. Blackbird & Countinghouse Presents: ( ) CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS ( ) I An Academy of Super-Heroes UniverseComic I I copyright 2002 by Tony Pi I #22 - VILLAIN'S APPRENTICE I "Better or Worse" =========================================================================== [A gauntleted hand - unmistakably Triton's - is outstretched as though waiting for a handshake. Caption reads: 'Devil's Offer!'] =========================================================================== CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS ROSTER --------------------------------------------------------------------------- TRITON Derek Radner Electrical Generation SULTRY Angeline Croft Weather Control CONFLICTO Eugene Kwan Friction & Viscosity Control GLYPH Zephirah Reuben Magical Sigils SPIRAL Anya Kirova Telekinetic Torque MYRIAD Alpha Rho Fourteen Shapeshifting TERRASTAR Polla Geomancy KALIBAN ? Monstrous Strength --------------------------------------------------------------------------- When you choose a career like journalism, you decide for yourself the level of risk you're willing to take. If you want safety, work behind a desk, make up scandals about politicians and movie stars, and float paper around the office. (Not much different from being entombed alive.) If you want debauchery, sacrifice your time for the sake of high society and the glamorous world of entertainment reporting. But that's the world of vain airheads and vapid gossip. Not for the likes of me. I went into investigative journalism, immersing myself willingly in the danger that comes with crime, war, and superhuman conspiracies. I, Robert Coulter, am and always will be a fool in search of a higher cliff, a blind man leaping a wider pit. You would think that I would have learned my lesson months ago back in May, when I wrote my expose' on Rex Umbrae's Manhattan and exposed the second coming of Odin as a hoax perpetrated by Rebus. I got Gimble shot and made not a few enemies among the paragangs, including my former Cybernostra associates. You *would* think that. But after the June issue sold like wildfire, it was clear that there was an immense audience out there who wanted to know about the dark side of the supers scene. Renny Moss, Editor-in-Chief at _Para_, offered me an eye- popping contract with the magazine. The same wisdom that threw me in with the CyberNostra a few years back quickly thrust me back into the byline of fire, so to speak. There were more secrets and mysteries in New York City to uncover. I wrote about two. August: Where is Warden, and who is this Hellhound that replaced him? September: What happened to Cockatrice? I had my leads, thanks in part to Hooks joining _Para_ as my assistant and using his paranormal talent to make people blurt out their secrets. But after the October issue on Rebus I had nothing else ready to print. I blame the idea for the November romance issue on Hooks. "You got skyscrap doom and zoom in your last coupla rags, Bobsy. Snag your sheep with a good love hook, scan?" he suggested in his distinctive paragang slang. I should have guessed. This from a man who watched 'The Citadel' religiously every afternoon, and took Japanese lessons so he could read imported super-hero manga in the original. "I doubt your courtship of Gimble qualifies, shotgun. Let's face it: a man and a beetle does not the Hottest Couple of the Year make." It had been interesting watching the two of them awkwardly date, those months after Gimble's recovery from the gunshot wound. Though Hooks had palmed those diamonds from our run-in with the Otakuza, sentiment foolishly led him to set one of the stones into an engagement ring. He had yet to summon enough nerve to show it to Gimble. "How's that going, anyway?" He sighed. "Frap, long as she's not molting. Or...no, let's not chatcast that. I mean Scorch and Juliana Silvestri. No hotter couple this year, or hum me dead. Maginit: brash young herostuff falls in love with his assassinated best bud's sister, glam of glams. If that ain't romance...." "I don't know, Hooks. Triton and Sultry might object." "What, they'd clock time to read _Para_ and mess with every mouth who says nast 'bout them? Gash me! They're boss-perps, Bobsy. They've got bigger fry to fish." "Don't you mean fish to fry?" "No, fry to fish. Triton, not Burnout, scan?" I laughed. "You've got a whacked sense of humor, Hooks. All right. I guess a Handleman-Silvestri special can't hurt. I might even get a wedding invitation out of it, if they ever set a date." Famous last words. * * * * I went ahead and pitched the story to Renny, who was pleased that we were aiming for a different demographic. My _piece de