Crossover Earth '98
CAN YOU STOP AN EARTHQUAKE?
Christopher Shea, Jay Shaffstall, Paul Cocker
"It doesn't seem to be anything serious." Milo scribbled "Amoxicillin 200 mg 2/day" on the pad in his hand, tore off the prescription sheet, and handed it to Mrs. Rolfe. "Have this filled, and please make sure to give Nathalie the whole prescription, even if she begins feeling better. The disease must be eliminated root and branch, not only driven back, you see. Call me if her conditions worsen, or if her tonsils swell. I believe that's all."
"Thank you, Dr. Tagelohn." The woman held out a hand as Nathalie hopped off the examining table. "Say good-bye to the doctor, honey."
"Good-bye, Dr. Milo," the child recited obediently. Nathalie's mother took her hand and began to pull her away, but she stayed where she was, gazing up at Milo. Their eyes were almost on a level.
"Is there something more?" Milo asked.
"Can you stop an earthquake?" she asked.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor," Mrs. Rolfe said quickly. "Nathalie's been scared of quakes ever since we got shook up a couple months ago."
"Well, can you?" Nathalie demanded. "With your magic?"
"You shouldn't pester the doctor-"
"No, no, it's all right." Milo sighed. "And no, I must admit that I do not think I could stop an earthquake. I do not know anyone who might." (Well, maybe Uncle Theodor could have, he thought -- but no one had seen Theodor since he went off in his burrowing machine all those years ago ... ) "Earthquakes are like being sick," he continued, briefly touching Nathalie's fever-warmed forehead. "They cannot be avoided, so what is important is to take sensible precautions, endure them with grace-and not allow the fear of them to spoil the rest of life, yes?"
After Mrs. Rolfe had hustled her daughter out of the examining room with a hastily repeated "Thank you, Doctor," Milo picked up Nathalie's case folder, shaking his head slightly as he scribbled in details of her latest illness. She had looked back at him in disappointment as she left the room. She had wanted to hear that he could indeed make the earth stand still, and instead gotten a lecture. It would have been easy to tell her that yes, he could do anything. It would have been no more than she expected, and adults lied thus to children every day of their lives. But Milo had chosen truth over reassurance, and now he was wondering if he'd made a mistake. He only hoped she had understood his words.
"Nice to see you in here for a change." Milo glanced up from the folder, his reverie shattered, as Marcy Sutton stepped into the room. Despite himself, he tensed. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of Dr. Sutton, even though they'd been partners for several months. She had spoken lightly, but Milo always felt she resented his frequent absences from the office-especially when it was only so he could attend one of those pointless public events Lynette arranged. "I hear you won't be with us for a while," she continued with the same studied neutrality.
"Yes. Yes," Milo muttered. "Robert has agreed to see to my appointments." Dr. Bob Weinstock was the third member of their practice. "It should not be too long. Only a few days."
"I hope your patients aren't disappointed, having to settle for an ordinary doctor. What's up this time? Where are you off to?"
"Los Angeles." Milo walked past Dr. Sutton, into the short hallway that linked the examining rooms with the foyer.
"What's in Los Angeles?" Dr. Sutton persisted, trailing after him as he approached the front desk where Suzanne, their receptionist, was typing insurance information into her computer.
Milo suppressed a sigh, knowing where this conversation was leading. "The Guardians."
"Why ... " Then Dr. Sutton nodded slowly, once. "That antiterrorist thing."
"Apocalypse Now, yes. I met some of their agents not long ago, and they strike me as a danger to society. Whatever I can do-"
"Danger to society! What about danger to us?"
"I do not think they will stoop that low."
"Doctor, these are terrorists. Stooping low is their way of life. And have you seen how much press the Guardians are getting already? Everyone in the country is going to know you're involved. All the Francis Ford Coppola fan club has to do is pick up a phone book and look up Tagelohn, then boom."
"I am aware of the risk, but may-"
"No, don't bother. I know this speech. It's the one that starts 'May I remind you that I am a doctor ... ' and goes on about your obligation to protect people's life and health any way you can. I hope you remember it after those nutbars plant a bomb in here-or at your house." Dr. Sutton glared at Milo for a moment longer, and then stalked away in the direction of her office. Milo watched her go. When he turned, he saw Suzanne staring at him mutely. He started to say something, then checked himself and handed her Nathalie's folder, retreating to his own office.
"Do I call you Gnome? Or-" Golden Gate was uncertain as they shook hands.
"No, no, please. 'Dr. Tagelohn' will do. Or even 'Milo.'"
"All right...Doctor. Come along. You're the last to arrive."
