No Hero

by Tom Andry

  "Scotch, eh?" the doctor turned from the table, placing his gloved hands inside one of the large machines. A mist smelling faintly of lemon and roses floated down upon his hands. A moment later, he removed his hands. The black gloves gleamed as if they had just been polished. "I don't remember you being much of a drinker."

  The doctor stepped forward, offering me his hand.

  "Yeah, well, things change." I ignored the gloved hand.

  "Yes," the doctor dropped his hand, "well, yes, that's true." He started to pace, "You see, the reason I asked you here..."

  "Whoa, Ignaro," I interrupted, "let's get one thing straight; I'm not here for you. I'm doing a favor for the police. I won't even discuss your case unless you agree, in advance, to two conditions: first, you'll meet my price, whatever it is, and I can assure you it's going to be high; and second, when I say I'm done, I'm done. If you still think there's a problem, you get one of your super friends to deal with it. You keep off my and the police's backs."

  "Ah, yes," he stammered, "I'd heard you'd taken to finding out our identities. I'm guessing Gale helped you with that."

  I stepped forward, face to face with Medico, "Don't you ever say her name again, you understand?" My teeth were clenched, my face red.

  The doctor was a small man, maybe five foot, five inches. He was completely bald with a reddish chinstrap beard that grew pointy at the corners of his jaw near his ears and again at his chin. In public he wore dark glasses, but down here, in his lair, he left his mechanical eyes exposed. They looked like small, metal tubes that protruded from his eye sockets. The skin was red and irritated where it met the metal. He was wearing his standard outfit of a white, knee-length lab coat, black, rubberized gloves, green pants, and black boots. I knew from Gale, and others, that a good portion of his body had been replaced over the years, not just his eyes. I couldn't tell because his mechanical eyes didn't have irises, but it seemed that he was avoiding my gaze.

  "Surely, Mr. Moore, you can't blame me for your divorce," he said.

  "You'd be surprised at what I can blame you for," I muttered.

  Just then Butler showed up with the drinks. I grabbed mine and swallowed half of it at once.

  Medico delicately picked up his water from the tray, sipping it through a straw.

  I noticed that even though Butler was just a bit shorter than me a moment ago, next to the doctor, he looked a bit shorter than him. Apparently, he would never appear taller than anyone he was serving.

  The doctor used the interruption to put some distance between us. "I accept your conditions." He cleared his throat, "Now, may I continue?"

  I nodded.

  "Fine, good. Okay," he started pacing again, "there have been disappearances."

  "Yeah, the cop filled me in. Some of your patients?" I leaned back against a table and felt something wet soak through my trousers. I looked back. I had knocked over a tray with some sort of clear liquid.

  The doctor noticed and looked at it.

  "Oh, don't worry about that; it won't stain," he picked up the tray and Butler took it from him. Of course, Butler wasn't there a second ago. "I'll have to give you an injection, however."

  "What?" I replied, concerned. "What for?"

  "Oh," he replied absently, "you know, just in case."

  "Great," I muttered. "So, how many disappearances we talking?"

  "Oh, not many, really, when you consider my caseload. A few have shown up recently but there are five patients over the last two months I haven't been able to contact."

  "Doesn't seem like a lot. So, what do you want me to do?"

  "Well," the doctor started fiddling with some of the larger machines, "to put it simply, I want you to follow me."

  "Follow you?"

  "And keep an eye on my patients, yes. Shouldn't be too hard I would think."

  I grimaced, "So, these disappearances are happening soon after your visits?"

  "So it seems," he was more wrapped up in his machines than me at the moment. "You know how people are. They're always going off on some mission or another."

  "People?" I said. "You mean supers."

  "Eh? Yes, whatever." He continued, "I can't be sure how long it's been going on, but I recently noticed that an unusual number of my followup visits end up with me finding empty houses and no patient."

  "And the police don't see a problem."

