Night Sentry, Protector of Benington

Introduction:

Why shouldn’t a small city have its own mystery hero?

Setting:

Benington, Colorado, 1961

Rocky Mountain Guy

‘Kansas City must have the best steaks in the world!’ Lee Han thought as she pulled back onto the highway. She’d had steak and eggs for breakfast, steak and fries for lunch, and steak and baked potato for dinner. She’d have been stuffed and pretty much unable to move if she’d been anyone else, but with her adjustable metabolism, she’d run it all off easily. ‘I’ll definitely be back - and soon!’

Yesterday she’d noticed a slight shimmy in the steering wheel; something was wrong with the front-end suspension. She figured it had something to do with the spin she’d taken a couple of days ago, and then the weaving and bumping she’d done yesterday to terrify ‘Rio lahk the rivah’, but it didn’t feel like anything major; she’d have it looked at the next time she found herself near a Studebaker dealer, likely in Denver. But she didn’t get that far.

She reached the Rockies, and the road was starting to climb. She was driving through a deep pass, when suddenly a rock crashed down the cliff beside her and into the road in front of her. With her heightened reflexes, she was able to yank the wheel to the left to avoid it, but the left front wheel smashed into another rock that had fallen earlier, and whatever had been wobbling now broke. She had already slammed on the brakes, and she gutted it out until the car spun to a halt — again.

Lee got out and started swearing; the front end of the car listed toward the left, and the front left wheel was leaning at a crazy angle. She couldn’t leave the car in the middle of the fast lane, though, so she started it again and inched it off the road, wincing in sympathetic pain as the left front tire wheel shredded against the fender. She was growing attached to this car, and it hurt her to see and hear this new damage.

“Another disaster. What am I, Wile E. Coyote? Or maybe I’m on Candid Camera!” she yelled at the top of her voice, and listened angrily as the echoes died away. She screamed out her entire vocabulary of curse words for the next five minutes, pausing occasionally to listen to the echoes. ‘I’m starting to repeat myself,’ she finally thought with a laugh. She’d never cut loose like that before. ‘Won’t do any good to stand around screaming any longer. There’s things I’ve got to do,’ she reminded herself. ‘Though it did feel good!’

She had seen enough highway patrol cars on this leg of the drive to be sure one would come past sooner or later, so she would have help soon if she just waited. But she couldn’t take the chance that they’d find two million dollars in the trunk. A little super-friction heating, and she was able to pry the trunk open again, but the latch was now mangled beyond repair. She carried the cash bags down the bank of the river that ran to the left of the highway. She found a large pile of brush washed up against the bank near a sharp bend, and she buried the cases in the pile. It was a decent temporary hiding place. She returned to the car and settled back to wait.

About forty-five minutes later, a highway patrol cruiser pulled up behind her car. The cops were sympathetic and promised to take her to someone who could help her, but they were vague and secretive about who it would be. She sensed some kind of private joke, but she went along with it. A few minutes later, they passed the city limits sign for the small city of Benington, Colorado, and instead of heading for a service station as she’d expected, the patrol car pulled up to the shop of a blacksmith.

“Don’t worry, Miss,” the police sergeant chuckled as he saw Lee’s puzzled expression at being brought to a blacksmith’s shop. “Wayland Steele’s also the best mechanic for miles around.”

His partner snickered, “The only one for miles around,” but they both ignored him.

“Around here, see, it’s a mite different than what you big city folks are used to. Folks are still as likely as not to get around on their horses as in a car. Cheaper, more reliable, and a durn sight better in the snow!” He smiled. “Int’restin’ his name is Steele, him being a blacksmith an’ all, isn’t it? If he can’t get the car fixed, nobody can. Probably can point you to a place to stay, too.” He hopped out of the patrol car and opened the rear door for her. “If you have any problems at all, you just call Highway Patrol Post 37 and ask for Sergeant Lester — that’s me!”

Kind of ironic that a cop would be sweet on me,’ she thought. “Thanks, guys. I should be OK from here.”

She waved as they left, and walked into the smithy. It was hot, probably close to a hundred degrees, but ever since she had gained her powers, heat no longer bothered her much. A big man dressed in black leather was pounding away at a glowing iron bar; she was amazed at his strength and skill as he quickly and easily formed it into a horseshoe, then quenched it in a tub of oil. He finally noticed her, put down his tools, and removed his mask. He was an imposing man, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, muscular arms, and a handsome face, with a twinkle in his dark eyes, a big smile, and white-blond hair in a short, flat-topped crewcut.

‘Looks a lot like Bud Barcley, but with white hair,’ she thought. Bud Barcley was a famous pilot, explorer, and adventurer on the parallel Earth she’d come from.

“Hey, pretty lady, c’mon in here — it’s a lot cooler.” Wayland Steele walked through a door, waving her to follow. “Welcome to the House of Steele. What can I do for you?”

The room she stepped into gave her more confidence that he could fix her car; it was a large, cool garage with several bays, a lift, and auto mechanic’s equipment scattered throughout.

“Smithy, auto mechanic, small engine repairs, and a tip-top machine shop,” he continued. “Whatever you need, I oughtta be able to fix you right up!”

He certainly didn’t lack for confidence. She was happy to hear that confidence; she’d liked her poor, damaged Studebaker Commander and wanted to have it fixed up right.

“The highway patrol says you can fix cars; I need you to fix mine.” She followed this up by telling him about her crash.

“So, I’ll take the wrecker up to the highway and tow her back here to see what she needs,” said Wayland. “Wanna ride along?”

Of course she did; she needed to make sure he didn’t do any exploring down on the riverbank.

“I have to say, I never ever expected to meet a blacksmith in my entire life,” Lee said wonderingly as the big truck roared to life. “Didn’t know there were any left.”

“Well, it’s a big country, an’ a lot of folks ain’t ready to give up their hosses just yet. Sides, fixin’ cars just don’t take up ’nuff time to keep me busy.”

“So, where’d you learn to fix cars, anyway?” She still wanted reassurance that he’d take good care of her car.

“B’lieve it or not, in the Navy! I did maintenance and engineering on a troopship for five years. Worked on ever’thin’ from the ship’s engines to her generators to the radar, sonar, and communications gear to the kitchen appliances. When you’re halfway ‘tween California and Korea, you can’t just call out for the Sears guy to come fix what’s broken. Reckon I can fix just about anything, mostly better’n new.” He turned and winked at her. “So, tell me ’bout you.”

She wasn’t really comfortable talking about herself. She’d spent some of the lonely hours on her drive figuring out her public story, but she’d prefer to keep him talking. “What’s a Navy guy doing in the mountains? There’s no water within a hundred miles where you can float anything bigger than a kayak.”

“You got that ‘xactly right!” Wayland agreed vehemently. “After five years on that damned boat, I don’t never again wanna see more water in one place than a farm pond!”

“You were on the same ship the whole time you were in the Navy?” she wondered.

“The C.C. Balloo, most of it,” he said. “Posted into frogman school after that, and started training for UDT, but I had to drop out. Can’t clear my ears below about sixteen feet. Could’a re-upped after that, but I had me a belly-full’a officers, and a hankerin’ to come back to the mountains. So’s here I am.”

By now they’d reached Lee’s car, and Wayland pulled the big wrecker in behind it. They got out to look over the damaged Commander. Wayland whistled. “Wooo-eee! You’re shore lucky you didn’t roll that baby!” She’d thought so, too, but she felt like she was becoming an old hand at keeping a car under control during a spin.

“Might have something to do with the low profile of the car, too,” she responded thoughtfully. Wayland was now on his back, taking a peak inside the wheel compartment.

“Looks mighty serious. Busted tie rod, toe control, and both ball joints. Plus, you’re gonna need a new wheel and tire. I’m gonna have to take ‘er back to the shop. Don’t have the parts we need there, either, gonna have to call around. Once I find ’em, prob’ly take three, four days before they get here, at least.”

“Show me!” she suggested, while thinking that once he’d located the parts, she could probably get them here a lot faster than whatever method he had in mind.

“Hold yer hosses, pretty lady!” he replied. “Once I get ‘er up on the hook, it’ll be way easier to take a look.” He looked surprised at what he’d said, then smiled. “Say, I’m a poet!”

