Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (3 page)

Peter put down his newspaper.  “
YOUR
code name means ‘liar’, what does that say about you?”

Wyatt glared at him.  “Yeah, but
that’s not the definition of ‘Fabricator’ I was going for, and you know it!  It
means ‘to construct’.  Besides, it wasn’t even
MY
idea.  You can blame
Mom
for that one.”

God, he hated that name.  Peter was
right, it completely sucked.  One of these days, he’d have to file a petition
with the board of the Freedom Squad to change it.  The whole idea of code names
was stupid; he wanted to simply go by Wyatt.  He didn’t look forward to that
hassle though.  The Squad LOVED its mountains of paperwork.  The licensing
deals
alone
would take months to sort out.  Once they gave you an
idiotic code name, you were pretty much stuck with it.  The only way around it
was to “die” and then come back to life, which allowed you to
briefly
get a new name and wear a new costume, but even then you had to go back to the
original one within a couple years.  You were imprisoned by stupid code names
and stupider capes.  Not even
death
could free you from the bureaucracy
of this place.

Peter took his feet off the table. 
“Listen Wyatt, I’m telling you this for your own good.  The people around here…
they aren’t that great.  And I KNOW you see that too.  You’re just trying to
ignore it right now, that’s all.  The heroes we work with… they aren’t terribly
heroic, pal.  Not inside.  The system is breaking down. 
Things are changing
.”

Wyatt stood up.  He was sick of
hearing Peter’s nonsense.  The people here weren’t perfect, but who was?  The
villains?  They were villains for a reason; because they were
villainous
. 
Besides, he quite literally had nowhere else to go.  This was the only home he
had ever known, and he didn’t want to toss that aside based solely on his
brother’s vague feeling and his own difficulties connecting with the rest of
the team.

“So they aren’t perfect? 
AND
? 
What do YOU suggest doing, Pete?  Huh?  Why don’t you look into that crystal
ball you call a brain and tell me where all this is heading?”

Peter sighed.  “Oh, I’m afraid this
is something you’re going to have to figure out by yourself, Wyatt.  I can’t
tell you what to do this time.  You’re on your own.”

Wyatt turned to face him in
surprise.  “On my own?  Why?”

Peter shrugged.  “Gotta find your
place in the world, Bro.  I’ve made my choice.  You need to make yours.”

Wyatt leaned against the back of
his chair.  “And what choice are we talking here?”

“The choice where you decide if
this is really the life you want, or if this is merely the life that was chosen
FOR you.”  He carefully folded the newspaper.  “I know exactly where I’m going,
Wyatt.  I’ve known from the second I came into this world.  I know what I have
to do and why.  You need to decide that too, or all of this is for nothing.”

“All of
what
is for
nothing?  Helping people?”

Peter laughed.  “That’s not what
we’re doing here and you
know it
.  If you were honest with yourself you
would see that.”  He pointed towards the dorms.  “You think that asshole
Captain Dauntless gives a shit about ‘the people’?  Hell no.  He only cares
about the people when they’re out purchasing all the stuff plastered with his
image and buying him free drinks.  The rest of the time, ‘the people’ are just
ants to him; sheep that he can sheer or slaughter as he sees fit.”

Wyatt walked away from the table
towards the command computer.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  We’re
SUPERHEROES, goddammit!  That’s the whole point!  We
help
people!”

“Do we?  Do we really?”

Wyatt nodded.

Peter looked skeptical, but was apparently
willing to let it drop.  “Whatever you say.”  He shrugged.  “If you want to
continue ‘
helping people,
’ than this is certainly the place to be.  Millions
of people will receive this special brand of
help
in the coming years. 
I
however, have other plans.”

Wyatt frowned in confusion.  “Really? 
Where are you going?  You’re… you’re really leaving?”

“Me?” Peter laughed.  “No.  Hell
no.  I’ll work here until I die.  I’m in this for
life
, Wyatt.  You,
however, you can do whatever you want to do.  You aren’t shackled to this
place.  Mom and Dad wanted you to work here, but you don’t have to.  You’re
your own man.  You’re better than the rest of the people here, and were made
for…
memorable
things.”

Wyatt scowled.  What a creepy thing
to say.  His brother was always saying stuff like that though.  He just liked
the mystery of it all.  Hell, he said stuff like that about the movies they’d
go to see.  Wyatt would ask him if the movie was going to be any good, and
Peter would say something cryptic like “Depends on your point of view.”  Or
“The film will succeed in that which it intends.”  Or “That is for YOU to
decide, Wyatt.”  It was strange.  Like trying to get a straight answer from a
magic-8 ball on what the weather was going to be like on a particular day; don’t
“
Ask again later
” me, you asshole!
 Is it going to rain next
Wednesday or not!

