Read Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City) Online
Authors: Blake M. Petit
Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City) (33 page)
“Gentlemen?” I broke in, “can we focus here? Ted, you can’t seriously think I’m the guilty one here. I mean...
look
at me.”
“You look fine from here.”
“I don’t have any
feet
!”
“You have ankles.”
“I don’t ha-- hey, you’re right. The regeneration process must speed up the farther along it goes. That’s not the point, Ted. You think Noble would have been so brutal if he weren’t trying to hide something?”
“He was brutal because
you
killed First Light and Five-Share!”
“I did
not
! Your skull
is
thick, isn’t it?”
“The
thickest,
” he snarled. Then, realizing that hadn’t come out quite right, he proceeded to look down at his feet.
My own feet were regenerating nicely by now -- I had heels again and I watched for a moment as a pair of purple boots began to grow over them.
“Neat trick, bro,” Animan said. Even Ted couldn’t help but watch as the soles of my feet reappeared. The flesh, muscles and sinews continued to flow and finally I heard ten satisfying little “pops.” I had toes. The boots flowed down over them and I was whole once more.
“Congratulations,” Ted spat.
“You could be a
little
nicer,” I said, swinging my brand-spanking-new legs off the bed and standing on them for the first time. They felt pretty good.
“Damn it, Ted,” Animan grumbled, “will you just get over yourself? I should have known you’d have no willpower left, the way you always let goons like Noble walk all over you.”
I fingered the starfish totem in my hand. “Well... here goes nothing.”
“Josh, are you sure that those brand-spanking new legs are still gonna be there when you turn back? I mean... we really don’t know how the hell any of this works.”
“You know, Animan, the whole time I was lying there I was trying not to say that very thing so I wouldn’t jinx it.”
“Sorry.”
I shrugged. My fist clutched as tight as it would go, I concentrated on the totem, on turning back into myself. There was a flash and the starfish-man’s body was gone. My costume reappeared and from the waist-up I was Copycat again. Even from the waist-down, everything felt new and strong.
And drafty.
Animan, in a futile attempt not to laugh, managed to say, “I guess... heh... the starfish-totem doesn’t -- heh, heh -- doesn’t grow back your
real
clothes. Heh... hold on, lemme get you some pants and shoes.”
“Would you please?”
I wrapped myself in a blanket while Animan dug around. The new skin, while healthy, looked really pink and raw. It had sort of a strange, waxy sheen and I doubted I’d ever be able to grow hair on my lower extremities again. On the other hand, I had my legs and reproductive organs back. I decided to mark myself down as coming out ahead of the deal and dropped the subject.
Struggling a little against the extension cord, Ted was laughing. “Enjoying this, are you?” I asked.
“Oh, immensely.”
“You know, Ted, you’re lucky you aren’t yourself right now. Otherwise I’d have to smack you around for being such a jackass.”
“Or ‘Noble-esque,’ as the French say,” Animan quipped as he tossed me a pair of jeans. I’d actually lost enough weight to fit in them very comfortably. I also pulled on a ragged pair of his tennis shoes.
“All dressed up and nowhere to go, huh?” Ted asked.
“Ted, I just had to re-grow half of my body, do you mind?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, the look on his face turning maniacal. “Just thought I’d give you a little warning before.”
“Before
what
?” Animan snapped.
We were both blown off our feet an instant later when Ted hiked up the volume on his telepathic jukebox to “earsplitting.” A nasty brass chord threatened my eardrums and practically jellied my brain.
“What the hell are you
doing?
” I shrieked.
“He’s sounding an alarm!” Animan shouted over the noise that only existed in our heads. “If he’s broadcasting all over the complex--”
He didn’t have to finish. Animan snatched a handful of totems and we both charged down the hall and out of the apartment.
“We’re gonna make it,” Animan said. “We’re gonna make it, we’re gonna make it, we’re--”
“Screwed,” I said.