“I guess you are, at that,” she agreed, smiling back at him. She wasn’t surprised at the diagnosis, and the wait didn’t really dismay her. She wasn’t in any hurry, and she’d already decided that this small city might offer some pleasant distractions.

Once the front end was off the ground, Wayland pointed out the damage. Lee was a good enough mechanic herself to see how serious it really was, and she shuddered as she realized how close the hit had come to totally collapsing the wheel. That likely would have flipped the car, regardless of her efforts behind the wheel. Even if she could have vibrated out of the car, it could have been very serious.

On the way back to the shop, Wayland gave her the run-down on Benington. “We got one hotel, the Benington Arms. Fancy name, and years ago it was a fancy place. It’s full up now, anyways, with the big convention in town. The widow Marmion runs a roomin’ house, cheaper ‘n the hotel, and she serves breakfast and dinner. You can prob’ly stay there. We got us the mine, the horse track, the best semi-pro football team in the ‘Merican Southwest and, once a year, the convention.”

She could tell that he approved of the convention. And it sounded like it might provide her with some business opportunities as well. If she was going to be stuck here for several days, she was going to need some more spending cash, and she didn’t want to disturb the cases buried near the riverbank unless she had to. “OK, I’ll bite. Why are you so excited about this big convention?”

“It shows, huh?” he chuckled. “The Second Annual Benington and Southwest Conference of Inventors! This year, we got a guest ‘ppearance by Joe Wright, an automotive inventor who used to be a good friend of that East Coast hero Raptor. We got more’n thirty inventors signed up to show off their new inventions and more’n a half-dozen major corporations lookin’ to license patents.” Pride was evident in his voice as he spoke.

“You’re somehow involved, aren’t you?” she guessed. She was smiling, too; his enthusiasm was contagious.

“You betcha!” said Steele, giving her a smile as big as a mountain. “I got the Chamber of Commerce to sponsor the whole thing last year. In fact, I sold a patent to DeSoto for a seventy-mile-per-gallon carburetor; oughtta start showing up in new cars around ’63. I’m gonna be rich and famous, and DeSoto is gonna be the biggest car company in the world!” He turned and winked at her. “And I got somethin’ even better comin’ this year!”

He pulled up to the garage behind the smithy. “Let me put ‘er into a bay, and I’ll walk over to widow Marmion’s with you, get you settled.” He checked his watch. “Should get there just about dinner time. You’ll love it; she’s a great cook!”

Lee was satisfied. At least something was going her way today.

A Pleasant Evening

Mrs. Marmion invited Wayland for dinner, as he had clearly expected. He managed to sit next to Lee and was very attentive to her throughout the meal. There were three other boarders, and they frequently turned the conversation to her. Eventually, her fabricated story came out.

“My name is Lee Han and I’m from Chicago. Not too long ago, my folks passed away. After they died, there was no reason for me to stay in Chicago, so I’m moving back to San Francisco, where I grew up. And I’m taking the long way there to do some sightseeing along the way.” She never gave a specific amount of her inheritance, but managed to give the impression that it was around $50,000; she didn’t want anyone thinking she was a rich heiress, but that was enough so that no one ought to wonder how she could afford to hang around Benington waiting for her car to get fixed. Her obvious sadness about her parents helped prevent a deeper level of questions.

She asked a lot of questions about the town, and Mrs. Marmion gave her some brochures with maps describing all the local attractions. Everyone was excited about the convention; it would bring about five hundred people into town and do a lot to pump up the local economy. The pleasant conversation continued over tea in the sitting room, and Lee was surprised when Wayland begged off at nine o’clock, saying he had to get his sleep. She’d been hoping he’d ask her to go for a stroll under the stars. They tried to get him to stay for some TV, but no luck.

“Drop by the shop early t’morrow, and we’ll get the paperwork out of the way,” he said with a grimace. He didn’t like paperwork any more than she did. “I’ll git started taking out the busted stuff, and see if’n there’s anythin’ we missed out on the road. I usually git goin’ ’round seven.” She said she would, and he shook hands with her before he left. She smiled as he gave her hand an extra squeeze.

She’d spent a lot of time thinking on the road, and not just about her cover story. If she kept pulling unsolvable, impossible crimes all the route from Chicago to Las Vegas after Zing’s disappearance from Chicago, any smart investigator would be able to connect the dots. And Colonel Anthony Spinelli was as smart as they came. She was fortunate the convention was going on; if she was the only outsider in town and there were a bunch of robberies, people would naturally suspect her. But with that many extra people in town, she probably wouldn’t be the primary suspect. But she had to make sure nobody would suspect that Zing, the Queen of Quick was involved. Maybe she could get some ideas from the inventors’ convention.

A Busy Day

The next day was very relaxing. She watched Wayland Steele put her poor, hurt Commander up on the lift and start taking out broken parts. He didn’t find any additional damage from the accident, but pointed out a dent in the oil pan. “You don’t need t’ change that, but you oughtta know it’s there.” Finally, he had all the damaged parts out.

“OK, now that I know what I need, I can get started on findin’ this stuff. I could check wi’ Studebaker, but I can prob’ly get good-as-new used parts a sight cheaper from a guy I know in Denver a lot sooner. If’n he’s got ’em in stock, I’ll wire him the cash via Western Union, and he’ll box ’em up, take ’em down to the Greyhound terminal, and put ’em on the overnight bus to Kansas City, which stops at the Western Union if they got Benington passengers or freight. If he doesn’t, he’ll check with the other used parts places in Denver and get back to me. New or used?” he asked.

Lee knew from experience that used-parts place usually meant junkyard, but her dad had got almost all his parts from a used-parts dealer, and if Wayland thought it was all right, she was willing to trust him. “If you think the used parts will be OK, go ahead,” she agreed.

“What happened to the sides and trunk latch?” he asked curiously.

“They were like that when I bought the car; the reason I got it so cheap,” she responded a little nervously. “The guy who was selling it was pretty secretive about it, and I didn’t press him for details. I got the impression there was some kind of feud involved, maybe among some Chicago street gangs.” Wayland looked thoughtful, but to her relief, he changed the subject.

“Why don’t you check out Benington f’r th’ rest of the mornin’, and meet me for lunch ‘cross the street.” He pointed to a neat little café. “See you about one?”

“See you then,” she agreed, pleased.

There were two car dealers, one of which sold Henny Kilowatt electric cars and King Midgets, and the other was a Rambler dealer. ‘No wonder they still use horses!’ she thought with amusement. ‘Probably not enough cash on hand to warrant a return visit some night later this week – unless nothing else pans out.’ She paid special attention to the two banks, both of which were fairly innocuous.

The convention didn’t actually start until tomorrow, and it was being held in the high school gym. She’d watch to see what they did with the cash box at the end of the day. The Benington Arms would make an interesting target as well. She walked into the lobby and checked it out, pleased to see the big walk-in safe behind the check-in desk. She wondered what might be in it tomorrow night, when the hotel was filled to capacity.

She passed the Western Union store, which had a sign in the window indicating that Greyhound busses stopped there twice a day, one headed for Denver and the other for Kansas City. There was a pretty big grocery, Furr’s, and two service stations, Enco and Signal Oil. The Enco station was still in transition; they had the new sign, but the pumps still had the Humble logo. And then it was time for lunch.

After lunch, Wayland proposed taking her on a tour of the mine.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be working on my car?” she complained.

“Nothin’ more I can do ’till the parts get here. Ol’ Roge is gonna have t’go out on the lot and pull out what we need. He’ll call me t’morrow and let me know.”

She was enjoying spending time with him, so she agreed. He stayed for dinner at the rooming house again that night, and after tea, they sat together on the swing on the porch. Wayland pleased her by taking her hand, and they snuggled together as the temperature went down and the moon came up. But he puzzled her again, when he went home around ten. Did he think she was going to change into a pumpkin, or maybe a dragon?

Unknown to Lee, and everyone else in Benington, Wayland Steele wasn’t heading home to bed. He needed to get ready to go out on his early patrol. ‘The very first patrol in my hero career!’ he thought with anticipation. ‘But definitely NOT the last!’