Peter leaned back in his chair.  “You
ever hear the story of the Tortoise and the Hare, Wyatt?”

Wyatt stared at him for a beat. 
Was he serious?  The only thing more annoying than his brother’s creepy
sounding fortune-telling was the way Pete
constantly
dropped mangled Aesop’s
Fable things into everyday conversation, like they contained the answer to all
of life’s mysteries and no further comment on the issue was necessary.  He did
it CONSTANTLY!  Sometimes in the middle of a fight with villains!  It was
so
annoying! 

Wyatt rolled his eyes.  “No, man. 
Don’t know that one… because I’m a complete FUCKING MORON.”

Peter laughed.  “But do you know
what it means?”

“You’re really asking me that? 
Really?”
 
Peter’s expression didn’t change, so the question apparently wasn’t
rhetorical.  “Fine.  Slow and steady, and all that?”

Peter shook his head.  “To modern audiences
that’s the moral, yes,” He held up a finger.  “…but to the ancients who wrote
it, the moral was something else entirely.  To them, the story wasn’t about the
success of the tortoise; it was about the
failure
of the hare.”  He
paused to let what he apparently thought was an important distinction sink in. 
“To them, the moral was that the hare was beaten by the lowly tortoise, because
it didn’t live up to its full potential.  The
HARE
beat the hare, not
the tortoise.  The tortoise could have been slow and steady forever, could have
had the BEST race of its life, been faster than any tortoise had ever
dreamed
of being, but the hare would have STILL crossed the finish line first had it done
what it was capable of doing.  But the hare wasn’t paying attention to its
opponent.  It played the
tortoise’s
game, when it should have made the
Tortoise play
his
.  
THAT’S
why it lost.  So, the moral of the
story is that you should run every race full out, and always watch your enemies,
or something far slower can leave you in the dust.  Because even the seemingly
inept can surprise you at times.”

Wyatt blinked at him.  “Wow, Pete. 
You’ve managed to change a motivational story about doing your best into…”+

Peter smiled and cut him off.  “A fable
about doing your best, only in reverse.  The fable isn’t meant to be
motivational, it’s meant to be a grim warning about NOT doing your best.  It’s
a cautionary tale.  You just sit around waiting, instead of doing all you can
do, and your enemies will destroy you.  The hell with slow and steady; run as
fast as you can, every race. 
Play to win
.”

Wyatt made a low whistling sound. 
“Okay… super.  Thanks for that, man.  Really cleared some shit up for me.  You
should be sure to tell the rest of the team too, I’m sure they would appreciate
it.”

Peter shook his head.  “I don’t
want them to win any races.”

Wyatt laughed, again.  “You’re
really down on the rest of the crew today, huh?  Jeez.  They’re your
co-workers, dude.  How about a little company pride?”

Peter smiled humorlessly.  “Yeah. 
I’ll get right on that.  This place is filled with people who have already made
the very same decision that you’re going to have to make.  Whether they made
the correct decision or not depends on who you ask, but they made their choice,
and you will make yours.  The gun has sounded and the race is now under way. 
If you want to ‘help people’ the Dauntless way, then stay here.  If not… well,
there are other options for you out there.”

Wyatt squinted, trying to understand
where his brother was going with all this.  “But you’re staying here?”

“Don’t have a choice.  Don’t worry
though, I’ll still help you out from time to time.”

“And I’m going to have to do all of
this… when exactly?”

Peter laughed.  “Only when you’re
ready.  Don’t worry.  It’ll all work out.  Trust me.”  He stood up.  “Well, we
better get going if we’re going to get to that call in time.  Busy day.  Have
an appointment to keep, after all.  Don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to question
what Peter was talking about, when the computer sounded the alarm indicating an
emergency.

Peter smiled.  “Told you.”

They both ran towards the jet,
meeting up with Kristine along the way.  They were the only three on duty
today, but it was only a minor problem, so calling the rest of the team in
shouldn’t be necessary.  Hell, they wouldn’t come anyway.  They were off on
another self-promotion endeavor trying to get the stock price up.  Wyatt STILL
didn’t believe a heroic organization should be a publically traded stock
interested in making a profit, but no one had asked him. 

They entered the hanger bay and ran
up the gangway. 

Halfway up, Peter slapped his
forehead.  “Dammit!  I forgot my utility belt in the War Room!  I’m going to
need that!  Dude, can you go grab it real quick?  We’ll wait here.” 

Wyatt nodded and took off back to
retrieve it. 

