"Boomtown Knights" Origins I - 'Paladin'

[Dartman X]

This story takes place in the Freedom Force universe, running parallel with the story in FF1 (which I like to place around 1968 or so in a Kirby-ish way...).  I originally posted part of it up on NPI back in the day, but I've been inclined to finish it lately, so I'll be posting it in increments if people seem interested.

It's kind of a mature story, although it lacks profanity.  I wanted to address something you don't see in comics often - faith.  What if a person of faith was suddenly granted these god-like powers?  How would it affect them and their faith?

Now, I'm not particularly pious, and I'm certainly not looking to start a debate on religion or impress my beliefs on anyone.  Just looking to tell a story, that hopefully you enjoy.

[Dartman X]

Boomtown Knights – "Origins", by Dartman

Arc I – 'Paladin'

 
  The hot summer sun beat down on the cracked pavement of Digby Street as Father Matthew Knight ran a handkerchief across the back of his neck for the umpteenth time that afternoon.  As he swept the filthy sidewalk in front of the St. Jude Mission he spied one of the locals, "Jimmy the Saint", sound asleep in the shade of the mission's entrance.  He moved closer, prodding the man gently with the handle of the broom. 

  "C'mon Jimmy, I asked you not to sleep here.  Why don't you go inside where there's a nice clean bed?"

  'Jimmy' struggled to his feet adjusting the sweaty rags he wore that passed for clothes.

  "Hotter inside than out, Father Matt."

  The young priest smiled grimly.  The man had a point.  The archdiocese just didn't have the funding to purchase a new air conditioner for the dilapidated mission.  Or felt that spending the money down in 'Boomtown' was just throwing away good money after bad.  He would put in a call to Ben later on.  That man was keeping the whole mission running on spit and a paper clip, and all on his own time.  Matt thanked God for the hundredth time that he had the good fortune to befriend Benjamin Frost.   

  Knight looked up as the door opened to reveal Father Edward Kennedy, the parish priest who ran the mission, and Matthew's mentor as well.  The younger priest looked up to Kennedy, who regularly did battle with the archdiocese and Bishop Morgan to keep St. Jude open and running.  His thick Irish brogue filled the warm air.

  "You heard the young man, Jimmy.  Go on inside and get yourself something cold to drink.  Hotter than hell itself today!"

  Jimmy nodded, shuffling his bedraggled form into the relative cool of the mission.  Kennedy grasped Matthew by the arm, guiding him towards the doorway as well.

  "You too, boyo.  Heed your own advice and come in out of the sun."

  Knight nodded.   "In a minute, Father.  I'm almost done here."

  The older man smiled, and stepped back inside.  Although they were less than a decade apart in age, Matthew looked up to the man as if he were his own father.  How could you not admire someone so dedicated a task that was doomed to fail?  Knight looked up at the dreary façade of St. Jude's and smiled grimly.  St. Jude – the patron saint of children and lost causes.  How appropriate.  Patriot City had written off 'Boomtown' as a lost cause for years.  Located near the docks, it was once hailed as the jewel of the city.  But when the airport was built a decade later, the money dried up and left that portion of the city to slowly rot and fester.  Matt looked around at his neighborhood – the shops, the tenements.  The people who struggled to make it out of the slums.  And the few people who stayed, to try and make it a better place to live.  He sighed, picked up his broom and headed in out of the summer heat.

               ********

  As Father Knight entered the mission, he heard shouting from the back of the building.  He couldn't make out what was being said, but one of the voices was definitely Father Kennedy's.  Matthew rushed to see what the commotion was, when suddenly the door to Kennedy's office exploded outward, and a man literally came flying out!  The man scrambled to his feet in time to collide with another equally disheveled thug who was hotfooting it out the door.  Father Kennedy appeared in the doorway, dusting off his black tunic and adjusting his collar.

  "There's your answer, boyo!  Now get out of here and don't you be showin' your ugly mugs around here again, or else I may forget I'm a man of the cloth!"

  The first thug turned around to point at the priest, as if marking him.  Matthew saw that he had a scar that traversed the side of his face from eyebrow to chin and recognized him immediately:  Roberto Scorpio, Antonio Serpente's right hand man.  "You can forget about walkin' and breathin' too, Padre!  Nobody says 'no' to Anthony Serpente!  Everybody pays!"

  Father Kennedy brandished a fist like a canned ham.

  "I've got five right here for you, bucko.  Get out before I pay you in full!"

  The thug with the scar brushed off his own clothes, trying to maintain a sense of dignity.

  "Dis' ain't over, Padre.  Not by a long shot!"