Introducing Night Sentry

Benington, Colorado, had been a city with almost no crime for many years, but last year, during the first inventors’ convention, there had been several robberies. One of the banks, Furr’s Grocery Store, one of the saloons, and a couple of local citizens had all been victims. As the driving force behind the convention, Wayland had been blamed for these robberies over and over again, almost daily, ever since. Finally, he’d decided to do something about it. He couldn’t change what had happened last year, but he was absolutely determined to prevent anything similar from happening this year. He’d spent six months preparing for this night!

He pulled on his dark maroon over black, almost-bulletproof nomex bodysuit, adjusted his cowl with its built in infrared goggles and headphones, carefully checked the nomex glider wings to be sure they would deploy properly when he needed them, fastened on his gadget-packed utility belt, and pulled on his specially equipped boots, then shrugged into the harness supporting two tanks on his back. He stood up straight, looked in his mirror, and announced proudly, “Look out, world… here comes Night Sentry!”

He wondered if he’d really have the nerve to actually let other people see him dressed this way; how did other mystery heroes do it? ‘I suppose it’s easier the second time,’ he tried to convince himself. ‘And if I don’t get started, there never will be a second time!’

The new mystery-man climbed the stairs to the roof of his garage. His shop was on the edge of the city, and he wanted to get downtown before anyone saw him in costume, so nobody would associate him with this location. On the roof, he faced the taller building across the street. He crouched and touched a control on his belt, and the special springs in the soles of his boots uncoiled explosively, throwing him high into the air. He did a flip, spread his arms to control his path, and landed gently on the roof of the higher building. He jogged across the roof, then repeated the process with the next building, this time ending up four stories above the streets. Finally, from four stories up, he launched himself as much higher as his springs would take him, spread his wings, and started gliding downtown. His infrared vision helped him pick out warmer areas where he could catch thermal updrafts, and he was able to extend his glide all the way downtown without having to land and spring again.

There was an entertainment district in Benington comprising two saloons, the Benington Arms Hotel, and a pub. That’s where the troubles last year had started, and that’s where Night Sentry now headed. There were about a dozen people on the sidewalks when he flashed by overhead, making a sweeping turn. Now only a few feet off the pavement, he suddenly jerked his arms down, forcing the wings to flare and bringing him to an abrupt halt as he rotated into a vertical position and then dropped straight down on his feet to a graceful landing. He was relieved; he’d practiced the landings more than anything else, and he still stumbled about half the time. He so wanted to look cool on his first landing in public.

“Hey, look, honey!” a young man said to his dinner date. “It looks like that Red Rocket guy from Chicago! Wonder what he’s doing here?” She had no idea who he was talking about, instead grabbing his arm and dragging him frantically back into the pub, while yelling for the police. Some of the people nearby pulled out pistols, and he was quickly at the center of an ominous armed crowd.

“Hey, hold it!” he protested. “I’m one o’ the good guys! You must’a seen the announcement in the Record about the Chamber of Commerce getting special security for the inventors’ conference this week!” He’d chosen the synthetic fabric nomex, because it would give him maximum protection, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t stop half a dozen bullets at point-blank range. “That’s me — I’m Night Sentry! I’m here to prevent the bad things that happened last year.”

“Oh, yeah?” snarled one of the women holding guns. “Why ain’t we heard of you before? How do we know you’re not the same guy that robbed us all last year?” Several others muttered agreement, and he heard snitches of such awful whispers as, “shoot him!” and “hang ‘im!” He couldn’t believe it; some of these folks were his neighbors. He noticed that the crowd was growing larger as people went into the surrounding establishments and told the folks inside what was happening on the street.

One of the armed men added mockingly, “Nobody reads that rag, anyway. If somebody’d really wanted to alert the public, wouldn’t there’d be posters all over town?” There was more agreement, and the circle started drawing tighter.

“Think with your brain–” Night Sentry said, about to say the man’s name, but instead stuttered, “B — uhhh… buddy! The mayor’s son owns the Record. Free story in the paper, or payin’ for posters? Whatta you think the Council would do?” A few of them looked thoughtful at that. He continued. “If I was the thief, would I have landed near the buncha you, right out on Main Street and just walked up t’ you? Even a crook’s not that dumb!” he said scornfully. Some of the inner circle nodded their heads and started putting away their heat.

“Umm… Bob?” one of the women spoke up, addressing the guy who’d made the disparaging crack about the Benington Record. “I read that ‘rag,’ as you call it, every day, and so do a lot of other people in town.” Several of the others nodded their heads. “This here masked man… Night Sentry…” She pointed at him. “…is right — the C.C. was gonna hire special security this year, but the story also said they were way short on funds.”

“So they got a mystery-man nobody’s ever heard of?” Bob was sarcastic. “We’re supposed to feel safer with this guy protecting us?”

Wayland decided he’d heard enough from his neighbor, so he literally leaped into action. His hand dropped instantly to his belt, triggering the springs in his boots, and he was suddenly launched into the air. He did a flip and a half-twist and came down behind the startled Bob before the would-be vigilante could make a move, wrapping his arms around the loudmouth and forcing him to drop his gun.

“You haven’t heard of me before tonight,” he said, right into Bob’s ear. “But you have now — and you’ll hear more in the future!” He raised his voice, speaking to the whole crowd, which had now swelled to almost a hundred. “The name’s Night Sentry, folks — the new mystery-man in town!” There was a smattering of applause and some scattered cheers, and the inner circle had now put away their sidearms. “I’m glad t’ see you folks are all set t’ protect yourselves — seems like Benington’s prepared this year. Tell all your friends there’s a new ally on your side this year, too.”

Someone had been pushing through the crowd, and Police Chief Slade Mason stepped up to Night Sentry. “Don’t want no masked vigilantes in my town, mister!” he spoke quietly but forcefully. “Gonna have to ask you to move along.”

Night Sentry wasn’t going to get in a ruckus with the Benington Police on his first outing, but he wasn’t going to let them run him out of town, either. “Can we speak privately, Chief Mason?” he asked, just as quietly. Mason was a little surprised to hear his name, but as long as this hero was being polite, he would be, too. He prided himself on the good reputation of his force, and he was the prime example. Almost every citizen in Benington thought of the BPD as friends and good neighbors.

“OK, folks, move along. Everything’s under control here,” he announced to the crowd. As people went back to their varied entertainment spots for the evening, Mason and Night Sentry walked slowly toward the chief’s squad car.

“Chief, I’d really like t’ help out around here the next couple of days. And maybe keep on helping out after that…” he said, pleading his case.

“Son, we already got us police to help out the people here in Benington, and we sure don’t need no masked mystery-men — or women — to help us out. We ain’t a big city like New York or Chicago, and we don’t have any of them darned ‘mystery villains’ — and I sure don’t want any of them in my town, neither! ‘Sides, I don’t know nuthin’ about you — how do I know you’re not some would-be mystery villain yourself?”

Night Sentry stepped into a recessed entranceway, which was darker than the rest of the street. “You do know me, Chief. Don’t tell anybody!” He pulled back his cowl for a second, revealing his identity as Wayland Steele to the startled officer. “I got tired of hearing how I’d brought so much crime to the town — from you and everyone else — so I decided to do something about it. It’s every citizen’s duty to fight crime, right? I’ve heard you say that before.”

In fact, Chief Mason used that line all the time, whenever he addressed a group like the Chamber of Commerce, Junior Women’s Club, the Lion’s Club, Elks, Masons, an assembly at the school, or gave a speech, like when he was the grand marshall of the Fourth of July Parade. It was his personal catchphrase, and he’d always believed it. He stammered and hemmed and hawed, and kept trying to object.

“You aren’t trained, and you’ll get hurt!”

“I was trained as a shipboard M.P., trained to deal with drafted soldiers, right out of basic training, heading for Korea, and veterans returning from that hellhole. I was a Golden Gloves fighter before I went in the Navy, and a good one. And don’t give me that ‘get hurt’ stuff — every cop and jake takes that risk every day — and it don’t slow none of them down a lick!”

Mason wasn’t sure what to do; he realized he couldn’t actually force his friend to give up his mystery-man role unless he did something illegal. And then he started thinking long-term; Benington would be the only city in Colorado with its own costumed hero. If it worked out, it sure would be great for the city’s image. Maybe there were some good sides to this he ought to consider.

“It’ll be dangerous — and you might get in trouble that the BPD can’t help you out of. If you put any of my men in danger, you’ll end up in my jail!” he emphasized strongly. “I sure hope you don’t end up dead.”

