Collateral Damage Read online

  STEVE BEAULIEU PRESENTS:

  A SUPERHERO ANTHOLOGY

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Authors retain all rights to their individual stories.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover Design by Steve Beaulieu

  Print and ebook formatting by Steve Beaulieu

  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD: JASON ANSPACH

  BARON STEEL: STEVE BEAULIEU

  PASTIME: WILL SWARDSTROM

  FUSE: ON THE STREETS: DAVID NETH

  THE CONSEQUENCES OF WISH FULFILLMENT: MICHAEL DAVID ANDERSON

  MINDHOPPER: ED GOSNEY

  SECRET IDENTITIES, INC.: JEREMY FLAGG

  FIRE PRINCE: SCOTT MOON

  ALTARS OF NIGHT: MICHELLE GARZA + MELISSA LASON

  FIXING SNIPER GIRL: JON FRATER

  TUESDAY AFTERNOON MAYHEM: J.D. BRINK

  OUT OF TIME: CHRISTIAN KALLIAS

  A BETTER GIG: A.J. McWAIN

  This book is dedicated to:

  LEN WEIN.

  Without you, we wouldn’t have that short, fuzzy, lovable mutant with the killer claws or that disgusting giant swamp-dweller.

  June 12, 1948 - September 10, 2017

  FOREWORD

  BY JASON ANSPACH

  I REMEMBER A TIME in grade school when loyalties and rivalries were determined by which television shows we watched after school (I was a GI JOE and Duck Tales man). Or by our preference for Nintendo or Sega. Unless you were one of the rich kids with both and thus, universally despised, but not publicly. For the Mario crowd longed to try Sonic out, and vice versa.

  It was during those heady, careless days when I took an interest in my first name.

  Jason.

  What did that name mean? And why was seemingly every other boy given the same name? Was there some kind of law?

  There was a law. You see, I grew up in the 1980s. And during that time, the United States government had ruled that every third child must be named Jason (or Jennifer, if a girl) otherwise the suckling babe was to be cast into either the Columbia, Ohio, Mississippi, or Hudson river, depending on distance from the hospital, etc.

  Being the third birth at Darnell Army Hospital that day, and my father not wishing to make so long a drive to the Mighty Mississippi, I was named Jason.

  And, because of that law (only repealed in 2016 as one of President Obama’s final acts in office), I met several other Jasons during my schooling. I had primacy because my last name held my place at the front of every roster. So the teacher would call out my name early during the long roll call of the first day of school. Invariably, more Jasons would come along. In some cases, our shared name would provide the opening to a kinship. In others, a bitter feud played out for all the class to see, as we battled like Highlanders to determine the one, true Jason.

  My name was common, but not particularly famous like a John, Paul, or Ralph. Other than a cameo in the Bible and a cinema slasher (who I wasn’t allowed to investigate), there didn’t seem to be anyone special named Jason. Ah! The opportunity to be first, still wasted to this day! But then my mother told me she’d picked my name because she enjoyed the Ancient Greek myth of Jason and his Argonauts.

  So I read the tale, and was engrossed by it and the pictures in what was surely a watered down version checked out from my elementary school library. She borrowed a VHS so we could watch the 1963 version of the film with the animated skeleton army, and then I really loved it. I was a Jason. Like the Jason. Only with less fleece-stealing.

  But it wasn’t just the shared name. It was the idea of the hero. Someone who possessed exceptional abilities and used them to do extraordinary deeds. The type of feats that outlived our own mortality. There’s a whole lot of death in heroism for that very reason.

  Later, when I discovered comic books, I found that Wolverine, the X-Men, and Superman all embodied the unique abilities necessary for being a hero. But the writers of these tales would go further. They would ask the reader to consider just what it meant to be a hero.

  The superhero is part of the general broadening of the term ‘hero’ over the centuries, with the bar currently being so low that you need only be a gust of wind capable of providing the necessary lift to get a winged animal (such as a condor or a Bette Midler) to fly higher than an eagle. That’s part of our collective attempt to come up with something called true heroism. And true heroism will be a reflection of how an individual or society wishes it could be. Or, in the case of the vain society, as they already imagine themselves to be.

  And so as you read this anthology of short stories brought to you by some of the most talented independent writers working in the genre and put together for you by Steve Beaulieu, a man so heroic, he paid my substantial rider to be referred to as such in this foreword… look for the reason why these characters—some funny, others bold and fearless, others very much human—are heroes. I believe you’ll find a truth about yourself, what you desire and value and appreciate, when you do.

  And that’s what every good hero story ought to do. Why else would young children (and some young-at-heart-adults) put on red underwear, vision-obscuring masks, or Jedi robes, if not to be just a little bit more like the hero who embodies the ideals they cherish?

  Jason Anspach

  Metropolis.

