Mostly humanoid, with a head reminiscent of purple asparagus stalks and arms that ended in something akin to a writhing cat-o-nine tails, Captain Tr’ter picked his way through the crowded space station filled with aliens of even more outrageous appearance towards what humanity might consider a bar, but what some other races might consider either a suicide clinic or a religious shrine, depending on their physiology. Tr’ter had never seriously considered the place at all; his sustenance relied on access to silicon and starlight, neither of which was supplied by the barely legal business that occupied this part of the space station.
Tr’ter understood that aliens of various races came here to access foods or medicines that might alter their perceptions. He knew, for instance, that alcohol, distilled from varieties of vegetation found throughout the galaxy affected the brains of many species. Tr’ter’s people, called Broccloids, were not opposed to the idea per se. Broccloids are essentially a race of intelligent plants, and have no need to seek chemical stimulation outside themselves because they are able to create the chemicals needed to alter their consciousness internally and naturally.
Though it was rare for a Broccloid to enter such an establishment, no one paid Captain Tr’ter much mind. The captain made his way towards the back of the business, where the patrons were sparse, and some seemed extremely dangerous. Here sat a large alien creature of a race Tr’ter did not recognize, at a small table, wearing a hooded robe. The alien held in front of him his two large, bronze colored hands on either side of a large cup of steaming amber liquid. The tables and chairs all around the alien were empty, as if none dared get too close.
Tr’ter approached the alien, but stopped at a respectful distance. The alien seemed to radiate a personal space larger than normal.
“I seek Onalark the Electric,” said Tr’ter, his head stalks waving as he spoke.
The voice that emerged from the robe was deep, but not unpleasant. “What are you? Broccloid?”
“I am.”
“Then I can’t offer you a drink.” The alien’s large three-fingered hand gestured to the chair in front of him. “I forget. Can your people sit?”
Captain Tr’ter sat in the proffered seat. “We can. Thank you.”
“So,” said Onalark, “you seek, you find. What now?”
“My name is Tr’ter, Captain Tr’ter of the Vanishing Spirit.”
“I’ve heard of it,” said Onalark, “Pirate ship. Are you a pirate, captain Tr’ter?”
“We are a salvage vessel, and from time to time we take other jobs,” said the Captain carefully.
“As you say,” replied Onalark. He lifted the amber liquid to his face. In the dark Tr’ter could not perceive much, but he caught the wide slit in the face that Onalark used for a mouth, and saw the glint of something white on Onalark’s wrist.
Tr’ter said, “I have been recently tasked by the Untime Grindcase Consortium…”
“Criminals,” said Onalark, “Mobsters.”
“Entrepreneurs,” corrected Tr’ter.
Onalark barked a laugh. “As you say.”
“I have been recently tasked to capture an Aierta.”
Onalark laughed again. “A fool’s errand. The Aierta are a myth. If they ever existed they are all dead.”
“There are rumors that several made planet fall on Earth,” said Tr’ter.
Onalark drank deeply of the amber liquid, and then put down the empty cup. “Never heard of it.”
“Really?” replied Tr’ter, “I am surprised. The planet is developing quite a reputation. They are protected by Cassiopeian technology.”
“Then I pity them,” said Onalark, “but at least I know why you’re here. You want me to broker contact, am I right?”
“I was told you might be amenable to such work.”
“I am,” said Onalark, “but I’m not cheap.”
Captain Tr’ter’s head stalks bristled, the Broccloid equivalent of a smile. “With what the consortium is paying us, I’m sure we can settle on a fee you will find more than adequate.”
Onalark nodded. “Good. I’ve spent too long sitting here, drinking this too sweet swill and reminiscing about dead worlds.”
Onalark stood up and removed his robe. Captain Tr’ter had heard the alien was large, but he was unprepared for the spectacle of Onalark’s full ten feet. The alien was also broad of shoulder and muscular, but what set him apart from every other life form on this space station were the two Cassiopeian gauntlets he wore. On his right arm was an off-white gauntlet and on his left arm was another gauntlet, electric blue in color. Onalark was covered from boot to neck in armor that swirled in shades of blue and white. The two powerful gauntlets and the alien’s fearsome, even legendary reputation marked Onalark as the most dangerous being Captain Tr’ter had ever met.