"I guessed that might be so, and I must apologize. I had not thought it would take so long to get from the train station to here-"
"It doesn't matter. We've only been waiting for a few minutes, anyway." Golden Gate paused before a door marked MEETING ROOM. "The turnout hasn't been all we've hoped for, but we've got many Californian heroes involved, and we hope that others will join us when they hear what we're doing."
"I'm sure that is true," Milo said.
Golden Gate pushed the door open. "Everybody, here's the last member of our group so far-Dr. Milo Tagelohn from San Francisco."
Milo was suddenly the focus of several sets of eyes. It was an uncomfortable sensation. He'd never really worked much with other heroes in New York, and never in San Francisco, and the feeling of suddenly being judged by his peers was strong. It was overwhelming enough being in an actual superhero headquarters, though the decor was hardly as exotic as he'd imagined it would be: neutral-colored carpet, a massive round table of veneered mahogany, large and comfortable chairs upholstered in black leather, and a blank videoconferencing screen at the head of the table. Still, it was palatial compared to his little basement workshop back home.
He recognized all the Guardians easily enough. Brainstorm was watching him sourly, perhaps wondering what they needed a magician for. Anomaly gave Milo a broad grin and a friendly wave. Halftrack and Prism both glanced at him and nodded before returning to their quiet conversation. Buttress was absently molding a chunk of rock in his hands as if it were Silly Putty. As for the other heroes, Milo recognized Blur on the far side of the table, talking into a cell phone: "Okay, I gotta go, okay? Bye!" She looked even younger than in the pictures Milo had seen, and he wondered for a moment at the wisdom of including a child in the gathering before he reminded himself that she'd already proved her worth several times over. Golden Gate had told him that the telepath Lightstar would be involved as well, and Milo guessed that he was the slender man seated next to Blur, doodling on his notepad.
"Sit here, Doctor." Golden Gate steered Milo to the last empty seat, next to an Asian woman in a black-and-silver jumpsuit. Milo was relieved to find that the chair had already been adjusted so he could see over the top of the table and yet not have to clamber without dignity into it. He smiled at the woman as he settled in, and she gave him a small, brief smile back. "Kuraboshi," she murmured, introducing herself, and then turned her attention back to the head of the table as Golden Gate began to speak.
The Guardians' leader kept his remarks brief, thanking all for coming and reminding them of the seriousness of the threat they faced. "We don't know who Apocalypse Now are, or who's behind them. We don't even know what they really want, beyond killing people. That alone makes them a threat worthy of our full attention-there aren't many villains who kill as casually, as indiscriminately, as widely as Apocalypse Now has. They've obviously got a good organization, so it's time we started doing a little organizing ourselves to fight back. To start with, we'll be working with Lightstar-he can tell you himself what he'll be doing."
Lightstar looked tired as he rose; Milo recalled that he was an East Coast hero and probably still fighting jet lag. Nevertheless, his stare was intense as it swept around the table. Milo couldn't help wondering, is he reading my mind now? as it crossed him. He pushed the thought aside-there was no point in getting paranoid. But it was still a natural suspicion, and an uncomfortable one. He wondered if anyone else at the table felt the same way. A terrible thing, though, to go through life suspected endlessly ...
Lightstar was speaking, and Milo forced his attention back to the man."I've been asked on this team because I'm a telepath, and a damn powerful one. Normally I keep out of people's lives and minds unless asked, but this seems like a good exception. So my job is to scan as many minds as possible over as wide a range as possible to get some hint of what Apocalypse Now is planning. They must have a large organization, so we're bound to get lucky eventually.
"With everyone's permission, I'll contact you mentally when I find something."
One by one, all around the table indicated their consent. Lightstar nodded curtly and rose from his place. "Fine. I'll get on with it then."
Milo waited for a moment, but no one else seemed to have anything to say. As the silence became uncomfortable, he finally spoke up. "I am certain we will have these
madmen defeated soon," he said. "To work with such a fine group is a-" He
paused. "Well, perhaps 'pleasure' is not the right word for such a serious task. But it is good that we all recognize the severity of this threat and can work together to solve it.
"I must ask this," he continued, turning to Golden Gate. "This gathering is
to be a secret, yes? To read the minds of many people-I do not mean to
impugn Lightstar's ethics, and I do realize that preserving life is important above all, but there will be some who might not think the same way. Aside from that matter, who is to know of what we do? Will we be cooperating with the police or the government in this?"
Golden Gate nodded. "We have unofficial approval from Quartz. They'll provide a cleanup crew if we manage to find and defeat Apocalypse Now. Until then we're operating more or less independently. If word of what Lightstar is doing gets out, then I take the heat for it."
He smiled ruefully. "The press can hardly do my reputation any more damage than they have already.
"In any case, knowledge of this task force itself is highly public. I want to make us a target for Apocalypse Now. It'll be much easier to track them down if we have an agent for Lightstar to probe."
