Vox Oraculum

VOX ORACULUM

by

Cap'n Neurotic

The costumed hero floated gently down to the rooftop astride his unlikely cotton-colored conveyance, alighting easily and quickly sinking through the cloudlike mass as it dissipated back into the ether from which it was called until he stood firmly on the building itself. He took a few strides to the edge of the roof, glancing over the side to catch the work of a potential recruit in action; he would have had a much better vantage point from the sky, but had been afraid that one of the earth-bound players would have noticed a 6’3”, 240 lb. figure in a brightly colored costume floating over-head on what could easily be mistaken for a cumulonimbus. If he had been forced to engage in the battle below, it would have been a chaotic mélange of brute force, sonic booms, and broken bones, as opposed to the exercise in finesse being practiced by the rookie hero unknowingly under his scrutiny, the latest in a long line to adopt the costumed identity of Balance.

He grunted as he noted how long the fight was taking; the new Balance obviously outstripped her opponents in every way, and could have easily trounced the thugs in the amount of time it would take for their pilfered possessions to fall to the ground from out of their limp arms. But instead, the lithe brunette was drawing the confrontation out, content to furnish three or four lesser blows to each combatant in lieu of the finishing blows that were wide open to a super with her enhanced physicality.

It was a trait he had observed in some of the pervious Balances – the only one to actually be a member of Vox Aequitas had explained the philosophy behind it as an attempt to demoralize opponents

“If I take them out with one blow,” the middle-aged Balance had explained in a thick brogue, “then there’s every chance they’ll use their immense powers of self-delusion to talk themselves into thinking I just got in a lucky punch. But, if I prolong the battle, and outshine them at every turn, then they may finally get it through their thick skulls that they’re outmatched, and possibly be willing to forego engaging in such activity again.”

"Either that, or they’ll spend all of their time in the pen obsessing over how you humiliated them, and set out to become your new arch-nemeses.”

The British Balance had merely laughed at his teammate’s gruff prognosis. “A ray of sunshine as always, my friend, a ray of sunshine.”

The hero closed his eyes in regret; it hurt to think of the former Balance, just as it hurt to think of any of the long gone members of the Vox. But he had spent too much time in regret, too much time wallowing in seclusion, a fact he had recently had his nose rubbed in thanks to some tough love from the vigilante known as Bloodstain. Now, he was determined to reform Vox Aequitas and wipe away the shame and disappointment which had accumulated

"Shame, shame, Cloudburst. I’m disappointed; very disappointed.”

Startled by the words which seemed to echo his thoughts so closely, the hero whirled around, instinctively sheathing his fists in miniature storm clouds crackling with energy instants away from blasting the figure hidden in the shadows.

“I mean, I can’t believe you’re getting the band back together and haven’t asked me!”

As a tall, lanky figure in a motley costume ambled from the shadows into the light, Cloudburst allowed the energy encircling his fists to discharge harmlessly around him; he was all too familiar with this character.

“Ooo, shiny!” the wiry man exclaimed at the light show produced by Cloudburst’s energy release.

“What do you want, Gremlin?”

“Um, I believe I’ve already established that I’m here to lodge a complaint about not being asked to be a part of the Vox reunion tour.” Gremlin cooked his head quizzically. “Now, is it deafness or senility to blame for you missing that? I know how spotty you old folks can be.”

Cloudburst silently gritted his teeth and counted to twenty – getting irked by Gremlin’s antics served no purpose, but it was nearly impossible for him to control his temper around the wisecracker. Choosing to ignore the senior citizen crack (especially since, from what he had gleaned, Gremlin had probably been around for the signing of the Magna Carta), Cloudburst addressed the complaint directly.

“First of all, it would be hard to ask you to be part of a reunion since you were never on the original team –“

“True, but then again, neither are ¾ of the group you’ve recruited so far.” Gremlin flashed his bizarrely wide grin, which Cloudburst strove to ignore; he wasn’t about to fall into the trap of pondering how Gremlin knew about the reformation of Vox Aequitas, let alone who had been selected. The pest popped up in the most unlikely of places, equipped with information as infallible as it was esoteric, making him both an indispensable aid and an infuriating nuisance.

“Second of all,” Cloudburst continued, “when you actually were invited to join Vox you refused membership, claiming that you didn’t, and I quote, ‘play well with others’.”

Gremlin gasped in exaggerated shock. “Will wonders never cease . . . you actually do listen to what I say.”

“Well, for once, I agreed.”

Gremlin smirked. “I’m sure you did. And, I hope that you’ll agree with what I’m about to tell you now, because you definitely need to listen this time, ‘Burst; a lot of lives depend on it.”

Cloudburst’s jaw tightened as he heard Gremlin’s voice take on the sonorous tone which signaled the quirky crime had been overtaken by the power of prophecy.

“Heed your instincts, ‘Burst,” Gremlin intoned, “for the Voice of Justice has rarely been needed as sorely as it soon shall be. But remember that lesson once hard taught, that few are what they seem, and mysteries reside within us all, whether we acknowledge them or not; the new chords added to your symphony might sound pure and true at first, but if not carefully tuned, your harmony will breed cacophony, which then will spell calamity.”

