by Matt Cowper
“Right,” Baldwin said, removing his own commlink. “I’m outta here. Johnny, Dak, catch ya’ll later.”
He flashed his gold teeth, and ran down the street. Within seconds, he’d turned a corner and was out of sight.
I could see the Grenadiers from the other side of the building running through an alley beside Netmaster’s now-former pad, so I started running, heading down an alley on the opposite side of the street.
The costume felt even better as I ran; it didn’t restrict my movements at all, and any sweat that I felt forming on my body was absorbed into the material.
I had to admit, that battle got my blood pumping. Pulse rifles firing at me, explosions, shadow-wolves, eye-beams, an earthquake – and me wearing the Daring Destroyer costume. I thought back….
No, Johnny, quit reminiscing. I was a PI now, not a superhero. I had a job to do, a job that just got more difficult now that Netmaster would be out of commission for a while.
“I can feel you brooding,” Dak thought-spoke. “It angers me. Enjoy the moment, John Wagner. We caused much destruction and won a great battle. Why must you snivel like a slave?”
I ignored him. There was a lot on my mind, and bickering wouldn’t solve anything. I needed to get back to my apartment and plan my next move.
Then my phone rang. At first I didn’t realize what I was hearing; I thought for sure the battle would have wrecked it, but I guess that protective case I bought from Yay-Mart was tougher than I thought.
I looked at the caller ID as I bounded over a trash can. It was Burt Harrison.
“Burt?” I said. “Now’s not a good time.”
“Oh, it’s not?” Burt said, his voice sounding even more whiny over the phone. “What, you’re too busy knocking chasms in Bootheel’s streets?”
“You heard about that already?”
“Of course I did. You think the Daring Destroyer’s return to action would slip by me?”
“It was a one time thing. The Department of Tran—”
“I know, I know, the DOT rolled down there and tried to capture what’s-his-face, that hacker buddy of yours.”
“Netmaster.”
“Yeah, him. You nincompoops should’ve known Woodruff had that video tagged. I swear, your amateurishness burns me up.”
“Tagged or not, Netmaster is one of the best hackers in Z City,” I said. “If they could trace him as quickly as they did, they’ve got someone or someones who know the Net better than their parents’ basement.”
“I told you what would happen if you messed with Woodruff,” Burt said.
“Spare me the scolding,” I said. “Now, unless you have something useful to tell me, I’m busy running for my life.”
“I do have something useful, actually,” Burt said. “I’ve got you an interview with Homer Bollinger, alias Gray Squirrel.”
I skidded to a halt right in the middle of an alley. A nearby rat screeched in protest and ran behind some moldy pallets.
“Did I hear you correctly?” I asked.
“You did,” Burt replied. “That stunt with the earthquake and the hole actually helped. As soon as Woodruff heard someone had hacked into the DOT for that video and then shellacked a squadron of Gridlock Grenadiers, he went ballistic. He’s heading to DOT headquarters now, and I can assure you he won’t be using his mega-smile. Heads will roll.”
“And with him gone, you’re able to slip me in.”
“Right. I talked to Squirrel’s lawyer, and he rolled over like a log. You’ve got his permission.”
“This is—”
“But you gotta hurry, Johnny, or Woodruff will be back here, probably still raging, and our window will be closed. Can you get to Ironrock Island in an hour or less?”
“I’ve got to, don’t I?”
“Yes, Johnny. You do.”
“Alright, but it’ll be close. Don’t—”
“Close only counts in plasma grenades and horseshoes,” Burt said. “Get here.” Then he hung up.
I cursed, put my cell phone back in one of my spandex pockets, and resumed my sprint. Time to dig deep, Johnny.
Chapter Six
“About time you got here,” Burt said as I stepped off the ferry. He even stared at his watch for a few seconds to really rub it in.
“Shut up,” I said, brushing past some tourists and hustling down the dock. I winced with every step; I’d set a world record getting here as quickly as I had. I’d had to sprint back to my apartment to change out of my Daring Destroyer costume, then catch a cab and coax the driver into disobeying traffic laws so I could get to the ferry landing at Jameson Bay. We’d made good time, until we hit a construction zone. I’d had to run the last six blocks to the ferry, and my legs weren’t shy about telling me their grievances.
