The Tower (14 page)

“I love you, Oriana; I know that now. I've always known it.” Stale as that expression was, I meant every word. “I love you and I'll wait as long as you want to.”

“Call me Ori. That's my special nickname,” she said softly. “And I love you, too.”

“Ori,” I repeated. It sounded pretty.

“Now take a shower,” she commanded. “I'm on patrol duty soon, and you've got training with Lancer later on.” So much for tender moments we all can share. Work still came first, but I felt good that we'd gotten it all out in the open and that we'd taken the next step in an already good relationship. After my shower, she gave me her usual terrific kiss and then ran off to the elevator.

But I'd still been hoping for more than that.

Fourteen: From Zero to…Somebody

Nice being Number One for a change; it really was, although I tried not to let it go to my head. The day after the fight, I was back in the gym, back into training, and while there were offers for the first time in my life to go clubbing, duty always came first.

It was still necessary to put in the hours on Earth patrol and it never bothered me as it did others. It was an honor to serve. The world needed our help and what did The Snuffler once say to me? Oh, yeah, “We're always around.”

So, I did my community service for the world and enjoyed it and went to other worlds as well. I went to so many different galaxies and planets I lost count. There was the living desert of U'taa'Pan to consider, where the sand was literally alive, forming and shaping itself to gesture and move with us.

Then there were the waters of Ml'Lakken'Dett where the inhabitants were an amphibious cross between fish and birds. They'd lay eggs and when their babies were ready to hatch, these fish-bird creatures would launch themselves into the air, toss their eggs, and they'd instantly burst open with the new life erupting from them.

Finally, of all the places I visited, the rivers of fire on the planet Hedeez'J'Goku 11, the strangest of them all: The inhabitants were fire dwellers, lived in flame-rivers and could only speak to PowerGuy as he was invulnerable to their flame-breath—anyone else would have been melted instantly. Weird, but it was wonderful, although what with all the missions, relationships with my co-workers sort of got put by the wayside.

“You got time to hit the weights with me today?” one of the techs asked me.

“Sorry, man, got a mission Earth-side. I'll be back around 23:00 hours.”

Later on, another guy from the Hangar Bay invited me to dinner with his girlfriend. “Can't go, bud,” I answered. “Got a patrol with Temptress in LA; won't be back until ten-thirty or so.”

And that was it, outside of time spent with Oriana, I had no time for anything else. Off to Paris one day, Shanghai the next, and then Tokyo. We went everywhere we were needed, and that was often. The tour never seemed to end and I never wanted it to. This was like living the dream with the Tower Team, fun and games, adventures every day.

Dan once asked me, “What is it with you and the Ultras? I mean, I've got nothing against you hanging out with them, but what's the attraction?”

How could I answer that? “I don't know; being good is cool.”

Putting it simply, this was the one place where being a good guy
was
cool. The Ultras were the ultimate and I was totally down with that. It was very much a black-and-white issue—good was cool and bad was not. It was as clear as anything could be and other things weren't important.

People on the Tower called me “fanboy” behind my back; even Dan said I had a serious case of Ultra-love but I didn't care. They were the greatest of the great, and outside of Oriana, nothing else mattered.

Like parties, for instance, they just weren't for me. I'd been invited to a few and was always disappointed. They seemed like a good idea, but once the booze started flowing and the drug paraphernalia came out, it was time to leave.

As I was going out the door, one guy said, “Hey, man, what's wrong with a little happiness?” He was already half out of it.

“Not my kind of happiness,” I answered and walked out.

After getting back to the Tower, Oriana met me in the Hangar Bay. “Hey, boyfriend,” she greeted me. Noting the dour look on my face, she asked, “Wasn't much of a party, I take it?”

I just shrugged. “Not my lifestyle,” I answered. She shrugged, and that was that. We took a quiet stroll together and that was how it went that night on the Tower.

The next day, when the rave guys and gals staggered in, bodies and faces looking tired and strung out, eyes bloodshot and hardly able to put in a full day's work, hey, that made not drugging up a wise choice. They could barely walk.

Parties aside, I gradually became aware of a lot of gripes, mainly directed at the Ultras. This was something I hadn't known at first, mainly because I just didn't know how things were. The Ultras were just so awesome that it didn't occur to me they could be fallible in any way, but they were people, after all, with the same strengths and frailties that everyone else had. And as time went on, I overheard more and more negative vibes and realized that the situation up here was far from ideal.