resistance_ was an interview I secured with Juliana Silvestri in Paris, where Hooks pried the design ideas for her own wedding dress out of her, even a few sketches for the magazine. In truth, it wasn't my typical line of questioning, but the readers ate it up. That was a month ago. December, and its deadline, was now looming on the horizon. This morning, I was sitting at my table at my favorite cybercafe in the East Village called "Tachyon Java", having a large cup of black coffee while looking over my article for the December issue on my HoloPalm II. It seemed lame in comparison to my recent work: just rumors, few facts, and nothing deep or insightful about them. A sighting of Warden in Calcutta, still on some personal crusade around the world. Who knows if he'd ever return to Manhattan? A strange world-wide amnesia plague, but affecting several dozen paragangers in Manhattan. Some say it has to do with Burnout and Cockatrice. More fun in Porto Genetico, rumors that ASH was hunting for Doublecross in that corporate city. I was half-way through editing out slang from Hook's obituary for Caprice when a courier stopped at my table, with a package from _Para_. I thought nothing of it: Renny jokingly called the "Tach" my office in the City, and had sent me proofs and legal docs there. So I paid little attention to the courier and used the pen to scrawl what passed for my signature on the e-pad. The next thing I knew, my signature flashed, and a swirl of symbols erupted from the e-pad. It seemed to me that time had sped up, and the "Tach" was replaced by images too fast for even my cybernetic eye. When the images suddenly halted, I found myself with a cold cup of joe still in my left hand, and the e-pad stylus in my right. I was no longer in the "Tach", but sitting in a comfortable leatherbound chair at a conference table. To my right was a bank of windows, and I saw that I was high above the Earth in some sort of flying vehicle. The table bore the golden symbol of a two-pronged trident. I took a deep swig of the bitter brew. This must be a delusion brought on by a lack of caffeine. I stood, left my mug on the table, and walked to the great windows. Looking out, I could see the sun rising in the east over the desert. This must be Skyhaven, and I must be in Khadam. My cybertimer told me that it should have been the morning of November 29th, 2024 in New York City, but if it was dawn here in Africa, I must have lost close to a day. What happened to me in that time? I switched my cybernetic eye to "Record". If I wasn't dreaming, then I was living a journalist's nightmare. I was in the inner sanctum of the Conclave of Super-Villains, capturing forbidden footage, with no way to get this information out...alive. Stay calm, I told myself. If they wanted you dead, you would be. My thoughts flashed immediately to the romance issue, and regretted not naming Triton and Sultry "Couple of the Year". I had forgotten how vain they were, and now I would pay for that mistake. The thought of running crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. Where was there to go? Break the window and plunge hundreds of meters to certain death? Instead, I stopped in front of a computer terminal, and tapped its interface. Locked. The only door to the conference room dilated open, and in stepped a blond man dressed in a perfect navy suit, bearing the mark of Khadam on his breast. Four twin-pronged trident cufflinks shone gold on his sleeves, and his cummerbund seemed to be made of interlocking scales. Switching quickly to my x-ray vision, it was clear that the belt hid supertech linked to his cybernetic implants. He carried himself well, like a man who not only knew half the world trembled before his might, but also believed the other half *will*. He was out of his armor, but no less deadly. His natural Magene abilities made him a walking ball of lightning. He was His Excellency, Derek Radner, Chancellor of Khadam and leader of the Conclave of Super-Villains. "Welcome to Khadam, Mr. Coulter." The Chancellor smiled and extended his hand. When I hesitated, he added, "I assure you, a guest of mine rarely comes to any harm." "Then I hope I am a guest, Your Excellency," I said, and reluctantly shook his hand, hoping that I was not expected to kiss his ring. I wished I had downloaded an etiquette memory module recently. "I apologize for the unannounced visit, but it was a sudden and uncontrollable impulse." He gave a deep, hearty laugh. "No need to apologize. It is my fault entirely for springing this on you so unexpectedly. You must be wondering how we got you here." And why, I wanted to ask. "Please. I'm curious." "I am forgetting my manners," said