The Tower (23 page)

“I take it no one else knows.”

“There are others, I'll tell you about them soon,” he answered. He then took off his mask. His face was the image of what I thought Wayne Halyard would look like, but his eyes were old, very old. “I never liked wearing that thing or even wearing clothes,” he said absently, shaking the mask. “It's too itchy.”

Inwardly, I laughed a little. Then, “You're shape-shifters,” I said.

Avenger nodded. “Go on.”

Oh, where to begin? “When I was with…Oriana…we were…” fumbling for words…couldn't tell him we'd been about to have…oh, no, I couldn't even bring myself to think it…. “She changed into some kind of a tree.” That image was burned into my mind. “Then, Deanna in the Containment Cell area.”

He sighed. “That is our true form. Like humans, we require rest. Our bio-rhythms differ from each other, so our rest periods occur at different times. That's why some of us remain up here during our sleep cycles; we can't continuously maintain our human shape. PowerGuy and I are the oldest of our kind, we don't require as much food or rest as the others.”

His speech patterns had changed. No more Mr. Tough-Guy act, I guess he didn't feel the need for it anymore. He continued, “The bell sound you hear is when our bodies regenerate; it doesn't take very long. We're able to maintain our form longer as we grow older—it takes practice and concentration.”

He proved his point by morphing into a copy of Repello, Skree, Deanna, and a few of the other Ultras. While it was still disturbing to see the shift, it was also sort of fascinating in its own way. Thankfully, he didn't morph into Oriana's image; that would've been a bit too much to take.

“Do you…uh…does your kind have red blood?”

“No,” he answered. “It's more like what you'd call ‘sap.' We're able to shift our molecular structure to appear human or any other form we wish to assume. In this state, if you took a blood sample it would appear to be just like yours. It is the same with our internal organs. It would take very sophisticated equipment to find the biological markers that differentiate us from humans.”

“So, that means, in this form you're the same as I am in every way?”

“As long as we can hold this shape, yes,” he replied. “If someone shot me or stabbed me, I'd bleed, just like you. Although we recuperate much faster and have a higher pain threshold than humans we can still be hurt. If we're injured beyond our regenerative abilities we die the same as your race does.” Silence for a bit from me; I had to think this over.

“And you have children,” I said. Not a question, really, I had seen those little trees.

“Yes. Our birthing periods are shorter than yours, approximately five months. Only one child is born to our kind every two years. We mate, just as your race does, and it is for life. Our kind, Skree and Blue Lancer, for example, they have been what you would call ‘married' for many, many years.”

“So I noticed.” Cute trees or no, seeing the two large trees together had been more than a little shocking, especially after what had happened in Oriana's room….

“…children you saw in the Containment Cells were the products of our labors to rebuild our populace,” he was saying. “Miracle Mistress is an excellent carer of the children; she, unfortunately, cannot have any of her own. We did try,” he added, a little defensively.

“You really are married,” I said, somewhat surprised. “And I thought she was just making it up.”

“Not at all,” he said simply. “It was a natural attraction. We don't live together as our bio-rhythmical sleep patterns are too different, but we still make time for each other. It's the quality and not the quantity,” he added.

Uh…yeah
. “Where's Oriana?”

“She's in her room. But,” he said, stopping me with a gesture, “you cannot see her now.” I was about to get up and board the Arrow—still didn't know how to fly one.

That sent me panicking. “No, no, I
have
to, have to apologize….tell her how I feel….”

“Not yet. She is under detention.”

“Why?!”

“Let me explain our situation first. Perhaps after listening to what I'm about to tell you, you will understand.”

And so, he told me.

Twenty-One: The World of Actu-urus

“We come from a world called Actu-urus,” he started. “That's the closest English approximation I can make. Its life cycle had run its course. Like many other civilizations, we were not immune to the ravages of disease, greed, war…” His voice trailed off. “Does it really matter?”

We'd been standing near the monument. Avenger moved to its side, out of respect and sat down on a nearby stump, continued relating his tale. I took a seat on the grass. “Our world was dying and we along with it, we once numbered almost 11 billion, at the end, that had been reduced to less than three thousand.”

He paused for a second, continued. “We built ships and escaped our world. For the longest time we roamed the cosmos, searching for a suitable world in which to live. We found nothing; the universe is a big place. The other ships which came with us, our people, they broke off and tried searching in a different part of our universe, we have not heard from them since we parted ways.

“At any rate, at last we hit upon the idea of the possibility of parallel dimensions, parallel worlds. We never found a world that was like ours in our galaxy. Theoretically, there should have been one…but there wasn't. Instead, when we looked through our instruments into this dimension we found this Earth. Most suitable: Bright sunlight and roughly 70% water which was more than enough to sustain us. The decision was quickly made to take a chance on coming here.

“Just as we entered the wormhole to come here, the real members of the Association came through, along with another ship. We went to investigate. The second ship held the remains of what you call the super-villains; they'd all been killed. The first ship had some survivors. Our race has the ability to not only shape-shift, but to also psychically ‘take' from other beings: Their thoughts, their feelings and their memories.”

