I drive toward this subdivision for our quiet place to chat.
Vince rolls his window down, spits his hunk of gum out, puts the window back, and pulls two more pieces. He holds the pack my way. “Gum?”
“I’m trying to cut back.”
Vince laughs. “Man, you’re a cool one. Anyone ever tell you that?”
I raise an eyebrow and take a glance at the guy. Is he serious?
“That’s what I’ll call you if you take this job, Cool Jim Quig.”
That’d be real original, seeing as how that’s what everyone calls me anyway. “I told you guys before, I don’t want to be a hero.”
“Ah, that you did, Son. That’s exactly why we’ve come back to you. We’re not looking for a hero, we’re looking for an investigator. A perceptive, cool investigator, and being a cop would add some extra icing to the dessert. It never hurts to have firearm and combatives training for things like this either.” Vince chews his gum and grins at me from the passenger seat.
This guy smiles way too fucking much.
“If you aren’t talking about me being a hero, what are you talking about?” I take a right into the abandoned subdivision and park in front of the first house.
“SHI needs someone to investigate a problem involving superheroes. Your name showed up at the top of the list.”
I open my door and stick my leg out, hoping to get some air in the car. “Why me? Does this have anything to do with Gravitess in Seattle?”
Vince sighs. “It’s got to do with that and a lot more, I’m afraid.”
“What could be bigger than a hero flipping out and razing an entire city?”
“It’s classified. I can’t tell you until you choose to accept the mission. Should you accept, you will be given all pertinent details.” Vince opens his door and spits his glob of mint into the yard of the house.
I step out of the car and try to wrap my head around this. Investigating superheroes? Has that ever been done before? Like I would know if it had been. I imagine the SHI keeps things like that under pretty tight lock and key. I rap my fingers across the roof of the car and stare past Vince at the vacant house behind him.
A face appears in one of the windows, looks directly at me, and then the guy takes off running through the house. The back door slams. Vince turns over his shoulder to glance at the house before turning back to me with a cocked eyebrow.
“Squatters. Afraid of cops come to run them out.”
Vince nods.
“Why not have another hero investigate?”
“They tend to stick together, especially the heroes that have been around a while. None of them would ever be able to give a truly impartial report.”
“Why me?”
Vince grabs another two pieces of gum, again offers me some. Third time’s the charm and I pop a piece out of the package and throw it in my mouth.
Vince tucks the pack of gum back in his pocket. “You remember what you scored on the SHI-QE?”
The Super Hero Initiative Qualification Exam, an entrance exam to see if a person is capable of becoming a superhero. Every person within any kind of government system is given one on their eighteenth birthday, mandatory. The test was part IQ, part personality profile, part Rorschach test. They say it gives a proper glimpse into whether or not a person can handle the trauma of going through the Engine and coming out the other side with superhuman abilities. Word is you need to score over two thousand before SHI will even take a glance at you.
“That was a long time ago. My memory’s a little hazy.”
“You scored a twelve.”
I slap the roof of the car. “That’s right. Twelve. My lucky number.”
Vince chews his gum.
I try to wait him out. I said something, now it’s his turn. If this punk recruiter thinks he can out-wait me, he’s wrong. I chew my gum.
He chews his gum.
Fucking hell. “So, I ask again, why me?” I never was much for waiting.
“Being a hero is a great responsibility. Do you really think SHI would leave that to one multiple choice test?”
“There was an essay question on there too.”
“Do you remember your question?” Vince spits his gum out again. This wad lands right next to the last one. He takes his package out and finds it empty, sticks it back in his pocket.
I scratch behind my ear. “In five paragraphs I was asked to explain what I would do with my super power.”
“And do you remember your answer?”
“I believe I wrote, ‘World peace’ and nothing else.”
That gets a chuckle out of Vince. “We have tracked everyone over the course of their academic careers. How their history stacks up against their SHI-QE score is part of how we judge them. Say someone has low performance their entire lives, but happens to get a pretty good score on the test. Do you know what that tells me?”
“They studied hard.”
“Man, you are a cool one. I hope you take this job, Jim. I could get to like you. And you’re right, they did study hard. Their entire lives they felt no need to put any effort in, but all of a sudden they do for the SHI-QE? Do you think they would continue that effort after they became a hero?”
“Bit of an optimist, you are.”
“I prefer realist and you know as well as me, someone who doesn’t give a damn before the Engine won’t give a damn after. Now, what does it tell me when someone who has slightly above-average marks for his entire life monumentally flunks the test?”
“He’s a fuckup.”
Vince stares straight into my eyes. Time for the ‘real talk’ recruiter face. “It tells me, he’s not worried about glory or fame. It tells me he’s not trying to get in the program to get laid. When that very same person goes on to become a cop, it tells me he wants to help people. That’s why we came to you the first time and that’s why I’m here again.”
“Right. And that’s all you need to know to think that I’m qualified for this top secret, whatever–the-hell you’ve got going on?” I spit my gum over the car and into the yard with Vince’s.
“Actually, I do have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why don’t you want to be a hero?”
