The Brave and the Bold: Hourman and Starman
Times Past, 1948
Time and Stars
by HarveyKent
Part 1
From the journal of the Shade:
November 25, 1948: I had received an invitation to attend a gathering of my colleagues in a small town with the promising sobriquet of Rising Sun, Maryland. When I saw the name, I wondered how the town had gotten through the high anti-Japanese feelings of the war years with a name like that. This afforded me a few moments’ amusement; nothing more. I did not stop to wonder how the sender had obtained my address; recreational criminals like myself, and others — the Icicle is one — keep our current addresses circulating among the costumed underworld, so that we can be available if an adventure in the planning requires our special touch. (I liked the Icicle; I had worked with him once before, on a plan he had to steal several million dollars’ worth of uncut diamonds and joust with Mr. Terrific at the same time. The scheme had gang aft agley, as such schemes will, but a grand time was had by all, Mr. Terrific included.) I noticed the invitation did specify “Serious Inquiries Only”; there was no one in the underworld who did not know what that meant. It meant that, if you attended this meeting, you were “in” on the caper, whatever it may be; or you were “out”, for good and all. I smiled at that.
Now I sat in a room on the third floor of a five-floor office building, in a small office obviously rented for the occasion (probably under an alias). I will not waste time describing the furnishings of the room, as they were so sparse as not to merit mention. Suffice to say that four long tables were arranged in a square. Each table had two chairs in front of it, thus making room for eight super-felons. I was the second one to arrive; I saw the Sky Pirate seated at one table as I entered. He looked up at me as I opened the office door.
“Are you the lubber who sent the invitations?” he asked me, without any other sort of greeting.
“I am not,” I returned, as politely as necessary. I took a seat at the table across from his. “Like yourself, I gather, I was invited. You are, I presume, the Sky Pirate?”
“That’s me,” he admitted, his tone softening somewhat. “I’ve seen your picture in the papers; you fight the Flash. The Shadow, isn’t it?”
“The Shade. The other name was taken.”
“Pleased t’meetcher,” he said. “Wonder what all this is about?”
“I gather we’ll soon know,” I said.
We sat there in relative silence and waited. Six other super-criminals joined us, mostly one at a time, but the Fiddler and the Thinker entered together. The Icicle and I exchanged pleasantries as he entered, and he sat down next to me. Finally, we were all present. Indeed, all of us; though we hadn’t known it at the time.
Part 2
“Well, every chair’s filled,” Mr. Ghool snarled, about five minutes after the last arrival had seated himself. “So who called this meeting?”
“None of us did,” Alexander the Great replied. “We all received invitations, same as you, Ghool.”
“Then who sent them?” Dr. Clever asked.
“I sent them, gentlemen,” a new voice intoned. Most of my colleagues started in surprise at that; I had seen too much, in over a hundred years as the Shade, to be surprised that easily. The voice seemed to come from the space in the center of our square of tables.
“Who’s there?” the Sky Pirate demanded. “Who is it?”
“I am your host,” the voice said plainly. “Who I am is not important right now; merely that I wish to hire your services.”
“An invisible man?” Mr. Ghool snorted. “Or just a trick voice on a loudspeaker?”
In answer to Ghool’s inquiry, an apple rose from the fruit bowl on the table where Ghool and Clever sat. With a noisy crunch, a bite was torn from the apple. We watched the fruit being ground to pulp by teeth we could not see; then the chewed apple faded from view entirely, accompanied by the sound of a man swallowing. The apple with the bite taken out bobbed up and down in air, as if a man were tossing it up and catching it.
“Convinced, Ghool?” the voice asked. “All of you?”
Seven heads nodded assent. I merely sat back and smiled.
“Very well. As I stated before, I wish to hire your services. My price is one hundred thousand dollars apiece, plus expenses, and whatever money or other valuables you happen to acquire in the course of completing your tasks.”
“These tasks you speak of; what do they entail?” The Fiddler asked.
