Trent Phloog’s third-person flashback continues …

The Marketable Universe, May 1976

Meanwhile, in a midtown skyscraper, a megahero team was scrambling to an alarm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel our regularly-scheduled vacation to Bug-Eyed Island, See-Thru Girl!” announced a bulbous, sloshing, elderly man in blue leotards with a white “Q” on his chest. Rex Rigid’s bloated face stared opaquely at a bank of computer monitors arrayed from floor to ceiling, his gloved hands turning knobs and pressing buttons. “The Quantum Tower’s elaborate defenses systems have detected an emergency!”

“Drat!” said a shapely blonde who was similarly attired, only to more striking effect. Stella Starlight had been loading luggage into a strange flying car also adorned with a “Q” logo, but now was pouting. “You and your alarms, Liquid Man! Just when I packed all my new bikinis—each one skimpier than the next!”

An orange man made of yarn who was lugging a stack of suitcases for the woman; unlike the other two, he wore red and white polka-dot shorts, a red and white scarf, a green knit cap, oversized tennis shoes and red woolen mittens. Emblazoned on his chest was a purple “Y” rimmed with yellow.

“Emergency?” growled Bing Gloom, raising a knitted brow. “What could be more important than parading your scantily-clad bride in front of your teammates on a dinosaur-infested beach for a week, Slosho? And how in the heck are we to keep from forfeiting our crummy team name—the Quantum Quest Quartet—if we don’t go on quantum quests at least every once in a while? We’ve been cooped up in this nutty, gizmo-laden skyscraper for too long as it is!”

A young, blond man lounged on a nearby sofa reading a hotrod cartoon girly magazine, content to let the others load the flying car. Chuck Roast could have been the half-brother of the shapely woman; they had the same silky, pale yellow hair and wore a matching blue uniform with a white “Q,” although his lithe, athletic frame was cut with masculine angles everywhere her feminine body featured soft, full curves. His chiseled good looks were the perfect counterpart to her cutely-dimpled, pretty face.

“The Human Meltdown’s good with a little stay-at-home red alert,” he said, yawning. “If you ask me, we’ve been visiting too many alien worlds and traveling to too many lost epochs—I still have primordial ooze in my boots from our last foray into the Purple Planet’s prehistory. Besides, none of those places have teeny-boppers or bobby-soxers or soda fountains or drive-in movie theaters.”

“So, what’s the big deal, Squisho?” said Yarn Man, concerned. He had dropped the suitcases and was peering over the older man’s shoulder at the screens. “You haven’t looked this serious since your soggy hide had to face the Deadly Dart-Gun of D’Artagnan Darn-It-All—that whelp of a seventeenth-century Frenchman!”

“The Cosmic Cue-Ball is back in this dimension, old chum,” announced Rex grimly. He pointed with a gloved hand to a computer screen tracing the trajectory of a small, white dot over Newark. “My newly-installed Mutanium Wave detector picked up its distinctive radioactive signature over New Jersey—and it’s heading this way!”

“What in the heck is a Cosmic Cue-Ball?” demanded the Human Meltdown, who tossed aside the magazine as he leapt up from the sofa. “Sounds like something a kid would hope to get from a bubblegum machine for a quarter. And a Mutanium Wave—is that some kind jazzy new electrified stereo sound?”

“The Cosmic Cue-Ball’s from before your time, Burnout Boy,” said Yarn Man, “long before you and Stella joined the Quantum Quest Quartet. But Rex and I know it well—we lost many a hustle to Sarasota Slim in the pool halls of the Bowery because of it.”

“You’re thinking of the Eight-Ball of Evil, Bing,” corrected Rex. “The Cosmic Cue-Ball, you’ll recall, is something else altogether—it’s the Billiard of Great Power, able to warp time-and-space itself to its mercurial will.”

“But, that’s impossible,” said the See-Thru Girl. “The only way such an object could have crossed the Dimensional Threshold is by means of your miraculous invention, the Time Turntable—and the Platter of Predestination hasn’t been used for months! Why, I noticed a thick layer of dust on it this morning as I busied myself not doing any housework.”

“True, See-Thru Girl; I am the inventor of many fabulous gizmos,” said Rex proudly, “like the Tachyon Particle Disruptor, the fabulous flying Q-Mobile, and the Mr. Costume™ machine—which spits out matching costumes made of my patented Quarantinium-Quelluminum™ fabric. But there’s no time to list all of my many intellectual properties. Besides, I need my noggin right now to devise a means of trapping the little Billiard Bugger before it wreaks untold havoc in this reality; Suffice it to say, there are other means besides my Time Turntable the Shifty Sphere of Synchronicity could have used to emigrate back to our epochal abode.”

“Like what, fer instance?” asked Yarn Man. “As if understood a blamed thing you just said.”