  Scorpio reached into his coat quickly, and Matt started, thinking the man was going for a gun.  But he pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes instead.  Eying them with disgust, he tossed them at Matt with an exclamation of annoyance.       "Move!" he shouted as he turned and shoved the other thug in front of him, pushing past a goggle-eyed Knight as they beat a hasty retreat.  Matthew stared after them and then turned back to Father Kennedy.  The older man gestured to him.  "Come in here Matt, and help me clean up after the trash."  Matt bent to pick up the pack of cigarettes, a battered pack of Lucky Strikes containing one mauled cigarette.  Standing up, Knight followed the older priest, closing the door behind them.
  The Father's office was in disarray, with papers and furniture strewn about.  Matthew smiled as he straightened a picture of a much younger pug faced 'Fast Eddie' Kennedy, back when he was known as 'The Smiling Irishman'.   Kennedy sighed and righted a chair, plopping himself down in it.  He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a pack of Pall Malls and tapping it against the palm of one big hand, tamping down the tobacco.  Matt sat on the edge of the desk as Kennedy lit up, and tossed the crushed pack of Lucky's into the wastebasket.

  "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

  Kennedy exhaled, sending a cloud of nicotine across the room.

"You're a big boy, Matthew.  This is 'Boomtown', after all."

  Knight shook his head in disbelief.  "Extortion?  This is a church, for God's sake!"

  Kennedy leveled a finger in Matt's direction.  "Don't be takin' the Lord's name in vain, Matthew.  And yes, extortion – protection – call it what you will.  We won't be payin' a single dime to anyone.  As if we had one."

  Knight leaned forward.  "Shouldn't we call the police?  Those men sounded like they meant business.  I mean, that was Roberto Scorpio, Father!"

  Kennedy shook his head, waving a hand to dismiss Matthew's concerns.  "They're just street thugs looking to make an easy buck – you pay 'em no mind."  He glanced at his watch.  "Nearly four o'clock, Matthew.  I'll straighten up in here.  You better get ready for mass."  He stabbed out the cigarette in the ashtray he kept in the top desk drawer, and slid it closed.  Matthew nodded and left the office, heading for the church.  Five o'clock mass didn't draw a big crowd, but Father Kennedy insisted on it daily.  "It gives 'em a bit of hope to digest before dinner," he would wink at Matt.  Matthew smiled to himself, and began to mentally go through the list of things he needed to do to get ready, still concerned about what had just transpired.


                        ********

   Father Kennedy watched the retreating back of the younger priest, and sat down heavily in the barely padded chair behind his desk.  He would never let Matthew know how worried he really was about Serpente's men.  That Scorpio was a real psychopath.  Kennedy reached down into the only other drawer in his desk with a shaky hand, and took out a small shot glass and pint of Irish whiskey.  It was the only thing he kept in the drawer.  He sighed as he carefully poured himself a shot.   Anthony Serpente, or 'Tony the Snake' as they called him on the street, was not a man to be trifled with.  And Kennedy felt he might have pushed back a bit too hard today.  But to hell with them all!  This was a House of God – he'd burn in hell before he paid tribute to a band of thugs and thieves!
  He made the sign of the cross over the glass and tossed back the amber liquid, closing his eyes as the whiskey burned the back of his throat on the way down.  He closed the cap tightly, and placed the bottle and glass back into the drawer, gently sliding it closed. The older priest sighed again, and sat back in the chair.  He wasn't particularly worried for himself, but for Matthew.  The younger man was full of spit and vinegar, and would surely get himself into the thick of things if they escalated.  But he seriously doubted that even Anthony Serpente would whack an old Irish priest.  That's the kind of thing nobody could ignore, not even down here in 'Boomtown'.  Kennedy knew how things worked in a corrupt system.  Everyone wanted to keep a low profile, so they could continue to do business below the level of public scrutiny.  At least, that's what Kennedy was counting on.  "I mean, it's a church, for God's sake," he murmured.  "What's he gonna do, blow it up?"


                        ********     

[Dartman X]

 "Blow the friggin' place up!  What do I care?  Why are you even coming to me with this?!"

  Antonio Serpente poured himself a neat scotch at the polished oak bar in his swank office.  Serpente had killed and maimed his way to the top of the crime hierarchy in Patriot City, becoming one of Pinstripe's most loyal and trusted Capos in the process.  His reward was control of the docks, and the rest of 'Boomtown' by default.  He was Pinstripe's top earner, and was seen by some to be the logical successor to the Patriot City kingpin, if and when he decided to retire (or was retired by someone, a scenario not to likely to occur in the near future).

  Roberto Scorpio squirmed uncharacteristically in a plush cushioned chair across from Benny Motta.  Benny was Serpente's consigliore, and the only other person whose opinion mattered to Tony.  Pinstripe's was the other.  Scorpio looked up from his fidgeting at the crime lord, displaying the huge shiner that he received as a parting gift from the old priest.

  "Jeez, Tony!  The guy's a priest!  You want I should blow up a church?"  He looked pleadingly at Benny as Tony took a seat behind a huge maple desk.  "Benny, please talk to him!"

