Over scrambled eggs, pancakes, and bacon prepared by my Grandma Seedy and sister Avie, Stella intimated to me she’d packed away the golden uniform of Mr. Megaton for a rainy day.
After the meal, Preston announced that Stella was now the official director of ICHHL’s Intravenous Corpuscles of Hereditary Hemoglobin Legacy division, whose mission it was to continue Project Megaton at Megatonic University underneath Arbor State University. This was a remarkably different role for Stella, who in my native reality wanted nothing to with megaheroes at all. Ironic that in the Civilian Reality her job would now include keeping Trent Pflug supplied with Mega-Soldier Syrup for whenever America needed its Nuclear-Powered Hero, and whenever she herself was in the mood for a good lay.
Gene Griffin, Preston added, would be in charge of security at Megatonic U., making him an official combatant in the secret war against President Bad Guy; more importantly, he would be responsible for getting Avie, Stella, Trent, Simon, Koz, and I safely back home to Detroit and Ann Arbor. After breakfast, we loaded into Gene’s hitherto plain, white van which now bore another in the endless series of semi-coherent ICHHL front names: Itinerant Conveyors of Humble Human Lugging. A second bench seat had also been added in the back for the additional passengers, where Seymour’s wheelchair had been.
Dr. Seymour Sternlicht, Stella’s adoptive father, and grandmother, Dr. Mercedith Robeson-James, planned to stay behind in Bayonne with Dr. Sax to reactivate the Girly Man side of the Burly Boy, Girly Man experiment otherwise known as Project Meltdown. They stood on the gravel path outside the Doomsday Factory watching us as we loaded up the van.
“What are your plans, Secret Agent Preston Percy?” I asked.
“I’m staying here at the Doomsday Factory, of course, to make sure they don’t blow up the entire Eastern Seaboard,” Preston replied.
“What about your job in Ann Arbor?”
“At Border Worlds Used and Slightly New Bookstore? Screw them,” said Preston. “Trent can have the job it he wants it. I already put in a good word for him.”
“Woo!” said Trent, who was strapping Simon into a kiddie seat. “I feel smarter already.”
I warned Preston, “Whatever you do, don’t let them turn Stella’s half-brother, Chuck Roast, into the Human Meltdown. The guy’s a total creep; he tried to rape my sister.”
I probably should have kept my mouth shut, because Preston replied, “Stella has a half-brother?” I probably should have kept my mouth shut.
An ICHHL construction crew was already assembling on the promontory of Constable Hook, preparing a makeover for the old textile mill-turned-secret laboratory. The Doomsday Factory would soon bear the designation Intragovernmental Constitutional Hierarchy of Heretical Loyalists.
“We better let you get to work,” I said, as Avie and I hugged Seedy, and Stella her father, goodbye. We climbed into the van, slid the side door shut, and drove down the gravelly path toward home.
The ten-hour road trip proved uneventful, although we were stressed the whole time, fearing some kind of aerial attack in broad daylight on the Ohio Turnpike that never happened. By the time Gene dropped off Avie and I at our West Forest apartment in Detroit, it was already after dark, and we were relieved and exhausted. We waved goodbye to the Nuclear Family, Koz, and Gene from our back steps in the alley as the van proceeded onto Ann Arbor. Avie and I chowed down, and after a phone call about forty-five minutes later that everyone had made it back safely to Ann Street, the two of us crashed.
When we awoke after noon, we were both surprised to find Ms. Megaton Man, in full, costumed regalia, standing in our living room.
“Clarissa Too!” I said in astonishment. “You regained your megapowers and found your way back to the Civilian Reality!”
“Your idea worked,” she said. “Poor Trent—he must have been pretty hard up.”
I was delighted that Clarissa Too had finally been able to astrally projected herself back to her proper reality, since this meant I could go home, too; but I was a bit puzzled by her non-sequitur response.
“You mean you contacted Dr. Joe, and he was able to develop a Mega-Soldier Syrup from Trent’s hemoglobin?” I asked. “Oowee, that was fast.”