Peter called out to him as he left. 
“Be careful, Bro.  See you soon.”

Wyatt turned and smiled.  Another
creepy moment courtesy of Peter.  Whatever.  He raced through the command
center, and into the War Room.  He looked around for the missing belt.

Let’s see… where was Peter sitting?

To Wyatt’s surprise, in the spot
Peter had formally been occupying, he found a large stack of numbered envelopes
and a sheet of paper.  He picked it up and read the two lines of text:

Silly Rabbit, I’ve never
forgotten anything in my entire life.  What happens isn’t your fault.  Like I
said, I was born knowing all of this.  Take it easy and good luck in the race,
P.

Wyatt swore and ran back towards
the hanger bay, only to find the jet gone.

Shit.  SHIT! 
SHIT!!!

Wyatt had no idea what was going on
here, but it was certainly out of the ordinary.  And out of the ordinary was
not good when you were talking about Peter.  In fact, he was pretty sure it was
bad.  VERY bad.  Whenever his brother used his weird creepy powers like this,
it always meant trouble. 

Always.

Fifteen minutes later, Wyatt was
arriving at the scene of the robbery on the Liberty Cycle.  He always preferred
taking the jet, because he hated even being seen on the bike.  He felt utterly
ridiculous.  Why couldn’t they just have regular cars?  WHY did they have to
drive such stupid looking ostentatious things around?

He got off the bike and made his
way through the parking lot telling himself to relax.  It was a fairly ordinary
call.  Certainly nothing to get too worked up over.  Kristine and Peter could
handle it themselves.  It wasn’t like this was…

And that’s when he saw the blood. 

Lots of blood.

Three and a half minutes later, the
screaming started.

A
hound pursued a hare for some distance, sometimes biting at him, and at other
times fawning all over him, as if in play with another dog.  The hare said to
him, "I wish you would act sincerely with me, and show your true colors. 
If you are a friend, why do you bite me so hard?  If you are an enemy, why do
you fawn on me?”  Moral of the story?  No one can be a friend if you don’t know
whether to trust or fear him.

4 Years later

Harlot sat in the meeting room of
the Consortium of Chaos feeling like an idiot.  She had,
once again
,
failed to steal the Cockrum Diamond, and she had just finished breaking the
news to the group.  She braced herself for yelling.  She was in for it now. 

Her father paced back and forth at
the front of the room in agitation, his handlebar mustache bristling.  “Child,
you were
chosen
for that charge because of your competence in your
craft!  Now, that has clearly collapsed.  What a catastrophe!”

She sighed.  Being the only
daughter of a man named “Commodore Cruel” had its disadvantages.  For one
thing, you had to be seen with him when he was in costume, and his uniform was…
rather extreme.  As if on cue, he removed his hand from his frock coat, and took
off his chartreuse Napoleon style Cocked hat and placed it on the table, the
cockade of Consortium of Chaos colors was facing her.  He leaned over to meet
her gaze, his aggravation visibly lessening.

“Cupcake, I’m concerned.  You must
concentrate on your career!  Not conceiving castle-in-the-sky contrivances. 
Center yourself.”

She scowled.  “It’s not liked I
asked
them to double the security around the diamond, Daddy.  They just
did
. 
They seemed to KNOW that we’d go for it or something.  Maybe we’re getting too
predictable.”  She shrugged helplessly.  “Anyway, I’ll get the diamond
eventually.  They can’t keep it safe from me for long.  At this point, my
stealing it is a matter of
professional pride
.  We’ll
get it
.”

Her father nodded and put his hat
back on with a flourish.  “Capital.  Communicate again when you’re in the
clover.”  He sat back down.  “The conference will now continue.  The Chair
contacts Missile-Tow to come out with a chronicle of the current case in the
Weapons canton.”

Holly stood up, straightening her Santa
hat.  “Yeah, thanks C.C.”  She cleared her throat.  “The Weapons Department is
happy to report that we have worked out the bugs in our weather machine design.”

The Commodore leaned forward in his
chair.  “So, it’s close to completion?”

