The Strike Trilogy (10 page)

But Tobin couldn’t. He looked away from Orion, crying. He could only think about hiding.

Orion peered over the wall; the Hoplite was approaching. The old man tried to string an arrow in his bow, but his fingers slipped and contorted into a painful claw. Clutching the hand against his chest, he knelt on the ground and looked up at Tobin.

“Please,” he said. “Do something.”

The boy and the old man were found—the wall was ripped away, and the Hoplite swung a mighty backhand that sent Orion careening into the surrounding woods. Tobin watched as his body crashed into a tree and disappeared out of sight.

With the Hoplite now only a few feet away, Tobin had no choice but to run. He sprinted to one of the city fountains and pressed his back against the marble, but his new hiding spot was quickly demolished, exploding into a cloud of white dust and hundreds of heavy chunks. As the Hoplite monster reached down and grabbed Tobin in its giant fist, the boy could feel each of the individual Hoplites that made up the fingers squirming against him. Without knowing if anyone would hear, he screamed for his life.

A safe distance away, Scatterbolt was watching Tobin and the Hoplite monster, but the robot couldn’t move from his spot—if he did, everyone behind him would be exposed. Looking across town, he saw Keplar, still lying underneath the rubble of the toppled building.

“Keplar!” he shouted. “Over here! Keplar! Help, Keplar! Help!”

Hearing someone call his name, the dog slowly pushed the debris off of him and rolled over. As he wobbily stood on his feet, he reached up and felt the stream of blood running down his forehead.

“Keplar!” Scatterbolt shouted again. “Over here! Hurry!”

The dog spun around, seeing Tobin flailing in the Hoplite’s grasp.

“Oh, krandor,” the dog swore. Then he ran at the monster, with no idea of what he was going to do when he reached it.

Stretching out his long metallic arm, Scatterbolt grabbed Keplar’s plasma cannon from the ground. After he unlatched a hatch on its side, he removed the gun’s ammunition—a glowing green orb.

“Keplar!” the robot shouted, heaving the orb across the street. “Take this!”

“Got it!” the husky replied, catching the green ammo. As he sprinted toward the Hoplite, he carried it underneath his arm like a football.

But the dog didn’t have much time: the Hoplite was raising its arm, and bringing Tobin toward its open mouth. As the boy looked into the foul, gaping cave, he could see all of the slimy, hissing hornets inside, and their black stingers waiting for him.

“Hey, fat and ugly!” Keplar yelled. “Chew on this!”

The Hoplite monster spun around—Keplar was running toward it. As it opened its mouth even wider, it let out an earth-shattering
ROAR!

But, in that same instant, Keplar leapt into the air and hurled the ammo toward the Hoplite. With the accuracy of a star quarterback, he hit his target—the green orb soared right into the Hoplite’s open mouth.

The Hoplite dropped Tobin. It gagged. The green orb was now a huge lump in its throat, glowing through its skin. As the monster clawed at its neck and choked, Keplar ran underneath its legs, grabbing Tobin by the arm.

“This is the second time I’ve saved you from a giant monster,” the dog said. “Don’t think I’m not keeping count.”

As the monster swiped at them, Tobin and Keplar ran toward the center of the city. When they were far enough away, Keplar pushed Tobin ahead of him, turned around, and reached for one of the laser blasters on his waist. Closing one eye, he aimed the blaster at the monster’s neck and pulled the trigger.

KA-
BOOM
! The ammunition exploded, sending Tobin and Keplar soaring through the air! They hit the asphalt, rolled underneath a tree, and came to a painful stop on top of its exposed roots. In shock, Tobin rolled over and turned back to the monster.

The Hoplite had been completely blown away, but its remains were now raining down on Gallymoora. As hundreds of pounds of yellow-and-black chunks splattered the streets, the people of the city ran for shelter, saved from the monster but now in danger of being drenched in its guts.

Still lying where they landed, Keplar leaned against the tree trunk and pulled himself up. But, as he was getting to his feet, a hunk of goop fell only inches away from him, splattering him in yellow-and-black slime from head-to-toe. Groaning, he tried to wipe the sludge away, but it stuck all over his hands and fur.

“Son of a bremshaw,” he muttered.

As the dog walked into the forest, Tobin sat underneath the tree and stared ahead blankly. When he heard voices, he turned to his left and saw Keplar reemerge from the forest with Orion. The old man was leaning against the dog, and using his bow as a cane.