“But,” I interjected, “how is that you act just like them?”

“Our race also has the capacity to feel, as yours does. Emotions are universal, as are many other concepts such as justice, family, friendship, and more. We simply matched our own people's personalities to the Association members whom they most closely resembled emotionally. Lawmaker, for example, was a member of our agricultural collective on our planet, Black Guardsman was a member of our police force. Deanna was known as the chief medical doctor among our people. Translated, her job title would be, ‘Health Giver.' She also was and is our finest warrior.

“Big Gelt,” he paused for a moment, “he's just very, very dumb, what your race would call ‘the village idiot.'” I laughed a little, BIG was pretty dense. On the other hand, I should have realized something was wrong when he said “drapes” instead of “curtains” when referring to catching crooks. Who was the dense one, really?

“He's actually quite harmless,” Avenger told me, “and he has a good sense of humor, so we keep him around as he represents the real Big Gelt most. He really does love doing his job.”

“He really didn't invent all those gadgets, did he?”

“No, the real Avenger did. He must be a remarkable person. Someday, I'd like to meet him and discuss technology, it would be enlightening.”

He paused a bit, and then continued his story, hands steepled on his brow. “Both ships had been damaged, life support systems were minimal. While their PowerGuy and Miracle Mistress were unconscious but otherwise impervious to harm, a number of them had already perished: DragonFlitta, Black Demon, many others. We restored their power and life-support systems, took the dead bodies with us for burial; it seemed the decent thing to do, after reviewing human customs.”

“You don't bury your dead?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Our laws demand that they be used as nourishment for our people. No,” he said, noticing the shocked look on my face, “we don't eat our dead. After we cease to exist, our bodies revert very quickly to a kind of mulch that's used as fertilizer. In this way, our death brings life to our kind.” He noticed the look on my face. “As disgusting as the concept is to you, we consider it the ultimate in species renewal.”

That was a twist. Sort of like cannibalism—then again, not.

“You were saying you were on their ship….” I prompted.

He nodded. “After we took the bodies back to our own ship, we intended to revive the real members of the Association and exchange information. However, before we could do so the portal malfunctioned. The coordinates were scrambled and the survivor's ship was sent to another dimension. The portal then closed, leaving them behind—and there was no way we could know where they'd gone. That was almost two years ago, my best guess is that they're still alive, trying to get back. We did try to find them, but with all the dimensions to select from, not to mention the planets….” He fell silent.

There was quiet for a time. Then, I restarted the conversation. “So, you actually met them, psychically took their memories, shapes and powers, resumed their duties and no one ever knew?”

“No one did until you arrived here. Black Guardsman didn't think you were smart enough to figure it all out.”
Great, thanks for the insult, BG
.

I got up for a moment, walked around for bit in order to digest all this. “Let me do a Cliff's Notes on this: You came here, and when I started asking around, it seemed that everyone had some kind of collective amnesia.” I didn't mention Wildcard. “You mind-wiped the entire planet, didn't you? I knew something didn't add up when there were no books written about you, no reporters, nothing. The only thing I found was a small article about an alien ship landing in the desert; yours, I presume?”

He nodded. “I imagine that someone, somewhere, found out. Once we mind-blocked everyone, we thought no one would be interested anymore.”

“Of course they wouldn't,” I answered. “How could you be sure unless you
knew
that no one would talk, because they
couldn't
?”

He looked ashamed. “We had to. It wasn't something we wanted. Call it selfishness, call it fear, we couldn't allow anyone to dig for details.”

“Like the eating…”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “To maintain any form we assume—and to reproduce—we require tremendous amounts of food and water. Our kind cannot digest meat; eggs and vegetables suit us best, and since we're ‘trees,'” he smiled a bit, “the water of this planet is more than sufficient.”

“What about the money? It must cost billions to keep this place going, pay all the personnel….”

“As the planet's ‘billionaire industrialist' I have the money printed up here,” he said blithely, and then his tone grew a bit more serious. “No one knows. To the people of this satellite, I
am
Avenger; to the people of this Earth we
ARE
the Association. And to keep the peace, it's vital they don't know.” Pretty slick plan, I had to admit.

“This place,” I pressed. “You don't actually take anyone here.”

“No. Those who say they've come here were actually mind-wiped. The machine that Mr. Wonderful operates on the bridge is more than just a monitor; it also doubles as a kind of memory-blocker, or a mind-wipe machine, as you'd call it. It's actually both: It can erase memories entirely or block selective ones. Painless and non-invasive, it can send out its waves anywhere. Your friends from the Commissary and the other personnel, they told you they were coming here?” What did I know, I actually thought there was a Pleasure World. He shook his head. “They never left the Tower, simply went back to their rooms and slept for four days due to a simple drug we gave them. We do repeat the memory-blocking process with them every five months or so as it doesn't last forever and…” he hesitated a bit, “we tried to erase your memories as well,” he admitted. “For some reason, the process didn't work on you, not entirely, and also on some of the people on this planet. Perhaps, perhaps you, like some others, are immune to it? It's a cliché, yes?” I had to laugh at that, the clichés were flying fast and thick at the moment. “Even if they suspect something is wrong, they cannot prove anything. Still, it was wrong.”

