| COHERENT COMICS UNINC. PRESENTS an ACADEMY OF SUPER-HEROES Tale.... __\|/_______________________________________________________________________ /|\ BEACON by Dave Van Domelen, copyright 2001 | #3 - "The Fading Light" ============================================================================ [cover shows Harry tied up in a cave, with a robed cultist in the dim light raising a black blade over his head.] ============================================================================ [January, 1928 - Blue Mound, Wisconsin] All about was darkness and stillness, broken only by the gloating of a man who wanted me dead...dead and a sacrifice to his pagan mistress. "The light of your reason may have given our Lady some setbacks, cripple, but it will not serve you in our darkness now! Your clever devices have been smashed, and you cannot escape the Wheel, half-man!" the cultist crowed. I could smell the reek of his breath hot on my face and feel the occasional wet slap of spittle. Nearby, Jameson moaned, catching the cultist's attention. But the madman didn't turn to look, he kept his face level to mine so that I would not miss a single one of his hate-filled syllables. "Your manservant will follow you in sacrifice, of course. But it is your blood that will be first to slake the goddess's thirst! And none of your clever tricks will save you from your long-overdue and justly deserved fate, 'Beacon.'" No tricks I'd shown him, no. But after I spent a night tied up in Boss Karpov's warehouse on the case where Jameson joined me, I had determined I wouldn't be quite so helpless again. The shell-holed fields of France had rendered me as helpless as I was going to ever be. As the cultist continued to rant about the particular details of my upcoming gruesome demise, I determined that he was no more able to see in the darkness than I was. That, or he was so focused on my face that he ignored my hands, which were working loose of their bonds as quickly as their fumbling numbness allowed. I had been too late to learn from Houdini himself, but there was no shortage of imitators willing to teach a few tricks to a famous detective. And while the man's stage name of "Slipknot Slim" left much to be desired, his abilities as an escape artist and a teacher did not. "...and then, as your blood slooooowly pools around the base of the wheel, I will..." My fist slammed the cultist's jaw shut and continued upwards to snap his head back hard. I could barely feel the pain shooting up my arm, thanks to the numbness that came with being tied up for hours. The cultist hit the floor of the cave hard, and I heard stone snap as he stumbled against some delicate limestone formation. "Wha...where?" Jameson mumbled, drifting fully into consciousness. "The Nyxists got us," I gasped as I bent over to free my useless legs. Useless, but I couldn't just detach them and leave them behind like a gecko shedding its tail. I managed to overbalance and landed atop the cultist's body just after freeing my legs. "Keep talking," I said. "So I can find you in this dark before any other Nyxists get back." It was a nervous and uncomfortable several minutes as I made my way over to him and undid the cruel knots that bound Jameson, followed by much stumbling in the dark to find egress...but somehow we escaped with our lives. * * * * [January, 1928 - Chicago, Illinois] "Shouldn't we just tell the police and let them handle this like we usually do?" Jameson asked as he finished a few welds on the ungainly structure of springs and cables I'd designed. "They can't deal with dark magic, and I'd wager tenure that this group of cultists has access to powers as strange as the Midnight Killer's. We would be sending the police to their deaths, it would be a slaughter." "And it won't be a slaughter if we go in there alone?" he countered. "We don't know how many of them are even in the caves." "All of them, I hope," I snarled. "And I will call in the police...but only to cordon off the area. I don't want any of these benighted murderers escaping. You can stay behind if you want...this is personal." Jameson held up the odd contraption he was working on. "And let you run...well, hobble...in there trusting to this Rube Goldberg nightmare for mobility? No, if I can't bring you to your senses and convince you to stay out of the action, I'm going in with you." I waved at the device. "Oh, it looks bad, but so long as all those welds hold, it should keep me upright. The springs lock my legs straight unless I trigger the hand control cables to bend them. And once we attach the wheels, I can just fold up and latch it all closed, rolling until it's too rough to continue. It'll be jerky and unstable, but it should work as well as crutches. And