It seemed to me as we watched the bank of surveillance screens in the darkened guard station that Gene Griffin was anticipating an assault on the Doomsday Factory from land, sea, and air to rival Operation Overlord on D-Day. Yet, despite his misgivings, he projected the brash confidence that we could handily repel the invaders from atop the promontory of Constable Hook for days and weeks, if not forever—just him, me, my sister, my grandma, my former housemate’s invalid father, and a stray black cat named Dr. Sax. Gene reminded me of Daddy, my adoptive father, with his take-charge attitude; Daddy, who could turn a leaky roof into the most insurmountable challenge our family had ever faced, yet certain we would inevitably triumph in the end. This is what turned me on about Gene.

I knew the threat on Ms. Megaton’s life was real, but could not imagine the precise form it might take. The closest thing I could recall was the impromptu missile attack on Trent and Simon Phloog in Broadway Park in Ann Arbor, mounted by an organization called the Arms of Krupp. As Ms. Megaton Man, I was able to divert two explosive projectiles in mid-air—one by taking it in the back, which left me quite sore for the next several weeks.

I asked Gene if the Arms of Krupp or a similar organization existed in the civilian Reality.

“Arms of Krupp? Never heard of ‘em,” said Gene. “It’s more likely to be the mob—you heard the discussion before. Bart Gamble has more ties to the underworld than he has actual silk ties—or Bonwit Teller cufflinks—for that matter.”

“The Megatropolis Mob,” I said.

I had to explain to Gene that New York City was known alternatively as Megatropolis in my native timeline. “The Megatown Mob,” said Gene. “Yeah, that’s as good a name as any.”

He filled me in on what he knew: that it was run by some mysterious femme fatale who with long, dark hair who always wears red named Rose Shark, and that she was supposedly a distant member of the Gamble crime family, perhaps Bart’s own cousin. It had become a legend how “Rose” consolidated power of all the Five Boroughs’ crime families in one meticulously orchestrated ambush in Hell’s Kitchen a few years back—literally, the Slaughter on Tenth Avenue and just as operatic as Richard Roger’s musical composition.

“She wields power ruthlessly,” said Gene. “If she’s working for her cousin now that he’s President-Elect, as I suspect she is, we’re in for a rough time. The toughs of Detroit are one thing, but I’ve never been up against a challenge like this.”

“What about your partner, the Clown?” I asked. “Where is he?” In my reality, Gene worked with an operative named Allan Jordan, who had a background as a Hollywood stuntman and a reputation as a Master of Disguise.

“Who? Never heard of him, either,” protested Gene. “I always work alone.”

“Well, don’t worry,” I said, touching his arm. “Ms. Megaton has your back.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Gene, who reluctantly pushed away my hand. “We need to think straight and remain clear-headed.”

“Come to think of it, that’s my problem,” I said. “I can’t think straight when I’m horny.”

I took his hand and moved it to my breast.

“I told you, this is not a time to be distracted,” said Gene.

I grabbed him and kissed him. I wasn’t aware of using my megapowers, but I wasn’t about to let go, and he relented.

“I’m very focused,” I said, sliding my thigh against his crotch. I could feel him stirring. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. The Megatown Mob isn’t going to mount an assault in broad daylight. Judging from the monitors, all’s quiet on the western front. We’ve got at least a few minutes to kill. So let’s kill them.”

***

After Gene and I let off steam—I insisted on twice for good measure—it was a pretty uneventful afternoon. I left Gene to his inspection of security measures around the Doomsday Factory grounds while I retired to the dormitory floor. I took a nap while my sister practiced her guitars. Perhaps the somber diminished scales and minor Dorian, Phrygian, and Locrian modes she obsessed over—in all twelve keys—influenced my dreams. But I was convinced I was back in Egypt.

“What is this, the bank of the Nile?” I said.

Michele Selket, in her golden attire, walked barefoot across a placid stream and onto the hot sand of the beach. “This is the Nile of your imagination,” she said. “Kind of Hollywood, if you ask me, with all those palm trees and phony King Tut props.”