“For instance, the Dimensional Doorway,” said Rex, “almost as amazing an invention as my Time Turntable, the brainchild of my dear, departed rival, Dr. Winnie Wertz, who was syphoned off to an alternate dimension—the Federal Universe—lo, these many decades ago. She and I have been crossing over ever since, narrowly missing one another, in a vain attempt to patch together our split realities ever since. As you well know, Bing Gloom—for I have recounted the story many times!”

“I know well nothin,’” said Yarn Man. “Whenever you blather on, Liquid Man, it goes right in one earmuff and out the other. So, that’s what we’ve been doing all these years—taking hops on the Time Turntable. I thought we wuz just crossing over ‘cause they had better bagels!”

“Hrrmph,” said the See-Thru Girl, bristling at the mention of a feminine rival she never met. “This Winnie What’s-Her-Name you’re still pining for—I suppose she let the Cosmic Cue-Ball in right through the back door. Figures your unrequited love would find a way to interfere with my suntan—just like she let those UFOs escape from the Forbidden Future and ruin our honeymoon.”

“No need for jealousy, my blushing bride,” said Rex, who was more than twice Stella’s age. “We were both preadolescent wunderkinds before World War II—it was only puppy love between Winnie and I. Besides, the Quantum Tower’s Quantumputer hasn’t detected any Dimensional Doorway activity—instead, it’s picked a second distinctive radioactive signature—one associated hitherto only with America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero.”

“Wait a minute,” snapped Chuck Roast. “America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero is an honorific reserved for my clan of Meltdowns—Major Meltdown, Minor Meltdown, and me, the Human Meltdown. Are you saying the Cosmic Cue-Ball tagged along with a Meltdown from some other dimension? I don’t like the sound of that; this dimension’s only big enough for one American Nuclear-Powered Hero.”

“We can worry about your doppelganger later,” said Rex. “Whomever he might be, he’s probably already adopted a secret identity and blended into the urban fabric of New York City—perhaps as a cub reporter at a major metropolitan newspaper!”

“Or she,” said Stella. “Don’t forget, although I’m the See-Thru Girl, and my powers to turn naked with but a though are practically useless in a fight scene, I’m technically a Meltdown, too.”

“Useless, maybe,” said Yarn Man. “But easy on the eyes!”

“Speaking of eyes, our main priority is to keep them Cosmic Cue-Ball,” said Rex. “Whither goes the Omniscient Orb, no man knows. Nonetheless, it seems to be heading this way!”

“Do you think it’s coming after us, the Quantum Quest Quartet?” asked Chuck. “Does it sense that we’re the greatest megahero team on the whole darn planet—and want to knock us off?”

“It’s coming to settle an old score with me,” said Liquid Man. “For, as a mere wunderkind, I was present when the Mutanium Particle split reality apart, into the Timeless and Federal megahero universes—now known as the Marketable and District Universes, thanks to the rival comic book companies that chronicle their respective adventures.”

“What do you plan to do once it shows up, Soggy Pants?” asked Yarn Man. “That fickle flying object has more moves than a trick shot in a game of snooker.”

“I have a plan,” said Rex. “I want you to phone up your Aunt Matilda, Bing, and ask her to bake one of her fabulous vanilla layer cakes.”

“I get it,” said Chuck. “The Cosmic Cue-Ball has a weakness for confections.”

“No, it’s just that I tend to go off my diet when I get nervous,” said Liquid Man. “How else do you think I maintain my bulbous, rotund appearance?”

***

Across town, the staff of the Manhattan Project was celebrating the safe return of controversial columnist Pamela Jointly to the busy City Room.

“Where did Megaton Man go?” asked harried editor Rudy Mayo. “I wanted to thank that masked man for saving my prize controversial columnist. Without her, the circulation of this scandal sheet would be zilch; I’d have to pack my bags and move back to Detroit.”

“He ran down the hall to change back into his Robert Mitchum suit, Mr. Mayo,” said copyboy Preston Percy. “Trent Phloog is in the ladies’ room even as we speak—you can expect a complaint to be filed with HR this afternoon.”

“How are you feeling, Pammy?” asked Rudy. “Taking a fall out of a thirteenth-floor window and rescued midair by the Man of Molecules has to have left you a bit shaken.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” said Pammy. “Except, now that I owe my life to a megahero, I have to rethink everything negative I’ve ever written about them—as projections of American machismo and fascistic delusions of grandeur, and how their simplistic good-versus-evil dichotomy bodes ill for the survival of the planet in an age of Mutually-Assured Destruction.”

“Are you saying you want me to kill your latest screed about men in tights embodying repressed homoerotic desire, Pammy?” asked Rudy. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“No,” said Pammy. “On second thought, let’s let it ride; tomorrow I’ll write about how megaheroes have big muscles to compensate for having little weenies.”

