest door. “Everything you have to your name was found in your car. Like I said, you’ve been here for days. We checked your records, we consulted with the authorities while they were investigating our mishap… you’ve been living paycheck to paycheck. No residency,”

 

She takes a moment to formulate the words, but her eyes stay locked on Bryan’s.

 

“no living relatives.”

 

It was all still so dizzying. Bryan wanted to believe there was some mix-up, some grand prank being played on him. If not for the woman’s face… those eyes, like bottomless wells that seemed to encapsulate the sadness he had been relieved of for his time away from the conscious world… if not for the feeling in his fingers and soles deadening at the mention of the life he had carved out for himself thus far, Bryan might have bought into his own mercy.

 

“It’s true, isn’t it? … I remember now.”

 

“We’re sorry,” the woman stresses. “All of us at Trojan. We are so sorry our hubris—our lack of caution—disrupted your life. I have to tell you, behind closed doors… we didn’t know what the machine was capable of, not really. It could ended far worse for you.”

 

Bryan couldn’t be certain if she was about to cry, the way she hung her head. “Well… hey, don’t beat yourself up; I took the job. I guess I signed some kind of… liability thing. Yeah. And it turned out okay, so. If you were worried I was going to charge the presses, don’t be.”

 

“‘Press’… ‘charges’,” the bearded man corrects.

 

“Or that!” Bryan agrees.

 

The woman is hardly comforted. “You would be well within your rights…”

 

“How can I be mad when I got super-strength out of the deal?”

 

Bryan tenses his arms in front of himself as if to refresh her memory, and in doing so, realizes the small light display traveling along his skin: Suspended eddies of yellow and orange, their forms disturbing in sync with Bryan’s own heartbeat. They furled like the cloud Bryan saw swallow him on the day of the incident.

 

“Whoa.”

 

The woman inches nearer; at once, no longer keeping up the repentant facade, but Bryan was too entranced to notice.

 

“It’s for this unforeseeable… blessing that resulted from our error, and only because we are aware of your living situation…”

 

She passes a hand onto Bryan’s forearm, stealing his attention.

 

“… that Trojan is asking of you to aid us once again.”

 

Bryan flinches, as one would do to ward off a drunken stupor. “I hadn’t picked up on it… your red hair. ‘cause your eyes-“

 

“I get that sometimes.”

 

She smiles. On Bryan’s cot, the bearded man sits cross-legged, observing. He beams, when meeting Bryan’s baffled look.

 

The recently-created metahuman focuses. “Err, what was it you were thinking to have me do, missus..?”

 

“Doctor. I’m Dr. Angela Wainwright, a technician here at Trojan.”

 

What WAS it with those eyes…

 

“You’re going to deliver Fairfax, Mr. Smith.”

 

 

***

 

 

“’Never’, as in, ’NEVER never’?” Chris prods.

 

“Never.” Glinda tugs the bag’s strap firmly onto her shoulder again. “I take pride in my classes.”

 

“So your first time ever skipping a period, you skip three,” Roger summates. “Go big or go home.”

 

Both boys snicker lightly; the levity, complementing the brisk midday. A passerby would not have suspected the heightened nerves within the children’s ranks.

 

“Would you both leave it alone?” pleads Glinda. “I’m going to turn back if I think about it anymore…”

 

“It’s just this once.”

 

Vicki steps into the lead of their troop, as all five kids venture past the civilization of Fairfax, to the woods waiting ahead. She has in an iron grip her satchel, bearing the enigmatic H-Dial.

 

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this, and then we’re going to get out. For good. To be clear-“

 

Vicki halts, pointing at the boys individually with a middle and index finger.

 

“Glinda’s grounded. SHE’s got to be back in town when school lets out for real. So don’t be the reason we get hung up.”

 

“US?!”

 

“How did your guys’ parents not flip out over you being attacked by supervillains?” Glinda questions them, stumped. “Seriously, it’s so unfair.”

 

“I don’t know, my… dad bailed me out. It was weird,” Chris confesses.

 

“Grounding just isn’t my folks’ thing. Anyway, running into crazy metahumans is par for the course; I live in Fairfax,” Roger points out bleakly.

 

“So do I,” Glinda fires back. “Of course it’s only my family that treats it like I was out shopping for criminals to fight.”

 

“And, uh,” Chris takes his eyes off Frannie, who had—all through their cafeteria meeting and now the hike—only listened to the others’ recounts of last night, beyond one very stilted acknowledgement of the four of them saving her. “I’d have bet your mom wouldn’t have let you out of the house, Frannie. For your own safety, I mean.”

 

Chris, still quite unsure of how to engage with the quiet girl, covertly checks with Glinda: Her face tells him he was decidedly in “blunt” territory, nearing “tactless”.

 

He makes a move to patch things. “With how reclusiv-“

 

Roger holds his own face mournfully. Frannie merely shrugs.

