Star Harbor Nights

"You weren't kidding about the number of 'scofflaws' in town," Perfect said, looking about the crowded taproom of Broker's Bar and Grill. It was the middle of the night, and though the outside of the building--a seemingly unremarkable sports bar in a decent part of Old City Center--gave every indication that it was closed, the interior was full of figures in capes, masks, and tights.

She hated to admit it, but Ray had been right... there really wasn't much to her outfit. She felt underdressed in what was essentially a black martial arts uniform. Ray was wearing nothing but his odd billowy canvas trousers, but he at least looked exotic with his bare muscular torso covered in the weird red sigils.

"We're a growing community," Ray said.

"I've read all the public files, but they're really only the tip of the iceberg, aren't they?" she observed.

"Yeah, pretty much nobody at the street level bothers with the registration forms if they can get away with it," Ray said.

He pushed a glass garnished with a cherry into Perfect's hand. It was supposed to be a rum and cola. She'd requested very easy on the rum, but she hadn't heard him tell the bartender that. She figured he probably knew somehow, like maybe he had some kind of power... though on reflection, that seemed silly. A telepathic bartender? The drink did taste a little strong, but at nineteen, she didn't have a lot of experience to judge by. She chalked it up to having taste buds unaccustomed to any alcohol.

"You aren't registered, are you?" he added.

"I'm not powered, and I don't have a dual identity yet, so no," Perfect said. "But if I was powered, I think I'd want to make sure things were official. Probably. I never really thought about it. But don't heroes have an obligation to set a good example by following the law as closely as possible?"

"Well, I look at it this way," Ray said. "If Department 4B really is as all-knowing and all-powerful as they're supposed to be, then registration is redundant. If they're not, then it's not like we can get caught, is it?"

"That sounds a little iffy to me... so, does 4B know about this place?"

"Not on any official level," Ray said. "I mean, Broker's never registered it anywhere, but we're pretty sure that they know about it, and they're probably pretty sure that we know that. But they also know we're not plotting to overthrow the government or enslave the normals or anything, so it's all good."

"I suppose," Perfect said. The logic behind it all didn't seem to add up, but she was too distracted by the crowd to question it too deeply. Many she didn't know at all--like the man dressed like a character out of a Dumas novel arguing heatedly with what looked like a retro-50's style robot--but others she recognized from their 4B registration info. For instance, there was the leather clad Whipsmart, a regular contender for the title of world's greatest detective. He was believed to be British but made Star Harbor his second home. He stood at the bar talking in low tones with the Listener, a man who was supposed to be psychically attuned to men's darkest desires.

 On that subject, the unearthly beautiful, unnaturally pale woman wearing torn fishnets and a black corset just had to be the Demonatrix... she had no registration file, of course, but there was plenty of information about her, if one believed the legends.

"Is that really...?" Perfect started to ask.

Ray took her arm and less-than-subtly turned her away from the woman.

"Don't stare," he said. "Don't point, don't think."

"But, is it really her? And do you know her?" Perfect asked. "Is she really... everything they say?"

"Yes, sort of, and yes," Ray said. He started to guide her towards a back booth, well away from the bar and the coldly alluring woman. "Seriously, though, the less you know about her, the better."

"But she's a... uh, good guy, right?" Perfect protested. "I mean, she's here and nobody's doing anything."

"She stops bad guys from doing bad things," Ray said. He pushed her into the seat with more force than was necessary, and used his body to screen her view. "That's doing good, but it's not the same as being good. Oh, good... she's leaving. She hardly ever comes here, and never stays long... only when she needs information."

"What's the big idea?" Perfect hissed. "I thought you were bringing me here to show me around the hero scene."

"Look, I'm sorry if I scared you..." Ray began, easing himself behind the table across from her.

"You didn't scare me, you ticked me off," Perfect said.

"Fine, I'm sorry I ticked you off," Ray said. "But... there's more than one 'scene' here. If you're not mixed up with all the mystic stuff to begin with than there's never going to be a reason for you to come across somebody like the Demonatrix, and you wouldn't be equipped to handle it if you did."

