The Book Of Schemes. Marcus Calvert
him dead, even she wasn’t crazy enough to go to war with someone who could kill her from half-a-world away. Besides, other crooks had been stupid enough to try to take out Psi-Metal in the past (for whatever reason). In the end, their mutilated remains always ended up on the evening news. The funny thing was that Psi-Metal could lose his powers right now and no one would be in a hurry to mess with him.
Why?
Well, first off, Psi-Metal avoided the spotlight. He normally kicked back in one of his hidden, heavily guarded, nuke-resistant bunkers around the world. His most trusted lieutenants would rather endure a decade of torture than betray their very sadistic employer. Also, anyone lucky enough to kill him would have hundreds of pissed-off super villains out for blood.
Psi-Metal was in his own private balcony, which was shielded by a bluish telekinetic force field bubble that he easily sustained. He didn’t have any minions in his immediate vicinity. But rumor was that they were scattered throughout the building. Psi-Metal made so few public appearances that they feared someone would try to kill their beloved leader this very night.
Some had even urged him to stay home and have someone else claim the award. But the by-laws of the contest required finalists to be present or be disqualified: with the only exceptions being death or imprisonment. Covered head-to-toe in bronze-hued PS-9, he stood up in his black tux and waved. The audience gave him a super-long round of applause. Odds were that he’d either win this award or steal it from the winner’s broken corpse.
Once the applause died down, I introduced the final nominee: Mr. Coin. Born in the Zinothian netherworld, the wealth demon had almost god-like powers: which were based solely on the presence of money. If all he had to work with was a penny, he could only cast simple magicks (like lighting a cigarette). Leave him with a few million in cash and he could burn down half a city with a glance. The only problem was that whenever he used money as a mystical power source, it burned away like wood in a fireplace. So when he stumbled upon this world last year, Mr. Coin became one of the best thieves in history.
He’s stolen everything from military secrets to priceless works of art, only to fence them to the highest bidder for straight-up cash. What made him popular was that he’d do the occasional “errand” if the money was right. Pay Mr. Coin a ton of loot and he could work miracles. I then ran over the list of his most artful crimes, which easily made him a worthy contender for Villain-Of-The-Year.
Six months ago, a client hired him to drive all nine Supreme Court justices insane. The next day, all nine justices went on a cross-country killing spree: complete with judicial robes, hockey masks, and assorted sharp objects. Mr. Coin made them super strong, very tough, and cheetah-quick as part of the curse. As of yet, they still haven’t been caught. Three months ago, he made the President of the United States grow humongous boobs during a speech condemning gay marriage. The Commander-in-Chief had to get breast reduction surgery, much to his downright humiliation.
But last week’s caper really made headlines.
The Money PeakCasino/Hotel was celebrating its Grand Opening in Las Vegas. It was simultaneously hosting a massive law enforcement convention, which resulted in the hotel being overbooked. Over a thousand police officers, from around the nation, were going to be in one place. When Mr. Coin heard about this, he did what any civic-minded super villain would do. First, he pulled off an ingenious daylight heist of the casino itself (worth roughly $90 million in cash). Then he piled the stolen loot around himself and used it to teleport the entire building away from him and into the bottom of the South Pacific.
The big screen flashed to show underwater camera footage of the Money Peak at the bottom of an undersea trench, crushed by the pressure of the darkened deep. Applause broke out as interior camera angles showed drowned corpses being feasted upon by sharks as they floated about lifelessly. Finally, the screen flashed over to Mr. Coin, who sat in a third balcony. The slender, granite-hued demon rose and bowed deeply in his crimson tux before throwing an armful of gold coins into the audience. As the crowd erupted into applause, Psi-Metal and Lady/Killer glared at Mr. Coin from their respective balconies.
It was time to announce the winner.
As the drum roll began, I noticed a small green laser dot on my torso. I pulled the tiny card (with the winner’s name) out of the envelope and looked up to see one of Lady/Killer’s minions aiming a high-powered rifle at me. Then, I felt an invisible grip firmly wrap itself around my still-beating heart. I didn’t need to look up at Psi-Metal to realize the nature of his handiwork. Lastly, something felt like it was inching out of my wallet, which was full of twenty-dollar bills. I stayed in character, unsure of what to do, as I felt razor-sharp spikes gently poke through my tux and prick the small of my back. Mr. Coin did have a flair for the dramatic.
I wished that I could have had a good chance to kill my agent for landing me this gig. Ah well, they were probably going to kill me anyway, seeing as I wasn’t truly evil or anything. Taking in a final deep breath I uttered the words…
“And the winner of the 2007 Villain-Of-The-Year Award is …”
THE GUNNY
Gunnery Sergeant Ned Urlich emitted a soft grown as he slowly regained consciousness. Red alert klaxons blared as Urlich surveyed the cramped interior of his coffin-shaped cryobed. In his late thirties, the grizzled marine had been in quarantine stasis since an exploration run on Planet GS-453. An isolated swamp world near the Galactic Rim, Planet GS-453’s environment was toxic to human life but ideal for space armor drills.
Urlich was leading such a drill when he was swept off a low cliff by a rockslide. The half-mile fall didn’t hurt him. But it did rupture the right shoulder seal on his armor. His men quickly patched the leak, before the planet’s toxic atmosphere could kill him off. Yet, he picked up some sort of contagious viral infection that the sick bay geeks couldn’t identify or purge from his system.
As a result, Captain Yemtis ordered him tucked away in stasis until they could reach Delphi Station and get him properly detoxed. A glance at a wall monitor told Urlich that he’d been asleep for about two weeks. They should’ve been halfway there by now. The cryobed’s seals self-unlocked, something it was not supposed to do without medical staff supervision.
“Computer,” Urlich called out as he opened the stasis bed. “What’s going on?”
“This is a ship-wide emergency,” a female voice replied. “Your assistance is required.”
“Explain,” Urlich yawned as he rolled out of the cryobed in his white patient’s gown and bare feet. He wiped white crud from his gray eyes and stretched his lean, 6’2” frame. Urlich’s weary muscles made audible sounds as he felt the aching remnants of every injury he had earned after nineteen years of hard, devoted service to the Corps.
“A saboteur bypassed ship security and poisoned the water supply.”
“How many dead?” Urlich asked, worried.
“3,996 crewpersons.”
Urlich was speechless for a few moments. A carrier-class ship, like the Bismarck, had a standard crew of 4,000 (give-or-take a few).
“You’re saying I’m the only one left?”
“Correct.”
“And this saboteur?”
“The crew managed to identify her before they succumbed to the poison. Unfortunately, they were not able to capture her alive.”
“Any clues as to motive?”
“Affirmative. Long-range sensors have detected twelve hostile vessels closing in on our position.”
“What class?” Urlich asked.
”Trojan-class Raiders.”
Urlich sighed and began to pace.
He knew that only smugglers and pirates used Raiders these days. The ships were fifty years old and way too small to deal with a spacecraft carrier like the Bismarck. With a full crew, the Bismarck