 

“I stashed the Dial, then went back to see how she and her mom were doing,” Vicki brings up. “And to hear what the police were making of it, but, I couldn’t really get close. Offered to walk Frannie to school for Mrs. Nash, since I was the only one of us she didn’t see in the yard. I mean, she did, but I was… blue… and several different sizes.”

 

“She thinks I’m going to be at Vicki’s after school,” Frannie finishes.

 

“Everyone’s parents…” Glinda gripes. “EVERYone’s. But nooo, not mine…”

 

Vicki stops the other four with a barely-raised hand. She can’t seem to look any of them squarely in the eyes.

 

“Guys, I just want to tell you, I’m sorry I left you all to get chewed out by-”

 

“No, Vicki, we had to keep the Dial secret,” Roger cuts in. “We were all thinking it.”

 

Glinda softens, forgetting her self-pity. “No sense in all of us getting into hot water,” she offers. “There’s no guarantee your parents would’ve let you off the hook.”

 

“Yeah,” Vicki concurs dubiously, glancing away at the trees.

 

Deeper into the forest the five of them walk, led on by Vicki. It was only because the girl had been utterly lucid from terror the previous night that she could now find her way. A few short intermissions, allowing Vicki to reclaim her orientation, were all that deterred them, before they arrived at the large fern veiling the mines’ inconspicuous exit. Urging her friends to the tunnel, Vicki comes close to trampling over the hand of the man guarding the lip of the hole; he holds a hefty wrench aloft. The resolve on his face is intertwined with petrification, as he realizes who he is threatening. Frannie takes an uneven step back.

 

Vicki initiates the encounter with a “Hi”, wincing soon after. “You were there last night- or, early this morning, I guess. … when I fell through the ceiling. Right? I’m seriously hoping-“

 

“For godsakes, let them in before the entire county hears her!”

 

Behind the guard was the lady doctor whom Vicki had witnessed tending to Nick. The two adults hastily pull Vicki and Chris into cover. Glinda shields a still shaken Frannie and descends inside before either can be similarly handled.

 

“Hey, personal space. We can walk!” Roger adds.

 

“Quiet!” the doctor frowns.

 

“Before you ask,” Vicki confronts her with an only slightly lower tone, “no, I didn’t lead any supervillains here.”

 

“No, you didn’t.”

 

Now, it was the man from earlier, that had hounded Nick about the Dial, who was trudging up the tunnel. He was perhaps only approaching middle-age, but his hair had completely greyed. It was now that Vicki noted, with the exception of Nick, everyone in the mine appeared to have on a lab coat, or varying stages of scholarly wear; this man—their apparent leader—wore his with a morose demeanor.

 

“Just more accessories. Brilliant.”

 

“Uh. ‘Accessories’ makes it sound like you’re doing something illegal too,” comments Chris.

 

Seven pairs of disparaging eyes divert to him.

 

Chris hides his hands in his pockets. “I’m not… wrong…”

 

Vicki examines the stacked crates crowed near the mine’s mouth. “Planning a trip?”

 

The man looks at her down the length of his nose. “You saw to that. By tangling with Nick. By running off with that-”

 

“Nick gave it to me.”

 

“By involving YOUR FRIENDS, yes, we are now forced to relocate! Because whatever risks come of trying to flee, they are greatly outweighed by the suspicion you’ve brought here; running in and out as you have, leading our hunters straight to us-“

 

“I told you, one way or another I’m getting the full story. It just so happens I was in the neighborhood, dropping something off for a friend,” Vicki jiggles the H-Dial under the man’s nose. Then she waves an arm at the other kids. “And you know what? Pardon me if I think they deserve the same answers, considering they live here and each of us could’ve died in the last twenty-four hours thanks to whatever X-Files bull all of you are involved in.”

 

Beleaguered, the man sags his head at the girl, then his associates. He does his best to ignore the latter segment of Vicki’s counter. “We’ll take the Dial to him for you.”

 

“I’ll take it to him myself, thank you. C’mon guys.”

 

Hesitantly, Chris and the rest resume following the dauntless Vicki down the crumbling passageway. The grey-haired man and doctor keep the guard from blocking the children, but do not let their surprise-guests out of view. Frannie stays right on Glinda’s heels, of which Roger takes notice. He snaps the frizzy-haired girl out of her inwardness by shallowly swinging an arm out.

 

“Hey. I hope you didn’t feel like we forced you to tag along. Don’t worry though-“

 

“I wanted to come,” Frannie says distantly, but not conflicted.

 

This is enough to satisfy Roger. “That was a great pitch. Back at your place, when you clocked that red Stormtrooper guy.”

 

“‘Stormtrooper’?”

 

Roger tries again. “I like baseball too.”

 

Frannie shrugs again. Glinda, listening to them trail behind her, tries not to visibly sulk; she distracts herself, nudging Vicki.

 

“Psst. Vicki.”

