Nemesis

Part Five: Many Happy Returns

Flux, Part Two

Holden heard the swearing before he even got close to Fielding's office. He did not quicken his pace, because a man who is in control of the situation never hurries. And Charles Holden prided himself on always being in control of the situation.

Fielding's 'secretary', Mandi, was a vapid little blonde who had never taken a word of dictation in her life. But then, that wasn't what she was there for. Her job requirements were to look pretty, wear low-cut tops and short skirts, and do whatever Mr Fielding told her to do. After the Rhia Sanders fiasco, Holden had personally taken charge of this aspect of Fielding's work environment, and he had yet to hear a complaint.

She looked up at Holden now as he entered the outer office, and shot him a terrified glance. "I don't know what happened, I really don't," she babbled before he even had a chance to speak. "I took him his morning coffee and paper, and then I came out here to wait for him to call me back in, and then I heard him start yelling. I don't know why he's angry, I really don't. It wasn't anything I did, I don't think -"

That's right, he didn't say. You don't think. "It's fine," he said soothingly. "I'll take care of it. Did you look at the paper when you took it to him?"

She stared blankly at him. "No. Why?"

Because if you had, you stupid little whore, we might not be in this situation. "Never mind."

"Am – am I fired?"

Charles Holden never made a promise he couldn't keep. "We'll see."

Putting Mandi and her problems out of his mind – he would decide whether or not to fire her later – he stepped forward, bypassing her desk. Pausing at Fielding's office door, he knocked gently.

There was no response for a moment or two, then Fielding called from inside, "Who is it?"

"It's Charles," Holden replied. "May I come in?"

The question was a mere formality. Holden had personally brought Flux into the company, shepherding him through the red tape to set him up in this office, along with all the perks that the company could afford to give him. Fielding owed everything to Holden, and both men knew it.

"Sure." Flux still sounded pissed, but he wasn't about to take it out on the guy who held more power over him than his putative boss. "Come on in."

Holden opened the door to find Fielding's office in disarray. A paperweight lay on the carpet, atop two sheets from what Holden easily identified as a newspaper. More sheets were scattered about the floor, as if the paper had been flung away from the desk. He paused, looking around. There, on the wall, was a drying spray-pattern of coffee; more had soaked into the carpet below, amid the shattered remains of the mug. He was pleased to see that Fielding had at least refrained from smashing his computer monitor; those things were on the expensive side.

Stepping into the office, he closed the door behind him. "Mr Fielding," he observed, his voice neutral. "You appear to be out of sorts."

"Well, I've got a right to be." Fielding waved one of the few remaining sheets from the newspaper. "Have you seen the shit they've been printing?"

Holden knew why he was angry; had known, in fact, since before stepping into the office. There were three newspapers in the city of Bedford; two followed the party line, printing whatever the mayor's office wanted them to say. The third one was the Bedford Bulletin.

The Bulletin was a privately-owned independent paper with a history of tweaking the noses of those in power. The editors of the paper also had the habit of arranging their front page to resemble those of their rivals, so that anyone not paying attention might accidentally pick up the wrong paper. Maree had never impressed Holden as being someone who paid attention at the best of times, so it didn't surprise him that she had made this mistake.

Moving across to the desk, he took the sheet from Fielding's hand. It was the front page of the Bulletin, as he had suspected. Spreading it out, he took in what it said.

The headline read: WANTED CAPES SAVE THE DAY. Beneath it was a picture of Troy's Nemesis cape alongside the stone-clad Changer. Flux wasn't even shown.

The writers of the article had obviously interviewed many of the witnesses to the event, including the proprietor of the convenience store; in doing so, they had learned the current names of the two capes involved. The Times and the Herald-Age were still using the names 'Electro-killer' and 'Gargoyle', but the Bulletin was using the correct names and the article took care to humanise them. Moreover, they were painting Surge in a positive light, emphasising his feat in drawing power from the downed electricity lines while Stoneface fended off attacks from Flux. Nor had they stinted in buying up phone pictures of the incident, carefully picking those which supported the tone of the article.

