Project Northwoods (12 page)

JULIA

ARTHUR HADN’T TAKEN THE TIME
to notice when the sky had decided to become overcast, but it seemed to respond to his mood. The smell of rain was thick and, somewhere above, a roll of thunder threatened ominously. All he needed was the downpour to start and he could
really
wallow in self-pity. Instead, it didn’t fall.

Despite the possibility of rain, Arthur waited on the steps of the Super Heroes’ Guild. It was a grand government building, much larger and even more Romanesque than the villains’ version. The years had seen multiple expansions and – at times – substantial repairs that craftsmen had clearly taken great pains to blend in with the original façade. On the second of three landings of stairs a fountain sat mostly unwatched as it continued to throw water into the air. Arthur couldn’t see the national and state flags on the nearby pole, but he could hear the fabric protest in the wind. In the mid-afternoon, fewer people were making their way up or down the steps, although a few heroes did spend their smoke breaks pacing near the entrance, squinting and puffing on cigarettes. The lack of human motion gave a false sense of sterility in the heart of the city.

Part of him wanted to leave, insisting that what he wanted to do was a very stupid idea, indeed. Another part just wanted to wait outside on the off chance that someone might see him looking sad and invite him in. A third, larger part was trying to muster the courage to enter the Guild. With no small effort, he decided to force himself up the steps.

He felt numb. He had imagined, up to this point, his next visit here would be a triumphant victory march with an army of kill bots, or maybe zombies… or anything, really. The fantasy scenario changed depending on his mood and what he was working on at the time. It still didn’t change the fact that he had never expected to be anywhere near this building again without some kind of dastardly army or device to back him up.

Before he had time to really delve into the recent failures, he was through the revolving door and inside. Arthur passed through the security checkpoint without incident, the two huge guards momentarily curious over the empty briefcase before resuming other duties. Reunited with his things, he entered the building proper.

It was a large relic of the Silver Age, when the government had made heroes register and pull a paycheck. A handful of the law-and-order types were well-to-do business owners or independent playboy-or-girl millionaires, making their Guilds a bit on the flashier side. Villainous tycoons weren’t unheard of, but they were usually in the middle of having their assets frozen or other sanctions from the government. Heroes, too, tended to make it a pain to do things like donate or build a huge structure in the middle of a thriving city.

Speakers high above him buzzed with a speech given from the Great Hall. “
…
Heroes are in no short supply. Any neutral who pays their taxes, supports their family, cares for their fellow man…
” The husky voice was immediately recognizable and repulsive. “
…
Is a hero. They follow the law, no matter how inconvenient. But these heroes face a threat most grave, one that we, Bestowed and un-Bestowed alike, are in a position to stop before it multiplies.
” Arbiter typically started his speeches like this, extolling the virtues of just about everyone before going off his rocker.

Arthur went unnoticed by the heroes surrounding him. Although villains were not expressly forbidden on this side of town, it was considered taboo enough that they typically appeared only when summoned. Even though Arthur could not legally claim to be anything other than neutral at the moment, he lived with villains, associated with villains, and desired to be a villain; these traits made him walk the self-consciousness gait of a man who felt like everyone was watching him.

“
An eye is upon us, fellow heroes!
” rattled the voice which had been the unofficial roar of heroism for almost four decades. Arthur mounted a set of stairs that would lead him to the balcony of the Great Hall.

“
Are we to wait for it to blink on this time, when villainy grows ever-stronger, protected by a government blind to their crimes?
” At the top of the steps, Arthur stopped and scanned the wall for the arrow to the Hall, which happened to be a short walk to the middle of the landing. “
Since the beginning, we have been called upon to save civilization from those of baser morals, those who ‘civilization’ now tries to protect.
” Quietly, Arthur pushed open the door and walked into the darkened room.

It was shaped like a stadium, packed with chairs and desks littered with papers. Most of the one hundred seats were occupied by heroes, opting for traditional clothing rather than costumes; at least, that was the case as far as Arthur could tell with the lighting as low as it was. As was deemed politically necessary, the heroes were from a multitude of areas across the state, every district having some measure of representation.

The process was mostly informal. The districts voted on their rep, the hero showed up to be sworn in, and only really returned when a large-scale decision was needed. The politician was only ousted if he or she died, or a no-confidence measure was passed by their community. A handful of people took the responsibility of office seriously and volunteered for the bureaucratic day-to-day running of the place.

It was the High Consul, the man or woman all registered heroes voted on to guide their policies and actions, who wielded the power of the Guild. The position was available for any hero to run for, representative or not. The race usually boiled down to at least three candidates: the clear winner and volunteered representative, such as Desert Ranger; an appointed candidate who was charitably always the one villain in the Guild, which, in New York, meant Zombress; and then a smattering of non-representative, hilariously unelectable candidates, one of whom was on stage.

Arthur looked down at the man on the stage below, pacing irritably, his blue cape limply flowing after him in the still air. Flanking the stage were a tall man, pale and in black leather with a ridiculously large sword strapped to his back, and a woman of average height, dressed like an incredibly well-armed cowgirl complete with a large brimmed Stetson hat blocking her face.

Arbiter had either forgotten the next part of his speech or merely taken the moment to let his last phrase sink in as he turned his back to his listeners. “Why do we allow such perversion of our laws, of justice?” Arbiter’s voice was no longer accompanied by the hiss of an intercom, but nevertheless boomed without electronic aid. His bronze chest plate glimmered in the light as he turned to face his audience. “So-called peace?” There was condescension in his voice. “Can we ever expect peace from those who sought to kill us, drive us from our homes, murder our families?