“I hope not, too! Thanks, Chief. Gotta go finish my patrol!” And with that, Night Sentry took his leave.

Night Sentry on Patrol

Climbing buildings using the spring launchers in his boots to get high enough to glide was tedious, so Night Sentry went to an alternate method of transportation. Another touch of a control, and recessed wheels in the heels of his boots extended. Powerful high-speed motors whirred to life, and the new hero swept off silently and swiftly down the street. He was very pleased so far with the performance of the spring and his heel wheels, which he’d machined from a metal alloy he called electrium.

There wasn’t much traffic in Benington, even this early, and he finished his patrol quickly. The planned route ended near his shop. Every time he passed a group of people, they pointed at him, and some continued to run away, but nobody interfered with him. He passed a couple of police prowl cars, but they didn’t try to stop him either. Apparently, Chief Mason had already radioed an alert to them.

He hadn’t expected to find anything on his first patrol. He hit the hay for a nap and set his alarm for three A.M. and his next patrol. This time, he didn’t bother leaping; instead he wore a long trenchcoat and walked a couple of blocks, then left the coat concealed in a hedge. With no traffic at all, he drove his wheels to higher speeds than before. He quickly realized that thirty miles per hour was about the optimal speed to balance visibility and the hazards of the road.

In a parking lot behind a warehouse on the edge of the city, he heard and then saw a crowd of people cheering and booing, and zoomed in to see what was going on. He pushed his way through the crowd. There was a circle of people, and inside the circle, two men were beating the snot out of each other.

“All right, guys, break it up!” He pulled one guy away from the other and stepped between them. “All the rest of you, go on home! This fight is over!”

The crowd didn’t look relieved, they looked angry, and started muttering. Night Sentry suddenly had an uneasy feeling, and began to realize what was actually going on here. He might actually be in trouble.

“The heck it’s over!” yelled the fighter who had been on the bottom, and launched himself at the fledgling hero. “The betting was just getting started, you no-good buttinsky!” He smashed a powerful roundhouse right to Night Sentry’s jaw. The hero hadn’t been expecting this, and he saw a black flash filled with bright explosions while he staggered backward. The other fighter tripped him, and he fell to the ground. Both fighters jumped on him. In the crowd, new bets were being placed.

“Fifty bucks on Panther and the Killer!” a man yelled, and the money holders quickly started accepting wagers. From the betting, it looked like the odds were about four to one against Night Sentry. The two fighters were smashing blows to his head and body, and the hero had just barely managed to get his arms up to protect his vulnerable chin.

What the fighters were just learning was that his costume had some internal padding, and their blows were having only minimal effect — and the rough surface of the tough nomex fabric was taking its toll on their bare hands. When the Killer realized the knuckles on his left hand were bleeding, he backed off just a little, and that was all Night Sentry needed to make his move. His hand flashed down to his belt, and he lashed out with a solid kick to the Killer’s chest, and just the slightest use of the launching spring in the sole of his boot added the extra power needed to throw the bare-knuckled fighter into the air, and he flew backward into the crowd. This startled Panther long enough for Night Sentry to scramble to his feet. The crowd cheered loudly, and pushed and jostled and shoved the Killer back into the ring.

“I’m not here to fight…” Night Sentry started to say. “Oohmph!” he finished, as Panther landed a solid left to his stomach.

“Too bad, masked man! Me and da Killer is here ta fight, and weese gonna give deese guys dere money’s wort’! Right, Killer?” The crowd cheered more loudly. Night Sentry dodged a wild swing to his head by Panther, and the Killer managed to hit him in the side, below the ribs. It was time to start taking these guys seriously.

Boxing wasn’t the appropriate fighting style against two opponents, but Night Sentry had some other tricks in his bag. He decided not to use the gadgets built into his costume unless he needed to; they’d be more effective against future opponents if they were still secret. He’d picked up a good bit of Asian martial arts training on board the C.C. Balloo, taught by combat veterans returning to the States from Korea who were bored with doing nothing on the long trip home. That training, plus the protection his costume gave him, plus the electrium brass knuckles built into his gloves, should give him enough advantage against these two — he hoped. It would be a bad omen to lose his first battle as Night Sentry.

He stood facing his two opponents, crouching slightly, his arms lifted in front of him, his hands open. There was very little science in their fighting styles; they usually swung as hard as they could, and they were perfectly willing to trade being hit three times to land one solid blow of their own. All three fighters were being worn down, though Night Sentry was sure he would outlast his opponents. The crowd was certainly getting their money’s worth, and the betting was brisk. Night Sentry kept watching for his chance, and there it was. The end came quickly.

Panther, to his left, swung a roundhouse right at Night Sentry’s head. The hero moved his head enough to dodge, then reached his left hand for the fighter’s right shoulder and pulled, adding his own momentum to that of the punch, spinning Panther between himself and the Killer. He pushed off with his right leg into a clockwise spin, pivoting on his left foot, then planted the right leg and continued spinning on it, dropping his shoulders and raising his left leg for a powerful kick to the back of the Killer’s head. The fighter was wide open; he’d never seen a move like that before. He flew forward, waving his arms and thrashing his legs, and again crashed into the crowd. This time, he didn’t get back up.

“Fifty more on the masked man!” someone in the crowd yelled, but this time there were no takers. Panther moved more cautiously now, and everyone could see he was a little nervous.

“Hey, pretty boy, how ’bout a real fight, man to man, none of that sissy kickin’ stuff?!” he jeered at the hero. “You got what it takes?” He was repeatedly jabbing now with his left and circling as he talked. “Mark of Queens rules — or are ya yellow?”

Night Sentry had to laugh at that. As he did, Panther moved in almost as fast as his nom de guerre. He made a quick one-two to the solar plexus area, then stepped back and launched a deadly right at the head. Night Sentry knocked it outside with his upraised left and stepped in for a short right to the jaw, delivered with all the power he had. And he hadn’t been a blacksmith for the last few years for nothing. The electrium brass knuckles in his glove smashed squarely into the side of Panther’s jaw, snapping him around in a complete circle before he fell to the pavement, unconscious.

The money-holders tried to slip away, but those who had bet on Night Sentry wanted their winnings, and little knots of shouting betters formed in the larger crowd. Night Sentry took advantage of the confusion to slip away quietly. Bare knuckle prizefighting was illegal, but he knew it wouldn’t be prosecuted, and it was not the type of crime he had planned on fighting. Still, he was proud of his effort; he’d never fought two men at once before in a serious fight, and it was good to know that he could do it. Rather than waste his time messing around here any longer, he leaped into the air with an assist from his boot launch sprints, and glided back toward downtown. He finished the second patrol of his career with no further action, and went to bed for the rest of the night.

Secret Preparations

Just about the time Wayland hit the hay after his second patrol, Zing was making a foray of her own through Benington, Colorado. The convention tables were all set up, and she was counting on finding some inspiration among the inventions. She carefully vibrated through the school wall into the gym and used a hooded flashlight to check out all the exhibits. Some of the inventions were interesting, some seemed ridiculous, and she was simply bewildered by a few of them. She found two that were perfect for her needs. Another stop at the Turquoise Needle (which offered notions, dry goods, and sundries), and a final stop at Woolworths Five and Dime, and then she headed back to her room. She’d make some private preparations during the day tomorrow, and that night, she’d go out in disguise and pad her bankroll.

First thing after breakfast, she dropped in on Wayland at the repair shop. His contact in Denver, ol’ Roge, had the parts he needed, and he’d send them out today. The Commander might be done tomorrow, or more likely the next day. Wayland had to attend the opening ceremonies at his conference in just a little while, so she let him talk her into meeting him for lunch. She was glad he’d be busy this morning; she wanted to use his machine shop privately. He gave her a ride back to Mrs. Marmion’s in his Willys pickup, then headed off to the conference. She picked up some of the stuff she’d acquired last night, and at invisible super-speed she was back in his shop in an instant.