Not that they had to try very hard. Holden would never criticise Flux directly, at least where anyone could hear him, but it was clear to him that the ex-Ward had well and truly dropped the ball on this occasion. At least our local TV stations know not to broadcast anything that shows Flux in a negative light. The last thing he needed was footage of Flux acting so irresponsibly on the evening news.

"I see," he murmured, folding the sheet carefully. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Hell, yes, it's going to be a problem!" snapped Flux. Holden felt the pen in his inside pocket vibrate as Flux's magnetic aura fluctuated. "Those assholes think they can print anything about me and get away with it. What are we going to do about it?"

Holden assumed his most serious expression. "We are going to 'do' nothing about it, Mr Fielding. You are going to continue going about your work as a public superhero, getting cats out of trees and keeping the streets safe. After all, you have years of goodwill built up in the community. You've legitimately saved lives and brought criminals to justice. When this has blown over, when people have forgotten the details, they will still remember you as Bedford's own. This other one?" He made a throwaway gesture. "Once he's gone, they won't even remember him."

"But what do we do about the fucking paper?" Fielding pointed at the incriminating headline. "They're gonna just keep printing shit like this. Aren't they?"

Holden felt his irritation rising, but he carefully kept any indication of this out of his voice. "Perhaps. We will run spin control. It's your job to ensure that you don't give them any ammunition to use against you." Any more ammunition, to be precise.

"But in the meantime, they're printing bullshit about me and getting away with it." Fielding's voice was sullen now, as opposed to argumentative.

"As much as we would like it to be against the law to print unfavourable articles about you, this is unfortunately not the case," Holden pointed out. "So they are not so much 'getting away with it' as they are exercising their Constitutional rights to free speech."

"But printing something that's not true, that's grounds for a lawsuit, right? Slander or libel or something like that?"

"Yes, it would be, if they printed something damaging about you, that also happened to be untrue," agreed Holden. "However, the only thing they printed which could be construed as untrue was to portray the Electro-Killer and Gargoyle in a favourable position, rather than unrepentant villains."

"And murderers," Fielding reminded him. "People need to remember that he's a murderer."

"Very true. However, you will note that the article does not deny that. It merely emphasises that he took care to save the lives of those bystanders."

"After trying to kill me with that baseball bat." So, he was still upset about that. Holden had suspected as much.

"Well, that is assault with a deadly weapon," Holden said. "As the Times and the Herald-Age both pointed out."

"But the fucking Bulletin made him look clever!" Fielding complained. "Like he deserves praise for getting past my magnetic field!"

"So, the next time you meet him, you prove that you are the clever one, by capturing him." Holden made his tone reasonable, where he really wanted to grab the boy and shake some sense into him.

"Or I can just fucking kill him," muttered Fielding.

"While that is an option," Holden conceded, "it would be best to keep it in reserve until everything else has been exhausted. The best outcome would be for him to be taken down publicly, in the middle of committing a crime. That would negate the Robin-Hood image that he seems to be gathering among some members of the public, and re-cement your status as Bedford's protector and superhero."

"So, I have to wait around until he commits a crime and hope to catch him red-handed?" demanded Fielding. "Or, can we …" His tone became crafty. " … well, you know, 'arrange' matters?"

Holden suppressed a grimace. He had set in motion just such 'arrangements' before, in order to frame independent capes in Bedford for crimes when Flux could not drive them out of town any other way. However, such undertakings had to be planned with the utmost of care and forethought, following extensive research. They were most certainly not to be attempted at a moment's notice against a group of parahumans exhibiting the level of capability shown by Surge and his gang.

"I would much rather we didn't jump in at the deep end quite yet," he said smoothly. "They are, after all, criminals. Sooner or later, they will commit a felony, and you'll catch them at it. Subdue the Electro-killer, and the others will be without a guiding force."

"So I've gotta wait till he screws up, is what you're saying." Fielding's tone was almost sulky.

Holden nodded. "That is, indeed, what I am saying."

