Free The Other Eight by Joseph R. Lallo Page B

call from a major. He said people
‘associated’ me with the project, and that it would be good to let
the people see that I was still a part of it.”
    “Hopefully you learn to keep a lid on that
power of yours, or covert missions are pretty much out for us,”
said the next man in line. He had a gap-toothed smile and an easy
drawl to his voice. He was also chewing on a wad of tobacco and
spitting over the side of the troop carrier wall from time to time.
“I’m Retcon, I’m from Alabama, and I’ve got about three years of
experience in just about anything I feel like having it in.”
    “I don’t follow,” FM remarked.
    “About once a day I can sorta change my mind
about what happened to me between the ages of seventeen and twenty,
so long as I end up in the same place at the end of it. Whatever I
decide is what really happened, or may as well have.”
    “Ooh, that’s a good one. What is it right
now?” Nonsensica asked.
    “I was getting good at shootin’ a rifle.
We’ll see what it’ll be come boot camp. I figure I may as well do
the talkin’ for this here fella next to me, since I know he’s not
much of a talker hisself. Him and me both almost got recruited last
time they did one of these. He’s, uh, what is it? Undo? And he’s
got the ability to undo whatever he last did. Oh, and he’s from
Sturgis. That about right, Zed?”
    Undo nodded once. He was dressed in a
denim-on-denim outfit, had a reasonably fit build, wore mirrored
sunglasses, and had five o’clock shadow. Those around him also
sensed that he was recovering from a potent hangover, judging from
the strong smell of old alcohol and his general aversion to the
louder comments being made.
    “You’re up, sir,” Phosphor said, when the man
in question didn’t speak up on his own.
    The man was dressed in a much classier outfit
than any of the other hopefuls. He wore slacks, polished black
shoes, and a white dress shirt topped with a satin vest and a black
tie. He had a cold, distant look to his face, though the fact that
it became colder and more distant whenever he noticed someone
looking at him suggested there was something not quite legitimate
about it. “My name is Omnivox.”
    The words instantly seized the attention of
even those who had begun to lose interest. It wasn’t one voice but
a chorus of them, deep and tightly harmonized. The way they
combined gave him an almost robotic sound. “I am from Salem,
Oregon. You are hearing my power right now.”
    Nonsensica tipped her head to the side. “That
effect sounds so familiar. Did you ever go by a different
name?”
    “That’s not relevant. Who is next?” he
replied hastily.
    “That’ll be me,” said a greasy-looking fellow
wearing a sleeveless flannel shirt and a bandana. “Third Person,
I’m from New Hampshire, and I’m looking over my own shoulder right
now.”
    “Like in a game?” Bomb Sniffer asked.
    “Exactly.”
    “Cool.”
    “I’m Johnny On the Spot, I’m from wherever
the wind blows me, and I’ve got the ability to be in the right
place at the right time,” blurted the next man in line. His
appearance was a near perfect representation of the classic image
of a superhero: a strong chin and lush hair with a spit curl
hanging down over his forehead. His physique bulged with chiseled
and bulky muscles that were more about size than strength, and his
clothes were two sizes too small, the better to show off said
muscles.
    “That’s it?” Chloroplast said.
    “I’ve gotten twenty-five walk on roles on
television just by stumbling onto a set while they were shooting,
I’m living rent free after a real estate tycoon’s prize Chihuahua
fell out of the penthouse window and landed in my arms, and I was
the millionth customer at three different grocery stores in the
last four months, earning me free groceries for life. I do okay,”
he said with a shrug.
    “Wow. Your codename should have been Lucky
Bastard,” said Gracias.
    “Or just Bastard,” said