“I am coming to that,” the voice said. “They entail what you all do best: robbery, mayhem, and battle with the law. Specifically, costumed crime-fighters. More specifically, Hourman.”
Part 3
“Hourman?” Thinker echoed. “He’s retired; no one’s seen him in years.”
“Except at the All-Star Squadron reunion dinners,” the voice went on. “Which are held on the anniversary of Pearl Harbor: December the seventh.”
“You don’t mean for us to attack the All-Star Squadron?” Alexander gasped. “That’d be suicide! The eight of us, against Hawkman and all the others–!”
“I mean nothing of the kind, Alexander,” the voice said. “I have no grudge against any other hero; only Hourman. I have merely planned this strike to occur when the rest of them will be at that dinner, so that no one comes to Hourman’s aid.”
“How do you know he won’t be at the dinner?” Icicle inquired.
“I have arranged for that. Several years ago, Hourman had an adventure in Baltimore, not far from here. I have arranged for the chamber of commerce of that city to celebrate ‘Hourman Day,’ in remembrance of what that stalwart champion did for their city. The publicity will bring in many tourists, and their wallets; it wasn’t hard to convince Baltimore’s merchants of my good intentions. And they have scheduled it to coincide with the reunion dinner. Hourman will not refuse the request of his admirers to appear in person and accept his plaque; he will miss the dinner, and be in Baltimore alone.”
“And we attack him?” Dr. Clever asked, his maniacal eyes glittering underneath the ridiculous papier-mâché devil’s horns he kept glued to his bald head.
“No!” the voice shouted, and we heard an invisible fist bang on one of the tables. “No, you will not attack Hourman. The honor of killing him, the glory of his death, must be mine! I alone have earned it!”
“Then, precisely what is our role in this glorious scheme of yours?” I asked, adding my voice to the melee for the first time.
“You, gentlemen, will be the gauntlet Hourman will run before he gets to me,” the voice said. “In teams of two, you will attack certain points in Baltimore, robbing and plundering. Your attacks will be timed, spaced out, so that stopping you will exhaust Hourman’s time-limited strength. Then, when he is exhausted from fighting eight super-criminals and his hour of power is gone, I will step in and slay him as I deserve to!”
The voice was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. I looked around the room; seven faces wore mixed emotions of greed, anticipation, and sheer undiluted evil.
“It is up to you gentlemen to pair yourselves off into teams,” the voice continued. “I do not presume to tell you your business there; you know it better than I do. You may select your own targets in Baltimore, as well, provided they are reasonably spaced apart, geographically. The jobs will be spaced fifteen minutes apart. Obviously, the team with the last job will have an advantage over the team with the first; thus, lots will be drawn to indicate the order of the attacks. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Excellent! Less than two weeks away, gentlemen; and this year, D-Day will mean Death Day for Hourman!”
Some of my colleagues laughed politely at our mysterious host’s joke. I did not.
Part 4
The pairings were quickly decided upon. The Sky Pirate and Alexander the Great elected to work together, because their methods of operation complemented one another. Mr. Ghool and Dr. Clever also became a team, and would probably spend most of their time comparing their ugliness and its effect on their victims. The Fiddler and The Thinker, old rivals for the honor of killing the Flash (though the likelihood of either of them succeeding was dubious at best), worked together. Joar and I renewed our association for this endeavor. He was positively gleeful at the prospect; at one point, as we discussed our crime for the evening, he actually rubbed his hands together, like the villain in a Republic Pictures movie serial.
Something about it, though, did not sit well with me. I had never met Hourman, and had no particular reason to wish him either well or ill. I did not know who our mysterious employer might be, although his madness was clear in every one of his words. The success or failure of his project did not impact on me in the slightest. And yet, something about it bothered me. I could not define it at that time; looking back, I wonder if my brief encounter with Mr. Terrific had not rubbed off on me somehow. It was the inequality, the unfairness of the thing, that galled me. Hourman didn’t have a chance. It wasn’t sporting. And though it was true that I had seldom passed up an opportunity to gain ground in my ongoing struggle with the Ludlow family through sporting means or otherwise, my association with the super-hero community, a mere six years old at that time, had made me see this game we played differently. For that is what it was, and make no mistake: a game. Cowboys and Indians, played by grown men in outlandish costumes.
