The flash was seen for hundreds of miles away. The sky filled with light for several moments alerting people as far away as Great Britain. But it originated somewhere near the Tunguska River deep in the barrens of Siberia. No one could easily investigate it for a matter of weeks.

Except for me, of course. Citrine was used to being the first line of defense in situations such as these. Only a few of his kind existed in the world, and the others often seemed too self absorbed to investigate potential dangers. Which is how the bald young boy from a little alley in Brooklyn, now grown to be an equally bald twenty-year-old wore the yellow robe that was his trademark for his entire childhood. Every time I think I’ve put the Yellow Kid behind me, the world seems to draw me back in.

In the old days, he could only use his force energy for the simplest of commands: to form words on his long shirt. But as he grew, he mastered the arts of projected the yellow-black energy outwards in to dozens of forms. Now he used the most common, a field of energy circling him and hurling him through the sky at several hundred miles per hour. The field filtered out the light around him to keep the rapid movement from damaging his retinas even as he hurled across the ocean and over Tunguska.

He expected a massive crate, a large pit torn in to the ground by the force of the oncoming comet, meteor, or whatever celestial agent that struck the earth. But as his energy field traced the foreign energy back to its source, Citrine found no sign of damage anywhere.

He did find a familiar figure. He met the man known to him simply as the Doctor for the first time on his twelfth birthday. A new century dawned just weeks before. Even as the doomsayers realized their mistake, the Yellow Kid realized he was far more different than he could ever suspect. The Doctor explained the nature of his specialness, the fact that he was one of a select few. Only a few such specials existed in the world. One for every several million normal humans. He met a few in his travels since that time, but all were far too self-serving to investigate this disturbance. Apparently, the Doctor was the one exception to the rule.

Citrine touched down on a soft patch of sand two dozen yards away. “Doctor, what happened here?”

The Doctor continued to stare at the loose dirt at his feet for several moments. Just as Citrine opened his mouth to speak again, the Doctor looked up towards him.

“It has been a long time, Yellow Kid. What brings you to this barren land?” As always, the Doctor’s voice seemed not quite normal. Not quite human.

“It’s Citrine now, Doctor. I ain’t a kid anymore. I’ll use the name my mama gave me.”

“Child, man, it matters little to me. I shall respect your wishes and refer to you by your new name. But I don’t understand what drew you here. The Tunguska River flows freely, and the land offers little to see.”

“I heard tell of a blast seen for a thousand miles. I traced the energy signal straight back to this wasteland. But I have to say it doesn’t look like much of a crater.”

The Doctor gave a slight grin. “It amuses me to hear you talk, young man. I was quite used to words just appearing on your chest.”

Words formed in black on the chest of his robe. I outgrew that. “I excelled in my last few years of schooling. Soon, I’ll have enough money for university.”

The Doctor nodded. “I see.” He looked around, down at the ground, over to the river across the street. “It seems your journey was in vain. I detect no disturbance in this area.”

Citrine’s left eye widened. One trait he learned growing up on the street was how to detect a lie. And no matter how old, how wise, how cunning the Doctor might be, he still could not get a lie past a Brooklyn street kid.

“You’re hiding something, Doctor. I should be used to it by now. But I must say I do not understand it at this time.”

The Doctor nodded. “You are not one easily fooled, I see. I should have known, I suppose. Even as a boy you were quite insightful. So be it. I will show you what I’ve hidden.”

The ground shifted at his feet and a blinding light shot up from the recess suddenly visible between them. “Come closer and see the source of my consternation.”

Citrine walked forward a few more steps and looked down in to the light.

About a foot beneath the ground, resting calmly in the hole, sat a baby. Citrine figured the yellow boy to be no more than a newborn. He was naked and his skin glowed with the white energy. He calmly looked around and focused on Citrine as he approached.

“A baby? Why would you hide a baby in the ground?”

“Perhaps you should look more closely, young man.” The Doctor gestured to the baby. “Even you didn’t exhibit such abilities at a young age. This boy is something new, something powerful. Perhaps something to be feared.”

“He’s just a baby, Doctor! Maybe a strange one like you and I, but still just a baby. What do you think you should do with him? Why would you leave him lie on the ground?”

“Perhaps it would be best if I showed you. Watch closely.”

The world seemed to shimmer around them. Energies coalesced around them. Citrine recognized the effect. The Doctor was showing him an image of the past. Or the future. Or both.

A simple cabin, clearly carved from the small local trees, formed around them. The image flickered slightly as it continued to form. A panicked man, barrel-chested and dark-haired kneeled between a woman’s open legs. The woman, blonde and petite for a logger’s wife, howled in pain as another contraction overtook her.

“Push,” the man said. “Push!” He spoke in Russian, but somehow Citrine could understand without trouble.

Her cries turned to a shriek as the baby came. The man helped the baby along. The baby fell in to his arms. His attention turned away from his wife as he smacked the baby on the back. The baby started to glow as soon as it took its first breath. He wailed mightily as the light grew stronger. The man’s eyes opened wide in shock as his skin started to burn where he touched the child.

In a flash it was all over. The man, the woman, and the cabin were gone. Only the same empty field they stood in.

“He killed his own parents?”

“Unintentionally,” the Doctor said. “I have never seen a child so powerful before. The vril runs strong in him. Far stronger than you or even I. And so, my conundrum emerges.”

“What conundrum?”

The Doctor did not speak for several moments. He bent down close and studied the baby, still in the hole. When he finally looked up, he shook his head. “I do not like the thoughts, I have. It pains me even to share them.”

He stood upright again. “I see two futures for the child. Two wholly different visions. In one, the child is destined to grown in to a powerful hero. He will be a force for good that no one in the world could hope to contain. He will bring change to every person he met. He will become the first of many; dozens, maybe hundreds of superior beings and that number will continue to grow and grow. Even when it tarnishes his name, he will always strive for goodness, for justice, for what is right.”

“He’ll be a hero,” Citrine said. “He’ll do more than I could ever dream. How can that be a bad thing?”

“In my other vision, he is no hero. He will fall under the sway of a powerful madman, a psychopath intent on unlocking his vision of a superman on the world. He will become an unholy killing machine, a furious warrior that no man or machine can stop. He will win the madman the world in an unholy war that will leave every nation on earth ravaged. He will spawn more supermen, all in the control of a mad ruler bent on becoming ever more powerful. Together they will destroy peace and freedom and perhaps even the world.”

The Doctor looked again to the baby. “One of these futures is sure to occur. But I cannot tell you which it will be. Something about the boy muddles up my future sense. Even I cannot make complete sense of it.”

The Doctor sighed and turned his back on Citrine and the baby. “I cannot tell you which future will come to be, but I do know that it is in my ability to stop a killer right now.”

“You mean to murder him, don’t you? Doctor, he’s just a baby.”

“A baby that will grow to be the greatest murderer in the world.”

“No. You said it before. A baby that could grow up to be the greatest murderer in the world.”

“Can we dare to take that chance?”

Citrine said nothing.

“Speak, boy! I have faced many a hard decision in my long, long life. But I do not know how to proceed today. Can I condemn a child’s future in order to save the world from a thousand more deaths?”

Citrine looked down at the tiny baby between them. He bent down and lifted the babies in to his arms.

The Doctor turned to look at the young man and the baby in his hands. He nodded as he saw the word blazoned on Citrine’s chest.

No.

“So be it,” the Doctor said. “But remember that this decision rests on you, just as it does me.”

“I understand.” He looked down at the baby and grinned. “What will we do with him? I don’t think either you or I are built to raise a young child on our own.”

“You are correct.” The Doctor stood silent for several tense seconds. “I think I have found an answer. Come.”

Citrine didn’t have time to reply. Suddenly the field was gone. In its place, they stood outside a hospital nursery. Babies rested peacefully in over a dozen bassinets.

“What is this place?”

“A simple hospital on the outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri. A young couple, William and Maude Carson, came here from their home in Alexandria because her pregnancy was a difficult one. But despite their best efforts, the baby is dying as we speak. No one can save it.”

The Doctor gently took the baby from Citrine’s hands. A moment later he was gone.

Just less than a minute later, he was back.

“It is done. The Carsons will never know the baby was not their own.”

“They are good people? Will they raise the son to be a proper American citizen?”

“I do not have all the answers, Citrine. I can only hope for the best. I suggest you pray to whatever deity you worship that they do raise a well-adjusted child. Else I fear we both will not live long enough to regret our mistake.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

“Call me Gil. It’s an old name, but perhaps my favorite. I fear we have seen too much today just to use silly titles.”

“Sure, Doc—I mean Gil.”

“Win or lose, I believe we have just started the world rolling irrevocably in to a new era. Are you ready for it?”

Citrine tried to speak, but his words failed him. He could only look at the tiny hospital and think of the innocent child inside. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he projected the words on to his robe.

Is anyone ever ready for the future?