“When do we leave?” asked Onalark.
“Immediately,” answered the captain.
Two weeks had passed since the Kaiju Cult had summoned the Neboukichan in Japan. For the last ten days Walter’s body, dressed in the Domaru Armor he had used to defend his country several times against the incursions of alien invaders, had been on display at a temple on the outskirts of Tokyo. A steady stream of pilgrims, over two hundred thousand according to some counts, had journeyed to the temple to pay their respects to the man who had helped to save Japan, and the world, from certain destruction. Susan was staying at the Conrad Tokyo Hotel doing her best to honor the memory of the man she had only just begun to love.
Susan stood in front of a full length mirror in her hotel suite, dressed in an exact duplicate of black dress she had worn to the funeral of the original team of Wonder Heroes nine months previously. Her eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep; she was out of tears. Thanks to the intercession of the ever-efficient General Rumpole, Susan did not have to worry about the finer details of international protocol and Japanese customs regarding her status and her place in the final funereal arrangements for Walter. Walter had no living parents or close relations, and his will specified a simple Shinto service, but the government stepped in and decided to bury Walter Watanabe with all the pomp and ceremony usually reserved for the death of an Emperor. Like the power of the Neboukichan the funeral seemed to grow exponentially, until it became one of the largest affairs of its kind in years.
The exact circumstances of Walter’s death had not been revealed publicly. Officially he had died in battle assisting the Wonder Heroes in defending Japan against the Neboukichan. It was thought to be prudent not to reveal the grisly specifics. After summoning the Wonder Giant the team had merged their consciousnesses into one mind, combining all the memories, experiences and abilities of the five Wonder Heroes into one six story tall robot built for battle. The Wonder Giant automatically enclosed the Wonder Heroes inside protective, coffin-like enclosures that were moved to heavily shielded areas deep within the Wonder Giant. Each Wonder Hero fell into a state of suspended animation, as shock-absorbing foam flooded the compartment and held them immobile. Walter, however, was not an authorized pilot, and did not possess Wonder Armor, so he was left out of the merging of the minds, and his armor did not automatically put him into suspended animation. The shock absorbing foam paralyzed his armor, and left him only a very small amount of air to breath.
The autopsy revealed that Walter had struggled to escape from the interior of the Wonder Giant, ultimately attempting to cut his way free with the use of a welding torch like energy weapon built into his Domaru Armor. He must have known that if he could not cut his way free that he would burn up the small amount of oxygen he had in his attempt to escape. Walter’s death was ruled accidental; cause of death: suffocation.
It was unknown to the investigators that before attempting his escape, Walter transmitted a final message to Susan. These were Walter’s final words, and Susan had decided not to share them. No government investigator had heard the message and Susan had not let her teammates or General Rumpole listen to the recording. In her life as a Wonder Hero Susan had to learn how to live her life in the public eye. Her relationship with Walter was fodder for magazines and television, and there was precious little of her life that was private. The final message Walter had sent her was packed with statements that the public might not understand, and she would never have been able to bear hearing reporters and commentators parse the words, searching for hidden meanings and insights into the small amount of time she and Walter had shared. The words were for her and her alone.
The message had been stored in the memory of Walter’s Domaru Armor until after the Wonder Giant had dissolved the group mind and Susan was able to release Walter’s body from cockpit of the Kick-Blade. Alone in her hotel room, Susan listened again to Walter’s final message.
“Susan,” said Walter, “with luck I will not have to send this message, but if my attempt to escape fails, I will die, and never be able to tell you this in person.” Walter paused here, and Susan tried to imagine the emotions that played across his face as he sought to compose the last words he would ever say. “I must confess that I studied everything I could about you before we met. I planned to meet you, and becoming your friend, because I desired access to the technology of the Wonder Heroes. I am ashamed of this, because being with you I have learned something of what it means to be a better person.”