 

“Why are you whispering?”

 

“It feels like we whisper right now,” Glinda supposed, thrown off. “… You said that that boy outside school was also using the Dial?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you said he got hurt? What happened when you hung up the phone to use it for…”

 

“I don’t know,” Vicki draws a sharp breath. “I don’t know, but if he-“

 

Around a tight corner, their path empties into a cavern. Milling about are dozens more men and women than Vicki had approximated during her initial visit. Likewise, a smattering of floodlights reveal just how expansive the hideout is. Some of the adults have stopped carting supplies around, to regard Vicki and her entourage. A good number are angry. More are scared, though no one openly opposes the grey-haired man allowing them this far; he singles out one person to Vicki, coldly advising her:

 

“There’s your friend. Give him that deathtrap back, and then take your band of hellions and go. Home.”

 

Sitting right where Vicki remembered seeing Nick with his leg half-fused with the tunnel wall was a paunchy, towheaded man guzzling a water bottle. He wore thick glasses, a bright red button-up, jeans, sneakers. He was clearly older than the grey-haired man in charge, but had a very round, clean face. It was strange, but Vicki’s first thought was that he was like an unused person.

 

Vicki exaggerates tilting her neck, doubtfully judging. “That’s Nick. Really.”

 

“He’s old?” Glinda looks pale. “Oh, gross, I thought they could be an item.”

 

Nick overhears this, taking a swig of water at an inopportune time. He spits when he recognizes Vicki, immediately getting up and dusting off his pants.

 

“I told you not to bring that back here,” he announces loudly to Vicki, but also for the grey-haired man to hear. “… but uh, actually, this works out okay because-“

 

“First,” Vicki orders, “tell me something only the boy I saw would know about what happened yesterday.”

 

He thinks for a second. “At the park, I got your shoes all muddy when I ran into you. And uh, you accused me of throwing you into a tree… I’ll have you know I was perfectly in control.”

 

Vicki’s eyes narrow. “You don’t look like a ‘Nick’.”

 

He pokes at himself, as if to somehow rebut her thesis. “No?”

 

“Maybe St. Nick,” Roger coughs.

 

Vicki hands off the H-Dial to the peculiar man, who accepts it quickly, yet confusedly. She taps a foot on the loose dirt. “So. That young guy was just the hero you were using. You had me hang up and redial. That made you… you, again.”

 

Nick juggles the Dial, winding the cord up haphazardly. “That’s… exactly right. Hit the nail on the head. I had a feeling you’d get the hang-“

 

“You’re not dying anymore. As in, you had me use this thing, without any training, to go save my friend who YOU incriminated by running into us… when you could’ve just redialed, and helped Frannie yourself!”

 

“Kid…”

 

“‘Vicki’,” she amends curtly, making their introduction official. “… ’Nick’.”

 

“Vicki. I…” The words catch in Nick’s throat. He holds the back of his head and laughs to himself, aware of his own explanation. “… I didn’t think the real me would be alive to go back to!”

 

“You mean you had me… when you thought you were going to..!“

 

Vicki stomps back up to him. He grins skittishly, looking to the other adults for help.

 

“What is with you and involving me in things that will get one or both of us killed, without TELLING ME??”

 

She turns back to her four friends, to see them uncomfortably and quizzically standing in an row.

 

“Oh, yeah! That’s a whole thing with this guy!”

 

“Yeaahh…” Roger trails off. “So, we’ve got some ground to cover here, but, let’s go for why you were going to have Vicki kill you..?”

 

Nick had no sooner opened his mouth than he received a bombardment of other questions from the kids.

 

“Did these people hire you to help Fairfax?” Glinda wonders.

 

Chris interposes, “Where’d you even find that thing? Did you make it?”

 

“Why does the Dial-voice-guy sound like my dentist?” Vicki mumbles, distrait.

 

Nick, cupping his ears, can endure no more. “Okay, okay! You know what? Confession time, alright?”

 

As passive as he had been, the grey-haired man now moves alarmingly fast to be practically nose to nose with Nick. “Absolutely not.”

 

The kids, doctor and all the rest of their on-edge company freeze where they stand, but Nick restfully addresses the man. “Mike…”

 

The man recoils in frustration at his name being divulged; Nick does not let him turn away fully.

 

“It’s a lost cause now, keeping them in the dark. This is all coming down, probably sooner than we think. We may just need some more allies. Besides,” Nick smiles, pulling the three-finger sign to his shoulder, “Scout’s honor.”

 

“They’re children,” Mike tiredly cues him, not a hint of humor in the words.

 

“If even one more person makes it out of this cave alive because these kids could help… Mike, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t say that’s worth taking the chance.”

 

Nick doesn’t wait for a response. He sweeps his hands up to be noticed. “Everyone…”

 

The entire cavern was already giving him their full attention.

