Munich. Gus had to bring up Munich. Just couldn’t let it go. It had been another one of these bullshit speaking engagements. Excelsior had done the same fly onto the podium trick, then said a few words that were translated into German. And when it was over they’d put him in a receiving line. He was forced to shake hands with an endless line of dignitaries. That’s when Yarlor the Terrible attacked. Right as he was shaking hands with a fat deputy minister of somewhere or another. At the time, of course, Excelsior had no idea that it was Yarlor. He had just seen a bright blue flash coming at him from a clump of bushes on his left and he’d leapt into flight to avoid being hit.
As the ball of blue energy crackled harmlessly past him, he heard a man screaming in agony. Then the shriek of a woman crying out in terror. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” he called down to reassure the people. Then he realized he was still holding onto the fat man’s arm. But the rest of the fat man was no longer attached. If it had happened away from the event it might not have been so bad. But as Excelsior scanned the area for the source of the blue lightning, the press was making lightning of its own. Cameras flashed and flashed as they captured thousands of images of Excelsior silhouetted against a bright blue sky holding a severed arm in his right hand. It was a public relations disaster.
But Excelsior hadn’t been thinking about public relations. He saw Yarlor fleeing the scene with a 13th century arquebus covered in glowing blue runes. This made Excelsior mad. He dropped the severed arm and swooped down on Yarlor in the blink of an eye. He tackled the villain so hard that Yarlor’s spine broke in two places. He continued the motion of his dive back upward again and hurled Yarlor into the stratosphere. As he did, Excelsior bellowed in rage. Higher and higher Yarlor went, until the tiny speck of him was no longer visible from the ground.
But even as he vented his fury on Yarlor, the arm that Excelsior had ripped out (and subsequently dropped) was returned to its rightful owner in accordance with the law of gravity. Blissfully, or tragically, depending on your view of the human condition, the fat man was knocked unconscious when his own arm hit him in the head.
The cameras caught every minute from every angle. As Excelsior hung there in the sky listening to the squeal of the high-speed film drives, his conscience began to work on him. He had thrown a man to what would certainly be his death. Right now, as surely as the arm had tumbled to Earth, Yarlor was tumbling down from the upper atmosphere. But Excelsior wasn’t a killer.
Gus was the killer. Or the people he directed. Excelsior never asked questions about what had happened to the people and creatures he defeated after he was done with them. The government stepped in and took care of the mess. Once, when Excelsior had asked Gus what had happened to a man who called himself the Blue Streak, Gus had refused to answer. He gave Excelsior a look that chilled him to the bone. Even though Excelsior could burn Gus down with beams of heat from his eyes, it was Excelsior who had to look away. Excelsior never asked again.
But as he thought about Yarlor falling to his death through the open air. Excelsior decided that he didn’t want to be a murderer. Not intentionally anyway. But he wasn’t sure he cared about this two-bit thug and his arcane device. But, if Yarlor landed on somebody’s house in Spain, Excelsior would feel bad about it. And he would never hear the end of it.
So Excelsior flew off into the sky above Munich. As he left he broke the sound barrier. The cataclysmic boom put a fitting end to the incident. He managed to catch Yarlor before he hit the ground. But by then the public relations damage was done.
As horrible as the press had been, Excelsior had hoped it meant they would no longer trot him out and parade him around for public relations events. But it was a false hope. And now, here he is, speaking to HoBWEC. He steps to the podium and pauses.
He squints against the lights and looks lost before the crowd. The audience doesn’t see it. They haven’t come all this way and spent all this money to bear witness to a fallible creature. They have come to see a god who walks amongst them. A man who they believe can impose his will upon the wrongs of the world and make them right. These powerful men have been seduced by a greater power. And this is possible because Excelsior is cloaked in virtue.
Excelsior leans in to the mic and says, “So, I just flew in from Cleveland. And boy are my arms tired.”
The room erupts in laughter. The crowd loves it. See, he’s just a regular guy. But it’s all a carefully created illusion. A public speaking coach had spent three days trying to explain the joke to Excelsior. Finally he gave up.
“Thank you. Thank you.” Excelsior says as he waits for the laughter to die down. “It’s wonderful to see all of you in good spirits today. As you know, I’m not a comedian. Which is good, because I’m not here to be funny.”
“Yeah, but could you ever beat up a heckler!” Laughter ripples through the crowd. Now Excelsior is confused. They aren’t supposed to laugh here. The teleprompter doesn’t say to wait for laughter.
Excelsior pauses a little longer than he should. Off-stage Gus is motioning frantically for him to continue. Better just to get it over with, Excelsior thinks.
“There are some who call me a hero. I’m not completely comfortable with that. I’m just a guy who was blessed with some talent. And I feel that means I should help out where I can. In fact, I think we should all help out where we can, don’t you?
“And I’ll tell you something else, and it might be the most important thing I have to say. I can’t do as much as you think I can. You. You guys have the power to be the real heroes. No, no, I’m serious.
“Sure I can knock an asteroid out of space. Sure I’ve combated all manner of threats to our American Way of Life. Combatted and overcome. But I can only be in one place at a time. And, when you get right down to it, they don’t let me stay in one place for very long these days. The world is a dangerous place, so I have to stay hoppin’.
“But what I want to tell you is you guys, the little guys, you’re in there, y’know wherever it is that you’re in, day in and day out. And there’s millions of you. There’s only one of me. Think about that. There’s only one of me. So not only do you guys,” he tries for a dramatic pause, but it suffocates in cheese, “outnumber me. You guys, are my heroes.”
The applause is polite, but not heartfelt. He is the hero. Who was he to take their heroes away? As Excelsior leaves the stage, he hears the Master of Ceremonies say, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please a big round of applause for the one, the only, the UNDEFEATED EXCELSIOR!”
Arrgh. Undefeated. Excelsior hates the word. Gus slaps him on the shoulder. “Good speech. Good speech. Now let’s go shake some hands.”
Excelsior’s hatred for handshakes and small talk, distracts him from self-loathing. Which is good, because they’re on him in a flash — the VIPs of the VIPs. They are all men of importance and accomplishment. They are all rich and envied.
Excelsior doesn’t envy them. He doesn’t want to work in the business world, so they mean nothing to him. He shakes hands, gently and carefully, steeling himself against any possible flinch reflex. “Thanks, thanks for coming out. Thanks for all you do. No, I mean it, you guy are the real heroes.”
It goes well, until Rick Apedis. Excelsior shakes his hand like all the others. He mutters a few empty phrases before he realizes that the man isn’t making small talk. “Wait, what did you say?”
“I said my company’s image is being wrecked by the Cromoglodon.”
Gus says, “Well, you got your logo all over him like he was a goddamned stock car. What do you expect if people are upset with you sponsoring a menace like that?”
“I’ve noticed that you haven’t stopped him,” says Apedis.
Excelsior’s face freezes. The man is right. Excelsior looks to Gus. Gus says something about security and priority and proportional response.
“That’s bullshit,” Apedis says. He points to Excelsior, “I think he hasn’t stopped the Cromoglodon because he can’t.” The group of powerful men fall silent as they wait for Excelsior’s response. The question hangs in the air. Is it possible to defeat the world’s most powerful Superhero?
Gus breaks the spell with his aw-shucks, West Texas drawl turned up to 11. “Of course he can stop that beast. But jes’ how much of this city do you want to lose in the process? I mean, me? Hell I don’t care. I’m a rancher’s son. Let our boy and that Cromogogomagomadon get a fussin’ and feudin’ — hammer this ol’ town flat as West Texas. Suits me just fine. I’ll move on in and raise cattle.”
Gus gets one, strained laugh.
“No sir, we’re waiting until we can get this brute out onto open ground where nobody’s gonna get hurt, exceptin’ of course the Gommagomacommadon hisself, then Excelsior here will batter him something fierce. But until sech time, Excelsior’s gonna do what he’s always done. Act in a way that protects the lives and the property of
