Chapter 17

The galactic population that was aware of Earth tended to think of it as the planet of heroes.

Whether this was sarcastic or not depended a lot on which Earthlings the had interacted with – an errant villain or two had tried to establish extrasolar imperial holdings, several corporate enterprises in spreading human commerce to greater galactic empires had been met with some mixed success. But there were always, in counter balance, memories of Legacy I and Archive and The Servitor. Heroes that had, time and again, saved countless billions in their struggle against the wide range of existential risks that the universe continued to vomit up from its darkness and its chaos.

But so few people understood, to their core, what it meant to be the planet of heroes.

Joe J. Stubbs was not a hero. He had never donned a cape, never exposed himself to radiation on the off chance he had some kind of amazing powers waiting to be unlocked. He hadn’t even tried very hard to push himself to the Determination Threshold – and that was something most children did the moment they heard about it, just in the off chance they might be as cool as Skrayper or his sidekick, Buggo. He hadn’t even been that interested in the life and drama of capes and costumed crime fighters. When asked, he usually just said he liked Sloppy Joe because, like Joe, Joe was a regular Joe.

But despite that, Joe J. Stubbs had found himself at the edge of the solar system, in the United Nations Navy Watchtower-98, parked in the orbit of one of Neptune’s prettier moons, wearing the silver spandex that the space service had adopted since the 1970s. He scratched his belly as he leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, and reflected that the free college and chance to travel the world doing basic technical duties was actually not the primary reason to join the UNN.

The view was.

“I’m so bored,” Song said, leaning on his elbow as he flicked one of the switches on the big board that managed WT-98’s spread of advanced sensors. Infrared, spectral, emotive, deep thought, dark matter, dark energy, telescopic, radiographic, gravimetric, gravitoradiometric, and even magical. All of them were controlled here – and in large part, Song and Joe were themselves only there to ensure that the computers that did most of the actual work didn’t break down and to make the decisions that computers couldn’t make without getting Turing certified.

And apparently, all those computers hated being put out at the edge of the solar system. Something about the light lag communication issues.

“Another glorious day in the navy, Song,” Joe said, reaching under his chair to take out one of his cans of beer. He popped the tab and sipped from it. “Thank god for artificial gravity.”

“You know you shouldn’t drink on duty,” Song said.

“This is just my morning perk me up,” Joe said, waggling his can.

Joe knew that the entire UNN was on high alert. But the simple fact was that the Tormentium fleet that was barreling down on the solar system – and on Earth in particular – was too large to sneak up. They would have plenty of warning, one way or another. He drank his beer, while Song scowled and started to do some make-work on the computer system. Joe finished his beer. He nodded with satisfaction, then stood and slapped Song on the back. “Want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, I’m good,” Song said.

Joe ambled to the kitchen in the back of the watchtower. There was a tiny replicator, which Joe had decorated with a pinup of Legacy II giving her little V for victory symbol, and he started to tap in the burrito that he preferred. Song called out from the cockpit.

“Actually, wait, no, I want a burrito!”

“Got it!” Joe said. “ ... do you want it spicy or extra spicy?”

“Vegetarian.”

Joe tapped at the replicator. He hummed under his breath. “So, did you see the latest vidcast of the Dolphins against the Steers?” he asked, opening the replicator and taking out a pair of burritos, wrapped in freshly fabricated foil to keep them warm. He started back for the door. “I was sure that-”

He stopped at the door to the cockpit.

Poised over Song was a creature of darkness and bindings. Cloth wrapped around leathery skin, and chains shimmered and fluttered around their back – not quite connecting to the skin, but simply floating there. The chains clinked ever so softly, but the only noise that truly came from the creature itself was a low, ragged breathing. Its eyes, barely visible behind the mummy-like wrapping covering its face, were brilliant red, and they glared at Joe. Joe kept holding his burritos. His eyes dipped down to Song. The kid’s head was speared into the console – his jaw hanging open, his eyes bulging, blood bubbling from his nose, his mouth, from the crater that had been punched into his skull.

Say nothing.

The voice hissed into Joe’s mind, and froze his bones and blood solid. He had never been more terrified in his life. Not when the kaiju kicked in his grandparent’s front door when he was twelve, not when he had hidden in the bunkers during the war of 99, not when he had nearly hit that kid who had swerved into traffic on a bike. Never. It was primordial. No. Deeper. It was as if that voice was something older and darker than even ancient jungles and dark caves.

It was the voice of the space between stars.

Joe remained perfectly still, his eyes wide, his knees trembling, as the figure yanked the chain out of Song’s body. The kid’s copse hit the floor as the creature flowed along the ground – it moved less like a person, and more like ice tossed onto a skillet. It came to the computers and began to click and tap away with long fingers. Flicking switches. Adjusting dials. Joe had served in the United Nations Navy for a solid twenty five years and knew exactly what the thing was doing.

It was opening a hole. Small enough to go unnoticed.

Big enough to let the entire fucking Tormentium fleet through.

Joe was not a hero. He didn’t have powers. He didn’t have training. He didn’t have willpower. He was just a man.

“Y-You killed him,” he whispered.

And do I need to kill you, as well?

Joe had been wrong. It wasn’t the voice of utter void. Joe was pretty sure the void wouldn’t care about him, one way or another – this thing did care.

It wanted him to hurt.

Joe’s eyes closed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t look at the blood, at the horrible thing ... no. It was that he was thinking of everything in his life he hadn’t done yet. Things he had put off, or said he’d manage later, once he had retired and could buy one of those real nice body sculpts. Joe was a bit sclubby – chubby, if you were kindly inclined. He didn’t shave. His face was scruffy. He had a nose that had never pleased him, and his hair was decidedly receding. But all that could have been fixed with a nice chunk of change – then ... then...

All that stuff he was going to do.

He breathed in, slowly. “H-Hey ... asshole,” he said.

The creature turned.

Joe dropped his burrito and then forced his arm to move. He slammed his palm down on the computer alert panel. “Watchtower-98 sending-”

Pain. The pain that slammed him back against the wall was as shockingly intense as anything in his life. His hand clutched at the chain that had burrowed into his flesh and wrapped around his heart. He could feel the cold iron, biting into his flesh, digging deeper and deeper with every second. The flaming eyes of the beast glared at him, hissing. Be. Still.

Joe clenched his jaw. Pain had ceased being something to measure. It had become all encompassing. All consuming. An agony so intense that it nearly blotted out sanity itself. But ... he realized something, deep within his thoughts, something he would have realized, had he not been terrified out of his wits before. Something that became obvious, with the chain wrapped around his heart.

The fail safe. If the watchtower lost the life signs of both crew, it would send an alert. He was being kept alive because the stupid fucking computer had to be kept quiet until...

The figure was leaning over the console again.

“H-Hey...” Joe hissed.

The creature turned back, glaring. Joe tried to think of something, anything to say. Then he remembered the oath he swore. He had never believed it. It was just free college, after all.

“Ad Astra ... fucker,” Joe hissed.

He yanked the chain out of his chest, his heart coming free with a crunch. His eyes closed – and the pain lapsed. And with it, satisfaction.

A planet of heroes.

Even after the War of 99, Darkthornn never understood that.

Bryant and Barbara walked together to the mail box at the corner of the street. Well, Bryant walked, Barbara wheeled along in her chair and kept sneaking glances at him. Her eyes narrowed at his abs, visible through his tight T-shirt. “Did you make yourself more ripped in your normal form using your powers?” she whispered.

“No, those just kinda happened, no idea why,” Bryant said, genuinely confused. “I was actually working out the exact way I would do it, if I needed to do it.”

“Really?” his sister asked.

“Yeah,” Bryant grinned. “Ever since Dad basically explained that you can make these complicated powers easier by adding in easily grasped flaws, I’ve really had a lot easier time thinking it out like, in numbers, moving them around on a spread sheet.”

Barbs snickered. “I thought that was my job, I’m the big nerd.”

Bryant snickered. “Do you ever think it makes superpowers less super to do that kind of thing, though?” he asked. “It’s so easy to go, ‘oh, just making some if/then statements, moving around some dots, flip the switch there ... not exactly the font of magic and mystery.”