We Could Be Heroes

by Mike Chen

  Zoe blinked her eyes and squinted, turning down the volume of her thermal sensing. It withered, turning translucent. There was a man inside the capsule.

  The capsule wasn’t glowing red. That was the man’s heat signature, seemingly a product of all the tubes and wires tied into his body.

  16

  JAMIED DECIDED AGAINST ANY further brain-stuns, and instead, he walked holding up a random document grabbed from Dr. Waterfield’s desk, all in an effort to keep people from asking him anything. One man shot him a strange look and he debated whether or not to remove any trace of himself from the man’s memory. Speed won out and he moved swiftly to the elevator.

  The button lit with a glowing blue and Jamie waited for the whirring gears and pulleys to announce the elevator’s imminent arrival. It chimed and the doors slid open, revealing an empty space.

  He stepped in, halfway to the goal of exiting this place. It rumbled and hummed, bringing him lower while he pondered what to tell Zoe. Her name, her real name, but then what? The fact that they were both patients here? The seemingly normal facade? The fact that he was the one responsible for her missing memories?

  His own discovered history?

  He pushed that question aside, but it kept fighting back. Images from the interview, Frazer’s voice—his own voice—all crashed into his mind, as if hitting the damn play button on the video unleashed a torrent of thoughts and feelings without the memories to sort them into proper context.

  The elevator continued to rumble, and he told himself to at least freak out about his identity later. Surely Frazer would agree to that, given the circumstances.

  His hands clasped, thumb instinctively rubbing the scar on the other palm. This place—that was the appropriate mystery to ponder at the moment. And nothing explained the “Stop Her” message—who was she? It might be Zoe still. It made sense, given that she was handed a name and something of an identity right away, like whoever it was behind this knew that she’d be punching and flying. Or maybe it was a metaphor, like how people used feminine pronouns for boats.

  Maybe.

  The elevator chimed again with three floors to go. Jamie sunk into the corner, eyes planted firmly on the floor and arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look up when a woman walked in, though she seemed to hesitate for a moment. From the corner of his eye, he picked up small details about her: she stood nearly as tall as him and also wore a white lab coat, which contrasted with the rich brown fingers sticking out of the sleeves. Her lab coat rested half-open over a purple dress and black shoes, but she had no photo badge or other identification.

  It didn’t require psychic powers to know that she looked him over, more so than his other encounters—in fact, even more than Dr. Waterfield did during the start of their interview. She shifted her balance, her posture leaning in like a shadow draping over him, and though she stayed quiet, he swore he heard her inhale sharply.

  The elevator chimed to announce their arrival on the ground floor. Jamie broke past the woman, who remained standing, and though the exit was to the right, he turned left toward the bathroom signs.

  The door locked behind him, thankfully a single private stall. A tremor rippled through his hands as he fought his way out of the coat. The hinged lid of a waste bin swayed back and forth after he pushed the coat all the way to the bottom. Outside, voices came and went, along with the buzz of the PA and the sound of footsteps.

  Jamie waited until no further sounds floated through the door. Just to be safe, he reached out with his mind, feeling for the presence of anyone else. When he’d done this before, it was to confirm he’d accounted for all the people in a bank.

  Today was about a clean exit.

  With no other minds popping up on his radar, Jamie turned the door handle, the locking mechanism clicking as it released. He swung the door open and turned to the exit.

  He stopped immediately. The woman from the elevator was standing in the middle of the hallway.

  In the middle of his path.

  Her unblinking eyes locked on his, stealing his breath. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve just finished a tour and I’m going to talk to my family.”

  The woman nodded and stepped aside, an arm extended toward the front lobby. “I hope you found everything you were looking for,” she said, a hint of a South Asian accent to her words. She smiled, though they never broke eye contact, as if she was trying to probe him. Jamie centered himself, a quick sanity check to make sure he didn’t feel the tingling at the base of his skull associated with a mind invasion.

  “Thanks,” he said, forcing out a smile.

  “Let me walk you to the lobby.”

  “Oh no, that’s fine. I remember the way.”

  “I insist.”

  “Um...all right.” Jamie began a swift walk, telling himself to be casual but quick. She kept pace, and he strategically positioned his fingers to attempt to pry into her mind.

  But nothing worked. It may as well have been a psychic brick wall. The realization caused him to stop and look at her out of pure instinct.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with this woman. She was dressed professionally, shoulder-length black hair with a slight wave, and she wore a light amount of makeup, perfectly expected for a fortysomething woman at a health-care facility. There was no magnetic helmet or magic pendant or anything else obvious that would prevent him from locking on.

  Yet, this marked the first time he hadn’t been able to break into a mind.

  The realization caused him to step away from her, something that didn’t change the woman’s neutral look. “Something the matter?”

  “No,” he said after a second. “No, I was just wondering how we might be able to afford a place like this for my sister.”

  “Ah. Well, we offer a few different payment plans. Your sister may qualify for a scholarship. Our priority is the health and stability of our patients.”