Perhaps my go-to guys knew what kind of pressure the tech staff was under; perhaps not. But the tensions were there all the same and it didn't help that there was very little interaction between the Association members and the regular staff. That was limited to the Ultras going over the daily work plans with the techs and issuing orders. There was no overt unfriendliness, coldness or rudeness, either—it was just business.

The praise I got and the palling around I did with the Ultras also put a divide between me and everyone else. “Seems the Ultra crowd likes you and not the rest of us,” Nick pointed out one day, after Deanna had paid me yet another compliment on my cooking. “You feel like giving up any secrets?” He wasn't jealous, just curious. Okay, maybe a little jealous.

“Don't have a clue,” I answered, and while the praise
had
made me feel good at the beginning, as time went on it was
just
me and that made me wonder why. That's when I started to think about it.

My boss, John, had confided to me that he'd also initially been a bit envious of my relationship with Oriana but not because we were dating; it was something deeper. It had to do with their attitude, he said. “They order us around a lot. You've been here long enough and maybe you didn't see it at first, but now you do, right?”

This was true. John bobbed his head a few times for emphasis and continued. “See, told ya. And a lot of us don't like it. We're not second-class citizens, y'know.”

The “ordering around” part was correct; I'd been on the end of it once. A few days after my fight with Mark, Big Gelt asked me to take a look-see at his room. “You're one of us, right? Hey, man, you live in the same section as we do so c'mon in! And call me ‘BIG,'” he added, “everyone else does.”

Once inside, he waved his arm in an expansive gesture. “Welcome to my room, ‘The Gold Mine.'” And what a room it was! While no larger than the place I occupied, it was covered with pictures of, you guessed it, BIG himself. BIG kissing babies, BIG in heroic poses, BIG grinning and waving at crowds. At six-three in height, blue-eyed and buff like a beach god, he certainly cut an imposing figure. In the corner of his room was a display case full of posters, signed photos, key chains, lunchboxes, “How-To-Be-A-Hero” DVDs, cups, mugs, and more.

He took out a mug with his ever-present smile on it and said, “That's what I want: A mug in every house.” Taking a closer look at it, the smile seemed to leap out at you and then I realized it was some kind of hologram. No matter which way I turned the mug, the smile followed me. Well, someone would like it….

Had he sold any of his goods? “No, not yet, but you gotta hear the plan, man,” he told me and proceeded to lay it all out. “First, when the time is right, get on the news and make the Association public, make 'em acceptable.”

They already were I reminded him. His face got a disappointed look on it very briefly but he quickly recovered his positivity. His answer was, “Yeah, they're cool, but they need the right spokesperson and that's me.”

His next order of business was to get his own TV sales show. “C'n y'dig it, Bill? Me, selling all the stuff! And if that doesn't work, I could always model; I'm good-lookin' enough, right? I can make some serious coin from all this.”

“You said that before, BIG,” I reminded him.

“I did? Oh, yeah,” he answered a bit sheepishly. “Well, anyway, I'd make a great model, don't you think? Those other guys got nothing on me!” He contracted his right arm and a huge bulge appeared. His arms looked to be about twenty inches, if not more. Mine were only about seventeen so I had still had a ways to go.

I half-expected him to show me the flow charts of his wealth. Sure enough, he pressed a button on the little strap-on console on his wrist, and a hologram lit up with all his current assets in green and the expected profits brightly outlined in blue. Didn't the Association frown on this kind of commercialism?

“Nah, nah, nah,” he waved his hand dismissively. “What's the harm in all this? TV endorsements or modeling; it's all good. And if that don't work, then I could be the Association's spokesman. I'm just keepin' all my options open, you know?”

What could I say?

After a few more minutes of self-promotion, it was time to go. BIG gave me a cup and one of his DVDs as a present. “Inspirational,” he said. “Just watch it and tell me it ain't great!”

We went outside, and Black Guardsman happened to walk by. When he saw me, his eyes flashed a brilliant blue and not in a friendly way. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. I hastily hid the presents inside my uniform. BIG came over and tried to placate BG. “John, he's one of us, isn't he? I mean, what's the harm in…?”

“You
know
the law!” Stinson interrupted. “No exceptions. And you,” he stated, turning his gaze on me, “in the Commissary right now. We need to talk.” He just pointed the way to the lift and turned his back to me.