I'll use the butt of this," I held up the other device we'd been feverishly working on, "to help keep me stable." Jameson shook his head and sighed. "That portable Magnalux really worries me, Harry. At least I understand the physics behind the leg braces, even if I think they'll be impossible to control. But I can't figure out how you managed to get a battery powerful enough to fire the Magnalux into that package." "To be honest...I don't really understand it either. The rest of the Light Lance, that's what I'm calling it, is just a portable version of the old Magnalux. But I was at a loss to power it until I met Doctor Baugh." "The mad scientist?" Jameson's mouth went agape. I chuckled. "He doesn't have an assistant named Igor or work in a gothic castle, you know. Just because he holds to Tesla's more fringe views doesn't make him a 'mad scientist.'" "But I thought Baugh's results turned out to be irreproducible?" Jameson furrowed his brow. "So did I...until I reproduced them. So, either I'm mad as well, or the others have been overlooking something. Either way, it works." To demonstrate, I hefted the Light Lance and pointed it at a lead brick acting as ballast at the corner of a table. I pressed the trigger and there was a bright flash. When my vision cleared, I saw that the lead had melted and flowed at one corner, dripping onto the floor. "See?" "Barely," Jameson rubbed spots out of his eyes. "I know it'll be dark in there, but you may want to bring these," he lifted a pair of tinted welding goggles from the work table. * * * * [January, 1928 - Blue Mound, Wisconsin] I silently cursed the creaking of the springs as I jounced through the caverns with Jameson at my side, occasionally keeping me upright. They'd been well-oiled when we left the lab, but the light flurries were enough to get some rust started already. Definitely something to consider for the next version. Assuming this version didn't get me killed. "Going alright?" Jameson solicited. "Let's just say I'm glad for a light dinner. I should sell this design to Coney Island for a new thrill ride," I groused. The problem with springs, you see, is that they're springy. Some sort of critical damping was called for in the redesign as well. Too little shock absorption and I'd still be bouncing all over the place, too much and the braces would overcorrect. Simple physics. I shut off our light and stopped. "Listen." "Chanting," Jameson noted. "And they're not using any light at all, curse it." I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see it. On the off chance they'd use low lighting to conduct the ceremony, I'd used a trick I learned from an astronomer colleague. Red light does not rob you of your low-light vision the way white light does. It had been ominous moving through the caverns in bloody red light, but I didn't see spots now that it was out. The Light Lance, however, had to be tuned to the higher frequencies, because ultraviolet light had proved the only sure way to penetrate the paranormal darkness used by the Midnight Killer. I did not think that an entire cult of these Nyxists would be any less protected. The darkness was filled by a scream, suddenly cut short. "Damn it all! We're too late!" I shouted as I bounded forward, turning on the light so Jameson could follow at best speed. We burst into a large cavern and I recognized the wheel I had been tied to, despite having never seen it before. One does not lose such intimiate familiarity easily. A young man was tied to it, blood streaming from a cut on his leg and staining a dagger held in the hands of a cultist. "You!" the cultist hissed, revealing himself to be the one who had loomed over me in darkness the night before. "Mighty Nyx," he turned back to the wheel, "accept our sacrifice in the spirit it is offered, and forgive us the lack of ceremony!" He plunged the dagger into the captive's heart, grating horribly on ribs as he forced it in. "NO!" I shouted, triggering the Light Lance. The cavern was flooded with light as if by a lightning bolt, stunning the other cultists...the many, many other cultists, and tearing a neat hole in their leader. "You are...too...late...CRIPPLE..." he hissed as he sank to the rough floor of the cavern. The room darkened. I checked the beacon on my miner's helmet, but it was still shining strongly. No, darkness was entering the room. Palpable darkness. A creature OF darkness. Cultists sank to their knees in fervor, which was a fatal mistake. Had they rushed me, they might have done me and Jameson in. They at least might have escaped the creature they summoned. For it had no loyalty to them at all. Perhaps it was the shortened ceremony. Perhaps it never would have done anything other than what it did