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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 68: Cooper 22
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Brown 305
“Ah,” spoke a pain filled voice. “I was wondering how it would come about.” Brian Barrelmaster rose to his feet, and glanced at the book-covered walls before hastening over to the obviously ill man reclining on a leather couch. He began to examine him, but the pale, slack muscles of the man’s face, and his dry, almost paper-like skin told him nothing other than the man was dreadfully ill. No obvious wounds were seen on his body, which was covered in a bizarre uniform of green and black geometric shapes with a huge belt, a holster, and black boots to the calves.
“Yes, you have discovered the secret identity of Mister Justice. It is just me, Timothy Campbell the Third. Not what I expected out of my life to be sure. Although I must say that appearing out of thin air, even if you rolled around a little bit afterwards muttering about Wisconsin cheeseheads trying to eat you, was most impressive. I don’t suppose you can do that in reverse, and take me with you?”
Brian shook his head. He had been dreaming of being chased around a golf course in Wisconsin by ravenous bipedal monsters with cheese wheels for heads. Unless he missed his guess, this dying man was a superhero, as crazy as that sounded. Looking about, he saw books, and incandescent bulbs in lights recessed into the wood-covered walls, and books behind glass-paned wooden doors, but no sign of laptop or television. Where have I gotten myself to now, he wondered with excited amazement. But still, he needed to help this Mister Justice first.
“How can I help you?”
“You can’t. Even if you could matter-transmit like the pulp writers talk about, it would still be too late for me. Just a vain hope I had. All that is left for me is the duty of passing on the Sword.”
He pulled his left arm up, and Brian saw the most beautiful gladius he had ever seen. It was perfection in its gleaming lethality–but it glowed a slight red. He could not accept magic.
“I cannot take it.”
“You must. The Sword called you here. It’s what it does for every Justice when their time is done. If you don’t take it, then the scheme of Doctor Mordenslice is complete. He locked me into my library with a forcefield and left me to starve. It has been three weeks, and I got all the books I had been meaning to read done. And I reread my Bible. But while man does not live by bread alone, he definitely needs bread.”
Brian was horrified at this cruelty. He could see that there was a water tap in a sink on another wall.
“Could you break out through the water tap?”
The man tried to laugh.
“You have the mind of a superhero. You will do well. When faced with a villainous deathtrap, look for the holes. But no, it was not to be. The evil doctor was too clever, and blocked that route. Now if you do not take the Sword, it will fall into the Abyss.”
This made Brian even less inclined to take the Sword, if that were possible. Any sword bound for the Abyss was not for him.
“I am sorry, sir, but I do not use magic.”
“Oh,” and the man lifted his head up a tiny bit. “What about one wielding the power of God, the sword of a good angel given to a prophet of God long years past to protect him, and then handed down through the generations to successive Prophets, then Paladins, and now Mister Justices? Could you take that?”
Brian bowed his head, and prayed quickly for guidance. No alarm came to him, and he opened his eyes, and said.
“Yes, I accept the charge.”
“Good.” And Mister Justice died, and a new one was born.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