There was no arguing with him. I went. BG turned to BIG after I started walking away and muttered something I couldn't make out. What was the big deal?

Inside the cafeteria, there were only a few people on duty, the dinner crowd wouldn't be arriving for a few more hours. Sitting at a table, I waited for ten minutes until Stinson walked in, his face a stern mask. He drank three glasses of water, then came over and sat across from me.

“Sorry about chewing you out before,” he began. “Rules need to be enforced for everyone. No exceptions.” I nodded. “BIG's cool, but he doesn't know when to stop.”

“And what did he mean by ‘I'm one of you,'” I asked. “Does BIG know that I come from another universe?”

John nodded. “Most of the Ultras know. We…” he paused, searching for words, “keep to ourselves mainly because we want a little privacy, a little space.” That made sense to me.

“You're not into hero worship, I take it?”

“I hate that kind of thing,” he answered. “People want to think we're special, fine; we're just doing our job.” And with that, he got up and left.

Across the room, Carl, the nighttime cook, came over after the Guardsman had gone. Carl was a short, chatty guy, around twenty-five or so, with a quick wit and he was a pretty decent cook. He and I often shared recipes. “Got chewed out, Bill?”

“Just a lecture on the house rules,” I answered, a bit glumly. Noticing the water pitcher, I poured myself a glass.

“Seems like you got problems, too,” he offered.

“I don't know, Carl,” I began. “What's so wrong with hanging out with people I like? You think I'm sucking up to them?”

He looked at me with shrewd eyes, and thought a bit before answering. “Bill, it's not like you're sucking up, but when the other guys on board see you hanging with them all the time, what do you think
they're
feeling? Personally, I like what they do, and I like my job here, but I've got priorities to think about. My wife's down in Chicago and I got two little kids to take care of. Someday, we all have to move on, y'know?”

I had to think about that; what Carl had said made sense, and I hadn't realized that maybe I was short-changing myself by excluding, sub-consciously or not, everyone else. People skills were important, too.

On the way back to my room, Mother Nature called. Inside the Men's Room and going about my business, I heard two voices talking, entering the room. Recognizing the Guardsman's voice and BIG's, I started to say something, then stopped. Silence, and then….the sounds of clothing being removed. Rustling of boots, costumes, belts…what the…? BIG's costume draped itself over the wall on my right, I couldn't see BG's stuff, but I did hear his boots give out a dull “thud” on the floor.

So
that's
how they did it. I'd always wondered how superheroes went to the bathroom and how they managed to fight crime while never taking a bathroom break, just like in the movies. When I was very young, I thought they used some kind of an invisible clasp or flap…and then the sounds began. Rumbling sounds of both men relieving themselves and Holy Crap! The stench of eggs and vegetables combined were something my nose wouldn't forget so quickly; the ensuing lower bowel avalanche was like a downpour of Holy Sh….

I had to get out of there, couldn't take it anymore. I finished going, held my breath, and got out as fast and as quietly as possible. Didn't even wash my hands because there was no
way
I was going back in there again.

One more dream shot to hell and I wished that I hadn't been there to hear it, but really? That was gross, just gross.

Fifteen: The Ties That Bind

At times, I wondered what kind of bond held the Ultras together. It wasn't their superpowers as not all of them were so gifted. Avenger was mortal and had only his physical attributes, his intelligence, and his instincts to guide him. The Snuffler had his nose, and Skree had her hands. With the exceptions of PowerGuy and Miracle Mistress, all of them were vulnerable to injury in one way or another and all were subject to disease and aging and death the same as everyone else.

A little checking on what their weaknesses were: The Snuffler, if he caught a cold, was pretty much useless, Black Guardsman's downfall was rice and Repello couldn't use soap. One little variation on the norm and they were toast. Weird, yes, but that's how this universe functioned.

So, no, it wasn't their abilities, not all the time. Was it the job itself? Maybe; they all seemed to live by the credo of “do some good in the world” and that was considered to be the standard on the Tower by which all were judged. Hackneyed as it was, it still meant something to me. I actually
felt
that I was the same, and as illogical as that sounded, that's what I wanted most out of life.

One morning I woke up extra early and took a brief walk around the station. Passing by the Arbor Room, I saw most of the Ultras had gathered together. What was up with this? I kept out of sight but crept in close enough to hear what was going on. Avenger was taking roll call and he asked Repello to say a few words to all who were there and to repeat the pact. Pact? The helmeted superhero took off his protective headdress, cleared his throat, and spoke. His Scottish brogue sounded especially thick this morning.

