6 months later...Sylvester Pemberton rested his chin on his hands and stared at the computer screen. He gave a long, low sigh at the facts and figures flickering before him and then reached out with a finger to poke idly at the keyboard. His other hand rubbed the back of his neck as he hunted and pecked out each letter, slowly adding to the report. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall, and let out another long, low sigh.
“Pemberton!”
Sylvester jumped at the sudden intrusion and looked over at his office door. “Yes, Mr. Slate?”
The stout form of Grant Slate stared down at the harried young man, a frown on his face as he folded his arms. “You finished the quarterly projections yet, I ask as I watch you type with one finger?”
“Just about there, sir. Sorry, just feeling a bit…”
“Lazy? Apathetic? Overworked and underappreciated?”
Sylvester sighed one more time and slumped back into his chair. “Sure. Pick one, sir. The projections will be on your desk in a half hour.”
Slate frowned and glared. “See that they are. I need time to go over them before the meeting tomorrow.”
“And my team's report is that far behind the others, sir?” Sylvester asked with an innocent look of his eyes, knowing the truth of the matter.
“Well...no. But I know what to expect from the others. You're the new guy, and if it weren't for Mr. Wayne, God bless his soul...”
“I know, I know. I remember you telling him I was too young for such a pivotal role, sir. Thirty minutes, Mr. Slate. Maybe a little longer if you really want to stay there and tell me how much of a poor manager I make some more.”
“Thirty minutes then, Pemberton,” Slate growled and stalked off.
“I used to own this company, you...” Sylvester's grumbling trailed off as he returned to the report. He furrowed his brow and began to enter the information at a quicker pace now, his keen brain turned up after the challenge thrown at him.
Dad used to own it, actually, but, dammit, it was going to be mine. Should have been mine.Fifteen minutes later, the report was finished, a copy sent to the appropriate people, and hard copies printed out and passed to his secretary, who quickly headed out to take care of disbursement and filing.
Sylvester stood up and snapped the suit coat off the hanger and stalked out of his office.
Enough's enough. I can't keep doing this. Mr. Wayne was good enough to give me a job here after my return, what with his people buying out most of Pemberton Industries, but I wasn't cut out to be a pencil pusher. He marched down the hall, and out of the building, all while his brain ran over the his options again and again. He swiped his card through the scanner of the R&D building and signed in at the security desk.
“Hey there, Mr. Pemberton. Should I let Pat know you're coming up?” the usual guard asked as he greeted the young executive with a smile.
“Thanks a lot, Bill.” Sylvester headed to the elevator and let the stress slip from his shoulders. He nodded now, reassuring himself, feeling better as he neared the design lab. When the doors opened, he stepped out into the large chamber, littered with cubicles around the edges and workstations in the center. Tooled parts, testing equipment, and partial prototypes were scattered around the busy room, voices mingling in the air, the smell of ozone, melted wire and singed silicon adding to the sensory cacophony. Sylvester smiled now, broad and bright, and began to wonder one more time if he was in the wrong department.
“Syl!” Pat Dugan stepped up to his old friend and clasped his hand firmly, his own thick mitt wrapped around Sylvester's smaller hand. “Glad to see you. Glad to see you.” His other hand clapped onto Syl's slender shoulder tight and made the younger man wince as usual. “Good timing, pal, I was just about to call you. Guess what I got done just this afternoon?”
Sylvester stared up into the weathered, lined face of his best friend, his oldest friend, Patrick “Stripe” Dugan. Barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, built like a linebacker and topped in fiery red hair, Pat was beginning to show hints of his age: the crow's feet at his eyes, strands of silver woven into the red locks, a waist spread out to line up with the rest of his chest. But the glint of excitement in those green eyes gave the indication of a man half his age. In here, Sylvester noted, Pat was in his prime and in his arena, and that made the younger man happy.
“What have you just got done, Pat?” Syl asked dutifully, knowing full well what his friend had for him.