"I'd say I'm plenty mixed up in the mystic stuff now," Perfect said, the memory of the glowing runes seared into her memory. Though now that she had cause to remember it, the actual shapes and arrangement of the symbols was proving elusive, but that's what she had a camera for. It bothered her that she couldn't remember the symbols themselves, though. She pushed that thought away and added,. "And what makes you think I can't handle anything you can?"

"First of all, I don't think I can handle the Demonatrix, which is why I go out of my way not to attract her attention," Ray said. He reached out as he spoke and took an ice cube from Perfect's drink. "Secondly, can you do this?"

So saying, he pressed the ice against one of the curving red spirals on his bare chest. At the contact, it hissed and melted away into steam.

"Sure I can," Perfect said flatly.

"Really?"

"It just takes a bit longer."

"Touché," Ray said, then laughed. After a brief pause, Perfect joined him. In that moment, the tension dissipated, replaced with awkwardness and fidgeting.

"So... you're a fire guy," Perfect said after the silence had stretched on. "What's that like?"

"Well, it has its moments," Ray said. "Especially if you have a hankering for smores. But it's not really that useful a power, if you're not looking to hurt or kill. It's hard to knock somebody out or tie them up with fire. The big cosmic elemental types, they can make a flaming wall or cage or something, and if a crook's dumb enough to try to run through it, that's their own fault. Me, I can just expel or absorb flames... I can put out a small fire, or start one. Like I said, not really useful."

"It seems useful to me, but then... I don't have any powers. Hey, if you can expel flames, why not call yourself the Firebreather?" Perfect said. "I'd think that's be a bit more imposing, and also, it kind of rolls better. 'Fire-Eater' is just... awkward."

"Yeah, I'm getting name advice from somebody who calls themselves 'Perfect'," Ray said, smiling. "The bottom line is that people don't tend to trust 'fire guys.' You get blamed for every unexplained fire or explosion if people think of you as a pyro. 'Fire-Eater' emphasizes the defensive side of my powers. The safe, cuddly side, if you will."

Perfect laughed.

"What?" Ray asked, mock offended. "You don't think I'm cuddly?"

"Oh, I'm sure you're very cuddly, Mr. Eater," she said.

"So, how about you?" Ray asked. "What put you out on the streets at night? What's your motivation? Personal tragedy? Dark tragic secret? Tragic quest for tragic redemption? Something about a tragedy?"

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" Perfect said.

"No, no," Ray said. "Well, maybe a little bit. It's the black outfit... kind of makes a statement. Seriously, though... what's your story?"

"I... uh, God, this is going to sound lame, but I don't really have one," Perfect admitted. "I just kind of felt like fighting crime. I mean, it's not something I'm doing on a whim... I've actually been preparing since I was like ten, but I don't have any murdered parents and I've never been a victim of anything besides circumstance. I just... I don't know. It just seems like the right thing to do."

"See, I actually admire that," Ray said. When Perfect scoffed, he continued. "No, I really do. So many people put on a cape or cowl because they've got all these issues and things they need to work off, and that's okay, but there's just something... something noble about somebody who just goes out and does the right thing because it's the right thing."

"You are so full of shit. You know that, right?" Perfect said.

"Yeah, pretty much," Ray said, grinning sheepishly. "It's my other super power. You must have super powers, too, if you could see through it."

"Well, I do have one power," Perfect said, grinning coyly. "But it's even less useful than fire breathing."

"Oh?" Ray said. "What's that?"

"It's not the sort of thing you tell," she said. She plucked the cherry from her glass. "It's more something you... show."

She popped the whole cherry into her mouth, and after a few moments of facial contortions and a swallow, she stuck out her tongue to display the cherry's stem alone, tied neatly into a knot.

"Ta-da," she said around her tongue.

"Wow," Ray said. "That's a... good... power."

"Now you're making fun of me," she said, depositing the stem in a napkin. "I know it's stupid, but it's just something I've always been able to do. I can't imagine how it would ever be useful or relevant, though."

"I can think of a few... uh, never mind," Ray said. "So, um..."

"So... if we're going to team up on this church case, there's a few things we should figure out," Perfect asked.

"Like... what those symbols were, exactly," Ray said. "I, uh, don't recall the exact details that well, but I know that I had the strongest feeling that I've seen them somewhere before... and I don't mean in the mirror."