“We strive to excel in all tha' we do, struggle for self-control, fight t'fight for what is good an' true.” The other Association members repeated what he said and, oh, man, this was their
code
! Oriana had mentioned it to me a long time ago but this was the first time I'd ever heard it. Repello continued. “We shall endea'or to uphold the Tower credo o' protectin' the innocent, valuin' all life, upholding the law, and doing no evil.”

Once again, the words were repeated.

“So say we all,” he finished.

“So say we all!” the group answered in unison.

For a second I thought they had to be kidding, but I knew they weren't. They meant every word of it. I'd seen it when they went to Earth and helped out, and all I had to do was watch the faces of those individuals they'd aided; their looks of gratitude said it all.

It wasn't so much what they said, as what they
did
. They performed their duties of saving the Earth one person at a time and said nothing about it. Powered by some seemingly inexhaustible, indomitable will, they flew and lifted and strained to change the course of events that meant certain injury or death had they not intervened. They did it time and again, tended to those in need, and put their lives on the line when and if necessary. That's how they were.

The way they reacted to Middleton's death was in keeping with their character. After the funeral was over and I'd had my little trash talk session with Evans, I'd gone back to the Commissary to just sit and think. All the Ultras then filed in, one after another. No one ate anything, though, and no one spoke to each other for a time and actually seemed to resent my presence. I didn't know why, but if it made them feel uncomfortable with me being there, then maybe it was best to leave.

“You want me to go?” I asked John Stinson. “I mean, you know, Association business and all that…” I fell silent.

He just looked at me for a second and then shrugged a little. “You can stay, man,” he rumbled. “It's cool. Just…” he shook his head a few times, as if to clear it of any negative thoughts…“just give us some space, okay?”

Yeah, okay, that I could relate to. Temptress walked over and whispered something into the Guardsman's ear and he nodded a little. She turned to me and said, “It's been a big shock to all of us. And I know Oriana would want you here.”

I thanked her and moved off to the kitchen area, started to clean up, tried to look busy. The rest of them just sat there, stunned and disappointed, even though it hadn't been their fault. And I felt like crap.

Even BIG wasn't his usual happy-go-lucky self. He came in, picked up a couple of trays, and after looking at all the other somber faces, put them down again.

“Are you hungry, BIG?” I asked. “I could make you something.”

“No thanks, Bill; it wouldn't be right,” he said, voice shaking a little. He then broke down and started crying. Buckets of water seemed to pour out of his eyes and he shook violently, unable to staunch the flow of tears. At that point, one of the Ultras, Mary Margaret Howard a.k.a. “Sunshine” (she had the ability to fire blinding bursts of light at her targets) put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him.

“You feel okay, BIG?” I asked. He shook his head, dried his eyes.

“Can't be happy all the time, guy,” he told me, his voice still shaking. “Not after something like this. Makes ya think, don't it?” He couldn't talk after that and I didn't want to, either. Sunshine just led him over to the rest of the Ultras and he sat down. Oriana was the last to walk into the cafeteria and came over to stand next to me, never saying a word; her hand joined mine under the counter and we just stood there for a while, there was nothing I could say.

Yeah, something like this happening
did
make me think. At that moment, all I wanted to do was forget that sorry day had ever happened, but no. Something like this couldn't be forgotten.

Turning to Ori, I said, “I'd better go.”

“That's okay, Bill, I'll see you later,” she said, and walked me outside, gave me a brief kiss, and then re-entered the room.

Temptress then said, “The Earth is still down there, and they need us. Shall I recite the pact?” She didn't wait for an answer, just started in, and slowly, everyone else joined her.

So their decency was never in question. And as for their attitude, well, while listening to them recite the oath was indeed very cornball, I almost found myself lip-synching with them.

Avenger was also another enigma to me. At first, I thought him to be cold, unreachable, even abrasive and rude at times, but I soon understood that he had the weight of two worlds on his shoulders: That of the Tower residents in one hand and the residents of Earth in the other.

“That's the thing,” Mr. Wonderful told me. “He has to do it alone.” And he did. While he must have consulted with the others, especially Mr. Wonderful, the final decisions were always his, for better or worse. And this was something I didn't envy in the least; it was a heavy, heavy burden on his shoulders and it was the kind of responsibility I didn't want, no one did.

