Take Us to Your Chief (19 page)

Abruptly, Kyle stood up, understanding the game had changed. No use whining about it. “You're right. You're absolutely right. Well, I gotta go. Have a good life, Ray. I really do mea
n that.”

Before Raymond could respond, the man he had once loved was out the door and gone like some old-time hero disappearing into the sunset. On the table in front of him was what was left of the ceramic coffee cup that Kyle had cradled, then crushed into a fin
e powder.

“Poor Kyle,” muttered Raymond as he turned to get a dustpan an
d brush.

That was that, and now it was over. Just another pothole in the road of Kyle's life. Things have to get better, h
e thought.

Seventeen minute
s later.

“It's not looking good, Kyle.”

Then again, it was never good when Kyle visited his lawyer. Just once, he'd like to walk into the woman's second-floor office and be told something positive. The so-called “law of averages” dictated that occasionally, even rarely, there had to be some good news emanating from all his legal tribulations. But unfortunately, his lawyer didn't practise that brand o
f law.

“Which case are we talking about thi
s time?”

In reality, there were a number of legal issues stemming from Kyle's status as an Aboriginal superhero. Also in reality, there was no possible way he could afford to have a full-time lawyer see to all his legal needs. Luckily, Amelia Staebler found the Native man's situation interesting and had offered her services pro bono. Well, maybe pro bono wasn't quite the correct term. She was writing a book about the legal implications of superherodom, with Kyle as her lab rat… or muskrat, in accordance with his Aboriginal heritage. She found things like tha
t funny.

Deep inside the hard drive of her computer, she located Kyle's file. “Where to begin… Well, let's start with that high school and those Junior 
A
teams. They don't want to settle. They want to go to court. Surprise, surprise, huh?”

Kyle let out a supersigh. “Chrissake, I used to like baseball an
d hockey.”

“Yeah, but they don't lik
e you.”

When Kyle had first manifested superpowers, he'd wanted to use them for good, like all the traditional superheroes he'd grown up reading about. Save damsels in distress, stop planes from crashing, shore up cracked dams, help kittens down from trees—all the normal stuff like that. That was his goal, anyway. But they're called goals because they may be aimed for but not necessarily achieved. Something he was now bitterly awar
e of.

So you couldn't be a decent and respected superhero without a decent and respected superhero name. Thus, he'd adopted the name Thunderbird, in honour of his heritage. Turned out this was a bad choice. Nearly a dozen sports teams were already using the name and felt Kyle's international fame as the so-called Thunderbird was an infringement on their trademark. These were the first of many suc
h lawsuits.

“I'm still working out the depositions, but it's not looking good, I'm sorry to say. They seem quit
e rabid.”

At times, he tried to figure out if there were some undertones of racism in these lawsuits. After all, he didn't remember Superman or Spider-Man or the Hulk going through all this. Or possibly the world just wasn't ready for all the social, legal and moral implications of an honest-to-goodness, real-life superhero. Otherwise he wouldn't so ardently need the services of Bayfield's best legal mind. Because, as luck would have it, this hero happened to be a gay First Nations man. But with his community college education, he eventually decided to leave those questions to those who get paid to ponder thes
e things.

“So what else?” h
e asked.

Ms. Staebler went through a litany of complaints, suits and cases. There was the bank just down the street that wanted him to compensate them for the wall and the vault he had destroyed while foiling a bank robbery. It seemed their insurance didn't cover acts of superstrength. And there were the Gilmans, who held him responsible for the heart attack of their elderly father, who was the first person to see him fly. Even his own community was distancing itself from him. After so many decades of trying to force their way into Canadian society by saying they as First Nations people were no different from and deserved the same rights as all Canadians, somebody like Kyle Muncy came along and threw a wrench into that argument. Add to that all the crazies and religious fanatics that either wanted to destroy him as a threat to humanity or worship him as some sort of messiah or god, and things were becoming difficult, and potentially dangerous, for the locals. Of course, there was also the matter of that aggressive children's advocacy group that held him responsible for all the injuries suffered by numerous children trying to imitate him flying, going through walls, and stopping cars and bullets. The list wa
s staggering.

“I don't know why I'm to blame for kids being so stupid. Don't they know I have n
o money?”

The smartly dressed woman leaned back in her chair. “I don't think it's necessarily about the money. They all know your financial situation. Any luck findin
g work?”

Kyle shrugged. “Not really. Seems I'm tainted. Who'd wanna hire me? I still get an offer or two a week from these far-off countries I can't pronounce, all wanting my help taking over the world. But I really don't want to leav
e home.”

“That's… that's probably a good thing.” She coughed into her hand. “Look, Kyle, I would normally tell somebody in your position to hang tough, but since you are the strongest man in the world there's not much point in saying that.” She let out a short chuckle at her own joke. “I'm doing what I can, but when you're special like you obviously are, people sometimes dislike that. In fact, as I'm sure you've realized, quite a few downright resen
t it.”

No wonder she wanted to paint him the colou
r blue.

“But I didn't ask for this. I never wanted this. I just want t
o disappear.”

“You'd be surprised how many people say that in my office.” Amelia managed a weak smile that did nothing to lift her client'
s spirits.

They tied up a few more legal odds and ends, and then Kyle left the lawyer's office for his next appointment. As he descended the flight of stairs to the ground floor, he could hear her typing away on her computer, feverishly writing up notes on their meeting, no doubt to be featured in her upcomin
g book.

Twenty-eight minute
s later.

“Right on time, as usual. How are you feeling today, Kyle?”

Last on the list: Dr. Gary Sparco, general practitioner and doctor to all the superheroes in the county. This, of course, meant just Kyle. The portly and mostly bald man seemed genuinely happy to see the man literally hovering in his examinatio
n room.