Clarissa Too shook her head. “No, I never contacted Joe at all ,” she said. “You suggested I suck my powers back out of Trent Phloog. So, that’s exactly what I did.”
“You what?!” Avie exclaimed. Always the nosy one for lurid details, she asked, “When? Where?”
“I had the other Avie, your counterpart, drive me out to Ann Arbor,” Clarissa Too explained. “She dropped me off on State Street in front of Border Worlds Used and Slightly New Bookstore, crutches and all, even though by then I was only slightly limping. Inside, I pretended to casually run into Trent as he was stocking books. We got to chatting, and you know, kind of flirting. I told him I had to use the rest room and started wobble off on my crutches toward the one for customers; Trent suggested I use the one in the back for employee to save myself embarrassment with my clumsy crutches and all. Of course, he was a perfect gentleman as he showed me through the stock room …. Once I had him alone, one thing led to another, and, well … I sucked my powers right back out of him.”
“Clarissa Too!” I exclaimed. “Your mind is in the gutter! That’s not what I was suggesting at all …”
“You mean you swallowed?” asked Avie, astonished. “Ewww, gag me!”
“He didn’t know what hit him,” said Clarissa Too. “He was pretty drained afterward, let me tell you.”
“I should have known better,” I said. “Leave it to me to take me so literally.”
“But look! My hip’s all better again,” said Clarissa Too, proudly. “I’m not limping or anything. And as soon as I got my megapowers back, I found I could astrally project myself across the Dimensional Divide with ease—so here I am. Your Grandma Seedy also let me keep one of your spare Quarantinium-Quelluminum uniforms to bring along.”
“You’ll find it a lot more durable,” I said, admiring the costume, a match to the one I wore under my own street clothes. “Regular fabric just doesn’t hold up to the wear and tear of being a megahero.”
“Especially if you’re going to be on your knees all the time,” said Avie.
“But, Clarissa Too!” I scolded. “What I had in mind was for Dr. Joe to perform a very clinical, medical procedure …”
“It felt kind of clinical on my end,” said Clarissa Too. “It was very perfunctory.”
“Men are such pigs,” said Avie. “I’ll bet he didn’t even offer to reciprocate.”
“Actually, he was very sweet to me,” said Clarissa Too. “Although, when he saw I had only done it to regain my Ms. Megaton powers, he seemed more than a little crushed—men are so sensitive. It was a bit awkward saying goodbye to him. I knew what the Trent Pflug in my reality liked, but Trent Phloog in yours mentioned you’d never done that to him. I think now it’s his new favorite thing; I wouldn’t be surprised if he visits you in Detroit on every day off he gets. I’m afraid I’ve left you a bit of a sticky situation, Clarissa One—no pun intended.”
“Did you do the thing where you …?” Avie asked Clarissa Too.
“Oh, good grief, Avie,” I said. “You can trade pointers with your sister on giving blowjobs after I’ve gone home.”
Suddenly we were all very sad.
“You have to go right away?” said Avie, tears suddenly in her eyes.
“Naturally,” I said. “You have your rightful sister back now, Avie, and I have my sister waiting for me.”
“Yes, but I love you,” said Avie. “I love all the versions of you, Clarissa. I’m going to miss you.”
The three of us cried like ninnies in a group hug.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “I’ll want to know how everything works out with all the megaheroes ICHHL’s going to start cranking out to keep President Bad Guy and his evil White House in check. Which reminds me, Clarissa Too—I’ve left you something of a sticky situation myself.”
I explained how Clarissa James was in a relationship—maybe—with Gene Griffin, and how Trent Pflug and Stella Sternlicht were an item again. “I don’t think Stella’s going like Mr. and Ms. Megaton teaming up and going on patrol all the time.”
“No worries,” said Clarissa Too. “Before I got my powers back I ran into that magenta-haired art student of yours, Nancy. We went out to a women’s music festival in Ypsilanti.” She turned to her sister. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Avie, but I think I may like girls, too.”
Avie, who had heard all about my bisexual tendencies during the long van ride to and from New Jersey, was nonplussed by her actual sister’s revelation. “Frankly, I always suspected there some ambivalence,” she said. “It took you long enough to lose your virginity with a guy.”
After we had a meal, washed up, and changed, the three of us left the house together. In the middle of campus, we had a group hug, cried, then went our separate ways: Avie and Clarissa Too to their respective classes, and me in the direction of the Wardell Building, where my sojourn in the Civilian Reality this time had begun. But it took forever because we all walked backward waving goodbye to each other the whole time, until the other two were out of sight.
Finally, I made my way across Cass and Woodward Avenues, entered the Wardell Building, and found my way up to the top floor, which in the Civilian Reality was nothing than a disused, dusty storage space. I gazed out of a dirty window for several minutes, back across the campus toward my apartment. From the thirteenth floor, it was indistinguishable from my reality, although I knew the people and relationships belonged to a different timeline.
I sat down on the floor where I had begun my journey, closed my eyes, and when I opened them, Michele was sitting in front of me, serenely composed in her golden Asp attire. Around us were the cozy confines of the Inland Ocean Archeological and Anthropological Institute with its rare books and manuscripts, framed historical pictures hung neatly on the wall, leather-upholstered and oaken furniture, and a plush Oriental carpet beneath our butts.
Only an instant had passed since Clarissa Too had disappeared and I had appeared, trading places. I only been gone a week from my reality, I gathered, about the same amount of time I’d spent in the Civilian Reality.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Michele. “You’re back where you belong, and so is your counterpart, Clarissa Too. Sorry for the detour, But, for whatever reason, the Civilian Reality seemed to be calling you more strongly to it than your counterpart. I suppose it wanted you to have a particular experience.”
“Yeah, but the Civilian Reality’s all fucked up now,” I pointed out. “Bad Guy is the President of the United States there, and Mr. Megaton has to rely on Mega-Soldier Syrup and antidote to switch back and forth between his civilian and megahero personas so he can be Simon’s dad and Stella’s lover. And while ICHHL’s hard at work building an army of megaheroes, in the meantime Clarissa Too has no experienced back-up except a talking cat and a bunch of aging scientists. How wrong is that?”
“Perhaps the lesson was for you to appreciate all the advantages you enjoy in this reality and not take them for granted,” said Michele. “For the time being, Ms. Megaton Man has the luxury of knowing she doesn’t have to be America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero all by herself, at least full time. You have back-up to help carry the load. That means civilian Clarissa James, graduate student, can concentrate on learning and being a teaching assistant. That’s more than enough for anyone. Maybe you should just concentrate on that for the time being.”
I pondered this as I left the Wardell and crossed Woodward Avenue. The late afternoon air was now below freezing and the pavement and sidewalks had all been recently shoveled after a moderate snowfall and salted. Warren Woodward University was mostly closed until after the holidays, but the Language Arts building was open and I was still able to get into my office, check my mail, and make sure I had all my textbooks and materials necessary to prepare for the coming spring 1985 semester. I also grabbed the flyer for the spring hypothetics studies conference calling for papers.
When I got back to the West Forest apartment, Dr. Sax was there, needing to be fed. “I thought you stayed at the Doomsday Factory,” I said, momentarily perplexed. She stared at me mutely with her piercing green eyes as I went to the cupboard and opened a can of cat food for her. “But that was in another reality, wasn’t it?”
There was a note from Avie on the fridge—intended for Clarissa Too—explaining she was out Christmas shopping with Mama, after which they planned to see To Live and Die in L.A. She was probably going to stay overnight at Mama’s apartment.
I felt like I was back in my own reality at last.
Next: The Dreaded Conference Paper
First Chapter | All Chapters | Latest Chapter
Archival Images:
If you’re on Facebook, please consider joining the
Ms. Megaton Man™ Maxi-Series Prose Readers group! See exclusive artwork, read advance previews, and enjoy other special stuff.
If you’re on Facebook, please consider joining the
Ms. Megaton Man™ Maxi-Series Prose Readers group! See exclusive artwork, read advance previews, and enjoy other special stuff.
___________
All characters, character names, likenesses, words and pictures on this page are ™ and © Don Simpson 2021, all rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment