The Perfectionist, Part 1
The Golden Gladiator walks into a bar.
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Welcome to Olympus City, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.
No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway.
Part 1
Miranda’s brain had housed a supervillain. She was pretty sure she had evicted the squatter. She hadn’t seen or felt any presence since the tattered figure faded away at Olympus City Memorial Park. But Dame Disaster had gotten in.
She was in my head.
Miranda couldn’t be sure the villain would stay out. She needed the opinion of an expert—the one person who had battled Dame Disaster repeatedly and prevailed every time, even if those victories had occurred in a kinder, gentler universe.
The parking lot of Hephaestus Enterprises sat empty except for a lone sedan parked in a reserved space. Waves crashed against the base of the plateau far below while distant stars dotted the clear sky. The full moon punched a hole through the inky darkness and pushed the night aside, as if to insist, This is as far as you go, night! But it could push only so much. After all, in reality, the moon was a speck compared to every single star that surrounded it.
Miranda rang the doorbell near the office, taking it for granted that Sibyl Shipley was still in. Sure enough, the scientist answered. Her lab coat bore a few scorch marks, but the woman herself appeared utterly unrumpled, as alert as if it was nearly noon instead of nearly midnight.
Sibyl nodded in greeting. “Ultra Woman.”
“Hey. Is Carey here?”
Sharp eyes peered through horn-rimmed glasses. The scrutiny was palpable.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Miranda took a breath, reminding herself she could trust Sibyl. That trust had never risen to the level of revealing her given name, but she knew Sibyl was an ally, and a highly intelligent one at that.
“Dame Disaster. He’s told you about her, right?”
Sibyl lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly. A muted reaction, but a reaction nevertheless. A hint of fear.
“Come in.”
Though Sibyl was wide awake, the lab was not. The normally bustling hangar had settled into a quiet stillness, and the faintly humming fluorescent lights weren’t nearly enough to mask the thudding of the superhero’s heart. Miranda spoke quickly, describing how a mysterious specter presented itself as the ghost of an innocent she had failed to save. Miranda even admitted to almost falling for the act, though she stressed how she, in fact, did not fall for it, not in the end.
The mental aftertaste lingered. Evil had slithered through her mind and eyes, and now the remnants gathered on her tongue. She hoped only the tongue.
Are you still in there? Get out. Get out, get out, get out!
Miranda checked above and behind her, but no Green Shadow. No Dame Disaster.
But there, parked straight ahead, was something that had belonged to the villain—the interdimensional vessel that had crashed into this reality over two years ago, forever changing the world. Miranda hadn’t even realized Sibyl was leading her to it. The finned ship looked fake, like a set piece in a decades-old sci-fi series. But it contained the most sophisticated technology on the planet.
Sibyl opened the hatch and marched to the front console. “Ask it to pull up all information on Dame Disaster.”
“But she created that computer.”
“Yes, I’ll factor that bias into my assessment of the data. Ask it for vital statistics, powers, history, strengths, weaknesses—everything.”
The interior smelled like disinfectants, like the extermination of every microorganism that dared to step out of line and inconvenience its superiors. Death posing as cleanliness.
Miranda stared at the computer console that had refused to obey her when lives depended on it, when her onetime idol Tuck Lewis had entombed her in the depths of outer space. But now, also thanks to Tuck, the computer obeyed only her.
“Last time we trusted this—”
“That was a unique and very specific situation,” Sibyl said. “We’re essentially asking for an encyclopedia entry now, nothing more.”
The cold, immaculate screen awaited her prompt. Miranda issued it, then turned to Sibyl as the computer went to work compiling the requested information.
“So where’s Carey? I really need to talk to him.”
“Patrolling. Don’t worry, I can track his armor and you can be there in seconds.”
The notes of condescension rankled Miranda. She wanted to insist that she was not worrying, that Ultra Woman didn’t worry, but she knew Sibyl would perceive the lie.
“Thank you.” Miranda exited the ship. All around her, dividers sectioned off numerous experiments and projects, most of which defied various scientific laws as they had stood before this vessel’s arrival. “How long until the Golden Gladiator Corps is ready?”
“That will ultimately depend on Carey.”
Sibyl had hesitated for half a beat, and that gave it away. Recruiting was not going well.
*****
City planners had long targeted Medea Street for revitalization, but the grant applications had yet to pan out and local entrepreneurs saw the location as too remote for a viable business operation. So, buildings sat empty, weeds proliferated through the cracks in the pavement, and criminal activity sprouted and flourished.
Back in college, Miranda’s freshman orientation aides had warned her never to wander into this part of the city, especially at night. She had heeded that advice all the way through graduation. Then, after her acquisition of tremendous strength and speed, she did make a point to drop in on occasion. Acting either alone or as part of the Terrific Trio, Miranda had disrupted quite a few crimes here—muggings, car-jackings, and of course anything committed by anyone sporting a flashy costume. But the neighborhood never improved.
