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  MASKED

  FEATURES THESE BESTSELLING AND AWARD-WINNING CONTRIBUTORS

  STEPHEN BAXTER, Philip K. Dick and BSFA Award-winning author of the Destiny’s Children series… MIKE CAREY, Acclaimed writer for Lucifer and The Unwritten from DC/Vertigo… PAUL CORNELL, Two-time Hugo Award nominee for his work on Doctor Who, and a writer for the Marvel Comics series Young Avengers, and Captain Britain and MI-13 … PETER DAVID, New York Times bestselling author known for his work on Marvel comics like Spider-Man, and The Incredible Hulk and DC Comics’ Aquaman … MARJORIE M. LIU, New York Times bestselling author, and the writer of Marvel Comics’ Black Widow, Dark Wolverine, and NYX … IAN MCDONALD, Hugo and BSFA Award–winning author of River of Gods and Brasyl … CHRIS ROBERSON, Award-winning science fiction author, and the writer of DC/Vertigo’s Cinderella: From Fabletown with Love and I, Zombie … GAIL SIMONE, acclaimed writer of DC Comics’ Wonder Woman, Superman, and Birds of Prey … MATTHEW STURGES, fantasy novelist and a writer for DC/Vertigo’s Jack of Fables and DC’s JSA All Stars … BILL WILLINGHAM, Creator and writer of the DC/Vertigo smash hits Fables and Jack of Fables.

  Praise for editor Lou Anders

  “Lou Anders is an accomplished anthologist, adept at choosing themes likely to encourage originality of concept from his writers.”

  —Locus

  This title is also available as an eBook

  Gallery Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “The Golden Age” copyright © 2010 by Lou Anders

  “Cleansed and Set in Gold” copyright © 2010 by Matthew Sturges

  “Where Their Worm Dieth Not” copyright © 2010 by James Maxey

  “Secret Identity” copyright © 2010 by Paul Cornell

  “The Non-Event” copyright © 2010 by Mike Carey

  “Avatar” copyright © 2010 by Mike Baron

  “Message from the Bubblegum Factory” copyright © 2010 by Daryl Gregory

  “Thug” copyright © 2010 by Gail Simone

  “Vacuum Lad” copyright © 2010 by Stephen Baxter

  “A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows” copyright © 2010 by Monkeybrain Inc.

  “Head Cases” copyright © 2010 by Second Age, Inc.

  “Downfall” copyright © 2010 by Moorsyum Enterprises

  “By My Works You Shall Know Me” copyright © 2010 by Mark Chadbourn

  “Call Her Savage” copyright © 2010 by Marjorie M. Liu

  “Tonight We Fly” copyright © 2010 by Ian McDonald

  “A to Z in the Ultimate Big Company Superhero Universe (Villains Too)” copyright © 2010 by Bill Willingham

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Gallery Books trade paperback edition July 2010

  GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Masked / edited by Lou Anders.—1st Gallery Books trade paperback ed.

  p. cm.

  1. Fantasy fiction, American. 2. Superheroes—Fiction. 3. Fantasy fiction, English, I. Anders, Lou.

  PS648.F3W58 2010

  813’.0876608—dc22

  2010003536

  ISBN 978-1-4391-6882-0

  ISBN 978-1-4391-6883-7 (ebook)

  For My Little Superheroes, Arthur and Alex,

  Who Stormed the Fortress and Banished the Solitude

  Acknowledgments

  As with any anthology project, thanks are due to many people. This time out, copious appreciation is due to my friends George Mann, Mark C. Newton, and Christian Dunn, who had a hand in this anthology’s genesis. Thanks also to my editor at Gallery, the incomparable Jennifer Heddle, who, incidentally, also bought my very first professional anthology Live Without a Net way back when (and thus had a major hand in launching my publishing career). It’s wonderful to be working with her again. Thanks are certainly due to the marvelous Trevor Hairsine for a fabulous cover, and to the very dear Paul Cornell, who, apart from his own wonderful contribution, generously helped with facilitating introductions to some of the comic book scribes herein. Finally, and as always, thanks to my wonderful wife, Xin, for her superheroic levels of love and support.