Joar was a fine example. Before becoming the Icicle, he was a respected scientist and considered an odds-on favorite for the Nobel Prize. With his talents, he could make far more money legitimately than he could ever steal. He chose to joust with Green Lantern and the Justice Society for the sheer thrill of it; and the only thing that made him different from criminals like the Sportsmaster and the Gambler in that respect, was that he admitted it, even to himself.
Our mysterious employer seemed to genuinely hate Hourman; and perhaps he had good reason to. As I said before, I had never met the man. But whatever his reason, he wasn’t playing by the understood rules of the game. Somehow, I couldn’t allow that.
Of course, I could not openly aid Hourman in his struggle against our merrie band. My fellow super-criminals were (with a very few exceptions, like Joar) boorish and incompetent; but they had their uses. I did not want to alienate myself from their society, at least not yet. I thought of warning Hourman away somehow, in some way that would not reveal to him who his guardian angel was. But I realized that would not work; if Hourman were anything like my own jousting partner, the Flash, he would still charge into Baltimore to protect life and property, even against such ridiculous odds. I realized the only viable solution was to see that the odds were not so ridiculous after all.
Part 5
One week later, in the offices of Bannerman Chemical Company in New York City, the telephone rang.
“Rex Tyler.”
“Rex, hi. It’s Ted.”
“Grant?”
“No, Knight. Starman.”
“Oh, Ted! Sorry, bad connection; having a storm here.”
“Understood. Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all; does it involve science or super-heroics?”
“The latter, I believe. Do you plan on attending the All-Star Squadron reunion dinner this year?”
“Afraid not. I have this thing in Baltimore, near your neck of the woods, the same night. Pity, too; I was looking forward to seeing everyone again.”
“I see. Baltimore, you say.”
“Yes, I had a case there, years ago; before the war, even. Someone dug it out of the newspaper archives and declared ‘Hourman Day’. I have to go accept a plaque.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be a pleasant affair. We’ll miss you at the dinner, of course, Rex.”
“Give my best to everyone, Ted,” Rex said. “Say, when are we going to get together again for chess? Been awhile.”
“I’ll call you after the dinner and set something up. How’s that?”
“Fine. Looking forward to it. Talk to you then!”
“So long, Rex.” Ted Knight hung up the phone, and put his pipe in his mouth. His brow creased in concentration.
For you see, I had arranged for Ted Knight to learn of the grand scheme in Baltimore. Not all of it; only enough to attract his attention, and draw his concern. I had thought at first of my own sparring partner, the Flash; but I didn’t want to risk his learning of this side of my nature. Starman had experience fighting invisible men. While I doubted that our mysterious employer was the Mist — he had no reason I knew of to hate Hourman — that experience might come in handy. So I arranged for word of the villains’ gathering in Baltimore to filter down to a smarmy little chap named Donovan, a social parasite whom Starman sometimes used as an informant. Now, Hourman would have an ally on his side in the joust. The odds seemed more fair now.
Part 6
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the tall man in the yellow and black costume began, as he stood proudly behind the podium, “it is indeed a great honor to be here tonight. I want to thank everyone whose efforts made it possible. I especially want to thank Baltimore’s hard-working police force, for keeping the peace in your beautiful city. We of the Justice Society may seem glamorous, but it is them, who risk their lives for you every single day without benefit of super-strength or flying, who are the real–”
“Good Lord!” the Chief of Police exclaimed, bolting up out of his chair. Hourman looked at him a moment, confused, wondering what he could have said that had offended the chief so.
Then Hourman noticed the young man in hotel staff uniform standing beside the chief’s chair; obviously he had come in with a message for the chief. The chief turned his gaze on Hourman at the podium. “I beg your pardon, but I have to go. An emergency.”
