Unidentified Funny Objects 2 (9 page)

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Kelly grimaced. “It’s not like this is my first kidnapping. Be careful. She’s even more manic than usual.”

Her pulse and respiration belied her outward calm. Trying to keep his own anger under control, Stranger held the wooden box out to Scaramouche. “All the evils of the world escaped from Pandora’s box, until only hope remained. Hope for who?”

“For you, of course.” Scaramouche brought a cup of Starbucks coffee to her mask. She fitted the straw through the mouth and sipped slowly. “You and I go way back, Stranger. You’re like the husband I never had.”

“You had a husband. You mutated him into a gorilla.”

“Details. The point is, I can give you something the doctors can’t.”

“What’s that?”

“A choice. Two, in fact. Cancer is such an ugly, boring death,” she said. “You deserve better.”

“I resent that. Punch her in the face!”

“You’re going to do me a favor and kill me? No thanks.” Stranger concentrated on the chains, asking them for their weaknesses.

“Oh, but it would be a glorious death in the arms of the woman who loves you.” She laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, K.K. Everyone knows. In supervillain circles, there’s a running bet as to what would happen the first time you two kids did the deed. I’ve got five grand that says the first super-orgasm would kill her.”

“What’s the other choice?” Stranger snapped.

She shrugged. “I could just cure you.”

“Don’t listen to her, boss! It’s a trick!”

Of course it was a trick. And yet… “What’s the catch?”

Scaramouch took another sip of coffee before answering. “You have to help me kill the Stranger.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO NEED to explain that one,” said Jarhead.

“Professor Edison’s time magnet.” Stranger stared at the carpet. “Scaramouche couldn’t really cure my cancer. What she could do was reach into the past and pull a younger version of me—a cancer-free version—into the present. Combine that with any halfway decent mind-swapping device, and voila. I’m young and healthy again.”

Jarhead whistled. At least, Stranger assumed that was what the sound was supposed to be. It came out more like a dolphin’s clicking laughter translated through a synthesizer. “Ingeniously cruel. How did she respond when you refused?”

Stranger didn’t answer.

“You
did
refuse, right?”

“YOU’RE INSANE.”

“That’s beside the point,” said Scaramouche. “What’s important is that you survive. And since you’ll know your younger body is susceptible to cancer, you can start screening earlier. You didn’t discover the tumor until our shootout at the ice cream factory, right?” She giggled. “I thought I had finally built a bullet that would work on you. Hit you right in the ass. Made the whole ‘getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me-by-cartons-of-ice-cream’ thing totally worth it.”

Stranger wasn’t exactly bulletproof, but bullets liked him. They tended to lose their way and tumble to the ground when fired in his direction. At point blank range, they simply refused to leave the gun’s barrel. “You want me to sentence my past self to
this?
”

“I want to offer your past self the chance to save your life.” Scaramouche’s frozen, grinning face tilted to one side. “Or are you saying the younger you wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save a fellow hero?”

“The paradox—”

“Timeline split, just like the Parallel Universe War of ’09. Or the evil Gold Panther and his ridiculous goatee. Don’t sweat it. The universe is very bendy. It will be fine. Probably.”

Stranger struggled to focus through the mental haze that clung to his thoughts. “That’s what you really want. To create an alternate timeline. One where Scaramouche never had to worry about the Stranger.”

“It was either that or steal some fossils and try to raise an army of dinosaurs. I may do that anyway, because who doesn’t love dinosaurs, right?”

Stranger studied the tank again. The acid wouldn’t hurt him, but it would almost certainly kill Kelly. He couldn’t suppress all of those individual explosives at once.

“What’s it going to be, John?”

It took him a second to realize Scaramouche had called him by his human name. “I’m not—”

“Stop it.” Scaramouche waved a gloved hand. “Voiceprint matching. Facial comparison software on the mouth and chin your old mask left exposed. General build and body language. Not to mention ‘John Knight’s’ convenient Powerball win years back. Yet, despite your millions, you kept your job in the newsroom. All the better to keep tabs on the city, right? Until recently, when you—I mean, he—went on longterm medical leave.”

Kelly was staring at him. “John?”

“How could you
not
know, Kane?” Scaramouche asked. “You’re supposed to be a reporter!”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” asked Stranger.

“This was more fun.” Scaramouche waved a hand impatiently. “Go on, show her. You’re dying anyway, right?”

With a sigh, Stranger removed his helmet.

“Whoa.” Scaramouche jumped back. “Never thought anyone could make me feel pretty. When did the alien acne start?”

“Side effect of the treatment.” He touched the swollen lumps. Uneven stubble covered his scalp and much of his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me, John?” asked Kelly.

Stranger managed a small, self-deprecating smile. “I was afraid some psychopath would use you against me.”

“You’ve tried to kill him so many times,” Kelly said to Scaramouche. “Why would you save him?”

“Because this is a ridiculous way to die!” Scaramouche shouted, suddenly furious. “Killer robots, psychotic alien gladiators, zapped into the seventh dimension of Hell,
that’s
how people like us are supposed to die. If nothing else, we should tumble over a waterfall to our deaths together like Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty.”

“I thought Holmes survived,” Kelly said.

“Shut up. The point is, fuck cancer. Cancer’s not even an ironic death. It’s just stupid!”

Stranger had never been able to outthink Scaramouche. “If you let me die—”

“Then they import a new hero.” Scaramouche snorted. “I can’t stand temps. They don’t understand our
routine
.” She tapped a control on her wrist, and the explosives began to beep in unison, a chirping chorus of impending death. “I don’t have all day. I have yoga at four thirty.”

Stranger sagged against the truck. He couldn’t let Kelly die. “You win.”

“The hell she does!”
The tumor’s outrage bubbled through Stranger’s thoughts.
“Nobody defeats Tumor and the Fecal Tornado!”

Scaramouche giggled as she retrieved the time magnet from another trailer. The pistol-sized device resembled a radar gun.

“I’m sorry, John,” said Kelly.

Scaramouche sang in Italian as she calibrated the time magnet. “October third of 2002, wasn’t it? You were in a coma after moving the moon back into its proper orbit. If I pull you through from that day, the young you should sleep through the whole mind transfer.”

“Dumbass.”

Stranger clenched his jaw.
“If you have something to say…”

“Forget the acid tank. Just stop scarface from triggering it.”

“I can’t control people. I’m not telepathic.”

“Double dumbass. You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

“You’re
a tumor, not a person, and I can’t control you.”

“That hurt. You can’t control me because I’m superpowered. Scaramouche isn’t. More importantly, the meat in her skull isn’t.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch from Gargantua. No matter how twisted Scaramouche might be, she was also brilliant enough to make this so-called “cure” work. That hope had wormed its way into Stranger’s heart, poisoning his thoughts just as his tumors had done to his flesh. With Kelly in danger, he had no choice. He
had
to accept Scaramouche’s offer, because it was the only way to save an innocent life. If that meant killing an alternate version of himself, so be it. But if there was any alternative…

“Damn you.”
He couldn’t decide who was more cruel: Scaramouche, for offering hope, or his tumor, for taking it away.

Stranger concentrated, trying to imagine Scaramouche not as a person, but as a collection of flesh and blood and bones. A body, complex and beautiful and fragile. A biological machine controlled through the junction of electrical cables to the brain. He focused on that pulsing lump of electrochemically-active meat and whispered,
“Stop.”

Scaramouche collapsed like a discarded Muppet.

Stranger studied the controller on Scaramouche’s wrist.
“How do I use you to deactivate the bombs?”

“What did you do?” Kelly whispered. “She’s not breathing.”

“She’s not doing anything,” Stranger said. “I shut down her brain.”