  Motta took off his glasses and slowly cleaned them as he turned to Serpente.  "The Neanderthal has a point, Anthony.   Doing away with a priest is a violation of the unspoken rule of ethics that we survive by.  Father Kennedy has many friends in high social circles, Sasha Castle being one of them.  There would be much hue and cry from the unwashed masses, and the authorities would be forced to act.  Don't be rash."

  Serpente's face darkened at the mention of the wealthy philanthropist's name.  "Castle!  That pain!  Waving her money around 'Boomtown', trying to 'clean it up'.  I'd like to do her too!"  A leer spread across his handsome face.  "In more ways than one."  Tony knocked back a decent sized swig of scotch, and turned to Scorpio, pointing a finger at the hit man's swollen cheek.  "I can't believe you let that old man hang one on you!  In the old days that monk would be floating downstream already.  Getting soft in your old age, 'Robbie'?"

  Scorpio's face hardened, both at the verbal jab and the use of his childhood nickname, which he despised.  "It's like Benny says, Tony.  Even I ain't dumb enough to whack a priest in broad daylight in front of a buncha witnesses."  He stopped suddenly, realizing immediately after the words left his mouth that he just may have called Anthony Serpente stupid, and wondering if it was the last thing he might ever say, period.

  "Oh, so you're smarter than me now?" Tony yelled, and poked Scorpio in his bruised eye, spilling some of the 12-year-old scotch on the sleeve of his eight hundred dollar suit.  To his credit, Scorpio said nothing, not reacting visibly to Serpente's outburst.  Tony got up and paced the room, swirling his drink.  "I gotta think."  He moved over to the large window in his office, looking down at the teeming city.  He absentmindedly brushed off the sleeve of his jacket, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the two men seated behind him.  After a few moments he turned around to face them.
 
  "We can't have anyone standing up to us down in 'Boomtown'.  Not good for business.  We do the priest."

  Benny opened his mouth to object, but Tony cut him off.  "Wait.  We make it look like an accident.  That church is so old it's practically falling down already.  Loose bricks, leaky gas pipes.  Things happen to old buildings.  Bad things."  He turned to face Motta.  "And people talk.  I'm sure all of 'Boomtown' knows all about Scorpio's little visit to the priest today.  When the place comes down, they'll all know who and why, even if it seems like an accident." 

  He turned to Scorpio.  "Think you can handle that, Robert?"

  Scorpio nodded slowly.  "Consider it already done, Tony."
 
  "Good."  Serpente knocked back the last of the scotch and placed the glass on the bar.  "Now if you gentlemen would excuse me, I'm late for dinner with the Mayor."  Motta and Scorpio got up to leave.  As the consigliore exited the room, Serpente stopped Scorpio.

  "No room for error here, Scorpio.  None.  No mistakes, no evidence.  Nice and clean."

  Scorpio nodded.  He was a professional: he knew the risks.  He turned to leave.

  "Robbie."

  Scorpio stopped again, his hand on the polished brass doorknob.  He turned to face Serpente again.  Tony smiled.

  "That's not to say you can't have a little fun first."

    He tapped his eye to make a point. 

   "Payback's in the eye of the beholder."

    Scorpio smiled, the scar on his face puckering nastily.

   "Oh don't I know it, Tony.  Don't I know it."


               ******** 


   Benjamin Frost grunted as he crawled out from behind the mission's antique air conditioning system.  The monstrous thing bellowed as it roared to life, sounding incredibly reluctant as it did so. "That'll hold you for a while Father Matt", Ben wheezed, dusting off his workpants.  "But I can't say for how long.  This thing should have been replaced long ago."

  Father Matthew laughed as he held out a hand to help the man to his feet. "We both know that's not going to happen anytime soon."  He smiled warmly at Ben as he helped him to his feet.  "Thanks again, Ben.  We couldn't keep this place running without your help.  You're truly one of God's angels on Earth." 

  Ben hung his head modestly as he collected his tools and put them back in his toolbox.  "Oh, don't start that again now.  I just don't like sweating every Sunday."  He paused as he looked up at Matt with mock horror.  "Last week I had to sit next to Miss Jenkins.  Miss Jenkins!  You know how big she is?"

  "Stop it, Ben", Matt said, but couldn't hide a bit of a smirk.

"Woman's as big as a house," Ben grumbled as he finished placing the last of his tools in his case. 

  Matt snorted, and the two men burst into giggles like schoolchildren.   Suddenly there was a noise at the top of the stairs, and a woman's voice called out.

  "Matthew?  Are you down there?"

  Both men started and looked guiltily up the stairs, as if they were two kids caught at the cookie jar.  A pair of stiletto heels attached to two long lean legs descended the old staircase.  Sasha Castle poked her head down into view, taking in the tableau before her.  " I know you gentlemen aren't going to make a girl in a short skirt walk all the way down these rickety steps just to talk to you.  Are you?"

  Both men looked away self-consciously.  "No Sasha", Matt said.  "We'll be right up."

