Trent Phloog’s third-person flashback continues …
The Marketable Universe, July 4, 1976
The City Room of The Manhattan Project, nerve center of that great daily newspaper, was empty on the sweltering summer afternoon except for the lone figure of Trent Phloog. The unpaid cub reporter, his padded Robert Mitchum suit soaked in perspiration, snoozed at his desk, his snores in concert with the rattling sounds of the window fans and the smooth murmur of ceiling fans, neither of which did anything to combat the sultry New York City heat.
With a ping, the elevator doors opened; Preston Percy, attired in his usual dress shirt, slacks, tie, patent leather shoes, brushed-back mullet and mirrored aviator glasses, burst into the City Room.
“Quick! Turn on the TV!” he cried.
Trent, roused from his slumbers, muttered, “Preston, what are you doing here? … It’s a Federal holiday. Only unpaid cub reporters like me are on the job, monitoring the wire services …”
“Yeah? Well has it hit the wires yet?” said Preston, searching the desk of City Editor Rudy Mayo. “If it hasn’t, it will any minute. You’ve got to hear this, Megaton Man! … Where’s that gosh-darn remote?”
“Rudy doesn’t like people going through his desk,” Trent warned. “Besides, we’ve been through this before—I’m not Megaton Man!”
“Christ, it’s hot in here,” said Preston, giving up his search for the remote. Instead, grabbing a chair, he climbed up and turned on the television set suspended from the ceiling. “Is the air conditioning broke or something?”
“They always cut the AC on Sundays,” said Trent. “I should know, since the office of The Manhattan Project are just about the only place I can afford to live in New York City!”
“Hasn’t Greeley found you a place to live, yet?” asked Preston. “Buncha cheapskates at the Pentagon … Remind me to talk to him about that.”
“You know Mr. Greeley?” asked Trent, confused. “That nice Mr. Finlay W. Greeley?! Why, I haven’t heard from him since I left Microville.”
“Of course I know Greeley,” said Preston. “He’s my boss now; he recruited me to be your handler, Megaton Man—I got a call from the White House the same afternoon you arrived. I work for Office 17a now; this two-bit gig as a copyboy here at the Project is nothing more than a cover, now—I’m here only so I can keep an eye on you and make sure the Man of Molecules doesn’t do anything stupid! So, you can drop the pretense, Megaton Man.”
The black-and-white television, finally warmed-up, intoned, “… my gift to America on her 200th birthday will be the total destruction of New York City!” Although the image was grainy, the expression of a leering, villainous face was clear enough. “To that end, I challenge America’s Nuclear-Powered hero to a battle to end all battles!” He shook his fist into the camera. “Meet me at the Statue of Liberty in one hour! If America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero fails to show, Megatropolis shall feel the wrath of … the Son of the Submersible Mer-Man!”
“Woo!” said Megaton Man. “Preston Percy knows I’m really Megaton Man! And that evildoer, whoever he is, has lso learned I’m in town. You didn’t tell him, did you, Preston Percy?”
Preston, who was still standing on the chair next to the TV, grew indignant. “Of course not, Megaton Man! Why would I expose your secret identity—especially when you do the job so well yourself?”
“But, how do we know this threat is real?” asked Trent. “It could just be some TV prank to boost ratings; the wire services have been quiet all day …”
Suddenly, the teleprinter began clacking away, spiting out a news flash. Preston hopped down from his chair, walked over to the machine, and lit a cigarette as he waited for it to complete its task. When the clacking stopped, he tore off a length of paper and read its contents:
New York City/Megatropolis, New York (July 4, 1976, 1:05 pm EDT)—KNS—Kolordot News Service—Bicentennial celebrations of the signing of the Declaration of Independence across the nation were interrupted as all television and radio airwaves along the East Coast were seized by a person claiming to be the “Son of the Submersible Mer-Man” who issued a challenge to “America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero” to a showdown at the Statue of Liberty. This person threatened destruction to New York City, America’s greatest Megatropolis, should the megahero fail to show.