As Pammy went back to her desk, Trent Phloog emerged from the ladies’ room in his padded Robert Mitchum suit. “Woo! I guess I missed all the excitement,” said Trent. “I was busy, um, re-inking my rubber stamp pad. Fill me in.”

“Pamela Jointly fell out of the window again,” said Preston. “Only to be rescued at the last possible moment from a certain death by Megaton Man.”

“Does that happen a lot?” asked Trent. “Pammy falling out windows, I mean?”

“Well, she’s been depressed lately,” said Rudy. “Ever since she discovered her boyfriend was gay.”

“Woo!” said Trent. “Roman Man is gay? My illusions are shattered!”

“She wishes,” said Rudy. “Roman Man is betrothed to Helen of Troy back in fabled Mt. Vesuvius; Pammy and he are just friends.”

“Although I happen to know he swings both ways,” said Preston, slapping Trent on the back. “Anyway, thanks for saving my girlfriend’s life.”

“Woo!” said Trent. “Why does everybody assume I’m Megaton Man just because America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero and I have never been seen in the same place at the same time?”

“Look, Trent,” said Rudy. “There’s no need to insult our intelligence with this ridiculous ruse that you’re not secretly the Man of Molecules. Anybody with eyes in their heads can plainly see you’re arrival in Megatropolis and the sudden appearance of Megaton Man to save Pamela Jointly is no mere coincidence.”

“What about my needs?” asked Trent.

***

“We made short work of that layer cake,” said Bing, wiping crumbs from his mouth on his red mitten. “But how does this help us trap the Cosmic Cue-Ball, Mister Blister?”

“The cake was only a means to an end, Yarn Man,” said Rex. “You’ll notice I’ve taken your Aunt Matilda’s antique covered cake platter and hooked it up with wires and hoses—improvisation is the foundation of my genius.”

“Yes, but what is that going to do?” asked Chuck. “It’s just an empty glass container with a paper doily covered with a few lingering, greasy cake crumbs and chunks of icing.”

“If I know the Cosmic Cue-Ball, it loves a void,” said Rex. “And judging from the Quantumputer, it’s nearing the Quantum Tower right about now.”

Liquid Man extended his gloved hands over a control panel, operating button switches. Slowly, the very roof of the Quantum Tower opened to the skies over Manhattan.

“Notice how the Q-Mobile launch pad is lowered on a pneumatic hoist,” said Rex proudly. “It’s in the shape of a ‘Q’—which forms a rooftop advertisement to the world that we are the Quantum Quest Quartet. But that’s only until our new logo spelling out our complete name arrives; I just placed the order this morning.”

“Why do we need to advertise that we’re a megahero team on the top floor of a midtown Manhattan skyscraper?” asked the Human Meltdown. “Won’t that attract unwanted attention from every evildoer in the world who wants to do us in?”

“Rex has always envied the big, fancy logo the Devengers have on their headquarters across the Hudson,” remarked Bing. “And nobody would dare attack the Doomsday Factory.”

“Pamela Jointly sure is right,” said Stella. “She wrote a column in The Manhattan Project the other day about how megaheroes are just insecure little boys obsessed with their tough-guy images.”

“You certainly ain’t no little boy,” said Yarn Man, eying the See-Thru Girl’s shapely figure.

“Nineteen letters just to spell out our team name,” said Stella. “That’s going to clean out our bank account—no shopping for string bikinis for a while.”

Then, the Cosmic Cue-Ball itself fluttered in.

“Quick, Bing,” ordered Rex. “Remove the lid of the cake dish!”

Yarn Man grabbed the handle with his red mitten and lifted the lid; the orb came to rest on the crusty, crumb-covered doily.

“Now, cover it!”

Yarn Man replaced the lid over the dish. Rex quickly activated controls, sending electromagnetic charges onto the pedestal through wires and hoses.

“There. The Cosmic Cue-Ball is contained!” Rex announced. “It’s also constrained, restrained, and quarantined. The world is safe once more—unless some nincompoop is stupid enough to raise that lid. And there are no nincompoops on Quantum Quest Quartet.”

“Maybe not now, Jell-Brains,” said Yarn Man. “But you’ve had some real clunkers on this team before the Human Meltdown and the See-Thru Girl came along. And I wouldn’t put it past you to recruit a few more stinkers after these two youngsters get fed up and split.”

“So, are we going on that beach vacation now or what?” demanded Stella.

“Wait a minute—what about tracking down this ‘America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero’ imposter?” demanded Chuck.

“Ah, the impatience of youth,” said Rex, sighing.

He gazed at the Cosmic Cue-Ball and the swirling, many-colored, ephemeral shapes the orb emitted.