Walter paused. “I can feel the Wonder Giant moving, engaging in battle. I have no idea how long I will be trapped in here. It could be hours, but I will be dead in minutes, unless I find a way out. My only chance of survival is to try to use my armor’s weaponry to make an air hole through the foam and the walls of this compartment, but doing so will use up my oxygen in seconds, rather than minutes. If I fail, I die.
“Listen to me Susan. This might not be the right time to say this, but I cannot die without saying it to you at least once.” Susan pictured Walter’s face, as he said, “I love you, Susan.”
Susan looked away from the mirror, and a sob escaped from her. She mouthed the words, but no sound came out.
An hour later Susan joined the rest of the Wonder Heroes in the hotel lobby. Matt, Jay and Kalomo stood close by Susan, trying to be supportive, but Theodore seemed bored and distracted. Susan felt that Linnea, Kalomo’s fiancé, was overdressed in a stylish black dress with a hat and veil. Linnea treated every public appearance like it was a tryout for a modeling gig. Nearby the President of the United States conversed in low tones with the Prime Minister of Pakistan and the King of Sweden, but otherwise the conversation was nonexistent. It was driving Susan crazy to be left alone with her own thoughts.
“Matt,” Susan asked, her voice cracking slightly, “how’s Cassie?” She had not spoken in hours, and her throat was not prepared.
“She’s good,” said Matt, “She’s difficult sometimes, but that’s her age.”
“Kids are difficult at every age,” said Kalomo, “At least that’s what my mom says.”
Susan forced a smile. “You guys are getting married next month.”
Linnea brightened. There was nothing she liked to talk about more than her wedding. “It’s going to be in Hawaii, and it’s going to be awesome.” Linnea turned thoughtful and continued, “And I know it’s kind of soon, but I’m inviting a lot of people to this thing. I’ve got some male friends who are dying to meet you Susan.”
Susan’s fake smile became a real frown. “You’re right, it is kind of soon.”
Linnea nodded, not picking up on Susan’s meaning.
General Rumpole, his polished shoes clacking loudly, walked across the tiled floor to join the group, “Okay Susan, here’s the drill. The Wonder Heroes will be in the second car, the Prime Minister of Japan and the President of the United States will be in the third car. Linnea, you’re coming with me, in car five.”
Linnea objected. “I can’t be with Kal?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” said the General, “I explained that you two were engaged, but exceptions can only be made if you’re already married.”
Linnea crossed her arms and said, “This is stupid,” but at a look from Susan Linnea reconsidered. “Okay. In the interest of international relations I’ll suffer.”
Linnea walked away with the General, unable to avoid radiating annoyance. Kalomo, embarrassed by her behavior, held up his hands and said, “Sorry.”
The team did not acknowledge Kalomo’s apology but walked towards the waiting cars. Jay stayed behind, slapped Kalomo on the back and said, “Don’t worry about it, man.”
Then they headed outside into the sunlight for the funeral.
Half a million people lined the winding streets of Tokyo along the route to Shinjuku Gyeon, a beautiful public park that maintained an ornate Shinto Shrine. The Limousines rolled along slowly, allowing Susan to see the endless mournful faces that turned out to say their final farewells to a great national hero. Inside the park the weather could not have been more perfect: clear blue skies and not too warm. Susan led the Wonder Heroes and hundreds of other dignitaries behind Walter’s casket as men in gray robes wearing tall black hats carried it. Traditional Japanese music was played as the procession walked through an ornate gate marked with symbols that designated the area beyond as sacred. Here several priests conducted the elaborate Shinto service that took care of all the spiritual traditions that tradition demanded be seen to. After the ceremony ended the prime Minister of Japan spoke for a few minutes, ultimately calling for a minute of silence throughout Japan and the world, in memory of Walter Watanabe.
Shinjuku Gyeon was not a cemetery, but it had been decided that here Walter Watanabe would be buried, this area of the park designated in his honor as a shrine to his bravery and sacrifice.
After the service there was a second motorcade organized by the police, to return the various political dignitaries to their respective hotels or to the airport for their return flights home. General Rumpole found Susan by herself seated on a low bench among an arrangement of flowers.
Without asking the General sat down next to her. “How are you holding up, Susan?”
“I’m all right, General.” Susan looked up, “I never had anyone die on me before.”
General Rumpole nodded. “I have.”
Susan looked at the General. “You have any advice for me?”
“Hell. I’ve served in two wars and watched my wife die of cancer. Never mind Paul, Terry and Jeff.” General Rumpole stood up and straightened his dress uniform jacket. “It never gets easy, Susan and that’s a good thing. That’s what makes us human.”
The General excused himself with a nod, and left Susan on the bench, alone. The park was peaceful, with the sounds of birds and insects, but distantly Susan could hear the sounds of the city of Tokyo, alive and bustling, thanks to the sacrifice of Walter Watanabe.
Two weeks passed since the funeral and Wonder Base was quiet tonight. The team was enjoying a log stretch of relative peace. Beside the snatch and grab exploits of Jaimie Karasik and her fellow Aierta robbing various laboratories around the world, there seemed to be little to worry about. The team, for the most part, slept peacefully through the night more often than not. They had no idea that Harlan Flicker had set up shop inside of Theodore’s mind, and now controlled his body completely.
Theodore’s body sat before a computer keyboard and a large display screen that had been set up inside his quarters at Wonder Base. His rooms here, once filled with books, toys, games and kitchen utensils were now otherwise empty. Harlan had decided that all of Theodore’s personal effects were to be removed from his room and destroyed. The better, Harlan said, to facilitate the ultimate erasure of all that Theodore was.
Theodore had become a passenger in his own body and Harlan Flicker occupied the pilot seat. For months now Theodore had been helpless to do anything but watch as Harlan ruthlessly took over and ruined his life. From the minute Theodore had lowered his forearm into the golden Wonder Gauntlet, he had been fighting a losing battle for control of his own body and mind. Harlan Flicker, in the moment before his death at the hands of Matt O’Dette all those months ago, had downloaded his consciousness into the memory buffers of the golden gauntlet, and then pounced when a suitable candidate had come along.
Theodore had been completely unprepared for such an attack. The pain and shock had been terrible, and he had blacked out in Susan’s arms. When Theodore woke up in sickbay he found himself as little more than a ghost haunting his own mind, with Harlan Flicker firmly in control.
Theodore’s fingers tapped the computer keys with confidence; Harlan was a touch typist, a skill Theodore had never learned. On the large screen Theodore could see alien computer code of unbelievable complexity and beauty being altered and corrupted. Harlan had studied the operational code of the Wonder Computer while alive, but had never been able to decipher more than an insignificant fraction of it. Now, with access to Theodore’s mind, memories and talent, Harlan was able to modify the programming at will. Theodore was brilliant, and Harlan was evil. To Harlan it was the perfect combination, and it would be more perfect when Theodore’s personality was finally and completely eradicated.
“The programming isn’t meant to work this way, Harlan,” said Theodore. Harlan had imprisoned Theodore within his own mind, but he was still able to let his thoughts be known. Theodore was like the guilty conscience that Harlan had often heard about but never experienced. Harlan could not understand how anyone could function with such a voice in his or her heads, but he was forced to suffer Theodore’s presence for a little longer. The countdown on Theodore’s ultimate erasure was rapidly coming to its end. Soon Harlan Flicker, the first and only Wonder Hero Gold, would be truly reborn and eager for revenge.
“You can’t completely shut out the other Wonder Heroes from operational control,” continued Theodore.
Harlan used Theodore’s lips to smile. “I don’t need to completely cut out the others, Teddy, I just need to make their access hopelessly complex, to slow them down. Meanwhile I’m simplifying the access for the golden gauntlet.”
Harlan felt Theodore make a sudden play for control of the fingers of his left hand. His fingers twitched slightly. It did not interfere with Harlan’s typing. “That was feeble, Teddy,” said Harlan with a chuckle, “I hardly felt that one.”