Triton. "Princess Ursula would chide me for that, if she were here. Please, eat and drink as you wish." With snap of his fingers, flying trays of danishes, croissants, fruit and coffee floated over the conference table from hidden alcoves. I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee and stood with the Chancellor at the window, looking at the sunrise. "I apologize for the method of invitation," he said. "Glyph enchanted the pad, and Myriad delivered it to you. All we needed was your signature. But I doubted the usual channels of communication would have been acceptable to your government, with the war being what it is." "I'm flattered that you went to all that trouble, Your Excellency." "Please, call me Derek." My hand trembled. One did not address the Chancellor of Khadam as Derek, unless one counted among his closest associates and his worst enemies. In short, those who were his equals. What was his game? "Derek." I tried the name out. Maybe if I pretended he was just another man, someone not much more than I was, it would work. I had to get over the fact that I was talking to a mass murderer and one of the most powerful men on Earth. First and foremost I am a reporter, and he was no different from any other person I interviewed. Objectivity was the key, and I needed to stay focused. Either that, or let my fear conquer me. "This is about the article, isn't it?" I ventured. "You want me to print a retraction? I won't...." "Of course you won't." He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "It's partly about that. Angeline read your coverage of the impending Handleman-Silvestri wedding, and you've made her right mad and envious. Once a thing goes into her head, she won't let it go. 'Derek, if you love me, marry me. Let's have a wedding to end all weddings.' Now all she thinks about is white lace, bouquets and hot, sweaty nuptials, but she remains furious about being denied a Juliana Silvestri original wedding dress. I reassured her that I love her to the end of time and back, and promised her a royal, fairytale wedding that even Ursula will be jealous of. You won't believe our plans." "And I'm here because...?" "She wants you to cover this blessed event, and I concur. Your live eye will capture the splendor, and your words will tell our love to the world." He took a bite out of his danish. "By the way, I've taken the liberty of examining your cybernetic implants while you were still in stasis, just as a precaution, of course. It's supertech the likes I've never dreamed, and I am not easily impressed. I had to replace a bit of optical circuitry, and hope I haven't compromised its integrity. Some subtle weapons installed, but nothing that I haven't already developed defenses against." He tapped his belt twice, activating and deactivating a forcefield as demonstration. "Gimble's work, I presume?" I nodded. "Just a few upgrades. Nothing major." And nothing new that could be considered a weapon, unfortunately. Gimble didn't do weapons anymore...the few offensive options were relic Cyber-Nostra gear. I took another deep swig. It was time to take the offensive. I had to turn this into an interview, make it my battlefield. "You asked me here for more than a wedding, Radner. If you wanted an observer, that I am. But to send Myriad to New York? You could have just emailed an invitation. I wouldn't have refused. And taking precautions and fixing my innards? That paints me as a threat, and that I'm not." "Aren't you?" He turned to me, and locked gazes with me. "You and I have things in common, Robert. First, few men in this world possess the genius required to solve an Archangeli conundrum. You and I have. Second, we are both men to whom the masses listen. You with your words, I with my leadership. And we both have a vested interest in a poor, lost soul in need of guidance." It became clear what Triton wanted. "Gimble." "Right. We extended an invitation to her as well, but it seems that she and your friend Mr. Hoekstra have eloped." The news was so unexpected that I dropped my cup. It fell and smashed against the floor, spilling its contents and spraying ceramic fragments at ankle-level. But none of the liquid nor any of the shards hit Triton: his forcefield activated as soon as the cup fell from my hand. Eloped? When Hooksy still had trouble getting to first base? "This day just gets better and better." Triton continued talking, ignoring my clumsiness. "Hoekstra called in and left a message for your boss, before our operation could take place. I was hoping you knew her whereabouts and would convince her to consider... immediate immigration. As you are aware, Khadamite research into Magenetics is the most advanced