Ghost in the Machine

By Chuck “da ‘Cat” Burke

“Well, what do you think?” Sheila Hogan held her arms out and turned, her gesture taking in the empty room in which she stood with a tall, dark-skinned man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt.

“You did good, finding everything I’d asked for.  Close to NYU, near enough to the river that I can get there easily, top floor of the building so I don’t have to worry about someone above me making a racket, pre-wired with Ethernet cabling in each room,” replied the young man as he turned and walked over to the closet where a circuit breaker box was concealed.  “And equipped with a 440 volt service, with extra amperage on the standard 110 circuits.  Just what I need to keep myself in shape.”  As he turned back toward Sheila, the hood fell back and revealed a head partially encased in a gleaming steel shell.  A broad smile could be seen on the uncovered mouth, and the one visible eye had the gleam of a child who just got what he wanted for Christmas. The one-time Teen Titan called Cyborg stepped closer to the real estate agent and extended his hand.  “I think we have a deal, Miss Hogan.”

“Please, Mr. Stone, I’ve asked you to call me Sheila.”

“Only if you call me Vic.”

Two weeks later, Vic Stone relaxed in the fifth-floor apartment into which he had moved a few days earlier. His idea of relaxing wasn’t quite the same as most people’s: the upper part of his body rested in a cradle of webbing, while his legs rested in a device that seemed to hold each leg tightly in place.  The metallic sheaths and belts that normally covered his legs stood next to the machine.

“Damn, that feels good!” he said, apparently to himself. “One of the advantages of the restoration I went through after my experiences with the Techis, is there’s more of ‘me’ now since there’s been since the accident.  But my legs need a couple hours of therapy each week outside of the tin suit.”

“Yeah, but have you considered installing some air conditioning in those legs, buddy?” came a voice from out of thin air.  There was a brief flash of green light, and the housefly that had been crawling across the back of a couch disappeared, to be replaced by a short, thin, green-skinned young man dressed in black pants and dark green dress shirt.

“Damn it, Gar, don’t you ever knock?” yelled Vic as he tripped a cybernetic link to release his legs and turn his body upright in the webbing.  Another link directed his metallic “legs” to move until they were under his body, then he lowered himself into them.  Self-activating locks engaged, then the webbing uncurled from around him.  “Whatcha doing here, green-genes?”

“I scored a pair of tickets for Wicked for tonight.  You up for a show?”  Garfield Logan, better known to the world at large as Changeling, pulled a pair of tickets from his shirt pocket.  “With my good looks and fame, I’m sure I could get us a backstage meet and greet with the stars after the show.”

“Right, assuming they’re into comedy acts.”  Vic pulled a shirt on over the gleaming metallic “vest” that made up the central portion of his cybernetic body.  “You know me, man, I never got into that Broadway stuff.  Besides, a show about a witch, on Halloween night?  Don’t you ever get tired of the clichés, man?”

“I know, but this is a new show, and people change, y’know?”  Gar tucked the tickets back into his pocket.  “Figured I’d give you first shot at them.”

“I appreciate it, dude, but you gotta tell me something.”

“What’s that?”

“What the hell happened to those tickets when you were buzzing in here as a fly?”

Changeling stood for a couple of seconds, a puzzled look on his face.  “Heck if I know.  I just know that when I change back, my clothes are still on and my stuff’s still in my pockets.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “Wonder who would be interested in going to the show?”

“Why don’t you check with Raven?  I know she and Kory have got a place uptown, and the witch is trying to act, as she said it, more like a normal person.”  Vic walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.  He held up a can of Soder Cola, and Gar shook his head.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.  Catch ya later, Vic!”  Another flash of green light, and Gar transformed into a falcon and flew out an open window.

Putting the soda back and pulling out a bottle of carrot juice, Vic walked over to the window.  “Nice day out, probably won’t get too many more like this before winter.  Good day for running.”

Fifteen minutes later, Vic Stone exited the building clad in dark blue sweat pants and a matching hooded sweatshirt.  Despite the unseasonably warm temperature, he had the hood up to hide the metallic cowling over half of his head.  He took to the street, his legs working in an old, familiar rhythm.

“Yeah, the treadmill is good for exercise, but there’s nothing like a good run through the neighborhood,” he said to himself.  In the few days since he moved in, he had already been spotted and recognized by people in the area.  The Meta-Tattler had included a single-paragraph note in their “Comings and Goings” column, noting that he had apparently moved back to New York City after his time away from Earth and the tumultuous events surrounding his return to the world of his birth. It had ended with a teaser about the possibility of a new Titans team based in the Big Apple.

Now, as he jogged along, there were waves and shouts as the people spotted him.  It surprised him that most of the reactions were friendly.  “New Yorkers ain’t exactly known for being all buddy-buddy with nobody,” he’d once told Starfire. 

