Quantum Cheeseburger

by Jeremy Michelson

  Suddenly I knew where I was, at least in a general way. I was in White Sands park, somewhere near Lake Lucero. The peaks in the distance had to be the San Andres mountains. I’d hiked this area many times.

  I bent down and ran a handful of sand through my fingers. I was lucky I had hit one of the big dunes. The white sand was actually gypsum and it was as solid as concrete a few inches below the sandy layer.

  I stood up and started moving in the opposite direction of the wrecked Stickman ship. I had no idea where I was going, but away from the creepy alien seemed like a good start.

  There I was, stranded in yet another wilderness without anything but a pair of dirty, pink lady shorts and a ripped up windbreaker. And a pair of too small boots. Everybody had fantasies about being in an adventure. Doing things like in an action adventure movie.

  The reality turned out to be a lot different.

  Hoofing it to who knows where in my stolen, too tight boots, facing the prospect of actual, physical death, I felt anything but adventurous.

  Ten minutes later, as I trudged through boot-sucking white sand, grumbling about the unfairness of it all, a sound brought me to a sudden stop.

  The distant whine of hoverjets.

  Eighteen

  Hoverjets. My new arch nemesis.

  Yesterday my only nemesis was Chet, the guy in I.T. who kept turning down my requests for a new computer at the lab. That rat bastard had the budget for it. He just wanted me to suffer because I was about a million times better than him at coding. The jerk.

  Chet’s pettiness faded into insignificance in the face of hoverjets. And aliens who wanted to put me in a juicer and extract whatever non-human bits had been stuck in me without my permission.

  The chill night air whispered over the gypsum sands around me. The chalky taste of it was on my tongue and in my nostrils. My heart sped up as the whine of turbofans got closer.

  I looked around. Caught their lights coming out of the southwest. From Holloman. Or from the secret base?

  I guessed secret base, which must be close to Holloman. Likely they had seen the Stickman’s ship come down and were anxious to pick up the pieces. Stickmen and the Blinkies had been very careful not to let any of their technology fall into human hands. Any Earth military would be falling all over themselves to get their hands Azor’s ship. Or pieces of it.

  Which didn’t matter to me, though. All I wanted was to not end up in another hoverjet with armored marines pointing plasma rifles at me.

  I’d show up like a beacon on the hoverjet’s heat sensors. I looked around. Frantically wondered what to do. There was nothing but sand dunes all around. No rocks or trees to hide behind.

  I ran back the way I came. A little ways back I'd crested a large, soft dune. I ran back up the dune and dived over the top. Working as fast as I could, I buried myself in the sand. It was deeper here than in most places. I managed to completely worm my way under. I dug out a small air pocket in front of my face.

  A couple minutes later the muffled whine of hoverjets rolled over me. By the sound of it, there were at least five of them. I waited several minutes, breathing hot, dusty gypsum tainted air before moving.

  The hoverjets didn’t come back my way.

  Slowly, I eased out of my sandy grave. To the north, searchlights crawled over the ground. I’d escaped. For the moment.

  I skittered up to the top of the dune. There weren’t any more lights coming out of the south. I rolled over the top and ran.

  Was this how the rest of my life would go? On the run from everyone? Sooner or later it had to end. I doubted any of these people–or aliens–were going to give up.

  I had something they wanted.

  What had that Professor guy spiked my burger with? Something related to the quantum lattice theory Dr. Kincaid was working on? Dr. Kincaid’s theories suggested a quantum lattice could be a source of almost unlimited energy.

  I wished I knew more about quantum physics. I'd picked up a little simply by working with Kincaid, but I hadn't paid much attention to his lectures. I did remember him getting excited about stacked mesons, or something like that.

  What did that Professor person think was wrong with Dr. Kincaid’s formulas?

  And, most importantly, why me?

  Just thinking about it made me mad. What had I ever done to that guy? Was I just a convenient victim? Something to help him prove his point?

  Except it kind of backfired on him since it got him deceased.

  Which was lucky for him, because if he was in front of me right now I’d...

  I stopped as realization slapped me in the face. It had been there right in front of me. I didn’t know why I had superpowers, but I knew how to activate them now. I must have been tired–or stupid–not to have seen it before.

  The alien doodads inside me got turned on when I got angry.

  I was the Incredible Hulk. Sort of. Except I didn’t get big and turn green.

  I crouched down in the soft sand and thought about the last day. From the little adobe hut, to the general office, to Azor’s ship–I became supercharged when I got angry.

  I thought back to my moment of anger up in the mountains. As I watched the hoverjets move back and forth over the desert floor. How they had suddenly came my way. Somehow the military had a way to detect when my power was active. And so did the Stickmen.

  I could make myself angry to get away from them or fight them, but they would always find me. Even if I got away from them, I’d have to never, ever, get pissed off again.

  Seemed unlikely.

  But now I knew how to protect myself. All I had to do it work up a good, frothing rage, and hello super strength, super speed and invulnerability. Which was great unless someone snuck up behind me and blew my head off with a plasma cannon.

  As I’d found out from the gash in my leg, when I wasn’t mad, I’m wasn’t protected.

  Knowing how to turn myself super was great, but it still left me with the problem of what next?

  I kicked a lump of sand. It flew into the air in a fine spray. Some of which came back in my face and made me sneeze. Sitting in the sand, waiting for General Mattany’s marines or the Stickmen to find me held no appeal.

  I got up off my satiny pink ass and started hiking toward the highway. I doubted I could get someone to pick me up looking as I did–and I’d be dubious of anyone who would–but maybe I could do something else.

  Nineteen

  I crouched by some juniper bushes near the highway. The eastern horizon blushed pink and red. My teeth chattered from the morning cold. My body protested staying in one position for so long. I told it to shut up. A couple hours wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. Besides, the scent of juniper was a nice change from chalky gypsum. On the other hand, I was so hungry I briefly considered pulling branches off the juniper bush and eating them.

  A bacon cheeseburger would have been really nice right then.

  Sigh.

  As I had approached the highway a couple hours ago, I’d seen headlights going back and forth. Up close the only vehicles I saw on the road were military descendants of my beloved jeep. Low, hulking armored things that growled down the highway, spewing diesel fumes. The common name for them was Grums, since Northdrop Grumman had gotten the contract to build them. And they made a grummmm sound as they rolled down the highway.

  They were ugly and inelegant compared to the jeeps of old.

  From the landscape, I knew this was the main highway. It couldn't have been easy for the military to close that to civilian traffic. How long would they be able to keep it closed? Holloman would be to the east. Not the direction I wanted to go.

  Which direction did I want to go?

  Logic dictated that I should try to slip past the security patrols, then hoof it across the border into Mexico.

  I decided to do something stupid instead.

  I waited for a Grum to come growling down the road. As it passed, I scrambled up to the road. I grabbed on to the rear bumper.

>   A giant spare tire was bolted to the back. Tan bags that looked like rolled up tents were tied up on either side of it. I climbed up the back and got up behind the spare and hunkered down. The musty tents hid me from view of the road.

  I pulled a loose flap of canvas over me. I sighed and lay my head against the tent. For just a few seconds I closed my eyes. This had to be a really bad, really stupid plan.

  The rumble of the Grum’s engine quickly lulled me to sleep.

  Twenty

  Shouting woke me up. I blinked against the dim, tan light for several seconds, unsure where I was. My body was wedged in a less than comfortable position in a dusty place that smelled like rubber and diesel exhaust. I stifled a sneeze.

  Oh right. My stupid plan.

  I moved a little. Pins and needles shot down my cramped legs. My stomach growled. I told it to shut up. We didn’t need to draw the attention of any guys with guns.

  The Grum had stopped. Somewhere. Hopefully where I suspected it would.

