Jeffrey R.

DeRego

ESCAPE CLAUSE
A Union Dues novel

ESCAPE CLAUSE

2012 by Jeffrey R. DeRego

All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact ENC Press at pr@encpress.com ENC Press P.O. Box 833 Hoboken, NJ 07030 ISBN 978-0-9752540-9-7 Printed in the United States of America
FIRST EDITION

2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Design and cover art by Mom & Pop Design Shop

Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Cover Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 The Baby and the Bathwater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Cleanup in Aisle 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Iron Bars and the Glass Jaw . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 The Sum of Its Parts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Off-White Lies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Send in the Clowns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Tabula Rasa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 A Handshake, a Gold Watch, a Candle . . . . . . . 145

10 All About the Sponsors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 11 All That We Leave Behind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209

4. IRON BARS AND THE GLASS JAW

The goddamn handcuffs are starting to chafe my wrists. Not like I couldnt snap them or anything. My name aint Megaton for nothing. Hell, I could twist these off just by making a couple of fistsknock a nice-size hole in the wall, too. Then what? Disappear? I hear Jamaicas nice, and Ive always wanted to live someplace warm. Freelance maybe, or wrestle. I could get by. How you doing in there? Comfy? He taps the bars with his palm but doesnt linger. Just fine, sheriff. Of course its not. The cell is twelve feet deep by seven high and wide. I can barely sit without touching at least two walls and the ceiling. The sheriffs name tag reads TOM BRANDON. I dont know the protocol for addressing him. I think, while he catalogues each of the detachable costume pieces I was told to drop into a big plastic bin on his desk. I cant get too wrapped up in this little inconvenience. Just be cool, Megaton, once the Union gets here this whole mess will disappear. Well, until the Tribunal, but thats gonna be a cinch. I should have figured the kid was terrified, didnt know what he was doing. I should have tried harder to defuse the situation. I should have anticipated hed take a swing, that he was unstable, that the suit was stronger than a medieval catapult but the mind-reading stuff aint my job. Should have. Cant live in the should-haves though. Im the heavy equipment, the muscle; I throw the buses and catch the falling satellites. My job is much less complicated in those kinds of situations.