The Submersible Mer-Man, sometimes referred to as the Amphibious Antediluvian, was a frequent rival of America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero during World War II who sought to destroy the modern civilization of land-dwellers from his undersea base. However, since the 1950s, sightings of the mysterious, watery warlord have been infrequent …
“Woo!” said Trent. “The Son of the Submersible Mer-Man!”
“Do you know who that is?” asked Preston.
“Never heard of him!” replied Trent. “But I better hot-foot it to the Statue of Liberty! Oh, where am I going to get a shoe shine? No, wait—I’m not going as Robert Mitchum; I’m going as America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero! … I better go potty first!”
Trent disappeared down the hall to the ladies’ room.
Preston took a drag on his cigarette and studied the wire release again. “What’s all this ‘Megatropolis’ crap?” he said to himself. “I wish they’d stop giving new nicknames to the Big Apple.”
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***
Meanwhile, in their midtown skyscraper headquarters, the Quantum Quest Quartet had just finished listening to the same broadcast announcement. The Cosmic Cue-Ball, which had lay dormant all day in its wired-up cake dish, was suddenly bouncing around inside its glass chamber, frantic.
“The Submersible Mer-Man!” shouted Yarn Man. “The Amphibious Antediluvian! Who knew they were one and the same, let alone that he had a kid?”
“Whoever this ‘son’ is, Bing, he’s issued a challenge,” said Liquid Man, “to America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero—and to the Quantum Quest Quartet!”
“America’s Nuclear Powered Hero—that would be me,” said the Human Meltdown, a mushroom cloud of steam rising from his head. “Growing up, I always heard stories of how my pap and grandpap faced off against some guy from the deep blue sea back in the day. I thought they were just family legends, but I guess behind every legend is a kernel of truth!”
“It’s all too true, Chuck,” said Rex. “At the time, Major Meltdown and Magma managed to fend off that overgrown fish and his aquatic minions, thus saving human civilization—so that we could get back to the important work of destroying ourselves during World War II! Now, apparently, the offspring of the Undersea Ubermensch has returned to settle accounts!”
“Wait a minute,” said Bing. “How do we know this isn’t some crummy imposter? Besides, he’s threatening to destroy some place called ‘Megatropolis’—what do we care? Don’t we have our hands full enough, defending New York City?”
“You forget, old chum,” said Rex, “Megatropolis is what they call New York City in the Federal, or District Universe. Maybe that’s where this villain has been hiding, lo, these many decades.”
“Imposter or not, he’ll find America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero more than a match for him,” said Chuck. “Statue of Liberty, here I come! As soon as I say my magic word …”
“Wait!” cried the See-Thru Girl. “Chuck, you can’t face the Son of the Submersible Mer-Man alone! You’re not some neglected orphan, living off the streets anymore. You have a family …”
“Stella’s right,” said Rex. “Even Major Meltdown had his sidekick—that little bastard, Magma, who later became the Junior Meltdown—to help out. You can’t go it alone, Chuck …”
“You’re part of a team now, kid,” said Yarn Man, clapping Chuck on the shoulder with a red mitten. “You should at least take Stella and Rex with you; I’ll stay here and keep the home fires burning … and watch more of these patriotic parades and picnics on TV …”
“We’re all going with the Human Meltdown, Bing,” said Rex. “Everyone, to the Q-Mobile!”
“I’m not waiting for you slowpokes in that flying jalopy,” said Chuck. “Us male Meltdowns are too impulsive and reckless for that! With one magic word … Critical Mass!”
With that phrase, the Human Meltdown burst into a pulsating mass of pyroclastic protoplasm and became airborne.
“Darn that kid and his blasted radiation,” said Yarn Man. “If it weren’t for my thermal-protected outer hide, I’d have died of too many rems. I don’t know how in the heck you two stay alive …”
“You forget that I, too, am a Meltdown,” said Stella. “The See-Thru Girl may not manifest the same dazzling megapowers as my half-brother …”
“Turning naked with but a thought is plenty dazzling, let me tell you,” said Bing.
