52 - The Novel Page 7

  “no need to panio, citizens!” Skeets' amplified voice could be heard above the hubbub. Dozens of faces looked up at the robot with varying degrees of hope and confusion, “ready your cameras . . . for once again,

  IT’S BOOSTER GOLD TO RESCUE!”

  Booster came swooping down from the sky. Fie eyed the burning tanker with genuine concern. This was no hoax; for once, Skeets' prediction had been right on target. Maybe Time wasn't broken after all....

  He dived headfirst into the inferno, feeling the heat of the flames licking against his force field and body armor. His fists smashed through the pavement beneath the tanker and kept on going. He disappeared beneath the street, dragging the jagged ends of the broken fuel tank with him, but the smoke and fire continued to climb from the center of the wreck. Helpless bystanders choked on the fumes. .

  The crowd gasped as the hero vanished into the heart of the blaze. "He didn't stop it!" shrieked a skinny nerd in an Aquaman T-shirt. The lenses of his Coke-bottle glasses reflected the voracious scarlet flames. "We're toast!"

  Only Skeets seemed unconcerned, “please hold your applause until the bib finish,” he calmly instructed the people beneath him. “in two, one . . .”

  Right on cue, Booster rocketed upward from the flames, followed by an enormous plume of water that shot almost two stories into the air. Gallons of water, released from a buried water main, poured down upon the burning truck, extinguishing the blaze. The spray from the geyser rained onto the grateful faces of the nearby civilians, who let out a collective sigh of relief. Jubilant people laughed and high-fived each other. A little girl hugged her teddy bear.

  “success!” Skeets announced, “and let this be a reminder, ladies and gentlemen, never leave hdme without an official

  BOOSTER GOLD WINDPROOF UMBRELLA!”

  Thunderous cheers and applause greeted Booster as he descended toward the drenched sidewalk. The artificial rainfall bounced off his force field, keeping him perfectly dry. Pretty smooth, he thought, if I do say so myself. There were maybe easier ways to put out a burning tanker, but he couldn't think of a more dramatic one. Superman himself couldn't have handed this crisis any better.

  “bravo, sir!” Skeets congratulated him. “a thrilling sight

  INDEED!”

  "Booster!" Drawn by the disaster, or perhaps already on hand to cover the movie opening, a throng of reporters swarmed toward Booster. As usual, Lois Lane was ahead of the pack. "Over here!"

  "Greetings, Ms. Lane." Booster landed on the sidewalk in front of Lois. Superman had always given Lane the best interviews. Booster figured what was good for Big Blue was good enough for him. "Always a pleasure to chat with the Daily Planet's most prestigious correspondent."

  Lois ignored the flattery. "Not a bad rescue. Any comments for our readers?" .

  "I'm just glad I was able to find a water main in time," Booster said honestly. "Stopping an exploding propane truck is—"

  "An amazing stunt," a harsh voice interrupted. Booster turned to see a guy in a trench coat force his way through the crowd. The man looked familiar, but Booster couldn't quite place the face. "But I have a question. How much did it cost you?"

  Oh crap! Booster suddenly recognized the man's scowling face. Bob Somebody, or was it Bill? The actor. His heart sank. This could be bad... .

  "I have ... no idea what you're talking about." Stammering, he looked around for a way out. "Interview's over, folks!"

  "We'll decide that, thanks," Lois said crisply. Her shrewd blue eyes gleamed at the prospect of a juicy scoop. Turning her back on Booster, she pointed her tape recorder at the newcomer. "Your name, sir?"

  "I'm Bill Castell, and I'm an actor." He opened his trench coat to reveal that he was wearing Manthrax's phony armor underneath. "Two weeks ago, Booster Gold hired me to. stage a fake—"

  "Ms. Lane!" Booster blurted in a panic. He saw his life unraveling right before his eyes. "Don't listen to a word that man says!" He mustered a sternly heroic tone. "He's a proven threat to—"

  But Lois had her teeth into the story now and wasn't about to let go. "Go on, Mr. Castell." .

  "A fake attack on a commuter rail station," the actor continued. "Then his check bounced over the bank building in a single bound!"