We were flanked on one side by Spectrum, Justice Giant and Solemna and on the other by the Arachnid, Merlin Junior and -- still wearing Lionheart’s face -- the Gunk.
“Ah
crap
,” Animan said, fumbling for an ox totem.
“No!” I shouted, holding him back. The music had stopped and was replaced by a voice -- Tom’s. And I liked what he was saying.
“We surrender,” I said.
“We
what
?” Animan squeaked.
“Trust me.”
Justice Giant took out couple of pairs of power dampeners and clamped them over our wrists. “Good move,” Gunk said. “It’ll go much faster this way.”
“Have you lost your mind, man?” Animan said as we were led down the halls.
“Nope,” I said. “Just got me a plan.”
I didn’t voice the addendum: “I hope.”
ISSUE FIFTEEN
THE TRIAL OF JOSHUA CORWOOD
This time they didn’t even bother throwing me in a cell, they took us straight to the auditorium and let Justice Giant and Merlin Junior guard us while the other roused the Tower and pulled us in for an assembly.
“I hope you’re right about this, Tom,” I grumbled.
“What did you say?” Gunk/Lionheart barked.
“I said, ‘I hope an aardvark kissed your Mom’.”
He raised his hand for a moment, like he was about to backhand me, then apparently decided what I’d said made no sense and let it go.
In the auditorium, Gunk sat us down at the table Icebergg had occupied for his own “trial.” Every Cape and Mask in the city filtered in and glared at us, looks of hatred and disdain on their faces. This trial was just a formality. The verdict was already in.
“Wait here while we get your co-conspirator,” Gunk said, marching off.
“What’s he talking about?” Animan whispered. “You don’t think he’s caught Hotshot, do you?”
“No,” I said, “Tom would have told me.”
“Right, Tom. Remind me again why we’re following a plan cooked up by someone who still wakes up at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning just to watch Bugs Bunny.”
“I trust him,” I said. Animan raised an eyebrow, as though he was still a bit wary, but eventually just nodded. That was enough.
That’s about when “Lionheart” returned with someone else in tow -- someone wearing regular handcuffs instead of power dampeners, and someone who, I knew, had never seen this side of Simon Tower before.
“Hi, Sheila,” I groaned as the Gunk sat her down.
“Hey, Josh,” she said. “By the way, I’m never doing you a favor again.”
“Okay,” I moaned. “Are you all right?”
“Let’s see, I’m halfway through burning the pages in your little notebook over the stove -- after having to disconnect your smoke detector, of course, when the goon squad breaks in, drags me here and throws me in a little room with no toilet all night. Right after I drank a pot of coffee. Do you
think
I’m all right?”
“Only
half?
” I moaned louder.
“Think that will be enough?”
“Oh, sure. Maybe they’ll only send
half
of me to the penal colony.”
“You know, a while ago that would actually have been an option,” Animan pointed out.
Morrie came up to my table, wearing a “sorry about this” sort of grin. “You got any questions before we get goin’, kid?”
“Yeah,” Animan said, “how you planning on living with yourself once this is over?”
I scowled. That wasn’t helping. “You’re not gonna send Sheila off to the final frontier with us, are you?”
“When you’re found guilty I’ll get Mental Maid to wipe her brain an’ send her back where she came from.”
“
When
you find him guilty?” Sheila barked. “You’ve already got this decided.”
Morrie frowned, but instead of responding he just turned away and joined the
faux
Lionheart between the United States and Siegel City flags on the dais.
“Who’s your friend, Josh?” Animan asked. “She’s got spunk.”
“Right. Sheila, Animan. Animan, Sheila.”
“Charmed,” Sheila grumbled.
“Mutual,” he said.
Morrie went to the podium and cleared his throat. “Okay, ladies ‘an gentlemen, Capes and Masks, thank ya fer comin’. It’s not a pleasant thing, these hearings, especially when we’ve had so many in such a short time. But it’s somethin’ that’s gotta be done. We’re here today, of course, to determine the guilt or innocence of Joshua Corwood, alias Copycat, an’ his accomplice Eugene Torin, alias Animan.”
