Superhero Universe: Tesseracts Nineteen Read Free Page B

superheroing before we got ourselves killed like her Justice Teens. Instead, Man O’War and I started meeting at lunchtime with Flying Fox, Lakyr, Mynde, and Transit to talk about how to become full-fledged superheroes. It didn’t last more than a year. Transit quit the first time he got hurt; all Mynde wanted was to get his learner’s permit and be a normal Alberta teenager; Lakyr was caught using his powers at a swim competition; Flying Fox’s parents grounded him; Man O’War decided that it wasn’t good for his long-term political career.
    But I’d been thinking of Stephen’s “light under a bushel” comment. It’s from Matthew, the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus says, “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.” What right did we have to hide our powers and abilities? What right did we have to not help people? What right did we have to be so small and selfish?
    So when everyone else whined or ran away or otherwise hid their lights, I continued to fulfil my Grizzly destiny. At least, until Professor Chronos came along with his own insane prophecies and used poor Quanta to destroy the Time Barrier. But that’s a whole other crisis.
    * * *
    Patrick T. Goddard is a Montréal writer, translator, and performer. His plays include the musical Johnny Canuck and the Last Burlesque .

Jessica and the True North
    Kevin Cockle
    He was telling her about how identity was a pattern; how his algorithm detected patterns, and detected patterns implied hidden patterns. She registered the pride in his voice more than the content— pride and delight. The math made him happy in an uncomplicated way, and if he’d just stuck with that — the math he’d formulated, as opposed to what he’d done with it — he’d have seemed almost harmless. But math wasn’t harmless, and neither was Rickard Acheson.
    A mere lad when they’d apprehended him a dozen or so years ago; an attractive man in his late twenties now. Gone was the casual “start-up guy” style he’d once affected: now he looked as though consultants dressed him for television. Broad shoulders. Shiny black hair. Tailored suit. “Times change, Jess,” he said, smiling in triumph.
    “People don’t,” she said, keeping her voice level, giving him nothing to read.
    “That’s funny, coming from you.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Yeah, I do,” Rickard said. “Chthonic Sun” had been his online alter-ego in his rebellious teens. Now he just went by “Rick.” “We stay the same, and the world revolves around us. You guys were the big heroes back in the day, the Seer and the Rock. Now look at you.” Acheson gave her a sympathetic, almost parental smile. “There was this profile on one of those online dating sites last year— who the guy was, what he expected. Put his tax return online so people could see what kind of cheques he could write. Had a habit of hitting women, so he just led with that. Didn’t lie about it, didn’t try to cover it up. Said that being with him would be well-rewarded, and that prospective applicants should expect to get hit from time to time. Guess how many responses he got.”
    Jessica said nothing, could tell she was being baited.
    “Three thousand, Jess,” Rickard continued. “3482, to be precise. Dating service didn’t take his profile down. Police didn’t do shit. People bitched like they do online; other people bitched right back, like they do about free speech. In the end, guy got what he wanted. So did some girl. What we in the math biz call a Pareto optimal solution.”
    Jessica stared out the window into dark clouds, thirty thousand feet above Lesser Slave Lake, Alberta. “What’s your point?”
    “That’s the world now, Jess. That’s why I’m the hero now, and you and the rest of True North are the criminals.”
    “You’re an