  "The police?" he reached to his face to adjust his glasses before he realized he wasn't wearing any. "Oh, they were a last resort. It's my colleagues that don't think there is a problem." He approached me with a syringe.

  "So, you've already been to The Bulwark," I sipped at my scotch. "Ouch!" I said, as he stuck me in the arm with the syringe. "A little warning would have been nice," I muttered.

  "Oh, of course," he laughed ignoring my remark, "you don't think I'd go to the police first, do you? That may be sore for a day or so."

  I replied into my glass rubbing my arm, "No, of course not. We're only tippys after all."

  "Exactly!" he exclaimed. "But you see, no one believes me. There's been no evidence of struggle, no bodies, no complaints other than mine. I had hoped that getting the police involved would pressure some of the others to investigate further, but it was to no avail."

  "I see."

  "So I had no recourse but to turn to you. Will you help me?" he stopped working for a moment, waiting.

  I stared at the last of the scotch, looking for answers. Regardless of our past, I stood to make a lot of money on this deal. I could really milk Medico. Plus, I might get a lot of good will out of that cop as well. That could really work for me down the road. There was no downside for me other than my near pathological hatred of the doctor. I sighed and took my notebook out of my jacket pocket. I flipped to a blank page and wrote a number on it. A large number. I looked at it for a second and then I added a zero at the end. I tore it out and handed it to the doc.

  "This is my price, Medico."

  He looked at the paper and slowly nodded. It didn't seem to me that he was as shocked as I had hoped.

  "Per day," I added. "Up front. I'll call my bank every morning. You do whatever it is that you do to transfer money. I find that amount in my account in the morning and I'm yours for the day. I don't, and this deal is off."

  He nodded slowly, "You really don't like me, do you, Mr. Moore."

  "No Medico, I don't," I replied. "Feel free to say no. I've got lots of other cases I could be on for clients that didn't..."

  As if on cue, a little girl bounced out from around the corner. I knew her from pictures and news reports. Her birth was the proverbial miracle. As I well knew, babies of mixed super/tippy parents, or cross-births, had a very low chance of survival. This child had miraculously beaten the odds, though her mom hadn't survived the birth.

  "Daddy?" her voice was like the tinkling of wind chimes. She was pale in the way that happens when overprotective parents keep their child from the sun or slather on sun block when they can't. Her short, bobbed, brown hair hung down just below her ears, and a green bow topped her head. Her triangular face was framed by straight cut bangs, large ears and pouty lips. Her nose was pointed and bridgeless, her eyes dark brown and thoughtful. "Are you done with Assistant yet?"

  "Almost dear," he turned and faced the girl, hands uncomfortably at his sides. "Give daddy a few more minutes."

  "Who's that?" she stared at me without a hint of self-consciousness. "He looks angry."

  I got down on one knee, cleared my throat and forced my lips into a smile, "No, I'm not mad," I replied, "just..." I stuttered, "your dad just gave me a shot," I covered lamely. "You know, you're a lucky little girl."

  She smiled, her perfectly straight teeth gleaming white, "I know." She turned back to her dad but then stopped. Looking over her shoulder at me, "Why?"

  "Well," I said, my voice cracking slightly, "if you had been born to a different dad, you might not be here today."

  She smiled again, "Oh, I know all about that. I was sick but my dad made
me better. My dad's brilliant. Everyone says so."

  "Yes, well," the doctor interrupted, "thanks for that dear. Why don't you go and play while I finish up with Mr. Moore here."

  "Hurry up with Assistant, daddy, I want to play." She turned back and skipped back the way she came. I slowly stood watching her retreat.

  "Well," I said softly, wishing there was more scotch in my glass.

  "Hmmm? Oh, yes," the doctor replied. "Okay, Mr. Moore, I accept. The money shouldn't be a problem."