I was trying to fit all this into my little brain. I stood up, took a look at all the trees and nature; they'd feel right at home in this environment. Should have guessed all of it earlier on…Knower did.

Then I asked Avenger, “K figured it out, didn't he? He was a suicide? I found his last journal, you know.”

Avenger nodded and took out the notebook from the folds of his cape, handed it over without a word. Here was the proof all along and right now, it just didn't matter. “Yes. Believe me, please, his death was not of our doing. He is—was—intensely schizophrenic, a loner. Our race knows of no such mental illness. He trusted no one and my guess is that he couldn't live with what he discovered.”

He paused for a second. “We never found the other journals; I suppose he destroyed them before taking his own life. We found his body in his apartment one day after the last entry in this journal, he'd taken an overdose of pills. There was nothing we could do, so we buried him in an unmarked grave here. It's next to the main tombstone.”

His face wore a sad expression. “I'm sorry for him and for Oriana as well. We never told her, she was close to him as the real Oriana had been, and even though we didn't and still don't allow interspecies relationships, it was the kindest thing, we thought, to hide the truth from her.”

And that was why she never found him. She'd dragged me all over Portland in the search for someone long dead. K had known the truth and couldn't live with that knowledge.

But I could.

“You've allowed me to be with her,” I pointed out. “And the other Ultras didn't seem to think it was wrong. Why?”
Outside of the fact that she was a tree…
.

He shrugged. “She's always been a bit stubborn,” he replied. “On our world she was very independent. She's always had her own mind…and that's to her credit, even though it didn't sit well with our laws.” He hesitated, and then went on, “The other Ultras haven't said anything because they like you and they've been among humans too long. We've adopted many of your customs, observed interracial relationships, inter-cultural friendships and for this planet it works, most of the time, anyway.”

He paused a little and then continued. “When I first found out about the two of you I wasn't pleased. However, since our plan was that you'd one day return to your universe, the situation was acceptable. I know you mean her no harm and that you love her, you both make a nice couple.” He actually laughed a little at that old expression. “But as for anything further…” He shook his head. “That can't be permitted; it just goes against all our laws and if we're to continue our heritage then our line of people must be preserved. That's all I'll say, whether you agree with it or not.”

I had to know. “Does Oriana know about what you're doing? I mean, to the planet and everyone on this station?”

Again, there was a negative gesture. “No, she's the youngest of our group; only PowerGuy, Deanna, Mr. Wonderful and the Guardsman know. Others of our kind weren't told about our plan, the mind wiping, I mean. We thought it best they be unaware. Yes, they look like the real people, act like them and have more or less the same thoughts and feelings as the real Association members. They only know that there is a job to be done, and to avoid detection among the people of this Earth, it takes acting skills. I guess you could say we're rather talented in that regard.” He paused again, took out a small bottle of water from his cape, drank it down, stowed it away and then continued:

“As for the thoughts we took from the real members, many of them are incomplete, as you've no doubt figured out. But essentially, we are just like the people we've substituted for.”

“And Oriana…?”

“She really cares for you,” he stated. “She knows what you are, she never told me or anyone else but the emotions she has for you are true.”

For some reason, his explanation made me feel better. Oriana's love for me was real. And, I realized now with a sense of wonder…so was mine.
Put that on hold for later
. Another more pertinent question came to mind.

“What if the real Association ever returns?”

He considered the question. “We would leave, even though we've already physically adapted to this world. We think of this planet as our home, but in reality we have none. Our race, believe it or not, is a benevolent one; we could rule this planet or many others; we have no wish to. We learned from our own genocidal wars that ruling with an iron hand does not work for long, if ever. We are sworn to help, just as the real Association had sworn to help, without compensation or thanks. Our thanks is to live out our lives here—that's enough.”

I pondered what I'd just been told. When I was still in the hospital on my Earth, someone had given me a worn copy of an old sci-fi tale. It had to do with a race of aliens who controlled the planet at some point in the distant future. No wars, no diseases, the planet was almost Eden-like. It was only when the central character got a good look at his benefactors that all became clear.

They looked like devils. Demons: Horned, menacing and hideous, the images of nightmares from centuries past. And as benevolent as they were, it didn't stop the hero from being shocked to the core of his being. I now understood that feeling all too well.

“You're disappointed in us, what we've done.” Avenger looked up at me. I couldn't really call him “Avenger” anymore. “The Avenging Tree” perhaps? Inwardly, the thought of that made me almost laugh and cry at the same time; outwardly, I just sighed.

“Why?” I finally asked.

“For our preservation, of course,” he replied. “Put yourself in our position. For the preservation of your own life as well as that of your species, would you not have done the same?”