“You should talk, with that gold lamé leotard you’ve got on,” I said.

“This is historically researched,” said Michele, her lustrous black hair blowing in a gentle, arid breeze.

“You look ravishing. But why am I dreaming of you right after fucking the most well-hung male lover I’ve ever had—twice?”

“This isn’t a dream, exactly,” said Michele.

“Oh, that’s right—this is how you communicate across dimensions. I missed that the last time. Sorry.”

“No problem,” said Michele. “There’s nothing to report, really. You’re sister and everyone are all right, and Clarissa Too is managing your classes just fine. There are a couple students who probably deserve to flunk, but she’ll likely give the benefit of the doubt and pass them with a low-D.”

“I’m not all right,” I pointed out. “I’m stuck in the wrong universe. This civilian Reality doesn’t have any megaheroes at all, besides Ms. Megaton, and I’m hardly the person to fill those shoes. I haven’t been feeling the megahero thing since forever, let alone being the only one.”

“Your ambivalence is duly noted,” said Michele. “Maybe that’s why you’re here.”

“How did I get here, anyway? You were supposed to send Clarissa Too back home. Instead, you sent me in her place.”

“If there’s any operating principal to the Multimensional travel, it’s that you always are where you belong,” said Michele. “Do you remember how I instructed Clarissa Too to concentrate on where she belonged? Apparently, you wanted it more.”

“But I don’t belong here,” I said. “I don’t know where I belong. And now I’ve got the President-Elect of the United State out to get me. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Where you belong has nothing to do with fairness,” said Michele. “It’s more about what you need to learn.”

“Now you’re just riffing on hackneyed Doctor Messiah-isms,” I said. “I don’t have time for this shit. I want to be rescued—now, right this minute.”

“Think about what you’re asking,” replied Michele. “Your sister, your grandmother, Gene, Seymour—they’re all in danger because of you. They’re taking enormous risks to save your life. Even if I could, would you really want me to throw Clarissa Too into this situation, having lost her powers and limping with a cane?”

I had to think about this a moment. “I suppose not,” I said. “But I’m no hero. Oh, this is bullshit—you’re a worse manipulator than Preston Percy.”

“It’s completely up to you,” said Michele. “There is some lesson here for you, some lesson you must master before this is done.”

“I’ll tell you what would set this right. Clarissa Too needs to get her powers back and switch places with me—‘cause this is not my problem.”

“Your argument is with the vast Multimensions, not with me,” said Michele, fading from view.

“Oh, that’s just dandy,” I said. “Come to me in my dreams looking all hot and gorgeous, just after I’ve gotten a good lay, then leave me here on a hot beach next to the Nile with romantic palm trees and pyramids. Some kind of friend and sometime lover you are.”

***

I woke up to screeching feedback from Avie’s amp down the hall.

“Sorry,” she shouted.

“No problem,” I muttered to myself. I had to get up to pee anyway.

Outside my dorm room window, dusk was falling over the distant Manhattan skyline; bathed in artificial illumination, the Statue of Liberty gleamed beyond the gantry cranes of the Port of New York and New Jersey.

After I took a pee, I joined Avie in the commons room. “Where is everybody?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” she said. “Not even Dr. Sax. This place is Dullsville.”

“I’m sure the Doomsday Factory will live up to its name before long.

I returned to the guard station on the ground-level floor. It was vacant. But as the camera views shifted, I spotted Gene. He appeared to be on the pebbly the shore below the promontory, along the Upper Bay.

I ventured out of the factory and made my way down the hillside to the shore, taking a path around most of the stands of trees. When I got to the shore, Gene had his binoculars out and was focused on something in the distance.

“Gene, what the heck are you doing out here?” I called out.

“I could ask the same of you,” he said. “You’re supposed to be one we’re protecting. You belong inside.”

“Yeah, with my sister’s screeching amp,” I said. “I needed the exercise.”

