Just as the device turned on, Bill drew up his arms to shield his face. It was pure instinct. The red light was just so bright. Had he not done so, his brain would have been fried.
But the plain flesh and bone of two arms gave far less shielding than what the six experimental subjects behind him were wearing. Far, far more intense nerve impulses still reached his brain than what the device's makers had ever intended. No one knew what this extreme, not-quite-lethal dose would do to a man.
In Bill's case, it gave him the ultimate epiphany.
The whole universe opened up before him. Everything became profoundly simple. He felt aware of every atom, every photon, every transient subatomic particle coursing through the whole of the cosmos. Every interaction, no matter how small, was there for him to see. And to control. He felt as though he could reach out and disassemble the very air molecules making up the Earth's atmosphere, or create breatheable oxygen in the atmosphere of Jupiter. And he felt like he didn't need to; he understood the vast interconnectedness of every quantum in the universe, and could see with breathtaking clarity the grand majesty of it all.
It seemed to last for its own eternity. But in truth, it only lasted a few seconds. Then something happened with the device, the red light went out, and it all slipped away. The oneness with the universe, the connection to every atom, the awareness and understanding of everything — all gone. It drained out of him as though a yawning, empty void had sucked it all away. He screamed, "Noooooo!"
And now, he could once again hear the voices of kidnappers around him. The mundane, ordinary kidnappers who had no idea about the profound vast interconnectedness of the cosmos around them, and never could. "Who is that guy?" one of them said. "He wasn't prepped for the test," said another. "He wasn't ray shielded," a third said, "His brain should be fried, right?"
His vision returned to the mundane world of room and walls, too. He could see light still shining from the front of the device, dimmer and no longer red. The device still hummed, more weakly than before, as though it were still shooting something in his general direction. That was the device that had made him omniscient for those fleeting seconds. It was still running. If it could be switched back into that magical, red-light mode, it might bring the universe back to him!
He could also see one of the kidnappers pointing right behind him, who said, "That's the Tree! She found us! Was she hit by the test too?" And right about then two of the kidnappers reach for holsters on their hips. Rachael the Tree's words returned to him: "They might have guns."
Uh oh. Worry about getting back to Nirvana later. Bill dashed off to one side and pinned himself flat against the side of a crate. His limbs made an odd crunching noise as he moved. He heard a shot ring out, but didn't fell the sting of a bullet. They must have missed him. He glanced down at his body to be sure, but . . . what the hell? There was a thick coating of frost on his arms and torso. And his legs. It wasn't cold in this warehouse, in fact on a sunny L.A. day like today it was quite warm in here. So why —
Then his eyes went distant. That awareness, than oneness with the universe — it hadn't completely gone away. There was one little remnant of it that still clung to his mind. He wasn't aware of the presence of every molecule around him, but he was aware of the presence of every water molecule around him. The moisture in the air, the ice crystals dusting his body, he felt he could command them all. He heard the footsteps of kidnappers running toward him. Could he turn this icy coating into something thick enough to protect him from their bullets? There was enough water vapor in the air to . . . there we go! An inch-thick layer of ice froze itself in place around him almost instantly. It was like wearing a suit of armor. It covered all of him, including his head. He willed the ice directly in front of his eyes to thin out and become perfectly smooth, so clear that he could see through it. Despite being encased in ice, his joints still moved with remarkable ease.
He was testing his neck movements when the first kidnapper ran into view and shot him.
For such a tiny pistol, the sound of the BANG was almost deafening. Guns were a lot louder in real life than they were on TV. Bill felt the impact of the bullet against his chest, and staggered back half a step, but . . . it only felt like getting hit by a baseball. He wasn't wounded. His suit of ice armor had worked like a charm. He stepped toward the kidnapper and swung his fist at him. Problem was, it had been so long since Bill had been in any kind of a fight that he completely underestimated how far away his assailant was from him, and ended up swinging at empty air. But he still connected. As his fist reached its apex, a slug of ice the size of a softball sprang from his knuckles and slammed into the kidnapper, knocking him down.
Two more kidnappers stood directly behind the one he'd just knocked down. Bill could see the moisture in the air surrounding them. What he needed to do next seemed . . . obvious, like an instinct he didn't even know he had. He needed to keep his assailants rooted in place. The water vapor around them needed to knit.
So, he . . . made it happen. Just the same as if he were taking a step, or plucking an item off a shelf, or doing any of the other practiced motions he'd done all his life. Cones of ice instantly congealed around the legs and waists of the two would-be attackers, who were now — for the moment — too bewildered to act.
Another BANG echoed from behind Bill, and he felt the impact of another bullet against the ice armor on his back. He turned on this new assailant. It was another kidnapper, still pointing his gun at Bill. While Bill's ice armor prevented him from getting wounded by a gunshot, each bullet still stung — and he couldn't be sure that the next shot wouldn't break through a weak spot in his ice armor, or impact a vital area and send him to the ground. He might be able to freeze the moisture around the gun, but . . . wait . . . their bodies were full of water too, weren't they? If he could freeze the moisture in the air, could he also . . .
