With serenity restored to his office, Edwin wonders if Topper really has grown that extra inch. He makes a mental note to have Topper measured if the opportunity presents itself.
In the lobby, Topper takes a few deep breaths.
“Were you able to cheer him up?” asks Agnes.
Topper shakes his head.
“Well, I suppose we shall just have to ride it out again.”
Topper asks, “What do you mean again?”
“It happened once before. Oh that was a dreadful year.”
“Year? You gotta be kidding me. He was like that for a year?”
“Well, it doesn’t happen often,” says Agnes defensively.
“Somebody’s got to toughen that kid up.”
“Oh, I am certain that is the answer,” Agnes says, her tongue curling around the sarcasm.
“C’mon Agnes, I feel guilty enough about this as it is.”
“Guilty enough? I scarcely think that is possible.”
“I gotta make it right somehow.”
“Oh no,” says Agnes, “You’ve had your chance. And, I might add, you have failed to bring him out of his funk.”
“I can do it. I swear I can.”
“I am as close to being sorry about this as I can be about anything that regards you, but I have no more faith to waste on you.”
“Aw, Agnes, I know I’m a screw-up. The trouble is I don’t fit, see? I’m the wrong size.”
“Really?” Agnes raises an eyebrow as she says, “I would have suspected that your trouble is that you fit all kinds of places where a decent person should never go.”
“Oh, there you go again, always beating on me.”
“If it is too much for you, I can only suggest that you put yourself out of my misery.”
In defeat, and finding no solace, Topper scuttles into the elevator. ”Fine, fine, you mean old bat. But I’m gonna make this right. You’ll see.”
“Away with you, you vociferous munchkin. I would sooner put out mine own eyes with a tuning fork than admit you have done something correctly!”
Topper sticks his head out of the elevator. “Velociraptor what? What does that even mean?”
Agnes returns to her work with a dismissive gesture. “Just don’t make things any worse than they already are.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Calling Forth Nemesis
Mighty forces call forth their own resistance. The bigger they are, the more they weigh. The harder they fall. The more friction they generate when they move. The faster they are, the harder they have to be able to brake to make the corner. Nature counterbalances the power she bestows. Sometimes not elegantly. Sometimes not obviously. But there is always a balance.
As Barry revels in his newfound might, he does not imagine that there might be some kind of a catch. After all, he has never been to college. He has never studied Greek drama. He’s never heard of Nemesis, The forces of retribution called forth by the prideful actions of the hero to bring about his downfall. And even though he’s not a hero, the same principle applies. Hubris is the nail that sticks out. Sooner or later, it gets pounded flat.
Barry has always been strong, but he’s never known how strong. But then, he’s never had occasion to put his strength to the test. Now that he’s knocking down buildings, everything just feels right. In fact, it feels like buildings just aren’t big enough any more. He needs bigger buildings. He needs mountains.
Of course, the police go berserk. They lay into Barry with everything they have. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, tear gas grenades, tasers — one guy even tries a can of restraining foam. The bullets bounce off. The tasers tickle. But when the Sergeant sees Barry eating the restraining foam like it’s peanut butter, that tears it. Time to call for backup. And not just more guys. This is more than cops can deal with. It’s time for a whole different kind of guy.
“Dispatch this is Charlie 3-1, Code 30P Code 30P”
“Roger that Charlie 3-1,” says the otherworldly voice of the dispatcher. “Confirm code three-zero papa.” the voice of the dispatcher is as calm as if she was seated in a lotus blossom upon the right hand of Buddha himself.
There is an explosion. The Sergeant ducks. It’s probably a gas main. But with this guy, how do you know? He keys the mike as the echos from the explosion finish bouncing off the buildings behind him. “Yes, goddamn it 30P! Request immediate back up!”
Just to be sure, the dispatcher checks the manual. She has never before received a Code 30P. Code 30 is the standard call for backup. Officer Needs Assistance. The addition of a ‘P’ designates it as a call for backup with superpowers. She reads it twice to be sure. And then she passes it up to her supervisor. He checks the manual and then he passes it up.
The request keeps getting passed up, up and up. Until, eventually, it get so high up the chain of command that it makes a small black box vibrate and beep on a nightstand. And next to the nightstand, Excelsior sleeps face down on the bed. He ignores the pager. It goes off again and again.
From across the room, a high-pitched warble comes from the strange logo emblazoned on Excelsior’s skin- tight outfit. Excelsior opens his eyes. He wasn’t aware they had placed a communicator in there. They must really be desperate if they are tipping their hand now.
He rolls over in bed, and smells it. It is the foulest stench imaginable. And it is coming from the layer of black slime that covers his outfit. Slime? Yeah, now it comes back to him. He had spent the better part of two days fighting some incredibly dense and rubbery creature that had crawled out of the Laurentian abyssal. Who knows what the hell it was? Let the scientists wade around in what was left of that foul, slime covered-beast and figure it out. All Excelsior knows is that he killed it. Well, he had broken off a lot of pieces and it had stopped moving. But the horrible thing had taken a toll on Excelsior. And now, from beyond the grave, it has filled Excelsior’s bedroom with a stench that is a cross between the dumpster behind a discount sushi joint and a sinking oil tanker with a backed-up toilet.
From inside the filth-covered suit a man’s voice says, “Bishop Six? Bishop Six, can you hear me?”
Excelsior sits up and rubs his face. This is a mistake. The smell gets stronger the higher you go in the room. Jesus, where had that thing been?
“Bishop Six, are you there? We need you.”
“Yeawp. You sure do,” Excelsior says through a yawn. “Call me back in an hour.”
“Bishop Six! Bishop Six this is control. Are you receiving?”
He rolls over in bed and tries to ignore the voice. How much more do they want from him? He needs sleep, after all. Why can’t they handle their own problems for once? Excelsior turns on the television. As the suit harasses him and the beeper rattles on the nightstand, he flips through the news channels. He’s hoping he can see himself in action against that awful thing. That might motivate him to get out of bed. But unbelievably, it seems his battle hasn’t even made the news.
“Bishop Six, this is control.”
The people on the other end aren’t getting the message. “I said call me back in an hour.” Ordinary people! No sense of gratitude. They don’t want to know how weird and dangerous the world really is. They like to sleep soundly at night. And who could blame them? That’s all he wants to do, get a little sleep. Maybe he should have let that slimy thing destroy Canada. It’s not like Excelsior knows anybody in Canada. He doesn’t even like hockey.
