School for Sidekicks (35 page)

A beam of ropey red fire as thick around as my wrist sizzled out of the end of the blaster and smashed into the base of Spartanicus's skull, driving him to his knees. I dropped the barrel a fraction of an inch and fired again when the crosshairs touched the top of Spartanicus's head. This time, the blast actually tumbled him forward, rolling him across Foxman's fallen form and a dozen feet beyond.

As I tried to line up a third shot, Denmother's voice spoke in my ear: “Armor power at eight percent and falling, Master Quick. Cutting feed to all external units.”

Below me, Spartanicus had dragged himself back onto hands and knees and was slowly turning to face Foxman.

“Wait, I need one more shot!” I yelled.

“Not possible, Master Quick. Apologies. Armor shut down in three—two—”

Spartanicus had finished his turn, and now he began to crawl back toward Foxman, drawing a dagger and tucking it between his teeth as he went.

“One,” finished Denmother. “Armor shutdown initiated.”

No! It couldn't end this way. Fear and fury raced along my nerves like an acid slurry—a burning concoction that seemed to kick my meager powers up to a higher gear. Somehow, despite the lack of servo assist, I forced myself upright and started slow-walking my way along the edge of the sunken plaza. I tried to gauge Spartanicus's progress with one eye, while focusing the other on the big support beams that crisscrossed the space above the plaza.

There!

I turned and started to edge out along one of the beams. It had been bent and twisted by the forces that had shattered the armor glass, but that actually put it in a better position. Now, if I could just manage not to fall off until I got to the right spot.

As I reached the point closest to directly above Spartanicus, I found myself thinking,
This is the dumbest idea you've ever had, Quick.

Yes, brain voice, it is. I just hope armor-plus-healing factor is enough.

You and me both, Quick.

Then I was there. I took one last look and … jumped. It was a long fall, and I had plenty of time to second-guess myself on the way down. This time, Spartanicus didn't see it coming. I landed feet first on the back of his head, driving his face into the pavement. There was a huge green blast, and that was the last thing I remembered for a very long time.

 

25

Scenes From a Recovery

This time, I recognized the crinkling candy-wrapper sound of my healing cocoon coming apart.

“Hey, it's about time you came around.” It was Foxman, or Rand, since I saw that he was out of costume as soon as my head broke through the cocoon.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Foxman used the arm that wasn't in traction to gesture around the room. “OSIRIS hospital, Heropolis. Why, what does it look like?”

“I would have expected you to get a private room,” I said muzzily.

“And leave my sidekick? Never.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But, you know what, I think I'm going to take a little nap now…”

*   *   *

The next time I woke up, someone had removed all of the cocoon bits, and my mother was sitting beside the bed. There was a lot of hugging and crying and a little bit of yelling after that, but I don't think I'll share the details.

*   *   *

I woke to see Speedslick wheeling NightHowl into my room ahead of him. Her leg was raised up on one of those wheelchair brace thingies. Well, Jeda and Melody, given their civvies, but never mind.

“Glad to see you awake, amigo,” said Speedslick.

“Glad to see you, too.
Both
of you, alive. You had me worried there, especially you, 'Howl.”

“Ah, it wasn't as bad as it looked.”

“How's Burnish?” I asked.

'Howl blushed. “Good. She's good.”

“Why the red face?” I asked.

She turned an even deeper shade of red. “Well, I was little delirious there toward the end of things—not so sure I was going to make it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I figured if it was a good idea for you to kiss her when you thought you were dying, it couldn't hurt for me to try.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How'd it work out?”

“Pretty much like yours did.”

*   *   *

I blinked blearily as a small team of orderlies and nurses came into the room and started rigging Rand's bed for travel.

“What's up?” he asked.

“More tests,” said the lead nurse.

“Needles?” He sighed.

“Lots.”

“Stinking vampires.”

“You know it,” she said as they rolled him out.

I'd just started to drift back into sleep when the door opened again.

“Who is i…” I trailed off as another orderly wheeled a monitor up beside my bed. I recognized Backflash's face on the screen. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello, Evan. You've given me quite a lot to think about these last few weeks. I've been keeping a close eye on you and your friends ever since that day you broke into my lab. That showed initiative and talent. Bravery, too, hiding under the console and then crawling away like that, never knowing whether I was about to turn and catch you. That was the moment I decided you were more of an opportunity than a problem. You haven't disappointed me yet.”

I felt my chest sink in on itself. “You knew about that?”

“Please, child. Bittersharp keeps a record of everyone who comes in and it refuses to censor information in any way. Of course, I knew. In fact, I even traveled back in time a little way to see how you performed when dealing with the machine. Add in your insane attack on Spartanicus, and I expect great things from you.”

“Does this mean I'm out of the AMO?” I asked quietly.

“Not at all.”

“But I broke into your lab and I've been sidekicking without a license. Doesn't that kind of make me a”—my voice dropped—“Hood?”

“Well, yes, technically. I will certainly hold that option in reserve, though I frankly don't see how that would prevent you from doing great things. After all, Spartanicus is one of my proudest creations.”

“He's a mass murderer!”

“So am I. It doesn't change things, and, honestly, our motives aren't that far apart. Special Agent Sanders wants to prepare for the aliens every bit as badly as I do. We just differ in opinion on how best to do that. We always have.”

“Sanders?” I was getting more confused by the moment. “Who's that?”

“Spartanicus, of course. He was the OSIRIS agent assigned to oversee my project when I first arrived from the future. He disagreed with both me and his superiors about the morality and necessity of the Hero Bomb. He even tried to defuse it at the last minute—the blast tore him in half. If it hadn't also given him his powers, he'd have died then. But he heals better than anyone.”

“I don't know what to think about that,” I said. “Isn't he a villain?”