Milo took a breath, thinking of Marcy Sutton. "I understand. But, ah-would it be possible for me to speak with Quartz to arrange for additional protection? I do not know how it is with the rest of you, but I have never made my name a secret. It would not be difficult for our foes to find my home, my office-my wife and fellow workers. I am willing to, as you say, make of myself a target, but I cannot ask the people in my life to do the same, and I cannot be everywhere. As much as I might want to."
Golden Gate made a note on a pad of paper. "I'll put a request in through our Quartz contact. They should be able to put some agents to watching your family and coworkers. We can't guarantee anything, though; Apocalypse Now has shown itself to be good at avoiding security. But anyone looking like Michael Douglas won't get near your people."
"Thank you," Milo says. "I shall remember not to invite Mr. Douglas over for dinner." It was a feeble joke, but it still raised a couple of chuckles that died down quickly, leaving the table silent again until Blur spoke up, somewhat hesitantly.
"Uhm, what exactly will we do to try and attract Apocalypse Now's attention?" the teenaged speedster asked the group, glancing back and forth around the table. "After encountering them at the LAX a few months ago, I get the impression that these extremists want to express their ideals by making examples of heavily populated areas. Is there any way we can monitor the airports, subways and train stations, or are we doing this already? We won't be jeopardizing civilians with our tactics, will we?"
"Good question," Golden Gate said. "Mostly, we'll be publicizing the fact that we intend to take down Apocalypse Now. They can either ignore us, in which case we hope Lightstar comes up with something on his own, or they can counterattack...in which case our priority is to take at least one of their agents alive.
"Remember we're dealing with fanatics who will almost certainly be loaded with explosives sufficient to take out themselves and anyone nearby."
Milo winced, recalling the scene at the cathedral, as heads nodded around the table. No one else seemed to have anything to offer. It was only natural, Milo supposed, with an opponent that was still an unknown, but it gave the meeting a frustrating air of inconsequentiality to have it end so quickly and with so little resolved. After Golden Gate once more thanked them all for coming, the group broke up into private conversations once more. Eventually, Milo slipped from his seat, made his goodbyes, and headed for the door.
Golden Gate met him at the doorway and escorted him down the hall. They'd only gone a short way when a voice shouted from behind them.
"Scuse-me-coming-through!" Milo and Golden Gate flattened themselves against the walls just in time as Blur whipped past, the wind of her passage ruffling hair and rattling the portraits of the team members that lined the walls. She was gone, out the door, in the time it took them to turn their heads to follow her.
Milo and Golden Gate looked at one another again. Golden Gate chuckled. "Kids," he said.
Milo laughed, too. "I thought the same before. But it is not really fair to her, is it?"
"No. I guess not."
"Can I ask you something that may be personal?" Golden Gate inquired after they'd gone a few more steps.
"Certainly."
"How do you do it, anyway? Most heroes who make their real names public get eaten alive by the media. But you ... I've never seen a story that claims you had an affair with Monica Lewinsky, or used your powers on a salesclerk who gave you a hard time, or got drunk and leveled half of downtown-the kind of garbage they write about everyone else. Even the columnists who never have a good word for any super don't say anything about you. What's the secret?"
Milo laughed softly. "I think it is perhaps because of two things. First, I have Lynette, my wife. She does work very hard, you see, protecting my interests. And second, magic and everything else aside, I am a very dull person. I have actually seen journalists' eyes glaze over when they interview me about my life, about why I do these ridiculous things and take such foolish risks. It would be exceedingly difficult for anyone to stir controversy out of such a tedious little man."
Golden Gate gave a wry smile. "I think there's more to it than that. But thanks for answering, and thank you for coming down here, Dr. Tagelohn. It was a pleasure to meet you." They shook hands. "I hope when we meet again, it'll be in happier circumstances."
When Milo arrived back home early the next morning, there was an unfamiliar, unmarked van parked across the street from his house. He paused for a moment at the corner, then continued on and pulled into his driveway, feeling a sharp itch at the base of his neck, as if the point of a knife had touched there. As he opened the door, he palmed a monocle with a lens of etched jacinth from an inner pocket. Stepping out of the car and crossing to the front door, he essayed a quick glance at the street through the monocle. In the tinted light of the lens, all barriers became shimmery and insubstantial, and he could see the outlines of two men within the van, one with headphones on, the other reading a book. What looked like computer equipment filled most of the van's space. Beyond, Mrs. Liebeck across the street was waiting in front of her coffee machine while her cat prowled around her feet. Milo lowered the monocle quickly, feeling absurdly foolish. But it had been a necessary precaution, he told himself as he set his key into the front door and began thinking of how he would explain the situation to Lynette. It was a cold morning, even for San Francisco.