//|| //==\\ || || .|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED PRESENTS // || \\ || || --X---------------------------------------------- //==||========||==|| '|` ASH Special: "Lightfoot and Thunderbolt" // || \\ || || Copyright 1996 by David Van Domelen // || \\==// || || Permission granted for Eyrie archival only --------------------------------------------------------------------------- [cover shows Lightfoot in his white and silver costume racing along a road beside a telephone pole. He seems to be trying to catch up to a spark that's racing along the line.] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- [9:34:15 CDT] As Tom raced along at his top running speed, he could feel his shoes starting to wear thin. He hadn't had time to change into his costume, hadn't had time for anything, and it was starting to show. He didn't even have time to laugh at the irony of all this. He was Lightfoot. He made things go fast. In theory, he had all the time in the world...yet somehow it always slipped through his fingers. He lost three decades to Special Relativity, enough lost time for anyone, right? Yet here he was again, unable to find enough time. He did have time to wish he hadn't decided to check his email. * * * * [9:28:45 CDT] Things had been pretty hectic since the whole Arcanovore mess. Some of his new friends in the 21st Century's edition of the Academy of Super- Heroes were still suffering from injuries sustained in that battle, but Tom healed fast. Not as fast as Mete...er, Sarah did, but fast enough. China was reeling from the sudden outbreak of supernormal activity within its borders, and things were generally getting interesting all over the place. Not interesting in the sense of a gripping drama with a compelling narrative thread, though. More like a train wreck in slow motion. No one was quite sure which cars would jump the track or what they'd hit. Of course, the comparison wasn't totally apt. A lot of good was coming from this particular "train wreck," and no one was really sure if the net result would be good or bad when the dust settled. For his part, Tom was getting a crash course on the thirty years he'd missed. Now that the psych boys were sure he was over the culture shock, he was getting a lot more information than he'd been given when they were "easing" him into this time. He chuckled as he sat down to his terminal to begin another session of tutorials. The "easing" stage had been more intensive than most college courses. This part of the acclimation was verging on torture, although his instructors claimed it was well within his ability to assimilate. But first, an email check. Maybe there'd be something in it to give him an excuse to put off the tutorial program. One new message. From...Nate Walker? Not someone Tom knew. He opened the file with a click of the mouse (he was still using an old computer until he had time to learn the new OS...more comfortable, more familiar). "Mr. Dodson, I'm a student at the Academy," the letter opened. Tom snorted. "Mister" really didn't sound right attached to his name, even if he WAS legally 46 years old. He read on. "My superhuman talent has to do with computers, the ability to create a sort of science-fictiony cyberspace representation while working in a computer system. Some friends and I have taken on personas based on the old Legion of Net.Heroes you used to write for before your accident." Hmm. Fanboys from across the sea of time. And they even knew it was him posting from Solar Max's account. He hoped they didn't plan to ask him to start writing again. "While exploring the net, we found one of your old archive sites, but it was locked. Out of deference to you, we did not try to crack into it, but here's the address if you want to get to it (the machine survived the riots, but the address didn't) and get some pieces of your past. "Netwalker" Tom sat back. Wow. Like finding a scrapbook of yours at a junk store or something. Fingers flying over the keyboard, he opened a connection to the address. It was a really slow connection, only a few thousand bits per second, but it was a pretty old system. He tapped his forehead. What was that password? It'd been months subjectively since he last logged in. Oh yeah. And he was in. Nothing seemed to have been touched since the day he left. His teammates must have decided to keep it that way as a memorial or something, he guessed. Wait, what was that file? Thunderbolt? He was pretty sure he'd never put anything by that title on his system. <> suddenly appeared on the screen. Startled, Tom tried to log out or cut the connection, but it seemed to be locked open. <> >>What mission parameters? I'm not Dr. Van Domelen,<< Tom typed, hoping the program was artificially intelligent and not just some sort of recording. <> Tom was out of there before the chime sounded, slamming the alarm button for his room on the way out. If he didn't make it, hopefully someone would see the words and be able to stop the missile from hitting its target, whatever it was. * * * * [9:34:21 CDT] Three seconds ago, Tom had managed to grab a motorcycle that had been left idling at a curb while the owner stepped off for a moment to get something. Now he was in Kansas itself, having pushed the motorcycle nearly to its breaking point with his powers. Fortunately, he knew where some of the silos in Kansas were, thanks to being an avid newswatcher in high school. The Wichita Incident had made everyone a lot more aware of the whole nuke issue, and he was no exception. Unfortunately, several of the main highways were different. In thirty years, the Interstate system (well, Interdistrict now) had been changed in many ways, and he was on the verge of getting lost. His mind raced at speeds even faster than his borrowed motorcycle. Who was behind this "Thunderbolt" program, and did it stand a chance of success? Maybe the silo really was empty by now, or the missile in no condition to launch or detonate. Maybe the link the program needed to use to access the silo no longer existed...the telecommunications system had undergone even more extreme changes than the roadways, after all. He might be chasing five kinds of wild goose here. But with the stakes so high, could he just blow it off? Think! he shouted at himself as he started to drive past the first silo location. It was still manned, but looked like it had been converted to some other use. It wasn't the place, then. Which of Solar Max's old enemies would do this? Who would be so well- prepared that he had his own nuke to launch, yet NOT know that the account Tom was using was Dr. Van Domelen's in name only? Another site. Totally plowed under...certainly wouldn't have any fireable missiles in it. Okay, the thirty second limit. (Tom tried not to think that only three of those seconds were left.) The original Solar Max could pull off flight at about Mach 10 in a pinch, and knew enough about ICBMs and all that to disable the missile with ease. If nothing else, he could grab it at the top of its ballistic arc and haul it into orbit. The strain would hurt like hell, but he could do it. So the missile was probably meant just to be an irritant, a petty revenge. A serious threat would involve no time buffer, nor a hint to the location of the silo. Whoever was behind Thunderbolt didn't really want a nuclear blast going off. Two seconds. Another site, another bust. Who had the expertise to pull this off, the sick sense of humor to use a nuke as a prank, and the motivation to try and get Solar Max's goat like this? Devastator didn't do this sort of thing, Challenger preferred personal combat, Doc Droid would have used some hidden giant robot instead of a nuke...none of the old bad guys seemed to fit the profile. One second. He'd exhausted all of his options. Tom pulled to a stop and pulled out his pocket phone, which he only now noticed was ringing. "I couldn't find it," he said as he flipped the phone open. Sarah's voice was at the other end. "We'vealertedtheaircommandandthey saidtheyhavetheSDIsysteminoperation," she blurted out in a rush. He knew she was worried, since normally she was able to keep her speed under control. The time was up. Tom scanned the horizon for exhaust plumes from a silo he'd missed. Then he heard laughter from the other end. "What? What?" he shouted into the phone. "Sorry..." Sarah gasped for breath. "This really isn't funny, but I can't help myself," she collapsed into giggles again. "The screen says, heehee, it says 'That's for killing off Sig.Lad, you big dope!' It's signed 'Netwalker.'" "The Academy's at the site of the old Northwoods Correctional Institution, right?" Tom asked. "Yes, why?" * * * * [9:45:02 CDT] "All right, what's going on here?" an instructor asked as he forced his way through the cluster of laughing students at the entrance to the central core of the Academy. "There was this blur, a whoosh, and then he's out there!" one student said with a shocked expression, pointing into the core itself. And sure enough, hanging by several dozen meters of electrical cords and wiring, was Nate Walker, one of the more advanced students at the Academy. He'd been stripped to his underwear, and on his chest the words "I AM NOT FUNNY" were painted in toner. "Help?" he mumbled. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Notes: When I started the LNH 2022/3 thing in ASH, I realized I had a slight problem. The version of me in this world was born 7 years before I was, and by 1992 was way too busy to have gotten into a net.fic group like the LNH. So I decided that Tom Dodson, aka Lightfoot, wrote "my" stories while using a borrowed account supplied by the ASHiverse "me." I do not have any current ideas for restarting the main ASH title, but was inspired to write this special when I read in the TV Guide of the existence of a movie called "Lightfoot and Thunderbolt" (or maybe it was the other way around). I might do a few more of these specials, focusing on a character or two, in this shorter format, over the summer. For those archiving at home, call this one "Lightfoot.1," but unless you're Russ Allbery, ask before archiving.