“It’s a big, scary world, kid,” Keplar said to Tobin as they passed. “But being afraid of it ain’t gonna get you crap.”

Orion looked to the boy. “We’ll talk about this later, Tobin.”

As the old man and the dog entered a doorway, Tobin was left alone, sitting in the dirt, as the last of the goop dripped off of the trees around him.

On the top floor of the Trident skyscraper, Vincent Harris was sitting in his office and watching Tobin on a hand-held monitor; the boy was sitting underneath the tree in Gallymoora, covered in yellow-and-black sludge. The Hoplites hadn’t been able to beam back much footage from the battle, but what Vincent had seen was enough.

“Well,” he said with a smirk. “That was unexpected.”

Rigel was standing by the door. “I agree. I thought his powers would take over and push him much further than that. What happened?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was very…strange. He’s not nearly as far along as I thought he’d be.”

“Should we act now, then? Move ahead while they’re so unprepared?”

“No—we stay with what we mapped out: we only have to be concerned if we know Tobin can be sent after us. If he’s not strong enough yet to make another trip through a portal, then we still have plenty of time, and we can wait and move ahead as planned. If he is strong enough to make another trip between worlds, though, we may have to reassess our schedule.”

“We could figure that out somehow,” Rigel said. “Find out if he’s able to travel through portals.”

“Yes,” Vincent said. “We force their hand—with something small, but something that deserves attention. If he’s able to survive the trip, Orion will have no choice but to send him after us. Then, we’ll know he can go between worlds, and we can begin.”

Rigel walked to a nearby shelf and picked up a file.

“Sir, I think I know exactly how we can figure that out.”

He placed a photo on Vincent’s desk.

“Their names are Jennifer Robins and Chad Fernandes,” he said, pointing to the teenagers in the photo. “They are Tobin’s closest and oldest friends.”

Vincent studied the photo.

“Yes,” he said. “Make the first move.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
he morning after the Hoplite battle, Tobin was standing at a sink in the Gallymoora City Hall and scrubbing his arms with a bar of soap. He had been at this for nearly an hour, but his clothes and skin were still covered by the yellow-and-black sludge. As he resigned himself to a life where he would forever be blotched with giant Hoplite monster guts, he heard someone in the doorway.

“Good morning, Tobin,” Orion said. “If you’re ready, we should get going. The Sky-Blade’s waiting for us.”

Tobin turned to the door; Orion had his right arm in a sling, and was using a crutch. The boy felt terrible.

“Did you sleep all right?” the old man asked.

“Yes,” Tobin lied, putting the soap in its dish. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Come along.”

Tobin walked into the lobby of City Hall. Outside, he could see the Sky-Blade, with its engines running.

“We have to leave already?” the boy asked.

“Yes. I got what I needed from Aykrada and we’re moving on, like we should have in the first place. We’ve only made it worse for them here.”

Tobin could hear the regret in Orion’s voice. “Where’re we going now?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” the old man said.

Soon, the group was off again in the Sky-Blade, and Keplar was once again using the time to catch up on his sleep in the cockpit. This time, however, Scatterbolt was having a much easier time piloting the ship, as he was standing on a stack of old phone books that he found in the Gallymoora City Hall. As he set the ship’s course, the robot leaned forward and gracefully adjusted its steering wheel, smiling brightly.

In the cabin, Tobin was lying on a hanging hammock that was suspended from the ceiling by chains. Across from him, Orion was sitting in a chair and reading a book.

“Somebody’s pretty quiet over there,” Orion said.

“Just tired,” Tobin replied. “That’s all.”

“Oh. I thought maybe something else was on your mind.”

“Like maybe how I almost got everybody killed last night?”

Orion chuckled. “Yeah, that might be it.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Tobin said. “I know I should have done something, but…I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything.”

Orion closed his book and walked to the cockpit.

“Tobin, when you got yourself involved in the battle, you owned it. A piece of it. And whether you were ready for it or not, you were responsible for that piece. That’s what happens when you put yourself in a situation like that: everyone else is depending on you to do your part when you need to. I knew you weren’t ready, which is why I didn’t want you getting involved in the first place.”

Orion looked at Tobin. The boy was staring at the ceiling, with a miserable look across his face.

“But I guess you already know that,” the old man said with a laugh.

“Yeah. Now I just hope nobody else almost dies because of me.”

Orion opened the cockpit door.

“Let it go, Tobin. It’s over, after all. The worst thing you can do now is obsess over it, because then you can’t move on from it and learn from it. That’s all you need to do now—learn from it.”

Tobin nodded. He still felt so angry. And embarrassed.

“Try and get some sleep,” the old man said. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

The lights in the cabin went out. Tobin turned to the wall, listening to the hum of the sky-ship, and thinking.

As the Sky-Blade started its descent, Tobin looked out the window at their next destination: they were landing on a tan, brick platform that was resting in the side of a mammoth mountaintop, high above the clouds.

When the ship came to a stop, Tobin walked onto the mountain’s brick landing platform and looked over the area. It was as if he and the others were the only people left in the world. Far away from civilization, and thousands of feet into the air, all he could see were the green tops of trees, clouds, and other mountain ranges, for miles and miles.

Shielding his eyes from the reflection of the sun, Tobin turned to the mountain and saw that there was a structure—a building of some kind—built into the side of it. A set of giant, glass doors was the mountaintop building’s entrance, and there were several floors of windows above it.

“Wow,” he said. “What is this place?”

Orion walked down the ramp and pressed a button on a remote control.   “Read that tablet.”

A marble pedestal rose with a
whoosh!
near the mountain’s entrance, so Tobin ran to it. There was a tablet on top of it, and a series of words were running down the tablet in a column, repeated in all kinds of languages.

“I can’t read any of this,” the boy said.

“Keep reading,” Orion told him.

Tobin ran his finger along the words until he found it. “Ah, here it is: ‘The Museum of the Heroes.’”

“Yes.” Orion walked toward the entrance. “This was where my friends and I lived many years ago, when we were superheroes. Now, no one needs it any longer as a headquarters, so I’ve turned it into a museum about this world’s heroes and where we came from. Come in and I’ll show you.”

Tobin followed Orion toward the doors, but the boy noticed there were no doorknobs on them—no handles, no latches, not a single thing to pull them open. However, when Orion’s face was only inches away from smashing against the entrance, there was a loud
click
! from inside the mountain, and the glass doors quickly opened. The old man walked in as if he had done this thousands of times, and he had.

Behind Orion, with cautious, curious footsteps, Tobin followed, slowly stepping into the mountain’s entrance. He was stunned with what he found inside.

There was a wide open, sun-filled room sprawling in front of him, with colorfully designed marble floors, dozens of glass-encased exhibits, and a ceiling that rose all the way to the top of the mountain. Scanning upward, Tobin saw that the ceiling was etched with images of superheroes, and also spotted with skylights. These skylights were letting the sunlight flow in, and it was illuminating all of the wondrous statues, costumes, paintings, and photographs. Tobin couldn’t believe it: inside the mountain, in the middle of nowhere, there was a fantastic museum.

Walking across the marble floor, the boy inspected the exhibits. Along one wall, he found a glass case full of old weapons and costumes, some of which looked like they could be a hundred years old. Down a ways from there, he found an incredible bronze statue: it was of a tall man with the outstretched wings of an eagle, and he was also holding a sword high in the air. The inscription on the statue read: MATT “TITAN” TAYLOR, LEADER OF THE GUARDIANS. Tobin recognized this man from Scatterbolt’s impromptu history lesson earlier, and also noticed that this statue was on a pedestal higher than the others around the room.

Tobin walked nearer to the other statues. Some of them depicted normal humans, like the one of a gorgeous woman standing next to her pet panther, but there were also depictions of strange-looking men and women, like the one of a man with pointy ears and three-fingered hands. Then there were the statues that didn’t look human at all, like the one of some kind of toad-man; he was wearing knight’s armor, holding two daggers, and showing off a grin filled with hundreds of teeth.

The paintings and photographs throughout the museum were also fascinating. Many of them showed great battles between heroes, monsters, and super-villains, but many of them showed quieter moments, too: there was an old man in bed, surrounded by his saddened family; a fisherman and his dog, sitting on a hill and fishing in a lake; there was even one of the winged-man named Titan, dancing with a blonde woman at a party. Then, at the end of the row, Tobin found a large, framed photograph, which nearly encompassed the entire next wall.