I walk to the front of my car and take a seat on the hood. “When I was younger, The Patriot was trying to stop a robbery. A bunch of wise guys thought it would be a good idea to steal an armored car. Patriot got in front of the armored car and they tried to run him over.”
Vince cringes. “Bad idea.”
“Yeah, bad idea. They hit him head-on. The armored car flipped into a crowd of people. Killed quite a few. I was one of the lucky ones. The impact shattered my hip, but I lived. I had to relearn how to walk. Now I just have a little limp, but running isn’t my best friend. Took months of training to get ready for the physical exam to be a cop.”
Vince walks around to sit on the hood next to me.
“That’s why everyone calls me ‘Cool Jim Quig’. You see, I walk with this hitch in my step like I’m some kind of Old West cowboy. So they all figure I’m cool like the Duke or whatever. But you already knew all this, I’m sure. It’s got to be in some kind of file or something and you guys do your research.”
Vince gives me that patented smile that’s already beginning to wear thin on me. “Yeah, I did.”
“So why ask?”
“I wanted to hear it in your own words. The investigation I need you for, heroes might be implicated. I wanted to make sure you don’t harbor any grudge against them for what happened to your leg.”
I laugh and look up into the blinding afternoon sun. “I did. Believe me. I had teenage angst all piled up and wrapped around hero loathing, but it didn’t get me anywhere. It wasn’t The Patriot’s fault it happened, I was just…collateral damage of sorts.”
“That’s a level-headed way of looking at it.” Vince gives me one of those up-and-down, appraising sort of looks.
My hand drifts up and rubs a day’s worth of stubble on my che
ek. “Like I said, it wasn’t always that way. Then I became a cop and learned real quick, situations don’t always unfold how they did in training. Shit happens.”
Vince pats me on the back. “That’s just what I needed to hear, Son. You’re hired.”
“Hired? You haven’t even told me what the job is. And I can’t just go taking time off without getting it approved by my superiors. I’ve got a job to do here.”
“Not exactly.” The hood pops as Vince slaps his hands down to push himself up. “It’s already been cleared. As of,” he checks his watch, “thirty-six minutes ago, you were released from all obligations to the State of Georgia. You are now on loan to the Super Hero Initiative for the next however long we deem necessary.”
What kind of pompous asshole would just assume I would say yes to this job?
“Your country needs you, Mr. Quig. Forgive me for assuming, but time is greatly of the essence. We need to be moving as quickly as possible to get this whole situation contained.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I am a highly trained operative…And you don’t mask your emotions very well.” He holds out his hand for a shake to seal this deal. “Oh, and have I told you about SHI’s pay rate? It’s substantial. It should more than take care of that car loan you’ve been struggling with.”
These guys really have done their homework. What in the fuck business does this guy have looking at my financials? I’m making most of the payments on the car.
Vince puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, be cool, Jim. I’m not faulting you for going with the GT500, it’s a hell of a car.”
He’s got a point there. Carol Shelby sits somewhere between tacos and whiskey in my holy trinity.
“I’ve got one question before I say yes.”
“Anything. I’m an open, highly top-secret, most-redacted-for-secrecy book.” Vince holds his arms out to the side.
“If this is about a rampaging hero, how in the hell can I help you? I can barely run a hundred yards before my hip gives out like some old man. They have super powers and shit.”
Vince’s hand is still hanging in the air. He reaches out, takes mine, and gives it a shake all on his own. “All in good time, Jim. Let’s get you oriented as to the whole situation, yeah?”
Before I can answer, Vince pulls out a phone, touches the screen a couple times, and puts it to his ear. “Yeah, Miles. I’m ready to go. Me plus one.” He puts the phone back in his pocket.
“Miles?” If that’s a superhero, I’ve never heard of him.
“At your service,” an English accented voice says from behind me.
I turn to find a man with overly large ears and a comb-over that looks more like a tidal wave, white caps and all. The man has to have teleported here, because there was no one else around a second ago.
“Jim, meet Miles. Miles, Jim,” Vince says.
We nod and shake on the new acquaintance. “My name’s not actually Miles, though. It’s Winston Hill, III.” The properness in his voice gives me the urge to bow or fetch some tea or something else distinctly English.
“Winston Hill? Please tell me your middle name’s not Church, ‘cause that would just be too good.” I smile to help the joke along, but the deep pout Winston gives me says I may have crossed a line of sorts. “Well, um, uh…So why do they call you Miles?” Maybe that will clear the air.
Next to me, Vince stifles a chuckle and Winston’s brow furrows even deeper.
“I travel long distances in an instant. Some at SHI found it interesting to give me a name of measure. Being as how I’m English, they thought it to be all the funnier to call me Miles.”
Vince coughs back more laughter. “You see, Kilometers just didn’t have the same ring to it. Could you really see a hero named Kilometers?”
I’d like to laugh with him, but Miles doesn’t seem to be enjoying this and I’d rather not get warped into outer space right this second. “So, where are we heading?” Hopefully, we can get on track.
“Right, back to headquarters. Miles can only traverse with one person at a time. I’ll go first and then he’ll come back and pick you up.”
I nod.
Miles grabs a handful of Vince’s expensive looking suit jacket and the two men disappear. No sound or flash or wiggle of the nose preceded it, either. It looked like a camera trick in real life. One second they were there and the next they were gone. Within another handful of seconds, Miles is back in front of me. He doesn’t speak a word before he grabs my shirt.
Suburban Georgia—blistering sun, faux-charm, and sweet tea—flashes away to an office setting: White walls, hum of fluorescent bulbs, lemon-scented disinfectant.
My head spins, equilibrium fucked; my stomach turns like I’m mid-all night bender. I puke on Miles’ loafers. My ears thrum with a constant ‘wvumph’ sound. Couple that with blurred light tracers and I feel like someone’s waving a lightsaber in front of me. I blink and try to focus on Miles’ face, upper lip curled up to his eyebrows.
Chapter 4
A FIRM HAND grips my shoulder. “Take it easy, Jim,” Vince says from behind me. “That first traverse can be hard. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“Are you quite done with me?” Miles’ voice drips with disgust, but that could be part of his accent. I’m too sick to care.
“For now.”
Miles turns and trudges away to clean his feet with hydrochloric acid, if I had to guess. I’m betting he never wears that particular pair of Oxfords again.
Vince gives a stiff clap on the back that almost, almost brings up a little more of my breakfast. I swallow, hoping to force the impulse down my throat. Vince walks me through the only door in the room. It leads to yet another door with glass so thick you couldn’t drive a bulldozer through it.
“Miles has to traverse everyone to this room first. That way we can keep security tight. Very few people have ever been inside the Initiative Hive. You should consider yourself lucky.”
“You should consider yourself lucky I haven’t puked on you, yet. Now that we’re here, can you tell me what I’m supposed to be doing? Or at the very least can I see this mythical Engine that makes mortal men super humans?”
Vince gives me an awkward grin that may have started as a smile, but died along the way. The glass in front of us parts to reveal two guards armed with guns I’ve never even seen prototypes of. SHI must get all the cool toys.
“Let me show you to the Engine.” Vince gives me a push down a hallway, past the guards.
The Hero Engine was discovered in an undisclosed location over fifty years ago. The explorers who found it discovered that when a human went inside, he came back out with extraordinary powers. Even more mind-blowing, each came out with different powers. No one has yet to explain how the Engine works or where it came from, but it’s been steadily cranking out super humans since its discovery.
We finally come up to the most plain, shitty motel elevator-esque doors I’ve ever seen.
“Please tell me this isn’t all that stands between intruders and the Engine.”
“This base is the most highly guarded place in the world. Only a handful of people even know where it is. No one should be able to get in this Hive, so there’s no need for super high security over the actual Engine.”
“You said, ‘should be able’. As in someone shouldn’t have gotten in, but did.”
With a press of a button, the doors in front of me slide open. A foul smell gusts out from the room. The stench of melted plastic and shit attacks my nostrils. I hold my nose. My eyes water, showing their disapproval. That’s right, it stinks so bad my eyes hurt.
I slide my shirt up over my nose to mask the smell. Vince takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and puts it over his lower face. The Engine sits in front of me. The machine looks like some kind of giant clay tulip, laying on its side. Hieroglyphs and words in a language I’ve never seen before cover the outside. More importantly, a hole resides directly in the middle, and the edges of the
jagged hole are charred black.
A quick survey reveals fragments of all kinds of shit spread about the room. The beige tile floor is covered in blackened pieces of clay, and chunks of the ceiling are missing.
“What the fuck happened in here?”
A tile falls from the ceiling. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead. I want to check over my shoulder for the Candyman. Silly fear, but that movie had me scared of mirrors and flickering lights when I was a kid.
“A terrorist attack of some form. An improvised explosive device is what they’re calling them in the Middle East. Pipe bomb works just as well. It was made from ammonium nitrate, fertilizer. Anyone with a search engine and local hardware store could make the thing.”
“Can it be repaired?”
Vince catches a whiff of the stale air and winces. “Can it be repaired? Fifty years of research and we have no idea how the things works. No power supply. No electronics to speak of. Best that we can tell, it’s just a giant clay jar that transforms humans into superheroes.” His gaze stays locked on the broken machine as he speaks.
No new heroes. What a giant fucking implication. My chest tightens. A series of goosebumps sprint their way down my arms. I swallow. Once. Twice. Deep breath. What does this mean? How can I help? First question that makes it past my lips: “Who did this?”
“We don’t know.”
“Are there not any cameras in here?”
Vince points at a spot inside the room with the Engine. A small device hangs from a cord in the roof. Destroyed, possibly by gunshot. It’s shattered, but not burned like everything else. Vince points in the opposite corner. More of the same. He turns and points over his shoulder. The camera pointing at the doors outside the room has a clear bullet hole through the lens.
“This place was considered so secure,” Vince says, “that the cameras were just a formality. Why need anything more than a secret base of operations that only a handful of people know the location of?”
“How long ago did this happen?” The smell of the room is overpowering enough to tell me it’s a recent development, but how recent?
Hero Engine Page 2