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Im going to call him Tom. Sheriff Tom. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know its the right way to address him. If he corrects me, Ill adjust. Sometimes my thinking trips over itself. I suppose its useless to take your picture or fingerprints. Useless and illegal. Sheriff Tom cant unmask me, because the Union Charter forbids it, something about compromising the integrity of the functional team. If the world knew who we were, theyd know where we came from, and that could put the communities we left behind, family members, friends, in danger. Worse, it could open up a whole new world of exploitation that would put all of us in the Union at an extreme disadvantage. I might not be able to pitch some companys protein shake, but my mother canworse, that same company could pressure my mother, who could, in turn, pressure me until the Union had to get involved. The Union says good money isnt necessarily good business. Besides, we have our own licenses to worry about, so we spend a good chunk of our time pushing products bearing our carefully crafted likenesses. I mean, we have to. Were the product, not just the comics and toys, were the whole package. Sheriff Tom pries open one of the big pouches on my yellow utility belt. A clutch of pepper-gas balls bounces out into the bin. Sheriff, therere things in there, you might not want to mess with those. If you point out each of the pouches, Ill tell you whats inside so you can safely mark them down. You guys must think were pretty dumb, especially us cops. He drops the belt into the bin and immediately loses interest in my stuff. Look at him leaning back with his feet up on the desk. Did he just walk out of Cool Hand Luke? Sheesh, youd think a sheriff would want to be more dignified. No sir. You and your brethren are integral to the fabric of society. We of the Union are grateful for your hard
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work and courage. I can rattle off that sort of crap all day long. But the truth is, I kind of feel sorry for him being overweight, old, and underequipped to deal with life in these United States. Its rare enough for him to be a municipal employee, too, since most of the states have sold off their law enforcement to private contractors like InterCity, Inc., and even their flatfeet probably get three times his pay. A row of awards hangs behind his seat, most of them are for good citizenship, given by organizations like the Rotary Club and stuff, but a couple of them are military. Hes probably been in combat. Cool. At least he has the guts to say to my face that he doesnt like me, which is more than I can say about most of the InterCity goons Ive worked around. Sheriff? What? If I promise not to cause any problems could you remove these cuffs for me? Maybe if I smile when I ask Sheriff Tom moves close to the bars and peers in like a kid at a new zoo exhibit. What do you weigh, three-eighty? Four-fifty? Closer to five, in full gear closer to five-fifty. I ease up but can only just straighten my legs a little before my head brushes the concrete ceiling. Sheriff Toms perp-walked me the five miles to his office and my holding cell. Five miles? Yeah, something like that give or takebut it sure felt longer. His car couldnt take my mass unless he was bringing me here, like, one leg at a time or something. Everyone in town came out to watch him lead me like some big trained monkey. Sheriff Tom whistles, and childlike amazement flashes from him for just a second. Im not allowed to bust out, if thats what youre worried about. The Charter prevents me from doing that. You know that, there must be a copy around here somewhere. Hes afraid, but hides it well, and
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I dont blame him. He probably only knows me from the comic books and Saturday morning cartoons. They play me a little too aggressive, really, sometimes its hard to live up to the image. I dont have a copy. Youll just have to sit. Dont get me wrong, its not that I dont trust you, but I have rules to follow. But can you tell me something? This is better, squeeze my fists a bit and feel the ratchet pop apart but the cuffs stay on. He wont know until its time for me to walk out of here and by then there wont be a thing he can do. Certainly. Howd you end up like you are? Surgery or some freak medical experiment? I guess its a rational question. My yellow-on-black, copyrighted, branded, Union-sponsored, marketing teamdesigned costume is torn, showing skin and scars through the layers of Armorgel and spandex. No, nothing like that. I just woke up one day and was Super-Strong. It just happens. No one knows why. At least, I dont know why and the Union isnt telling if they do know. I like it even less in here with him just staring at me. We need more small talk. Its an honor to meet a fellow patriot. Union Approved Script #3, Sec. 5, Interacting with Normals in Non-Media Events, Para. 15, Verbal Contingency for Temporary Detainment by Normal Law Enforcement. I know it by heart, we all do, they plant the whole thing into our brains while we sleep, during the initial phases of training. The words are tattooed into my synapses. I never understood why we needed to know it though, well, until now. The Union doesnt want us mixing with the Normals in any uncontrolled situation. The Union Charter has held steady for better than fifty years now and it seems to keep things nice and regular for them and for us. Present situation excepted, of course. Man, if I could do this all over again Shipped to Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming, population who-friggin-knows, to
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evaluate and apprehend a freelancer that turned out to be a smart kid with a homemade exoskeleton-type robot-suit who flipped out and tried to kill me before I could even say hello. Kids robot packed a hell of a punch though. A wicked one. And he was quick. Probably bruised a couple of my ribs. What do you know about patriotism? Dropping in here unannounced scaring the shit out of a boy who hasnt done anything more than tinker with a couple of lawn mowers and some scrap steel And what did he get for his trouble? Dead. He got dead. Some patriot He swung first. All I wanted to do was meet him, talk to his parents, and give him a couple of brochures. Hes the one who went all robot-rampage. The kid Joey. His name was Joey Fitzsimmons I talk right over him, didnt have to be stupid. I told him he was probably just a regular genius and not a Super Strategist, but he wouldnt listen. Two guys from MIT were out to see him a year ago, had a scholarship lined up and everything. Joey was going to help with some theoretical robotics program, but he didnt want to leap ahead of his classmates like that. Good boy, Joey was, quiet. Loved his community. Sheriff Tom grips the handle of his holstered revolver, and for a moment looks at me like he might just go ahead and balance the scales of justice right there in the office. Youre a fucking coward, he says, and for the first time today all of the false professionalism drains out of his voice, you and your friends. Envy much, sheesh? Sheriff Tom has to know that such a smallcaliber gun wont even bruise me, and that if he draws it, then I can legally smash my way out of here. And how am I any different than the kid? I didnt get no scholarship to college, when the Union came for me. Im not allowed to say no, by law. So I serve. I fight to pro45