“What’s the problem, Chief?” Hourman asked, his fingers straying to the compartment on his belt where he kept his Miraclo pills.
“Someone is stealing the C&I Bank downtown!” The police chief exclaimed, his emotion apparently making him forget caution.
“Stealing the bank?” Hourman asked, an eyebrow raising behind his mask. “You mean robbing it, don’t you?”
“No; I mean stealing it!” The chief declared. “According to the message I was handed, someone is stealing the entire sodding bank!”
Part 7
Citizens stood as close as they felt they safely could (which was not close at all, considering the numerous uniformed police who lay sprawled on the street). They gaped in awe and horror as they watched the four-story bank building, where many of them personally did their saving and checking, as it floated in the air like some colossal concrete balloon. Broken water pipes stood in the torn foundation of the bank, spraying water into the air like open wounds gushing blood; snapped power lines lay writhing and hissing in the rubble. But perhaps the most awe-inspiring sight of all was the ship, a Spanish galleon, which floated in air alongside the bank. Cannons on the ship had fired on the police which had threatened it; fortunately for the police, they had fired only knockout gas.
“Now that’s what I call a bank hold-up, eh, matey?” the man in pirate’s garb cackled, as he stood on the deck of his ship. Next to him stood a tall apparatus, similar in design to a motion picture camera but with a more futuristic design. A bald man in suit and cape stood next to this apparatus, manipulating its dials.
“Rather an obvious pun,” the man said, never taking his eyes off the bank, “but a fitting one nevertheless. This bank will be held up as long as I keep my anti-gravity ray trained on it!”
“Good, Alexander, good,” the Sky Pirate said approvingly. “Me boyos and I will loot the bank now, then! Best to grab what we can before Hourman comes!”
“True,” Alexander the Great agreed. “We only have to keep him busy until the next attack begins; then we can be off with the cash!”
“Avast, me hearties!” Sky Pirate shouted, waving his cutlass about dramatically. “Prepare to be boarded!” The Sky Pirate’s henchmen, dressed like extras in a road-company production of The Pirates of Penzance, threw a rope-bridge across from the ship to the doorway of the bank. A confederate of theirs who was already in the bank secured this, and the criminals poured across it into the bank.
It wasn’t long after this that Hourman arrived on the scene. It was seven blocks from the convention hall; powered by Miraclo, Hourman had run the distance in nothing flat. He quickly assessed the situation, then raced into the building next door to the bank. The hero elected not to wait for the elevator, but sprinted up the stairs to the roof. There he took a running start, and jumped into space toward the hovering bank. His clutching fingers found purchase on a ledge beneath a window; that was all he needed.
“Hurry, me lads!” Sky Pirate directed, as he stood over the pirate-garbed criminals busily stuffing canvas sacks with greenbacks. “We haven’t much time until Hourman arrives!”
“Not much at all,” a voice behind the villain agreed. “Hardly any, in fact.”
Sky Pirate whirled and faced the caped hero, who stood there with arms folded. “So soon? Ye’re not one to waste time, hero!” The Sky Pirate’s right hand, full of gun, jerked up from his belt. “But neither am I, by Blackbeard!” A cloud of greenish vapor puffed from the gun and headed for Hourman; but the hero had sucked in a lungful of untainted air when he saw the criminal’s weapon, for Green Lantern had told him of it before. The yellow and black thunderbolt charged through the cloud of gas, fists flying in all directions. In less time than it takes to tell, the Sky Pirate and all his henchmen were unconscious.
Part 8
Back on the galleon, Alexander the Great continued to manipulate the dials of his anti-gravity machine. “I wish that comic-opera Long John Silver would hurry up!” he muttered to himself. “The vacuum tubes on this thing won’t stand continued output like this! I have to work on that aspect of the device.”
“You’ll have plenty of time, where you’re going,” a voice behind and above the criminal scientist declared.