One hour and nearly ten miles later, he was running through Brooklyn when he saw a group of young people gathered in the street.  Sensitive audio receivers picked up the sounds of shouting, and the thud of a body striking the pavement.  He changed direction to check out the situation.

“I done tol’ you man, Paula is mine!” said one of the young men, standing over another who lay face down in the street.

“She ain’t yours, Eddie.  She goes with who she wants!” said the one in the street, kicking one foot up into his attacker’s stomach.

“Oof!” Eddie took two steps back, allowing the other to get to his feet. There was a loud SNICK, and a metal blade flashed in Eddie’s hand. “That’s it, Rico. You ain’t-“

“Ain’t none of you doin’ anything today!” shouted Cyborg, lifting Eddie up by the collar.  “Don’t try it, Rico!” he added, pointing with his metal-encased left hand.  There was a brief burst of indescribable noise, and another knife went flying from Rico’s hand. “Lemme guess, Rico’s putting the moves on your girl, right?” he asked Eddie.

Eddie looked up hopefully.  It sounded like Cyborg was taking his side.  “Yeah, that’s what happened.  And you know that ain’t right, don’tca?”

“What ain’t right, Eddie, is treatin’ your girl like she’s phone or a pair of shoes, like she belongs to you.  Girl’s got a mind of her own, Eddie.” Cyborg slammed the youth into a wall to punctuate his statement.

“Yeah, and if she wants to go with me, that’s all right, ain’t it?” asked Rico.

“Not if you’re getting all up in someone’s face about it,” replied Cyborg, turning his glowing cybernetic eye on the young man.  The sensitive audio pick-ups implanted in his skull heard the approaching sirens before any of the youths in the street did, and he kept talking to distract them.  Within three minutes, four police cars were surrounding the group.

When all was said and done, there were no arrests and no charges to be filed.  As the last of the police officers prepared to leave, a young woman pulled up in a car and stepped out.  Her red hair was pulled back in a tight bun, but several strands had come loose and hung down on either side of her round, slightly pudgy face.  She hurried over to where Cyborg and Police Captain Josh Reynolds were speaking.

“I’m glad I caught you here. I heard there was some kind of riot, and Cyborg was spotted breaking it up!” she said somewhat breathlessly.

Cyborg put up a hand. “No riot, Miss…”

“Hopper. Grace Hopper, with the New York Post.” Her left hand pulled a notebook from her purse as she put out her right hand to the former Titan. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for the last week or so.” As she shook his hand, they both felt the mild zap of static electricity. “Oh, sorry about that, there’s something screwy with my car’s electrical system.  Every time I get out of it, I zap the first thing I touch.”

“Yeah, no problem there, but I’m not exactly looking to get my face plastered all over the papers, you know?”  Captain Reynolds gave a half-salute and headed to his cruiser, leaving the reporter and the super-hero standing on the sidewalk.

“I understand, but people are curious. They want to know if you’re back to stay, if you are using New York as your base of operations, if the Teen Titans are getting back together, those sorts of things.”

“Yes, yes, and I don’t know yet.”  Cyborg turned and started walking away.  “I’m not the leader of the Titans, never was, and it’s up to the guys and gals whether they want to give it another shot. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to my run.”  With that, he jogged off without a backwards glance.  Had he looked back, though, he would have seen the reporter smiling.

Two hours later, Vic Stone was back in his apartment, cooking up a package of Chinese noodles, when he heard someone call his name.

“Is this how you take care of yourself? After what I did to save your life?”

Vic turned to see a pale image of a man standing behind him.  An older man, thin, dark-skinned, with wiry grey hair. “Dad?”

“Yes, Victor.  I had to come back to see what you are doing with the gifts I gave you.” Silas Stone appeared to walk over to a chair and sit down.  “Your mother and I both gave our lives for you, we deserve to know that it was worthwhile.”

“Oh, no, I’m not buying into any guilt trips, ghost or no ghost.  What happened to me was your fault, Dad, but I forgave you for that a long time ago.  You and Mom, you did what you believed was right with your experiments, and it cost Mom her life that day in the lab. Her life, and me, well…”  Vic looked down at the metal banding around his legs and arms, the shell encasing most of his torso.  “You turned me into a high tech tin man. I didn’t want it, I didn’t ask for it, and when I found out what happened, you sure as hell know I didn’t want to keep it.  But I did, and I found something useful to do with the equipment and abilities you gave me.”

“Useful? Was it useful, what happened to us?”  Vic turned toward the balcony, and saw two young men in colorful costumes standing just inside.  One of them wore a blue and silver costume, with a silver cowl covering half of his face.  His emaciated body looked like it could barely stand, yet he carried a large sword that he held at the ready.  Next to him, a blonde man with piercing blue eyes stood in an oddly old-fashioned looking costume of maroon and white.  Both of them wavered, like a bad television signal, and Vic noted that he would see the skyline of the city through their bodies.

“Ravager and Jericho? What is this, spook night?”

“Only your failings, Cyborg. Your failings will always come back to haunt you,” said Grant Wilson, the Ravager. 