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tect this country and all who live within, put my life on the line for all of you Normals, I dont complain and I dont start shit. I could have bowed out and tried to run away, or played the Quaker card and let the Union retire me to the Village, where I wouldnt be a problem for them or for you, but I didnt. I chose this I tug at the black-andyellow costume. And whats it get me? Ten to thirty if youre lucky. Tom lets out a long sigh; better still, he releases the pistol grip. Save it for the memoir, Megaton. Ive met a million guys like you. Chose to serve? Baloney. Serve who? You dont serve anyone but yourselves. And, he pauses and lets a long sigh escape before finishing, weve never asked you to do anything. You dont think you ask, thats the reality of our relationship, but you have and you do. Sheriff Tom snorts, but immediately after that falls into silence for a few minutes. He scratches something down on some form or pad with a short, yellow pencil. He says, finally, without taking his eyes from whatever work hes splayed out on the desk, Tell me this then, how many purse-snatchings have you stopped? What? How many purse-snatchings have you stopped, personally? I cant answer that. Not that I could give him a number other than zero anyway. Okay then. Muggings, burglaries, or murders? How about those? I know where this is going and I dont like it one bit. Probably less than you. So what? We arent a government agency. The Union isnt law enforcement, we intervene only Only when? Only when you Normals fail. How many people have you rescued from collapsed buildings after an earthquake? How many people have you carried to safety through a raging forest fire? How many
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See here, now thats what I mean. The Union claims to act as a sort of shepherd to us lowly regular folks, you make big production numbers out of natural disasters; things we dont have control over anyway. I have to live with the petty crime, the burglaries, the purse-snatchers, the rape, child abuse, car wrecks, and a million other things more dangerous to society than earthquakes. Patriotism begins when people take enough concern in their own home to effect change that benefits everyone around them regardless of the situation. Sheriff Tom stands. He hoists his belt and has to suck in a gut sculpted by too many nights of sitting in that office chair waiting for a reason to move. But, for just a moment, the silhouette of the man he used to be shows through. His arms and chest are still big and thick, his face is slowly softening though his chin is still sharp. Sheriff Tom stalks to the coffee pot and begins spooning grounds into the filter. He even does a simple job like that with authority. The key ring on his hip jingles with each movement and it snaps me out of my observations. We arent so different, sheriff. Law is law, justice is justice. We just work on different scales. We both do what we do because were good people who love our fellow man. Union Approved Script #47, Sec. 2, Normal Authority Figures, Para. 1, Justice and Duty, Subpara. 16.4, Finding Common Ground with Normal Law Enforcement. Fellow man? the words come out buried in a blast of skeptical laughter. You and your overdressed friends hole up in those pyramids and just let the rest of the world pass on by, oblivious to the crap that goes on just outside your fence. But that everyday crap is the stuff that really makes life difficult for the majority. Youd rather we ran things then? At least you Normals are the masters of your own destiny, you can either be a good person or a bad person, you can be happy or you can be depressed, you can stay home and
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watch TV or go out and kill someone. We dont have that luxury. And if we really wanted to, we could take that luxury away from you. Sheriff Tom leans on the counter. He folds his arms across the top of his belly. Fair enough. But I think youd find were a pretty unruly bunch. Once people get a taste of freedom theyll fight pretty hard to keep it. Hes pouring coffee. Man what I wouldnt do for a cup of that right about now. We were all part of that bunch once. Its not like I came down in a spaceship and decided to be a superhero, you know. All of us in the Union were Normals before. Where are you from, Megaton? I am from the Chicago Pyramid No, son, I mean before all this Union business. You know I cant answer that. The Union Charter is supposed to forbid him even asking, and if I wanted to make a war out of this whole thing he just gave me the ammunition. Part of my brain strains to retell my origin story from the books, but Im able to suppress it. Radiation or something, I finally say. Radiation and, like, an accident. I ought to just let the words drip out. Pennsylvania? I jam my eyes closed and clench my teeth so tightly I swear I feel a couple of fillings crack. Sheriff Toms clearly been paying attention. Dont strain yourself. He pauses and his face shows that hes waiting for me to blurt some semi-satisfactory answer but I dont say anything else. Because the Union says you cant, or because you dont want to? Because the Charter forbids it. He certainly can keep an argument going, Ill give him that. Why dont you just buy the comics like everyone else does? We all have carefully crafted origin stories that form the basis of our characters, and just to make sure no one forgets, they get retold in the comic titles at least once every two years. That repetition helps orient the new readers.