He pointed an open palm at the gunman, and willed him to be chilled. Almost immediately, the man doubled over and groaned. His breath condensed in a cloud, as on a cold winter day. The gun slipped from his grasp, and then he collapsed onto his knees, still conscious but visibly stunned. The water in his body hadn't actually frozen, which would have ruptured the cells it was in and potentially killed the man, but it cooled enough to give him an acute case of hypothermia.
A cry of "What the hell?" came from the ground behind him. The first gunman, the one he'd knocked to the floor, had just seen his comrade double over from the cold. He drew a bead on Bill from his prone position and snapped off two more rounds; one missed, the other ricocheted harmlessly off Bill's ice-covered flank. Bill grunted. This guy needed to stay down. He put his right index and middle fingers together, thrust them forward, and flipped his hand over right at the end of the stroke, as though making a stage-magic gesture. From a point somewhere in front of these two fingers, a jet of water surged out and slammed straight into his assailant's face, going right up his nose.
Have you ever jumped straight into a swimming pool and had the water go up your nose? It hurts, doesn't it. Imagine if the water were moving ten times faster, and hit your nostrils ten times harder. The assailant didn't have to imagine; he let out a "GAAAAAHH!" and reeled on the floor in pain and confusion.
But the two kidnappers Bill had frozen in place were beginning to come back to their senses. Bill needed to put some distance between himself and them, and get closer to where they'd tied up Joe. He took a running step . . . and nearly slipped. All the ice he'd been making had coated the floor in a slippery glaze. Damn. He couldn't run on ice! How was he . . .
Actually, maybe he could run on ice. He'd once played a game called "broomball", which was like ice hockey except you ran around on the ice carrying a broom. You didn't wear skates, you just wore your normal shoes. He didn't have any high-traction shoes on at the time, so he'd figured out how to slide forward the same way an ice skater would. Maybe he could "skate" on this ice sheet the way he'd done in broomball. He pumped his feet backwards, and started sliding forwards again, but this time without falling over. It did feel kind of like ice skating. In fact, after a few pushes with his feet, he was zipping ahead even faster than he'd previously been running.
A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that his would-be assailants had not mastered the same trick. Three of them had already fallen into a heap on the ice. But as he pulled away, the ice far behind him was already starting to melt. It wouldn't hold them off for long.
There! Joe was right in front of him now, along with the other victims tied to their chairs. He turned his feet sideways in crude imitation of a hockey-stop. He stumbled for a couple of steps at the end; he'd have to work on that. He was right behind his boyfriend, staring right at the knot that was holding Joe's ropes in place. "I've got you, Joe!" he said as he grabbed onto the knot and started pulling. Despite the ice girding his hands, it was surprisingly easy to get a grip on it. "I'll have you free in a jiffy!" Thankfully, the knot wasn't complicated, and in a matter of seconds the ropes went slack and Joe was free. He ran around to the front of the chair and clasped his boyfriend's shoulders. "Come on, Joe, let's get out of here!"
Joe stared back with blank eyes. He neither moved nor spoke.
"Joe, Joe," Bill shook him, "Come on!" . . . Still nothing. Oh no. The mind control ray. It must still be working! He shook Joe harder. "Come on, Joe, snap out of it!" . . . No use. It was as though Joe's mind was on another planet. He took a quick glance at the other prisoners to either side; both of them had that same glazed look, staring off into nothingness, oblivious to all the commotion around them. Mind control ray, he recalled Tree's words. It had definitely done something to them. And light was still coming out of the device; it was probably still on, just at lower power or a different setting than when it had started. Maybe it was keeping Joe and the others catatonic.
But why wasn't Bill affected?
After all, the light was shining on him just as much as it was shining on Joe. Did the metallic bandana on Joe's head have anything to do with it? And both of them had been exposed to the device's initial high-power red setting.
The high-powered red light . . .
The light that was shining on him, through his crossed arms, when he'd . . .
When he'd had the perspective of God.
If he could recapture that, if he could once again have the power to sense and control every molecule, not just the water molecules . . . the whole universe would be open to him. Rescuing Joe would be little more than an afterthought. That calm assurance, that omniscience, would be everything he'd ever . . . could . . . could he get back there, if the device were turned back up to its high-powered red light setting?
Maybe.
Or maybe another exposure would just fry his brain. Maybe scientists who weren't trying to take over the world could study it, slowly, and figure out what it actually did, what worked, what didn't, and then —
A loud voice echoed from behind him. One of the kidnappers. The guy was using a bullhorn. "Get him!"
Bill snapped his ice-covered head to the right. The three armed kidnappers who'd fallen on their ice were back on their feet and splashing toward him through a thin puddle. But then, movement caught his eye off to the left, and . . . Joe was looking straight at him, the same deadness in his eyes as before. And now, Joe lurched toward him, swinging both arms at him as though trying to grab him. This was no affectionate hug coming Bill's way. That spoken command over the bullhorn had been meant for Joe.
Mind control ray. God help him, it was working.
Bill froze Joe's legs in place, just as he'd done to some of his would-be assailants. He'd have to tread carefully with these new powers. If he accidentally hurt the man he loved, he'd never forgive himself. "Joe," he repeated, "Snap out of it!"
"Get him!" the bullhorn sounded again.
Here is Water and Ice Man's
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