“What?” Alexander gasped, turning his head. He saw a scarlet-clad figure hovering behind him, green cape fluttering in the summer breeze. “Starman! But how? The All-Stars’ dinner — you–!”
“I decided to skip the dinner this year,” Starman stated. “They’re serving chicken croquettes in a white sauce. I don’t care for that.”
“Then maybe you’ll care for this!” Alexander said, and with a swipe of his hand, he cut off the anti-gravity ray. Starman watched the hovering bank begin to plummet. But only for a second; the astral avenger quickly caught the building in a beam of energy from his gravity rod. Alexander could see the hero straining with the effort as he lowered the building, slowly.
Grinning, Alexander drew a revolver from his coat pocket. “You should have eaten your chicken croquettes like a good boy,” he mocked. “Now all you’ll eat is lead!”
Starman gritted his teeth, waiting for the shot. It never came; instead he heard a loud thump, followed by a muffled one. He looked and saw Hourman standing over the unconscious Alexander.
“Not that I’m not glad to see you, Ted,” Hourman said, “but what’s going on?”
“I had a tip that there would be some criminal activity here tonight,” Starman said, as he lowered the bank gently back to its foundations. “I didn’t say anything to you, because the source was dubious; but it merited checking out.”
“Glad you did,” Hourman said, as he watched the clouds of dust as the bank came to rest on the rubble once more. “Well, we’ve got this wrapped up; care to join me back at the ceremonial dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Starman said. “I think — wait!”
A voice then came from Starman’s rod. Ted Knight had long ago devised a way to pick up radio transmissions with the rod; and tonight he had tuned it to the Baltimore police band, to ferret out the trouble he had been tipped of. Now it seemed that trouble was not over yet.
“All available cars to McThomm Shoe Factory on corner of Bernard and Bailey,” came the voice. “Robbery in progress. Repeat: all available cars…”
“Oh well,” Hourman said, “they’ll probably keep the dinner warm for us. I am the guest of honor, after all.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Starman said, and took to the skies. Hourman was dragged along, in a force-bubble created by Starman’s rod.
“Wonder what there is to rob in a shoe factory?” Starman asked, as they flew over Baltimore streets.
“Payroll,” Hourman mused. “Most factories pay their workers in cash. Bannermain still does, too. I submitted a proposal last year that we start paying by check. It was voted down.”
“Why?”
“Operating expenses.” Hourman shook his head. “Management. Go figure them out.”
Part 9
In minutes, the long low building that housed the McThomm Shoe Factory was in view. Several police cars were parked in front; dozens of uniformed men stood before them, in various poses.
“We may not be needed at all,” Starman said. “There are enough police here already to–”
“Ted — something’s wrong,” Hourman stated. “Those police officers aren’t moving!”
The two JSA champions were on the ground in seconds. They walked among the police officers like visitors to a statuary garden; the men in blue were frozen in mid-movement.
“Weird,” Hourman summed it up.
“Come on,” Starman said, heading for the entrance. “Whatever did this to them is… in… side…”
“Starman!” Hourman exclaimed, as he watched his friend slowing down. The cowled hero looked up, and saw a beam of light stabbing down from a window of the factory.
“It’s… all… right, Hourman,” Starman said, moving through the beam like a man walking waist-deep in water. “Beam caught… me by surprise… but my… gravity rod… can overcome it!” Starman’s steps grew more rapid with each word, and by the time he finished speaking, he was moving at normal speed. A pencil-thin beam of energy from his rod stabbed through the wide beam that surrounded him, and struck at the source of that beam. Hourman heard a crash, and someone scream. The wide beam clicked off. Starman flew up to the window, and flew down a moment later, carrying a limp, cloaked form.
“I read about this one in the All-Star Squadron’s files,” Starman said. “I think his name is Dr. Clever. Invented, among other criminal devices, a paralysis ray.”
“Must be what took out the guards. Why don’t you see if your rod can bring them out of it, while I check inside the factory?”