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So what youre saying is, now let me paraphrase, the Union is my protector, me, right here on the other side of these bars, and I cant even ask you during casual conversation for your real, actual name? Where you were born? Where you went to school? None of that? But if its me you serve then shouldnt I know these things? Look at me, Megaton, I am sheriff in this town an I wear my name right here on my uniform so everyone knows who theyre dealing with whether someone needs a cat taken down from a tree or someone I am arresting for murder. Everyone in town knows me, knows where I went to school, knows who my mother was, and on what street I grew up. Hell, everyone knows what house I live in now. Circumstances are different for us, we arent afforded the luxury of serving a familiar district. Some of the Unions imprinted scripting flows into the answer but I dont try to fight it. We get asked all the time about where we live and work, so for all I know this isnt even a script anymore. I just say it. I just believe it. None of us have been home since we joined the Union. The pyramids are our homes now, and the cities that host them are our neighborhoods. Sounds terrible. Imagine being as well-known as you guys are and still being virtually invisible. Cant even walk down the street to get a cup of coffee on a cool spring afternoon. Its not so bad. Isnt it? I bet you wish you could see your friends again, or your mom. What was she like? Drop it, sheriff. I clench my fists again. This time the cuffs spring off and clatter to the floor by the bars. Oops. My voice erupts, it drags the oo part out for a couple of seconds. The word sounds like someone dragging a bow across the D string of a bass fiddle. Touched a nerve there huh? Bend steel in his bare hands
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Change the course of mighty rivers. Yeah, yeah, spare me the nostalgia. If Id have known a question so simple would piss you off enough to show yourself, your real self, I wouldnt have wasted all this time. I was beginning to wonder if youd say something to me with your own mouth. I growl, I wouldnt advise you to do that again You want a cup of coffee? Sheriff Tom lets my threat just evaporate, like it wasnt even said, like I didnt even speak. Maybe I just thought it. I slap my hands over my temples for a second. We arent supposed to take gifts, even medical care, from the Normals. But I dont turn down Sheriff Toms coffee. With all the shit today, taking a gift will probably be the least of my problems. Id love one. Milk and sugar? Please. Imagine what the Tribunal would say if they knew I was having coffee with a Normal, let alone my captor. Theyd ship me to the Village as quickly as I could pack. I was a defensive linebacker in high school, I manifested over a couple of weeks right at the beginning of the season, first it was subtle. I was a little stronger. I could bench a little more than the other kids; then more still. I started gaining weight, a lot of weight. Is that how it happens with all of you folks? It seems to be very common for us. The Super Strategists and Mind Readers tend to develop earliest, some as young as eleven or twelve, then us who are Super-Strong and Super-Agile are about the same, right around puberty, and the Energy Manipulators usually come last. Not always, but mostly. Theres no, like, rule or something that says when we change. How old were you?
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Fifteen. But I always was a late bloomer. I tried to hide the changes, you know, thought if I was smart I could dial back what I was doing so instead of being Super I was just really, really, really good. Maybe Id get a football scholarship or something. Stupid. In the heat of a game, third quarter, forty-yard line, I tore off another kids leg. I didnt do it on purpose or anything, it just sort of happened. The story was all over the local papers. The kid sued the school and my parents. The Union showed up within two days of the story breaking, settled everything with a couple of big fat checks. Two days after that I was shipped off for training. He hands me the coffee through the bars. The cup is tinybut then I have baseball mittsize hands and warm. Cant drink it through the helmet and mask. Turn my back as much as possible and hope he isnt offended. I peel the lower half of the mask back and drink. The coffee is bitter but still a welcome comfort. I hand the empty cup back through the bars just as the phone rings. Great, cant see or hear Sheriff Tom from here now. It has to be the Union. I shouldnt have been left here this long. Im nervous now, almost sweaty. Weird. I dont usually think about the beginning, not because its not important but because I cant remember exactly if what happened was really real or something that the Atom Comics writers scripted out. I lie in bed, football team pennants stretch up the wall beside me and curl around the shelf covered with trophies and photos of a kid seeming to age inside a football uniform from picture to picture. The alarm clock on my nightstand begins to beep. I roll over and try to press the clocks off button but smash my nightstand instead. I lie there looking at my hand. The fingers seem bigger. Was that spring? Summer? Where did I live? Another flash. Hot motor oil drips down the back of my neck, it burns and will no doubt ruin my shirt. Mom is going to kill me. I put the car down gently but still dent the passenger
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door with my forearm. I shouldve waited until the car was cooled off beforebut I had to know. All of the memories feel false. Weird. I never thought about that before. Sheriff Tom hangs up loudly enough to chase off my memories. I should thank him. That was your friends, they wanted me to spring you ASAP but I dont like the sound of that. But what? But they have some forms to sign before I turn over custody. Someone will be here within the hour. Until then we can just sit and talk. That is, if you dont mind. Union rules are very specific. Im not supposed to make small talk at all. I glance at the empty coffee cup on the desk and laugh a little while counting up todays offenses. Same as anyone else in one of these little cells, eh, sheriff? No. Toms voice drops what sounds like a full octave. Someone else in that cell who did the same as you would be waiting for a lawyer, and then to be put into the judicial system proper, and then to stand before a judge and jury, and then most likely to hear a verdict of guilty of involuntary manslaughter or negligent homicide and then hear how many years hed be paying for it. You get to just walk away. Would any of that bring the kid back? Dont talk about him as some abstract! Hes not an abstract! Joey was a person, a human being He was a human being who should have known better than to take a swing at me You know whats wrong with you people? Jeez, I might have to smash my way out of here just to get away from your incessant needling
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You guys think youre better than everyone else. We are better! Then why dont you do better? I wish there was enough space in this cell to fully turn my back. Are you a firefighter, sheriff? Huh? What? Oh, that caught him off guard. Good. Its about time I gained a little bit of an advantage here. Let me say it slow so you dont miss anything. Do. You. Fight. Fires? No. Do you think the fire department wants you to leap in at the next house fire and grab a hose? I dont think He doesnt answer so fast this time. Youd probably be a liability, right? You might put the whole operation in jeopardy, you might even cause some of the other actual firefighters to be hurt or killed. Worse, and longer lasting, the sheriffs department and the fire department, who compete for resources, would probably be adversarial until someone demanded that you be removed from duty to prevent your meddling outside your jurisdiction. I dont know where that example came from, sort of like it just appeared there in my mind. Maybe the Union implanted that, too, just in case something like this happened to one of us. We arent any different in that respect, sheriff. We help when we are needed and only when we are needed, that way everyone stays happy. There isnt a precinct in the United States that wants to deal with us meddling in their law enforcement activities just like there isnt a fire department here in town that wants you messing around with their apparatus during a four-alarm fire. Of course there are always situations where the cops or firemen need us, and they ask, and we come. But we dont do so without an invitation.