on Earth, and we are best equipped to help restore her human form to her." "And all you ask in return is the use of her talents from time to time. I'm sorry, I don't know where Gimble is. And even if I knew, I don't think she'd join you, no matter what I tell her." "You know as well as I that she would. Gimble has a price: to be normal again. Rebus proved that." "No. Something still bugs me, no offense to Gim. You know I won't sell Gimble to you out of the goodness of my heart. Not with just a bribe of covering your wedding to Sultry, which is more a favor to you than a pay-off. What are you really offering?" "Why, to offer you a place in the CSV, of course." I couldn't have been more stunned in my entire life. When I finally found my voice, it was squeaky and barely audible over the beating of my heart. "My aptitude test didn't indicate archvillain as a career option." "Think of it as a rare opportunity," said Triton. "Take some time to think it over." "With the utmost respect, Chancellor, why offer me a position at all? I'm a humble reporter with no powers, no Magene. And no drive for world domination." Triton laughed. "We're an equal opportunity employer. You don't need a Magene to join us; just look at Princess Ursula. You've the intelligence: you proved it when you solved the Odin mystery. Crime tempted you once. You ran with the Cyber-Nostra, did you not? That you chose to leave that life of crime and pursue journalism is commendable, but your choice of subject matter even in your new career cries out your need for adventure and a subconscious desire to act out your darker impulses." "I'm not cut out to be a villain," I protested. "I'd be an easy target. Dead in two seconds flat." "You survived Manhattan, didn't you? That alone is reference enough. I've examined your cybernetic upgrades, and you're more capable than you let on. Rest assured, we will take further measures to ensure your safety." "I still don't see why this offer should entice me. You're asking me to betray my country, and for what?" "How many journalists can claim having gone into deep cover as a super-villain in the CSV? Think about your place in history, Robert. You are the people's eye into the making of an empire." "And you the emperor?" I asked, with greater bravado than I thought I possessed. "As Caligula or Nero?" "Two-thirds Minos and one-third Daedalus," responded Triton, as he led me out of the conference room. "I prefer the classics." * * * * Triton led me through empty corridors to the bridge. We were alone on Skyhaven, it seemed. "Where are your cronies?" I asked, taking snapshots with my cybernetic eye as we walked. "In the city, or on assignment. Don't worry...I'll introduce you to your teammates soon, at the funeral. Meanwhile, enjoy the first flight aboard our renovated mobile headquarters." "Caprice's funeral, I presume?" The former Conclaver was found stabbed to death in a prison brawl at Leavenworth a few days ago. Triton nodded. "I blame myself. It was within my power to free her, but the war and Rebus took precedence. I will not make that mistake again." "My condolences." I glanced around the bridge of Skyhaven. Triton had adopted a neo-steampunk motif throughout the ship. There seemed to be an absence of holographic or optical systems. He didn't say it, but I could see that he feared that Doublecross, the master of light, would come for him. Apparently he joined ASH in believing that Doublecross was at large. Pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and I decided to test my theory. "Let me tell you what I think, Radner. You don't need me, but you need my familiarity with Gimble so that you can track her. You can't track her down yourself because she can make technology to elude you. And the reason you need her is to develop a defense against Doublecross, because Gimble has demonstrated expertise in holographic technology unlike anything you've seen." I watched his eyes and tried to measure any pupil dilation, but he gave away nothing. Still, I was on a roll. "No, that's not right. You intend to go on the offensive. That's why Myriad's in New York...she's taken my identity hasn't she? Just in case Hooks or Gimble try to contact me." Triton clapped his hands once. "Bravo, Robert! You've peeled away one layer of the mystery, but you're quite wrong about your value." He gestured to the captain's chair. "Please, sit." In for a cred, in for a meg. I sank into the seat, and the chair sensed my shape and molded itself to my form. It seemed sturdy enough to hold Triton's Strafe armor. "Chancellor's perks?" "You will be an essential cog in the CSV machinery, Robert. Ever since Rebus's 'pyramid scheme', I've lost more