  I lifted the canvas. The Grum was parked in a cavernous building that looked suspiciously like a hanger. There were a lot of other trucks in various states of disassembly. Motor pool and maintenance area, I guessed.

  Soldiers dressed in desert fatigues walked by.

  “–found a damn thing. We patrolled the road all day. My ass is ready to fall off,” one of the soldiers said.

  “Get used to used to it,” another said, “Mattany has the big brass up his ass now, what with the Stickman and all. We’re not going–”

  They walked out of earshot. I bet there were a lot of unhappy people of all classes at the moment, thanks to moi.

  Through a tiny gap in the flap of heavy canvas over me, I watched the movement in the shop. A lot of mechanics and soldiers in fatigues came and went. Go figure.

  A mostly naked guy in bright pink shorts would get noticed really quick. What part of this plan had I thought was not stupid?

  Oh, right, none of it.

  I spotted a pair of blue coveralls hanging on the wall. About thirty feet from my hiding spot. It might have well been on the other side of the planet for all the good it did me.

  I was about to lever myself out of my little nest and run for it when an announcement crackled over the public address system.

  “Attention! Everyone to Hanger 12 for an address by the general!”

  Men groaned and dropped their tools. Metal clanged on concrete and men grumbled as they shuffled out of the hanger. I waited another five minutes. Then pried my aching body out from behind the spare tire.

  My joints and back crackled as I stood up. My stomach growled and twisted painfully. How long had I been asleep? It still looked like daylight coming through the windows.

  I dropped to the floor. My boots slapped the concrete with a sound that felt louder than a gunshot. I twisted around, half expecting shouts.

  Nothing. Just the sound of the big fans blowing hot air through the building. The stifling air inside the hanger stank of oil and grease and hot metal.

  I ran over to the wall. Grabbed the coveralls. I pulled them on over my pink shorts. I’d seen enough movies to know that if I left the shorts, someone would find them. Then the sirens would start blaring and everyone would start turning the base upside down looking for me.

  I may be stupid, but I’m not...well, never mind.

  Okay, moron, you got yourself on the base. Now what?

  I climbed into the Grum and rummaged around, trying to find a portable weapon. I didn’t find any plasma rifles or pistols. I did find a canteen and half empty package of beef jerky.

  I wolfed the jerky down, chasing it with warm, metallic water. It tasted awesome.

  I crawled back out of the Grum and hustled over the nearest workbench. I selected a hefty wrench and stuck it in a pocket. Then over to the big open hanger doors and scanned the area.

  Acres of concrete tarmac and the black poles beyond them. The sky above had the same tannish brown look as before. Back at the secret base, then.

  That was a good thing. It meant Dr. Kincaid was probably here.

  He and I had some things to discuss.

  Twenty-One

  Outside the huge hanger, hot and dusty air washed over me. Waves of heat radiated off the acres of smooth concrete. The hangers on the other side of the tarmac shimmered like a mirage. I counted ten of them across from me. Probably the same on the side I stood on. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t small potatoes. Beyond the hangers, the tall, black poles stood every hundred yards or so. The green orbs atop them pulsed in a slow rhythm. The sky above the base and the area beyond the black poles was a flat, tannish brown.

  General Mattany’s amplified voice droned from somewhere nearby. I started to ignore it, then realized an important detail I had overlooked.

  I had no idea where Kincaid was.

  The base was huge and I didn’t see any friendly signs saying hey, this way to Doc Kincaid’s magic lab!

  I straightened up from my crouch and ran my fingers through my hair. I wasn't going to pass for military close up, but with the coveralls, I was less conspicuous. I sauntered toward the sound of Mattany's voice in a manner I hoped looked nonchalant.

  Three hangers down I found a large group of men and women in uniform crowded just inside the doors of yet another hanger. I moved in, staying at the back and not making eye contact with anyone.

