Wright noticed the Equalizer’s look. “Right on, baby. In primary-colour glory, on that cover there. I modelled Major Patriot on Captain Freedom. Of course, to my mind a Captain wasn’t authority enough —‘Major’ has a much nicer ring to it.”
“Yeah, well. I guess once Captain America hit the big time, copycat patriotic heroes became abundant,” Jack said.
Wright looked at him, all straight face. “Pot-Kettle-Black.”
“Whatever. But your costume’s slightly different from the one in the picture.”
“The good Captain had a few wardrobe switches over the years, depending on the artist. This was my favourite.”
Gypsie-Anne glanced at her boss. “You didn’t have the imagination to conjure up your own?”
“I was a hero, not a haberdasher.” Wright chuckled. “Allow me to provide a brief history.”
“Do you have to?”
“Yes,” said the publisher, Mark II, as he swept up the Colt pistol from the Mk. I on the floor. “Captain Freedom was first published in 1941, through to 1947, by a little-known company called Brookwood Publications, and then Harvey Comics.”
“Quality. The home of Richie Rich and Casper the Friendly Ghost,” deadpanned Gypsie-Ann.
Jack produced a tentative smile. So — she did know her comics. “And let us never forget Baby Huey and Wendy the Good Little Witch.”
“Absolute classics,” the reporter agreed.
Wright now squirmed a fraction. “Whatever. You know, it’s likely your artistic hero Jack Kirby designed that cover there, alongside Joe Simon. The duo was reputed to make use of the alias ‘Jon Henri’. Can you see it in the lower left-hand corner? So, laugh all you will.”
The picture was crude, ugly stuff — Jack marvelled at how much better Kirby’s work had gotten by the height of the swinging ’60s. Still, the old comicbook was likely a collector’s item, worth a king’s fortune in the real world.
“I hear nobody laughing,” he said.
“Then shut up and allow me to finish my rant. Newspaper publisher Don Wright, physically perfect and blessed with incredible willpower, dons a mask to fight the Axis enemies. When AC Comics briefly revived the character in the 1980s, Captain Freedom also became a set of clones.”
The man lit his cigar and puffed.
“I’m positive you both would’ve noticed him, if you weren’t goddamned narrow-minded in your choice of hero-worship. As for the ‘Patriot’ part of the name, I wanted to give some hint as to who I might be — since I run a paper called the Patriot. But no one picked up on the clue. How mundane.”
“So you’re a nihilistic clown,” Gypsie-Ann decided.
“Sticks and stones.”
“With a dire range in come-backs. No wonder you prefer geriatric golden-age comics, chopped together when things were much — simpler.”
“You want simple? You have no idea how many of me there are, or where we all might be at any given time. Getting down to the nitty-gritty, you can’t hope to stop us.”
Jack had finally finished wiping gunk off his face. “We can still fight.”
Wright smiled. “That, I’m banking on.”
“We prevented the Reset. That’s not going to happen anymore.”
“So you have all the more to lose. What were you thinking — that I’d care about the Reset? I’ve decided I don’t give a donkey’s arse. Blandos shouldn’t feel pain, sweat, cry, scream, and fornicate — yet they do. Why? These are not true human beings. Phonies were all born to be slaves. They’re not worth your idiotic concern. Yet here we are and, Jack, I’m certain you’re well-qualified to debate the point.”
The Equalizer’s fist was curling before he knew it, but Gypsie-Ann laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Donald Wright leaned on the desktop and examined them both with contempt.
“Worth? I’ll give you worth. They say audacity is a true hero’s weapon, contempt for Blandos another. You people want to get into bed with the local population, so it stands to reason you have to protect them. Every Blando that dies will be a scar on your conscience. Rather pathetic, really. But worth every moment.”
“Speak in plain English,” the reporter muttered.
“Certainly. I decided to open up the field, to make things more — interesting. This also boosts my wallet in the real-deal world, so I’m hardly complaining.”
Jack studied him. “You went to the government back in Melbourne.”
Leaning back, cigar clenched between his teeth, Wright beamed. “Precisely what I did, baby. I told them all about Heropa and gave them access via my backdoor, even have a trans-barrier phone to stay in touch. They’re now using this as a training ground to harden up recruits. Oh, they have their own idInteract programs, but Heropa offers something a fraction more…exotic.”