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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 74: Cooper 24
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Brown 307
Stepping outside into a bright, cloudless midday, he saw a spacious one acre front yard enclosed by a low stone wall. The lot sloped downhill, and after passing his eyes over several two- and three-story houses with expansive lots with roads and power lines and a moving car, he saw a fifty-foot wide river. To his sides at a spacious distance were similarly well-appointed homes with large multiple-acre lots as well. Below was a small city, perhaps the size of Spokane, with four bridges straddling the river, one clearly a railroad bridge. This was the high-end suburbs. Timothy Campbell the Third had not been rich, but he had not been hurting, either.
The direction from the scriff pointed him across the green river valley, through the city, and toward the mountains on the far side and quite some way up the slope. Although this ability did not give distance, only direction, for it to be nearer than the mountainside it would have to be suspended in the air, and if it were farther it would be underground. Some idea seemed to scratch at the back of his head, but first, he needed to go back inside and see if he could find the forcefield generator.
There was a flicker and a hum. The power had been restored. Heading back inside he found light switches by the door. One of them turned on the light out front while the second was what he sought, a light in the hall. He slowly walked along it, deciding to see what he could find before opening doors. It struck him as a strange design for a home--usually front halls were either short and connected to rooms in two or three directions, possibly with a stairway, or they were spacious welcoming areas. This was a dark corridor, perhaps efficiently providing access to several rooms.
He had left the library door open; it was now closed. He paused to wonder, but then realized that with the restoration of the power the forcefield trap would have been activated, and it was probably designed to push obstacles out of its way, so it closed the door. He stopped at the door before it. Something caught his attention, and he paused to figure out what. He found two answers. First, there was a quiet electrical hum behind it. Of course, it could be the fuse box, or whatever it was that controlled the incoming electricity here. On the other hand, there appeared to be a cord running under the door.
Deciding that warranted investigation, he opened the door. It was a hall closet, a rack for coats that was nearly empty, a shelf above presumably for hats, space for some cleaning equipment such as a carpet sweeper (he had not seen one since he was a boy) and a dust mop. However, against the back wall and entirely out of place was a large metal housing with open ventilation slots and a glow coming from the inside.
Getting down on his knees, he carefully touched the box. It was hot--not so hot that he couldn’t handle it at all, but not something he would want to grasp for long. Still, he gingerly worked his fingers around the edges until he found a latch, and another opposite it. Releasing these, he was able to open the case.
He was quite surprised. Given that this must be the force field generator, a device doing something that had not been possible even in his own time probably half a century or more in the future, he had expected it to contain circuit components he did not recognize. What he saw was large vacuum tubes, canister capacitors, heavy relays--it looked very like the guts of an old black-and-white television, minus the cathode ray tube. There were some unlabeled knobs and switches. I should turn it off, he thought; but which of these controls does that?
A thought occurred to him. Could it be as simple as that? Standing up and stepping out of the closet, he followed the cord. It led into the base of the device, so he followed it to the other end. It was plugged into an outlet in the hall.
He hesitated only a moment, concerned whether a sudden loss of power might damage the device, but two things occurred to him. The first was that it didn’t really matter if he damaged it--he’d like to examine it, see what he could learn about force field generation, but for the moment what mattered was deactivating it. The second was that less than half an hour ago there had been a blackout, and if cutting the power would damage the device, it would have been done then. He pulled the plug.
As he returned to the closet he coiled the cord, then tossed it on the floor beside the device and shut the door.
He reentered the library, now lit with a few electric bulbs. He noticed that one of them had burned out. Looking around he saw two envelopes on the desk which he had not noticed before. Picking both up, he read the addresses aloud.
“Brother Thomas. Hmmm.” He put that one back down. “New Mister Justice” was written in shaky handwriting on the other one. This one was for him. Slicing it open with the penknife on the desk, he pulled out the folded sheet of paper, and began to read. The handwriting was cursive and sketchy, and at times too large as if the writer were very ill, which he must have been.
Dear sir,It has been two weeks, and it seems I must face the inevitable. I still hope, but I must prepare for the worst. Two weeks with only water has sapped my strength, and caused my once excellent penmanship to decay. It has also made me a touch maudlin.
In my bedroom, there are two safes. The bronze one has the combination 5-10-47, the year and day I received this honor of becoming Mister Justice. Even now I do not regret it. I saved the lives of many, stopped what would have been a fire lit by some villains that would have burned the whole region, and sent many criminals to jail.
