Chapter One
In the red light of evening, from a high enough vantage point, Tokyo resembled nothing so much as a series of techno-shaped islands arising out of a sea of blood. The blood, of course, was smog. There was probably an analogy there, but he wasn't looking for it at the moment. He wasn't looking for anything at the moment, having entered the state that more technically-adept masters called "camera-mind" -- allowing what entered his eyes to fill his mind without consciously considering any of it. What he saw *was*, and no thought on his part would make it other than that. This was the beginning of wisdom, and also the way he preferred to begin his day.
A voice intruded. "It will be today."
He didn't look over his shoulder; there was only one person that would say anything along those lines. He allowed thought to flow gradually back into his consciousness before he slowly began to stand up. That he was more certain of his footing than any tight-rope walker was no reason to tempt both fate and the wind to knock him off the balcony without walls, and send him falling eighty stories to the ground below.
When he'd begun using this place as a residence, he'd wondered why the architects had installed such odd additions to the complex's otherwise unremarkable suites. On learning that the building had been built more than a quarter of a century earlier, at the tail end of the metahuman era, he'd felt fairly certain he knew the answer. In an age when anything could happen, it might be appropriate to have a balcony easily accessible to men and women who could fly on their own power. It would only be polite, after all.
Lorraine stood at the balcony door in her white nightgown and chemise, her equally white hair flowing free and arms crossed under her small breasts. More than one magazine had called her beautiful. It was a lie, of course. Her cocoa-colored skin was without flaw, and her only slightly darker eyes were clear and bright, but the very fact of her flawlessness prevented her from being beautiful. Instead, what she had and what the magazines saluted was her glamor. And, of course, her power.
He didn't ask whether she was certain of her statement, or make any gestures of inquiry such as a raised eyebrow. She would not have stated it as a fact if there was any question in her mind. Instead, he asked, "Where?"
"Opal City. Downtown. This afternoon," she replied. "I have already booked your flight."
"Thank you." He turned to look at the screen on the suite's wall. "Let's see what else is happening in the world today."
The magic words were heeded by the spirits hidden in the realm of the electrons, who closed the circuit to activate the screen. It displayed the image of GBS-Tokyo's anchorman, who had never actually existed, as the icon was a synthesis of a popular early-21st century newsman and a template of Japanese facial features. Around "him" were cameos of the stories of importance.
"Critical news this morning comes from Metropolis," the anchorman announced. "The reorganization commences of the Justice League, with leadership by a new Supergirl --" That was in English, of course. "-- showing here."
One of the cameos flashed. "Magnify," he said on impulse, a frown beginning to grow on his face. The cameo obliged, filling the whole screen as the anchorman continued his description of the events in Metropolis.
His jaw fell as he recognized her from her vibrant, red hair. They'd only met the one time, but he would have recognized that hair anywhere, along with her smile. That inane, girlish smile.
"Eiko Magami?" he asked the universe. "They gave *her* the job? *Her*?"
"Given who they are," Lorraine noted with obvious amusement, "should you not perhaps give their judgment more credit?"
"Given what they've done, I can give it none at all. God look down damnation, this raises the concept of nepotism to new heights."
"Naturally. They are larger than life, so why shouldn't their nepotism be likewise?" She abruptly became serious. "Does it change anything?"
He sighed heavily. After a moment, he answered. "No. We will simply need to be very careful. Hopefully, we will be able to work our own side of the street while her League ... ideally, works a different part of town entirely."
Making a change of tone of his own, he turned to look her square on. "Is he ready?"
She nodded.
"He is not drugged or one bred to docility?" This was vital, and he doubted she could understand how much.
"It was scheduled to fight in Pamplona next week," Lorraine answered. "I highly doubt the latter, and I have followed your instructions carefully."
"Thank you," he said again. "If you'll excuse me, then?"
He walked into the suite's bathroom, and pulled off the black trousers that were his only garment as he shut the door. He stepped naked into the shower/bath, and turned the water on to its highest for the purification.
Over the water's soft roar, he could hear the sound of the bull moving in the bathroom above him. Lorraine kept that suite, as well, and had employed men who asked no questions to make modifications to both these lavatories. The ones in this one seemed comparatively minor -- only a single additional knob above the one that controlled the water.
He rested his hand on that knob now. "Bullfighting," he said, disgust plain in his tone. "Killing you for sport, my friend. You escaped that indignity, at least."
Then, without hesitation, he pulled the knob back. There was a noise that seemed to blend a thump and the sound of meat being sliced open, and a single startled bleat. In the same instant, the water in the shower turned off.
A moment later, the blood began to flow out of the shower's faucet.
As it ran down onto his face and body, he bent his head low, and began to pray. The words were in Latin, though he could easily have spoken them in Greek or Armenian.
"Hercules, defender of men.
"Who conquered the terrors of the ancient world.
"Who first walked the path by which men may become as gods.
"Guide thou me in my steps with thy hard-won wisdom.
"Guide thou me in my steps as I perform my feats.
"Strengthen thou me in my sinews as I bear my burdens, as thou did bear all the world.
"Strengthen thou me in my sinews as I wrestle my foes, as thou did wrestle Thanatos.
"For all do wrestle Thanatos in every moment of life.
"In the name of thy father, who is God, and thy mother, who is Alcmene, and thy very self.
"Amen."
He stood in silence for several moments longer, as the last of the blood flowed down on him. When it had ceased to flow entirely, even the last drop, he continued to stand for the requisite five minutes before raising his head to push the lever back, so that the water flow began anew.
When the baptismal blood had all been washed away down the drain, he ran a hand through his curly black hair, and stepped out of the shower to dry himself off. He tied the towel around himself, toga-style, before he walked back into the suite's living room.
Lorraine was seated on the couch, watching as the screen displayed stock prices. She'd tap on plus or minus signatures beside the names of companies she'd decided to buy or sell, respectively, when they came up.
Before he could even open his mouth, she spoke without turning around to look at him. "I'll make sure that the meat is properly cut and treated, and delivered to several soup kitchens around the city. The ones that won't sell it on the black market."
"Thank you," Richard Wayne said, as sincerely as the previous two times he'd thanked his closest ally in the world, and went to dress himself.
To Be Continued.
In the red light of evening, from a high enough vantage point, Tokyo resembled nothing so much as a series of techno-shaped islands arising out of a sea of blood. The blood, of course, was smog. There was probably an analogy there, but he wasn't looking for it at the moment. He wasn't looking for anything at the moment, having entered the state that more technically-adept masters called "camera-mind" -- allowing what entered his eyes to fill his mind without consciously considering any of it. What he saw *was*, and no thought on his part would make it other than that. This was the beginning of wisdom, and also the way he preferred to begin his day.
A voice intruded. "It will be today."
He didn't look over his shoulder; there was only one person that would say anything along those lines. He allowed thought to flow gradually back into his consciousness before he slowly began to stand up. That he was more certain of his footing than any tight-rope walker was no reason to tempt both fate and the wind to knock him off the balcony without walls, and send him falling eighty stories to the ground below.
When he'd begun using this place as a residence, he'd wondered why the architects had installed such odd additions to the complex's otherwise unremarkable suites. On learning that the building had been built more than a quarter of a century earlier, at the tail end of the metahuman era, he'd felt fairly certain he knew the answer. In an age when anything could happen, it might be appropriate to have a balcony easily accessible to men and women who could fly on their own power. It would only be polite, after all.
Lorraine stood at the balcony door in her white nightgown and chemise, her equally white hair flowing free and arms crossed under her small breasts. More than one magazine had called her beautiful. It was a lie, of course. Her cocoa-colored skin was without flaw, and her only slightly darker eyes were clear and bright, but the very fact of her flawlessness prevented her from being beautiful. Instead, what she had and what the magazines saluted was her glamor. And, of course, her power.
He didn't ask whether she was certain of her statement, or make any gestures of inquiry such as a raised eyebrow. She would not have stated it as a fact if there was any question in her mind. Instead, he asked, "Where?"
"Opal City. Downtown. This afternoon," she replied. "I have already booked your flight."
"Thank you." He turned to look at the screen on the suite's wall. "Let's see what else is happening in the world today."
The magic words were heeded by the spirits hidden in the realm of the electrons, who closed the circuit to activate the screen. It displayed the image of GBS-Tokyo's anchorman, who had never actually existed, as the icon was a synthesis of a popular early-21st century newsman and a template of Japanese facial features. Around "him" were cameos of the stories of importance.
"Critical news this morning comes from Metropolis," the anchorman announced. "The reorganization commences of the Justice League, with leadership by a new Supergirl --" That was in English, of course. "-- showing here."
One of the cameos flashed. "Magnify," he said on impulse, a frown beginning to grow on his face. The cameo obliged, filling the whole screen as the anchorman continued his description of the events in Metropolis.
His jaw fell as he recognized her from her vibrant, red hair. They'd only met the one time, but he would have recognized that hair anywhere, along with her smile. That inane, girlish smile.
"Eiko Magami?" he asked the universe. "They gave *her* the job? *Her*?"
"Given who they are," Lorraine noted with obvious amusement, "should you not perhaps give their judgment more credit?"
"Given what they've done, I can give it none at all. God look down damnation, this raises the concept of nepotism to new heights."
"Naturally. They are larger than life, so why shouldn't their nepotism be likewise?" She abruptly became serious. "Does it change anything?"
He sighed heavily. After a moment, he answered. "No. We will simply need to be very careful. Hopefully, we will be able to work our own side of the street while her League ... ideally, works a different part of town entirely."
Making a change of tone of his own, he turned to look her square on. "Is he ready?"
She nodded.
"He is not drugged or one bred to docility?" This was vital, and he doubted she could understand how much.
"It was scheduled to fight in Pamplona next week," Lorraine answered. "I highly doubt the latter, and I have followed your instructions carefully."
"Thank you," he said again. "If you'll excuse me, then?"
He walked into the suite's bathroom, and pulled off the black trousers that were his only garment as he shut the door. He stepped naked into the shower/bath, and turned the water on to its highest for the purification.
Over the water's soft roar, he could hear the sound of the bull moving in the bathroom above him. Lorraine kept that suite, as well, and had employed men who asked no questions to make modifications to both these lavatories. The ones in this one seemed comparatively minor -- only a single additional knob above the one that controlled the water.
He rested his hand on that knob now. "Bullfighting," he said, disgust plain in his tone. "Killing you for sport, my friend. You escaped that indignity, at least."
Then, without hesitation, he pulled the knob back. There was a noise that seemed to blend a thump and the sound of meat being sliced open, and a single startled bleat. In the same instant, the water in the shower turned off.
A moment later, the blood began to flow out of the shower's faucet.
As it ran down onto his face and body, he bent his head low, and began to pray. The words were in Latin, though he could easily have spoken them in Greek or Armenian.
"Hercules, defender of men.
"Who conquered the terrors of the ancient world.
"Who first walked the path by which men may become as gods.
"Guide thou me in my steps with thy hard-won wisdom.
"Guide thou me in my steps as I perform my feats.
"Strengthen thou me in my sinews as I bear my burdens, as thou did bear all the world.
"Strengthen thou me in my sinews as I wrestle my foes, as thou did wrestle Thanatos.
"For all do wrestle Thanatos in every moment of life.
"In the name of thy father, who is God, and thy mother, who is Alcmene, and thy very self.
"Amen."
He stood in silence for several moments longer, as the last of the blood flowed down on him. When it had ceased to flow entirely, even the last drop, he continued to stand for the requisite five minutes before raising his head to push the lever back, so that the water flow began anew.
When the baptismal blood had all been washed away down the drain, he ran a hand through his curly black hair, and stepped out of the shower to dry himself off. He tied the towel around himself, toga-style, before he walked back into the suite's living room.
Lorraine was seated on the couch, watching as the screen displayed stock prices. She'd tap on plus or minus signatures beside the names of companies she'd decided to buy or sell, respectively, when they came up.
Before he could even open his mouth, she spoke without turning around to look at him. "I'll make sure that the meat is properly cut and treated, and delivered to several soup kitchens around the city. The ones that won't sell it on the black market."
"Thank you," Richard Wayne said, as sincerely as the previous two times he'd thanked his closest ally in the world, and went to dress himself.
To Be Continued.