Bubby I - Wanted: A Hero like None Other, Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Where am I? Robert thought to himself. He looked around and saw that he was in an extremely large room with one solitary curving wall. On one area of the wall, furthest away from him, there was a screen similar to that of a computer except it vastly dominated the size of the one in his room back home. A wide panel, with masses of colored buttons and something similar to a joystick, jutted out of the wall just under the bottom of the screen. Other than those objects, the room seemed to be completely bare and rather dull-looking. I wonder who lives here. This is a really neat computer. If only my friends could see me now—if only I had friends.

  “Well I can only answer so many of your questions at one time, so stop freakin’ thinking of them,” an irritated voice sounded from behind him.

  Robert spun around to see the man behind him as he spoke again. “You are in one of my most secret chambers. Luckily for you it is not my bathroom chamber… whew! My name is Tarkin, also known as Bubby, for I am the holder of the sacred powers of Bubby. Well, at least I was. They came into your possession once you arrived in my world.”

  Robert studied the man intently. He was old and grasped a cane to hold up his frail-looking body. The face was wrinkled and had the remnants of what was once a strong and firm jaw. Tarkin’s baldness was hidden under a long stocking cap. He wore a long, flowing gown with long, baggy sleeves.

  “Hey, you’re the guy from…”

  “Your dreams?” Robert had been cut off as Tarkin finished his sentence. “Yes. This computer here is the most amazing piece of technology. I wrote a new program with special effects just for your dream. Did you like ‘em? Of course you did,” he said without waiting for a reply. “And how about your dream always repeating? I’ll bet that was annoying. I’d have gone insane and killed myself if I were you.”

  “Yeah, it really was. So, about these powers you say I have now—are you on drugs or something? Sure, I think that it would be great to have these ‘powers,’ but seriously, you can just keep them. Why don’t you just send me home?”

  “And just where would you go? You’re dead. In case you forgot, you were struck by lightning. Besides, once you have the powers, you keep them.”

  “If I’m dead, like you claim I am, why the heck am I talking to you? As I’ve been told, there are more than two people in heaven.”

  Tarkin rubbed his chin and got set to explain. “Well, the truth is, you aren’t really dead, per se. You’re actually living amongst the mostly dead. Right now, it’s just you and me. Ah, you should have been here during a time when men were men and fire swamps were fire swamps. Yes, fire swamps. Back then there was this handsome little guy, I think his name was Weasel… or maybe it was Wesley… or something like that. Anyway, he kept muttering ‘to blave’ which we all know means, ‘to bluff.’ He later claimed that he was saying ‘true love’ but that was just so he could hook up with a hottie.”

  Robert interrupted at this point, “So, if he was here, why didn’t he get stuck with these powers?”

  “Why else? He didn’t want them.”

  “I don’t want them either,” Robert explained, rather exasperated.

  Tarkin looked at Robert seriously. “Do you think I care or something? I was young then and could handle these powers. Now that I’m old, you’re stuck with them; so deal with it. Aside from that, you’re a nerd—it isn’t as if you have the backbone to tell someone ‘no!’ Come on.”

  As Robert paced the floor considering the changes taking place, Tarkin continued to explain certain points. “Soon I will be moving on to the world of complete and absolute death. What you do not realize about these powers is that without them, you are as dead as a doornail. Since they have been passed on to you, I am slowly dying. I have but a short time to teach you the basics of your powers. Now, stand over there.” Tarkin pointed to the center of the room.

  Robert obeyed and stood in the middle of the room and waited patiently for Tarkin to make his way to the wall.

  “Would you please leap, feet first, at me?”

  “Are you nuts?! How am I even supposed to come near to you?” To himself Robert added, This man is insane!

  “You now have the powers of Bubby. You can easily cut through the air and kick me down before I can say ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.’ Also, I am not insane. You should know that I can read your thoughts, so you ought to be more careful what you think.”

  Robert decided to obey the nutcase, but soon wished he hadn’t. When he leapt into the air, he found himself lying on his back.