“You killed her?” She sounded horrified.

“It was my tumor’s idea.” He finished disarming the trap, then snapped the chains holding Kelly in place. He picked up the time magnet. His hands shook. Clenching his jaw, he crushed the device to scrap.

“Can you revive her?”

“Don’t do it! Wait another twenty seconds, and she’s a rutabaga for life!”

With a sigh, Stranger willed Scaramouche’s brain to
live
.

“SO YOU BEAT THE VILLAIN, saved the girl, and mastered a new aspect of your powers,” said Jarhead. “Sounds like a win to me.”

“It was. I think I owe her more than I realized.”

“Why is that?”

“You owe me, you ungrateful alien superdouche! If I’d known what you meant to do next, I never would have taught you that trick!”

“Because after I returned Scaramouche to Edgewood, I started thinking. If I could force her brain to shut down, why couldn’t I do the same to an ordinary human tumor?”

“I saved your life, and in return, you declared war on my brothers and sisters.”

“I thought you couldn’t control the cancer.”

“I can’t control
mine
.” He sat back in the chair. “How many people do you think I could help in six months? And when my own tumors finally begin to win, I thought I’d take a nice, long flight into the sun.”

“Suicide?”

“No.” For once, the tumor was mercifully silent. “Just a hero and his arch-nemesis tumbling over the waterfall.”

Story Notes:

Jim would like to thank author Jay Lake for his help and encouragement on this story, as well as for his honesty and openness in sharing the ugly details about living—and dying—with cancer. Well fought, sir.

Jim C. Hines is the author of the
Magic ex Libris
series, which has been described as a love letter to books and storytelling. He’s also written the
Princess
series of fairy tale retellings and the humorous
Goblin Quest
trilogy, along with more than forty published short stories. He’s an active blogger, and won the 2012 Hugo Award for Best Fan Writer. You can find him online at
www.jimchines.com
.

by Fran Wilde

Department of New Health Services, Parenting Manual #415

With the recent epidemic of
pyrokinesis-novus
affecting children worldwide, parents who are eager to move from the newborn-feeding stage should consider the following guidelines and questions, developed to help promote healthier eating, better feeding socialization (in light of the current food-lobbing craze), and more confident, calmer parenting.

Suggested Equipment:

• Oven mitts.
  
• Metal spoon and bowl (no plastic!).
  
• Flame-retardant diapers, bib, and seat.
  
• Dining space free of loose fabric, curtains, and lint.
  
• Welder's mask (optional).
  

Signs a child is ready for solid foods:
Pincer-grasps objects, makes chewing motions, and remote-singes milk or formula. Caution: You may be ready for your child to begin eating solid food long before they are. Do not rush this stage.

What should I feed my toddler?
Healthy eating must begin while children have limited ignition capacity and their aim remains unfocused. Children should be able to self-feed and make good choices before full pyrokinetic abilities develop. Suggested beginner foods include mashed items that taste better when warm or toasted: pumpkin, corn, peas, and potatoes.

For older toddlers, consider reward systems that keep tempers from flaring. Vitamin-added mini-marshmallows and tater tots are a fun treat for the whole family.

Creating a calm dining environment:
The process of establishing toddler likes and dislikes is admittedly riskier than in past generations. A safe environment is paramount: remove all fabric from the dining space before seating your toddler in their fireproof high chair. Remember to keep your voice level or upbeat at all times. A patient parent can slowly introduce new foods and guide a toddler's curiosity without undue scorching.

Suggested feeding methods:
(1) Scoop and run: Spoon a small portion of food onto the metal utensil and place it on your toddler's lips. Step back quickly. Repeat as necessary. (2) Distraction (requires two adults): Have one parent make funny sounds from afar to distract the toddler's aim. Proceed with scoop and run. (3) For picky eaters: Brightly colored, FDA-approved, non-flammable extend-a-spoons are available from Disher-Brice and Fabbo.