 "Well, yeah, I mean, aside from some similarity in color and motif, there's not a lot of similarity," Perfect said. "My first impression was to link the two together, but upon reflection your, uh, markings are a lot more abstract. The symbols on the wall were definitely a language."

"Some kind of Hebrew?" Ray said.

"Older, I think," Perfect said. "But, I actually meant there's some things we should figure out before we get really involved in the mystery."

"Like what?"

"What are we to each other?" Perfect asked. "Where are we going?"

"Excuse me?" Ray replied, unsure at the moment where even the conversation was going.

"I mean, I do appreciate pointers a voice of experience... but I'm not looking to be anybody's sidekick and I'm a little old to be a 'youthful ward'," Perfect said. "So are we partners now? Or is this just like a one shot superhero team-up thing?"

"I don't know," Ray said. "Do we really need to define things like that, though? Can't we just say that things are what they are and see how they go? Do we have to put a name to it?"

"What's the matter?" Perfect asked, grinning. "Commitment-phobic?"

"Let's just say my last duo ended less than dynamically," he said. "The short version is, we were both in it for different reasons. If you want to hear the long version, I'm going to need to be a lot more drunk than my powers allow me to become when they're stoked up."

"Resistant to intoxication?" Perfect said. "That's got to be handy."

"Like I said, it has its moments," Ray said. "With me, at least you know that out of all the heroes in the bar, you're dealing with somebody who's clear-headed and sober, reliable as..."

A voice, gruff and loud, pierced through general din like a power drill, cutting Ray off mid-stream. It seemed to come from an open door behind the bar.

"If that sorry flame-brained idiot shows his face in here tonight, somebody better tell him to point his baggy-ass pants in the direction of my office!"

Ray winced visibly.

"Sorry," he said to Perfect, getting up. "I've got to go... kind of a debriefing thing. We, uh, kid each other back and forth like that. He's a good guy, though. I'll bring you back when we're done, though. Maybe he can even do something about your name."

"He who?" Perfect asked.

"You'll see," Ray said enigmatically. "Just sit tight... I have a feeling you'll like this."

"Why can't I come now? More 'mystic stuff'?" Perfect asked. "Aren't we working this case together?"

"Yeah, sure," Ray said, striding away as he spoke. "I just have to take care of this thing first. You just sit there and... practice looking dark and mysterious. I'll be back before you know it."

"Whatever," Perfect said, turning back to her drink. The unfamiliar taste was really starting to grow on her. She lifted the glass and said, to no one in particular, "here's to partners."

"I'll drink to that," a man said, appearing as if from nowhere the instant Ray was out of sight.^*

The newcomer wasn't quite as tall as Ray was, but broader shouldered and much more heavily muscled. His skin was bronzed and toned; his complexion was very clear. Despite his statement, he held no glass or bottle of any kind. The black vest he wore hung open, showing his perfectly defined muscles. He wasn't way overly built, like some obsessive body builders were... but something about him bothered Perfect. She could see no flaw in his physique, or face... in fact, she found herself drawn to his face. It seemed extremely attractive on a deep and fundamental level.

"Hey," he said by way of introduction. His voice was deep and gruff, cartoony-manly. He smiled, too, but his smile was far from dazzling. It had a weird forced quality, and it almost made him less impressive looking. "You here with Valencia?"

"Valencia?" Perfect echoed, confused. "Is that an orange juice-themed hero?"

"Ray Valencia," the man said. "His real name's Vallenzio, but that's what I call him. Funny, right? Like he's a fruit."

"Yeah, I worked that one out... yeah, I came here with Ray," Perfect said with a shrug. "And you would be...?"

"Adonis," the man said.

"Really? Well, now when I tell you I'm Perfect I won't sound conceited," Perfect said with a giggle.

"Do you know how much he can bench?" Adonis asked, ignoring or not getting Perfect's quip. "Ray, I mean."

"I don't usually ask people I just met that," Perfect said.

"Nine thirty five," the man said, acting for all the world as if Perfect had just said "No, how much?" He then added, "Does that seem like a lot?"

"Well, it kind of is," Perfect said. "I mean, I believe the world record for a non-augmented raw press is only seven..."

"Because I can do fifteen forty two, no sweat. See, we had a contest, me and him," he said. He paused significantly before adding, completely unnecessarily, "and I won."

"No sweat?" Perfect repeated. "You seriously lifted fifteen hundred pounds without breaking a sweat?"

"Seriously," Adonis said.

She found herself looking at his face. She realized that not only was it astoundingly symmetrical, but every feature of it seemed to have been laid out precisely according to a textbook illustration of the human face.

"So how much could you lift if you did sweat... if you really tried, I mean?" she asked.

"I, uh... I don't know," he said. "More, I guess."

"Don't tell me you held back in a contest to spare Ray's feelings," Perfect said, peering at his face, his nose. "You don't ever sweat, do you?"

"It's... uh... one of my powers," Adonis said.

"You don't even have any pores," Perfect noted. "That's why your complexion is so clear. My God, you're... artificial, or synthetic, aren't you? Like an android."

"What? No I'm not," Adonis said. "I'm all man."

"No, I think it's cool," Perfect said. "Incredible, even. A fully fuctional artificial life form... I'd love to meet the person who designed you. I wonder, is the utter flawlessness of your appearance a conscious design point or a side effect of an overly formulaic construction method? I mean, the human mind is hardwired to respond to symmetry... so one of the things that gives you away as artificial also makes you naturally attractive. It's kind of an interesting irony, whether it's intentional or not."

"Are you hitting on me?" the synthetic man asked, confused. "Because we could totally go back to my place if you want to ditch that loser you came with."

"Uh... though I have to say, your personality and general intelligence need work," Perfect said. "No offense intended, of course, but I think you've got a ways to go before you can believably interact with people in public."

Adonis gave no signs of anger... his nostrils didn't flare, his face didn't turn red... because they hadn't been designed that way, but his slack smile turned into a thin frown and he blinked twice before turning and stomping away. Perfect's face flushed with embarrassment, as she wondered if she'd offended the android. The flush deepened when she heard soft, feminine laughter and turned to see a woman laughing at her. The woman was dressed in boots, a long jacket, and a fedora... her entire outfit was leather, and it was all the same shade that Perfect's cheeks had turned.

She recognized the woman as the Crimson Crusader.

"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you... but you see, Adonis was born human," the Crusader said. "His actual personality and intelligence were uploaded into an artificial body. You picked up on his nature fast, by the way. Most people assume his supposed physical perfection is just another mutation."

"Really?" Perfect said. "Well, I feel horrible... I didn't know."

"Tell me, my dear," the woman said, "does his personality improve any, knowing that it's real?"

"Well, no, it's the same," Perfect said. "In fact, if you think about it, it's almost worse. If he was programmed that way, at least there'd be some kind of excuse... his creator would be at fault, not him."

"Then don't trouble yourself for having said what you actually feel," Crimson said, gesturing dismissively. "And really, he's still not entirely responsible for his shortcomings. That fault still does lie with his creator, as it does for all men."

"Well, yeah, I guess in a kind of abstract way that might be true," Perfect said. "I mean, if you assume there is some kind of creator who personally micromanages our traits at birth, then that would absolve us all of some of the responsiblity for them... but not really, though, because from our point of view it's not any different than if it's all a pseudorandom mixture of genetic factors and unmeasurable environmental ones. Either way, we're not responsible so the only real difference is that in the first case there's an exterior source to assign blame to... but what would be the point of that? I think that in either case, the responsibility of overcoming our shortcomings falls to us even if the blame for their origination doesn't. Don't you think so?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to come back to my lair, but you know what, never mind," the woman said, throwing up her hands and storming off as abruptly as Adonis had, muttering, "I've heard less crazy monologues from Dr. Insanity."

It took Perfect several seconds of replaying the Crusader's comments to realize that the woman been hitting on her. When the realization dawned on her that not one but two superheroes had just tried to pick her up, she came to the decision that this Ray Vallenzio wasn't all that bad... even if he didn't take her to his secret briefing, at least he was interested in teaming up with her, not "teaming up" with her.

* The Drifter interjects: "How did the stranger appear so quickly? It is a well-known and widely-believed fact that nature abhors a vacuum. While no learned men of science have yet come forward to explain how this could possibly be true when so much of nature itself is a vacuum that the rest seems like a mistake or oversight, it is nonetheless true, and observably so... especially when the vacuum in question is the result of one man leaving the side of an attractive young woman in a bar full of other men."