One of the inventions she’d appropriated was a small, high-pressure pesticide sprayer. It had a built-in high-pressure battery-powered compressor and a thin, flat tank that strapped on like a backpack, with the short wand connected to the tank by a highly flexible hose. She slipped into the smithy and picked up some scrap leather, then used some tools in the shop to modify the tank’s harness so she could strap it to her stomach instead of her back. She had picked up a pair of toy cast iron Tom Corbett Ray Guns from the Five and Dime, and she took one of them apart, inserted the sprayer wand into the barrel, and modified the trigger mechanism so that it activated the sprayer. She took the other one apart and modified it so that she could unleash a blast of lightning from her finger, and it would appear to come out the barrel of the gun. Finally, she made use of the other invention she’d liberated, a flammable chemical that the inventor expected to be a replacement for napalm, to charge the sprayer. Finished with the machine shop, she hoped, she ran out of town into the mountains and tested her new power guns.

She pulled the trigger on the gun in her left hand, which fired a thin stream of highly pressurized flammable gel, and she released a spark at the same time. A stream of flame whooshed from the gun and splashed against the rocky cliff she’d selected as a target. Her speed powers gave her immunity to the hot backwash. She pointed the gun in her right hand and released a lightning bolt. It was perfect; she had a new set of powers seemingly provided by her power pistols. Now for her disguise.

In a flash she was back in her room. She’d swiped sewing equipment and some clothes for a boy her size, including a pair of brown sweatshirts, some brown pants, a dark brown leather bomber jacket, brown leather gloves, and sneakers. She hated sewing, but with her speed, it wouldn’t take very long. She sewed some padding into the pants and a sweatshirt, leaving room for the sprayer tank. From the other sweatshirt, she made a mask — sort of a brown bag with holes for her eyes that covered her entire head and face. She put on the whole outfit and checked herself in the full-length mirror. Instead of a short, slender, graceful girl with a great figure, she looked like a short, stocky, slightly clumsy guy with a potbelly.

She was so pleased with her results, she just had to crow. “Look out, Benington! Here comes Heat Lightning!”

At lunch Wayland Steele told the woman he knew only as Lee Han about a big brouhaha at the inventors’ conference. “Two of the inventors had their inventions stolen! Boy, were they mad. They both figured they had a chance at the top prize, and one of the other exhibitors had stolen their inventions to thin out the competition.”

“Wow, that’s terrible,” she said, having to struggle to keep from laughing. “What’s going to happen now?”

“May Jamison invented a replacement for napalm which is very easy to make, so she’s already replaced her supply, but Stan Hale only had a single prototype for his bug sprayer. We refunded his entry fee, and I collected donations to buy him a bus ticket home. I collected a lot more than the ticket will cost, so he actually made a little on the deal. He stormed out, mad as hell. I don’t think he’ll be back next year.”

They went to the conference that afternoon, and Wayland worked up the nerve to ask her out that evening. “Can I take you out for dinner and a movie, Lee? They’re showing Blue Hawaii at the Midway Theater, and Dr. No and The Music Man at the Holiday Twin Drive-In,” he told her nervously. “Any interest in seeing any of those?”

“I’d love to see Dr. No,” she said, smiling mischievously. “But you’ll have to drive — my car’s in the shop!” she teased.

He breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I thought you’d pick Blue Hawaii,” he said. “The drive-in always starts out with a bunch of Road Runner and Speedy Gonzales cartoons. Hope that’s OK with you.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” she chuckled. It’s ironic that the cartoons are about a couple of super-fast runners! she thought. I’ll have to see if they have any tricks I can use!

Night Sentry, Meet… Heat Lightning!

That night Wayland dropped her off at the rooming house at 11:55, just before Mrs. Marmion’s curfew. After a good night kiss, she hurried to her room. Lee was excited and happy and felt almost as if she were floating; she’d never felt like this about any guy before in her life. And he seemed to feel the same way about her. She wished she had a phone so she could call him and say goodnight, but Mrs. Marmion limited phone use to between nine A.M. and nine P.M.

A few minutes later, costumed as Heat Lightning, she ran around town until she saw a motorcycle parked on the street. She slowed down to visibility a block away and walked casually up to the bike. When she reached it, she sped up her perception of time, which allowed her to hot-wire the bike in an instant. Anyone watching her would have been amazed at how smoothly she stole the bike, as if she’d done it hundreds of times before and had it down to a science. She roared away, then pulled down an alley and throttled way down so the bike was practically silent, and continued to ride through town. She parked the bike a block from the Smokey River National Bank of Benington and approached the bank, sneaking from shadow to shadow. She realized that she was probably overacting, but she was having fun, pretending to be a different kind of mystery villain.

She examined a rear window; she could see a strip of tape that ran around the edge of the window. She fired a stream of flame at it, and the center of the window melted without setting off an alarm. She stepped up to the window and moving at invisible speed, used friction heat to enlarge the hole, then climbed in. A watcher would have seen her melting the window with a stream of flame from the pistol in her hand. She searched through the bank until she found the alarm mechanism, which she blasted with a lightning bolt. Wrong move — the alarm went off.

There was no use being subtle any longer. She blasted the front door with another lightning bolt, pushed through, and sprinted to her bike. A police siren alerted her that a prowl car was responding to the alarm already. She waited until it came in sight, then sprayed it with fire from one pistol and lightning from the other, before she stepped up her speed perception and roared away. She sped through the streets at an insane pace for a motorcycle rider after dark — at least for any rider but her. She headed out of town following the road that led into the mountains near where she’d tested her new power guns. She looked back and saw nobody was chasing her; it looked like she’d gotten away scot free, though she hadn’t managed to sweeten her purse. She didn’t mind; she just hoped that somebody had got a clear look at Heat Lightning. She’d be more careful tomorrow night and make sure she picked up some loot.

Without warning, the bike jerked violently, throwing Zing tumbling over the handlebars. It then fell sideways and rolled and bounced violently up the road until it smashed against a tree. Even with her reflexes enhanced, Zing couldn’t avoid being thrown, but she was able to bring her body almost instantly under control, straightening out her tumble and landing on her feet, running. There was something entangled in the rear wheel of the bike, which had caused the problem. As she looked back toward town, she saw a flying man, gliding to a landing.

“Man, you just wrecked a sweet bike!” she yelled at him. For a second she thought one of the heroes had followed her from all the way from Chicago, but then she realized this was someone she’d never seen before. “Some citizen is gonna be awfully mad at you!”

“The good citizens’ll thank me after I put you away!” he replied. “Benington don’t need any outta-town villains.”

He was poised to say more, but Heat Lightning wasn’t interested in exchanging quips with a mystery hero — she’d done that before. Her left hand rose, and a stream of fire blasted from the pistol. Night Sentry instantly touched the control at his belt, and the electrium springs in his boots released powerfully, throwing him back into the air. He spread his arms, extending his glider wings, and began a swooping dive at the villain. The flame passed beneath him, igniting the brush on the side of the road. Heat Lighting raised her right pistol, and a bolt of electricity leaped skyward, blasting the hero in the chest. Lucky for him he wasn’t grounded, but even so he was stunned, and tumbled to the ground rather than landing gracefully, barely managing to extend his arms to somewhat cushion his fall.

“Better luck next time, hero!” Heat Lightning jeered at him as she faded into the dark. Night Sentry struggled painfully to his feet and was alarmed at the growing fire. Fortunately, he was prepared for just this sort of situation. When he’d decided to become a costumed vigilante, he had realized that he wasn’t going to encounter many mystery villains in Benington, so he’d also prepared for some of the less-strenuous duties other costumed heroes regularly performed, such as rescuing cats from trees and fighting fires and other disasters. One of the cylinders on his back was a fire-extinguisher, and he quickly put out the fire before it could spread any further. Then he went villain-hunting. His infrared goggles enabled him to follow the tracks left by the villain into the woods near the road, but then the glowing footprints mysteriously vanished, as if she’d somehow disappeared.

He pulled a high-intensity electric torch from his utility belt, but even that bright light didn’t help him find any further clues. It looked as if the bad guy was going to get away, at least tonight. At least he’d heard on his built-in police radio that the bank vault hadn’t been breached. He picked up the bike and was able to get it started, then rode back to town and dropped it at the police station. They’d probably bring it to Wayland’s shop for repairs tomorrow before they returned it to the owner.