  Tarkin took a moment to think through what had gone wrong. “Oh dear, I see the problem—you are in severe need of a uniform.” He walked over and tinkered with some buttons on the panel. Soon after, professionally folded clothing shot out of a slot in the wall next to the computer screen.

  “What is this?” inquired Robert.

  This is your handy dandy superhero outfit. Now get out of those dreadful clothes of yours. What do you want to do? Be the biggest insult there ever was to the powers of Bubby? Now put these on,” he said forcing the clothes into Robert’s arms.

  Robert did as he was told and changed. As soon as the clothing was on his body, a strange brilliant light enveloped him. Suddenly, he started to bounce off the floor, wall, and ceiling over and over again as the powers started to mold him into the image that it desired of Robert. Finally, he came to a halt in the center of the room.

  If anyone were to look at him then, they would not have ever been able to guess it was Robert. His hair had grown to cover just beyond his ears. His arms and legs bulged with perfectly toned muscles that any man would work an entire lifetime for and still never achieve. A loose white tank top, with a large cyan letter B on the center, covered his solid, muscular, washboard-like chest. It was tucked into a pair of baggy black jean shorts that went down just past the knees. On his feet, he wore a pair of black steel-toed boots.

  “This material feels similar to what would be found where you came from. The tank top is similar to cotton, and the shorts, like denim, except for the fact that this material is nearly indestructible. That will prevent ripping during battles against evil,” said Tarkin. “Now why don’t we try that kick one more time?”

  Robert followed the directions previously given. This time, rather than falling, he actually streaked across the room and ended up knocking Tarkin to the floor.

  Tarkin continued to train Robert in the aspects of fighting and the basics of the programs on the highly sophisticated computer.

  “Very good, Robert, you are now deserving of the title of Bubby. You must go by this name in order to conceal your identity.”

  “Why must I conceal my identity?”

  “Because if you didn’t the government would bring you under investigation and dissect you into little bits and pieces. By the way, you’ll also need a mask to help hide your face.”

  “Why do I have to hide my face?” asked Bubby (no longer Robert).

  “Because it hurts me to look at it. Just kidding. This is just another part in concealing your identity.”

  Bubby took a glance through the array of masks that had appeared on the computer screen. He chose one similar to a black cloth headband with two eyes holes for him to see out through.

  “An excellent choice, if I do say so myself. It was my father’s.”

  “Really?” asked Bubby.

  “No. Actually I never met my father or even my mother for that fact.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said sympathetically.

  “Oh, it’s quite all right. You see, as a young child, my parents abandoned me in the forest. Fortunately, a pack of wolves found me and then took me in and raised me.”

  “Wow!”

  “Did you know that until you came along, no one ever believed that story? What are you, some kind of drugged-up, tree-hugging, animal-rights activist hippie? If a pack of wolves spotted an infant in the woods, they’d eat the poor thing before they gave any consideration to raising it. You can quote me on th
at.”

  A brief silence came out of Bubby’s embarrassment before Tarkin spoke again.

  “To be completely truthful, I was actually once much like yourself. I used to spend hours calculating equations on my abacus. I was so nerdy my parents disowned me. All the other kids teased me. The worst bully of them all was that punk Isaac Newton—he stole most of my ideas and gave me swirlies in the school outhouse. Man, I hated him.”

  After a moment, in which the two stood silently, reminiscing together in their nerdy pain, Tarkin continued: “One last note—these powers sometimes make you react in strange ways. Seriously, they mess with your head. Some might describe the effect as psychosis. But to compensate for the oddness, let me just say that women will be flocking all over you.”

  “How do you know?”

  Tarkin breathed on his knuckles and polished them by rubbing them on his chest. “Personal experience,” he explained proudly.

  Suddenly, Tarkin passed on to the world of the all dead in a flash of brilliant white light.

  Bubby’s fist shot into the air as he considered Tarkin’s last words. He leapt into the air and shouted joyfully, “I’m gonna be popular! I’m gonna have girls!”