now. I do not know. But even I felt a shred of pity as the cultists started to shriek in pain, their bodies devoured by the shambling mountain of darkness. "By God, Parker!" Jameson gasped. "What is it?" "The enemy," I said evenly as he held down the trigger of the Light Lance as if I were grasping for a life preserver in a sea of darkness. The world went white. When the battery went flat a few seconds later, all that remained of the cult was a few feebly twitching, half-dead victims. Jameson and I were untouched. The monster that could have devoured the world in darkness if left unchecked was no more. If the springs hadn't held me stiffly erect, I probably would have collapsed. * * * * [December, 1933 - New York City] "And that was my first 'hero' outing," I finished. "I made the modifications to the rig, armored it a bit, gave it a patriotic splash of red, white and blue, and here I stand today," I told my assembled peers. "Well, you're sitting, and in a rather comfortable chair, I might add," Doctor Baugh chuckled. "But I do get the point. I resent being called a mad scientist, however," he cast a smirk at Jameson. "You have to admit, your reputation was less than sterling in the scientific community, Ivan," Jameson shot back, grinning. "And Harry here is still one of the few people who've gotten your cockamamie devices to work. Other than yourself, of course." The big man guffawed. "Ah, the curse of genius. Shared by so many here at the Academy, fortunately, so I do not feel alone here. Too few of the common man understand us." Jameson shrugged. "The common man really doesn't need us, though, does he?" "Buckshot" Sam Cooper idly spun one of his special shotgun pistols around. "Damn shame, too. It was a good ride while it ran. Cultists, monsters, mad scientists...present company excluded, a'course...secret jungle empires, all that stuff. We seen stuff the guy on the street'd wet himself in front of, took it all on, sent it packing." I nodded slowly. "I have to admit, the thrill of not actually dying all those times was a strong attraction. I wish I'd been able to see a few more fantastic things that WEREN'T trying to kill me, of course. But, all in all, I don't think I'd trade my life for a normal one, even counting the injuries that cost me the use of my legs. And I'm afraid that with Prohibition over, even the gangsters won't be much of a factor. Things are about to get boring on the home front." "That's why I'm going to China," Ace Atkinson cocked his goggles back. "The Nips are trying to take it over, and that don't sit right with me. Maybe we can help push back those yellow devils...and if we die trying, maybe the people back here in the States'll be shocked awake and see we need to do more." "At least Europe's not turning into a hellhole like China," Jameson smirked. "If anything, the common man's getting things together pretty well over there. The Germans and Italians have got it right. They might even manage to convince the commies over in Russia that they're wrong." I tried to hide a frown. Jameson was a big believer in the benefits of a strong central state, and of late he had fallen in with fascists. But he did make good points about how fascism was pulling parts of Europe out of the economic disasters that the last decade had heaped on the continent. Baugh did not hide his frown. "Professor Jameson, I have no particular love of the Communists, they killed my father and drove my mother out of the country of her birth, forcing her to remarry to support herself and her young child. But I like Hitler even less. He reminds me too much of the men who have earned the slur of 'mad scientist.' The fire in his eyes is not burning for the common man, it burns for himself." Jameson shrugged. "Visionaries often go a bit too far. But it's still a democracy, the common man can replace Hitler if he goes too far. It's the system that gives Germany its strength, not the man in the Chancellory. He guides, he doesn't rule. Emperors rule, and we see how Japan's trying to overrun all of Asia." There were murmurs and nods of assent from the various adventurers present, but they had started to take a darker tone. I decided to derail conversation with my announcement. "Ahem, if I could have your attention, esteemed members of the Academy?" I stood to emphasize my point, the springs and gears whirring smoothly. "Thank you. As we've been bemoaning, the opportunities for adventure are rapidly diminishing, and there's certainly other ways we can help people. To that end, I'm hanging up my helmet tonight," I doffed the bulky thing, a modified miner's helmet, and placed it on the mantle. "I'm not the only man left a cripple by the last war, and if things go badly in China, there