“Same as always,” he said, punctuating his declaration with
a shrug.

His words were almost lost in the hissing sound of the doctor taking his blood pressure, which was usually a futile endeavour. The results frequently didn't make much sense or contradicted the previous visit's recorded reading, but it was habit for the good doctor. Once, Kyle had somehow broken the doctor's automated blood pressure machine, so now Dr. Sparco took it manually. The portable ones were easier t
o replace.

Today, it seemed Kyle's blood pressure was 80 over 120, which was the opposite of most people and generally considere
d impossible.

“Kyle, one day you're going to send me to an early grave. You realize you don't make sense—at least your body doesn't. I'm telling you, you need
a specialist.”

On the far side of town, Kyle could hear a car screeching to a stop and a dog barking at the car i
n annoyance.

“You're tellin' me there's a specialist for my condition? That's news to me. Yeah, everybody wants to prod and poke me, run tests, and try and keep me in a lab to study. Goddammit! My lawyer got rich off fighting that one. Naw, you've been my doctor since I can remember. There's more to being a doctor than just how much medicine you know. There's also trust. And I trus
t you.”

Sitting down in front of his patient, the doctor did a quick visual survey of Kyle. Eyes looked good. Skin tone customary. Hair not falling out. Regular respiration. To Sparco, Kyle looked maddeningly normal an
d healthy.

“Wish I had your faith in me, Kyle, but as usual, I'll do my best. Any new symptoms or abilities t
o report?”

“Well, I think I'm beginning to attract animals. I'm not sure, but for the last week or so, there have been a whole lot of earthworms crawling up out of the ground around my house. Hundreds. Thousands. And as a result, lots and lots of robins have been swooping down on my lawn to eat them. Now, I've lived in that house forever, and I'm pretty sure that's not normal.” He paused for a second. “Kinda annoying, actually.”

Dr. Sparco wrote something down on Kyle's chart, shaking his head ever s
o slightly.

“Spontaneous abilities still manifesting themselves. I don't even know how to categorize this one. Possibly pheromones of some sort, but I'll add it to the list and do some research later. Okay, let me check the back of you
r throat.”

Kyle opened his mouth wide and discovered he could disconnect his jaw at wil
l now.

“This is also new,” muttered the good doctor as he peered down the man's throat. “That's enough, Kyle. You can… close your mout
h now.”

Kyle did as he was told, and his jaw slipped back into place. “Well?”

The doctor put his clipboard down and swivelled in his chair to face the patient. “Well, what? You know that even after all this time, this is as new and bizarre to me as it is to you. I don't know what to tell you, Kyle. We've run what tests we can, which as you know is difficult in itself. We can't draw blood because of that damn puncture-proof skin. So we're reduced to doing what we can with saliva, urine and stool samples. Your urine eats through our plastic and glass containers, so that makes things extr
a tricky.”

The lights in the room momentarily flickered. Kyle hoped it wasn'
t him.

“Can you at least tell me whether I'm getting better o
r worse?”

On the wall behind Dr. Sparco was a line of cartoonish body charts illustrating various organ and circulatory systems. Kyle had glanced at them on his first visit to the doctor's office and had long since memorized them. Another side effect of hi
s condition.

“I don't know. You keep manifesting new abilities all the time. So far, none of them are overly injurious to other people or yourself, but that may be only for now. And then you lose other ones. You no longer glow in the dark, as far as I can tell, so that's something. Other… I don't know what you would call them… powers… don't change. It's hard to tell.” The man looked frustrated. “This is new territory. I wish I could tell yo
u more.”

The room went silent, as silent as any room could be with Kyle's superhearing. Somebody not far away, just a block or two, was shouting out answers to a
Family Feu
d
episode.

“Kyle…?”

Kyle looke
d up.

“I'm sorry. You had such high hopes. You wanted to make
a difference.”

Kyle nodded, touched by the older man's empathy. “I talked to this elder on my reserve a few days ago. You know, looking for help trying to figure things out. Didn't know what he could offer me, him not being a particularly scientific kind of guy. But I'm getting prett
y desperate…”

“What did h
e say?”

Outside the window, clouds had overtaken the sun and the world had become a little gloomier. On the doctor's desk was a four-inch-long quartz crystal. Kyle picked it up, savouring the cold, glassy feeling in hi
s hand.

“He told me that he was taught that we were the land and the land was us. In a perfect world, we were to reflect each other. And if something is wrong with the Earth, then it makes sense that something will be wrong with us. It kind of makes sense, don't yo
u think?”

Living so close to a First Nations community, Sparco had always tried to keep an open mind about traditional Native beliefs. A good many modern medicines came from compounds originally developed by these so-called “primitive” people. So he nodded, wondering where the conversation wa
s going.

Gently squeezing the crystal, Kyle continued talking, remembering the conversation he'd had the preceding Sunday. “He thought maybe I was the Earth fighting back. I'm the first casualty of a war t
o come.”

“What does tha
t mean?”

“I don't know. I stopped trying to figure any of this out a long time ago.” Turning the cloudy semi-precious stone slowly in his hand, Kyle counted the six sides of smooth, angular coldness. “Why am I the way I am, Doctor?”

Dr. Sparco wasn't sure he was comfortable with where the conversation was going. “Kyle, you know we aren'
t sure…”

“But there are theories, aren'
t there?”

“Of course there are. There are always theories, but—”

“But some make more sense than others, don't they? Okay, Doctor, after all these tests and examinations, why do you think I am the way I am? You've read all the reports on the tests the government did, the tests you've done, all the resources of our fine society… Why am I the way I am? Why a
m I?”