Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

28: Can Anybody Hear Me?

Rigel VII

Real name: Victor Lorenzen

Powers: Able to “surf” on streams of light (especially starlight) and use light as an energy source.

Notes: Although an American by birth, he rarely spent time in the US after he became a metahuman. Lorenzen became known as the “Wandering Star” as he travelled the world, aiding other supergroups when they required help or using his powers to do civilian work. His lifestyle was funded by the licensing fees he was paid for the comic books based on his adventures. Retired following the Seoul Accord. Died in 1965 of testicular cancer.

—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0051]

***

Not for the first time, Morgan wished he could fly. Not if it came with hideous wings, of course, like Avin, but a psychic-based flight would be convenient. It was one of the few things he envied Sam.

He popped the clutch on the rocket bike and zipped past a truck and trailer, the tyres screaming against the road. Driving the contraption with his limited vision was one of the riskier things he’d done today. A bubble of perspex kept the wind and the bugs off his face, but it had a nasty habit of distorting the light from the street lamps as they strobed above him, pulsing in time to his headache. Serpentessa was taking the van back on her own. There was only room for one on the rocket bike. Besides, the woman had been careless to let Spook interrupt him. He would have enjoyed leaving Wallace trussed up in front of the television, watching his city die.

Overhead, Morgan’s airship Hyperion continued its slow circuit of the city, ray cannons charging. Navigatron and the skeleton crew could handle the aircraft without any trouble. It looked beautiful against the backdrop of stars.

Morgan glanced down at the flashing dot on the rocket bike display. It pointed to the centre of the city, where the Peace Tower’s needle pierced the sky. Yes, this would definitely be easier if I could fly. High-powered rocket-packs were dangerous if you weren’t in an armoured suit, and he found the suits inconvenient and impractical. The needle on the speedometer climbed slowly higher.

The radio piece in his ear crackled. “We await your pleasure, my lord.” Navigatron’s modulated croaking sounded more like one of the Circuit’s robots than a human.

So this was it. The end. Morgan could feel the weight pressing down on him. It shouldn’t have had to be like this. He paused for a moment, then thumbed a button on the handlebars. “Three minutes. Acquire your targets to maximise panic.”

“Understood.” Another crackle, then there was only the sound of the bike’s rocket engine.

The highway swept beneath him. He checked the display again. The dot hadn’t moved. Doll Face had done well, implanting the rendezvous location deep in the boy’s subconscious. He just had to meet with the boy one more time before the end. And up there would be a good spot for the boy to contemplate.

The speedometer beeped twice. Critical speed attained. His head pounded as he hit the thruster. He only hoped the bike didn’t burn up on launch like the prototype had.

Something whirred behind him. A new wave of heat pressed against his legs. His white shirt stuck to the sweat on his back. The bike coughed twice, and Morgan held his breath. Then the bike jerked suddenly forwards and upwards, pinning him against the seat. His gloves slipped on the handlebars. For a moment, he lost his balance, and the bike lurched like a drunken sailor. But the tips of his fingers caught the grip. He twisted the throttle, and the hum of the tyres on the road was replaced by the incessant roar of flame.