Gene handed me the binoculars. In the distance was a rubber raft.

“One of the cameras picked up some suspicious activity down here along the water,” said Gene. “Somebody rowing up. Then, there was some kind of flash of light. When I got down here, there was no one.”

“What color was the light?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Gene. “The closed-circuit television cameras are black-and-white. It was just … light. Why? Is that significant.”

“Could be,” I said. “So, there’s a rubber raft off shore. What’s the significance of that?” I handed him back the binoculars.

“I don’t know, but it’s not moving. It’s in the shipping lane; it should have swept out to sea long ago.” Gene tucked the binoculars away. “C’mon, let’s get you back inside.”

***

Grandma Seedy, Avie, and Dr. Sax were having dinner in the pantry lounge when returned. In fact, Seedy had been just as industrious in the afternoon as in the morning, having sewn a navy blue body suit for Avie that matched the Wondrous Warhound costume of her counterpart in my reality—identical, except for the dog mask.

“Are we all going to dress up as megaheroes now and scare off the Arms of Krupp, or the Megatown Mob, or Bad Guy himself?” I asked rhetorically.

“I’m thinking of becoming a costumed crime fighter,” said Avie.

“But you don’t have megapowers, Avie,” I said. “You’re not bulletproof.”

“Not yet,” she said, cryptically.

“A body suit is practical,” said Seedy. “She’ll be more mobile in case of attack.”

“Where’s she going to conceal her weapons?” I asked.

“No need to conceal them,” said Avie. “Gene can give me holsters and belts and stuff.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Gene. “Where’s Dr. Starlight?”

“He’s been on the top floor all afternoon,” said Seedy.

“What’s he doing up there?”

“Heaven knows,” said Seedy. “There’s nothing up there but that cursed ring table and a few chalkboards, scrawled with physics equations that came to nothing forty years ago.”

“Those physics equations spawn two universes of megaheroes in my timeline,” I reminded her.

“I went up there half an hour ago and told him dinner was served,” said Avie. “He was just sitting his wheelchair, going over some notes that had been left up there. Do you want I should tyro to go up there again and get him?”

“Let’s finish dinner first,” said Gene. “Afterwards, we’ll go up there—all of us, together—and bring him back down. Now that I’m convinced the building and grounds are as secure as possible, I’m not letting anyone of you out of my sight. We stick together—for the rest of the night, and from now on.”

***

When we got off the elevator, the attic floor was shrouded in darkness, and even more creepy than it had been that morning, with that waxworks of ancient Burly Boy, Girly Man scientists gathered around the ring table, arguing about why their efforts to create an Atomic Soldier in 1940 had failed miserably.

Now, the skylight above the table was dark—it wasn’t a starry night; that would have been impossible, given the refracted light from Manhattan, some five miles away. Instead, it was a miserable, cloudless murk.

Dr. Seymour Starlight, ironically, sat below this starless skylight lost in contemplation. The only illumination were some fluorescent lighting along the perimeter of the ceiling, but by no means all of it; the effect was a kind of darkened stage, where a drama of the mind unfolded.

Seymour was startled when Seedy hit all the lights, and they crackled and flickered on, flooding the white-walled room.

“Good Lord!” cried Seymour. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“It’s all of us,” said Gene, reiterating his orders that everyone stick together.

Dr. Sax was the first to cross the floor and leap into Seymour’s lap, upsetting his notes, which the good doctor took in stride.

“I believe it will work,” said Seymour.

“What’s that?” asked Seedy.

“The Atomic Soldier, of course. Amazing the perspective that forty years can offer. I see exactly where we went wrong—in both cases. I’d never paid all that much attention to the Burly Boy side of the project, but I see now that we were both on the wrong track. We just rushed a little. Of course, knowing that both experiments proved successful in Clarissa’s timeline is helpful. She’s right, I believe her. Both a Megaton Man and a Human Meltdown are possible. Eminently possible.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my credibility, finally,” I said. “But you’re about forty years too late. Government funding for you little experiment dried up before Pearl Harbor.”

“Too late? Not necessarily,” said Seymour. “All the equipment is still intact, every circuit bought and paid for. I’m sure Rex noticed it himself, the way he was studying those chalkboards. It’s only a matter of fine tuning of adjusting the precise amounts of radioactive material, energy …”

“What are you cooking up, Seymour?” asked Seedy. “You’re not thinking …”

“Why not? Look who’s just been elected president of the United States—a virtual megavillain. It’s worse than Hitler coming to power in German. At least then, the Axis faced opposition for England, France, America: the Allies. Who will rescue the United States now, if it should fall into tyranny?”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” asked Gene. “Using the Doomsday Factory to manufacture megaheroes … in 1984?”

“You’ve taken leave of your sense, Seymour,” said Seedy. “You saw the lower levels this morning; one of them is still hot …”

“Not to a lethal level,” said Seymour. “We can wear protective gear; we would only be exposed for short durations …” His eyes fell on my sister in her svelte body suit.

“So, that’s what you’re thinking, are you?” I cried. “Turning ray beams on my sister and bombarding her with enough radiation to light up Newark! Well, if you think I’m going to stand for this …”

“Who else is there?” asked Avie. “I’ve been listening to all the conversation. It has to be the right kind of metabolism. And I’m related to you, Clarissa.”

“You’re my half-sister, Avie,” I pointed out. “I inherited my megapowers from Clyde Phloog, the Silver Age Megaton Man. Farley Phloog was the Original Golden Age Megaton Man; Trent Phloog was the Bronze Age … all the Megaton Men shared the Phloog set of genes. It doesn’t come from the James side of the family.”

Avie was crushed at this; she never liked me pointing out that she was “just” my half-sister, and especially not at this moment. I thought she was going to burst out crying.

“I think it would work,” said Seedy. “I can’t tell you why, but I have a feeling.”

“There’s no time to lose,” said Seymour. “We must begin immediately. First, of course, we call back Glenn and Brenda, Orson and Hyacinth, have the whole group run over the numbers one more time ...”

“It will take weeks to get both labs up and running,” said Seedy, counting on her fingers.

“Just days,” said Seymour. “This time, instead of breaking up into separate Megaton and Meltdown teams, we’ll concentrate on one at a time. You and I were on the Meltdown team, Seedy, but this time we’ll all work on the Project Megaton. We already know that works; we have the living proof right here, in Clarissa. Then, if there’s time, the Meltdown.”

Seymour was ready to call up his colleagues right then and there, and would have, were it not for the Doomsday Factory lacking phone lines.

“You both are out of your freaking skulls,” I said. “Dr. Starlight I could understand, but my own grandmother! Dr. Mercedith Robeson James! Good Lord.” I turned to Gene, who had brought along his submachine gun. “Gene, I want you to shoot them both, right now.”

“Look, it’s been a long day,” said Gene. “We could all use a good night’s rest. Let’s sleep on this and see what matters look like in the morning.”

Just then, a slow, moaning sound shuddered through the building.

“What the hell’s that?” asked Avie.

“It’s what the elevator sounds like up here,” said Seedy. “The works are right above us on the roof.”

“Nothing to worry about,” said Gene, “except who is riding the elevator when all of us are up here?”

We listened for several tense minutes as the car descended down the shaft, stopping on the ground floor. Then, the creaking resumed.

“Somebody’s coming up here,” said Avie.

“How could they have defeated the passcodes and alarms?” said Gene. He looked at Seymour. “Dr. Starlight, you couldn’t have already phoned the other Burly Boy, Girly Man scientists …”

“Of course not,” said Seymour.

“Maybe Rex Rigid forgot his hat,” said Seedy.

We listened as the car of the elevator reached the attic floor and came to a stop. Abruptly, the vertical gates of the car slid open.

Inside were Stella Starlight, Trent Phloog, and their little boy, Simon.

“So this is the Doomsday Factory,” said. “I was expecting something a little less shabby.”