“Got the last bit of wiring done up, and we're all ready to test out the new converter,” Pat announced as he led Sylvester to the back of the large room. He opened up his locker and pulled the wire-covered mesh suit. “You ready to give her a test drive, Kid?”
Sylvester nodded, his face eager and excited once more, and he set his briefcase on a small table. “But not Kid.” He pulled out a red, white and blue garment and rolled it out. “I might be the youngest of the Soldiers, but my 'Kid' days are pretty much behind me. Time for a new name, and a new look. You going to keep Stripe?”
Pat chuckled and shook his head. “Kid...Syl, I'm out. I'm done. You were the hero, I was just your chauffeur and bodyguard, and I loved doing it, but I got a good gig here, and you don't need me slowing you down while zipping up in the skies like you're gonna be in those fancy new duds of yours.”
“Skies?” Syl mused as he stepped into a curtained area and slipped into the new suit, rolling the colorful spandex over the mesh. “Sky...Sky...hey, that's catchy. What do you think?” He hopped out, arms wide and displayed the new costume. “Skyman!”
Pat clapped and then led Syl out a back door and onto a wide flat deck. “We can run the testing here. And I noticed you didn't answer me.”
“Well, I'm not done changing your mind yet, if that's what you're saying,” Syl responded as he shook his arms and rolled his neck, warming up.
“I'm not changing my mind. I mean, if the group needs one more musclehead for something big, I'm there. We're all family, I ain't gonna let them down. But you don't need me out there doing the cops' jobs, and I don't need to be playing cowboys and Indians at my age anymore.”
“But Pat, we're a--”
“A team? Yeah, I know. But you just don't need me. Don't worry, you'll be fine. Ready to give a good shakedown...Skyman?” He winked at Sylvester as he set up a laptop and watched the screen come to life with a real-time readout of the suit and Sylvester's current physical status.
“What about the other thing?” Sylvester soared into the air, the suit humming, a slight reddish aura surrounding and lifting him up smoothly.
“I like my job. Good pay, good bennies, good boss,” Pat replied as he watched the sensor readings and smiled at the numbers.
“Lucky you.” Sylvester streaked off into the clouds and looped a few times before dropping back down to the testing pad, stopping abruptly with only a few feet to spare. “I need you. I'll need you for the company. I'll let the hero thing slip, I was always dragging you into that, sure. But...I need the help for the new company.”
“Waynetech's been good to us,” Pat countered.
“Mr. Wayne was good to us. But enough of that, it's time to make our way, to show the world that we're not out-of-touch dinosaurs. C'mon, if we can get a handle on all of these neat new toys, we can make a real go of my own company again. I can't work for someone else my whole life.”
“I'll think about it. Now let's check out how the suit handles under some real stress. Pedal to the metal, pal.” Pat grinned again and watched as Sylvester gave a brief wave and then disappeared from sight.
*7*
“Justin!” Danette Arthur née Reilly called out to the garage from the kitchen of their small ranch house. “Dinner!”
A few moments later, Justin answered the call, stepping into the house with a happy look on his face and a quick stride. His arms wrapped around Danette's waist as he hugged her tightly, and planted a soft kiss on her lips.
“Well that was nice,” Danette joked as she slid from his arms. “How's Victory?”
“Quite well, my love,” Justin answered as he walked into the dining room and took a seat. He watched as his wife brought in a plate of food and placed it in front of him, followed by a glass of milk. “This looks as delicious as ever.”
“Glad to hear it. There's cupcakes on the counter for dessert, so help yourself,” Danette answered as she walked over to a side table, picked up a backpack, and slid her keys into the front pocket.
“You are not dining with me, dear?”
“Running late for class, Justin, I'll get something quick on the way home,” Danette answered as she stepped back over and gave her husband another kiss. “If you could be a dear and do the dishes?”
“Dishes?” He stared up at her as if he'd been slapped.
“Yeah. Sorry, but...I mean, I'll get to them tomorrow, but if you could just do them tonight, it'd be a big help. I have mid-terms coming up and need to study before work.”
“About this job of yours..” Justin started to say.
“What about my job?” she asked as she paused at the door, a dangerous tone in her voice.
“It has done remarkably well at keeping you in fighting trim, I'd say, but if you have no intentions of returning to the crusade, then perhaps something more seemly?” he suggested.
“You saying you don't like your wife having muscles? Feeling jealous?” She flexed her bicep playfully, her job working third shift for the world's fastest delivery service having made her feel healthier than she had in years.
“Not at all!” Justin countered immediately. “It's just...you're my wife and if you do not intend to don your heraldry and battle evil, then why do you need to worry about being so strong? And these classes...they distract from your duties.”
“Someone needs to pay the rent, Justin,” Danette answered just as quickly and stridently. “Back in the war, when the governments needed us, it was a different story. But we have to make our own way, and if you're not going to do it, then I'm going to. And if I'm going to, I want a good job, and that means school. Unless you're saying you’ve changed your mind, and are looking for work?”
“I just find you spending so much of your time away from home, on all of these unnecessary activities,” Justin started to say.
“Unnecessary? Getting an education is unnecessary? Making something of myself is unnecessary? Here I figured you'd adjust to our time jump best of all of us. Boy was
I wrong!” She slammed the door behind her and stormed off.
“I thought so too, love.” Justin toyed with the food on his plate. He stood up, dinner untouched, and headed for the garage. “Action is needed, not these futile words. That will clear my head.”
*7*
Greg Saunders felt rather proud of himself, as he stood in the half-darkened dining room. His white Stetson hat was low on his head, his hands thrust into his pockets and he rocked on his heels as he glanced at his restaurant. Opening night had been a grand success, and his grin was on display as he began to casually pace the building. This was going to work out just fine. He'd have to make sure to thank Daniel Leong for all his help.
He finally closed up the building, locking the door and setting the security alarm, and stepped out into the warm Dos Rios night still grinning. He sauntered down the sidewalk to his car, ready to make his way out to his ranch, some twenty minutes outside of town. He whistled softly, but retirement did nothing to soften his senses. He stopped suddenly, the whistling abruptly halted and his muscles tensed. He glanced around, his hearing having caught muffled sounds, sounds that should have meant nothing except that, to his well-trained mind, they were the sounds of people deliberately trying
not to be heard.
Greg, you have no gear and your Vigilante days are behind you, he berated himself as he started to follow the sounds around the corner of a building and crept up behind a dumpster.
At this point, over a century behind you. Or is that sixty years behind me? Wonder if they add up? Ugh, that would be bad, because that's too far behind for anyone. As his mind rolled around his career as a lawman in the Wild West and his time as a masked crime-fighter in World War II, he peered down the alley and at the four men obviously in the middle of some illicit deal.
Great, I'm not listening to myself again.As Greg wrestled with his retirement against the call to action, he saw the choice taken from him. A dull golden blur dropped down into the four criminals from the fire escape above, and proceeded to lash out at them. The figure was quick, Greg saw that with growing admiration. It was a woman with sleek lines and a natural grace. From one move to the next in sweeping, fluid motions, she never stopped, never slowed, and that made it tough for the gang, even with the odds against her.
But they did have numbers on their side, and as this mystery woman put down the third of the gang, the final criminal lined up a vicious cut on her with his bowie knife. A loud crash resounded, the lid of a trash can cracking a skull, and the fourth man dropped to the ground like yesterday's garbage. The woman spun around, still tense, still prepared, in a defensive crouch and saw Greg Saunders standing over the last criminal with a friendly wave.
“Howdy, miss,” he said and gave a tip of his hat to her. “Greg Saunders. Just have to say, ya got some mighty fine moves there.”
The woman continued to eye him steadily, still crouched. “Saunders? I recognize the name,” she finally replied in a husky voice.
“Glad to hear it.” He grinned and started to look over the criminals. “This one was over at my opening tonight.”
“Mikey Rivers,” she answered as she stared over the one Greg pointed out.
“Not Councilor Alden Rivers' kid?”
“Same. And a major conduit of drugs through the local gangs.” She moved next to Greg, body slinking beneath the tight golden costume, her cat-like mask outlining large brown eyes. “You're the singing cowboy. The one that used to be in that group? The Soldiers?”
“Seven Soldiers of Victory, yep. That's me. Impressed you remember the singing part. Just moved into the neighborhood.”
“Then you should learn about it.” She leaped gracefully to the bottom rung of the fire escape and darted up to the rooftop, pausing to put two fingers by her brow in a salute. “Gracias for the save, amigo!”
Greg bound up the unconscious criminals and nodded to himself. “I love a woman with spirit. Maybe I'm not totally out of the game yet,” he mused.
*7*
The woman stood over six feet in height, her body heavily muscled, and when she walked, her power manifested in a lumbering gait. She was dressed in an indigo jacket that tapered down to her hips, buttoned in silver clasps over her left breast. Deep purple pants, black gloves and boots, and a silver sash finished her attire, while her deeply-tanned face was framed by raven-blue hair. Almond eyes stared at the digital tabletop as she sipped on a mug of steaming coffee. She finally gave a cruel smile, hints of her pointed teeth behind the thick black lips, as she stared up at the ebon-clad minions around her.
“I need to know,” she finally said in a surprisingly soft voice, given her size and demeanor. “I must know if these are really them. I must know if that is her.” She sipped again and then added, “And I must know if she carries the necessary remnants.”
“Your orders then?” asked one of her adherents), as he bowed low before her.
She reached down, touched the digital tabletop and called up an image of the Shining Knight. “We need to test him as well.” She reached over and let a finger glide over the image of a man dressed in dark scarlet colors, sliding it over a map of the United States. “Red Dragon to Red Rock Casino. White Dragon to White Sands, New Mexico and the former Roman Rocket Group grounds.” She grinned at her own sense of humor as she touched a third picture and slid it to Nebraska. “And Blue Dragon to Blue Valley, to test the target. We must see if these are the people they claim to be. See if they respond. All for one and that foolishness.”
“And if it is, oh great Wyrm Indigo?” asked the minion as he stood to carry out her orders.
“We will have our revenge, and our queen. In that order.” Wyrm Indigo drained her mug and let eager eyes devour the image of Firebrand.
*7*
“Hello, Pat. How's it going?”
“Danette? Hey there, doing better now! How are you? And Justin?” Pat Dugan's face lit up when he answered the phone to hear his old team-mate's voice on the other end. He leaned back in his chair and stuck the drafting pencil behind his ear, feeling it collide with the Bluetooth earpiece. Chuckling to himself, he moved the pencil to the other ear and asked. “Things going well for you two in married land?”
“Doing okay. I guess. You settling in okay out there?” Danette asked in a softer voice, her shoulder holding the phone in place as she stirred a bowl of sauce.
“Sure thing. It's nice to be able to put the engineering skills to some practical use, I'll tell you that,” Pat said with a laugh as he glanced at his drawing board. Sure, the new technologies were amazing, he loved using them. But, when it came to designs, he refused to abandon his trusty pencil. “I think Sylvester's got it a little rougher, but he'll settle in now that the new suit's done.”
“New suit?” She let a wan smile cross her face as she pictured the eager, earnest young man champing at the bit to play hero again. She set the bowl down and moved over the stove-top.
“Yup. Pretty nifty too, I think. Took the old belt's design and spread it out in a mesh over his body. Evens out the energy manipulation, and he's already becoming an old hand at figuring out all the uses,” Pat explained. “Now if this just convinces him that he can do the solo thing, I think we'll both be happy.”
“He's trying to get you back out as Stripe?”
“Yeah. I'm just not interested. I'm pretty happy with leading a normal, nine-to-five life,” Pat answered with a little less enthusiasm. “I'm happy to fix him up and keep him running, but I just... I just don't need to be out on the streets. And there's this fixation on getting his company back.”
“I know the feeling. Justin's still doing the Shining Knight bit. I'm sure you've seen, he's being very public, and gotten a great response for the most part. But I'm not all that keen on being Firebrand,” she answered as she leaned back on a counter and put a hand to her temple, holding the emotion in. “Especially if I have to do all the breadwinning.”
“Well, let's be honest… what kind of job could Justin hold? He spent years in the Forties and never shook the whole feudal mindset, not completely. Could you imagine him in a suit and tie, holding an office job?”
The image made Danette burst out laughing and she shook her head. “No. I'm happy to do it. I'm so proud of him, Pat. I just... I just wish I could make him understand.” She paused, then quickly changed the topic. “What's this about Syl wanting his company back?”
“There were some parts of the old Pemberton company that were sold off when Wayne Enterprises bought it out,” Pat replied. “Syl, he hates being answerable to someone else when he could be making his own company work. You know him, the kid's brilliant. He
should be running the show. He wants to drag me along.”
“And?”
“I'm good where I am. I'd just be in the way. He's the businessman.”
“Yeah, but Pat, you're the common sense. You're his anchor, you make his dreams work.” Danette returned to her cooking, and put the casserole in the oven. “Why else would he be so determined to get you to help? He's brilliant, sure. But he is, and always will be, a kid at heart. And with all the common sense that goes along with it.”
Now Pat joined in the laughter and nodded his head. “You know, Syl's not the only one with pie-in-the-sky dreams. If I have to stick by him...”
“Right. Yeah, I know. I have to stick by Justin. I will. I love the big lug too much to not.” Danette sighed and leaned against the counter again.
“How about, this weekend, I come on out and see you guys? Make a weekend of it?” Pat suggested. “Maybe take him aside and do a little man-to-man talk?”
“Sounds great, actually,” Danette answered as she brightened.
“And I'll get a chance to check out those classes of yours,” Pat added. “I hear you're doing real good in them. Business, right? Fitting into the modern woman lifestyle pretty well.”
“You're up to something,” Danette said in a suspicious tone of voice. “What are you up to, Pat Dugan?”
“You'll see. This weekend. Gonna be great. See you then!”
Danette hung the phone onto the receiver and stared at it for several long moments, his chuckle as he disconnected making her more suspicious. Then she turned her attention back to the kitchen and cleaning up.
*7*
Skyman left a glittering red and yellow glow in his wake, bright against the white sands of the desert below as he zoomed over the landscape. The wind tugged at his black hair and he felt alive after months of boring spreadsheets and upper management meetings and waiting for his converter to be rebuilt.
Pat really outdid himself this time. Sylvester thought as he watched the land pass him in a blur.
And he's signed on to help me rebuild my company! Yes! He spun in loops at the thought before settling back into a straighter flight path.
Don't know what convinced him to change his mind, but for now, doesn't really matter. What does is what I'm going to find up ahead.Soon enough, Skyman crested a rise in the area dunes and saw the old, dilapidated plant and barren grounds ahead.
Roman Rocket Group, a very old subsidiary of Pemberton Industries, Sylvester mused as he dipped down and then alighted just inside the rusted chain link fence.
Why would anyone be out here? There's nothing. This was ready to be put to pasture when I was still back in the Forties. As far as I know, it's been abandoned for...well, since the Forties. So what gives?Sylvester paced the decrepit grounds, eyes scanning the area closely. He shaded his eyes from the noonday sun with his hand, and squinted hard at the broken-down building.
I wouldn't have known a thing about this place if my lawyer hadn't dug up police records on weird things happening out here while scouting the old properties. A great hiding spot, that's for sure. Hiding what though?He pushed open the rusted front door as the hinges protested against the movement. He stepped inside and walked slowly, moving down the hall, peering into room after room. In the long-neglected cafeteria, Sylvester saw signs of life: discarded food wrappers, soda bottles, and a small generator.
“Squatters? Out here? That's just...crazy.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked over the debris, old and new.
“Not so,” someone said. A figure clad in an ivory and gold tabard over a bone-white bodysuit stepped out from the cafeteria's serving area. He had a half-eaten apple in one hand, and, as Sylvester narrowed his eyes, he picked out a hazy white glow around the man. “There's a very particular reason I'm here, actually.”
“And that is?” Instinct made Sylvester wary and tense as he stared at the newcomer. A golden dragon in classic Asian style adorned his tabard, and as the stranger tossed the apple to one side, he pulled out a pair of sai that glittered like crystal. There was no question for Skyman where this encounter was headed now.
“To draw you here. To see if you are really Star-Spangled Kid returned to the world of the living,” the stranger replied. “Though you look a little different. Change of costume?”
“Yeah. And name. It's Skyman now.” Sylvester's suit began to hum softly and the reddish glow returned to surround him.
“Oh nice. Very nice. Kind of corny for today, but it's a great classic kind of name for the older...'mystery man' is it?” The stranger gave a soft clap of his hands before settling one glittering sai in each grip.
“And you are? Since I'd say we're about to have a big fight, might as well know who I'm duking it out with.”
“White Dragon. And yes, I'm here to test you. So, if you're ready?” White Dragon gave a low bow and then set himself into an L-stance, weapons at the ready, the frosted haze around him growing.
Sylvester smiled. He had to give this crazy man credit for being so courteous. He floated up off the floor a couple of feet and balled his fists up. “When you are.”
“Then have at it!”
*7*
“Danette, have you seen this?” Justin asked excitedly as he entered the kitchen and laid a newspaper out on the table. He pointed to one article topped with a badly shot photo and let his wife look it over.
“Red Dragon? Didn't you used to fight a Red Dragon? Bank robberies were a specialty, right?” she asked as she glanced at the article. “This can't be the same guy, can it?”
“Nay, I would wager that it is someone adopting the guise for his own purpose,” Justin answered. “The local constabulary that I have come to work with, they tell me that suspicion falls on his attempting to pull his perfidy on a place called the Red Rock Casino.”
“And?” Danette looked up into his face and immediately saw the reason for the comment. “Where is this?”
“Clark County. In Nevada.”
She shook her head slowly, eyes wide. “Oh no. You're not!”
“I am. Indeed, I must!”
“It's not the same guy! There are people who operate out of Nevada! Pass word along to those guys and let them handle it,” Danette countered, her voice rising in volume.
“I will not ignore a call to arms, and if this man bears the name of my enemy, then clearly he demands to take the varlet's place! I'll not let him think me a coward!”
Danette took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Well, thanks for letting me know where you'll be.”
“You will not be joining me on this crusade then?” he asked. He looked crestfallen, his voice tinged in disappointment.
“I have school. I have work. I have to get the house ready for Pat's visit this weekend. I can't just go winging off to Nevada at the drop of a hat,” Danette snapped back, and then bit her bottom lip. “Okay. Just... please be careful, Justin. We have no idea what this guy can do, so...be careful. Come back.” She rested a hand on his cheek tenderly.
He leaned into her hand and smiled at her. He kissed her palm and then kissed her. “I shall, my love. And I shall return just as swiftly as I can. You have my word.”
“At least I have that then,” she remarked. “Go. Just...go.”
Justin broke away from her and headed for the garage, to get into his armor, and prepare Winged Victory. Danette looked over at her backpack, then snapped it up and stormed out of the house. The door slammed behind her, and she leaped up into the air, igniting a field of fire and using it to hurtle through the sky toward Blue Valley College.
In the car across the street, a man held his finger to his earpiece as he smiled. “My Lady Wyrm,” he said softly. He listened for the response and nodded his head. “Yes. Yes, it's her. She possesses her powers. Blue Dragon will want to know.” He paused again as he watched Shining Knight take to the sky in the opposite direction. “And better yet, there's trouble in paradise.” He listened to the response, then added, “Oh yes, my lady. It shouldn't take much, really.” He nodded at the next statement. “Right. I'll dig through the house now. Should be able to find more to use to bust them up.”
He got out of the car and made his way to the small white ranch house, whistling, satchel in hand, deviltry in his heart.