“Wake up, heroes, lest we be judged in the name of this false peace!” As Arbiter appeared to scan the audience through the slits in his helmet, Arthur imagined the hero’s skin growing redder and his eyes bulging as he railed onward. “Only the High Consul can guide heroes in the right direction! Only the High Consul can stop whatever
they
are planning!” He was heaving now.

Oration clearly excites him – it’s a shame he sucks at it
, Arthur mused.

Arbiter jutted a finger to the audience. “Where will you stand when the first hero has to die for our government’s cowardice?”

The lights rose. The audience, grateful it was over, politely applauded. A few, including a man Arthur recognized as Desert Ranger, had immediately taken the opportunity to talk to their neighbors quietly. The fact that Arbiter held so little sway intensely amused Arthur. He continued to glance over the audience, looking for a familiar face. He found it, the black business-suited man who had moved toward the cowgirl. The two were talking, the man apparently quite keen on her. Arthur felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the sight of the two bonding as he made his way down the nearest steps toward him.

“I’m amazed they let scum like you in here,” Arbiter boomed. Arthur froze, panicked at the insult.

“Sorry, loony tune. Freedom of press and all.” Arthur’s heart started beating again at the sound of this other voice. He cautiously resumed his path, watching the conflict below him. Arbiter had approached a man with a camera in a white shirt, vest, and pink paisley tie. Even though the distance between the two was terrifyingly close, the smaller man smiled challengingly at the hero. Thirty years ago, this situation would have probably ended with the man strangled to death with his own tie.

“What you do is not journalism.” Arbiter motioned over to the man with the sword. The swordsman pushed himself off the wall and strode toward the two. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Firm mattress,” the other man said matter-of-factly. Arbiter leaned close and said something Arthur couldn’t catch, but no doubt was a threat. The smaller man just smiled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re a washed-up psychopath with no hope of winning, eh?”

“Your kind shouldn’t be allowed here. This is the Heroes’ Guild, not a brothel.” Arbiter said. “Watch yourself,” he grunted. The man with the sword, apparently an entirely superfluous bodyguard, had gotten close enough. With a flourish, Arbiter turned and headed toward the nearest exit.

The smaller man’s eyes widened in false shock. “Watch yourself,” he mocked. He returned to his equipment.

Arthur, curiosity piqued, leapt off the third to last step and crossed to him. “What was that about?”

Clearly annoyed, the man stopped working momentarily to emphasize this point before returning to work. “You ever watch Villain World News, kid?” He shook his head and laughed. “Probably not. Probably some hero’s baby-faced brat on a field trip.”

Arthur didn’t know whether the crack at his age or his looks offended him more. “I’m familiar with it, yes.”

“Then there’s your answer, kid.” He pointed to the insignia on the side of his camera.

Arthur looked at him, trying to place where he had seen him before, but nothing came up. “You don’t look familiar.”

“I own the station.” He grabbed his camera, tripod, and cables. It all seemed quite effortless. “I like to stay out of the picture.” He moved away, presumably to set up the camera in another location and film the speech which Zombress was scheduled for but probably wouldn’t give.

Arthur trailed after him. “Shouldn’t you have a crew for this?”

The man tossed a look over his shoulder. “Yes, but my camera guy is being held as collateral at the moment to make sure I’m on my best behavior.” Arthur stopped as the man hissed in annoyance. “Self-important, pencil-pushing, goody…” he muttered as he moved out of earshot.

Arthur considered offering his help, but decided that he was only trying to delay what he came here to do. He took a steadying breath, then turned around. His target now spoke to Desert Ranger, the two men smiling widely and laughing at something. It was the moment of truth now, no going back. He started toward the men.

“Whoa, there, Arthur,” the girl under the Stetson said. He felt a hand on his chest and a sudden, albeit gentle, push against him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Arthur took a step backward and cocked his head. The girl looked up at him, the hat tilting back just enough to reveal her face. Dishwater blond hair was pulled back from her face in braided pig-tails running halfway down her back. She was paler than he and slightly freckled, but there was enough similarity between their eyes to establish the two as siblings.

“Julia?” Arthur didn’t wait for her to respond as he leapt forward and snatched her up in a bear hug, all too easy considering her slight frame. The case he had been carrying fell to the floor with a bang, further drawing attention to the spectacle. Her bandolier of ammunition bit through his shirt and irritated his skin, but it wasn’t until he noticed that Julia was pushing against him that he let up.

“Okay, okay! That’s…” She took a step back as he set her down. She smoothed out her outfit. “… Enough. Thank you.”

“I can’t believe it! It’s been forever!” His voice must have been awkwardly loud, as Julia winced at the sound.

“Please, keep your voice down,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder at the man in the corner and Desert Ranger. “I didn’t think you’d ever show up here,” she muttered to herself as she looked back at Arthur.

“How have you been?” His voice was almost cartoonish, like a stage whisper. “Look at you, my baby sister, all grown up…”

“Yeah, fine, great.” She grabbed his arm and led him away from his intended destination. The act caught Arthur off-guard for a moment. He worked his way out of her grasp.

“What gives?”

“Look, I don’t think you should be here.”

Arthur smiled sheepishly. “Aw, come on. That whole… thing… happened, like, a decade and a half ago.”

Julia didn’t have a problem pulling up any details. “And I’ve seen you… what, ten times since then?”

“Hey, I helped you set up for your prom.” He snapped his fingers and pointed, “And the science fair.”