Continued from Part One

Sariah Miller stared down at the cover. A  casket lay open with a familiar pair of overalls inside. Bright red letters screamed, The Death of Small Packages.

A tear trickled down her cheek. Small Packages saved her life a few years back when he was in town helping the Sword. Small Packages and his brother dug her out from underneath a pile of scrap metal. He’d been over to the house a couple times for dinner. And Walt wanted to kill him off.

Walt Winners put his thumbs in his sus-penders and snapped them. “It’s quite the moving story, Sariah. Sales will go through the roof.”

I’m about to go through the roof.

“Walt, why are you killing him off? Are you planning on shutting down the comic?”

“Heck no, it’s a big seller. We want to bring in a new Small Packages.”

Sariah’s eyes bugged. “A new Small Packages?”

“Yes, his seventeen inch tall Salvador-ian cousin, Poca Paquetes. It’ll bring in a new demographic.”

Sariah sighed. “Curador already brings in Hispanics. And why not give Poca her own comic book?”

“Oh, please, it would never work.”

“Then why are you trying to get rid of one our premier heroes?”

“Look, she’d never get off the ground in a standalone series, but if we let her take over a popular series, we’ll have diversified our character line.”

“How about we get readers by telling compelling stories with characters anyone can believe in without playing to the lowest common denominator?”

“You’re a right winger, aren’t you?”

Not until I met Jesse, I wasn’t. “We’re not killing off Small Packages, particularly in some senseless monster fight.”

“He’s dead already.”

“Maybe to this Earth, but some of them live on in the next life.” She grabbed a comic book out of the drawer. “And all of them live here. If we continued the way we have done things, we’d have to kill all our heroes in a senseless plane accident. In such hard times, our readers don’t want realism. They want us to keep the dream alive, and that’s what we’re going to give them.”

Walt folded his hands together. “Can I speak freely?”

“Sure.”

“You’re not being objective. This is the way things are done in this industry.”

“It isn’t the Jesse Miller way, and while we wait for him to pull out of a coma, we’re going to do things his way. Now, get me a better storyline.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” Walt left.

She glanced at the wall behind her, which proudly displayed the first issues of each of their comics, each with a live shot of the star in a heroic poise. This was how the world would remember them. “I promise, guys. I won’t let you down.”

She grabbed Issue 1 of her husband’s comic and pulled it off the wall. She planted a kiss on the glass over the Sword’s face. Only she and the family doctor helping her cover for him knew the bed lay empty in Jesse Miller’s room in ICU.

Continued…Next Monday

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 Continued from Separation

The Sword stood in the red clay valley with Small Packages, whose curly red hair made the eighteen-inch-tall hero look like a leprechaun in overalls. The Sword stared down at the bloody white coat. There was no mistaking it: the Defender’s.

When will others stop having to pay for my mistake in trusting Dark Mystic?

Small Packages looked under the coat. “This is interesting.”

“What’s interesting about this? That Dark Mystic got another one?”

“Sword, where’s the body?”

“I don’t know, but with that much blood, there’s no way he survived.”

Small Packages’ sixty-foot-tall identical twin, Skyscraper, stepped into the valley and shrunk to his minimum stature; seven foot even. Small Packages shimmied up Skyscraper’s overalls and hopped into his front pocket. “Bro, bag the evidence. There’s a mystery here.”

Not again. When will Small Packages learn he’s not the pint-sized private investigator he used to play on TV? “There’s no mystery here.”

“I beg to differ. This looks nothing like the last scene Dark Mystic killed at. He has no reason to hide the body. It’s not his style.”

“Who else could have done it?”

Small Packages wrinkled his brow. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“You can’t be serious. You really think one of us did it?”

“You don’t have motive. Neither does Skyscraper. But we are dealing with another killer here.”

The Sword scowled. “I forbid you to follow this further. The last thing we need is to be accusing people of murder.”

“I just want to ask a few questions.”

“Well, I won’t allow it.”

Small Packages stared back sullenly.

The Sword paced for a second. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

Small Packages shrugged. “If you’ve got nothing better to do than chase me around and stop me from asking questions . . . ”

The Sword sighed. Maybe it’d keep him out of trouble. “Don’t make an idiot of yourself, Smalls—and don’t go around accusing everyone.”

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Nine

Small Packages made his way through the forest the next morning, looking down at the ground. The Sword shouted, “Small Packages, why are you stopping?”

“The footprints stop here.”

The Sword said, “That’s impossible. Where did he go?”

Small Packages paced around the hill. He stared over the edge. In the distance, a white object glimmered.

Small Packages pulled binoculars out of his overalls. He peered down in the valley. No mistaking it. The Defender’s white trench coat with a large bloodstain on it.

Small Packages pocketed his binoculars and removed his hat. “Let’s get down there.”

The separation has begun. ]

Continued January 4, 2010

Continued…Next Tuesday

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Continued from Part Eight

The Defender walked through the forest, carrying a torch. The Dark Mystic had to be somewhere out here. What am I going to do if I find Dark Mystic?

The Defender pulled his knife out. A bolo wouldn’t do much good and hand to hand combat was out.

He looked up at the sky. “Lord, give me strength.”

He stared down into the valley below. Mystic had to be down there, somewhere in the near complete darkness.

Rustling in the forest, to the left of him.

“Who’s there?”

A shadowy figure took shape in the darkness. Too short for Dark Mystic.

The Defender sheathed his knife. “At least you’re not the Mystic.”

He turned towards the edge of the hill. “I think he’s down in the valley. He stabbed Commander Justice and headed this way. I think the two—” He lost his footing and tumbled down the hill.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Seven

Commander Justice stared at the eerily  twisted forest that surrounded Lord History’s medieval village. The trees’ gnarled, black, orange streaked trunks made it look like they’d set up shop in the world’s biggest Halloween haunted forest. He kicked a pebble.

He turned his head and followed the path of the pebble across the sky.

Bet the Sword couldn’t do that.

Commander Justice grunted. Being in a hero’s guild meant constantly taking orders from a guy who lucked onto a magic sword. Yeah, your family may have been fighting bad guys since World War II. You may have saved the lives of Presidents, Kings, and a lot of others, but does your opinion count?

No. Just go out and stand guard.

Commander Justice took a deep breath. I never used to be so bothered by this.

Before they got stranded, it’d been much easier to put up with the Sword’s nonsense. So, some Type A personality wanting to build an empire took over a comic book company that had been named after his family. The old owners never bothered to pay royalties, and the Sword made things right, even though he changed the name to the Sword Comics.

Commander Justice stared over at the vacant cottage at the edge of the town. “How long until he has us paint, ‘Welcome to Swordsville’ on the side of that building?”

“We can stop that,” said a gravelly voice from behind him.

Commander Justice turned and raised his fists. “All right, Mystic, let’s get it on!”

“I come with a proposition. I’ll help you be free of the Sword. If you accept my offer, you can reign as America’s greatest hero.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“How else do you achieve the best of anything? Eliminate the competition. Think about it. Your family was the first name in superheroes and can be again. You’ll be the only American hero who will survive.”

Yes!

No! That’d be murder.

“You want to,” said Dark Mystic.

Commander Justice jumped at Mystic.

Mystic pulled a knife from under his cloak and slammed it into Commander’s chest.

Dark Mystic held onto the knife, which came out as Commander fell. His body convulsed, his head thundered.

“You had your chance.”

Commander Justice struggled to his feet. “I’m gonna take you with me.”

“Not likely.”

Commander Justice lunged towards Dark Mystic. Heavy footsteps came from the village. Dark Mystic flew into the air. “I shall take care of the others later.”

Commander Justice collapsed, sucking in ragged breaths as he stared up at the sunless blue sky. Black spots danced.

“Commander!”

“Highland Guardian?”

“I’m going to get Curador.”

A Russian voice said, “I’m going after the Mystic.”

“No,” said Commander Justice. “It’s too dangerous.”

The footsteps rushing away indicated he hadn’t been listened to. Hopefully, he could hold out until Curador came.

Why had he been tempted by Mystic for even a second?

The Sword. He hated the Sword, loathed the guy with a passion. Being stranded with the Sword for days on end, rather than merely having to put up with the glory hog a few hours once a year, had brought it out.

He closed his eyes. “God, I’m sorry. Help me. Help me.”

Commander Justice continued pray until someone taped on his chest. “Amigo, it will be all right.”

Commander Justice opened his eyes. Curador placed his hand on Commander Justice’s chest. An electric pain coursed through him. Commander Justice screamed.

Highland Guardian held onto arms that wanted to throw Curador as far as possible. Another wave of pain went through his body.

More screams.

Curador removed his hand. “The internal damage should be healed, but you’ve lost much blood, Commander. Go back to your cabin and get water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Commander Justice stared at his chest. The cut, bloodstained fabric contrasted with a chest that showed no signs of a stab wound. “Thank you, Curador.”

Highland Guardian said, “I’ll go after Defender.”

Commander Justice shook his head. “No. Defender was a fool to go after Dark Mystic. Get Champion to go with you and have Captain Zion take guard duty.“

Highland Guardian gave him the Justice Salute. “Yes, Commander.”

Commander Justice shuffled towards his cottage. Curador followed a few paces behind him. Highland Guardian dashed into Champion’s cottage.

At least someone still respects me.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Six

At angry voices, Revelator rushed into Jesse’s bedroom of their eighteenth century English cottage. Pantheon stood in a flimsy outfit in front of Jesse. “I have ways of changing your mind.” She reached behind her.

“I’m not about to betray my wife.”

She grasped a small golden arrow from her belt. Revelator caught her arm and squeezed. “Drop it, now!”

Pantheon said, “I could snap you in two with the strength of Ares.”

The Sword drew his blade. “Yes, but I think I’d be a tad more challenging.”

The arrow fell to the ground. Revelator picked it up. “Take a look, Sword.”

“What is this?”

“An arrow of Aphrodite. It’s laced with a nasty chemical cocktail. It’s her own little love potion.”

She slapped Revelator. “How dare you invade my thoughts.”

“That’s the least of your worries, sister. I know you don’t order your stuff off eBay, so you had the goods with you, which means you’ve done this before. Hero.”

Jesse glared. “Get out, now!”

Pantheon scrambled to obey. Revelator closed the door.

Jesse sighed. “Revelator, do you remember when her contract ends?”

“I believe in March.”

“I’ll have to use the buyout clause with her. I can’t have that type of person on our press. She’s not a good role model.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“You can read my thoughts.”

“Yeah, but you need to spit it out. You’ve been in a mood ever since we found out about Captain Skinhead.” His implant’s threat detector had picked up Small Packages’ thoughts on that, and he couldn’t agree more.

Jesse paced. “This is worse. I mean, we’ve had issues with him before, but I never would have expected this from her. She has these delusions of grandeur about us being the founding god and goddess of a new world with this as our Mount Olympus. She didn’t even care that I’m married.”

“Jesse, with the comic books, the action figures, the royalties, this is a business. And in a business you get all kinds.”

“When we get back, I’m definitely using the buyout option.”

If we get back.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Five
Jason Justice waited for his mother to pick up.

“Jason?” said his mother. “The Lords are in session. I don’t have long.”

His mother, a Baroness, had moved back to England after the Admiral’s death and gotten herself a peership.

“Mother, I’ve been thinking about coming out of retirement.”

She gasped. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” She paused. “You’re not joking. Jason, for God’s sake, you’re sixty-two years old.”

“I read a magazine article that said some urge taking mini-retirements. You know, take a few years off and then come back.”

“Sure, if you’re a museum curator or a clerk. Not taking on hoodlums a third your age on the streets of New York City.”

“Mom, why bring that up? You don’t look or feel eighty-six.”

“And I work hard to make sure I don’t.”

Mother tried to make people think she was forty, but without trying she’d pass for fifty-five. “Well, I don’t look sixty-two, either, and I certainly don’t feel it. By the way, what was that I read in the London Guardian  about some super criminal stopped by an unknown middle-aged woman?”

A long space of silence.

“Son, it wasn’t anything big, really. Just some hoodlum who thought, with Lord History gone, London would be a personal playground. It’s not like I’m proposing going back into service as Britannia. I know my limits.”

“Well, I think I’ve got a little more fight in me.”

“The Admiral thought that, too. Son, haven’t we had enough grief? Haven’t we sacrificed enough?”

“Mom, I can’t just sit here if there’s something I can do about this craziness. Don’t worry. I won’t end up like Dad.”

“It was really unfair of him.”

“What?”

“To leave me all alone for more than thirty years. Jane will live a long time, thanks to the treatment she received, and she deserves to have a husband. What did she say?”

“She wasn’t too hot with the idea, but said she’d support me if it was God’s will.”

“Oh, you are your father’s son. She doesn’t want you to do it, but she loves you so much, she’ll let you get yourself killed.”

“Mom, I’ve faced down some of the most dangerous men in the world. Did you never read about it?”

“I don’t read the New York papers. If I even imagined you doing the things that your father and I did back in our day . . . .” She sobbed softly. “I just hoped that, when I called, you were all right.”