  October 11, 2017

  BARON STEEL

  BY STEVE BEAULIEU

  BARON STEEL

  BY STEVE BEAULIEU

  “THIS IS THE LAST TIME I am going to suffer your insolence!”

  I’d had enough. This was bordering on a personal affront.

  “I’m really sorry, sir.”

  The pipsqueak talking couldn’t have been older than the underwear I had on. Yes, some superheroes wear their underwear in the proper place, under their clothes.

  “Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, kid. I want to have words with your boss.”

  “Please, sir. Let me make it right. It won’t happen again!” The kid was begging now. Just how I like it.

  “No. Boss. Now,” I said calmly. No mercy.

  I stood there, waiting. The noise was incessant and, same as every morning, I couldn’t wait to get out of there and get to my office.

  A few minutes later, a girl who was doubtably older than the first walked up wearing a green apron and a hat to match.

  “Sir, can I help you?”

  Ah, justice. It is time for sweet justice.

  “You certainly can,” I said. “This is the third time this week that,” I looked at the name badge on the kid’s uniform, “Spencer here has messed up my coffee order. I always order a White Mocha Macchiato and he continually gives me a Mocha Macchiato.”

  There was a long line forming behind me, but I didn’t care. I’d given more than my fair share of time and energy to this city. They could spare a moment or two while this establishment righted such a heinous wrong.

  “I am so sorry, sir.”

  Again with the sorrys.

  “I’ll get it fixed right away.”

  She turned to walk away but I caught her with a pointed word.

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “I’ll reimburse your card as well, Mister?”

  I didn’t bother to tell her my name. “I want Spencer fired.”

  “Exc
use me?” she asked. It clearly took no listening skills to work at the MoonMoney Coffee franchise.

  “Fired.”

  The manager looked at Spencer. “Sir, I am not going to fire one of my employees for messing up your Frappuccino.”

  “It was a Macchiato! Are you all this stupid?” I was nearly shouting but it was only because I hadn’t had any caffeine yet. I needed my caffeine.

  A large man, bigger even than me, stepped up. He had absolutely no idea who he was messing with.

  “Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” he said.

  “Without my coffee? Good luck,” I said, nearly laughing.

  He took a step my way. I had a choice to make: risk marring my reputation over a coffee? Or walk away and get some bland caffeine drink elsewhere.

  Everyone was starring at us and several even had their various “i” devices pointed my direction.

  “Fine, fine. You win.” I looked at Spencer. “This is not over by a long shot, boy.”

  The kid look downright terrified. I smiled, waved and turned on my heels with a grand flourish.

  • • •

  Thirty minutes later I was sipping on a cup of watered down coffee out of the Keurig in the lounge in my office building. Detestable.

  I walked through my waiting room, which meant passing by Mary, my receptionist, and a small group of hopefuls in the purposefully-uncomfortable chairs.

  I was once the world’s greatest superhero...no not that one. He is a two bit hack. A chump. Seriously, who gets sick when around a stone? Especially one from your own planet. Does that make sense to anyone? I digress. No, I am not he, the one by which we are all named.

  My name is Paul. What? Not cool enough for you? Fine, you may know me as Baron Steel. Silly monikers. I never did care for nicknames.

  That was then, this is now. Currently, I sit in an incredibly comfortable, ergonomic chair on the fortieth floor penthouse in one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. I have been watching the same cobweb grow for nigh on a year now and it is getting quite impressive.

  “Mary, go ahead and send in the next one,” I said through the intercom on my big metal desk.

  A moment later, the door opened and in walked the next underachiever. Would you get a load of this one? Oh, right...let me describe him for you. Six foot two and he is wearing sequins. Honest to God. He looks like he should be doing a triple axel on an ice skating rink somewhere instead of fighting crime in the most supervillain-dense city in the world.

  “Please, have a seat,” I said. “If you can manage to bend your body while wearing such a ridiculously tight costume,” I said under my breath.

  “Hello, Mr. Baron Steel, sir,” he said in a thick accent. “It is pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Ah, at least he is one of the suck-ups. I prefer the suck-ups.

  “Yes I know,” I said with a smile. “I expect you have at least a modicum of experience?”

  He looked like he was about to throw up. If I were a praying man, I’d be sending up some kind of holy blessing in hopes that he’d be able to keep it down. I didn’t want my Persian carpet smelling like whatever dollar menu item he’d eaten on the way over.

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  I let out a sigh and rolled my hand over in the air, urging him to continue.

  “I trained for a few years with GrayWulfe. He’s a hero in Rus—”

  “Yes, yes, I know who he is,” I interrupted. Just another hero in the Far East who thinks because he can take down Minotaur when the beast hadn’t slept in four days, he is qualified to start a Superhero Academy.

  “Wonderful,” I sneered. “And now you’ve come to the states looking for fame and fortune? How quaint.”