Harlan summoned a small blade of golden energy with his Wonder Gauntlet and stabbed himself in the knee. Theodore roared with pain. Harlan smiled as Theodore whimpered and cried like a hurt dog.
“How many times do I have to do this Teddy?” asked Harlan with no emotion, “Do you ever learn?"
Theodore said nothing in response. He had learned the hard way that it was better to be silent in these instances. Harlan quickly forgot the incident, engrossed in his reprogramming of the Wonder Computer’s deepest operating systems. Theodore quietly watched as Harlan prepared a computer virus that would route all the major defense functions of Wonder Base through the golden Wonder Gauntlet.
Cautiously, Theodore said, “You don’t have to do this Harlan.”
Harlan never missed a keystroke. “Actually, Teddy, I do. You know what I saw when I glimpsed the Hole of Holes?”
“No,” said Theodore, “You won’t show me that, will you? You love inflicting pain on me, Harlan, but you won’t share with me the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced. Why are you so afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Harlan lied, “What I saw would destroy you, Theodore, and I needed your brain, and your computer hacker skills, to do what I’m doing right now.”
“I don’t think that’s the real reason, Harlan,” said Theodore, “I think you're afraid that if you let me see what’s in the Hole of Holes, because I’ll be able to deal with it. I won’t go insane. I won’t become you.”
“Shut up.”
“If I can deal with what you saw, then that means you’re just weak,” taunted Theodore, “You don’t want me to show you just how weak you are.”
Harlan summoned another blade of golden energy as he continued to type with one hand. “I said shut up!”
“What are you going to do Harlan?” Theodore’s voice sounded desperate, “Hurt me some more? Go ahead.”
Harlan dismissed the blade. “I’ve got a better way to hurt you.” Harlan smiled and pressed a few more keys. “Finished.”
Together Harlan and Theodore looked at the computer code on the screen. Theodore was forced to agree that it was a work of dark art and twisted genius.
“Harlan,” said Theodore, “think about what you’re doing. The entire world will die, or worse.”
“Oh, It will most certainly be worse than death.” Harlan stared into the computer screen and said, “There are slave cultures out there in the sky, galaxy wide empires built on the backs of species that live and die in terror. There are aliens out there that see torture and genocide as sacraments... This world is perched on the precipice of Hell, Teddy, and all it needs is the slightest push.”
Harlan moved Theodore’s hand above the return key, preparing to usher in the final hours of the Wonder Heroes and the world, pausing for one dramatic second before…
“Incoming transmission from deep space,” said the Wonder Computer.
Harlan twitched Theodore’s hand, but did not hit the key. “Who from?” asked Harlan in Theodore’s voice.
“The transmission is from Wonder Hero Electric of the Houdotus Galaxy.”
“What?” Harlan scanned the code, hoping he had not damaged the Wonder Computer in some way. “The Houdotus Galaxy was destroyed millennia ago.”
“That is correct,” said the Wonder Computer.
“And what’s Wonder Hero Electric?” thought Theodore, even as Harlan said the words aloud.
“I have no information on that,” replied the Wonder Computer, “the transmission is being repeated.”
“Put it on the screen,” said Harlan as Theodore, his curiosity piqued. He held off the implementation of the final program.
The Wonder Computer complied, and the image on the screen was filled with the large round head of Onalark, wearing blue and white “electric” Wonder Armor that positively glowed with power. The alien was not of a race Harlan or Theodore recognized. The alien had a round hairless head, a mostly featureless face with sad brown eyes slightly darker than his skin, and a wide lipless slit for a mouth.
“Greetings,” said Harlan/Theodore.
“A Gold!” said the alien, noting the Gauntlet on Theodore’s arm. Onalark smiled, “My best friend was a Gold.”
“And you are?” asked Harlan with Theodore’s voice, carefully.
“Onalark,” said the alien, “Last of my kind.” He held up his arms, and showed the gauntlets, off-white and electric blue, one on each arm. “I’m a Wonder Hero, like you.”