 

“Ah. … Well I… found the H-Dial—that’s what it calls itself—in a cave, in my hometown. That was out west. I was a little younger than these guys here.”

 

Nick gives a fatherly wink to Chris and Roger, both of whom eagerly await more of the story.

 

“I don’t know how it got here any more than you do. But I learned to use it. I told all of you,”

Nick motions to the crowd, “what it let me do. When I realized what was going on in Fairfax, I made the promise that I’d help you, whether or not… some of you thought I was insane.”

 

The man named Mike only adjusts his neck, saying nothing in dissent.

 

“But I didn’t tell you everything. ‘suh matter of fact, I haven’t told anyone everything for something like thirty years.”

 

…

 

“My real name’s Robby. Not Nick.”

 

…

 

“That hero I’ve been using—Maquette—I changed into him back in 1962. I’ve stayed that way, because that last time that I changed, Robby was mortally wounded. I thought if I ever went back, to be him again, I’d be a goner for sure. I thought…”

 

The deluge of admissions breaks; Robby, overwhelmed by those admissions, regulates his breathing for a moment. Then he holds his hands out to emphasize Vicki.

 

“… that last night was my time. Your friend needed help, and I had reason to believe I couldn’t be the one to give it to her. Seems like I gave the Dial to the right kid for the job.”

 

Vicki shies away from all the stares placed upon her; annoyed, more than embarrassed.

 

“As for why I’m still kickin’,” Robby ponders, with his chin tucked into his flannel like a turtle, “I couldn’t say… I guess being in limbo for a few decades did me some good.”

 

All is silent once again. Just as Chris and Roger appear to be shaping up to let loose another bout of scrutiny on Robby, someone’s shoes intrusively shuffle on the rocks and, stunning everyone, it is the reticent Frannie who lets her will be known. Glinda and the others clear away to give her a direct line of sight to the odd man, as all of Frannie’s social inhibitions seemingly fall to the wayside, overridden by her question’s import to her.

 

“If you became Maquette to save yourself… what happened to Robby’s life?”

 

Robby jerks back, caught quite off his guard. Then, feigning relaxation, he crosses his arms robotically and gives her a smile and a nod. “I’m glad Vicki got to you in time,” he states, avoiding her in uninventive fashion. But Vicki’s gaze bullies him into submission.

 

“Uh. Truth be told? I don’t really know what I’m going… to do with myself. I’ve been Nick longer than I was ever Robby.”

 

Glinda, remembering something, drifts from the conversation with Robby, to where Mike and the lady doctor stand.

 

“Mr. um… sorry, I should’ve said right away, Vicki told me there were a bunch of you down here and that you looked like you needed help, so I brought food and a little water, here. There’s some fruit…”

 

She starts to unload her rucksack onto an old workbench.

 

“I asked some of the kids at school to chip in-“

 

Mike’s eyes bulge with fury and fear, and the doctor intuitively steps between him and the girl.

 

Glinda panics. “I… I d-didn’t tell any of them what it was for!”

 

Mike holds his tongue. “… I’m sorry. But you need to understand-“

 

The doctor hugs Glinda.

 

“Dr. Clark and I, and all of us,” she says on behalf of their concealed community, “are very grateful. We haven’t had enough food since we’ve been here. This is more than generous, thank you. You can call me Shelly.”

 

“I’m Glinda.”

 

Her friends had migrated over now, with Robby and some other adults; all of them, commending Glinda in their own way. Most had stony faces as they did so, but all of them were genuine.

 

Vicki gives Glinda a slap on the back. “Pretty good idea, Glinda.”

 

The throng eventually settles. First the kids’, then everyone’s eyes fall to Dr. Michael Clark. He hunches over the bench, arms straight, watching what came across to the newcomers as a high-tech desk toy: A rotating tray, with spires of silver flowing up and down themselves, reconfiguring into a handful of simple structures every few seconds.

 

Vicki has the first go at reaching the man. “So this is the stuff you’ve got in all these crates?”

 

Nothing.

 

Roger steps up next, more fed up with the inaction than Vicki was. “Hey. I think we all get that you don’t want anything bad to happen to these people. And I get that you don’t know us from a hole in the wall. But you trusted this guy to help you…”

jabbing a thumb at Robby.

 

“Wow,” he exclaims.

 

“And we were neck-deep in all this, way before we knew names,” Roger determines. “I think you’re stuck with us, at this point.”

 

Dr. Clark reads the room, the looks being given by his peers. It was evident that metaphorical walls had been dismantled by Robby. Prolonged secrecy would be pretense. The consensus had shifted with Glinda’s act, and it was time to speak.

 

“… We worked for Trojan Laboratories. Biologists, engineers. I’m an architect.”

 

He accredits the shape-changing creation before them to himself, with his last comment. The kids raise an eyebrow at the already-suspect Trojan Labs being mentioned; Glinda, mouthing something to Vicki about the monster they saw. The five of them, even Frannie, near the senior scientist. Dr. Clark continues grimly, clinically, as though fending off a force of nature in order to get the words out.