“Roger that,” Starman said, as he bound Dr. Clever’s unconscious body with his own cloak. Hourman raced into the factory. He found the night shift workers frozen at their tasks, like the police. The place was silent, but Hourman heard small sounds, which he quickly traced to a small office in the rear of the factory. Sure enough, a sign on the office door read PAYROLL. Shaking his head, Hourman raced to that office. There he saw a short, middle-aged man trembling in terror as he fumbled with the lock on a huge iron safe. The ugliest man Hourman had ever seen stood over him, urging him on.
“I said hurry up, you worm!” the ugly man bellowed. “Get that safe open!”
“I-I’m trying!” the little man squeaked in terror.
“Get away from that man!” Hourman barked. The ugly man’s face snapped around in Hourman’s direction.
“You!” Mr. Ghool exclaimed, then hurled himself at Hourman. The sight of the hideous man leaping at him took even Hourman aback momentarily, and he flinched; the massive villain hit him head-on in a flying tackle that sent them both to the floor. They grappled momentarily, but Hourman quickly recovered his wits; and Mr. Ghool’s strength was no match for his. In moments the fight was over.
Hourman explained what he had found to Starman. Some of the police, whom Starman had freed from their paralysis, went into the factory to take Ghool into custody.
“This is odd,” Hourman said. “Two super-villain attacks in one night, in a city that hasn’t seen mystery-man activity in–”
“Attention!” a voice crackled from the radio in one of the parked police cars. “Robbery in progress at Calista Jewelers, 61 Aventura Parkway! All available units…”
“Want to make that three?” Starman asked, rhetorically.
Part 10
Calista Jewelers was a store with a lot of glass. Huge display window; front door that was mostly glass. The key word is “was”; there was very little glass left, after the Fiddler had played his tune. When Hourman and Starman arrived, The Fiddler was hauling jewelry out of the display window and dumping it into a cloth bag; the Thinker was rifling the display cases inside the store.
“Hourman — and Starman?” Fiddler exclaimed. “He wasn’t supposed to be here!”
“I could say the same about you,” Starman declared. “I don’t suppose you’ll give up without a fight?”
“Certainly not; but thank you for asking,” Fiddler replied, as he raised his bow to the strings. Starman barely had time to erect an energy-shield against the sonic burst.
“I’ve never cared much for long-hair music, anyway,” Hourman stated, as he knelt beside a fire hydrant. His powerful fingers manipulated the hydrant more quickly than a fireman’s tools could have done, and he directed the resulting jet of water at the Fiddler. The malevolent musician’s wig and violin were both separated from him as the column of water struck him squarely in the chest. As soon as the Fiddler was down, Hourman closed the hydrant again.
“There’s another one in the store,” Starman called. “Can’t tell who it is, from here!”
“Whoever it is, I’ll get him!” Hourman replied, and charged for the entrance to the store.
“Hourman, wait!” Starman called. “We don’t know–”
Starman’s warning came too late. As Hourman crossed the threshold of the store, an electric charge suddenly shot through his body, stopping him in mid-stride. He uttered not a sound; simply fell forward into the store.
The Thinker paused in his task of looting the establishment, and drew a revolver, which he aimed at the fallen hero. He never fired it; Starman blasted it out of his hand with a bolt from his gravity-rod. Another beam picked up the display cases like a child’s blocks, and made an impromptu prison for the Thinker.
Starman knelt beside Hourman, who was already coming to.
“Ohh… what happened?” Hourman asked.
“You rushed in where angels fear to tread,” Starman quipped. “The Thinker rewired the store’s electrical system into a shock-trap.”
Hourman shook his head to clear it. “I’m doing it again; letting the Miraclo affect my judgment.”
“Aren’t you and Charlie working on a new Miraclo formula?” Starman asked. “One without those… properties?”
“Working on it, sure,” Hourman said. “We’re a long way from a workable formula. And I didn’t expect to run into a super-villain delegation tonight!”