  The brunette smiled.  "Well don't dawdle.  I have places to go, and some good news for both of you before I leave."  The beautiful socialite turned, and ascended the steps as quickly and as modestly as the staircase and her skirt would allow.  It took both men a moment to realize that they had been staring.  Matt cleared his throat.  "We'd better get going."

  Ben cast a dark glance at the gas furnace in the corner, as the two men ascended the stairs.  "I wish you'd talk the Bishop into replacing that old heap.  That's thing's dangerous."

  "You couldn't get ice in the winter from that man, never mind heat in the summer.  I'll have Father Kennedy ring him up when the weather turns cooler."  Matt turned at the top of the staircase and flicked off the light switch.  He closed the door and the two men went outside to meet their friend.


               ********


  High above the planet Earth, a distortion appeared in space.  Time and space contracted upon itself, resolving into a swirling mass of glowing crimson wrongness.  Out of this mess silently shot a small spaceship, trailing bloody streamers of super-heated plasma behind, as the opening contracted again into nothingness.  The occupant of the ship fought with the controls as the single satellite of the blue/white orb in front of him shot past the cracked canopy of the badly shaking vessel.  He tapped a few controls and a schematic appeared on a small screen in front of him, showing a section of the starboard hull and an engine support outlined in red.  As he watched, another section of the engine schematic turned red and an alarm went off somewhere in the cockpit.  The shaking increased substantially.  The final volley that had been launched by his pursuers had found its mark.  He adjusted for the increased strain on the engines and contemplated what to do next.

  He had little time to think, although his pursuers had not followed him into the dimensional portal, lest their plans be discovered by the very creatures whose lives he had hoped to save.  When he had stolen the ship, loaded with its gleaming canisters of deadly cargo, he had had no real plan.  He suspected that was exactly why it had succeeded.  A simple spur of the moment plan that had caught his enemy off guard, and unable to respond in time to pursue and capture the small, swift craft.  He looked up as another alarm sounded, and he switched it off almost absent-mindedly.  He had originally intended to find the best and the brightest of the creatures on the planet below and bestow the power on board to them, creating an army with which to defeat his accursed enemies.  Now it seemed he had little choice as to where he would be arriving, and how many pieces he would be arriving in.

  A quick scan of the ever-growing orb in front of him revealed a large concentration of population on the eastern seaboard of the large northern continent.  With a large amount of coaxing the damaged navigation system slowly altered the trajectory of the ship as it screamed through space towards its destination.  The occupant of the cockpit let go of a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, and touched a control on the console in front of him, bringing up yet another schematic of the shuddering vessel.  Structural integrity was barely holding the tortured craft together – he didn't see how the ship would make it through the buffeting of the planet's atmosphere.  Yet he didn't have enough control to effect orbit around the planet.  So there was no choice logically, to make.  He looked over his shoulders nervously at his precious cargo, and turned to make yet another small adjustment to the flight path.


********

[Dartman X]

 Matt and Ben emerged from the relatively cool shadows of the mission, into the early evening heat.  Sasha was waiting for them leaning against a silver Pontiac Firebird convertible, her Ray-Bans perched on her perfect nose.  The sun reflecting off the chrome surrounded her like a corona, and Matt thought not for the first time, that she was indeed as beautiful as an angel.  She smiled as Ben let out a long, low whistle.  "Why, thank you Benjamin!" she said.

  "That was for the car", he chuckled as Sasha cocked a fist mockingly in his direction. He took a quick walk around the Firebird: it was obviously a case of 'love at first sight'.  "Dual exhausts...all leather interior...I can't believe you drive that thing in this neighborhood and the kids don't lay a finger on it!"

  "That's because I pay the kids to watch it", she smiled slyly, tossing a wave over her shoulder at two burly teens that looked like anything but 'kids'. They smiled and waved back to Sasha, nudging each other in a way that spoke volumes to Ben.  He laughed.  "I'm sure the skirt doesn't hurt!"

  "Matthew, are you going to just sit here while your friend besmirches my honor?" Sasha pleaded with mock indignation as she looked over the top of her sunglasses.

  Matt rolled his eyes.  "I thought he was your friend!"  He chuckled as she punched him lightly on the arm.  "So, what's the good news?"

  Sasha settled back against the fender of the Firebird.  "I've just come from a luncheon meeting with Cardinal Burr, who has approved funding from the 'Friends of Saint Jude's' for repairs of the church and mission."

  Matt raised his eyebrows incredulously.  "The Cardinal? You had lunch with him?"

  Now it was Sasha's turn to roll her eyes.  "Yes, Matthew.  That's what we hoi polloi rich matrons do: breakfast at Tiffany's, lunch with the Cardinal, dinner and dancing with the Vice President.  A very nice man by the way."

   Ben interrupted.  "The Cardinal?"

   "No dear, the Vice President.  Charming.  Terrible dancer though."