 

“We signed on because we had aspirations of leading the world into a new revolution in all fields. Medicine, transportation, leisure… But Trojan didn’t want innovations for a better future. They want weapons, for reasons we never learned, which scared us even more.”

 

…

 

“We devised a way to smuggle our projects out in one night, or we would give Trojan the chance to catch on. … They did anyway. They had metahumans, from off the street no doubt. Guard dogs. We were ambushed just when we thought we were in the clear. They split us apart, kept us from leaving Fairfax where we might find authorities beyond their reach. We knew we were surrounded. Those of us you see now collapsed this branch of the mine behind us, and it seems to have worked in discouraging their hunters from thinking we could be here. For now.”

 

Shelly, the doctor, quits handing out Glinda’s donations to the more malnourished among them, long enough to add, “Twice, some of our number have left the cave to make it outside city limits. But it’s been months now. We have to assume Trojan got them.”

 

“But, your families-“ Roger attempts.

 

“Trojan’s employees were and are alone, every last one. We have no relatives or relationships outside of our work. They find you on that basis, they ensure it stays that way,” Dr. Clark informs bitterly. “That’s how they like us. Helpless.”

 

“Hang on, aren’t you throwing in the towel kinda early here?” Vicki spins around to all the Trojan defectors, then stops at Chris. “Didn’t your dad say anything about officers responding to a disturbance out here, by the mines, last night?”

 

Chris blinks. “No..? He wasn’t the one under a microscope, y’know.”

 

Vicki rolls her eyes.

 

Robby takes over before the kids can make more presumptions. “I told you Vicki, those weren’t cops last night. Trojan’s smoking us out. They’re at our front door. You can’t go to the ‘real’ police either, we don’t know how many Trojan’s bought out. But it has to be some higher-ups, and more than just a few; it’s the only reason Trojan can get away with that prototype reactor nonsense.”

 

“My dad’s not some spy,” Chris warns, defensive toward Robby’s intimation.

 

“Your father’s a cop?”

 

“A detective.”

 

“If you- sorry, this is weird being this tall,” Robby bows and grabs his knees to be less imposing, at Chris’ own height. “If you let your dad in on this, he has superiors to report to. Maybe some bad ones. That’s his job. It’s not his fault, but he could make things worse for these guys.”

 

“You know you were right, Robby,” Dr. Clark interrupts him. “This could all very well end tomorrow, or tonight. We can’t. Stay here. It’s getting to be that trying our luck with the local law is wiser than waiting for your Dial to… to part the Red Sea for us.”

 

Robby massages his forehead as if he has a migraine coming on. “We’ve been over this Mike, you haven’t been up there. You canNOT surface yet. And the Dial… it’s not NOT science just because we don’t get it yet. It’s… eccentric. That much is obvious. But it works. It’s saved me, and it can save you. And whereas I’ve been up there, dancing around with Trojan and apparently every superpowered criminal in New England… now there’s six of us that can be eyes and ears up there. Using the Dial to its full potential. Making Trojan go underground for a change.”

 

Vicki slashes at the air, miming for the debate to end. “Hey look, all I wanted were some answers. That’s what we deserved, after last night. Frannie and her mom are safe now; they’re going to have squad cars out front for the next year. Guys… we can’t actually… I mean c’mon!”

 

I’d like to do something,” declares Glinda, “but I-I really don’t think I want to use that thing…”

 

Robby withdraws a little. “No, no I’m not forcing anyone to help, or to use the Dial. But I can walk you through this. We can do some real good with it.”

 

At this, a scientist from the crowd speaks out, inciting more and more of them to object.

 

“You’ve barely kept yourself safe with that thing!”

 

“They need to get their families to leave Fairfax, now!”

 

Frannie ducks off towards an alcove of the mine as tensions mount.

 

Shelly stands by Glinda with a hand on her shoulder. “Nic- Robby, never mind forcing them. You can’t ask this of them.”

 

“I can,” Robby contradicts staunchly. “Easily, actually. Because I’ve known this whole time what could happen if I really am your one and only hope, and it terrifies me. You don’t want just me; you want us.”

 

“Ever since I got back,” Chris injects, surprising himself by suddenly having the floor, “Roger’s been telling me stuff like ‘let’s not go there’, ‘it’s best not to go there’… But, Rog, all I’ve been trying to do is to ‘go there’. So I can understand what in the world is going on with my home! So I can fit in again! I haven’t been around when everything went bad, but I didn’t have the choice then. I’m here now; I want to be involved, now! … That’s uh, how I feel about it.”

 

Vicki strides past him to be with Frannie, uttering offhandedly: “Chris I really don’t think you need to be extending devotion to friends into crime-fighting, okay?”