  “I have admired your work for whole life,” he said.

  That stupid Russian accent was going to get on my nerves.

  “You’re hero of mine.”

  Oh, no, there it is. Sick of it already.

  “Fine, fine. Listen…” I looked down at my papers, searching for a name. The kid caught on.

  “Ray of Light,” he said.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Ray of Light? What in the name of all...

  “Okay Ray, here’s the way this works.” He was raising his hand like a child in middle school. I motioned for him to speak, not even attempting to hide my annoyance.

  “Uh, it is Ray of Light, sir.”

  “Not if you’re going to be represented by me it isn’t, junior. Now hear me: you will henceforth be known as Solar Flare and you will never wear sequins again. Understand?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Your new costume will be waiting for you the next time we meet and will be added to your bill. The standard rates apply.”

  I waited for a response, but the kid just stared, dumbfounded.

  “I trust you dropped off your papers with Mary in the lobby?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you licensed by the Guild?”

  “No, sir, but papers are submitted. Just waiting.”

  I knew it wasn’t smart to get involved with someone who wasn’t licensed, but if Mary had his papers and proof that it was in the process, I was willing.

  “Okay, we will be in touch.”

  He raised his hand again. This guy is unreal.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Baron Steel, sir, but I thought you were to assign me arch nemesis today?”

  I felt bad for the kid but he was an idiot.

  “Kid, the way you’re dressed, any New York City ice cream truck driver could be your arch nemesis.”

  That was the moment in which I had a stroke of genius. What better nemesis for Solar Flare than Ice Cap? If there’s anything that can be said about us masked capers, we love our themes.

  • • •

  What’s the difference between Solar Flare and a nipple on a male cat? One is completely useless and the other is a nipple on a male cat.

  Okay, fine, I am being a bit hard on the kid. GreyWulfe taught him a thing or two, but none of it would truly prepare him for the lunatics that lived in this city. For starters, a couple of years ago, Black Harrier took down one of the most criminally insane villains this city has ever seen. He dressed up like a clown—an actual clown. Black and white makeup and a little teardrop painted onto his cheek. He killed for fun. He toyed with his victims. And this kid thought knowing how to do a backflip and roundhouse kicks was going to help him?

  “Do you have any actual superpowers?” I asked him.

  “I can do this...”

  He lifted his hand and a ray of light burst forth from his palm. I now understand his original yet completely too nail-on-the-head name.

  I edged toward it, examining it closely.

  “Does it...do anything?” I asked.

  “Well, if it’s dark out, I help people see better.”

  I revert back to my original judgment. The kid is useless. But then I thought of something that was confiscated by the guild years ago. I made a mental note to petition them for a release of secured technology and continued with the kid’s training. I brought him to a punching dummy and showed him a series of punches and kicks.

  After I took a few steps back, Solar Flare began his assault. At first, it wasn’t bad. He nailed each hit with a cadence that was pleasing to the eye and ear, but after a short while, it became obvious he was out of shape.

  “You’re going to have to do far better than that if you think you’re going to take down Ice Cap.”

  “Ice Cap?” he asked, stopping his attack. “That is who you will pair me with? I thought Zasper was his nemesis?”

  “Zasper is dead, kid, and you will be too if you don’t take this seriously.” I didn’t tell him Zasper died by choking on a hunk of hot dog down by Battery Park because he needed a bit of motivation.

  It absolutely did what I hoped it would. Over the next few weeks, Solar Flare made better progress than any of my other green clients. I would never tell him that, though. I believe in growth through discour
agement.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind, Ice Cap is going to freeze your balls and shatter them.”

  He swallowed hard. “Does he do that? I would rather die.”

  “I am sure he could make arrangements for that as well.”

  “Listen, kid, I’ve got some work to do upstairs. Keep up the good work. A little longer and I’ll set up a meeting for you with Ice Cap.”

  When I say set up a meeting, I didn’t mean that we all worked together harmoniously. I didn’t personally know that scumbag. I didn’t associate with anyone on the wrong side of the law. They were miscreants and criminals and I detested them with every fiber within me.

  The training facility was on the third floor of the building. I know most heroes have a secret nest or cave or something—but I prefer to do things out in the open these days. I prefer the villains know they are messing with a real flesh and blood fighter who is training real flesh and blood fighters.

  Unlike GreyWulfe, I didn’t start some academy for gifted youngsters. That’s silly—and a lot of insurance paperwork. Instead, my agency specializes in bringing order to an otherwise orderless world. For a price, I train superpowered or otherwise “special” students and determine which villain they’d be best suited to fight against.

  When I was a part of the Guild, I learned that the best way to ensure a victory was to know your enemy. Part of the problem with these unlicensed crimefighters out there is they try to take on anyone and everyone. The Guild aided in making things legitimate, but they weren’t a fan of my making money off of other’s misfortune.