than an advisor and a friend in Labyrinthe. I've lost the moral center of the Conclave of Super-Villains. You will fill that void." He paused. "You look shocked." "Moral center and the CSV in the same breath?" "Let me explain." Another snap of his fingers, and a crystal column descended from the ceiling, containing a bust of Challenger, the leader of the twentieth-century incarnation of the Conclave of Super-Villains. "I am an avid student of twentieth-century villainy, both fictional and historical. If you look at the evidence, it takes a fool not to see a pattern. The ones that survive longest always had an odd member out, inevitably a fallen hero or a rogue with a golden heart. Groups that consist only of black-hearted scoundrels inevitably self-destruct from internal strife." I challenged him on this. "I don't see your point. The 'upright villain'...an oxymoron in itself...will cause more conflict in the group. You open yourself up for inevitable betrayal." "Precisely. Let's call this paradoxical member the 'Mirror' of the group. In a viable villain-cluster, you need a Leader and his Mirror. By nature, this Leader must be powerful, and willing to use his powers for the vilest of acts. He cannot show weakness, else he risks losing control of his subjects. In a Mirror-less cluster, then, there cannot be moderation in the Leader's acts, leading to an escalation of competing wills that rips the group apart. "But a Mirror is the perfect foil for the aspiring archvillain. The Mirror demands mercy, and the Leader grants it as a favor, without jeopardizing his ruthless image. The Mirror hears what the others whisper out of earshot, and acts out of moral need to police his own fellows. He listens, and reminds the Leader of caution and temperance even in the pursuit of their less-than-pure goals. He draws some of the animosity away from the Leader, but at the same time convinces the others he is a potential ally. A gifted Leader knows the value of the Mirror, and how to use him. Shall I go on?" "I get the gist. How very anti-Machiavellian." "Exactly. Entirely different from hero-clusters, but that's the subject of another entire lecture. Take two examples from that era: Vipercoil and The Guys." I shrugged. "I don't remember Vipercoil." "Exactly. Vipercoil couldn't and didn't last in Phoenix, not with their leader Iron Rattler fending off the likes of Deathfang and the Pit at every turn. Only Deathfang survived their intra-team massacre. On the other hand, The Guys were a stable mercenary group, with Alan Steel always there as Mirror to the group. Even though not truly human, The Guys would have disbanded long ago had his quest for meaning and ethics not acted as a counterpoint to some of their more psychotic members. "Labyrinthe was my Mirror, and when I look at him, I see who I must be. Under different circumstances, I would have chosen Tiara to replace him...but that's impossible now, with her resignation." I took a quick internal diagnostic of my systems in the click of a cyber-eye, but if there was tampering, I couldn't find any evidence. "And if I choose not to accept your gracious offer? I mean, life as a reporter suits me. Why should I give it up?" "On the contrary. We're not asking you to stop your excellent work. In fact, I encourage you to continue your articles. Tell the world our side of the story, when you're ready, or adopt a secret identity. Shed light on the darkness. Within limits, of course. There are state secrets of Khadam that must remain secrets." And he could exert editorial fiat, using whatever device he implanted in me. Right now, the only way out I could see was to make Triton reconsider his choice. Force him to rescind his offer without jeopardizing my own life. "You want me, Triton? Let me write the truth. No censorship, or else I refuse on principle, right here, right now. You want me to be in the CSV? Don't treat me like an outsider or give me a slap-happy, Kumbayah look at the Conclave of Super-Villains. Save that for your autobiography. I want the dirt, the skinny, and the gory to betray you all if and when I see fit. I don't care if your Khadamite superiors don't like it, or if your teammates get murderous if I point out they pick their nose in public. Threaten me and my journalistic imperative in any way, and you might as well go find yourself a publicist." I held my breath. I had just made an ultimatum to the Chancellor of Khadaml, one that could get me killed. Triton leaned in close to my face, but I held my ground and did not recoil. "A challenge. Brave. Foolish. Exemplary." He turned back to the Challenger bust. "Very well...and you've chosen a name for yourself, Challenger. I will