  “Right, right. I should go, I have to call my family.” This time, Jamie walked straight to the door, his pace far quicker than a casual stride, but he didn’t care. He jammed his hand against the panel to open the main lobby access door, its heavy secured weight and tight hydraulics making a mere second feel like hours before it began to swing open.

  “Let us know if you have any questions, Mr. Wright,” the woman called.

  Jamie shuffled silently through the checkout procedure at the reception area. The fact that she knew his alias, the fact that she watched him sign forms and get his phone back, all of it propelled him to take each step a little faster on his way out.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Jamie sat in the backseat of his OmegaCars pickup, wondering if probing the driver’s mind would cause them to veer off the highway. He’d stayed quiet the entire time, lost in thought from the moment he opened the app to hail a ride to this moment, sitting in commuter traffic. The only time he broke out of it was for the odd sight of a helicopter leaving the back area of the Telos grounds, and when he realized that Zoe had sent a text about following a lead that included a selfie from apparently on top of a van traveling down a two-lane highway. A quick probe into the mind of the driver showed that he wasn’t on the Telos payroll, though he did give his sick cat regular IV treatments. Jamie made a mental note to leave him a bigger tip.

  That should have been enough to make him relax. Except as he sunk into the backseat’s weathered upholstery, something caught his eye among the suburban mix of sandwich shops, coffee chains and big-box stores.

  A white van. Unmarked. With two unfriendly-looking people glancing in his direction, their exact focus hidden by sunglasses.

  He couldn’t be too paranoid, could he? Jamie considered the possibility as they idled six or seven cars behind a red light. “Ah, this goddamn light,” the driver said. “This one always backs up. You’d think they’d sync it up with the crosswalks.”

  The light turned
, and cars shuffled along, someone in front slow to move forward. “Come on, come on, stay green,” the driver said as it turned to yellow. “I’m gonna punch it.”

  “That’s fine.” A quick glance at the van showed them obeying the traffic laws and slowing to the line.

  The light changed to red just as their car crossed the line. It jerked forward as the accelerator roared, putt-putt-putting the decade-old sedan across the intersection. From behind, tires squealed. Jamie turned, hands perched up.

  Instead of waiting at the crosswalk, the van broke the red light and surged toward them.

  “Oh shit,” Jamie said as they safely crossed the intersection, the freeway on-ramp now just ahead.

  “Sorry, sorry. I know, I should be more patient. This light just irritates me.”

  Jamie nodded, but his eyes widened, watching as the van’s engine revved up to catch them. Now it was directly behind, and Jamie could see the driver and passenger talking to each other, and the passenger putting a phone to his ear. They rolled onto the highway, speeding up to keep pace with the other cars zooming past them.

  “God, I probably just got a ticket, huh? They have cameras on those lights.”

  The van kept up, staying right behind them as they changed over into the carpool lane. “You know, this lane doesn’t help much at this time. Even though we’re going against traffic back into the city. We’re still gonna hit a slowdown at the eighty-two interchange.”

  Jamie reached out with his mind, fingers poised on the back headrest. He felt the minds in the van, but something wouldn’t let him lock on.

  For now, he hoped it stemmed from separate moving vehicles and not whatever tactics the woman employed in Telos.

  “Damn,” the driver said again. “See, it’s just rush hour. I swear, this place gets worse every year. It’s all of the tech jobs coming here. I never thought I’d say there are too many jobs, but there are too many jobs.”

  The brakes squeaked and red lights flashed in front of them as their car slowed to a halt. Behind them, the van did the same, and Jamie closed his eyes, trying again to find a path into the mind of either the passenger or the driver.

  And then he was there. Watching them load into the van. Seeing a photo on their tablet.

  His photo. From when he registered at the lobby.

  The mystery woman barking orders then saying something about how she was taking a helicopter to “the facility.” Even finding Dr. Waterfield in an unexplainable stupor.

  Jamie pulled out of the man’s memory and looked forward. The sea of brake lights let up, and they moved onward, going several minutes at thirty miles per hour before slowing down again. Another car changed lanes, getting between them and the van, though the height of the van made its passengers still visible.

  “Are there any alternative routes?” Jamie asked.

  “Like side streets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To get into the city?” the driver replied. “Sorry, man, all you’ve got is this highway. The traffic map says it’s another forty-two minutes.”

  Jamie pulled out his phone. Still no messages from Zoe, though now that he knew the people from Telos were tailing him, who knew what they’d put on his phone while it was there. He typed out a quick message to Zoe. I have to ditch this phone. You should change yours too. Something is definitely up. Find me.

  He tapped the send button, and the icon showed a green check mark before returning to his home screen.

  From behind, the passenger held up a tablet and turned to the driver. Jamie couldn’t read lips, but he bet they were talking about how his phone just sent a text to Zoe.

  They stopped again, and Jamie reached out into the van driver’s mind, holding his spot. “Hey, do me a favor,” he said to his own driver. “Let me know when you see the other cars starting to go.”

  “Huh?”

  “Like when traffic is about to go. Just let me know.”

  “Okay. Sure. What’s up?”

  “It’s, um, a timing experiment.”

  It might have been a mere sixty seconds, and it might have been ten minutes, Jamie wasn’t sure. His entire resolve was required to stay in the driver’s mind, watching as new memories of traffic and idle chatter formulated and set in his mind.

  “Looks like we’re rolling.”

  Now. Jamie took in a breath, then poked, hitting the van’s driver with the hardest brain-stun he’d ever attempted. Using such force drained Jamie, sucking the air from his lungs and giving him a dizzy spell in the backseat of his OmegaCars ride upon opening his eyes.

  Jamie forced himself to focus and watched as the driver spasmed forward. Even beyond the van’s windshield, he could see the driver convulse, at least until the man lurched forward and vomited into his own lap. The OmegaCars ride began to pull away, then the car behind them, but the Telos van only set forward at a gentle roll, most likely from the driver’s sudden inability to control the breaks. Horns started to blare and the van began a gradual crawl, veering partially into the shoulder. Jamie tried to lock on to the passenger, but even the attempt to reach out felt like every muscle in his body was too weak to form even the lightest fist.

  Then they were out of range.

  The van remained still, now trapped by the whirlwind of cars around it. It grew smaller and smaller until they veered away from it. Jamie shut down his phone, then rolled down the window. “I need some air,” he said.

  “No prob. Hey, it’s up to sixty. Maybe luck is on our side after all.”

  “I’ll take it,” Jamie said, wiping the sweat off his brow. The breeze clipped the top of his hand as it lingered just outside the half-open window. He counted to five, then released the phone.

  The driver didn’t notice. Instead he chattered about how well traffic was flowing.

  17

  WAS THAT...A BODY?

  The lights behind Zoe dimmed, then flickered again before restoring, but that didn’t change the scene in front of her. Inside the capsule, the body—corpse?—tiny plumes of smoke blended into a bright red heat signature, the faint smell of burning giving her a different type of nausea than hangovers. She leaned forward despite the odor, inching toward the mess of wires and electrodes and sensors attached to the man. A central metal tube enclosed his body from the knees up to the collarbone, though his limbs remained exposed.

  Burn scars covered his face, a patchwork of scar tissue and raw wounds that went down his neck, shoulders, and Zoe guessed everywhere else. A few wisps of short black hair remained at the top of his head, and sunken cheeks slightly huffed with each intubated breath.

  “What the hell are you?” she asked, more for herself than him.

  But his left pinky finger twitched in response.

  Zoe gasped, frozen in her footsteps.

  It might have been electrically stimulated, she told herself. Who knew how much voltage pumped through all those wires? She knew muscles reacted to bursts of electricity, like puppeting a cadaver limb with the right setup—that’s how they did it in that movie about the mad mortuary worker who reanimated dead criminals. Though that might not be the best guide for scientific accuracy.

  Then the man opened his eyes.

  Not for too long. A few seconds, enough for them to angle toward her.

  Moments later, an alarm rang out. Zoe’s enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps, in unison enough that she knew there were multiples, but she couldn’t filter it down to a clear number.

  A look around the space showed no windows, no doors.

  Her phone still lacked signal, and no word from Jamie, either. Did they figure out he was at Telos? Or did its respectable front keep things calm and collected?

  The only certain thing was that she needed to find Jamie and see what he’d discovered—and if she wasn’t making one big adrenaline-driven mistake by being here in the first place.

&n
bsp; That meant the only way out was through.

  The footsteps got closer and louder. Now voices entered the mix, and through the walls, she started to pick up faint heat signatures. They arrived first as a blob before splitting into individuals, though they formed back into two lines that hid their numbers.

  Zoe blinked. Had she seen this space before? Something about it seemed familiar yet different, and though she’d spent hours agonizing over the memories that Jamie unearthed, this whole thing put it all into some context. She dashed out of the room with the glass capsule into the observation room up front, facing the only way in and out.

  One set of doors opened and closed in the distance. Her muscles tensed for a fight and she felt herself lifting onto the balls of her feet, body amped as if it needed to burn off the sudden surge that lit her body. This wasn’t like her usual moonlit delivery runs across rooftops, and it was far from her beer-impaired chase of the Mind Robber.

  The voices approached closer and closer, and Zoe found her legs pumping like a prizefighter warming up in the ring. Her hands went into battle position—was she levitating? She was. An inch off the ground, but still, the energy and emotion pushed her into a greater high than any cheap vodka.

  The way out was clear. And she’d punch her way there if she had to.

  Their voices came through clearly. “Behind this door. On three. One.”

  But she should be smart about this. Standing in one spot front and center made her an easy target, no matter how ready she was.

  “Two.”

  She threw herself against the wall adjacent to the door hinges, arms propped up to brace herself from its swing.

  “Three.”

  The door’s electronic lock beeped and its hydraulics began to swing the heavy metal slab open. A hard thud sound pushed the door further. Zoe propped it with her hands, and it seemed like no one even noticed. Instead, she watched as each sentry’s heat signature walked in lockstep, six total, two rows of three each. They moved forward, then a voice yelled, “Secure Project E. Four up, two back.”