Fielding rolled his eyes. "This was supposed to be a lot easier. He gets a costume and starts stealing shit, I beat him up, he goes to jail and escapes, I beat him up again. He looks bad, I look good. Why couldn't it happen that way?"

Repressing a sigh of irritation, Holden instead clasped his hands behind his back. It was preferable to carrying out his first impulse, which involved attempting to strangle the young idiot. "I believe that you requested that he retain partial memories of how things work. If I recall correctly, your words were 'make sure he can give me a challenge'. Is that about right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want this much of a challenge," whined Fielding.

"Unfortunately, I do not believe that our benefactors are in the business of issuing refunds," Holden said firmly. "So we have to deal with what we have." He checked his watch. "And now, I believe that it's time for you to report to the factory floor."

"Okay, sure." Fielding rose to leave.

"One more thing." Holden stopped him with a glance. "You'll be going out on patrol afterward. If you encounter the Electro-killer or his gang, do not engage without contacting me first. Yesterday's incident smells like a setup to me. We do not want a repeat performance."

Fielding nodded. "Okay, sure thing." He stepped around the desk and slipped past Holden.

The older man followed more slowly. When he reached the outer office, he paused, reminded of Mandi's question.

The damage was done before he ever read it, and I got the opportunity to explain where he was going wrong. I'll take that as a win. She can stay.

His mind already on other matters, Holden kept walking. He was a busy man, after all.

"Look, Justin! You're in the newspaper!"

I couldn't help a proud smile as Rhia showed Justin the picture on the front page of the Bedford Bulletin. Unlike the other two rags, it actually gave a fair and balanced description of the altercation between me and Justin and Fluckface. And to be fair, the kid had come through in absolute spades.

"Uncle Joe's there too," Justin pointed out. "Look, he's saving all those people, like I said!"

The Pickpocket Kid – I mean Cleo – stared at the picture. I had to admit, it was one of those awesome once-in-a-lifetime photos. There I was like Thor or Hercules or one of those classical gods on a mountaintop, being smited … smoted? Smitten? Whatever, being zapped by about ten zillion volts of pure electrical goodness, and taking it like a boss.

She looked over at me, her eyes wide. "I didn't know you could pull electricity to yourself."

I couldn't help myself. She'd handed that line to me on a plate, after all. "Well, I have to admit, I was kind of shocked myself."

Cleo got it about one second after Rhia burst out laughing; the kid looked like she was in pain. Justin looked at Rhia, apparently puzzled. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing, really," I assured him. "I just made a bad joke."

"That joke was terrible," Cleo corrected me. "Just for that, I'm gonna steal your money again, and not tell you where I put it."

To be honest, I was kind of more comfortable with that attitude than with hero-worship. I couldn't really help it with Justin; after the praise I'd given him after getting back the previous day, he probably thought I walked on water. Of course, compared to Troll, I basically did.

"That's fine," I said cheerfully. "I'll just ask Justin where you put it. He'll tell me, won't you, Justin?"

"Uh huh," he said eagerly. "And you shouldn't take Uncle Joe's stuff, Cleo. He's really cool."

Cleo looked betrayed. "Justin, I thought you were on my side."

"Yeah, but he bought me banana milk," Justin said. "I like banana milk."

"Wow, so you'll sell me out for banana milk?" Cleo shook her head.

I shrugged, trying not to grin too broadly in case I hurt my face or something. "Hey, kid's got his price. At least he's up front about it."

The girl shook her head, but I could tell that she was trying not to grin as well. "I'll sell you out for banana milk."

"But …" Justin looked distressed. "It's my banana milk."

"It's all right," Rhia soothed him. "Nobody's taking your banana milk. It's still in the fridge."

"Still think that was a stupid joke," Cleo muttered.

"Well, yeah." I grinned at her. "They're the best ones. But we need to talk."

Rhia tilted her head, and gestured around at the room. We were currently holed up in an abandoned living area over a warehouse. "What do we need to talk about? With the food and clothes we got from that heist, we're not going to need to steal anything for at least a week."

"Yeah, I got that." I sagged into the armchair behind me; a little dust arose, but it didn't bother me. "But we gotta think long-term."