That made him, in my eyes, if no one else's, the loneliest resident of the Tower.

He was always at the Hangar Bay first thing when one landed, always concerned in his non-emotional way if all went well; he was the last to leave the Bridge at night. In between visiting the Bridge he'd be in the Justice Room watching the console and doing whatever other work was on the roster for that day.

One day, there were no patrols, and since I had nothing planned, I wandered aimlessly around for an hour and found Avenger, as usual, in the Justice Room. His eyes were seemingly glued to the console. He didn't even look up when I entered. Just what was he studying: Statistics, news reports, or family photos? No idea.

At first, I thought about asking him how he felt about the trial but something told me to keep a lid on it, Avenger didn't seem the type to discuss things like that. Then I got a closer look at what was on the monitor: A grouping of ideograms. They looked like very simple drawings of trees, streams, hills and fields, somewhat like Chinese kanji, but far more rudimentary. Oh, yeah, I'd seen the same thing in Oriana's room. “What are those pictures?” I asked him. He looked up, shut off the monitor.

“It's a foreign language,” he answered, “alien in origin. I'm studying it just in case we ever need to use it.”

Yeah, just like Oriana said, like all the other Ultras, he could speak at least several foreign languages and this alien one as well. Was there anything they couldn't do? Avenger fell silent and since it seemed that there wasn't going to be any further conversation, I just as silently left. I'd grown used to his aloofness in that respect and I'd seen him interact with others and his mannerisms and attitude never changed. Just the way he was.

I also wondered how he felt about the personal stuff that was going on around the Tower. By now, everyone knew that Ori and I were together. While that seemed to be a sore point with some of the human techs, it was just jealousy on their part and I could handle it. The Ultras never said anything negative, although Avenger seemed to resent it somewhat. Why, I didn't know. It wasn't jealousy on his part, it was something deeper. But what that was, was anyone's guess.

Among the Ultras, Blue Lancer and Skree spent most of their free time together. BG and Temptress often zipped back and forth between each other's quarters, and the other Ultra couples spent almost all of their free time in one another's company—and it wasn't to talk about the weather. No one ever bothered asking about that as they were the Ultra crew and what they did was their affair and the same was true of the rest of the personnel.

When it came to me and Ori, however, our relationship almost seemed to make him physically uncomfortable. The question of “why” was always there; when I asked him about it, he just said briefly, “Treat her with respect.”

Treat her with respect
. That's all I'd ever done; we'd never gone beyond the “treat-her-with-respect-and-don't-leave-her” point. Deanna tried to help me with this, we were standing on the Promenade Deck and I'd asked her advice. Like the big sister she was to me, she clued me in on what was happening.

“Well, he doesn't actually disapprove of you and Oriana being together,” she started off by saying. “Oriana is the youngest member of our group and she's a bit…um…headstrong. Personally, I think it's alright.” She stopped for a second, searching for words. Then she turned to me, her face serious.

“Bill, do you love her?” That was pretty personal. Outside of Avenger, no other Ultra had asked me anything about our relationship, except for Tenkita. Should I answer Deanna? I saw no reason not to trust her.

“Yes, I do,” I answered honestly. “She's special to me.”

“Special,” Deanna echoed. She considered what I'd said and then seemed to accept it. “Well, that's all I needed to hear. I think you're the right one for her,” and she smiled at me. She then looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “Here's another secret for you,” she said in a confidential tone. “Wayne and I have been married for awhile.”

That was some news, I hadn't even suspected! “You and Avenger are married? That is
cool
! Does anyone else know about this?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, you're the only one. I trust you, too.”

That was also pretty rad to me. I knew some of their secrets and they trusted me not to say anything. This was neat. I hadn't used that word in a long time, but it fit all the same. To be told something like this was all very reassuring; it meant that I was one of the special few to be admitted into their exclusive circle and that was ultra-cool.

Later on that evening, while waiting in the Hangar Bay for Oriana's flight to arrive, I caught sight of Avenger. There he was as always, a fixture on the flight deck, stoic in his uniform and manner, a rock in the eye of the storm of humanity swirling around him, unflappable and steady as always.

And here I was on the Tower, all was right and good in the world again and things were as they should be. And that was just fine. Just fine.

Or so I thought.