  Contents

  Introduction: The Golden Age LOU ANDERS

  Cleansed and Set in Gold MATTHEW STURGES

  Where Their Worm Dieth Not JAMES MAXEY

  Secret Identity PAUL CORNELL

  The Non-Event MIKE CAREY

  Avatar MIKE BARON

  Message from the Bubblegum Factory DARYL GREGORY

  Thug GAIL SIMONE

  Vacuum Lad STEPHEN BAXTER

  A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows CHRIS ROBERSON

  Head Cases PETER DAVID AND KATHLEEN DAVID

  Downfall JOSEPH MALLOZZI

  By My Works You Shall Know Me MARK CHADBOURN

  Call Her Savage MARJORIE M. LIU

  Tonight We Fly IAN MCDONALD

  A to Z in the Ultimate Big Company Superhero Universe (Villains Too) BILL WILLINGHAM

  About the Editor

  The Golden Age

  “And the other fields I’ve worked in—Fantasy, or Children’s Fiction, or Horror—tend to be critically looked down on as gutter literature by a certain sort of reader (comics weren’t even in the gutter when I started writing them. We were some kind of sub-drain. You looked up to the gutter).”

  —NEIL GAIMAN

  Superheroes and superheroines have come a long way since Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster created the Man of Steel back in 1938. From the prototypical archetypes of Superman and Batman (themselves direct descendants of the pulp fiction heroes Doc Savage and the Shadow), a whole multiverse of costumed crusaders has evolved. Seventy-two years later, and every shape and size of superhuman vigilante has been explored. They may come by their powers naturally or as the result of exposure to some scientific accident. They may rely on a technological arsenal of their own creation or have been bequeathed their abilities by a mentor. They may be caped or cowled, though plenty are neither. They usually have a secret identity, though some forgo privacy in favor of a public life. They may have a cave deep under the ground, a laboratory high above the city, a base at the North Pole, or even a headquarters on the moon. They serve as a shining example or dish out a rough justice. And whoever they are, they all battle colorful rogues’ galleries of the worst villains imaginable, from mad scientists to alien monsters, harmless pranksters to homicidal maniacs.

  These days, the so-named “golden age” of the comic book field is three-quarters of a century behind us, during which time comic books have grown and evolved a considerable degree. Decades have passed since the first time the lid was lifted on dealing with social issues in a metaphorical context, and after a long struggle, so called “comic books” have foun
d their way into mainstream acceptance as legitimate, sophisticated entertainment.

  What’s more, the comic book superhero has been a staple of television animation and live-action filmmaking since its inception, so much so that we find ourselves in 2010 with a rich canon of superhero film adaptation. When Superman: The Movie debuted in 1978, exactly four decades after Superman’s initial comic book incarnation, it set a new standard for excellence in portraying costumed crime fighters in a sophisticated context, a standard exceeded many times over by such films as Iron Man, Watchmen, and The Dark Knight (which was nominated for eight Academy Awards and won two—one for Best Supporting Actor, no less). These days, superhero films are among the most anticipated of Hollywood offerings and the hottest of video games.

  The San Diego Comic-Con is now a respected entertainment industry event, covered in major newspapers and staked out by marketing professionals eager to get on the radar of its core demographic, with attendance levels well over 100,000 each year. And years have even passed since works like Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Jonathan Lethem’s Fortress of Solitude, and Austin Grossman’s Soon I Will Be Invincible brought the superhero (or supervillain) to mainstream “literary” respectability. Meanwhile, the Wild Cards books, created and edited by George R. R. Martin in 1987, are once again back on shelves, delighting new audiences with their shared universe of superheroics, and the character of the Escapist, created by the fictional Golden Age writer and illustrator protagonists of Chabon’s Pulitzer Prize–winning 2000 novel, was himself adapted into an actual comic book series published by Dark Horse Comics. And recently, Time magazine selected Alan Moore’s landmark 1986 graphic novel, Watchmen, as one of the “100 best English-language novels from 1923 to the present.”