Jason looked over on the wall at a picture of his son, the Commander. “You didn’t follow Dewey’s career, either, I assume.”

“No.”

“It’s too bad. He was the best.” Better than him, but not as good as the Admiral. No one could be that good. “Mom, I know what happened with Dad hurt, but I need you to be proud of me, not so scared that you can’t find out what I’m doing.”

“You’re awfully old to still want your mother’s approval. You better be sure that this is the right thing to do, and if it is, don’t run out and start fighting the Expander or some nonsense. You’re in fine shape for a man your age, but you’ll need to train.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Jason. And Son—”

“Yes.”

“Be careful.”

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Four

Ian let out a shriek of pain. Ian stared over at a knife. If he could only gain control long enough to put the knife through his own heart.

He strained, unable to break free of Jalzabel’s control.

Markum said, “You should be ready to go back at it tomorrow. You’ll have had ten days to recover, but for them, they’ve only had a few hours.”

Jalzabel cursed. “I cannot defeat them myself. The unified strength of all twenty-nine is too much.”

“Well, then. We’ll bring in people to help you.”

“I don’t want anyone else involved. I’d rather their location be considered mythical. No, what we must do is find traitors within the ranks.”

Markum gasped. “You think you’ll be able to turn some of the heroes to our side?”

“Many are already without knowing it. But active treachery will be a challenge. Still, nothing is impossible if you know how to reach out to the evil within.”

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Three

Small Packages took a bite of cabbage as he eyed Commander Justice’s clinched fist.

Doesn’t the Sword realize what a jerk he’s being? Here the Justice Family blazed the trail for all of us, and he’s never given them more than lip service.

Small Packages turned to the bekilted Highland Guardian. “So, you’re a grounds keeper at a cathedral?”

Highland Guardian laughed. “In a way, Lad. I’m a pastor.”

Ah, another one of the Sword’s liberties taken to ensure he didn’t blow the whistle on anyone’s identity. “I see. Do the words wheat and tares mean anything to you?”

“Aye, it comes from a parable of Jesus. A landowner planted wheat and then at night, an enemy came in and planted weeds that looked like wheat, called tares. It represented how there’d be a mix of good and bad, but that at the end of days, God will reveal the truth and separate them.”

I doubt the voice meant that.

“Are you a Christian?” asked Highland Guardian.

“Yeah. Haven’t been to church in a while. Get busy, you know?”

“You really ought to—”

Captain Revolution pointed at the spot between the Impress and Highland Guardian, “Excuse me, can I sit here?”

Highland Guardian nodded. “Aye.”

The Impress stood up. “No.”

Captain Revolution tisked. “Oh, don’t be so hasty. The Sword has no clue when we’re getting out of here. We may have children together.”

The Defender jumped to his feet. His white trench coat, suit pants, and dress shirt shone in the fire’s light, which blazed in his eyes. “You have no interest in her.”

“Do some math, bible boy. There are twenty-three men, and only six women. Of the choice of halves available to me, I’d rather my children be half Japanese. Half Chinese is likewise a smarter choice for her than half Russian. If we’re here to stay, it’s a simple Darwinian matter.”

Bile rose in Small Packages’ throat. We mistranslated his name. It should be Captain Skinhead. Man, I can’t believe this. How can a superhero be a racist?

The Impress said, “And it’s saying things like that which get you eliminated from the gene pool.”

Captain Skinhead eyed the Defender. “Well, some of us will be.”

The Defender replied coolly, “Yes, and it is the ladies’ right to decide which. As you are surrounded by men who serve justice, not Darwin, I suggest you reconsider proving to everyone what we already know about you, Comrade.”

Small Packages glared at Captain Skinhead. “Too late.”

 

Continued…here.

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Continued from Part Two

As the heroes gathered around the fire that evening, eating rations bars, the Sword stood and raised his right hand. “May, I have your attention, please? We have great news. Small Packages and Skyscraper found a plant growing on the surface. Data Bank has completed her analysis and found that the plant is similar to cabbage, but with a protein based core. This plant grows plentifully in the back field and will support us as long as we need to stay here.”

Commander Justice stood up. “Better news would be a way off this rock.”

Amen. “Patience, Commander. We’re working on it.”

Commander Justice folded his beefy arms. “I guess those of us who were left on guard duty wouldn’t know about that.”

“We all have a part to play.”

Continued…here

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