 

From the time he had met her the month prior, Chris had scarcely, if ever, been able to follow up her more charged remarks, let alone criticize them. He had yet to comprehend how she, as he perceived, could be heedlessly altruistic one instant, as it had been with racing to save Frannie, then so closed-off and cynical in the next breath. He was at last compelled to call her out.

 

“What- Are you telling me you could straight-up walk away from this, knowing these people are down here, knowing Trojan’s this villain think tank-“

 

“Don’t tell us you weren’t having fun, kicking those guys all over Frannie’s yard,” Roger goads her.

 

Vicki glares. “I’d stick with Chris’ argument. … I’m trying to be practical here, alright? We keep chancing it like dumb kids, and we’ll go out like dumb kids. That ASIDE, there’s one Dial. What would we do, play hot potato?”

 

“If that’s what keeps Trojan off balance, and all of you alive, then yes,” Robby proclaims with authority. “Any one of you may just need to use the Dial in the coming days. Yes, Frannie has the police keeping an eye out for her for now—and we can only hope they’re all on the level—but what about you, or him? You’re that sure Trojan can’t find you?”

 

“Frannie and I beat two of these bozos by throwing small, dense objects at them,” dismisses Vicki. “Are we really going to pretend like-“

 

Robby reproaches this scathingly, harsher than anyone present would have thought him able to channel. “They’ve killed before, or did you forget that?! You? You got damn lucky! You want to try going three for three, chucking rocks? Maybe one of you ends up getting kidnapped, or just turned into dust, but hey, it’ll be REAL impressive if you set them back a whole day!”

 

Though startled like the rest of them, Roger backs the man’s sentiment, hoping his friends will be convinced.

 

“Robby’s right. The look on that guy’s face when he saw we had the Dial… He and his pals want this tech and they want it bad. We’re not going hold them off just by sticking together. The best way to keep them from getting the Dial is to push back, using the Dial.”

 

Robby and Dr. Clark react to the boy’s earlier statement with equal consternation.

 

“Say again…”

 

“You SHOWED them the Dial…”

 

Roger protects himself. “Hey the guy was a second away from hurting Frannie! It bought us time! I’d do everything I did the same way if I had a do-over!”

 

“Then that’s that,” Robby digresses.

 

…

 

“You know what we’re up against. You know this doesn’t go away without a fight. What I swore to every man and woman in this cave, I swear the same thing to you five.”

 

Those same five—unconventional guardian angels to a fraught host—have no shared resolution to give the man in return. The illuminated walls of the mine stand silently by just as its occupants do. Robby exhales.

 

“You must all be ditching classes right now. Time’s a-wasting. What’s it going to be?”

 

 

***

 

 

“Why does it feel,” Cathan queries, drumming his fingers on the other fist, “like, instead of sending you boys out there to make improvements to our situation, what I’ve actually been doing is sending you boys out there to find out everything’s already properly shagged, and you only come back here to confirm it with me?”

 

Still dressed as Golden Web, minus the ruined mask, George rests his knuckles on the table between them. ”We’re telling you, the little snot-heads had this- this phone, and they used it to give one of ‘em powers. SO…”

 

He side-eyes Kaleidoscope and Chain Master.

 

“… our new bunkies didn’t exactly do their job either. Isn’t that right? So much for the stupid pen being-“

 

“If you want to give us a rundown of how we should’ve done a job you weren’t even there for,” Kaleidoscope glowers, drowning him out, “please, George, go ahead. I’ve got a great imagination.”

 

“You’re not my master and commander just because you do psycho-weed with the boss,” George spurns.

 

Chain Master shoots up from his seat on the bottom stair-step. The gloves in his balled fists squeak.

 

“There you go Brent, don’t let him talk to her that way,” Cableman seems to cheer the large man on, only his delivery is devoid of all passion as he does not avert his concentration from the minuscule components and circuitry at his fingertips.

 

George sizes up Brent, who eclipses him. The younger man calls his bluff. “Ooh, y’know I wasn’t going to apologize, but then I remembered you were tall. … Get outta town, man.”

 

Edward Murr steers away from the conflict, conversing with Cathan one-on-one. “What we need to do is weigh our priorities again. How wise can some delinquents be to what we’re aiming for, really? They think we’re just another band of these metas running all over this town, knocking over gas stations. They’ve got their hands full. We’ve got openings.”

 

Gazing at his right-hand man dolefully, so as to jog Murr’s recollection of their past, Cathan then imparts, “We’ve cut corners on jobs like this before, Ed. Did you sleep well afterwards? When you realized we didn’t get everyone out we could have, if we hadn’t gotten twitchy?”

 

To which, Murr has no challenge; only a quiet forewarning. “Before we sink, Cathan.”

 

“Would’ve been great if we’d had those comms by now,” George now directs at Cableman. “Might’ve coordinated things more quickly, might’ve surprised the kid and made a clean getaway… but, sure, let’s pretend it was all on me and Distortionex. So sorry we fell short of expectations.”