will soon be another war to make more like me." "If war truly made more like you, I'd welcome it," Doctor Baugh rumbled. "Ah, thank you. But one problem that has stymied me over the past few years is why my walking rig only seems to work for me...your own problem, Doctor Baugh, in a way. Oh, the original rig works for others, but it can barely be said to work at all. The improvements I made over the years don't seem to help others. I'd like to devote more of my time to figuring out why, so that no man is prevented from walking so long as he has legs. And perhaps I will even figure out how to help those without legs at all." There was a ripple of applause, and I felt like a much larger weight than just my helmet had been lifted from my shoulders. It did feel a bit like giving up the good fight, but there really wasn't much fighting left to do. I could let myself have some peace now, as the entire world seemed to be settling down for a generation without war. Except for the poor Chinese, of course. * * * * [September, 1939 - Chicago, Illinois] I put the paper down and mused that Chancellors invade their neighbors too, not just Emperors. Despite desperate words from Chamberlain and others, I had no doubt that this was it. The end of peace in Europe. War had returned to the continent sooner than I'd expected, and far sooner than I'd hoped. Would I return to Europe to try and save it again? I glanced at my Light Lance, unused in combat for years, but still resting nearby. Oh, I wouldn't be drafted. Not in the conventional sense. I was too old, even leaving aside my legs. But even though most of the world had forgotten the deeds of "Beacon" and other colorful individuals a few years ago, I knew certain keen-eyed individuals in the governments of various nations had kept track of us. Of me. I would be called upon to serve in some capacity, if only as a weaponsmith. There was a knock at the door, interrupting my reverie. "Yes?" The door opened, showing a face I hadn't seen in years. "It's me, Harry." "Jameson! But why, today of all days?" He glanced down at the newspaper in my hands. "Chance, actually. I was on campus with other business, and I decided to stop by." "Well, your boy Hitler has gone down the Imperial Road, as it were." He fumed slightly. "I don't really want to discuss politics. Besides, it's not like Germany's alone in this...Russia took the other half of Poland. The half that will no doubt be far worse off in a few years. At least Hitler's saving half the Poles from the Reds." "What about the Polish Jews?" I countered. "They're in trouble on both sides, Harry. I'm no fool...I know Hitler himself isn't an anti-semite. Hell, look at him...I bet he's part Jew. But you and I both know that for the past few centuries, a quick and easy way to get people stirred up is to blame problems on the Jews. Look at the Crusades, eh? Once Germany has consolidated Europe under one banner, I'm sure things will improve for the Jews again. It's just rabble-rousing." "What about all the people who get hurt along the way?" Jameson shrugged. "War is a fact of life in Europe now, Harry. People get hurt in war. They just aren't all soldiers, and never have been." I turned away. "I wish I could say it had been good seeing you again, but I see you're still blinded to fascism's flaws. Good day." "I can't leave yet. I'd hoped to get your support, but I can see you're still a fool. I'll have to settle...." In his reflection on a piece of polished metal on my workbench, I saw Jameson pull something from his pocket. I dove for my Light Lance and fired on reflex. The world dissolved in lightning and thunder.... ============================================================================= Next Issue: "Shadow Out Of Berlin" sees Beacon facing the greatest darkness the world has ever seen...and it's not just Hitler! Will he survive the end of the war? Never mind that...will Beacon survive the end of this final issue? ============================================================================= Author's Notes: Apologies if anyone was offended by some of the language used in the later scenes. I actually toned it down quite a bit from the sort of casual racism seen in political talk of the era. But I didn't want to completely neuter it, because that would be a disservice to readers and to my work. Too many writers in this genre try to give historical characters a modern sensibility so that the heroes don't come across as racists or sexists or any other kind of unsympathetic -ists. And, being a product of modern times, I can't completely erase that modern view from my own characters, but I do try to let them show at least a bit of the sort of behavior you'd have seen in heroes of the period.