Magistrate's end [Story]

[csyphrett]

Re: Magistrate's end [story]

 

11

The Chemist used a gate from New York to Los Angeles. He appeared outside of the Los Angeles Speedway. He staggered up the steps close to where Enoch had turned Quick into a statue. Once he broke the spell they could return to the Tower.

 

He still needed to work on his body and repair it.

 

The Chemist checked his bearings as he walked along the steps. He decided on a spot from his memory of the vision he had created. He wrote on the concrete with a misshapen finger. Each symbol was an effort.

 

The concrete boiled producing a statue out of the staircase. The Chemist grimaced before writing the stone away to reveal a breathing friend. Quick glanced around, taking in the situation instantly.

 

"Where's Enoch?" Quick took off her racing helmet, holding it under one arm.

 

"Kevin Reilly shot him." The Chemist sat down. "He's dead."

 

"Reilly shot him?" Quick sat down beside the magician. "That's almost impossible to believe."

 

"That's what I thought too." The Chemist looked up at the sky. "The rest of the team are in sick bay. I don't know how they're taking what happened so far."

 

"We should get back and talk to Silver." Quick stood, pulling on her helmet.

 

"Reilly's in charge for right now." The Chemist also stood, brushing off his pants. "I don't know if the team will stick together, if the UN will want us together."

 

"Reilly is in charge?" Quick put her hands on her hips, looking up at the slightly taller Chemist's face. "What happened to Silver?"

 

"He didn't make it." The Chemist tried to look her in the eye. He thought it felt harder than it should have. "He burnt out defending the tower."

 

"You don't think we'll keep our sanction without the old man." Quick had no problem looking him in the eye.

 

"I don't know." The Chemist decided to look away. "The others have been returned home. As soon as you're checked out, I can fix my body."

 

"I'll get on that." Quick tapped her foot once. "Do the others know?"

 

"Only if Reilly told them." The Chemist shrugged. "I think he's waiting on me to do it."

 

"I'll do it." Quick walked toward the exit. "Are you coming with me?"

 

"I have a couple more things to do." The Chemist wrote on the air. "I'll see you back at the Tower when I'm done."

 

Quick nodded before vanishing. The Chemist watched the dust trail settle before putting in his last finger stroke. Another gate opened for him to step through to a place in Kentucky. Time to check on the most important prisoner in the facility.

 

The Chemist walked through the cell blocks full of mental patients until he got to Scriptus. The former writer barely looked up when he entered. No magic meant he didn't have the advantage he had used to build his empire again.

 

"I have some bad news, Scriptus." The Chemist stood next to the door, hands ready to use. "Your son was killed during a battle. His body will be cremated in a few days."

"Why bother to tell me this?" The former writer stared at the floor of his cell. "I won't even be allowed to be there for the cremation."

 

"You're his only family." The Chemist held up one hand. "You should know what happened to him, and you should have his ashes."

 

"What can I do with his ashes?" The writer stood, eyes glaring from the shadow of his brow. "What good will that do me?"

 

"It will remind you what you threw away for your dream." The Chemist's face was stone. "It will remind you of what could have been."

 

"I don't need a reminder about that." The writer sat down again, hands folding his legs to his chest. "Every day is a reminder of what could have been."

 

"I doubt it, brother." The Chemist wrote and stepped out of the cell. "I doubt you really know what you lost."

 

The Chemist waved at the guard before translating himself back to the Tower. He still had things to do.

[csyphrett]

Re: Magistrate's end [story]

 

12

 

They held the funeral for Jerry Silver two days after he had died. There wasn't a need for an autopsy, or any restrictions except for filing paperwork on what had happened. Kevin Reilly filed his own statement, and was back at his post within the day.

 

He imagined bigwigs at the U.N. breathing a sigh of relief someone capable of nuking a city was gone for good. He also thought they wanted Enoch's body for something stupid and Frankensteinian. He cracked a beer himself when the Chemist reduced the corpse to two pounds of ash that would never bother anybody else.

 

The Chemist scattered the ashes into the ocean before picking up an urn and filling it with all the ashes from Silver's cigarettes they could find. He sealed it and sent it over to the prison holding Scriptus.

 

That should keep him from trying to find the real thing if he ever got out.

 

The team decided that a crypt on Tower Island would be the best thing. The Chemist and Maker worked to expand the island, including her wards and protective systems before a small graveyard was built up out of stone. A statue of Silver marked where he would be laid to rest. A priest named Monahan came in to bless the ground as soon as it was ready for its first official duty.

 

Everyone wanted to attend the funeral. It was a great photo op with a fallen hero. The Magistrates forbade it. The only people invited were Tower staff and family, Mr. Pletskin from the U.N., and various members of the hero community that wanted to attend. The ceremony wasn't televised, and Reilly actively discouraged anyone trying to sail or fly by to take pictures.

 

John Public, Phaeton, the Chemist, Pointer, The Persian and Watcher acted as pallbearers. They walked the coffin out of the Tower and placed it on the straps to lower it in the ground at the end of the ceremony. They stood with the crowd as Monahan quietly read the eulogy and delivered his message. Then they lowered the casket into the slot carved from the rock. Monahan said a blessing, and then the Chemist sealed the grave from intrusion from anyone less skilled than he. They activated the security system as the mourners filed back to the Tower to get something to eat and drink before going home.

 

The Magistracy were the last to leave. They had been repaired for the most part, and the Chemist had finally gotten his body back to the way it had been. The last few days had been put on taking care of immediate problems. Now they had to consider the future.

 

"Mr. Pletskin wants to know what we're going to do." John Public stared at the grave. "Do we stay together, or break up?"

 

"I'm for staying." Luna had an arm around Phaeton who held her with his own arm. "Phaeton and I have nowhere else to go."

 

"I'm staying too." Quick brushed her dark hair from her eyes absently, holding her helmet with the other hand. "I like what we do for the most part."

 

"Staying." John looked up. "We do some good so I don't see why we shouldn't keep trying. Maker, Chemist?"

 

"I'll stay if you're staying." Maker let her armor return to a black dress and shoes. "The U.N. is helping me plan projects for assistance. I can't give that up, and I won't give you up now."

 

Everyone looked at the Chemist. His face behind his sunglasses seemed stony and unreadable. He had placed more than few comrades in the ground around the world. Jerry had asked him to provide muscle and Jerry was gone. He could retreat to his hideaway and turn his attention to other things besides the mundane world.

 

He found himself asking what would Jerry do if the positions were reversed. The answer was as obvious as it was painful. He would keep going no matter what.

 

Could he do less than that?

 

"I'll go along." The Chemist lit up a cigarette. "I have some things I have to do. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

 

"I thought you didn't smoke." John felt his expression match that of everyone else. It consisted of some surprise and confusion.

 

"Just one for old time's sake." The Chemist wrote on the air, stepping through the fracture he had created.

 

"What now, fearless leader?" Luna asked John.

 

"We do what we can to make things better for people." John hugged Maker to him. "Let's see if any of the food is left."

[csyphrett]

Re: Magistrate's end [story]

 

epilogue

 

Not far from where Jerry Silver had his accident before the second world war, a college campus had sprung. Its study of superhumans and the way they affected the world had become world famous. Hardware that wouldn't be ready for use by normal people came from its departments' skills and training. Among its student body, Jeff Bronze wandered, trying to figure out how not to flunk his classes.

 

Jeff went with the rest of his class to a demonstration of a new accelerator that was supposed to let researchers catalogue more particles than he could remember the names. Professor Allen seemed to think they would be building the next generation of atom smashers in his class according to his syllabus.

 

Jeff hoped not.

 

The equipment geared up just as it was supposed to. Jeff had taken a position near the front of the tour so he could make notes. If he had to build one, he might as well write down how they were supposed to work. As far as he could see everything was going beautifully.

 

Outside clouds gathered over the campus, promising rain for any who happened to be standing outside in the next few minutes. Imaginative observers claimed to see a face in the clouds to anyone who listened.

 

A single stroke of lightning speared down from the cloud. Thunder was heard two miles away. Then the cloud bank broke apart. They had come to deliver that one shot of lightning and their job was done. Time to break it up and move on.

 

Jeff stepped closer to the machinery, noting readouts and the chatter of the computers. He heard something that sounded like thunder. He put it down as impossible. He was underground, and right next to running machinery making a lot of noise.

 

No way in the world would thunder reach where he was.

 

Then the world decided he needed a lesson and exploded in his face.

 

They told him later that electricity had formed a lightning bolt from one of the panels with a telephone hookup to the outside world. He had suffered some minor burns but had survived an event that axed through the nearby equipment like a barbarian. No one knew what had happened, but they wanted to do some tests to make sure he was really okay.

 

Jeff decided it was better to go home and get some real sleep and skip getting tested. He didn't want to be a guinea pig for the brains. He could already see how they treated students who wanted to pass their classes.

 

He was better off trying to figure out how he had survived such an event on his own.

 

Jeff took the next few days off, worried about the constant noise in his ears, and the lights that hovered on the edge of his vision. Pain killers did nothing for that. They dulled his thinking which might have saved his life. It kept him down in a cloud until the day the scars on his body healed up instantly.

 

He had wanted the throbbing to fade and the fading burns to go away faster. They did. That cut his fog instantly. Several times he had almost wished for himself to be gone. He could see that as accidental suicide.

 

Jeff didn't know what had happened to him, but he had a power, and a responsibility. And if he used it wrong, it could blow him apart by mistake.

 

Life wasn’t getting any easier. He just had to do the best he could.