“The tip I got didn’t prepare me for this, either,” Starman said, as Hourman got to his feet. “It’s like some kind of guerilla warfare of crime.”
“I hope we’ve seen the last of it,” Hourman said. “I only have about fifteen minutes left of my–”
“Hourman!” a voice from outside the store called. Both heroes looked, and saw a young police officer, a frantic look on his face.
“Yes, officer?” Hourman said.
“Are you finished here? Because there’s another robbery going on!”
Hourman and Starman both sighed audibly. “Where now?”
“Bygone Era Antiques, on Jackson Street!” the officer said. “Two guys are robbing it; one’s dressed in head to toe black, the other all in white!”
“Black and white?” Starman asked, turning to Hourman. “Who does that sound like?”
“The only all-white elf I know of is the Icicle,” Hourman said. “The black one could be any number of crooks.”
“Well, let’s go see,” Starman suggested. “And this time, hang back, let me take the point.”
“Wait a minute–”
“No, you know I’m right,” Starman insisted. “You said yourself your hour is almost up! You’ve been fighting super-crooks for almost an hour; you’re worn out. Plus that electric shock you just got. I’m not saying stay out of the fight; I’m just saying, let me do the lion’s share.”
Reluctantly, Hourman agreed to this.
Part 11
It was then that Joar and I came into the conflict. In selecting our plunder for the evening, we found a charming antique store with a nice selection of jewelry. Joar had a passion for diamonds, while I naturally had a predilection toward antiquarian objects. Thus we broke into the Bygone Era Antique Emporium, Joar’s gun having rendered the sturdy door brittle as spun glass. I smiled in secret irony as I noticed an ivory-handled letter opener among the objects for sale. It had once belonged to my friend, Oscar Wilde; he had pawned it for money to finance one of his appetites, I forget which. Obviously the owner of the store did not even know of its original ownership, or else a much higher price tag would have been placed on it. I slipped the knife into my pocket.
Not long after we broke into the store, Hourman and Starman arrived. Joar was genuinely surprised to see Starman there; I affected the same emotion. We wasted no time in starting the battle; Joar opened with a wide-angle spray of ice pellets, which I complemented with a cloud of darkness. Starman’s gravity rod rendered both attacks involatile.
Joar, remembering that the purpose of our fight was to wear down Hourman, shot me a knowing glance. I nodded, almost imperceptibly. I then summoned a small cloud of shadow that surrounded Starman’s head, clinging to him like a lover; try as he might, he could not get it off. Hourman charged into the fray then. Joar quick-froze his feet to the floor, stopping him in his tracks. Hourman’s chemically-enhanced muscles strained to tear his feet free of the ice, while I created a scimitar of solid shadow, poised to strike him down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Starman shining his gravity rod at his own head, trying to pierce the shadow-cloud; I surreptitiously dissolved the cloud, making it appear as though Starman’s rod had done it. Seeing the danger his friend was in, he quickly erected an energy-barrier between Hourman and my scimitar; the ebony blade crashed harmlessly upon the glowing circle. Joar aimed his gun at Starman, intending to freeze the hero in a block of ice. Seeing this, Hourman grabbed a ceramic figurine from a nearby table and flung it at Joar with all his strength. The figure flew like a bullet, and sheared the barrel clean off Joar’s gun. A flash from Starman’s gravity rod sent Joar hurtling upward, where he struck his head on the ceiling, inducing unconsciousness. I had to smile in appreciation of the fine teamwork. Hourman then finally succeeded in wrenching his feet free. I threw up a shadow-cloud that enveloped both heroes, but Hourman charged through it blindly, fists flying in all directions. One blow caught me on the point of the chin, and I went down.
Part 12
“Four attacks, by eight villains, all in an hour,” Starman said, as he stood over our unconscious forms (actually I only feigned unconsciousness).
“Yes,” Hourman said, panting and wheezing. “I hope… that’s the last… of them. My hour is up.”