  But we knew that already. After all, the start of the “Modern Age” of comics dates from 1986, with the publication of Moore’s Watchmen and Frank Miller’s Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, seminal works that established the potential of the comics medium for powerful, adult storytelling. Works that we grew up reading.

  Perhaps that is why now is the true “golden age” of comics, the best time to appreciate their wonders. All the history, and diversity, that has come before gives us such a rich playground now, a cornucopia of narrative choices, along with an informed and sophisticated audience ready to receive it. The modern comic scribes work with the confidence of knowing that the best of their offerings will be appreciated in and out of the field. Now is a time where everything is possible; there are no limits. After all, seven decades of storytelling has taken us to this point.

  The superhero has come into its own, a powerfully pervasive meme threaded through every aspect of our lives, from toys, to games, to graphic novels, to television and film. It enjoys commercial success and mainstream respectability. There has never been a more exciting time to don spandex and a cape, and exploring this phenomenon in prose is a no-brainer that even the worst supervillain couldn’t begrudge us.

  The anthology you have before you is just that—an attempt to explore the superhero genre in prose form; not as a pastiche or a parody, or a bunch of writers slumming it and having a lark at the genre’s expense; but an honest exploration, with the integrity and level of storytelling that contemporary readers of comic books and graphic novels, as well as fans of films like Iron Man and The Dark Knight, appreciate and demand. You know, “real” superheroes.

  What follows are fourteen tales, the majority by actual masters of the comic book form, the rest by some of the most exciting writers of contemporary science fiction and fantasy working today. The results are exceptional. So what are we waiting for? If a nod to our camp past can be excused as we fly into our sophisticated future, then set your atomic batteries to power, your turbines to speed, and let’s up, up and away…

  Lou Anders

  From His Secret Headquarters (aka “his office”)

  Matthew Sturges has worked on such DC and Vertigo titles as Shadowpact, Countdown to Mystery, Salvation Run, House of Mystery, Justice Society of America, Blue Beetle, and Final Crisis Aftermath: Run! With Bill Willingham, he is the coauthor of the Eisner award–nominated Jack of Fables, chosen by Time magazine as number 5 in their Top 10 Graphic Novels of 2007. In the world of prose-without-pictures, he is the author of the novels Midwinter and The Office of Shadow, which mix espionage and magic in stories amid a cold war in the realm of faery. One of the hottest writers in the comics field today, Sturges possesses a genius that is evident in the story that follows, a wonderful introduction to his world, and to this anthology.

  Cleansed and Set in Gold

  MATTHEW STURGES

  I’m on the ground, trying to breathe through a chest full of broken ribs. The only reason I’m still alive is because I happen to be invisible at the moment. Verlaine is dead. His body is twitching, trying to patch itself up, but the thing that killed him is chewing on his heart, its long tongue flicking. I can hear Verlaine’s fingernails scratching against the rocks.

  We all thought Verlaine was immortal. He wasn’t.

  Some low-level administrative assistant from the League of Heroes is trying to take a statement from me in my hospital bed. I’m sort of trying to comply, but each time I breathe it’s like someone’s sticking a giant fork in my chest. So I’m not as cooperative as I could be.

  “How big was this thing?” he asks.

  “Biggest one I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, carefully mouthing the words.

  “But still a Ghoul? Same physiognomy?”

  “His ‘physiognomy’ is his face. You mean ‘morphology.’”

  The lackey scowls at me. “Sorry,” he says.

  “If you don’t know what a word means,” I say, “don’t use it. Then you won’t have to apologize.”

