Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel (51 page)

Niobe and Gabby sat on the roof of their apartment building, watching the Moon hang in the sky above Neo-Auckland. For two hours they talked. And then they went back to their bedroom and made love.

They were timid at first, like it was their first time together. Gabby was so afraid of hurting Niobe that her touches were like whispers against her skin. It felt strange to be on the other side of the over-protection. Frustrating, even. Niobe stripped off both their clothes—using her teeth when she had to—and kissed Gabby hungrily, wounds be damned.

The doctors couldn’t save Niobe’s hand. After getting a good look at the damage, she couldn’t blame them. They’d scraped away the dead muscle and bone and stitched a skin flap in place. If it didn’t hold, they were going to have to take her back into surgery and do a skin graft. They weren’t happy about her intention to leave the hospital, but after they’d finished stamping their feet they bandaged her hand up tight, stitched up her thigh, and gave her a form to confirm she was discharging herself against medical advice. She signed it clumsily with her left hand and went home with a course of antibiotics in her pocket and sunlight falling across her mask.

Now Niobe lay in bed, her good hand travelling over Gabby’s belly, her lips brushing Gabby’s neck. She tasted sweet. They held each other close, nestled together under the covers. Niobe felt the softness of Gabby’s thighs, ran her fingers through the curls of Gabby’s pubic hair. And then Niobe loved her with her hand and her mouth.

When they were both finished, Niobe lay down with her head in the crook of Gabby’s shoulder and enjoyed her smell and the slow movement of her chest. Gabby’s eyes were half-closed, but despite everything, Niobe wasn’t tired. She gently played with Gabby’s small pink nipple, enjoying the way it puckered, while she let her mind wander.

Neo-Auckland had taken a hell of a beating. They were still digging bodies out of the rubble. But worse than the corpses were the blank, soulless shells Sam had left behind. Hundreds of them, maybe more than a thousand. When she left, they were still counting. At least most of the young ones looked like they’d come right. The hospitals all across the rest of the country would be soaking up the overflow. Met Div was facing criticism from the politicians in Wellington, and they were hurling it right back. Quanta’s people were under guard in high security prisons across the country, waiting for their time in court. Most were expected to enter guilty pleas and be remanded in custody until their sentences were handed down.

But it was the superheroes that were still dominating the TV and papers. Everyone had their opinion, and they were all too ready to tell everyone about it. Superheroes were a menace. They’d caused all this. No, they were saviours. Without them, Neo-Auckland, the rest of the country—hell, maybe the world—would be buggered. Some called for the Seoul Accord to be strengthened, further limiting metas’ powers. Others called for it to be scrapped, and new legislation drafted. Legislation that would bring cooperation between metas and normals, to form new groups that would stand alongside conventional forces to defend the world against those who would harm it. All further kill-switching was on hold until the dust cleared and the world figured out a new way forward. There were even talks about resurrecting the old superhero comics, bringing those bright colours to a new generation.

As for the metas themselves, most were remaining quiet for now. A breeze blew in through the bedroom window. Outside, Niobe could hear the Graysons packing their belongings into their beat-up old ute. Already, metas were beginning to leave the Old City to seek a real life elsewhere.

Niobe leaned over and drew Gabby’s nipple into her mouth. Gabby sleepily opened her eyes and smiled down at her.

—
Having fun?
Her fingers drooped the instant she finished signing.

Niobe released the nipple and rested her cheek on Gabby’s breast. “I was thinking about the future,” she said, signing as best she could.

Gabby raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Niobe nodded. “We’ve got enough money now. If you still want to….”

Met Div had found the cheque amongst Frank Oppenheimer’s things, with a note attached. Fifty thousand, just as he’d promised. She’d given Carpenter’s half to his widow. As for her own share, Niobe still didn’t know how she felt about it. Sure, she’d found Sam, but she hadn’t brought him home safe. She hadn’t completed her job. But Frank’s note told her to take it, no matter the outcome. Once he’d got the measure of Quanta, he’d known the chances of getting Sam home unharmed. He knew how hard she’d tried, all it had cost her. So she’d pocketed the cheque, her conscience still nagging her.

—
The Moon?
Gabby signed.

“Yeah. It’s still waiting for us.”

Gabby pursed her lips, cocked her head to the side, and ran her fingers through Niobe’s hair. Sighing slightly, Niobe stroked Gabby’s belly and listened to the sound of her heartbeat. A few moments later, the fingers left her hair. Niobe opened her eyes.

—
Let’s stay here a bit longer,
Gabby signed.
And see what happens.

Niobe pressed her lips against the spot where Gabby’s ribs met her tummy, then reflected Gabby’s smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Her kisses drifted lower again. Gabby gasped.

The sun was setting by the time they were finished again. They cuddled for a while then took showers. Gabby was wrapped in a dressing gown and reading a novel in bed when Niobe came out, towelling her hair with her good hand. She sat down naked on the bed and touched Gabby’s leg to get her attention.

“I have to go out. I’ve got one more thing to do. Wanna come?”

Gabby laid the book down, saving her place, and smiled.

—
I think I’ll stay here and have a nap.

“You sure?” Niobe said.

Gabby nodded.

—
Don’t be long. I’m not done with you yet.

Niobe grinned. She nearly got back into bed, but she really did have one more thing to do. She kissed Gabby, got dressed, kissed her again, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

When she got to Met Div headquarters, Wallace was waiting for her. One wall of the building had been smashed in during the battle, but most of Met Div was still intact. Wallace looked her up and down, eyes narrowing a little at the mask, and grunted.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Yeah.”

She followed him inside.