   Matt's head was spinning.  "Wait a minute.  Who are the 'Friends of Saint Jude's'?"

   Sasha smiled again.  "Why I am, you silly man.  Well, me and a few other people who wish to see 'Boomtown' propelled out of 'ghetto' status."  She grew serious for a moment.  "You and Father Kennedy do important work here in the community, Matt.  It should be supported, and since I have the ways and means to do so, I shall."

  Matt grew thoughtful.  "Thank you for saying so Sasha, but you did an end run around Bishop Morgan?  He'll be spitting nails.  Have you told Father Kennedy yet?"

"Yes, he was very pleased."  A smile crept back onto her angelic face, but with a hint of devilish glee.  "I think he was equally pleased about the 'spitting nails' part, as well."

  Both Matt and Ben smiled now.  Father Kennedy's long running battle with Bishop Morgan was old news to the twosome.  Sasha turned to Ben.  "And since I have choice of which contractor to use, I'd like to ask you to do the work, Ben."

  Ben scowled.  "I don't need any handouts Sasha."

  Sasha let out a sigh of exasperation.  "Oh please, Ben.  It's not a handout - it's a job.  I mean, you're here practically here every moment you're not at work, trying to keep the place patched up for Matt and Father Kennedy.  Why not get paid for it as well?"

Ben looked skeptical.  Sasha went on.  "You're the right man for the job, Benjamin.  You've fixed this place up so often that you know exactly what needs to be done, and what the priorities are.  And you have a knack for seeing the core of a problem and attacking it."  Sasha took off her sunglasses.  "Look Ben, in our society every once in a while the 'haves' need to assuage their guilt at being 'haves' by tossing a few paltry coins to the 'have-nots'.  It makes them feel better about being rich, and it's tax deductible, so it really costs them nothing.  Why not take advantage of that, and do some good where it's needed at the same time?  It's a 'win-win' situation for everybody." 

  Ben looked aside at her.  "That's a bit of a cynical approach to charity, even for you.  Is that how you assuage your guilt as well?"

  She put her glasses back on and shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips.  "I have my own reasons for doing what I do.  So, will you do it?"

  Ben looked at his friend as he wrestled with his indecision.  It was a big job, and he did need the money.  Who didn't?  Matt shrugged as if to say, "It's your call", but the big man knew he couldn't let his friend down.  He turned and nodded to Sasha.  "Okay Sasha, you sold me. But I have a full time job at the air conditioning company that I can't just bail on."

  She nodded.  "Don't worry, there's no timetable on the repairs.  Just do what you have always done, and send me the bill."  Ben nodded.  Sasha perked up.  "Good.  That's settled then."  She leaned over to kiss them both on the cheek, and then walked around the front of the car to open the driver's side door.  "Ta-ta boys, I have quite the evening planned, and it's getting late."  She slid into the driver's seat of the Firebird and closed the door.  Matt came over to the car and leaned over the passenger side.  "Thanks", he said.  She smiled up at him as she started the car, the V-8 roaring to life.

  "What are friends for?" she replied, and blew him a kiss as he stepped back.  The Firebird leapt away from the curb, tires squealing a bit as Sasha hit the gas, tossing a wave to the two kids that had been watching the car for her.  Matt watched the car recede in the distance, as Ben mumbled to himself, already compiling a list in his head of the things that had to be done.  He stopped as he saw Matt, still staring after the Firebird.

  "She has 'her own reasons for doing what she does' " he snickered, elbowing Matt lightly in the ribs.  Matt scowled at him in reply.  Ben smiled.  "Come on, Matt.  We both know she's still got a thing for you."

  Matt turned to his friend.  "First off, that was a long time ago.  And second, I'm a man of the cloth now, so I would appreciate it if we just abandoned this discussion."

  Ben held up his hands.  "Just kidding, Matt."  The young priest nodded, lost in thought.  Ben clapped him on the shoulder.  "Hey – really, I'm sorry, man.  I was just having some fun with you."  Matt nodded again.  "Listen, I'm gonna go.  I've got a million things spinning around in my head now, and I need to start planning this renovation thing out.  I'll call you later.  Maybe we can get together after 5 o'clock mass, have some dinner and talk about-"

  "Mass!" Matt exclaimed.  "I'd forgotten how late it is!"  He glanced at his watch – 4:30.  Just enough time to get ready, but he'd have to hurry like hell to start on time.  He waved a goodbye to Benjamin as he turned and rushed inside the mission.  "Call me later!" he yelled over his shoulder as Ben climbed into his work van.  Ben nodded back as he started the van, and turned it around, heading back towards his apartment.  Maybe this would all work out, he thought.  Sasha was one smart cookie: she seemed to have everything under control.  He certainly hoped so, but then that was always when things seemed to go wrong, when you felt you had it all worked out.  Fate always dealt you a wild card.  He signaled at the stop sign, and turned again, heading for home.


               ********

    The being at the controls uttered a small prayer to his Gods as the ship entered the planet's atmosphere.  The craft quaked even more violently if that was possible, as its speed increased further, drawn in by the gravitational well of the planet.  Two more indicators began to flash silently on the console in front of him, warning of an imminent failure of the structural integrity field.  He had shut off all the aural alarms going off a few minutes before: the cacophony of sound was too distracting, and there wasn't anything he could do about the various system failures at this point, anyway.  If structural integrity failed before he made it to the planet's surface, the ship would disintegrate in the upper atmosphere and burn up, taking him with it.

  The nose of the craft glowed white hot as the ship plunged downward.  Luminescent flakes of the hull and super-heated gasses shot past the canopy of the shuddering vessel as the occupant rechecked his flight plan.  The creature attempted to adjust his speed and heading but the sluggishness of the controls prevented him from making the necessary corrections.  He used the attitude jets to try and bring the nose up slightly and slow his speed.  It worked for a moment and bought him enough time as he hit the thicker air of the stratosphere.  The shuddering eased slightly, and the ship began to feel somewhat more responsive.  He breathed another small prayer of thanks, a small spark of hope lighting in his chest. A large sonic boom rent the air as the vessel broke the sound barrier.  He was still traveling too fast, so he banked the transport slightly, not wanting to put too much stress on the fragile hull.  The surface was rushing up at him much too quickly, and as he began to gently reverse thrust to slow his descent, a large bang resounded through the craft followed by the acrid smell of something burning.  Smoke wafted through the cockpit as he looked down to affirm what he already knew, that the structural integrity field had finally failed.  The ship quaked violently again, groaning as the stresses of decent began to take its toll on the battered craft.

  The city began to loom large in the main viewport as the being tried in vain to adjust the craft's heading.  As he applied more power to the engines, the entire propulsion system failed.  He banged the console in frustration as the navigational display sputtered on and off, showing his projected flight plan ending near the direct center of the huge metropolis.  He did the mental calculations in his head, figuring that hundreds of thousands of the inhabitants would be killed.  Unacceptable.  He frantically adjusted the attitudinal jets, which were the only thing he had left that came close to controlling the vessel.  Tapping the controls quickly, he attempted to bypass the city and aimed for the large bay it sat astride.

  Suddenly the craft groaned loudly, and another louder bang sounded.  All the power in the cockpit went out at once as the ship screamed through the atmosphere, trailing a huge plume of flame and smoke behind it.  He hoped that his final course adjustments had been enough to divert the vessel from the city's epicenter.  With the computer down, there was no way to know.  The being held on for dear life as the rear of the spacecraft tore free, the depressurization sucking out anything that wasn't affixed to the deck.  "By the Rings-", the being thought as he too was sucked through the gaping rent in the ship, seconds before it exploded high over the city.  Huge chunks of debris showered the unsuspecting metropolis, as did the ship's deadly cargo.   The creature's final thoughts as he lost consciousness were ones of despair, for himself, and for the planet he had failed to protect.

[Dartman X]

   Matthew checked his watch as a few parishioners began to straggle in through the open door of the church.  About five minutes to five.  He scanned the crowd, seeing mostly familiar faces from the neighborhood.  There was Mr. Bendis, the local butcher.  A very nice man, but boy could he talk!  He would go on and on about one thing or another as his cleaver rose and fell, eventually forgetting the very point of the story he was telling.  But a very nice man nonetheless. 
   Matt looked over to the doorway, as Father Kennedy helped Mrs. Miller to a seat in a rear pew.  There was no sense in making the elderly woman walk the length of the church.  The older priest nodded to Matt to begin the service as he moved to close the oaken doors of the old church.  Father Knight ascended a short flight of stairs to the pulpit, his feet shuffling on carpeting worn bare by years of use – by the feet of shepherds Matt liked to think – watching over their flocks as the years wore on as well.  As he stood behind the altar, he turned to the massive stained glass window depicting St. Jude.  It was the easily the most beautiful aspect of the tiny church, and it's focal point.  That wall of the church faced West, and as the sun set it lit the window from behind, casting rainbow hued streams of light on whomever was in the pulpit.  The Saint had a staff in one hand and the other was outstretched in benediction.  The look on his face was one of beatitude, and Matt often felt that gaze upon his back, adding with it the weight of responsibility. As he always did before Mass, Matt murmured a quick benediction to the Saint, to watch over his own flock.  Then he turned to the churchgoers and smiled.
"So few", he thought, as he gazed out over the tiny group.  The size of the congregation had slowly shrunk as the year had progressed, through the assassination of Dr. King – and now Bobby Kennedy, a man he also greatly admired – as hope seemed to diminish in the face of these horrific losses.  Add to it the War, which seemed to just grind on with no end in sight as the poor gave up their best and brightest to the beast, while those from more affluent families wrangled college deferments, and postings stateside.  Class struggle, racism – it was a wonder there was any hope left at all, Matt sometimes thought. 
  "It's all about Faith, Matthew", Father Kennedy had once told him, when he had voiced the opinion in front of the older priest.  "Faith in God, to see them through these troubled times. Faith in themselves, to do right with their lives.  And Faith in you, to show them the way.  That's why they come."  Matt nodded to himself at the memory.  He cleared his throat, and made the sign of the cross.  The congregation followed suit, echoing his words.