“And you’re supposed to be my failing, Ravager? A spoiled rich kid who figured out his daddy was one of the top assassins in the world, and you let the H.I.V.E. experiment on you, trying to duplicate the formula that made your dad superhuman? And I guess it’s my fault their formula killed your sorry ass?”

The other man gestured emphatically. His right hand slapped his own chest in fist, then pointed at Cyborg.

“No, Joey, I don’t know what went wrong with you, but you went just as crazy as your old man. I hated losing you as a team-mate, but by the time you died, I was past mourning for you.”

“What about me? Were you past mourning me when I died?” Vic jumped as the voice came from just over his shoulder, a voice he remembered from many nights in high school.  Marcy Reynolds, looking as she had the last time Vic saw her, draped a hand over his shoulder.  “I died calling you, Vic, did you know that? I died-“

“You died when you smartened up and realized you were following a raving loony.  And you wanted me to bail you out, but you were the one that bailed on me, Marcy. The look in your eyes when you saw me in this rig, that hurt me more than the day I nearly died.”

Vic grabbed for his jacket hanging near the door.  “Now, since you all seem to find my home so comfortable, how about you stay here for a while, while I go out to get a little fresh air and maybe clear my head?” He opened the door, walked out, and slammed it behind him.

In the hallway, he spied two familiar figures standing in front of the elevator, and he felt a chill down his spine.  “Grandma?  Granddad?”

Maude and Tucker Stone turned from studying the number on another apartment door.  “Hey, here he is, Tucker!”

“But, what happened, when did you pass away?  I thought you were in Las Vegas?”

“Pass away?  Are you feeling all right there, boy?” asked Tucker.

Cyborg shook his head.  “You’re not dead? You’re not ghosts?”

“Hell, no, boy!” Maude Stone grinned at her grandson.  “By all rights, we probably should be dead by now, but we’re just like an old song, we’ll keep going on forever.”

“Now, hush, Maudie.  Something’s bothering the boy.”  Tucker reached up to lay a hand on his grandson’s shoulder.  “What’s the matter, Victor?”

“This is gonna sound silly, but my new place, it’s haunted.  I just left four ghosts in there.”

“How about we have a talk with them, boy?  You know, your grandmother, she can still charm anybody and anything she meets.”  Tucker led the way to the door Vic had come out of, then stepped aside as the younger man unlocked the door.  When it was open, Tucker stepped inside a looked around.  “Ain’t nobody here but me, boy.  Come on in.”

Cyborg walked in and looked around.  Silas Stone, Marcy Reynolds, and Grant and Joe Wilson were still where he’d left them.  “Granddad, they’re still here.”

“Where, son.  Point one out to me.”

“Right there, in front of the balcony door.” Vic watched as his grandfather walked up to, then through, the ghostly form of Jericho.  As he did, Vic noticed a brief blip in the visual signal from his cybernetic eye.

“Damn.  The electronic overlay with the vision from my one real eye just twigged on an error.  The onboard computer checks the video recorded by my robotic eye with feedback from my real eye, and it’s not matching up.  The only thing seeing the ghosts is my cyber eye.”

“Yeah, boy, whatever you say,” said Maude, shaking her head.  “Never could make heads or tails of all that computer junk anyway.”

“No, this is what I needed.  The ghosts are being generated within my own systems.  Something’s interfering, something that should be picked up on a system scan, annnd, there it is.”  Cyborg trained his electronic eye on his right palm, and reached into one of the equipment pouches on his belt for a pair of tweezers.  “Gotcha!”

“Got what?” asked Tucker.

“A little micro circuit, slapped on to my hand, and hacking into my internal computers. Got into my visual and audio circuits, and spontaneously generated false signals based on my subconscious.  Tricky little bugger.”

“But how could someone slip that on you, Vic?” asked Maude.

“Oh, I know how I picked this one up.  Let me make a couple phone calls.”

Moments later, Vic looked up from his desk.  “Yeah, just what I figured.  New York Post never heard of Grace Hopper, which is a name I should have picked up on.”

“Why’s that?”

“Grace Hopper was an early computer programmer, for the US Navy.  Considered the grandmother of most programming languages.  The reporter was a fake, just looking for a way to slap this thing on my hand and hack my systems. Looks like the ghosts were a side-effect, one I’m sure she didn’t know about.  Thanks to this little haunting, I got rid of that chip before it could do any real damage.”  Vic sat down on a couch next to his grandmother.  “Unfortunately, they’ve got nothing to go on trying to locate her.  I might give Nightwing a call, maybe we can track her down.  But I can do that later.  What brings you two up here?”

“Hey, it’s Halloween, boy!  Figured we’d bring our grandson some treats, since he’s a little too old to go out Trick or Treating!” replied Maude as she opened a bag of fresh cookies.

“Ah, now that’s what I wanted to hear!” said Vic as he settled back to enjoy the evening with his family.