It was a photograph of a massive gathering of superheroes. There were at least seventy of them, and they were all wearing varied, colorful costumes. Tobin noticed the one named Titan again, standing in front of the group and looking very serious, with his wings folded at his sides. On one side of Titan, there was a young Orion, standing with his bow and arrow, and on the other side of him there was a young Strike, who was wearing his midnight blue costume, holding his bo-staff, and not taking the picture nearly as seriously as Titan.

Then, at the edge of the photo, nearly out of frame, Tobin saw another tall man dressed in black. This man was smiling for the camera, with his arm around a young, pretty woman with dark hair.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Orion said. “Capricious has many superheroes now, Tobin, but when I was your age, we had even more, hundreds more. Many of them were our friends and allies, but my teammates and I were the only ones who used this place as a headquarters. Which was probably a good thing, considering all the trouble we got into.”

“And these two here in the front were your teammates, right?” Tobin asked. “The Guardians?”

“Yes,” Orion said, pointing to Titan and Strike. “The young man here with wings, and the man dressed in blue. The three of us were the most famous superheroes on Capricious, for better or for worse. And, to be honest, the fame part was often for the worse, but…we had a lot of fun, too.”

“And you guys were the best?”

Orion chuckled. “No, not really. But pretty good.”

Following Orion out of the main gallery, Tobin and the old man walked into a quieter room in the back of the museum. There were a couple of benches here, a small duck pond, a glass display case, and three more statues, all of which seemed to be watching over the area. One of the statues was of Orion, one was of Titan, and one was of Strike.

Tobin approached the statue of Orion.

“Orion Hobbes,” he read from the inscription. “He Might Be Old and Cranky Now, But We Still Love Him, Anyway.”

“Keplar and Scatterbolt put that here for my birthday a couple of years ago,” Orion said, somewhat embarrassed. “They said they were being nice, but I think they just like to remind me of how old I am.”

Tobin chuckled. The statue showed Orion as a teenager; he was wearing a mask over his eyes, the same knee-length coat, and a quiver of arrows on his back.

“We were so young, when we started,” Orion said. “Fourteen, fifteen years old. And with absolutely no idea of what we were doing.”

Tobin walked to the long glass display case. It held photographs, newspaper clippings, and magazine covers.

“I’m sure by now you’ve figured out why you’re here,” Orion said.

Tobin waited a second. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Tobin looked down at a photograph; it showed Scott, Orion, and Titan, sitting at a restaurant. They were out of costume, and wearing normal clothes. Tobin saw his father staring back at him—young, happy, and with friends.

“Your father and I became best friends and teammates our freshman year of high school,” Orion explained. “Later, the team disbanded, and then it was just the two of us.”

Tobin read one of the newspaper clippings:

STRIKE AND THE RED WOLF PUT AN END TO DABOSI CRIME FAMILY!

Underneath the headline, there was a picture of Scott and Orion, dressed in costume, and fighting a group of armed criminals in the middle of Quantum City.

“After we stopped Vincent’s invasion of Earth,” Orion said, “your father and I returned to your world many times over the years, to make sure no other villains from Capricious had crossed over into it. We had let that happen once, and we swore we would never let it happen again.

“While we were there, though, we also realized we could help out your world in other ways. Your world unfortunately needed it at the time, and it was a great honor for us to fight alongside the heroes of Earth, who were infinitely more brave than we could ever be.”

Tobin looked at another newspaper clipping: this one was from Earth, and it was dated August 16th, 1944. It showed a blurry picture of Strike and the Red Wolf, as they helped the Allied soldiers in war-torn France. The headline read:

MYSTERIOUS MASKED MEN HELP WALLOP HITLER’S GOONS!

Tobin was stunned. “What? How could…?”

Orion laughed. “Our bodies age much differently than yours, and we live for much longer. I’m just starting to feel my age now, if you couldn’t already tell.”

Tobin walked along the case and looked at the other photographs: there was one of Strike and the Red Wolf in Chicago in the 1960’s, one of them in Los Angeles in 1975, and one of them in New York in the 1990’s. It was all so very strange.

Behind him, Tobin heard a knock at the door; Scatterbolt was standing in the entryway, holding a book.

“Hi, Scatterbolt,” Orion said, sitting down on one of the benches. “Here, Tobin. I want to show you something.”

Tobin sat down on the bench, and Scatterbolt hopped up next to him. As the robot placed the book on his lap, he opened it.