“To you and most of the rest of the world, certainly. In an absolute sense? Only time will tell. He hated the ‘system of gladiatorial combat' I cooked up. That's why he took the Hood name that he did—as a direct challenge to me. He thinks we'd be better off announcing the coming invasion to the world and trying to unite all the metas under one banner, and that's what he keeps trying to do. He might even be right, but I don't think so.”

She paused then, and checked something out of the picture. “But the monitors say that you're fading again, so I should let you sleep.”

“Wait! I want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why everything?”

“That's a big question, Evan. But the answer is simple. Because I have to. Because failure means the extermination of the human race. Because, in this case, results are all that matters if there's going to be a tomorrow for Earth. Now, good night, Evan.”

I didn't say good night and I didn't think I'd be able to sleep anytime soon, but somehow I managed to doze off. Or, at least, that's what I had to assume from the way I jerked awake when I heard a very familiar voice say my name.

“Captain Commanding?” I said blearily. “Sir?”

In my dreams I'd wandered back to a simpler time in my life, before I got my powers and learned how much darker and stranger the world was than I'd ever believed. That's where the “sir” came from, the boy who'd once thought that the Captain was the best and greatest Mask the world had ever known.

“You're a durable little creep,” the Captain said from the same monitor Backflash had used. “I'll give you that.”

“And you're a monster!” I snapped back without thinking. “A horrible man with no moral core and no right to call yourself a Mask.”

I was shocked at myself for saying it, and momentarily wondered if my banter reflex had kicked in again. But, no, this felt different. This was me all the way down, and it felt good to have a chance to tell the man who'd tried to have me blacklisted exactly what I thought about him.

The Captain's perfect smile twisted into something petty and vicious. “How dare you! I'm Captain Commanding, and you're a wretched little snot with nothing powers. You aren't fit to be my toilet paper.”

“Why? Because I know that you're a coward who's more concerned that his precious reputation will get dented than he is about what the aliens might do to us if we don't have every available meta ready to face them? Is that why you think you're better than me?”

The Captain literally reared back at that, as though I'd slapped him. “You watch yourself, boy. You're not made of the kind of stuff that'll stand up to a single punch from one of these mighty fists.” He held one hand up to the camera so that it filled the screen. “If you're not extra careful, you might find yourself as collateral damage in one of my future battles with evil.”

Somehow, after facing Spartanicus three times and dying twice, being threatened by Captain Commanding just didn't have the same impact. He just didn't feel as dangerous as Spartanicus, or even Backflash. He was a cartoon, while they were the real thing. Oh, he could certainly kill me if he tried. There was no doubt about that, but I'd faced worse. Somehow I knew that if Captain Commanding came after me, I'd come out all right.

There was no remote to turn the monitor off, so I picked up the heavy vase my mom's flowers had come in and pitched it right through the screen. There was a satisfying burst of sparks and that was the end of today's episode of the Captain Commanding show.

I was asleep before the orderlies arrived to clean up the mess.

*   *   *

It felt good to be up and around. The new and improved
Flying Fox
was waiting in my parents' backyard—it had squashed the rhododendrons—and I had just finished putting on my uniform. My mother was waiting for me by the back door with her usual lunch bag and a frown.

“I still don't like you going out there every night, honey.”

“I know, Mom. And you're right.”

“I am?” She looked surprised.

“You are. Thirteen is too young to make someone into a hero, or even a sidekick.” I thought of my most recent screen conversation with Backflash. “It's not fair to you or to Dad or me.” It would still be a couple of months before the bulk of Earth's Masks could return, and Backflash had called to let me know she was authorizing my sidekick's permit two years early.

“But, Mom, sometimes things aren't fair. Sometimes the world needs saving and the only one who can do it is someone who shouldn't have to.” I still hadn't told them about the aliens—I didn't think they were ready for it. “Today, that's me.” I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, Mom, and I promise I'll be careful, but I have to go now. Foxman's waiting.”

Then I ducked out the door and climbed up into the cockpit. As I settled into my seat, I looked over at Foxman and I decided that this whole sidekick thing was a pretty good gig.

Foxman reached for the liftoff button. “You ready to save the world, Meerkat?”

“Always.”

It was, after all, my dream come true.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Extra-special thanks are owed to Laura McCullough, Jack Byrne, Holly West, Jean Feiwel, and to Neil Gaiman for giving me the run of one of the larger comics libraries around.

Many thanks also to the Wyrdsmiths: Lyda, Doug, Naomi, Bill, Eleanor, Sean, and Adam. My Web guru, Ben. Kyle Cassidy for the barking cheese. Beta readers: Mike, Matt, Mandy, Sean, Hans, Carol, Kevin, Benjamin, Becky, Sari, Dave, Jason, Tom, Todd, Steph, Ben, other Ben. My family: Carol, Paul & Jane, Lockwood & Darlene, Judy, Kat, Jean, and all the rest. My extended support structure … and so many more. Thanks also to Kevin and Marilyn Matheny for agreeing to let me memorialize my dear friend Michael in the pages of this novel.

And finally, the Feiwel and Friends folks: Anna Booth, Rich Deas, Dave Barrett, Anne Heausler, Nicole Moulaison and the rest of the group.

 

Thank you for reading this
Feiwel and Friends
book.

The Friends who made

SCHOOL

FOR

SIDEKICKS

possible are:

Jean Feiwel,
PUBLISHER

Liz Szabla,
EDITOR IN CHIEF

Rich Deas,
SENIOR CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Holly West,
ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Dave Barrett,
EXECUTIVE MANAGING EDITOR

Nicole Liebowitz Moulaison,
PRODUCTION MANAGER

Lauren A. Burniac,
EDITOR

Anna Roberto,
ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Christine Barcellona,
ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT