Hero

By Jay Greenstein

Jack Martin is a dreamer. Unsuccessful in his quest to become a lawyer, forced to work at a boring job, he daydreams of being a comic-book hero.

For anyone else it's a harmless pastime. But Jack's wish is about to be granted. And as they say, be careful what you wish for. Without bothering to consult him, someone has granted his fondest wish. Now if only the real world would stop getting in the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Greenstein
• Release date: Aug 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370910588

Jay Greenstein

I'm a storyteller. My skills at writing are subject to opinion, my punctuation has been called interesting, at best—but I am a storyteller. I am, of course, many other things. In seven decades of living, there are great numbers of things that have attracted my attention. I am, for example, an electrician. I can also design, build, and install a range of things from stairs and railings to flooring, and tile backsplashes. I can even giftwrap a box from the inside, so to speak, by wallpapering the house. I'm an engineer, one who has designed computers and computer systems; one of which—during the bad old days of the cold war—flew in the plane designated as the American President's Airborne Command Post: The Doomsday Jet. I've spent seven years as the chief-engineer of a company that built bar-code readers. I spent thirteen of the most enjoyable years of my life as a scoutmaster, and three, nearly as good, as a cubmaster. I joined the Air Force to learn jet engine mechanics, but ended up working in broadcast and closed circuit television, serving in such unlikely locations as the War Room of the Strategic Air Command, and a television station on the island of Okinawa. I have been involved in sports car racing, scuba diving, sailing, and anything else that sounded like fun. I can fix most things that break, sew a fairly neat seam, and have raised three pretty nice kids, all of who are smarter and prettier than I am—more talented, too, thanks to the genes my wife kindly provided. Once, while camping with a group of cubs and their families, one of the dads announced, "You guys better make up crosses to keep the Purple Bishop away." When I asked for more information, the man shrugged and said, "I don't really know much about the story. It's some kind of a local thing that was mentioned on my last camping trip." Intrigued, I wondered if I could come up with something to go with his comment about the crosses; something to provide a gentle terror-of-the-night to entertain the boys. The result was a virtual forest of crosses outside the boys' tents. That was the event that switched on something within me that, now, more than twenty-five years later, I can't seem to switch off. Stories came and came… so easily it was sometimes frightening. Stories so frightening that one boy swore he watched my eyes begin to glow with a dim red light as I told them (it was the campfire reflecting from my ...

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Jay Greenstein

Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Copyright 2015

Other Titles by Jay Greenstein:

Science Fiction

As Falls an Angel

Samantha and the Bear

Foreign Embassy

Hero

Monkey Feet

An Accidental War

Starlight Dancing

Wizards

Trilogy of the Talos

(Sci-fi)

To Sing the Calu

Portal to Sygano

Ghost Girl

Sisterhood of the Ring

(Sci-fi)

Water Dance

Jennie’s Song

A Change of Heart

A Surfeit of Dreams

Kyesha

Abode Of The Gods

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romantic Suspense

A Chance Encounter

Kiss of Death

Intrigue/Crime

Necessity

Betrayal

Hostage

Young Adult

My Father My Friend

Romance

Zoe

Breaking the Pattern

Short Story

A Touch of Strange

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

As Falls an Angel

Chapter 1

The room where the men faced each other was silent but for the harsh breathing of the two contestants. The faces of Zond and his nameless opponent, now only inches from each other, clearly showed the strain of the terrible struggle that had placed them in this position.

The warlock, grinning tightly, spoke first. "So fighter, now what? You’ve breached the walls of my castle, true, but you must still face me. Now what will you do?

Zond nodded his head fractionally, acknowledging the threat but giving no clue to his emotions other than a soft but deadly answer: More than just breaching the walls, warlock, I have nullified your spells, leaving you unprotected against my blade. Now at long last, dear enemy, you are mine.

The warlock’s smile broadened and hardened, his voice edged with scorn as he said, You’ve forgotten the sword of Shannu, fool. Nothing that lives can stand against that!

Now it was Zond’s turn to smile. Softly, almost laughing, his voice turned gentle as he said, Except an Orc, warlock, except for an Orc.

Your Orc’s dead Jack, the dungeon-master, said, interrupting them.

What? When did that happen, Bob? You never told me. Jack Martin couldn’t suppress the dismay that edged his voice.

Sorry Jack, the dungeon master said, pointing to the tablet lying on the table before him. The Orc trap was on the list of secret defenses for the castle, and silent, so you couldn’t have known it triggered.

Jack sagged back in the chair and blew out his breath, muttering Damn, now what?

I kill you of course, said the warlock, sometimes known as Cal Warren. The other players joined his laughter, bringing a scowl to Jack’s face, one that deepened as Cal slapped him on the arm and said, Tough luck old friend, but you are dead...dead...dead. It happens to the best of us.

He slumped further into his chair, disgust at his stupidity in not anticipating such an obvious ploy flooding through him. Arms crossed against his chest, chair teetering on its back legs, he ran through the possibilities. There were none, except...

Inspiration hit like a charge of high-voltage electricity, and the chair’s legs hit the floor in counterpoint to his shout of, Damn! Just maybe, there was a way. He sent an unhappy glance in the direction of his opponent, before turning back to the dungeon master.

Okay, the Orc’s dead. I screwed up there. And Cal still has that damn sword, I’ll give you that. But, what about the elixir I drank before the battle? It’s still in effect, isn’t it? If it is, it nullifies any effect of the sword. He allowed a trace of cautious optimism into his voice. Right?

Wrong, Cal, growled. Nothing stands against the sword, remember? And no spell defends against it, either. You’re dead, remember? Dead, dead, dead.

Jack ignored him, concentrating on the dungeon master, who said, Mmm...it’s possible, I suppose. Let me check the rulebook. There came the rustling of pages, followed by silence, while the dungeon master sat thinking. Finally, he nodded.

Roll the die.

He did so, rattling the twenty-sided die in its cup. Breathing a prayer, he spun it onto the table. It danced across the surface, bouncing off another player’s drink cup with a musical tink, before stopping with eleven on the top surface.

The Master requested another roll of the die. This time it showed seventeen.

Okay Jack, he announced, closing the book. The sword gets you. No doubt of that. But, it isn’t permanent. As soon as you roll seventeen twice, within eleven rolls, you recover.

Jack blew out his breath in relief, then turned and shook his fist at the warlock, face split by a broad grin. Curse you, you devil. Your evil trick stays my sword for now, but rest assured that I shall face you again one day. And on that day, beware!

They all laughed.

° ° °

You’re a dreamer, Jack, Fred Mims said, shaking his head.

Jack toyed with the remains of his sundae, mixing ice cream and fudge in the bottom of the bowl.

Fred, you sound like my mother. Are you taking over the job of telling me how worthless I am?

Maybe. But am I wrong?

Are you... He put the spoon in the bowl and eyed his friend for a moment, before saying, So, what brings this delightful extravaganza of Jack bashing?

You. He extended a hand in Jack’s direction, Tell me, what are your hobbies, other than being hopelessly in love with Andrea.

Me, hopelessly in love with Andy? You’ve made a jump from sanity to the land of wild speculation, I’m afraid. She’s my best buddy. She keeps me sane. And, she puts up with me, which is a minor miracle. Of more importance, she laughs when I make a joke. Most women just shake their heads.

Fred flipped a hand in dismissal and raised his voice to cut through the noise of the crowded restaurant as he said, I think you’ve pretty well defined love, my friend.

Perhaps, but you put it into the forever category. He thought about that for a moment before appending, I suppose someday I’m have to commit to forever. But not now.

Fred studied him for a moment, as thought ready to argue the point, but in the end, said, Okay, that aside, go on. Tell me about your hobbies.

My hobbies? Reading, gaming, and collecting, I guess. He thought for a moment before nodding and finishing with, That’s it. The order of importance is subject to change, and there are lots of other things I enjoy, but those are my hobbies.

Bullshit.

Bullshit? He waved a question in Fred’s direction. Why bullshit? You’ve known me since grade school. You were the one who invited me to the gaming group. And you’ve seen my—"

Bullshit, kiddo, because your hobby is daydreaming. That other crap just provides material you can use for your personal fantasies. And look what it’s done for you.

He licked the last of the ice cream from the spoon and thought over the oddity of Fred’s remark. A late snack following a session of gaming seemed an odd time for this kind of introspection. But Fred’s comment required a response, so he said, Okay, I’ll bite, what has it done for me? He pushed his plate aside, the good mood brought on by the evening’s gaming loss.