Rhia took a seat on the dilapidated sofa opposite me; Justin sat beside her. Cleo perched on the arm of the sofa. Sitting forward, Rhia spoke. "Long-term how? We've got to get a proper nest egg, then move anywhere that Flux isn't. He's not a hero. He's a murderer."

So am I, I thought, but didn't say. "No," I said instead. "We don't move. He'll just spread his poison about us. Before we know it, we're face to face with someone who's actually got a clue, and thinks we're dangerous criminals. Here and now, Flux won't let any other heroes operate in Bedford, so we've got an opposition of one."

"But he's likely to go after us with everything he's got," she protested. "And he doesn't pull his punches. You know that."

"And your electricity doesn't work against his magnetic shit," Cleo added.

"Yeah, he's an asshole," I agreed. "To be honest, I don't even know why he's got it in for me. But that doesn't matter. What matters is what we do about him."

"Wait … do about him?" repeated Cleo. "What can we do about him? He's Flux. He's a superhero. The cops love him, City Hall loves him, even the papers love him. If we try to say anything bad about him, they'll arrest us, ignore us, or both."

"We take him down," I said. "We take him out. And we do it in a way that shows up what an asshole he is. That's what we do about him."

"So how do we take him down?" Rhia looked honestly concerned. "He's got experience in using his powers in combat. If either of you'd been alone yesterday, he would've beaten you."

"But he didn't," I pointed out. "In fact, we showed up a weakness. And we proved to the public that he's willing to kill innocents to get at me. If we can do that again, and take him down in the process, I figure the Bulletin will be happy to print an expose on Flux. Nail his ass to the wall."

"I'd like to see that," Rhia admitted. "But I can't really figure out how we're going to do it."

"Well, the plan's still in the early stages," I said. In fact, I still hadn't figured it out for myself. But I was sure that something would come to me. All we needed was a few days of rest and relaxation, and I figured that I'd come up with something. "I'll fill you in -"

A loud banging came from the door downstairs that led out of the warehouse. Someone was thumping on it, with quite a bit of force. We all stood up.

"Oh, shit," I muttered. "Please don't tell me that the magnetic moron managed to luck on to our hideout."

"No, he would've come in through the window if he had," Cleo said. "With an I-beam or something following right behind."

She had a point, which left an important question. "Okay, so if it's not him, who the hell is it?"

"Someone who knows we're here?" hazarded Rhia.

"Or maybe they're just guessing," I said. "Stay quiet, everyone." For my part, I headed over to where I could see current passing through the wall. Slapping my hand on to the ribbon, I started sucking up power like a coke-head starting a fresh key.

With a rending crash, the door down below gave way. Rhia and I met each others' eyes. Hers were wide with shock and surprise; I had no idea what mine looked like.

"That door was steel-reinforced!" Cleo blurted. "How the hell -"

"Shh," I murmured. "I'll go check it out. Justin, be ready to come and back me up. The rest of you, if you have to run for it, do it."

Justin didn't argue; stone began to appear out of nowhere, covering him from head to toe. But Cleo looked pissed. "My clothes! I just stole that shit!"

"Grab what you can. We'll steal more later." Rhia nodded at me. "Go."

I gave her a quick smile and headed for the exit to the living area. Justin followed, the last pieces of stone sliding into place on his body.

Down below, the warehouse was ill-lit except for where the door had been busted in. A broad-shouldered figure was silhouetted against the light from outside as it moved farther into the building.

I stopped at the top of the stairs and called out, "Hey! You're trespassing!"

The figure stopped; I still couldn't get a good look, but I was pretty sure that it was a guy. His voice, when he replied, was deep and resonant. "I'm looking for Surge and his crew. Have I come to the right place?"

"What the hell? Who the hell are you?"

His next statement was one I never thought I'd hear … nor did I want to.

"The name's Bulldozer. I'm with the Protectorate. Son, we need to talk."

Well, that's the record for the shortest criminal career in history.

Fuck. My. Life.

End of Part Five