  What? Booster thought. How'd that happen? His finances had taken a bit of a hit when the Akteon-Holt deal fell through, and he was still waiting on the Promethium money, but he hadn't realized that things had gotten so tight. Then again, he admitted to himself, he had been spending lavishly in anticipation of more profits down the road. Apparently, he hadn't been paying close enough attention to the bottom line. And now his sloppy accounting had come back to bite him on the ass.

  "I warned him!" Castell declared, taking full advantage of his fifteen minutes of fame. Flashbulbs snapped all around him. Competing cameramen and paparazzi jostled each other for the best angles. He held up a photocopy of the bounced check. "I knew I could go to jail for this, but I'll do it to drag that phony son of a bitch down!"

  "Enough, Mr. Castell." Lois turned back toward Booster, her attractive face much more severe than before. She almost seemed to take his ersatz heroics personally. "Booster, is this true? Do you know this man? Was that subway rescue simply a publicity stunt?"

  "No!" he lied unconvincingly. "I mean ... this isn't like it seems...."

  Smelling blood in the water, the rest of the reporters charged at Booster.

  "Booster! Gary McGraw, WGBS-TV. How much did you pay Castell?"

  "Ami Soon, Channel Five! Can you discredit this claim?"

  Lois refused to surrender her story to the competition. "Booster! How many of your various death-defying rescues have you staged to improve your marketability?"

  Just that one, he thought, but who was going to believe him now? The bar-’•age of questions and accusations left him standing like the proverbial deer in

  deadlights. Floating overhead, Skeets was unable to come to his defense. 1be robot drifted away, as though to distance himself from his disgraced master. All on his own, Booster faced the hostile press corps. He didn't know which question to answer, or what on earth he was supposed to say. "I swear, this isn't what it looks like," he mumbled.

  Except that it was.

  Not getting any good sound .bites out of Booster, some of the reporters turned their attention back to the actor in the super-villain costume. "Manthrax" shrugged off his trench coat, the better to show off his incriminating armor.

  "Mr. Castell, would you be willing to take a lie detector test?"

  "Where did you get that armor?"

  "Would you testify in a civil trial against Booster Gold?"

  Booster watched the scene unfold like a slow-motion train wreck beyond his power to avert. The falling rain washed his reputation into the gutter. This isn't fair! he lamented silently I just saved dozens of people—for real! Why doesn't anyone care about that?

  But he knew why, and he knew who was really to blame.

  It's all my fault.

  WEEK 8

  METROPOLIS.

  Children these days! Mildred Heiney couldn't believe the scene her grandson, Clifford, was making right here on the sidewalk in front of Lacey's department store, all because she wouldn't buy him one of those newfangled computer games. The toddler was lying on the pavement, kicking and screaming and throwing quite a fit, and in broad daylight, no less. His shrill cries could be heard all across Metro Square. She shook her finger at the unruly child. "Listen to me, young man. Your mother may tolerate this sort of behavior, but in my day . .

  Mildred was vaguely aware of other pedestrians rushing past her with alarmed expressions on their faces. Their reactions struck her as a trifle excessive. Little Clifford wasn't misbehaving that much. A large shadow blotted out the sun, and she noticed people staring upward in horror. What the dickens?

  Before she could look up to see what the matter was, a strong hand fell upon her shoulder. She turned around in surprise to see one of those masked "mystery men" one so oft
en heard tell of nowadays. A blue hood and cape were draped over his head and shoulders, concealing his face, and he wore a skintight white suit that left little to the imagination. Red gloves and boots matched the inner lining of his cape. A bright yellow starburst design was stamped on his chest and forehead. Who? Mildred thought. She didn't recognize this new hero at all.

  She only got a glimpse of the costumed stranger before he lit up like the sun. Her eyes snapped shut against the glare, even as she instinctively grabbed onto Clifford's arm. The brilliant radiance faded almost as quickly as it appeared. She opened her eyes cautiously, only to discover that both she and Clifford were somewhere else. Disoriented, and seeing spots before her eyes, it took her a moment to realize that they were now across the street from where they had been only a second before. I don't understand, she thought. How did we get here?

  GREG COX

  But that wasn't the only shock in store for her. Looking back toward the department store, she saw that one of the city's many elevated trams had crashed nose-first down onto the sidewalk in front of Lacey's—right where she and Clifford had been arguing. Smoke and flames rose from the mangled remains of the tram, which hung at an angle from the cable overhead. Little Clifford squeezed her hand as he stared wide-eyed at the destruction before them, his computer game completely forgotten. Mildred looked around for the hero who had somehow come to their rescue, but the cloaked man was nowhere to be seen.

  5G

  "Well, I'll be."

  "Who was that, Gramma?" Clifford asked.

  "I have no idea, sweetie." She hugged her grandson, grateful to be alive. Tears leaked from her watery eyes. "But whoever he was, he saved our lives."

  Fireman Fred Farrell thought he was a goner.

  Fie and his crew were trapped inside the burning apartment building. Flaming rubble blocked the way out, while the thick smoke and ash made it almost impossible to see, even with their flashlights. Farrell hacked at the fallen debris with his axe, but his efforts barely made a dent in the deadly barrier. "Watch out!" someone shouted as the ceiling began to collapse above them. The burning beams were going to crash down on them any second. No way was their protective gear going to save them. Timbers cracked as the beams tore loose from the ceiling. Farrell threw up his arms in a hopeless attempt to shield himself.

  This is it, he thought.

  Suddenly, impossibly, a super hero appeared out of nowhere. Through the dense black smoke, Farrell glimpsed a caped figure standing behind them. Superman? Farrell thought hopefully, before spying a blue hood over the newcomer's face. The hero's upraised palms projected shimmering rays of golden light that seemed to erase the falling rafters. The fiery timbers vanished as though they had never existed. Farrell's jaw dropped behind his SCBA mask. He lowered his arms, amazed to find himself still breathing.

  Maybe we're not goners after all.. . .

  Light radiated from the masked figure, cutting through the smoky haze. He waved his arm and a second burst of concentrated light cleared the rubble blocking the exit. Farrell and his fellow firefighters scurried for safety. "Thank you!" he gasped as he ran past the glowing stranger, who lingered behind, making sure that all the firefighters got out safely.

  Farrell was the last one out onto the sidewalk. He ripped off his breathing apparatus and inhaled deeply of the warm summer air. Flames erupted from

  the building they had just evacuated, but the fireman did not fear for the hero they had left behind. Somehow he sensed that their mysterious rescuer could take care of himself.

  "Who the heck was that?" another firefighter asked him. Her sweaty face was streaked with soot.

  "Hell if I know," Farrell admitted. •

  "Supernova? He calls himself Supernova?" Booster Gold crumpled the newspaper in his fist. Indignation was written all over his face as he railed at the reporter who had come to him for a comment on Metropolis's latest hero. He paced up and down on the pavement outside his apartment building. "I swear, if I have to hear one more word about this guy, I'm going to punch you in the neck."

  “sir, pleases” Skeets said anxiously, “your image . .

  "Is in the toilet," Booster groused, "so what damage is left to be done?" His uniform was missing about half of the corporate logos it had boasted before the "Manthrax" scandal last week. "One week, I'm the city's favorite hero. The next, some new Boy Scout has moved in while I'm given the heave-ho!"

  Skeets flitted about nervously, “sir, this man’s taking notes. . .

  ■ " 'This man' is going to write whatever he feels like as long as it sells papers." Booster unrolled the crumpled newspaper, exposing the front page headline: "GOLD TARNISHED." An unflattering photo of Booster, taken moments after Manthrax spilled the beans, accompanied the banner headline. Booster glared murderously at the reporter in front of him. "Or have you actually gathered some facts for a change? Huh? What about it?" Passersby gave the disgraced hero dirty looks as he threw the paper in the newsman's face. "Do you know who this 'Supernova' is?"

  "No, I do not," Clark Kent responded. "But I guarantee you I'm going to find out."

  WEEK 9

  BOTHAM CITY.

  "I can't believe we're losing to Star City."

