My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord (5 page)

How do you defeat a superhero?

I pondered the question as I rode the bus to Main Street. I needed inspiration and decided to look for it in Crystal Comics. I hadn't been back since the whole Nemesis business during the summer. As I stepped off the 55 and looked over the familiar storefront, I felt a pang of regret. The last time I'd been here was with Serge and Lara. That wasn't the only difference.

Christopher Talbot, the owner (and supervillain), hadn't been seen since he was swatted out of the sky by a giant asteroid going 27,000 miles per hour. Since his disappearance, his business empire had rapidly dwindled. His former villain's lair and flagship volcano store had lain empty for little more than a month before signs went up announcing it as the future location of a new Macy's. In the absence of their charismatic owner, the dozen or so stores that made up the Crystal Comics empire were snapped up by a competitor. The original store on Main Street limped on, the last creaking starship of a once mighty fleet.

I pushed open the door. The moon base–themed interior was looking tired. The Alien Detection scanner at the entrance needed a new bulb, the tentacles poking from air vents lacked their former gooey gleam, and no one had refilled the green Martian gas pumps for weeks. The place smelled stale and was empty save for a couple of customers browsing a dusty display of action figures and someone snoring lightly in a wingback armchair beneath a copy of “The Death of Superman.”

At least the shelves were still lined with comics. If anyone would know how to bring about the downfall of Star Guy, it would be Lex Luthor, Magneto, Galactus, or any of the hundreds of other villains who stalked the dark places of the comic book universe. Back in the old days there was something called the Comics Code, which required good to triumph over evil in every issue. And while most stories still followed that pattern, there were examples where the bad guys won, even if the writers had to create alternate universes to let them do so. I gathered a bunch of issues and began my search.

A voice drifted out from behind the cash register propped on the store counter, accompanied by a series of familiar thudding and blasting sound effects. “Ha! Didn't see that coming, did you?
Fear
me!
” Curious, I peered over the high countertop. A skinny sales assistant with a tangle of dark hair sat cross-legged on the floor, playing
Puny Earthlings!
The store stocked a handful of video games and a single console on which to try them. The sales assistant must have swiped it off its stand in the middle of the store in order to play without interruption from bothersome customers.

He studied the screen through a lick of hair that hung down over one eye. “OK, Star Guy,” he said, hunching his shoulders and bearing down on the game controller. “Let's see you dodge
this
.” He thumbed a complicated sequence of buttons. “Atomic blast! Plasma cannon! Heat ray!” he shouted in quick succession. “Come on, you annoying masked menace—fall out of the sky!” There was a shriek and the sound of tearing metal. I knew what it meant, having experienced it myself each time I played. Star Guy had brought down the Alien Overlord's mother ship.

Game. Over.

“Oh, come on,” whined the sales assistant, hurling down the controller. “That's not fair.” Star Guy's victory theme song played out over the end credits. I'd heard it so often it had become stuck in my head—the most annoying tune in the universe. As the trumpets blared, the sales assistant noticed my head poking above the counter. He blew the stubborn strand of hair out of his eye. “Can I help you?” he asked, in a tone that made it perfectly clear that he really didn't want to.

What's more, I knew that he
couldn't
help, based on his total failure to put Star Guy out of action. I wouldn't learn any secrets from this guy's feeble game fu. “You've got
Puny Earthlings!
too,” I remarked.

“Well, duh,” he replied, and grudgingly got to his feet. “Who doesn't?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you read GameSpot?”

I hadn't been able to browse the video game site since Mom banned me from unsupervised use of the computer. I shook my head.

He looked at me as if I'd missed the biggest news headline in the world—which I had, if your prime source of news is GameSpot or Kotaku or io9.com. He waved the familiar box that the disc came in. “Two days ago one of these appeared on every doorstep in the area. Our town's been chosen to test the game before it launches worldwide. Are you going to buy those?” He gestured to the comics clutched in my hand.

“No thanks. They're not what I'm looking for.”

“Time-waster,” he muttered, and sank beneath the counter to continue playing
Puny Earthlings!

Why had Lab Rat Games given out free copies to everyone in town? Maybe it was some sort of clever publicity campaign. But what mattered was that everyone I knew would be playing the game. Serge, the kids at school who picked on me—all were trying to defeat Star Guy and Dark Flutter. Someone was bound to come up with a solution. I desperately wanted it to be me. Suddenly, it had become a competition.

And why shouldn't I be the one? After all, I had an advantage over the rest of them. Insider knowledge. I knew, for instance, that Zack was mildly allergic to cats, though not enough to knock him out of the sky, not even with some kind of multibarreled, high-velocity, cat-flinging weapon (I'd already built one in the mother ship's R & D lab). But I knew what made him tick. I felt sure that the answer was somewhere in the soup of my relationship with my big brother. If anyone was going to spoon the crouton of his flaw, it would be me.

I headed quickly for the door, itching to get back home to my Xbox and another round with the dratted duo. As I passed the sleeping figure in the armchair, he let out a great snore from beneath the comic propped over his face. The comic slid off and fluttered to the floor. I gasped.

Hidden beneath “The Death of Superman” was a face I never expected to see again.

Christopher Talbot opened one eye.

My first instinct was to run. The last time Christopher Talbot and I had been in the same room, he'd sicced his attack robots on me and then tried to shake me off his wildly maneuvering rocket-powered super suit while I clung on for my life.

“You,” he rasped, surprise turning into a cough. He looked worn-out. Eyes that once dazzled like gemstones were now dim. Hair that used to be as bouncy as an overeager Labrador lay limp against his bony skull. Breath rattled through his thin frame. Being struck by a giant asteroid hadn't done him any favors.

During our previous showdown I'd proved that, to his immense annoyance, rather than the hero he believed himself to be, he was in fact a villain. I couldn't imagine he'd forgiven me for that. I gave the store a quick once-over for killer robots. All clear.

He gripped the arms of the chair and with a groan hauled himself to his feet. “It's good to see you again, Luke,” he said, a smile cracking his thin lips. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” I said with surprise, and then, drilled by years of my parents telling me always to be polite, I couldn't help adding, “How are you?”

“Oh, you know. After my body was smashed to pieces by the Nemesis asteroid, which I only survived thanks to the protective carapace of my Mark Fourteen Sub-Orbital Super Suit, I woke up in a hospital in South Korea. With amnesia.”

I wondered. “Does that mean that you . . . ?”

“'Fraid not. I still remember that your brother is”—he cupped a hand to his mouth and then whispered—“Star Guy.”

That was a pity.

He filled me in on the rest of the story. “While I was in the hospital in Seoul, I was put back together by skilled surgeons, but at enormous expense. I had to sell off my business to pay the bills, and then I was shipped home to find, oh great irony, my house a smoking crater, thanks to a stray chunk of asteroid.”

“But you had insurance, right?”

“Forgot to renew the policy.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, at least I have my health.” He dissolved again into a coughing fit. “It really is nice to see you, Luke. Takes me back to the good old days. And a few of the bad. But we'll let that go, shall we?”

Why was he being so friendly? I was highly suspicious. My actions were largely responsible for turning him into this wreck of a man who now stood before me. If I were in his position, I knew what I'd be thinking.

“You're thinking, ‘I bet he wants revenge,'” said Christopher Talbot, raising an eyebrow. “You imagine, because of your role in my downfall, I must be plotting to get back at you. Hmm?”

“Well, aren't you?”

He laid a gnarled hand against his cheek and slowly drummed his fingers. “In an ideal world, would I like to take my revenge on Star Guy and his little helpers? Yes. Naturally. Of course I would. Some would say I'd be insane not to. But look at me. I'm penniless and homeless. I sleep in the back room of the store on a futon. You of all people should know that you can't be an effective supervillain without a proper lair and millions to spend on R & D. Death rays don't come cheap. Obviously, they're cheaper than shrink rays, but that's not the point. As for purchasing a suitable property to convert, what with house prices around here—not to mention the city council's planning department—forget it. I mean, really, you build
one
volcano full of radioactive spiders, next thing you know they won't even give you approval for a kitchen extension.” He shook his head gloomily.

I wasn't buying it. “So you're saying if only you had the money—and the planning permission—you'd take your revenge?”

“I'm not saying that at all. You forget, I never intended to be the villain. I wanted to be the hero.” He looked past me with a faraway expression. “My whole life, all I dreamed of was becoming a superhero.” He blinked. “But that's over. The man you see before you is no more than a humble comic book seller.”

I didn't believe a word. I searched his face for a clue to his real intentions, but all I could see were wrinkles. “What about your close call with Nemesis?”

“What about it?”

Did he take me for a complete fool? “You want me to believe you got that close to the biggest asteroid in the galaxy and it
didn't
give you superpowers?”

He nodded. “Fair point. Gaining superpowers from an asteroid or meteorite is a classic, some might even argue overused, comic device. Indeed, it is a route I myself have pursued, in my less enlightened past.” He thought for a moment. “Well, I do get a tingling sensation in my right foot now when the weather's about to change, but I think that might be due to a touch of arthritis.” He placed one hand over his heart and threw out the other, then said in a weird, trembly voice:

“Now my charms are all o'erthrown,

and what strength I have's mine own,

which is most faint.”

He looked at me. “
The Tempest
,” he explained.

“From
Ultimate X-Men
?”

He sighed. “From Shakespeare.”

Nope. I still didn't believe him. I'd seen it too many times. The villain defeated in one story comes back in the next, and this time he's seen the error of his ways and he's all goody-goody. But it's a trick! And just when the hero least expects it, he reveals his true evil face and—

“I know what you're thinking.”

“Aha!” I jumped on his admission. “Because you have telepathy.”

“No, Luke, because we're alike. We could have been friends.” He gave an awkward cough. “If I hadn't tried to destroy your brother and knock you off my super suit. Anyway, bygones and all that. And you're wrong. I'm not pretending to be innocent while plotting some evil payback. I'm done. Finished. Out of the supervillain business.”

He had to be lying.

“I'm not lying.”

“Swear on it.”

“OK. Yes. If that'll help you believe me. So, what shall I swear on?” He shambled over to a shelf of comic books and plucked one down. “How about Doctor Strange's magic order?
By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth
 . . . No? Ah, now here's a classic. He-Man's proclamation.
By the power of Grayskull
 . . .
I have the power.
But no Power Sword, so that doesn't work. Wait, I know. Oh, this is perfect. I'll swear on the oath of the Green Lantern Corps.”

“No,” I said firmly.

“The
Blue
Lantern Corps? OK. Niche. But OK.”

I had a much better idea. “Swear you're not a supervillain . . . on Star Guy's oath.”

Serge had come up with the oath, and like everything else to do with Star Guy, after Nemesis its popularity had exploded. I said he should claim royalties, but Serge said that wouldn't be in the right spirit. Then Q-Piddy used it as the lyrics for his song “Stop Me Before I Chill Again” and bought an island with the profits.

The important thing was that the oath would help me determine once and for all if Christopher Talbot was telling the truth. I knew it was cruel to force him to say the oath of the superhero who had defeated him, but if the words stuck in his throat, then I'd have my answer.

Christopher Talbot swallowed. A bead of sweat, a nervous twitch—I was looking for the smallest sign. He began to recite the words.

“Granted cosmic superpower

In our darkest hour,

Star Guy, star light,

Protector of the world tonight.”

“There,” he said, clapping his hands. “Now, how about a nice cup of tea? I have cookies.”

“What kind?”

“Poisoned,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.

I knew he was joking but decided not to eat them anyway.

“Would you mind?” He gestured to a cane propped against the back of the chair.

I gave it to him. He leaned on the stick and began to limp off. As he passed the counter he saw that no one was manning the store.

“Rafe,” he called out. I guessed he was looking for the sales assistant with the stubborn bangs. “Rafe Peacock, where are you?!” He tutted. “I can't even afford proper help these days. He's my sister's boy. I was doing her a favor.” He pointed the cane at the abandoned cash register. “Now, nepotism, there's a terrible power.”

I'd never heard of nepotism, but it was weird to think of Christopher Talbot having a family. You don't read much about villains' family life in comics. I wondered why. Maybe it would make them too sympathetic, knowing that they had a mom and dad.

“It's Rafe's last day working here. When he's gone, it'll just be me. Ah, well.” He looked around the empty store. “Now, where were we? Yes. Tea and cookies.”

I caught myself. Afternoon tea with the villain formerly known as the Quintessence—what was I thinking? “I'm sorry, I have to go,” I said quickly, and hurried for the door.

His face fell. “Yes, yes. Of course. I understand.”

I glanced back. Christopher Talbot stood hunched over his cane. “Another time then.” He smiled sadly and shuffled off toward his little room at the back of the store.

I stumbled onto the pavement and took a deep lungful of air. I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath for so long. I had the oddest sensation. It took me a few moments to pin it down. As impossible as it seemed, I felt sorry for Christopher Talbot.