Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

"Kid Castle" they called him.

Actually, he kind of hated the name.  He was young enough to hate being called a kid.  The name sort of fit, alliteratively, especially if one considered his power.

Tommy was a teleporter.  He could, through his metahuman power and the direction of his mind, exchange himself with someone, or something, else of like mass.

So let's say that Tommy was trapped on a ledge, while Doktor Schreck stood on the opposite building and laughed his armored ass off.  Tommy could trade places with him.

It wasn't quite that simple, of course.   

"I don't get it."  That was Captain Zap, interviewing Tommy.

"Get what?"

"You call yourself 'Castle.'  I don't get it."

Tommy sighed, slightly.  He didn't want to blow the interview.  Cap Zap had been impressed with the way he handled himself during the Knights of Evil incident at the Empire State Building.  He invited him over to the Big Heroes' HQ -- that was when it was still down on the waterfront -- and Tommy was hoping against hope that he'd be invited to join.

"You know.  I can exchange myself.  Like a king."

Zap shook his head, clearly wondering what drugs Tommy was on.

"Chess.  Like in chess.  The king can castle, trade places with a rook."

"Ah."  Captain Zap had heard of chess.  Victor kept trying to talk him into learning the game.  Victor would have figured it out more quickly.  Zap was vaguely glad he was off on a mission in South America.  "So you can swap places with people."

"Yup."

Captain Zap was quiet for a moment.  "Kid, that's a really dumb power."

Tommy blinked.  Well, to be honest, he thought it was kind of dumb, too.  It could be useful at times, but not something to build a super-heroing career out of.  There was a hard ball of something sitting in the pit of his stomach, and he knew it was all slipping away from him.

"I -- uh -- I can build things, too."

Zap took a sip of coffee.  "With your mind?"

"No.  In a workshop.  I can build gadgets.  Like that encasement sheath I trapped Fire in."

"Ah."  That was a much more enthusiastic sound.  "Weapons?  Things like that?"

Tommy nodded enthusiastically.  "Things like that.  I've got this utility belt of gadgets I carry around with me, and this gun that can take different cartridges, and I'm working on a jet pack, and --"

Zap held up a hand.  "Whoa.  Cool.  We can use a gadgeteer.  Haven't had one on the team since Mister Fix-it left for that big contract at GE.  And -- well, your other power might come in handy, too."  Zap smiled, got up, held out a blue-gloved hand.  "Kid, you're in."

Tommy grinned like an idiot, even as Zap continued, "And we'll call you Kid Castle.  That sounds a lot better."

Well, he had to admit, it did.  And he was lucky.  "Captain Castle" would have been really stupid.

*     *     *

The starship shuddered, as though a dozen great hands were pounding upon it with mailed gloves.  Beams of raw, coruscating energy splattered against the ships shields, some leaking through to the inertrum hull below, causing it to glow a bright cherry red.

On the bridge, Captain Magnus was the only one managing to stay on his feet, like a rock standing proudly against the waves.  "Helmsman, come about to course 207 stroke 5.  Weapons Officer, prepare the Klystron Beams and a full salvo of Mark 7 Tac-Nukes.  We'll show these planet-blasting scum that the Union of Worlds has had just about enough of their games."

"Sir!"  It was the chief engineer, Muldoon.  "Sir, if we take another hit like that, we'll be finished for sure!"

"In that case," said Magnus, his steely grey eyes fixing on the lead Roc Empire battle cruiser on the screen which filled the end of the high-tech bridge of the USS Quasar, "we'd better make every shot count."

Now that's more more like it, Tommy thought.  He knew he was better at science fiction than fantasy.  He took another sip of Coke.  Hmmm.  I wonder if Straczynski would like this story line better.  I could turn the Quasar into one of the White Stars, make Magnus into Sheridan, include some Minbari --

The phone rang.  "Talk to me," Tommy called out.  The voice activation feature on the phone picked up the words, focused the directional mic on his location, opened the line, and then repeated them to the caller.

"Tommy, it's Victor."  

As if anyone could mistake that voice.  "Hey, what's up, Vic?"

There was the briefest of pauses, which seemed odd.  Then the Big Heroes team leader replied, "I wanted to remind you of the luncheon today.  For our guests."

Damn.  I knew he was going to call about that.  Good ol' reliable Victor.  "I dunno, Vic.  I'm kind of busy here.  Cake in the oven.  Or some ceramic insulation for a project.  I might not be able to get away."

"We talked about this, Tommy.  You're a member of the team.  You should be here."

"Yeah.  You can hook an hors d'oevre tray to my chair and I can play R2-D2 for the crowd."  That sure sounded bitter, he thought, a bit surprised at himself.

"It's not that way, Tommy.  You're a valuable part of what we do.  We all want you here.  Donato, Tiger, Proteus --"

"Iris?" Tommy asked.  "Does she want me there?"

There was another pause -- a longer one this time.  That was an answer in and of itself.  "Tommy, this isn't about Iris.  You have responsibilities here.  And we have responsibilities toward you.  We --"

"Okay, okay.  Okay."  There was never any use arguing with Victor.  Whether he was right or wrong, he possessed an uncanny ability to make you feel like a jerk if you disagreed with him.  "I'll be there.  High Noon.  I'll be the one in the wheelchair. Ta-ta."

The phone picked up the phrase and turned off the phone.

Tommy sat there for several long moments, his blue-grey eyes staring unseeing at the screen.  At long last, he took a sip of Coke, only to find his glass was empty.

"Son of bitch!" he shouted, and threw the glass across the room, into the corner, where it broke into a dozen pieces against the guitar case there. "Son of a bitch," he murmured again, softly.

*     *     *

It was six months ago, almost to the day.  Gorgon was raiding a weapons depot up the coast, in Massachusetts, at Otis AFB.  Why?  Nobody ever found out what they were looking for, what they thought was there.  Sometimes even organizations of super-scientific criminals made mistakes.

The battle had ended up in downtown Boston.  Fleeing, the damaged Gorgon troop carrier had come down on top of a derelict apartment building, not too far from Breeds Hill.  This had led to that building, and three others, being engulfed in flames, while the Gorgon troopies tried to shoot it out with the Big Heroes.

It was a foregone conclusion that they would win.  They were the Big Heroes, after all.  Vector swung into action, knocking down the olive-armored soldiers left and right.  Tigerman was in and amongst them, too, cutting, slashing, wise-cracking and generally having a blast.  Iris was aboard the H-craft, firing back telekinetic bolts at any open target.

Kid Castle was working with Rococo.  From an adjoining rooftop, he'd castle with one of the Gorgon agents.  He'd take a few seconds scattering around some goodies he'd built -- vertigo grenades, tangler bugs, power leeches, fun stuff like that.  Then castle back to the other rooftop, leaving behind a Gorgon all wrapped up in that that crystaline goo that Rococo could spin.  He'd done this three times (Dumb power, my ass!), and was ready for the fourth.

That was when the screams started.

There were people in the apartment buildings.  They were marked as closed, do not enter, unsafe, all that good stuff.  Unfortunately, they were still better shelter than the street.  Or maybe they were junkies, using them as places to shoot up.  Or some other reason.  He never did find out.

"Rococo, set up slides."  Victor, even though he was in pitched battle, was shooting off orders in that calm, commanding voice of his, even over the radio.  "Tiger and I can handle these guys, Iris.  See if you can lower people to the ground.  Kid, you know what to do."

Sure.  Easy as pie. No problem. He glanced at Rococo.  

Donato shrugged.  "You heard the man," he said.  His eyes glowed blue, and his fingers wove a pattern, echoing the patterns of a crystalline slide from a window were some folks were trapped, screaming for help.

"Easy for you to say up here," Kid Castle quipped, but he was worried.  He'd been doing a lot today already, and he could feel his -- well, muscles were obviously the wrong term, but whatever internal mechanism allowed him to do this sort of stuff -- his powers strained.  He might not be good for long, but he'd pull his weight (literally).  

He looked over.  There, a person there, a man, shouting, smoke billowing out around him.  He felt his perceptions reach out, as though his vision were zooming in on the man, felt a brief moment of weightlessness --

-- and he was there, in the building, smoke choking, heat from the flames already nearly unbearable.  The man, in turn, was off on the rooftop across the way.

He looked around -- and could barely see two women and four or five kids huddled in the corner.  "Holy --"

And there was a roar, and something very big hit the back of his head, and he went down.

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Copyright © 2001 David C. Hill