Holly shook her head.  “Ummmmm…  I wouldn’t
go
that
far.  But the design is finished.  We just need to get a few
parts.  I’ve got my elves in R&D working on tracking them down right now.” 
She picked up a stack of folders.  “In other news, I’ve finished the
preliminaries on this new idea I have, where we buy a Christmas tree farm and
retrofit our crop with tiny robots which will conceal themselves in the trunks
and then spring out on our command and wreak havoc.  The key will be getting
important people to purchase trees from
our
lot, but I think I have a
way around that.  I’ve included my sketches and cost assessments in the
portfolio I’m passing around.”  She started handing out file folders.  “I’m
also consulting with The Mortician’s guys in the Medical Department and we’re
doing some neat stuff with these little nanobot things, and trying to get them
to burrow into people’s brains and allow us to control their thoughts.  I’m
thinking of turning it into a fragrance line.”  She grinned.  “Pretty cool.  I
think all the little boys and girls are going to be asking for it this
Christmas.”  Her eyes twinkled in excitement.  “Speaking of which, and on a
personal note, I’m sure you’ve all noticed that it’s
almost
Christmas,
and don’t worry.  I talked with my dad last night and put in a good word for
all you guys.  Fingers crossed that you’ll make Dad’s ‘Nice’ list this year.  I
can’t promise anything,
BUT
…”

The table erupted in applause. 

Harlot didn’t know why they were so
excited.  Holly promised that every year, and every year, the only person who ever
got what they asked for was Holly, which was
completely
unfair.  She was
the most “Naughty” person Harlot had ever met, and she worked with DOZENS of
super-villains on a daily basis, so that was saying a lot!

Holly sat back down and
straightened the fur trim on her red velvet Santa skirt.  She looked over at
Harlot.  “Well, those nanobots will work as long as they don’t run on
diamonds
anyway.”  She smiled sweetly.  “We seem to be having
trouble
getting
those recently, don’t we?”

Harlot gave her the finger, and
Holly giggled.  Holly was always like that.  She thought she was just the
funniest person around.  A perpetually skinny, jolly bombshell, who never lost
an opportunity to crack a joke at your expense, but was just so damn sweet
about it that you couldn’t hold a grudge. 

Holly was a REAL villain; hardcore
and universally feared.  She always had something evil cooking in her
all-too-cute little head, and the city trembled when she walked the streets.  If
Holly wasn’t her best friend in the world, Harlot would have absolutely HATED
her.  Hell, she WAS her best friend and she STILL spent a great deal of time
hating her.  She had a good mind to tell the bitch off when they went Christmas
shopping and had lunch tomorrow.  Holly LOVED to Christmas shop… despite the
fact that it was in NO WAY close to the Christmas season.

Harlot, for her part, was never one
to pay too much attention to jokes and the like.  Not while she was on the job
anyway.  Super-villainy was a serious business.  True, it was often a LOT of
fun, but it was still something that needed to be done with a certain amount of
decorum.  Harlot was
always
on the job… even though she was actually
very rarely ON a job.

She didn’t really get to do a lot
around here, so whenever she was on an official job, she tried to treat it
seriously.  Well, more seriously than
Holly
did anyway, which wasn’t
very.  That was why Harlot chose to go by her code name at all times.  You
never knew when you might need to spring into action and a civilian identity
would slow you down.  Well, that and the fact that she hated her “real” name, but
that was beside the point. 

A chance to do something that
MATTERED could happen at any moment, and Harlot would be ready for it when it
did.  One day, a critical situation would arise and SHE would be the one to take
the lead on it.  She’d be the important one, not just the one stealing things
the others needed or freeing them from jail.  One day, she’d step into the
center ring of Villainy and everyone would look to
her
for what to do
and it would be awesome.

Her current work here was all very
simple though.  The others had a job to do, and unless they were really
dedicated, it would never get done.  There were things that NEEDED to happen,
and she knew from bitter experience that the other members here… well… they
often got distracted, and then the necessary things wouldn’t take shape.  So,
she didn’t mind helping them.  If it never got done, then they’d have to
disband or something, and she would NEVER let that happen.  She would pick up
the slack and carry them on her back towards victory, if need be. 

At one time or another Harlot, had
worked in every department here.  Usually as just a gopher, but she always made
the effort.  This group would last as long as she still had breath left in her
body.  She would MAKE SURE OF IT.  She had even helped out while she was at away
at college.  She drove down and did jobs or broke someone out of prison on
more
than a few occasions.  Every break and weekend, she was here.  After school she
returned, eager to get back at it full time.  This is what she wanted to do. 
Her calling.  Where she belonged.

And honestly?  She missed them too
much to leave for long anyway.  Not just her father; the whole crew.  The
Consortium of Chaos was her FAMILY and she wasn’t about to abandon them.  They
were evil, sure, but they ALL were, so it didn’t matter.  As long as you
accepted that everyone here was selfish and out for themselves most of the
time, it really didn’t interfere with the friendly and loving atmosphere.