When Morgan woke, he was in darkness again. After a few minutes of feeling his way around, he determined the cell was not the same one he was placed in before. It was cooler here, and when he tapped the walls with the knuckle of his middle finger, he could detect no sense of hollowness. He couldn’t even find a door. A row of tiny vents let in fresh air. They were too small to even get his fingers in. After half an hour, he settled back down on the thin mattress and exhaled.

The silence was good. No more headaches. He checked himself for injuries. A bandage covered his chest where the Silver Scarab’s charged bolt had hit him, shattering his shield. He could still feel the emptiness as the light had drained from him, until he’d felt like a set of walking bones. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a modified version of the same tech he’d used to keep Iron Justice under control.

Morgan lay down and rested his head against the pillow. It was done, for now at least. He’d always known he would lose eventually. That was the whole point. He allowed himself a smile. He didn’t know how much longer he would last, with the time bomb in his brain, but that didn’t matter. As long as the reporter did his job, everything would work out. He’d done all he could. It was up to them now.

For three days he sat there. The tap gave good water. Food came in packages through some sort of pneumatic tube in the corner. No tomatoes, potatoes, or citrus fruits this time. Not that it mattered. They must have found the second false tooth and the miniature radio transmitter hidden under the fingernail of the fourth finger of his left hand, because both were gone. They sent pills along with the food, keeping him alive, keeping the seizures at bay. And that was it. So he munched the carrot sticks they sent him, drank the water, and pissed in the toilet, using the sound to help him aim. And he waited. They could have at least played him some music.

He thought the sound was a dream when he woke one morning. Well, it could have been any time of day, but he decided it might as well be morning. A hissing sound came from above his head. He sat up in bed and cocked his head to one side, listening.

“Hello?” he ventured.

“Hello, Morgan,” the voice crackled after a short pause.

He smiled. “Niobe. I didn’t think you could stay away. You like me too much. Though I suppose you’re not really here, are you. Radio?”

Another delay, like the words hadn’t reached her. “Don’t stretch that criminal genius too much.”

“Criminal genius, hmm?” He put his hands behind his head. “Nice of you to say.”

For a while there was nothing but the hiss of the radio. Morgan closed his eyes and pictured the sun.

“If you’re waiting for me to express remorse,” he said, “you might want to get a cuppa and a book to pass the time.”

“You’re evil, Morgan. A kidnapper and a torturer and a mass murderer. A lot of people died because of you. Great men died because of you.”

“Tell me,” he said. “Did it work? Did the heroes return?”

There was a click. A lighter, perhaps. “It’s too early to tell.” But the hesitation before she spoke was all he needed to hear. Relief flooded him. He grinned in the direction of the speaker. The world had heroes again. That was worth any cost. Whether or not it lasted, that was up to them. All they had to do was be brave and do what was right.

“So the superhero saved the world,” he said, and smiled. “But I saved the superhero.”

“Your vanity is showing,” she said. “Do you truly think they’ll remember you? You think this will last?”

Morgan laughed. “I didn’t bring a reporter on board for no reason. I can’t lose. If John paints me as a monster, the world still has a threat to fear, a reason to need superheroes. If he makes them understand why I did it, they’ll know that it can happen again. And even better, some will sympathise with me. It doesn’t matter if you’re God or the Devil, as long as people fear you.”

“There’s another option,” she said.

“Oh yes? Do tell.”

“Your reporter told us about the tumour,” she said. “He told us you’re dying.”

His head throbbed once in response, but he pushed it aside. “I’m sure the thought is cutting you up inside.”

She exhaled. He could imagine the cigarette smoke leaving her mouth. “It’s a sad story. Very sad.”

Something about the way she spoke made his chest tighten, but he said nothing.

“I’ve read John’s piece on you. He’s a brilliant writer. He really made me feel for you. The tragic tale of a pathetic, confused man.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” she said. “It seems your tumour’s been causing all sorts of paranoid delusions and hallucinations. Your illness drove you to all sorts of evil acts, but you can’t be blamed. You were dying. You were sick. You shouldn’t be feared. You should be pitied.”

No. The word bounced around the hollow in his chest.
Pity
. They couldn’t do that. They needed to remember him. One way or another, they needed to know it was him.

“You still there, Morgan?”

He composed himself. It wasn’t over yet. “That story won’t fly when they find out it was me at Cambridge.”

“I don’t think there’s any need to drag up the past like that. Besides, Interpol has decided that those cases are classified. You’re not Morgan Shepherd to the public. You’re Quanta. That’s what you wanted, right?”

He slammed his fist against the wall of his cell. “They will learn not to pity me.”

Her laugh cut through him like a thousand tiny daggers. “And there it is. You think you had such a noble goal, don’t you? But it wasn’t enough for your plan to have worked. No, you wanted the world to know it was you. In the end, you’re no different from any other supervillain. And you’ll spend the last of your days the same way they did.”

“Laugh, hero. My tumour hasn’t killed me yet. I’ve escaped one prison. I’ll escape this one.”

“Where do you think you are? Some sort of standard high security meta prison?”

He said nothing.

“You hear that delay each time we speak?” Niobe said. “You’re a long way from home. Me, I’m sitting in Met Div headquarters in the heart of sunny Neo-Auckland, and you must be…what would you say, Wallace? Seven thousand miles away?”

A gruff voiced grunted his assent. Raymond Wallace. At least Morgan could still smile about that. They could hide the truth from the public, but Wallace had seen with his own eyes what he’d created by chasing Morgan back in Europe. Wallace hadn’t been holding the blade Morgan plunged into Lisa’s chest, but he might as well have been. He wanted a monster, and when Lisa’s hot blood spilled across the carpet, he got one.

“Amongst Frank Oppenheimer’s things,” Niobe continued, “we found some documents related to his brother. I suppose you know about Dr Atomic’s madness. You’re nothing if not well-informed.”