Wayland was unhappy with tonight’s results. Although the robbery had been thwarted, it wasn’t really due to anything he’d done, and he’d let the villain get away. In his first real action against a mystery villain, he’d been taken out of the fight way too easily. He had some ideas about augmenting his capabilities; he hadn’t put all his gadgets and inventions into his costume and utility belt by a long shot. He’d spend some time in the shop tomorrow, and if this villain stuck around, he might get a surprise during their next confrontation. Wayland would have to spend some time working on Lee Han’s car, too. Though he wasn’t in a rush to finish those repairs; he didn’t want to do anything to hurry that young lady out of town.

And then Wayland realized that what he really wanted to do tomorrow was to spend more time with Lee — the heck with Night Sentry and the Commander. He hoped it wouldn’t scare her away if he asked her to consider extending her stay here in Benington.

Lee Han wasn’t unhappy with her results this night. True, she hadn’t fattened her purse, but she had made her first public appearance as Heat Lightning. Hopefully this would help hide the fact that Zing had left Chicago and was heading toward Denver. And now that she had learned a little bit more about bank alarms, she expected she’d have better luck tomorrow night.

She was starting to feel conflicted about her future, though. She was developing a strong attraction to Wayland, and she thought that maybe she wanted to spend more time with him as Lee Han and see what might develop, even if he didn’t know her real name. But was she ready to give up her fledgling career as Zing? There weren’t a lot of high-payoff targets in Benington, and if she settled in Benington and Zing made the city her new home base at the same time, someone would surely draw the connection between them. And then there was this new hero to think about. She had bested him easily tonight, but if he was anything like the heroes she already knew, he wouldn’t just give up, and he’d be more difficult to defeat next time, and stronger still the time after that. Just two days ago her life had been so simple; her only goals had been to reach Las Vegas and spend her cash on the luxurious lifestyle to which she expected to quickly become accustomed.

She headed home. She was supposed to join Wayland for breakfast, and she wanted a few hours sleep so she would be fresh and perky.

Breakfast with a Bachelor

Lee Han was surprised by the sight Wayland Steele’s house. It was a big, old, airy place, low and spread out, made of simple wood, brick, and stucco construction with stonework around the carved wooden front door; the rooms she could see were still without furniture, except for the kitchen and dining room.

“I guess I expected a bachelor to be living in a small, messy place,” she confessed as she broke half a dozen eggs into the sizzling bacon grease. They both liked their eggs over easy. “Everybody knows that guys are sloppy housekeepers.”

“Housekeeping’s a habit I picked up in the Navy, Lee,” he replied to the woman he knew as Lee Han. “You gotta keep the boat shipshape; too many people in too small a space! But I promised me I’d never put up with cramped quarters agin, once I got off the ol’ Balloo!”

“So,” she asked casually, “do you think that Thaer is hiring?” Thaer was a local company, the largest employer in Benington.

“Are you looking?” he asked, almost in a panic. “I thought you were headed for San Francisco.”

“I think I might like it better here,” she said, smiling mischievously as she winked at him. His heart leaped; it was a signal that was obvious even to a guy. He was relieved, too, that he wouldn’t have to bring up the subject himself; he’d been afraid he would chicken out.

“Most nobody wants to move way out here, and none’a the local kids who go ‘way for college ever come back here. But ol’ Jack Thaer, the president, he won’t live anywhere else. So they’re always looking, ‘specially for engineers.”

“I’m a mechanical engineer, actually,” she replied with a smile. “Guess I ought to drop in on them.”

“Wow! I never heard of a woman engineer before!” He knew she was smart, but he was impressed knowing what kind of obstacles she must have overcome to get an engineering degree. “When you do, tell ’em I sent you,” he urged her. “They’ve been tryin’ ta hire me fer the last two years — maybe they’ll leave me ‘lone if they can hire you instead.” He grinned at her, then continued shyly “Hope they give you a job. It’d be kinda nice to have you around fer a while.”

What is this Electrium Stuff, Anyway?

Wayland Steele decided to work on her Commander first, now that it seemed as if Lee Han might stick around without any delaying tactics by him. The used parts were fine, and since he’d already removed the damaged parts, it took only a couple of hours to do the repairs. He added a little pro bono work, and then headed into his machine shop. What he had in mind would use up the last of his electrium, but it should give him at least some protection from the mystery villain’s lightning gun. He pondered a few minutes about his great luck in being the only person in the world with even a limited supply of electrium.

Flashback

In late 1954, the Navy crewship C.C. Balloo on which Wayland had been serving had been anchored near a small atoll in the Marshall Islands, and the captain had allowed the crew to hit the beach for some rest and relaxation. This generosity on the part of the captain led to the loss of his command, as the Marshall Islands were supposed to be off limits to Naval ships at that time due to the excessive radiation released by the Castle Bravo hydrogen bomb test in March, 1954. But the captain’s bad fortune had provided a great opportunity for Wayland.

Wayland had done some snorkeling and found a really unusual metal nugget in about four feet of water in the island’s lagoon. He would have guessed that it was a meteor, except that there was no impact crater. It was an irregular lump of tarnished metal somewhat smaller than a softball, with partially melted metallic crystals sticking out at all angles. It weighed much less than Wayland would expect for a chunk of metal that size, and he decided to take it with him as a souvenir.

As he dropped it into his canvas gear bag, he realized that it glowed in the dark. After the captain was relieved for taking the ship into an area potentially dangerous with radiation, he rushed his souvenir to the electronics repair lab and tested it with a Geiger counter. To his great relief, the glow was not due to detectible radioactivity. So he’d kept the nugget as a souvenir until he got out of the Navy. And once he set up his own machine shop, he’d tried to cut and polish it to make it more suitable for display on his knickknack shelf — and it had wrecked his saw. This had intrigued him, and he’d experimented further with the glowing nugget.

Eventually he’d discovered that the metal in the nugget would soften when exposed to alternating electrical current, and in its softened form he could machine and shape it, and then harden it into the new form with another exposure to alternating current. So he’d called it electrium. It had some interesting qualities, including incredible tensile strength, harder than steel, lighter than aluminum, very high melting point. And the amount he had would just about fill a one-quart milk bottle.

A New Tool

He’d used some of his electrium to create the powerful springs, wheels, and almost impenetrable soles for his boots, and kept the rest in reserve. Now he used that remaining electrium to reinforce an old hubcap from a Serro Scotty camping trailer, and coated it with some Teflon from his machine-shop scrap pile to build an unbreakable insulated shield. It wasn’t much larger than a discus, but combined with the insulation provided by his nomex costume, it might give him a momentary advantage against his foe’s lightning pistol if he could bring it into play at the right instant.

He went into the basement, locked the door, donned his costume, and began practicing. It was a strange sensation; he’d used shields before in martial arts training, but never as part of a fighting technique. In hand-to-hand combat, shields were generally used by a master when training a student, and had a dual use — for protection, but as importantly, to provide a target for the student to strike. His instinct with a shield was to cover an area of his body where he wanted the student to strike, rather than to cover the target an opponent was trying to hit. It wasn’t likely a bad buy would follow his directions; he had to break this habit before he actually got into a fight. But he was already used to blocking, with hands, arms and several different weapons, and found that if he thought of the shield as a weapon, the blocking moves came more naturally. And he quickly realized that once he started treating his shield as a weapon, he was instinctively working it into his offensive repertoire as well.

Job Interview

“So, Miss Han, do you know what we do here?” asked Bill Wilkerson, an engineering manager at Thaer. Lee Han had presented Human Resources with her Lee Han identification, and Wilkerson had already grilled her to verify her engineering knowledge. His questions had gone beyond the boundaries of her engineering knowledge several times. He didn’t seem put off by this.

“You make servo-valves which are used in the hydraulic systems in airplanes, rockets, and missiles,” she replied. “From the literature I read in the HR office, these servo valves appear to be electrical-to-hydraulic transducers which use negative feedback to control hydraulic flow which moves flight control surfaces in planes and rocket motor positions in missiles, among other things.”

It did say that in the literature in Human Resources, but almost nobody read it. He showed her a diagram of the servo controller used in a military jet, and asked her, “Can you think of a few significant issues you encounter when designing an assembly such as this?”

Lee thought fast, and for Lee that meant very fast, indeed. “I’d say, making sure the feedback signal from the valve matches the actual valve condition, damping oscillations around the desired valve position, and fluid leakage in the valve itself.”

“Three good concerns,” Wilkerson agreed. They talked servo-valves for a while, mostly him taking and her asking questions. She was smart, asked the right questions, and learned quickly, and as Wayland had pointed out, Thaer always had problems finding enough engineers. Wilkerson quickly made up his mind. “When can you start?”

“How about Monday?” she asked, and they started discussing the details.

Pleasant Early Evening

With good news to share, Lee and Wayland had an enjoyable dinner, and they celebrated by going dancing at Benington’s only dance club, where a live band played big band music. It was tough saying goodnight, but Lee once again got back to Mrs. Marmion’s rooming house before the midnight curfew. And then each prepared for further nocturnal activities. They couldn’t know it yet, but they were fated to spend even more time together this night — though it wouldn’t be as pleasant as dancing had been.

Lee’s relationship with Wayland was starting to cause her some confusion and self-doubt. Why was she even considering getting a job and working for a living, when she had a couple million in cash, and only a couple days ago she’d been dreaming of living in high style and decadence in Las Vegas? If she seriously wanted to get a job and settle down with a boyfriend, why was she planning a robbery tonight? If she stuck around here, was she going to keep up one of her criminal identities? And did she really need four different identities, anyway? She’d been able to put all these thoughts aside while she’d been out dancing, but now they crowded back into her mind, crashing through her thoughts at super-speed, and she was getting a headache from all the internal chaos.

She needed a single thing to focus on, and she had already made the plan for tonight’s visit to the office at Benington Mining and Refining. So she decided to go ahead with that plan and try to sort out her head later.

After examining the vault at the Smokey River Bank last night, she’d come to the conclusion that there was no feasible way for Heat Lighting, with just his lightning and flame pistols, to open a bank vault quietly and in a short time. It would take too long to blast through a vault wall of concrete reinforced with steal, and the battering would be so loud that anybody within a half-mile would hear it. In her explorations around town earlier, she’d found out that tomorrow was payday at Benington Mining and Refining, so she was going to go after its safe instead of the bank’s vault. She wouldn’t get as much money, but she would continue establishing Heat Lightning as a villain. And since the office and refinery were well outside of town in a rocky area now littered with piles of tailings and slag from decades of refining operations, it would be feasible for Heat Lightning to just disappear into the surrounding landscape, rather than having some kind of vehicle to escape in.

Round Two

Dressed as Heat Lightning, Lee ran up the road to the Benington Mining and Refining facility and approached the front window of the office building. She could see the night watchman, an older gentleman, sitting behind the reception desk, half-asleep. She threw a rock through the window and made sure he got a look at her, then fired a blast from her lightning pistol, which knocked him and his wheeled chair backward against the wall. She entered through the broken window, and after a quick, super-speed search, she found the safe, a big old antique floor model dating from the Wild West days, almost as tall as her shoulder, its only features the handle, hinges, and big numbered dial on the front. The hinges were her point of attack.

She sprayed one of the hinges with a stream of flame from her flame pistol, but though the napalm clung and burned fiercely, it wasn’t hot enough to do more than burn off the paint. So she began applying super-speed friction, and soon both hinges were glowing red. She stood back and blasted them with lightning bolts, and then pulled the door from the safe. She started going through the contents of the safe, separating the cash from the other papers. She was curious about several heavy canvas bags, and was surprised to find that they contained gold and silver in dust and nugget form; apparently Benington Mining and Refining also did assaying and bought gold and silver from independent prospectors. She was so engrossed in the precious metals and cash that she never noticed the broken connection in the door of the safe that set off an alarm at the Benington Police station.

Night Sentry was rolling through the downtown area of Benington at a steady thirty miles an hour, the small, powerful electric motors in his boots smoothly driving the built-in electrium wheels, when his police radio scanner picked up the report of an alarm from the mining company office. He quickly headed that way and increased power and speed. Within seconds, he was doing sixty miles per hour and still accelerating. On a test stand, these motors had easily run at simulated speeds of one hundred and twenty miles per hour for several hours, but he’d never actually ridden them above forty before, and he soon realized further development was necessary. He had to crouch way down to keep his balance, and with no springs or shock absorbers, every bump tore at his knees. As he approached the privately maintained road to the refinery, the screaming pain in his knees convinced him that he was going to have to change his mode of transportation. He touched the control on his belt, and the electrium springs expanded explosively and launched him into the air. He sighed in relief as the pain in his knees instantly lessened, and he started looking for thermal updrafts to extend his glide. There’s way more to being a mystery hero than I’d ever have thought, he mused as he soared above the road.

He could see the broken window as he landed about a hundred yards from the office building and approached cautiously on foot. He was familiar with the building, as he’d done many contract machining jobs for Benington Mining and Refining over the past few years. Once he was inside and had verified that the watchman was only unconscious rather than dead, he found that the bare concrete floor provided the perfect track for his powered wheels, and he whisked swiftly and silently to the business office, where he saw the same figure he’d fought last night, removing things from the safe.

As soon as he saw the figure in front of the safe, Night Sentry silently removed two items from his utility belt. One looked like a painter’s respirator mask made of nomex attached to a small cylinder, a CO2 cartridge for a BB gun which he’d filled with compressed air; the other was a similar cylinder filled with sleeping gas. He donned the mask and twisted a valve to deliver air, then twisted the end of the other cylinder, and as it started hissing, he threw the second cylinder over Heat Lightning’s shoulder into the safe.

Heat Lightning gasped involuntarily as she saw this small device fly past her shoulder, and she breathed in a small amount of Night Sentry’s sleeping gas, though her full-face mask and super-fast reflexes partially protected her. She spun in place and managed to fire a burst of lightning at Night Sentry as the gas started to affect her, but he was able to deflect it with his new shield. As he dodged, she pulled her other pistol and fired a burst of flame. Sentry pulled back out through the door, and the flame splashed on the opposite corridor wall and started dripping to the concrete.

As soon as the stream of flame died again, he raced back through the door, ready to attack. Heat Lightning was blasting an exterior wall with a blast of lightning, and he rushed at her, planning to slam her against the desk in the room. She spun out of the way, and he fell onto the desk, sending papers, office tools, and framed pictures flying. He grabbed the edge of the desk to stop himself on top the desk, spun around, and planted both feet against the nearby wall, then released his boot springs. This launched him back across the room like a human missile, one fist aimed at her chin. The gas had made her a little groggy and slow to react, but she was able to roll backward with the punch, and she managed a shaky backflip, staggering as she landed but successfully remaining on her feet.

By now the fire in the corridor had activated the heat-sensing fire sprinkler, and water started to rain into the room and in the corridor outside. As the hero was struggling back to his feet, Heat Lightning brought up her lightning pistol and fired… and nothing happened. Night Sentry used her startled hesitation to step in and slam a powerful punch to her midsection, where he hit the heavy napalm tank concealed under the padding in her costume. This knocked her backward against the wall, and she slid down into a seated position. She aimed her flame pistol at the hero.

“Who the hell are you?” she rasped at him, disguising her voice. “Whoever, don’t come any closer, or I’ll blast you!”

“I’m Night Sentry, Benington’s protector. I hope you enjoyed what you saw of my city, because the next thing you’re going to see is the inside of a jail cell!”

She laughed rudely. “You don’t think real people actually talk like that, do you?” she snarled back at him, astonished that he sounded so much like the Rush, who had been a famous mystery hero – on of her favorites! - on the other-dimensional world of her birth. “You’re too corny to ever stop Heat Lightning!”

Instead of standing still, he moved his hand toward his belt. She picked up a glass paperweight and threw it at him; he barely had time to bring the shield up to intercept the small projectile. It shattered, and he brought his other hand up to shield his face. While he was shielding himself, she flamed the desk, and even the water raining from the sprinkler was not enough to put out that much hot-burning napalm. The wall behind the desk started to char, and the room started to fill with dirty steam. She picked up her duffel bag, which she had managed to stuff with some cash and some bags of gold and silver dust, and backed toward the door while still covering him. “You going to let this whole place go up in smoke, protector of Benington?” she mocked him.

Suddenly he was moving much faster than a normal human could. Unknown to Heat Lightning, he’d managed to activate the powerful motors in his boots, and they drove him forward his boot wheels.

“You’ll never escape me!” he vowed as he crashed into her before she could react. “I won’t stop until you’re captured!” he vowed.