For a moment Fred sat back, his face thoughtful, as though weighing the effect of what he was about to say.

You’re one of the smartest people I know, Jack.

I... Uhh...thank you. But how does that connect to examining my many faults over ice cream? The compliment was nice, but the tone he’d used in saying it said there was a serious but, about to be appended.

It has a lot to do with it. You’re smart enough to be anything you put your mind to. But what do you do for a living now?

I’m a data-entry clerk.

Exactly. But you have a degree.

In American Studies. That and six bucks will get you another ice cream. There aren’t all that many companies seeking to hire a history major.

You could teach.

Ha. Sure I could teach...if I went back to school to get a teaching certificate—and if I had the money and time to do that.

Well how about if you—

If! Fred, you have no idea of how much I hate that word. With that, he came to his feet. He dropped his share of the bill on the table, saying, But as much as I’d like to explain why, I have to run. Fascinating, though this exploration of my faults may be, I need to get to the bus before it switches onto the once an hour schedule. Lousy job or not, I have to show up tomorrow to do it, which means I need to sleep tonight.

He turned and headed toward the door, but conscience forced him to turn back to the table before he’d taken more than a few steps, to say, I know you mean well, Fred. And I also know you’re right about a lot of things, but I am what I am, so...

As are we all.... Sorry. I’ll call you Thursday. Okay?

Okay.

Jack looked at nothing as the bus made its way toward his apartment complex, lost in thought.

If.... My whole damn life is one big if.

If I’d been able to go to law school.... If my parents hadn’t died.... If I wasn’t just a face in the back row of any damn group picture I take.... If people didn’t treat me like a friendly puppy instead of a person.... If I wasn’t such a goddamn weenie.

° ° °

High above Jack’s home city, in the main cabin of a spacecraft, the Captain was holding a meeting with his crew:

To summarize, we have almost all the data we need. The only thing left is the adaptability testing, and some final statistical work. Then we can go home for a little rest. He nodded to the Factors Testing officer. Where do we stand?

That being flipped open a note-cache and studied the contents for a moment before saying, Well, we’ve picked out a central subject, and if things go well, we can have the test underway in just a few of their planet’s rotations. He stood and paced as he talked. As most of you know, a great deal of their literature is devoted to the exploits of the individual hero. This is a larger-than-life personality, almost always male, who possesses the ability to overcome any obstacle through a combination of hyper-abilities, resourcefulness, and...well, luck. In many cases, these abilities are quasi-scientific in explanation, but magical in operation. In others, frankly magical.

He held up a brightly printed magazine. "One of the most popular forms in current publication is the so-called, superhero, of the picture magazines known as comic books. These creatures have, as a class, fantastic abilities for their time and culture, and even more fantastic enemies.

What we propose to do, is equip one of their people—a male—with the abilities of those mythical beings, and observe both his reactions and his society’s response to him. He looked at the captain for a response.

I’ve studied your report, the captain said, indicating approval. It sounds pretty standard in design. What was the final decision on the abilities he’ll have?

The officer turned to the wall display and called up the image of a well-muscled Earth male, in a skin-tight blue and red costume. This being appeared to be flying above the streets of a large city, using an unspecified form of levitation to keep him in the air. We intend to model him after this fictional character. He was one of the first of the comic book superheroes.

A touch to a controller, and the image became dotted with numbered blocks, each function indicated by an entry in the index at one side of the picture.

With simple implants, modified slightly from our own, and limited to the desired sub-set, we can supply most of the required functions. He thought for a moment before adding, There will be the standard protective field. And as with ours, it will also track and amplify movement to give him a simulated muscular power boost. There will be a limited capability flight controller, with high altitude range and full temperature control, but no space-flight or teleportation capacity. Finally, there will be a vision enhancer.

Vision enhancer? asked one of the other crewmembers.

The officer laughed. The ability to see through walls was a requirement of the hero we used as a model. That was a tough one, but we plan to modify his optic equipment to operate in the infrared range on demand. What they call ‘Heat vision.’ We also plan to install a passive micro-wave radio receiver system, also on-demand, that should give him what has been referred to as X-ray vision. The officer indicated amusement, and said, It gives some interesting effects, and I’m even thinking of having it installed, myself.

Realizing that he’d gotten off the requested