Chapter 2: In the Hallowed Halls

Julie Had spent little time in this part of the Champions Club Complex. The Museum of Superheroes was one of Chicago's Most visited tourist attractions. Within it's cavernous confines could be found displays of the memorabilia of seventy-five years of America's greatest Superheroes. Some exhibits had the actual costumes and accessories used by the masked men and women now legends in books and movies. She had agreed to bring Terry here first as he had been here many times but never with a guide who was so knowledgeable as she. She found it curious how much Terry did know about the heroes of days gone by, and their fictional selves as represented in movies and comic books, of which Terry had an encyclopedic knowledge. "Let's start along this wall shall we?" Her finger pointed in the direction of the museum labeled "The Early Days" She had duties to perform here anyway, with the museum closed today so the displays could be moved around to make room for a memorial to the fourth Rocket Man. Much of that equipment was obsolete now anyway so rather than being in the way across the street at the Control center it would be housed here. It would be a good and fitting home for the suits of armor and some of the control gear which would not meet the new 5.0 standard. The new standard was an ambitious departure from the safe, step by step, careful progression of technology that had defined the program so far. Julie Had only taken over as Project manager 3 years ago when her father, Howard Jr.(or Howie as he was known) left the post to join the board of directors of the Rocket Man Foundation. She could tell that Terry had already surmised that the first program entirely presided over by her as lead engineer would be necessarily bold. The press had been flogging her. Not her in particular but the faceless "Eggheads" at the RMF who think a guy in a "tin" suit still counted as a superhero. Many super villains could now punch straight through many steel alloys at a thickness of greater than half an inch. A common Steel alloy or even the extremely durable non-ferrous materials from which the last armor was made would simply not remain effective on the battlefield, even a few years down the road. It wasn't solely a question of alloys either. Harry's new molecular machine concept (when reinforced with force field technology) would take punishment no armor before would stand up to. But it was the power plant that was her crowning achievement. And perhaps her undoing if it didn't work. She had "bet the farm" as her grandfather liked to say, on speed. This was why she needed a pilot not a scientist at the controls of this machine, it would have flight characteristics that would punish a non aviator. In order to get the full advantage of its speed and maneuverability it would require a particularly talented pilot indeed. That is what she looked for in all of those files she had pored through. She had began to think that perhaps she should lower her standards when she opened the file of this man now walking through the museum at her side. He was everything she wanted and more. So much more. It gave her hope that this man had come to her in her darkest hour. He had saved the project from cancellation. She could not stand the idea that seventy-five years of work and four generations of workers could be sent away. They had no home but this one, and no desire to pursue any profession other than to serve their fellow man as the people who girded the worlds bravest hero for battle.

Julie looked at Terry wondering if he could sense her desperation. It was unfair to place so much expectation on one man but only a man such as this could bear it. She wondered how long she had been silent, lost in her own thoughts. Terry was examining the first display patiently waiting for her to begin her tour guide commitment. He certainly did know and bore it silently She knew then that at some point she had already felt an admiration for this man that was in no way to scale with the experience that she had with him. It surprised her that he could so easily assure her simply by silently waiting without protest. He was a leader of men she thought; a Major in the Marine Corps. His experience with the gentle and not so gentle inspiration of followers was in his job description.

She looked at the black costume behind the glass. It was no more than a baggy sweat-suit, the kind worn by boxers of the day. On the chest was a large question mark in white. Over the head of the mannequin was a black stocking mask with no holes for eyes, nose, or mouth. "Lets start at the very beginning" she said.

"A very good place to start" Terry sang.

Julie smiled at the reference to one of her favorite musicals. "Yes, I suppose so. I'm sure you know that Mystery Man was the first reported masked hero. His first appearance in 1929 predates all other hero sightings by at least seven months.

"I do happen to know that little bit of trivia in fact. I also know he was last spotted in 1932 in Peoria presumably to fight 'Mechano' the world's first cyborg. He was never reported to have been sighted after fighting with Mechano, but conspiracy theories abound. So what juicy detail of inside info do you have about him, I can see you're just itching to tell me" Terry looked speculatively at her.

"Yes it's true that he was last seen in 1932, want to know what happened to him?" She had never considered how much fun it could be to tempt such a shameless "fanboy" like Terry with the secret bits of superhero history she had known from girlhood. He was practically putty in her hand as she let him speculate what revelation would be forthcoming. "He didn't disappear in 1932 at all in fact he became the first Rocket Man" Julie said with arched eyebrows.

"No Way." Terry breathed he looked in amazement back at the black baggy costume.

"My Great Grandfather Heinrich, and his brothers Herbert, Heinred, Hans, and Helmut sought him out for his courage and asked him if he would use their suit. They were very gifted scientists, but none of them were particularly coordinated or tough. The first armor was not made for a man without a good deal of toughness, and Mystery Man was an amateur boxer. He thought they were crazy, but he could tell that they were very serious. So, he tried the armor out, and found it to be a great equalizer between himself and his superpowered enemies."

"He was a boxer? Why not a pro, stories said Mystery Man had a left hook like a freight train. I mean most speculation was that he was a pro boxer in disguise because he was so well known, as a fighter of his talent would be." Terry still looked at the costume. It was much larger than the average man of then or now. Terry was about the same size of the first Rocket Man a towering six foot six. Also in common they had the build of a powerful athlete. Julie had looked for someone with experience in boxing or wrestling, Terry had both. With trophies to show for it.

"Well I suppose you would Know about that being an athlete yourself, but there was one small detail that kept our hero out of the profession, and even out of Olympic level competition." She said teasingly. She loved that he was hanging on her every word. She was giving him the best little bits of super gossip that would spin the heads of the comic-con crowd. The stage was set, it was time to lift the curtain. "He was black."

Terry looked stunned. "He did all this for a public that didn't even accept him." Terry's look was now one of shame. "Did your Great Grandfather and his 'bros know this about him when they went looking for him?"

"I don't know but they obviously weren't bothered by the idea." Julie said.

"From what you said about working with Jewish colleagues I had supposed they didn't buy into the whole 'Master Race' thing." Terry offered.

She looked at him carefully, "No, they rejected all that before even leaving Germany." She paused deciding whether to go on. "You see," she began, "the first super-genius or mad scientist, the first person to gain enhanced intellect from the meta-gene was a German nationalist who was obsessed with the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche."