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Robbie Robertson felt his muscles tense as he curled the dumbbell in yet another repetition. He’d long stopped counting exact repetitions, instead focusing on the feeling it evoked in his muscles. Once he got to the point where his biceps were just a hair away from screaming, he’d know he was done.
It had been a very long day. Trying to manage the stock market portfolio his fathers inventions had netted him, making sure Robert got to school and picked up in time, meeting with that irritating twerp Eli for the third time this week to go over the new power cell he was designing…not to mention fitting all of that in between going out and saving the city as Mechaman. You really left me a hell of a mess, Dad. Robbie thought, as he started in on the other arm.
It wasn’t Bobby Robertson’s fault, if Robbie was being charitable. He’d chosen to be Mechaman entirely of his own volition, hiding it even from his own son. Robbie had been away for school, pursuing his masters in Aeronautical Engineering and Rocket Propulsion with the intent of building on Bobby’s work. It was only the day that Bobby had died, heroically, valiantly, saving a young girl from being crushed to death by a collapsing building that Robbie had learned the truth, that Bobby’s secret basement workshop had in fact been the lair of Los Angeles most notorious superhero and adventurer.
It had been a shock, revealed in the worst possible way imaginable. Robbie had been forced to adapt quickly, retrieving his fathers body and the remnants of his mech from police lockup so that Bobby could be given the respectful funeral the man had earned. Robbie had loved his father after all, and had nothing but respect for the way the effervescent man had channeled his passions into helping his fellow man.
He still remembered how it felt that night, sitting in his fathers hideout, gently sipping a glass of whiskey his father had bought him, one they had promised they would share at Robbie’s graduation. I was so mad at you when you missed the ceremony, Dad. I didn’t know you were doing something much more important. He’d been staring up at the broken, dented suit, the thing that had consumed the last decade and half of his fathers’ life, wishing things had been different, wishing that he had been able to say more, do more, for the father who he would never see again. In his rage and grief, he’d thrown the glass, shards raining down on the equipment below.
In that moment, the universe had sent him a sign. A portent. A calling. The police scanner that took up a sizeable portion of the back wall thrummed to life, tuning in on the highest priority call. A car had crashed into a school bus and both vehicles were dangerously close to falling off a bridge into the bay. Fire Engines couldn’t get near to toe them back to safety.
He remembered the words his father had always said every time he’d helped a beggar, or taken time out of his day to help someone. “People need us. We help them.” How could I ever do less, given the chance? His father had set an almost impossible standard, one that Robbie had spent, would spend, his entire life trying to live up to.
He was awoken from his reverie by the scrape of metal on metal, the sound of a gasp and grunt of effort. He replaced his dumbbell, frowning as he span towards the entrance of his home gym. Sure enough, a small figure, clad in a bright blue t-shirt and baggy cargo shorts was over by the light weight section, having pulled the largest weight from the rack and was attempting curls of his own.
Robbie’s frown softened. The boy was always underfoot, especially since his mother, Elaine, had died last year. Robbie was glad of it, honestly. He loved the boy dearly, and cherished the time he got to spend with him. But that time was vanishingly rare, between maintaining the families finances, his role as Mechaman and his increased responsibilities as a member of the newly formed Brave Brigade, he could count the number of times he’d shared more than a ten minute car ride to school and back with the lad in the last fortnight on one hand.
Dad was always present. He always made time for me. One more way I’m not up to scratch. “Robert, what do you think you're doing?” He kept the volume low, not wanting to yell at the boy, but there was a sternness in it that he hadn’t quite intended. “You know that you’re not supposed to be in here without permission.”
“I’m…training.” The boy replied, not stopping his attempt at curls. “So I…can be strong…like you.”
“And what exactly do you think you’re training for, Robert?” A small grin had crept into the man’s face, though it was probably hidden by the moustache.
“So I can…be a…Superhero!” His son replied, so earnest, so sincere. The sheer weight and gravity he put into the last word almost broke Robbie’s heart.
“Put the weights down Son.” He said, crossing the room to his child.
Robert complied, replacing the dumbbell with a grunt of effort, and more than a little bit of a clang as it settled back onto the metal rack. “I’m sorry Dad. I just…” His son’s voice trailed off, the way it often did when he knew he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to.
Robbie squatted in front of his Son, feeling the burn in his thighs as he did so. Leg day just seemed to get harder and harder these days. “Robert, you don’t need to train like me. We don’t let little kids be superheroes.”
Robert’s face twisted in an expression of contrarianism that only a five year old can wear. “You let Chase be a superhero. He’s only thirteen.”
Robbie bit back his immediate answer. He didn’t love the idea of turning Chase loose on the streets. The kid was good, amazing even. His powers were no joke, and after everything he’d seen he had no doubt the young lad had the spirit of a true hero. But he was so young. He’d staunchly opposed letting him join the Brave Brigade until it became deeply apparent that he would only go out alone. No one could stop the young speedster from doing something he wanted to do. And Chase was astoundingly mature for his age. Better to have the kid working where adults could keep an eye on, where he could develop and grow into the hero he was destined to be.
“There’s a big difference between five and thirteen, Son. And Chase has powers.” Robbie said.
“But you don’t have any powers! And everyone says Mechaman is the best superhero. All the kids in school know you’re the coolest.” Robbie smiled. One thing he’d never needed to impress upon Robert was the need to keep their identities secret. The boy had viewed it as a point of extreme pride and honour that he, of everyone he knew, got to meet all the members of the Brave Brigade, that he was trusted with the secret knowledge of their real identities.
“It’s true, I don’t have any powers. But I have the suit.” Robbie ruffled his son’s hair. “You don’t need to be a superhero, Rob. Just be the best you, and that’s enough.”
Robert frowned, looking up at his dad through suddenly messy hair. “Robert. You know I hate being called Rob.” It was true. From as long as he’d been able to talk, the boy had resented any change or shortening of his name. “But…one day, you won’t be able to be Mechaman, right? Like, in the future. And I’ll need to do it, like you took over from Grandpa!”
Robbie’s guts turned to ice. A million thoughts and images flashed through his mind, the horrors of crime, of emergency situations too horrible to describe, of the myriad faces of victims he’d been just a little too slow, a little too unprepared to save. My own grandfather’s crushed corpse. With a great effort, he repressed a full body shudder at the thought of Robert having to deal with all of that. The point was always to make a world that never needed Mechaman. A world where my son could live, and love, and be happy.
“You don’t need to worry about all that, son. I’m not going anywhere for a very long time.” He gave the boy a brave smile. “Especially since I’ve got my little medic here keeping me safe.” It had been six months ago that Robert had found his father in the bathroom, trying in vain to bandage his own back after a demon had clawed it open. Naturally, he’d been terrified at the sight of his father covered in blood. So he’d enlisted young Robert, walking him through what needed to be done, letting him know however bad it looked, it wasn’t worth getting frightened over.
Ever since, every time Robbie had gotten back from patrol, Robert had been there, ready and waiting, clutching his little plastic first aid kit, prepared to bandage up any and all scrapes his father had picked up. Of course, given how late out Robbie was some nights, saving the world as Mechaman, he more often than not found the child curled up on the sofa, using it as a pillow, before scooping the boy up in his arms and carrying him off to his bed.
“But one day…what if you get hurt and can’t pilot the suit for a while? People would still need helping. I have to be ready!” Robert’s voice was so earnest, so pure. He knew as well as anyone that no one was indestructible, not even his parents. I miss you Elaine. You would have known the perfect thing to comfort him right now.
“When that day comes…if that day comes, we can discuss it. Son, I love that you want to help people. I’m so proud of you.” He pulled the boy into a tight hug. No child should have to worry about losing their parent. Maybe Dad was right not to tell me. But I couldn’t lie to Robert and Elaine. Not like he lied to me. “You’re so young Robert. You should be focusing on your school, on making friends. Getting scraped knees and riding your bike.”
Robert pouted. “That stuffs for kids. I’m going to be hero. Just like you, Dad.” He puffed out his cheeks. Well, Elaine, you always said he had my stubborn heart. That when the two of us disagreed, it would be like an unstoppable force meeting and immovable object. “And since I’m going to be a hero like you, I have to train like you.” He said the last like it was an immutable law of the universe.
Robbie looked down again at his son, looking deep into the kid’s eyes. Robert returned the stare, unblinking, unflinching. Robbie thought back to his first years as Mechaman, desperately trying to learn everything his father hadn’t prepared him for, juggling the stresses of being a new father and husband with being a newly established superhero. I used to resent him for not preparing me. For not teaching me the most important things when he was still alive. Maybe he figured he’d always have more time. He looked again at his young son. No wonder he wants to train. To prepare. “Okay, son. If being Mechaman, one day, in the future, is really what you want, I’ll train you.”
“Really? Thanks Dad! You’ll really train me?” His face lit up, beaming.
“If I’m going to do this, Robert, if I’m going to take time away from my work to teach you, you have to be sure. You need to commit to this lifestyle wholeheartedly. There’s no room for a superhero who doesn’t commit.” His voice took on a stern edge again, as he remembered some of the so-called heroes he had seen over the years, useless dilettantes who acted like heroism was a coat one could put on when the mood struck, that a set of fancy powers were a replacement for doing the work. Just like Eli, who spends more time tinkering with his gadgets and playing around with his toys than actually getting out there and helping people.
“I will dad! I’ll train every day! Do everything you tell me, I promise.” Five years old, and more heart than half the heroes in Los Angeles. How could I ever stand in your way?
“You’ll need to swear the oath then, Robert. If you’re going to one day, long in the future, take my place as Mechaman, you’ll need to swear the oath.” He gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze.
“I…I will, Dad. I’ll swear it.” The boy replied, looking at his father in awe. “Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t be so sure, Robert. You’re still so young. Far younger than I was when I swore my oath.” Far soberer, too. “You should really wait, at least a few more years. You might change your mind.”
“I won’t, Dad. I’m going to be a superhero. Just like you. You’ll train me to be the best hero there is, just like you are!” Robert’s hands balled into tight fists.
Robbie nodded. “Then repeat after me, Son.” He paused, forming the words in his head. His own solemn oath had been little more than a toast to his fathers memory, a solemn vow that carry on his work. His son deserved something more substantial than that. “I, Robert Robertson, solemnly swear…” He paused, letting his son repeat.
“I, Robert Robertson, solemnly swear” he echoed.
“I will always work for the good of my fellow man.”
“I will always work for the good of my fellow man.”
“I will never turn away from people in need.”
“I will never turn away from people in need.”
“I will never give in to selfishness or evil.”
“I will never give in to selfishness or evil.”
“I will be Mechaman, for as long as I draw breath.”
“I will be Mechaman, for as long as I draw breath.”
Robbie felt like he had just placed a tremendous weight on the boy’s shoulders. He felt shame burn through him. No child should have even considered agreeing to what he had just agreed to. But Robert was young, and flighty, easily impressed with the idea of being a superhero. A few early morning workouts would surely disabuse the boy of this foolish notion until he was old enough to make a real choice on this matter.
He smiled down at his son, and ruffled his hair. “Come on, Robert. Superheroes need fuel to fight. Let’s go rustle up something to eat.”