Inside this safe is a dart-making machine with instructions for making new darts. It’s quite simple. I was unable to interest the military in it before I became Justice, but once I was it was most useful. I bequeath it to you, as well as the pistol, belt and, if you like, the boots, although I expect our shoe sizes are different. In the safe is also a bronze key. In the closet to the left, at the back, is a keyhole to a secret closet, and all in it is yours. The rest of my goods, well, my Brother Thomas has seven children, and I’m sure he can find a use for my house and other goods. He will be greatly surprised to find I saved his life that rainy day when those thugs tried to rob him. I would have liked to see his face when he finds out.
You are part of a line of heroes that goes back to a time before the Christ was born. Honor your brothers, and do Justice.
Yours Truly,
TCIII
Folding the letter back into the envelope and putting the whole into his pants pocket, Cooper rubbed his face again. He wished he could have known the man longer, for he had seemed an interesting fellow. Putting this aside, he went in search of the bedroom. This led him into another part of the large house. He passed down halls, through another smaller library and then into what was clearly a master bedroom. Looking behind pictures he found a solid gray safe, and a bronze one. He spun the dial on the bronze one and opened it.
A red metal box eight inches tall, five inches deep, and seven inches wide stood on four small legs. It had three hand cranks on the side, inputs in the front, and outputs on the back. Next to it was a small basket with piles of metal, thick strings, small glass bottles, and small steel bottles. Taking this out (it was surprisingly heavy) he put it all on the king-sized bed. Next was a key, and a ten-paged pamphlet. Flipping through it, he saw that it was, as advertised, instructions for using a dart making machine. You fed the materials into the inputs, spun the handles in accord with the instructions, and out popped a dart, or part of a dart. Repeat as needed, and you’d have a tranquilizing dart in a few minutes. It was all fairly simple, and well laid out.
He closed the safe, and walked over to the walk-in closet to the left. A variety of stylish clothing from the mid 1950s greeted him, and he pushed them aside because what he wanted was in the back. A simple discreet keyhole lay in the back wall. Sticking in his key, he turned it clockwise. A hidden door popped open.
Inside hung two identical costumes. Both had the same general green and black geometric shapes, but these also had hoods, and dark black capes. Pulling one down, he saw that the full-face hood had the same diamond geometric shapes as the rest of the padded costume, but it also had a gold ‘J’ over the right eye. Examining it more closely, he found numerous small pockets. All of them were empty except one which held a short note in copperplate penmanship.
--After fighting numerous opponents, I begin to wonder if I should add some small items such as smoke bombs to my suit. Some ideas on that line for later: 1. Smoke; 2. Flash; 3. Turbo whistle for dealing with guard dogs in supervillain bases; 4. Bandages, definitely. 5. ??
A leather belt of an ordinary sort also hung from a hanger next to the two suits, and Cooper wondered why it was here. He took it off, and nearly dropped it as it was heavier than he expected. Grabbing it, he put it on the bed. As he expected, it had a zipper down the back. Opening it he found ten one-ounce gold coins. It was a money belt, made for hiding valuables from thieves.
He had seen a kitchen on his way here, so he doubled back to find it and checked what he correctly guessed was the broom closet. He was pleased but not surprised to find a few brown paper grocery bags there, and took two. Also spying a notepad and pen apparently intended for shopping lists, he wrote a quick note, which read, “TCIII left certain items to me, the new Mister Justice. My condolences.”
Returning to the bedroom, he folded up both suits and slipped them in one of the grocery bags, then donned the belt. Another bag went over the red dart-making machine with its supplies. Adding a quick post script with the safe combination, he left the note in the bronze safe with the key, and the door to the safe open.
Passing by a telephone, he looked at the phone book which showed the name of the area as Berkeley, Colorado and vicinity. Reaching the operator, he said, “I’d like to speak with the police.” He heard the connection, and the phone ringing, and by the third ring it was answered.
“Colorado State police. How can I help you?” The voice on the other end of the line was a woman. Cooper paused, and then mentally shrugged.
“This is the new Mister Justice. I’m at the residence of Timothy Cooper the Third, the former Mister Justice. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
“Ah, oh, ah. Yes, Mister Justice. What is your address?”
Feeling stupid, he confessed he did not know.
“Ah, okay, just leave the line open. Drop by the police station in the next few days to give a statement if you would, Mister Justice.” Surprised at this reaction, he agreed, and put the phone down, leaving it off the hook.
Exiting the front door with both bags, wearing the gun belt and dart gun and sword along with the wide belt and the money belt, he began to walk in the direction of the scriff sense. He wished he could study the forcefield generator, but it was clearly too heavy for him to carry even if he left his bags behind. Judging by the sun, it was just past noon.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #509: Character Challenges. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