   "In the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen."

   A low boom resounded in the distance and Matthew glanced out at the crowd, smiling. 

   "Seems as if we'll get a late summer shower.  Perhaps it will cool things off a bit."

  Several people in the crowd smiled, some fanning themselves as the jury-rigged air conditioner struggled to maintain a comfortable temperature in the sweltering church.  Matt continued.

  "Friends, I'd like to begin this evening with a quote from Saint Valerian.  'If you desire to see God', he said, 'seek out the beggar, receive the pilgrim, visit the sick, hasten to the prison.' .... "

  Father Kennedy stood at the rear of the church, admiring Matt as he continued his sermon.  The younger man really had a gift for speaking in public.  The parishioners sat rapt with attention as Matt poured out his recitation, with the sunlight streaming down upon him from behind, enveloping him in a kaleidoscope of light.  It was quite a sight to behold.

  Matt held out his hands to the congregation.  "And so my fellow worshippers I would now-"

  A bright flash of light that seared its way through the stained glass windows interrupted Matt. It was instantaneously accompanied by another loud boom, this one loud enough to shake the timbers of the old church right down to its foundation.  His first thought was of nuclear brinkmanship, and that perhaps someone had done something very foolish.  When oblivion was not forthcoming, he let loose a little sigh. 

  "That was no thunder!  That was an explosion!" exclaimed Mr. Bendis.  "I was in the War!  I know!  This one time – "

  Several people rose from their seats in the pews, curious as to what was transpiring outside.  Father Kennedy attempted to calm the crowd, urging them to remain inside for their safety.  Matt gazed out at the crowd, and so didn't see the color of the light behind him start to take on a more indigo hue.  A low rumble began to emanate from what seemed everywhere at once, as the light behind Matthew grew brighter.  Father Kennedy looked up at the pulpit in alarm as he saw Matt, seemingly oblivious to what was happening behind him.  He pointed behind the young priest and shouted his name.  Matt whirled to see the stained glass aglow in what looked like violet fire as it bathed him a sickly purple-pink light.  Seconds later the window and the wall exploded inward, directly at the young man.  His last thoughts were of the face of Saint Jude awash in violet fire, staring accusingly down at him.


******** 
   Consciousness came for Matt in purple tinged waves of nausea, with fun house images of concerned faces peering in at him.  His body roiled hot and cold as he drifted back and forth between wakefulness and fitful sleep.  Images he knew must be the result of delirium slid by – distorted visions of his friends in danger, the church destroyed – all overlaid with the image of a pair of indigo eyes boring into his soul. He started as he recognized them as those of Saint Jude, from the stained glass window that had imploded in at him.  Flashes of returning memory reeled at him – images of the dead and injured infused with the pain of his broken body.   Pressure increased in his chest as his eyes locked with those of the saint.  Multitudes of voices assailed him, snarling snatches of scripture and sermons past:

"Lord, how is it that You will manifest Yourself to us, and not to the world?"

The eyes seared themselves on his consciousness, filling him with cold violet light...

"...seek out the beggar, receive the pilgrim..."

"Teach us to give and not to count the cost."

  His heart and head swelled to bursting with the light that filled it.

"If God can work through me, he can work through anyone."

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your heart..." 

The pressure increased tenfold in his chest as Matthew cried out in his madness.  "Lord!  Tell me what I am to do?!"

  And through it all, a hand bathed in white light coming down from on high, reaching to him, quieting the chaos as it drew closer, enveloping him in silence and warmth.  One word emanated from it, easing his distress as its touch lay upon him:

"Sleep."

  And so he did.


                    ********




(To be continued....)

[Dartman X]

     The sound of a bird chirping loudly seeped into Matt's consciousness.  His eyelids fluttered and then opened, and he tried to focus on his surroundings.  It took him a few moments to realize he was in his bedroom at the rear of the Mission.  The bird's twittering seemed overly loud to him, and he muttered "Someone should close that window."  Turning his head slowly in the direction of the sound he spied a robin, twittering happily on the shattered window pane.

  "Oh, right."  The bird cocked it's head at him, then took to the sky, disappearing in a flutter of wings.  Matt sighed, and then swung his feet down to the floor as he tried to sit up.  Vertigo assailed him, and he contemplated that perhaps that wasn't such a great idea.  He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face.  Patchy stubble greeted his touch, and he stared at the floor for a moment, getting his bearings.  Looking around the room, he grew concerned as he took in the condition of his surroundings.  The Mission wasn't the grandest of places to begin with, but now huge cracks traversed the walls from floor to ceiling, and the shattered windowpane let in the sounds of the street, which were to Matt's ears strangely subdued.  He ran a hand over his head, and looked down with a start as something came away in his hand.  He looked down quizically for a moment before he realized with a start that it was his hair.  A glance at the pillow revealed more hair liberally spread upon it.