This organization had been through
a lot over the years.  Failure heaped on failure, but they kept going.  Every
now and then they’d get a minor “win” and that was worth the years of near
constant disappointments.  She’d look around the big conference table and see
the joy on her family’s faces…

 Well, perhaps
joy
was too
strong a word, as most of them were pretty dourer and/or homicidal most of the
time.  In fact, some of them were seemingly incapable of EVER smiling, but one
day…
One day
, they would win at something big, and then there would be
this shining moment where her entire evil family was happy.  That thought kept
her going through all the losses and prison terms they suffered, and the long
hours she was forced to sit around while waiting for them to need her for
something.

Her father called on the next department. 

The Librarian straightened her
glasses and looked down at her ledger.  “The Accounting Department reports that
conditions are within acceptable parameters, and that no irregularities have
been discovered in this week’s audit.  I have examined the books, and all
departments are running within approved budget limitations, with the exception
of the Department of Curses and Magical Projects.  They have exceeded their
budget by 7.238%, as of sixteen-and-a-half minutes ago.”  She turned the page
in her ledger, which was rather unnecessary as she undoubtedly had the
information memorized anyway.  “All Consortium property is logged in and
accounted for.”  She closed the ledger.  “Everyone can submit their 627 forms,
and I will cut you all your paychecks by five this evening, Eastern Standard
Time.”

She sat down.

The Commodore turned to glare at
the end of the table.  “Catapulting costs in Magical Projects?   Doctor
Heterodox, care to clarify the condition of your crew’s contributions?”

The Doctor stood up, pulling his
cape around himself trying to look more regal and important.  “My Department
REQUIRED
those funds, Commodore!  We had to procure the
Gateway to Troxseniosis
,
a mystical object of untold elemental power!”

The Commodore nodded.  “And what
conduct does it carry out?”

“Well, we have plans for its
future…”  The Doctor stalled.  “I think it might one day…”

The Commodore was unimpressed, and
cut him off.  “And
currently?
”

The Doctor sat back down, looking
dejected.  “As of yet, we have only been able to use its staggering mystical
powers to allow access to free satellite television.”

Holly gave a cheer of approval.  “Okay! 
Now we’re talking!
  Do we get porn?  Or one of those all hockey channels? 
Because that’d be pretty sweet!”

Harlot sighed.  “Just because it
doesn’t…”

The Cynic talked right over her
like she wasn’t even speaking, and glared at Holly.  “Be serious, Holly!”  He
turned to look at the Doctor.  “How about that game show network?  Can the
mystical paperweight get us that, or will we have to upgrade to a premium
package?  ‘Cause I’ll throw in a couple bucks, and I know Cory would be in as
well.”

Harlot frowned.  No one ever
listened to her at these things.  It wasn’t fair.  They literally were only AT
the meetings because she broke them out of jail.  For the most part, they still
ignored her though, unless they wanted an update on something they needed her
to steal for them.  Unfair.

The Commodore scowled and ignored
the comments.  “Clearly the costs of that contraption will be considered when
computing your cut of the currency compensation, not counting the conserved costs
of our current contract with the cable company.”  He gestured to another
person.  “Human Resources; commence with conversation.”

Henchmen stood up.  “Uh, yeah.  Gabe
isn’t here right now.  He’s running late… I don’t know where he is.  But I’m… I’m
kind of trying to fill in here while he’s gone… if that’s okay?” 

Harlot wasn’t surprised that Gabe
was MIA.  She was betting that there was probably a woman involved; there
usually
was
when dealing with Gabe. 

Hench shifted nervously on his
feet.  “I mean, I know I didn’t ask permission or anything, but no one else was
here to do this, so… Ummm… Yeah…Taxidermist is in the hospital, as I’m sure you
all know.  I uh… I have a ‘get well soon’ card you can all sign… if you want.  Anyway,
all other personnel have reported in.  Well, all except Oversight.  Honestly, I
forgot to contact him.  And Traitor… who’s… well… not here either, obviously. 
He apparently turned himself in to the cops for the reward money offered on
himself.  And Pak is
never
here, so he didn’t report in either. 
Everyone else says they’re okay though… well… the ones who would actually
talk
to me anyway… But… but they all said they’re umm… fine.”  He sat back down.  
“By the way Harlot, Traitor used his one phone call to let us know that you
have to come break him out of jail now.”  He paused.  “Whenever you’re ready.”

Harlot gave an astonished gasp. 
“But he turned HIMSELF in!  Why do I have to break him out!?!  It was his
CHOICE to go!”  Her eyes narrowed.  “And you know DAMN well he’s not even going
to cut me in on that reward money…”

She sighed again.  She hated
meetings.  They were always dull as hell, especially since she never got to DO
much.  And NOW she apparently had to go free Arnold from jail.  Super.  That
should be fun.