 

This time, the sullen Cableman does look up. “You act like I’m being paid.”

 

Cathan’s pent-up irritation runs over. He punches the central table; the arm fluctuates with numerous, alien textures in a split-second, sufficiently silencing his five onlookers.

 

“We’re doing all this to right wrongs where we can, not for pay.”

 

Their leader’s scowl bores holes in Cableman’s reflective face shield; it moves on, to George.

 

“Not for petty bragging rights.”

 

Golden Web backs off. “Hey… your cause is our cause, man. But honestly, where’s this big blue meathead get off, acting like he and his gal pal-“

 

“Give it a break George,” Murr begs, fatigued. “He hasn’t said anything.”

 

“Yeah? I’m beginning to wonder if he can say an-“

 

Cathan subtly recedes from the escalating disagreement, noticing Kaleidoscope has done the same. He follows her into a secondary, uncompleted nook of the basement, pausing at the doorway when he sees what she’s doing: a mouse at the base of the far wall noses through a mound of lint. Kaleidoscope flexes her wrist, and the harmless particles morph into a trap, triggering instantaneously and cracking the pest over the head. The woman and the mouse are still.

 

“Kalei.”

 

“You can just use my real name.”

 

“I’m not talking to Nancy, I’m talking to Kaleidoscope,” Cathan says matter-of-factly.

 

“I’m just… so ready for this plan to be over and done with.”

 

“So am I,” Cathan confirms sensitively, hovering a hand over his heart.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I’ll have none of that from you.”

 

Nancy shakes her head vigorously, leaning against the tattered wallpaper, tracing the sculpted crystal of her palm with a thumb. “Getting rid of the boy should have been easy. I still… STILL can’t change things with a will of their own.”

 

She scoffs at her own words, swiveling on the wall with her shoulder, away from Cathan. He stifles the reflex to take hold of her hands. He makes two fists and collects himself.

 

“You haven’t let me down. You’re honing your abilities every day; I’ve seen so. The others will straighten themselves out sure enough, and soon-“

 

“These people you want us to save,” Nancy inquires, “… it really is important, isn’t it? Like you couldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t.”

 

“It’s exactly that,” Cathan admits.

 

The glass woman walks up to him. “Then let’s. Just. Do that. We don’t need to cover all our bases, chasing down potential threats in some… some KIDS…”

 

A dejected look creeps onto Cathan’s face. “You wouldn’t kill that boy last night. Not that you couldn’t, but that you didn’t let yourself.”

 

“PLEASE Cathan. Let’s do the job and end this. For Brent and me.”

 

“For you and Brent,” Cathan echoes, shutting his eyes. “… Yes, alright. Within the month. I-I know that’s not quick enough for your liking, but this is me, promising you: Within the month, we’ll make our move.”

 

“And our debt will be paid, when they’re free,” Nancy prompts. “Then, we’ll be square.”

 

“I wish you would stay anyway, debts be damned,” Cathan smirks boyishly.

 

“We can’t live this life forever. Neither can you,” Nancy reminds him solemnly.

 

“Now you’re not going to get all serious on me. I’ll sing one of my shanties, and you’ll have to pretend you don’t like it.”

 

Nancy laughed wholeheartedly despite herself, only encouraging Cathan.

 

“Oh I shan’t forget the day

When I first met Maggie- Nancy Mae;

She was cruising up and down old Woolwich place.

She had a figure finer

Than the fastest ocean liner,

And me, being a sailor, I gave chase.”

 

The song went on unheard by those beyond the rooms’ divide, except for Brent, the Chain Master. He too sidled away (as well as his mammoth frame would allow him to do so) from George’s squabbling, and listened to the pair from around the corner.

 

“Oh Nancy, Nancy Mae,

They are taking you away,

And you’ll never walk down Lime Street anymore.

For you’ve rolled so many sailors,

And you’ve skinned so many whalers,

And now you’re doing time in Botany Bay!”

 

Brent felt a weight on his chest at Cathan completing the shanty, and at the ensuing chuckles.

 

“Can I call upon you to take us on another trip?” Cathan asks under his breath.

 

“You know how it riles the others, especially Cabl- Todd. Us, using my illusions that way. The look he had last time…”

 

“To the Devil with Todd. We could do with some beauty in our lives, us two.”

 

Colors dance out from Nancy, up to the vacant hinges of the doorway where Brent remained unnoticed. Cathan and Nancy are enveloped by her powers, transported to carefree days of the past, or to days that had never truly been at all. Brent did nothing.

 

 

***

 

 

What had Chris been thinking?

 

The armored man was crouched in the treetops across from the Nash household. All day, the police had made efforts to communicate with Frannie’s mother, and identify the order of events. They made note of the residual materials left by Distortionex’s attacks, and zoned the yard off for further analysis. For all the good it did; the successful captures of meta-criminals that Fairfax’s law enforcement had under their belt were due to luck. They knew it. The man knew it.