protect you from any reprisals for your criticisms, even if I am your target. Once you've accepted my once-in-a-lifetime offer, you will enjoy full disclosure. But until then, I remain adamant about certain facts remaining unreleased to the public, on grounds of safety. You have until the wedding, Valentine's Day, 2025, to decide. In the meantime, you will be permitted to submit three articles to your editor at Para Magazine. Your first article should make the December issue, and should trump your coverage of the paragangs, wouldn't you say? That is, if you want to acknowledge your visit to Khadam. If not, Myriad will continue the charade and no one will be the wiser until the wedding. Or print two more issues, in January and February, covering your apprenticeship as a super-villain. Make your decision by then, and you will be inducted as a full member of the CSV, or returned to Manhattan unharmed. Look." On the monitor, the city of Ghat appeared, sprawling in the shadow of the citadel of the Technomancers. "If you think Manhattan's paragangs are vicious, wait till you see the factions below. How about a follow-up to your Manhattan article?" The temptation was great. On the one hand, I could become the most authoritative and unique voice in journalism. On the other hand, I would be a villain. Deemed evil, treacherous, homicidal and mad by the world. That I even considered it disgusted me. It wasn't that I was marked for death, or that I couldn't pass up the scoops. There were three moral and unselfish reasons to accept. First, he wanted Gimble, and he was right about Gimble's price. If I became this moral center to the CSV, perhaps I could keep her on the side of good, until we could help each other get out. Second, Triton was right with his theory, but not in the way he thought. Imagine a Conclave of Super-Villains without any morals, and a Conclave with a heart. Certainly longevity for a super-villain group is bad for society, but then so is an utterly black-hearted CSV. Slow burn or bonfire? Quick burnout or fade away? I preferred the option of internal sabotage for the greater good. Third, it was the unspoken challenge. Somewhere inside Derek Radner was a hero led astray, I was sure of it. That he truly believed in his theory told me that he once was on the path to good, but something had changed. Labyrinthe somehow reminded him of the man he could have been, if things had turned out differently. Who was that Derek Radner? What turned him evil? Could I take up what Labyrinthe left undone, play the role of the only ally Triton can trust to betray him for his own good? He named me Challenger, the evil counterpart of the original Solar Max. Was Triton crying out for help, looking for the hero he sees in the mirror? He threw down the gauntlet and knew I had to take his challenge. A bead of sweat rolled down my face. My thoughts flashed back to my hasty signature back in the "Tach". Great Machine, what deal with Mephistopheles had I signed? What if I had it in me to be this monster that Triton wanted to create? "I won't kill except in self-defense," I said finally, my mouth dry. I had killed only once before, when I ran with the Cyber-Nostra. It was either kill the Manson Haight clone or die myself. "And I doubt I'll find acceptance among your teammates." The Chancellor smiled. "Don't worry, you will find a way. After all, you are an expert in group dynamics." He extended a hand, to seal my fate. For now, I would see how his game played out. I took his hand, took the challenge. I am Robert Coulter. Challenger. =========================================================================== CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS ROSTER ADDENDUM --------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHALLENGER Robert Coulter Cybernetic Implants ============================================================================ Next Issue: Coulter meets his newfound allies, and discovers what it means to be a Conclaver (with all the dangers that come with villainy). Plus, a new group of villains makes its first move. Join us for pre-nuptial mayhem next issue in 'VILLAIN'S APPRENTICE II: Old, New, Borrowed, Blue'! ============================================================================= Author's Notes: Yes, Robert Coulter was a strange choice for the newest member of the Conclave of Super-Villains. Originally introduced in Warden #13-15, Coulter was a narrator for an era of change in Manhattan. Now, with the ascension of Rebus, the departure of Burnout from the core CSV, and the introduction of two new members, it felt right to ask Coulter to narrate yet another important power shift. Hope you enjoy this twist.