Gorgon Alley exemplified the decay. A garish neon sign identified the establishment, though a couple of letters had burnt out. The bar, with its grimy façade and unwashed window, gave the impression of being something other than reputable. Miranda wondered if Carey had ever visited any bar whatsoever. She doubted it.
The stench of cigarettes walloped Miranda as she entered. The clientele was overwhelmingly male and not exactly a clean-cut crew. Carey stood out. He would have stood out even if he wasn’t wearing his spotless golden armor, which drew the covetous gaze of half the assemblage. His face was chiseled to the leading-man ideal, and his perfect hair had survived to middle age without a trace of pattern baldness, even if the temples had grayed since his arrival several months ago. The faint five o’clock shadow was also new.
“No one?” Carey said. “Not one of you gentlemen knows a thing?”
Miranda recognized several of these men—she had apprehended them when they worked for supervillains. Some did a little time; others got off on technicalities. Now, as they all turned their attention from Carey to her, she tossed off a friendly wave and chipper smile.
“Hi there. You’ll have to excuse my friend. He’s not from around here, so he doesn’t know you’re not gentlemen. But he actually was speaking to you all.”
The silence held for another breath. Then the responses burst out of them, nearly in unison. Miranda picked out only a scattered few.
“We told him we don’t know anything!”
“Just trying to play some pool here!”
“We’re doing nothing wrong—you got nothing on us!”
“Get Goldy out of here and go grab a jaywalker or something!”
Carey locked his attention onto that last speaker, a corpulent man perched atop the unluckiest barstool in the establishment, mug in hand. Eye contact withered the hefty guy.
“Goldy was my sidekick.” The tone was firm, the enunciation flawless. “I’m the Golden Gladiator.”
Miranda sidled up to Carey and tapped his armored biceps. “You might be placing too much faith in these guys. I’ve never known them to be an especially well-informed bunch.” She cast her pointer finger at the lot; the digit traveled from ex-henchman to ex-henchman. “But if we learn any of you were withholding anything, we’ll be back.”
Carey possessed the firepower to level the whole establishment, should he choose to. The thought never would have occurred to Miranda a few months ago, given his background as a purely benevolent superhero from a universe of purely benevolent superheroes. But that universe was far from here.
She breathed more freely once they were outside and in the sky.
“What was that all about?” she asked, flying alongside him.
He didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, jet boots propelled him toward a rooftop several stories above any eavesdropping pedestrians. As Miranda landed, she noticed the haggard eyes behind those thin goggles. His time here had indeed aged him.
“Doctor Hades,” he said.
“He’s gone.”
“Yes. But a new player has taken his name.”
It wasn’t all that surprising. An imitator was bound to spring up sooner or later. Miranda asked if this new Doctor Hades was using any armor. Carey bristled. The original Doctor Hades had, after all, stolen his armor off of Carey’s dead body.
“I don’t think so,” Carey answered. “At this point, all I’ve got to hang anything on is a rumor.”
Miranda considered asking Alyssa to help with surveillance. But if Alyssa overheard anything, she would want to get involved, perhaps too involved.
“All the more reason to get the Corps up and running, right?” Miranda said.
Carey scratched the stubble on his chin. He had arrived on this Earth with unshakable confidence, certain of his own knowledge and skill. The months had eroded that as well.
“In theory,” he responded.
“We’re going to need more than theory.”
“It might just be a rumor.”
“This one, yes, but that’s not the only—” I’m showing fear. No. Stop. “Look, a new Doctor Hades isn’t even our biggest problem right now.”
Carey turned to her. He propped up a cocky grin, and for a fleeting moment, he looked just like he had months ago. “Whatever it is, we can handle it.”
Can we? “Dame Disaster is alive.”
The grin flattened. “Are you sure?”
She tried to convince herself she had hallucinated the whole thing. Alyssa couldn’t sense any presence, after all, but Miranda had refused a proper scan.
“She’s coming,” Miranda said. “But you’ve stopped her before—stopped her every time, right?”
“Back home, yes. But I’ve never faced her here.”
“You’ve never had a Golden Gladiator Corps either, so build your team. I admit I was skeptical about that whole idea, but I see the point now. Some problems, we need all the help we can get.”
Carey mumbled something. He had never mumbled before, not around Miranda. At her gentle prompting, he repeated himself, louder, overcompensating for the previous lack of clarity.
“It was a terrible idea. Not one man or woman we’ve evaluated has passed muster.” He drew out a long, sad sigh. “No one’s good enough.”
A gust roared across the roof. Miranda’s cape fluttered sideways while Carey stood rigid.
“Maybe not right now,” Miranda said, “but, I mean, two years ago, you would have rejected me too.”
Carey gazed out at the city and withdrew into contemplation. The seconds stretched too long for the world’s fastest woman. Finally, he spoke.
“We can’t beat her.”
Miranda nearly launched into a rebuttal. She even got as far as opening her mouth until she realized she had nothing, no counterargument, no plans, nothing except a desire not to die.
“We have to try,” she said pitifully.
“She’ll destroy us all.” Carey tilted his head back, his eyes sweeping over the moon and stars. “However, I have been working on something.”
To Be Continued Next Week!