She was driven backward, and smashed through the smoldering wall behind her. As the wall gave way, and she started to fall through, she fired the flame pistol again, and a stream of flame roared at Night Sentry. Although he was able to deflect much of the stream with his shield, it spattered onto his costume. Napalm stuck, and it burned hot enough to melt nomex, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was horribly burned. He reached back to grab his fire extinguisher, and while he was blasting the flames on his costume, and then dealing with the fire in the accounting office, Heat Lightning once again made her escape, richer by several thousand dollars and several bags of silver and gold ore.

Uh oh…

Lee was still conflicted as she headed to Wayland Steele’s shop the next morning. He had told her that her car was ready, and he wanted her to take a test drive to be sure she was happy with the repairs. She saw her beautiful, fire engine-red Studebaker Commander, parked outside the shop, and she was thrilled to see that the front left wheel was restored, and as she got closer, she realized that the scratches in the side had been fixed as well. She ran to the car and circled around it, checking it all out. The bodywork and painting were impeccable; she couldn’t even tell it had been repainted. The trunk latch had been fixed, the car had been washed and waxed, and when she looked inside, the inside has been cleaned as well. It looked just like a brand-new car fresh off the showroom floor.

She was bubbling with joy as she ran into Wayland’s office, and when she found him, she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a big, happy kiss. Right then and there, her conflict resolved itself; she instantly decided she was going to settle down here in Benington and explore this relationship to the fullest, even if she did have to keep her false Lee Han identity to do so.

She spoke excitedly when she broke the kiss, “What a wonderful surprise! You’re such a great guy!” She pulled back to look at him, and was stunned to see him grimacing in great pain. He gently pulled her away from himself and set her on the ground. “What’s wrong?!” she asked him in great concern.

“I’m sorry, Lee. I was doing some welding this morning, and I have some bad burns. Incredibly stupid of me!” he said, his voice rough. “I’m heading over to Doc Donovan’s office right now. Sorry to give you such a rough reception.” He took a deep breath and stood up straighter. “I’m really glad you like your car! It was fun working on it.”

“You burned yourself that badly? That’s awful!” she exclaimed in dismay. “Are you sure you’re OK? Can I help?”

“I’ll be OK. I learned enough first aid in the Navy to disinfect and put sterile pads over the worst blisters,” he responded as he walked slowly and painfully toward the door. “I don’t think there’s anything dangerous, as long as I get to the Doc pretty quick. I expect to be back in a couple’a hours. You can stay here and drive the car — or you could walk over to the Doc’s with me. If I had somebody t’ talk to, I wouldn’t think about the pain so much.”

“Can I drive you?” she asked quickly. “You don’t look like you can walk very far.”

“I couldn’t get in my pickup right now, much less your car. It’s less than a quarter mile.” He set off, plodding doggedly down the street. She hurried to keep up.

But she wasn’t very good company on the short walk. Could it be just a coincidence that he was badly burned this morning, after she had left Night Sentry surrounded by flames last night? She took another look at Wayland, and she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier that he might be Night Sentry. Each was about the same height, broad in the shoulders, and built like a wedge. She was mortified to think that she may have badly injured the man she might be falling in love with, and left him alone in a burning building, with no thought other than escaping with her loot. She had to find out for sure.

They entered the side door in the doctor’s house that led to his home office. Donovan immediately saw him into the examining room, and a few minutes later, his nurse came back to talk to her. “The doctor says Wayland will be fine, Miss Han, but he may have some scars. We have a small recovery room with a bed here. Dr. Donovan gave Wayland a sedative, and he’ll be asleep for several hours. Why don’t you come back around noon, and you can see him then?”

“Thanks, I’ll be back then,” Lee said. She walked back to Mrs. Marmion’s, then vibrated out of the house and ran at invisible speed back to Wayland’s shop. She vibrated through the door, made sure she was alone, and then began a super-speed search of the place. In a short time she found the concealed entrance to the basement of the machine shop, and in the basement she found Night Sentry’s secret sanctum. The costume, complete with holes melted through the tough nomex material, and all the gadgets scattered around, proved to her that Wayland Steele, blacksmith and mechanic, was also Night Sentry, the protector of Benington.

Lee was devastated. What was she doing to do? She needed to think this over. Fortunately, she could think very fast, and get a lot of thinking done in what to normal humans was a very short time.

Had she really been willing to give up the money and lifestyle, and yes, being a mystery villain, to settle down with Wayland? She didn’t know exactly why she’d become a mystery villain. She’d never stolen anything, or broken any laws, or even disobeyed her parents before she’d received her powers or came to this dimension. As she considered this, she realized it had been the dimensional transition that had changed her attitude – everyone she had ever wanted to respect her was gone – who cared about the laws here? It simply seemed natural to use her powers to get whatever she wanted, in the quickest way possible. And she’d quickly come to love the notoriety that she gained as the infamous Zing, the Queen of Quick. Of course, she’d come close to being caught, so she planned to operate in secret from now on, but she’d figured to replace the thrill her notoriety gave her with the thrill of winning big in Las Vegas by using her powers in secret, and knowing she was outwitting everyone who tried to catch or stop her. Could she honestly say that she was willing to forego this thrill for love? Just a few hours ago, she had been sure. Now, not so much.

Why did knowing Wayland was a mystery-man make a difference? She had decided to give up her criminal activities for Wayland, anyway, but she knew that no mystery hero, either the Rush or those she knew personally —Tom Atomic, Red Rocket, and Lady Victory — would ever stop after making a vow like, “I won’t stop until you’re captured!” Even if she gave up her villainous identities, Night Sentry would find some way to track her down. And when he found out who Heat Lightning really was, it would destroy both their lives. And there was the fact that she had left him injured in a burning building; even if she could pretend that had never happened, what would he do when he found out?

She’d hoped that with a few seconds of super-speed reflection, she might find some way to ease her mind, but instead she was in greater turmoil than before. She couldn’t see any way to remain here with Wayland, but it was tearing her apart to think of leaving.

Abruptly, she decided what she had to do. It would be the hardest thing she had ever had to do, and she knew she would regret it for the rest of her life, but there was no use waiting around.

Leaving… Again…

At invisible super-speed, she ran back to room first and picked up a few items, then ran through the Five and Dime and stole some transistor radios. Back at Wayland’s shop, she took the radios apart, used some tools to cut the identifying marks from two the printed circuit boards, and then smashed the anonymous circuit boards and her lightning gun to pieces with a hammer. She similarly smashed the flame gun and the sprayer. She gently removed the padding from the Heat Lightning costume and wrapped it around the smashed guns, making sure to spatter it with the remains of the napalm. She then ran to the high school, thrust the bundle into the trash bin, made sure it was surrounded with stuff that would produce a lot of smoke, and started a fire in the trash bin. Yesterday had been the last day of the convention; she hoped this bit of misdirection would keep Wayland and the police of being suspicious of her.

Then she ran back to her room, gathered up all her personal belongings, and headed once more back to Wayland’s shop. Once she’d packed the car, she made one more trip, and came back with some cash from her riverside stash. She went through his records and found her invoice. The price was way too low — he hadn’t marked up the parts, and she estimated he was only charging for half the hours he’d actually spent, and he wasn’t charging at all for the bodywork. This tore her apart again; he was truly a wonderful guy, and she was sure she was starting to fall in love, but it wasn’t fated to be. She’d just have to find a way to live with the pain. She made a more realistic estimate on the hours, based on her own experience, marked up the parts fifteen percent, and left him cash for the adjusted amount. She also left a note.

Dearest Wayland,

I’m sorry to do such a mean thing to you, but I’ve realized I can’t stay here with you. Something awful happened to me earlier in my life, and whenever I get too close to a guy, memories of the past overwhelm me, and I get so afraid I have to run away. Please don’t look for me. I hope you find a wonderful girl — you really deserve it!

Lee

When she finished the note, she clipped it to the cash and the invoice. She hadn’t heard fire alarms yet, so she called the fire department and warned them about a fire at the high school. Then she headed out to the highway, loaded her hidden cash stash into the trunk, and headed on up the road toward Denver. She was crying as she drove, but it was in the privacy of her car, and nobody else would ever know just how much pain her actions caused her.