 

Chris was never this rash. What got into him? His friends? They should know even better than him that this is no town to fool around in. … I save them from one disaster and they go run into another one…

 

That thing from the cornfield had put up more of a fight than he had anticipated. By the time he had caught back up with the children, the scuffle here had subsided. All he had seen of Chris was the boy being escorted away by his father. It might have ended so much worse.

 

Greg was there for them; he’ll make sure they stay away from things like this. It’s all over now. But, Chris looked real rattled. If I could see him again, and know he’s alright-“

 

A red squirrel scurries along the next tree over from the man. The creature attempts a leap to a branch from his tree, but misses. It falls, all the way to a log waiting below, and onto exposed jags of bark in the rotted trunk. There is no more movement.

 

The man’s face hardens beneath his frightening disguise.

 

You’re too emotional right now. You know what happens if you get anywhere near him, like this. Get your head on straight. Then get back out there, and don’t let it come this close, ever again.

 

He only got a glimpse. That’s all he could ever get anymore.

 

Don’t jinx it.

 

 

***

 

 

Robby claps his hands. “Alrighty, lightning round. Hit me.”

 

“Why were you ’Nick’?” Glinda puts forward.

 

“Why not?”

 

“No like, why not any other name?”

 

“‘sjust a name,” Robby concocts sheepishly.

 

It was well into the afternoon, and the children had need to get back into town. In the wake of Robby’s move to get a solid decision out of them, an unspoken understanding had been achieved. They would be back. To what extent they might be aiding the Trojan refugees was, as ever, up in the air, but they knew this would not be their last time in the mine. The majority of the scientists had been won over, as far as accepting the kids as allies, partially thanks to Shelly ultimately showing faith in Robby. Dr. Clark had said all he would on the matter.

 

All that was left to be settled were a few discontented curiosities.

 

“What was the deal with ‘Maquette’ anyway?” Vicki throws in. “You would draw in a notebook-“

 

“Doodle-based aptitude. I could manipulate my own physicality and perform impossible stunts by drawing it first.”

 

“Sounds tedious.”

 

“Ah! Not so,” Robby contends. “It also made me draw subconsciously, faster than a human mind could design.”

 

“So it gave you a superpower just so you could use the actual superpower.”

 

“… Well when you put it like that. … Ah yes, the gentleman in the jersey,” Robby readily moves on to Roger.

 

Roger inspects the H-Dial. “So I was thinking, this thing’s gotta have someone that teleports, right? We can just… cycle through until we get one who can zap everyone out of here! Outside Fairfax. Or, like someone who can disguise all of you; Vicki said one of the creeps from last night was making it so she couldn’t see anyone in town.”

 

Robby slows him down, taking the Dial away from him and setting it aside. “Heroes with powers like that come once in a blue moon, and I do mean ‘once’. I had the Dial for three years before Maquette, and I’m telling you the only time I got a hero on the level you’re describing was with The Prime Mover. Now she was somethin’ else.”

 

A nostalgic twinkle enters his eyes, bemusing the kids.

 

“I was listening to my radio, and the Siren Gang was robbing a bank all the way over in Granite City, but she helped me get there and stop them in a matter of-“

 

“I’m sorry…” Vicki snorts, making a time-out “T” with her hands and exchanging a look with Glinda. “… You got a ‘she’?”

 

Robby takes a seat. “The Dial works in mysterious ways,” he enlightens her, a little too seriously.

 

Vicki lets up on ribbing him. “Right. About that: It was making me say Saturday morning cartoon catchphrases..? Basically as painful as the guy that disintegrated part of my leg.”

 

“The heroes have their own personalities that you have to make space for. If you stay on the line for as long as I did, you can work past it. But eh, the one-liners are more or less a feature of the H-Dial that’s here to stay. It’s a packaged deal.”

 

Vicki nods wryly. “Awesome. And by ‘awesome,’ I mean ‘that majorly blows.’”

 

“We really need to get going now, guys.” Chris recommends. “Remember, Glinda especially-“

 

Roger hops off his boulder. “Yeah, agreed.”

 

Glinda pats down her pack to make certain there was no more food to leave. “Do we have…”

 

“Hey,” Robby whips around. “Which one of you took the Dial-“

 

“… Frannie?”

 

The gang looks behind themselves, as one. She was loitering near the tunnel by which to exit.

 

The H-ring on the Dial is pulled back in her hand.

 

Letting go of the mechanism, the rotary phone ignites into a shower of neon sparks. It consumes itself in a collapsing cyclone, and where once was Frannie, a sleek and scarlet being emerges from the pinkish fog.

 

“Frannie.”

 

With the Dial, and without a word, the newly-summoned hero splits away for the tunnel in a puff of dust, impossibly fast, and she blinks out of sight.

Done