“You mean your time is up!” a voice from nowhere snarled. It was our mysterious employer; he had been in the store all the time.
“What? Who?” Hourman gasped, too exhausted for clever banter.
“It’s someone invisible, Hourman,” Starman declared. “Possibly my old enemy, the Mist; although it doesn’t sound like him.”
“I am not the Mist, nor am I your old enemy,” the voice declared. “But you have made yourself my enemy, by siding with Hourman! Only he was supposed to die tonight; but you will now join him!”
“We’ll see,” Starman stated. “And I mean that literally!” He shone the beam of his gravity rod in the direction of the voice. Long ago he had learned how to use it to nullify the Mist’s inviso-solution; he hoped this man’s invisibility worked on the same principle. It did; a form quickly became visible. A man dressed in black, pointing a futuristic-looking pistol at the heroes. The man’s face was a mass of scar tissue; he looked even uglier than Mr. Ghool. It was as though he had gone bobbing for apples in a vat of boiling oil. Hourman gasped audibly at the sight of him.
Conclusion
“Doctor Darrk!” Hourman exclaimed. “Good Lord — I haven’t thought of you in years! Not since–”
“Not since you did this to me?” Darrk demanded, indicating his own face. “It was seven years ago, Hourman, when we fought! With my robots and my invisibility formula, I was going to conquer the world! But you, the knight-errant in shining cowl, had to stop me! And what did you do?”
Darrk was silent; Starman waited for Hourman to answer; Hourman merely stared at the man, as if not believing he were truly there.
“You made me turn visible,” Darrk declared, “by hurling a beaker of acid at my voice! Acid! Do you have any idea how an acid burn feels? How a faceful of acid feels, the searing, white-hot agony of it?” The madman’s ranting paused; silence was the only response. “Or the terror of that first night, lying in the jail ward of the county hospital, my wrist handcuffed to the bedrail, my face burning under the linen bandages, not knowing if I would ever see again? Do you think I slept that night, hero? Would you have?” Darrk’s insanity grew more apparent with each of his words. “And the years in prison, ostracized even there because of my disfigurement, the object of ridicule, of scorn, of abuse, verbal and physical. And when I got out, what chance had I of rejoining society? You scarred me for life, ruined my face, ruined my life! You, the hero, the shining example of all that’s good and right. Ha! This is your handiwork, ‘hero’! Look at me! Take a good, long look!”
Hourman hung his head in shame. Starman was grimly silent.
“Well, tonight I take my revenge! And you too, Starman, foolish enough to join forces with this acid-throwing fool! You too shall die! Don’t bother raising your gravity rod; I had seven years to perfect this weapon, and it will–”
***
We never learned what it would do. Perhaps it would have been effective against the gravity rod; perhaps not. Darrk’s rant was cut off then, as was his vision. For I summoned two tiny pools of shadow, no larger than quarter-dollar pieces, directly over his eyes. He was blinded, but the heroes could not tell what had happened. Starman noticed Darrk’s confusion; he did not know the source of it, but took advantage of it. In a thrice, Darrk was disarmed and captured.
Starman and Hourman did not speak of Darrk’s accusations, at least not in my presence. All I saw was them bind him for safe handover to the police.
I, of course, escaped police custody on my way to the jailhouse. I always did; I love adventure and the thrill of the joust, but the idea of imprisonment disagrees with me. Especially when I consider what it did to my good friend Oscar.
Later I heard that Doctor Darrk hanged himself in his cell. He had waited seven long years for his grand scheme of revenge, and it failed; I suppose he had nothing left to live for, after that.
***
Six weeks after the Baltimore incident, I received a letter from Joar. It seemed a large uncut diamond, the size of an ostrich egg, had been unearthed in Africa by an archaeological expedition headed by a professor from Calvin College. The diamond was on display at the college, temporarily. Calvin College, of course, was the bailiwick of the Atom. Joar wondered if I would be interested in helping him steal it. I smiled, and picked up my pen to reply.