  Mattany stood on the wing of a sleek looking, black hoverjet. He shook his fist at the crowd. I noticed one of his fingers was bandaged. Oops.

  “Again, it is imperative we capture this individual,” Mattany said, “He is highly dangerous. According to our source, the compound he carries is highly unstable. If we don’t get him soon we could have a situation that might turn half this state into a giant crater.”

  My heart froze. What was he talking about?

  “If you encounter this man, do not shoot at him,” Mattany said, “Do not use force on him in any way. Take him into custody as gently as possible. Do you understand? This guy is a walking atomic bomb.”

  It had to be a hundred degrees outside, but chills ran through me.

  “Do not upset him. Do not get him agitated. If possible, trank him. The armory will be issuing mini trank guns to as many personnel as we can. We will also be distributing photos of him. If you see him, either trank him or report him to your command. Do not engage him in combat.”

  Walking atomic bomb? I broke out in a cold sweat. What was I going to do now? If I tried to use my new powers I might end up blowing up half the state. Killing who knows how many people.

  I wasn’t exactly a pacifist, but neither did I want to be a mass murderer.

  The sensible thing would be to turn myself in and let them do whatever they need to do me. Even if it meant my death.

  If Azor, the super creepy stickman was to be believed, it was certain death.

  I put my hand to my face, my mind reeling with shock, my gut twisting with fear. I almost raised my arms and give up right there.

  Then I spotted someone in the crowd.

  Julie. My beloved fiancé.

  She was dressed in Space Command blue coveralls, her hair was tucked up under a blue cap. Just another soldier. But I recognized her profile. She stood near the wall, holding back from the crowd like I was.

  I moved toward her along the edge of the crowd, doing my best to be discrete. Mattany droned on about god and country and patriotism and duty. I tuned him out, fixated on Julie. She leaned against the wall, her body language giving out nothing but boredom. But her eyes roved over the crowd. Was she looking for someone?

  Moi, perhaps?

  Or someone else?

  As I closed the distance between us I saw her eyes lock on someone. I followed her gaze. The crowd shifted slightly and I caught the top of Dr. Kincaid’s balding head, distinctive with the purple birthmark on the top.

  We were looking for the same guy.

  Mattany ended his speech. Told everyone to get their asses back to their posts. He j
umped down off the hoverjet’s wing. Kincaid rushed up to him, talking, arms gesturing wildly. The general snapped something back at him. They headed off toward a door at the side of the hanger.

  I looked back to Julie. She made her way out of the hanger, going the same direction as Kincaid and the general.

  I followed her.

  We weaved through the mass of exiting soldiers. Good thing Mattany hadn’t gotten around to issuing any photos of me yet.

  Julie stopped at the corner of the hanger. I moved back, angling behind her to see what she had her eyes on. There was a low building between this hanger and the next one. Mattany and Kincaid were standing in front of the building. Both were waving their hands. There looked to be significant amounts of spittle flying between them.

  There was a fresh sheet of plywood nailed up on the wall behind them. Perhaps this was the building they first took me to?

  General Mattany was flushed, his face twisted in anger. He bent over Kincaid, poked him in the chest with his bandaged finger. Kincaid cowered, moved back and ducked his head. Then spun on his dusty loafers and hurried his out of shape self over to the other hanger, disappearing through yet another door.

  Mattany gripped his wounded poking finger and went into the low building. Was the finger on his other hand just not up to the task of poking? Did it not have enough authority to it?

  I gave the other hanger a quick look over. There were no windows on it. Unlike the other hangers. The door Kincaid went through was guarded by a pair of big marines with plasma rifles. Walking up and knocking seemed out of the question.

  I started to move back. I didn’t want Julie to turn around and see me.

  I bumped into something. Something like a brick wall that wore musky cologne. A big hand gripped my arm. Something hard pressed up against my spine.

  “Well, well, look who decided to crash the party.”

  Crap. The big goon from Guydoros. I should have realized he’d be near Julie.