  I nodded, teeth clenched.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, I half hoped not to find the money in my account. While I'd have to write a check and hand deposit it manually, supers have access to technology we tippys don't. They could just make a phone call or use one of their computing machines and the money would be there. Turns out, I didn't even have to check. I woke up slowly, the realization dawning on me that something was amiss. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I found Khan sitting on the corner of my bed.

  "Do you want to share?" he tried to sound serious but he wasn't good at hiding his smile.

  "What?" I rubbed my eyes. "What time is it?"

  "Don't give me that!" he mocked anger. "I got a call from your man," he used air quotes. He didn't like that I didn't trust him with my banking arrangements. "He confirmed a deposit. That number can't be right, can it?"

  "Ah, so he paid," I sat up. "I guess I better get to work."

  "How long you planning on being on the job?" Khan inquired.

  "What do you mean?" I stood and took off my shirt as I walked toward the bathroom.

  "Well, that was nearly as much as you made with the last three jobs combined," Khan started straightening my bedroom, throwing clothes over the chair or in the hamper depending on how they looked. "Should I plan on you being out for the week? Two?"

  I spit the toothpaste from my mouth, "That's just for today."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope."

  "Man, you really raked that guy over the coals."

  I scowled thinking about how little the money meant to the doctor.

  Khan paused for a second. "You know..." Another pause. "My parents... they, um, want me to see him."

  "Medico?" I was taken aback. "Why?"

  "You know, the sleeping thing."

  I picked a fresh shirt from the closet, grabbed my slacks and put them on.

  "They got me a new suit you know."

  "Three piece?"

  "Funny. No, it's frictionless or something. Means I can run at full speed without creating sonic booms and stuff." He was looking at the ground. "You know how they are."

  I didn't, really, except what he told me. They had been trying for years to overcome his handicap, as they called it. They'd tried stimulants, practice, hypnosis - everything. Anything so that he could run for longer than thirty seconds or at least so that he wouldn't fall into a deep sleep after he stopped. Nothing had worked. At nineteen, he couldn't take it anymore and moved out. My ex was friends with them and we took him in. When Gale and I split, he stayed with me. He didn't really need the money I paid him and, in some way, looking in on supers seemed to make him feel connected to the super community while getting some small measure of revenge.

  "Frictionless," I spat, "you know that's bull, right?"

  He looked back, confused.

  "If it were really frictionless you wouldn't be able to run at all, no grip." I looked away, "I wish they'd just tell us what it was instead of giving stuff these made-up names that sound cool."

  "I've been putting it off," he sounded uncomfortable. "I know how you feel about the guy."

  "Hey," I slipped on my last shoe and looked right at him, "you do what you have to do. I don't care one way or the other."

  He looked relieved.

  I paused and thought a moment, "You know what, why don't you call him?"

  "What? Now?" Khan asked in bewilderment.

  "Yeah. This is the deal: he thinks supers are disappearing after he sees them. Wants me to follow him and them and see what's what."

  "Wait! Is it safe?"

  "Come on, you're kidding right?" I smirked. "He's already called The Bulwark, the police, just about everyone and no one thinks there's anything to it."

  "But if he's paying you all this money..."

  "You think he gives a shit about money?" I frowned. "You know how those guys live. Especially the geniuses. If he slowed down enough to pass on just one or two of his inventions rather than hoarding all of them for himself, he'd have more money than he'd ever need." I grabbed my jacket and threw it over my shoulder. "Heck, a Level 5 citizen like him doesn't really want for money anyhow. The thing about the rich, they can afford to be paranoid." I exited my bedroom, heading toward the kitchen for a cup of the coffee I could smell. "But I understand if you don't want to. I was just trying to be supportive."

  "Well, I'll think about it."

  * * *

  He didn't think for long. Later that morning I was treated, once again, to the good doctor's presence. This time he wasn't alone. Again, the doctor was dressed the same, but this time he wore the round sunglasses that hid his mechanical eyes. He entered the office from the stairs with something vaguely resembling a person behind him. Covered in a brown overcoat and hat, the thing bulged in all the wrong places. It stunk of the same antiseptic smell as the doctor's lab and a soft whirring sound escaped as it glided across the floor.

  "What's that?" I inquired as the doctor shook Khan's hand.

  Khan had donned his new suit. It was skin tight and all blue with what looked to be a white racing stripe around the chest just under the arms. The stripe met in the back at a central vertical stripe that ran from his forehead, over his head, down his back, split at the buttocks and ran down the back of the legs. The suit covered everything but the face, which was left open. It looked like a seamless wetsuit. Khan's face, except for his goatee and eyebrows, was bright red. I had to suppress a laugh every time I looked at him.

  "Eh?" Medico replied. "Oh, that's just Assistant. He's here to..." the doctor got lost in some device he was waving all over Khan's body.

  "Assist?" I finished.

  "Oh... eh... yes, of course," the doctor answered absently before turning to Khan. "And I'm told you've always been this way? What treatments have you tried in the past?"

  The doctor and Khan spoke about his history at length. At first, Assistant stood by silently, but eventually, it dropped the coat and hat and began to help. I was a bit taken aback at first at its appearance. It had four arms, two human and two mechanical. The human ones looked unfinished - too smooth, no hair - it was creepy. The mechanical ones had a large cylinder at the end, which rotated occasionally to provide the doctor with the proper tool. The head, if you could call it that, was covered in skin but had no mouth, no ears, and no hair. It looked like skin wrapped over a huge, smooth thimble. Around the circumference was a metal band that looked suspiciously like larger and more complicated versions of the doctor's mechanical eyes. The skin of the head and human arms seemed to meld into a metal chassis. Exposed wires, servos and other devices I didn't have names for terminated in a set of tank-like treads. The whirring sound was ever-present from the creature but became louder when it moved.

  It was clear that Assistant and the doctor had worked together for some time. A number of times during the examination of Khan, the doctor would start to ask for something, and before he could finish asking, the creature would hand it to him.

  Suddenly, it hit me, "Hey, Medico, was Assistant on the table last night?"

  "Eh," Medico turned away from Khan for a moment, "oh, yes. Yes. It had developed a bit of cancer. Had to cut it out, you see."

  "So you made this thing?" I asked.

  "Of course, who else?" He resumed his examination, "Quite a help this one. Bio-mechanical robot. Very helpful."

  "Bio-what?"

  "Bio-mechanical," the doctor replied. "It's a robot, for the most part, but I integra
ted a few human tissues. Can't get them to heal properly, though. It just won't regenerate skin like we do. I can improve upon some of the senses and abilities of humans but not all of them. Yet," he added.

  I grimaced, "Where'd ya get the parts?"

  "Huh? Oh," he thought for a second, "well, the chassis was left over from..."

  "No, no," I interrupted, "the human parts."

  "Oh, those!" he turned and smiled at me. "I grew them, of course. From my own cells."

  I turned back to the bio-mechanical creature with a touch of awe. He grew arms, skin and Lord knows what else. I still had to take antihistamines every spring and this guy was Frankensteining up a glorified cup holder.

  "You grew the brain too?"

  The doctor scoffed, "Oh, no, of course not. You wouldn't know this, but there are prohibitions against using real brains or even sophisticated Artificial Intelligences."

  Not only did I know about the prohibitions, just about everyone did. After a super-villain made a series of robots that eventually turned on him rather than doing his bidding, a law had been passed. It was in all the news.

  The doctor continued, "Underneath all the skin is a titanium alloy shell with a rather, if I may say so, unsophisticated robotic brain. It really doesn't need to think much. But it uses the fine motor control of the humanoid arms and the sense of touch to assist me in my diagnoses. I've actually managed to upgrade some of the human senses quite a bit. What would be undetectable to our hands is quite obvious to Assistant's."

  "Does it talk?"