  He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking around the ICU ward, maybe hoping that there’s some more desirable Leaguer that he can pester. But there isn’t.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, no. He wasn’t like the others. He was bigger. He… his fist was like…” I hold up my fist and five needles of pain lace across my chest. I notice that the nail on my left index finger is bent backward, nearly disconnected. They’ve put a bandage on it. This bothers me more than the ribs for some reason.

  “His fist was the size of your head,” I finally say. “He put it through Verlaine’s chest like Verlaine was as mortal as you.”

  The lackey puts his minirecorder on the table by my bed. His hand is shaking. “How many of them were there? This new variety.”

  “I just saw the one. He was leading the others, though. Can you imagine that? A leader. A Ghoul King.”

  The next day, the headlines read GHOUL KING KILLS RUSSELL VERLAINE. I can imagine the League’s PR people going back and forth on this. “Is it worse if we admit that there’s some kind of new mutant giant Ghoul running around, or if we imply that Russell Fucking Verlaine was murdered by some regular Ghoul?” I don’t envy them.

  After I leave the hospital—against medical advice; which, whatever— I take a taxi back to my apartment. A few unpleasant bites choked down and a potent healing factor kicks in, spreading warmth throughout my battered bones and knitting everything together in seconds. Oh, God. Yes.

  I decide that it’s best not to appear too healthy at Verlaine’s funeral, so I take care to walk slowly and gasp for breath every few paces. I’ve even gone so far as to put on fresh bandages around my chest. In case someone uses their X-ray vision to look under my shirt, I guess. Although if they could do that, they could see that my bones aren’t actually broken anymore. It doesn’t matter, though, because all of the people who’re capable of doing so wouldn’t care. And anyway, one of them is lying dead in a box in front of me.

  I’m sitting on a cold metal folding chair, pretending to be hurt, watching them lower Verlaine into the ground. It turns out that they need a special crane and a steel-reinforced casket for all of this, because Verlaine’s body is so dense that he weighs just over three tons.
The news media are fascinated. Jesus, Russell Verlaine makes good TV, even dead.

  When you think “hero,” you think Russell Verlaine. You don’t think of me. I’m not particularly good-looking, I don’t have a fascinating origin story, and I don’t even have a constant set of powers that you can put on a trading card. “David Caulfield, The Wildcard. Powers: variable” is what the League Reserves card they did for me reads. You can buy it for a penny on eBay. Shit, I don’t even wear a costume. I go around fighting criminals and monsters in jeans and an AC/DC concert tee. I am nobody’s favorite hero.

  I don’t mind, really. The last thing I need is intense media scrutiny. The less they know about me, the better.

  I stay until the coffin is in the ground and the bulldozers have filled in the earth. I’m the only one left except for Jeanie Verlaine, who’s sitting on the ground in front of her husband’s grave. The last thing I’m going to do is go try to comfort her or something, so I whisper my last respects to Russell from my seat and then I get up and try to walk away without Jeanie hearing me.

  At the entrance to the cemetery is a woman I vaguely recognize as a reporter for one of the wire services. She’s standing by the gate, smoking, trying to look casual.

  “Hey,” I say. “If you’re waiting for Jeanie to come out so you can ambush her, forget it. That’s the last thing she needs right now.”

  “Hi, David,” she says, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’m Toni Evins, from Reuters.”

  She intercepts me before I can cross the street. “I’m not here to ambush Jeanie Verlaine,” she says. “Give me some credit.”

  “I don’t care what you do,” I say. Why am I being such an asshole? This right here is why they don’t like me.

  Toni pretends not to be annoyed. “I’m actually here to talk to you. I heard you were there when it happened.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I try to come up with something to follow that with, but I have nothing.

  “If you’re interested, I’d like to do an interview with you—get your firsthand impressions, that sort of thing.” She smiles gamely.

  I close my eyes, shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t do very well with interviews. I always say the wrong thing. I’ll have to pass.”