  Standing up slowly, he laid a hand upon the rickety nighttable next to his bed as another wave of nausea hit, this one not as severe as before.  After a moment he felt well enough to shuffle to the door and open it.  Quiet voices and the smell of cooking drifted down the hall from the Mission's kitchen, and he followed them using the wall to steady himself.

He quietly entered the kitchen, leaning heavily on the doorjamb.  Father Kennedy sat at the large butcher block table, bifocals perched on the end of his nose, as he perused the morning paper. Sasha Castle stood in front of a battered hot plate, the contents of one of the Mission's cast iron frying pans sizzling away upon it.   The smells of breakfast were much stronger, and Matt's stomach growled.

  "What does a guy have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?" he croaked.

  Startled by the sound of his voice, they exclaimed "Matt!" in unison, hurrying over to assist him. 

"Thank God you're awake!", Father Kennedy said as he and Sasha helped Matt ease himself into a chair.  "I thought for sure the Good Lord was going to take you from us!" 

"I don't think he was quite ready for me, Father."  Matt nodded gratefully as a beaming Sasha slid a chipped coffee mug into his hand.  He sipped at the steaming liquid as he turned back to Father Kennedy.  "What happened?  How long was I out?"

  The older priest shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief.  "Three days, Matthew.  Three long days.  As for what happened – well, perhaps its best if you read for yourself."  He slid the newspaper over to Matt as Sasha turned hurriedly back to the frying pan, which had begun to smoke.

  Matt scanned the headlines quickly.  The words leapt out at him, chilling in their absurdity...

  "UFO Crashes into Liberty Bay!" 

  "Death Toll at 67 - Hundreds Injured!"

  "Government Declares Martial Law!"

  "Invasion Imminent?  White House Mum On Subject!"

  "Senator Accuses Reds – Are We On The Brink Of Nuclear War?"

   ...and so on.   Matt read on in disbelief, his coffee slowly growing cold in his hand.  He turned to his friends.

  "It's all so unbeliveable!  Can this be true?"

  "It's true, alright."  Sasha walked over, setting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, which Matt began to attack with gusto.  "I've been speaking with some of my friends in Washington.  They're scared witless – not that they had any to begin with.  The President spoke to the nation last night, telling everyone not to panic or jump to conclusions.  They've called out the National Guard, and declared martial law in Patriot City.  The Red Cross has set up shop here in Boomtown, which seemed to get the worst of whatever it was that exploded and crashed into Liberty Bay."

  She pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, pouring herself a cup of coffee and topping off Matt's mug.  She sighed.  "It's real – or at least they belive it is.  They've had the Army and some guys in black suits running all over the city to retrive whatever pieces of it they could find, and the Navy has divers down in the Bay looking to salvage the remains of the "UFO" or whatever you want to call it."

  "And they are deadly serious about it Matthew", chimed in Father Kennedy.  "Some of them were here, looking to retrieve that thing that crashed through the church window.  It looked like a container of some sort.  They were causing almost as much damage as the crash itself caused, and when I complained this young man in a dark suit and sunglasses pointed his gun at my head.  He couldn't have been older than twenty – twenty five tops,  and said that he was sure that one more casualty wouldn't make much of a difference. And I was sure he meant it.  So I stepped away, and they took whatever it was away on a flatbed."  He shook his head, and Matt noticed his hair seemed a bit greyer at the temples than he remembered.  The older priest continued.

  "I'm glad it's gone anyway, and even happier that you're alright."  He patted Matt on the hand as a look of sorrow crossed his face.  "But I'm afraid the Mission is a total loss, son.  The damage is too great, and the archbishop will never fund any reconstruction.  Hell – he wanted to shut us down in the first place!"

  "I'll have none of that talk, Father.  The 'Friends of Saint Jude' were going to help restore the church and mission, and I don't see how anything that has happened changes that", Sasha said sternly.  "If anything, it will become more of a 'cause celeb', after the destruction down here in Boomtown."  She stood and began to clear the table.  "You gentlemen leave everything to me."  She wrinkled her nose in Matt's direction.  "And you, sir, should take a shower while the water is still on."

  Matt nodded.  Father Kennedy helped him up from the chair and the two men started back towards the small bathroom they shared.  Matt paused in the doorway and turned back to Sasha.  "Thank you, Sasha.  For everything."  She nodded and smiled wanly, turning back to the sink as the two men made their way down the hall.

******** 








(To be continued....)

[thalaw2]

I'm about half way through.  Good stuff!  Narration could be a little tighter but nice pacing so far.