“And I’m impervious to radiation,” said Rex, “being nothing more than a gelatinous mass trapped inside a skin of Quarantinium-Quelluminum. But I’m more concerned that Chuck doesn’t burn through an outer wall—I’d hate to have to call the interior decorator on the Fourth of July!”
Rex pressed a button on a control panel to open the roof of the skyscraper; the pneumatic hoist lowered just enough, allowing the Human Meltdown to escape into sky over Manhattan.
The other three members of the team clambered into the Q-Mobile; Rex, behind the wheel, rolled the vehicle onto the lowered platform. Using controls on the dashboard, Rex commanded the platform to rise again; soon, the Q-Mobile was on the roof of the Quantum Tower, and moments later was in flight.
Yarn Man happened to look down and saw trucks unloading large, wooden boxes along Fifth Avenue, some forty stories below. “What’s all that activity down on the plaza?” he asked. “Looks like we’re getting some kind of special delivery or somethin’.”
“That would be the logo I ordered,” said Rex. “‘The Quantum Quest Quartet,’ spelled out in thirty-foot letters. The Devengers will be able to read it even from New Jersey, day or night. I can’t wait to see those glowing letters in place on top of the Quantum Tower—and the faces of the Lens, Colonel Turtle, and the Angel of Death! But, first things first—where did Chuck go?”
“The Human Meltdown’s dead ahead,” said Stella. “He’s already halfway to Liberty Island—and his appointment with the Son of the Submersible Mer-Man!”
***
The Human Meltdown circled the Statue of Liberty, looking everywhere for the foe that had issued the challenge. “I don’t see any Mer-Man, Submersible or otherwise! Somebody must be pulling my leg!”
Below, on Liberty Island, crowds that had gathered to commemorate the Bicentennial looked up and gawked at the flying meteorite of pyroclastic ectoplasm. Lost in the crowd, an elderly, slender man with a slight paunch gazed up through thick, opaque glasses. He wore an orange jumpsuit, short boots and gauntleted gloves; his wild, white hair gave him a somewhat unhinged look.
“All goes according to plan,” the codger muttered through an evil grimace. “The plan of Dr. Braindead! Soon, Quantum Quest Quartet, you will lead me to what I desire, what I’ve chased through a thousand different realities—the Cosmic Cue-Ball! Eh, but what’s this?”
Over the skyline of Manhattan, an over-muscled, primary-colored figure was flying toward the statue.
Aboard the Q-Mobile, the same flying figure was also observed.
“Lookit that,” said Yarn Man. “A big, over-muscled galloot is flying toward the Statue of Liberty. Who does he remind me of?”
“You’re thinking of Farley Phloog!” said Rex. “We met him on many trips to the other megahero universe, Bing. But this fellow seems too young be the Original Golden Age Megaton Man …”
“Another crummy imposter!” said Bing.
“Whoever he is, he sure is manly and handsome,” said the See-Thru Girl. “Something about all those rippling muscles makes we weak in the knees!”
Rex winced and was about to remark on his young wife’s wandering eye. But before he could, Bing said, “Don’t look now, but Chuck and the over-muscled galloot have spotted each other!”
***
“Woo!” said Megaton Man. “That swirling mass of pyroclastic ectoplasm dead ahead can only be the Submersible Mer-Man! Although I kinda expected someone with scales, gills, and fins.”
“Who are you, stranger?” Chuck shouted back at Trent. “I’m the Human Meltdown, America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero! If you’re the evildoer who threatened New York City, you just bought yourself a load of trouble, friend!”
“America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero? You?” replied Megaton Man. “I’m the one and only Man of Molecules, buddy! And I don’t take threats to my beloved Megatropolis lightly!”
“We’ve been set up,” said Rex. “Whoever issued that challenge to ‘America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero,’ they’ve gotten more than they bargained for—the Human Meltdown and Megaton Man are about to engage in the Bicentennial Battle of the Millennium!”