“
Eugene?
” I whispered. “I thought no one used your real name.”
“They
don’t
,” Animan said. “That’s
why.
”
“Speaking fer the prosecution,” Morrie continued, “is our recently restored cham-peen, Lionheart.”
When the crowd began cheering, I leaned over to Animan. “Who speaks for us?”
“We speak for ourselves.”
“
Great,
” Sheila said. “That means we’ve got a fool for a client or something, right?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I watch a lot of Court TV.”
The Gunk stood up and cracked his knuckles. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed they didn’t make any noise.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we all know why we are here. Joshua Corwood, known to you as Copycat these last few weeks, has willfully and without remorse committed innumerable crimes against his fellows including assault, disclosure and murder.”
On those courtroom shows, this was always the part where the crowd started whispering excitedly. In my trial, though, everyone sat there, stone-faced, not making a sound -- except for the Goop, who was seated near the front, rocking back and forth on his haunches and whispering to himself.
“To begin with,” the Gunk bellowed, “I have with me a notebook, found in Corwood’s apartment, written in Corwood’s own handwriting and being destroyed by Corwood’s best friend.” He held up the Spectrum-cover notebook, considerably thinner than the last time I’d seen it.
“Gee, that’s sweet, Josh,” Sheila said. “Why does Lionheart hate me?”
“That’s
not Lionheart,
” Animan and I said in concert.
“In this notebook Corwood, a member of the press, wrote down virtually every secret of this entire organization -- training routines, choreography, research and development.
Secret identities.
”
There was a slight murmur for that particular load of dung. I’d never written any secret IDs down. I made a mental note to chastise myself for ever writing any damn thing if I happened to have time later.
“But keeping the notebook, startling as it is, is by no means Copycat’s most damning action. I
personally
witnessed, upon my return, the murder of the peaceful giant known as the Gunk.”
This time the murmurs became a hiss and the Goop’s whispers became a diatribe -- “No, that’s not possible, no, it
can’t
be right...”
“Now normally, the process here is for one of our holographically-empowered comrades to project a witnesses’ depiction of events.”
“You’ve been missing for ten years, ‘Lionheart’,” Animan growled. “How the blue hell do you know what the ‘process’ is?”
“This, of course, is impossible. One of our holographically-endowed friends, Spectrum, was beaten within an inch of his life by Copycat and his still-at-large accomplice, Hotshot.”
What?
That was ridiculous. Sure, we’d put kind of a hurt on Spectrum, but nowhere near as severely as he was making it out to be. What was he up to now?
“But far more grave is the fate of First Light and her teammates, Five-Share. I will allow my comrade, Doctor Noble, to explain.”
Noble moved through the hissing, growling crowd. He paused at the defense table and whispered, “I don’t know how you got your legs back, Joshie, but trust me, it won’t matter for long.”
He went to the dais and, without being sworn in or anything, launched into a rant about how he, Five-Share and First Light bravely fought me on the rooftop. I knew the last two Five-Shares, the absent ones, could refute his story, but that was assuming he hadn’t found and dealt with them already.
“What we didn’t count on,” he said, “is that our opponent had done his homework. He knew what happened months ago, during my tragic confrontation with Photon Man. He knew how I accidentally accelerated his powers and caused his death.”
Noble’s voice cracked and I think he even squeezed out a tear. “Could this possibly sound more rehearsed?” I asked.
“Give him time,” Animan hissed.
“Copycat used this knowledge to duplicate my abilities and deliberately accelerated First Light’s powers beyond any levels she could tolerate. The resultant explosion killed not only First Light, but also Five-Share. I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“You lying son of a bitch!” I shouted, and a chorus of Sheila, Animan and Tom (in my head) all shouted, “Josh, calm down!” at the same time.
“Are you ready yet?” I whispered.
“
Not yet,”
Tom echoed.
“Stall.”