  Renee nursed a cold beer as she watched the baseball game on the TV set at Molly's Bar and Girl. Most of the usual crowd was standing outside on the street, watching the Fourth of July fireworks, but Renee preferred air conditioning to pyrotechnics. She sat at the counter smoking a cigarette. Scrawled question marks covered the cast on her elbow.

  "Tell me about it," Jilly the bartender said. She looked up from washing glasses as a newcomer entered the bar. She arched an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

  Someone sat down at the bar beside Renee. She was vaguely surprised to see that it was a young guy wearing jeans, a blue muscle shirt, and a red baseball cap. "A bottle of Lit, please," he asked pleasantly.

  "Ooo-kay," Jilly said dubiously, but handed the man a beer.

  Fie glanced up at the TV screen. "What inning?"

  "Seventh," Renee volunteered. "Stars five, Knights two." She eyed him curiously, intrigued despite herself. "You do know this is a lesbian bar, right?"

  That didn't seem to trouble him. "So no men's room, huh?"

  "Smart-ass," Renee said, amused.

  "Consistency is everything," he said cryptically. Fie kept his eyes on the game as he sipped his beer. "By the way, how's your arm?"

  Renee recognized the tone, if not the voice. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?"

  "No, I asked you first," he said. "And I'm still waiting for an answer."

  That cinched it. Renee's jaw tightened. This was definitely the no-faced asshole.

  "You," she accused him.

  He turned toward her and touched a finger to the side of his nose. A grin broke out over his face. "Me."

  Renee rose from the bar stool, glaring at the nameless stranger. Now what? she thought. She honestly didn't know whether she wanted to punch him, walk away, or just sit back down. "I was wondering if I would ever see your face again."

  "One of them anyway." He held out his hand. "My name's Vic, but my friends call me Charlie." Renee just glared at his hand, refusing to take it. He shrugged and slipped off his bar stool. "Curious? Full of questions?" Sounding just as infuriatingly calm and smug as ever, he headed for the door. "C'mon. I might have some answers for you."

  She flirted with the notion of staying right where she was, but who was she kidding? Answers were even better than A.C.

  Scowling, she followed him onto the street. Molly's clientele milled about on the sidewalk, flirting and drinking as they admired the skyrockets going off. A chorus of oohs and aalis greeted each spectacular burst of colored flares. Heat and humidity smothered Renee as "Vic" led her down the sidewalk, away from the other women. The scorching weather did little to improve her mood.

  "I'm wondering why I shouldn't beat you within an inch of your life, Charlie," she told him. Oddly, though, she felt less angry than she sounded
.

  He didn't take the threat seriously. "You have impulse control issues, don't you?" •

  "I thought you were gone for good!"

  "Hey, I got hurt in that fight too, you know." He stopped walking and turned to face her. Now that she could see it, there was nothing at all remarkable about his face, which turned out to have blue eyes. Renee pegged his age as being somewhere in the early thirties. "So, you gonna tell me what you learned?" .

  She couldn't believe the nerve of him. "Your money ran out a month ago, smart guy. What makes you think I'm even still interested in your little mystery?"

  "Because you're like me," he said, insufferably sure of himself. "You're curious."

  "You almost got me killed!" she protested, giving him an angry shove. "My curiosity doesn't extend that far!"

  "Sure it does," he insisted. "Why else are you still looking into it?"

  It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. "Wait. You've been spying on me?"

  "I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said, actually sounding a bit apologetic. Glancing around, he stepped into a dingy alley off the main street. Renee chased after him, determined to get to the bottom of this. "Who are you?" she demanded. "I mean, just who the hell are you?"

  "Like I keep saying ..He fished a balled-up wad of pink plastic from his pocket. He tapped his belt buckle, releasing swirling blue fumes. As the smoke enveloped him, he smoothed the plastic over his face, concealing his features. His brightly colored clothing turned an inconspicuous shade of brown. "I asked you first."

  By the time the fumes dissipated, No-Face was back.

  "Neat trick," she conceded. "How's it work?"

  "See? Questions. That's good. That's why I like you." The faceless mask, which blended seamlessly with his skin, distorted his voice. "The clothes and the mask are chemically treated, activated by the binary gas released by the belt buckle."