Cloudburst shook his head, flummoxed by the windings of Gremlin’s pronouncement. He had once been told by the occult adventurer Mister Myster that those with the mystical gift of prophecy (as opposed to the more mundane gift of precognition) were slaves to whatever forces spoke through them, so he couldn’t very well blame Gremlin for the words which had just escaped his lips. But at the same time, Cloudburst had always had a strong, almost primal, distaste for all things connected with magic and mysticism, and any encounter with such supernatural forces instantly set his teeth on edge.

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

Gremlin’s eyes lost their thousand-yard star, and regained their normal twinkle. “It means this, my literal minded friend: Some serve as a boon / some serve as a curse / some secrets for better / still others for worse.”

Cloudburst allowed a small growl to escape his lips; the initial prophecy may have been the product of some larger guiding force, but that last bit of doggerel was all Gremlin. “You realize that you’ve just given me reason to doubt every single member of the team; I’m going to be second-guessing each of them every step of the way.”

The enigmatic hero nodded sadly. “True enough, I’m afraid, but ask yourself this: would not the old Vox have benefited from such questioning?” The question left Cloudburst momentarily speechless; it was difficult to refute Gremlin’s point. In many ways, it reflected thoughts that had dwelled in Cloudburst’s head ever since the unfortunate events which marked the final adventure of the previous incarnation of Vox Aequitas – reflected the thoughts so well in fact that, not for the first time, Cloudburst wondered if, despite frequent claims to the contrary, telepathy was included in the large back of tricks wielded by Gremlin.

Although he thought he knew what the answer would be, Cloudburst still felt compelled to ask the question. “How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

The wiry hero drew himself ramrod straight, puffing out his chest and fixing his face into a rictus of outrage. “How dare you question The Great Gremlini!” he exclaimed, twirling around and sweeping his arms around his head with a theatrical flourish. “Am I not the Jester of Justice?” he cried, suddenly bounding through the air over Cloudburst’s head, then springing off sideways to the northern edge of the roof. “Am I not the one chosen to wield the Wrench of the Monkey?” he asked, his long arm sweeping out to graze the rooftop AC unit, which instantly began to stutter and hiss, a victim of Gremlin’s innate anti-technological nature. “Am I not –“

Cloudburst drew in a deep breath, tuning out the indignant rant. He knew that once his mercurial companion had slipped into such histrionics, there was only one way to put a stop to it: sink to his level.

“Am you not done yet?” he barked as his overly dramatic companion launched himself into the air yet again. At Cloudburst’s outburst, Gremlin clutched at his chest, let out an agonized groan, and slammed into the ground.

“Bad . . . grammar . . . my only . . . weakness . . . how . . . did you . . . know . . .”

Cloudburst squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up to fiercely massage the bridge of his nose before letting out an exasperated “Grem . . .”

Gremlin – who had drawn himself into a fetal position, twitching frantically – rose to his feet in a fluid motion, affixing Cloudburst with a mischievous grin.

“Well done with the grammar-bomb, ‘Burst; there might be hope for you yet. You really need to laugh more; it’ll add years to your life.”

“Is that prophecy or platitude?”

“Can’t it be both?” Gremlin asked earnestly before shaking his head. “No, ‘tis not one of my plethora of prophecies, I’m afraid, just some advice from a long-time ally.” Gremlin paused, as if carefully weighing his words. “’Burst, I know we have our differences, but you know I’ve never steered you or any of the others wrong in the past. Take my words with a grain of salt if you must, but do think on them; I promise it’s important.”

“But you have no idea why it’s important?”

Gremlin just shrugged; most of his power worked more on instinct than anything else.

“Besides,” Gremlin continued as he began to move back towards the shadows, “pondering that might take your mind off of other things.”

“What other things?” Cloudburst asked, regretting the question as soon as it escaped his lips.

“Oh, you know, things like the fact that you still don’t know why, 25 years ago, you suddenly manifested super-powers, almost like . . . well, magic.”

Cloudburst’s jaw dropped, but before he could utter a word his impish companion let out a maniacal giggle, burst into a double back handspring, and launched himself into the dark corners of the roof. Cloudburst didn’t even attempt to follow; long experience taught him that once Gremlin wanted to disappear, he was gone, and no tracker alive could find him.

The hero’s attention was diverted from the shadows which had swallowed the soothsayer by the sound of police sirens below; he walked back to his original post overlooking the alleyway where he could now see Balance’s easily bested prey, trussed up in immaculate knots awaiting their impending arrest. Cloudburst allowed himself a moment to admire her handiwork before the question set in: “What’s her secret? Is it a boon or a curse?” He tried to shake it off, but Gremlin’s words held fast in his mind.

“He said everyone had a secret,” he thought glumly. “Does that include me?”

As the uniformed officers swooped in to corral the helpless offenders, Cloudburst turned away from the roof’s edge, conjuring forth his once pristine conveyance, now dark and stormy to match his mood, and rode it into the sky, oblivious to all but the echoes of the voice of prophecy ringing in his ears, his head lost in the clouds.