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Because youre all glory hounds. It has nothing to do with glory and everything to do with practicality. We do what we do when we do only when its best for both of us. And what if that four-alarm fire spreads and there arent enough hose-wielding men to keep the flames in check? I have a stake in this town, so in a situation like that Id grab a hose and damn the consequences. We have a condition known as Catastrophic Urgency, when most of the terms of the Charter go out the window and we do whatever is necessary to bring the situation under control. So far though such an event has never happened. Catastrophic Urgency is the worstcase scenario. We plan for it, anticipate it, practice situations where it occurs, but we hope it never happens. Amazingly, Sheriff Tom shuts up for a few minutes but it wont last. He wont simply accept that the Charter is what it is and arguing about it wont change even a syllable. I feel sorry for you. Even better. Maybe if I just sit here and say nothing Hey, I recognize that whooshing sound! Someones here, I can finally get the hell out of this little nowhere on the edge of nothing. Yep, the telltale double thump of the Jump Jet legs hitting dry ground. Sheriff Tom cant unlock this damn cage fast enough. Your stuff is in the tub. The bars seem narrower than when I first squeezed in here, but I dont care. Im out. Im free. I slap all the extemporaneous junk back on; com-link bracelet and tracking beacon, yellow cape impregnated with Teflon, telemetry monitor gauntlet, and belt. I feel like myself at last. Megaton? I know that voice. Magnus. Great. That means Im in the deep, deep
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shit. The Union wouldnt have sent the most popular and recognizable of us to pick up little old me otherwise. Probably why they let me rot in here all goddamn afternoon. Magnus isnt local. I am bound to get a lecture all the way back, and then some. They treat you okay? Magnus barely glances at me as he brushes past and begins to sign the release forms on Sheriff Toms desk. Sure, I answer, and for a moment wonder if he even heard me. Sheriff, its a pleasure to share this space with another brave soldier in the battle against injustice. He walks along the little table where all of Sheriff Toms awards stand on display. My dad, he says, was a small-town police officer. Did you know that, sheriff? I know its a silly request, but could I see your radio gear? Dad used to let me sit with the headset on and pretend to call out to the patrol cars sometimes. Sheriff Tom smiles like a five-year-old being told hes getting a gold star on his spelling test. Dispatch is in here. Were a little understaffed, budget and all, so there isnt much use for it as Ive only got one deputy and we split shifts. The Normals adoration for Magnus isnt surprising, really. He still commands respect, and most of the guys Sheriff Toms age grew up when Magnus was at the height of his popularity. Even today any of the books where he cameos sell huge numbers, still. Hes one of the second-generation heroes, fifty or so years old now, and about twothirds my mass and half a foot shorter. His orange-on-green sculpted body suit sports big chest-buttons to secure a back-length yellow cape that flows over his big round shoulders. Same here. Tell you what, have your city council or chamber of commerce put a call in to the regular Union 800 number, tell them we spoke, and Ill see about coming back to guest at your next big town fair or parade or whatever. Hows that?
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Ill pass the word along. Magnus signs my release papers. Sorry for the trouble. One of the Union lawyers will be in contact within the week to discuss remedying todays unpleasantness. I shove past them both into the dry heat of the plains. The jet looks out of place there on the edge of this tiny, one-road town. Magnus puts his hand on my shoulder and walks me to the jet. Were in the plane, and the air-conditioner washes over the tears in my costume. Im cool for the first time today. Get us out of here, man. Theres a short, violent bump and were airborne. At thirty thousand feet, Magnus asks, What did you and that sheriff talk about, Megaton? Great, the debriefing begins now. Never trust Magnus to be subtle. He spent the whole time razzing me about the kids death or complaining. You know, the usual crap: the worlds so messed up, you dont do anything to fix it, woe is me bullshit. Ungrateful The Normals are like that most of the time. But its not their fault, they dont understand. Magnus is wrong there. Sheriff Tom understands us better than I thought. He said he pitied me. Interesting. Usually they want our asses in a sling when we screw up as bad as you did today. Especially when we screw up or just in general? Now I wonder if my com link wasnt on the whole time there, sitting in that bin and broadcasting my interrogation all the way back to the Chicago Pyramid. Great. Something new to worry about. Dealing with the Normals is only one part of the dues. Magnuss flair for golden-age-comic-book speech patterns is even more annoying than Sheriff Toms questions. Yeah, whats the other part?
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Not running things solely because we can. Ease the seat back and close my eyes. Magnus blathers on but I dont listen closely enough through the engine noise to make conversation. Just catch a little nap on the way back and maybe dream about football.

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