Burt powerwalked beside me, trying to keep up. It was some consolation to know I could out-walk him, tired as I was. He leaned in and whispered: “Look, here’s how it’s going down: anytime DSC personnel can hear us, I’m the loyal DSC employee, and you’re the sycophantic hack psychiatrist.”
“I know how to use my alter ego,” I said.
“And keep that arm of yours under control,” Burt continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “The last thing we need is Dak hollering about destruction and doom.”
“I got it covered,” I said, not knowing if I had it covered or not. I thought-spoke to Dak to make sure he was still “satiated.”
“You still good, buddy? That battle should tide you over for a while, right?”
“I do not know what you mean by tides, John Wagner. I care about destruction, not the ebb and flow of water.”
“You know, in school they have this phrase called ‘context clues.’ It means you can figure out the meaning of a word or phrase by examining the surrounding context.”
“You bore me, and you insult me. I have learned many mortal phrases since bonding to you. Do not deny it. Dakroth’gannith’formaz is as capable of learning as any god.”
“Yeah, you’re learning, but sometimes you still…ah, forget it. Keep yourself simmering, not erupting, OK? We can destroy a bunch of stuff after we get off this island.”
“I do not mind simmering, as you call it. I am still wrathfully pondering our battle with those yellow fools. I think I will create a monument to it in my realm, and then destroy the monument. And then I will do it again, over and over. That will be good.”
Yes, that would be good, for me as well as Dak. I got a reprieve from all the bluster and random violence whenever Dak went to his metaphorical room and started playing with his toys. I didn’t really understand what his “realm” was like, though; to hear Dak speak of it, it sounded like a human’s imagination, except on a godlike scale. Whatever it was exactly, I didn’t care if he stayed in it for hours, as long as I got a break.
Burt and I stepped off the dock and headed towards a tunnel cut into the side of the cliff. The cliff itself rose a hundred feet into the clear sky, gray and forbidding. At the top sat MegaMax Prison and the Superhuman Detention Center. The two buildings were less than a hundred yards from each other, a fact that wasn’t lost on the superhuman community, be they hero or villain. Once someone ended up in the Division of Superhuman Crime’s jail, Damien Woodruff and his cronies usually made sure they were headed to MegaMax before they had a chance to fluff their pillow.
This had caused PR problems, which was why the DSC started running a tour of Ironrock Island’s facilities to show the world MegaMax and its sister jail were humane. The bored and credulous hopped on the ferry I just caught, landed on the island so they could gawk up at the hunks of concrete far above, and then took an elevator to the facilities, where they were ushered through some administrative areas by a perky tour guide. I’d been on the tour once before, and the banalities and cheeriness nearly made me puke.
We were headed for a different elevator, though, one only used by DSC personnel. Two guards glared at us as we approached the tunnel. They looked rock-like themselves, as if someone had just knocked off
two slabs from the cliff face and then made a crude effort to carve human figures. I checked out their gear: pulse rifles, body armor, bandoleers surely filled with all sorts of anti-superhuman goodies. They were definitely tougher than the Gridlock Grenadiers – they had to be to get assigned to Ironrock Island.
Burt, being Burt, had to make a show of things. He whipped out his ID badge and waved it in front of him like he was jousting with it.
“Coming through, gents,” he said. “Nice day, ain’t it? A cool breeze, salt spray on the air – perfect for guard duty, huh? Hey, I’d love to chat more, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“Who’s he?” one of the rock slabs grunted.
“Him?” Burt looked back at me. “He’s a psychiatrist. Introduce yourself, Reggie.”
“Reginald Fairfield,” I said, affecting an English accent. I’d learned how to use all sorts of accents back when I was the Daring Destroyer. You never knew when you had to infiltrate an Irish gang or the Italian mob. “Cracking day, isn’t it, chaps?”
The two rock slabs looked at each other.
“Never seen him before,” the other rock slab said. “I think we should report his—”
“Gents, I was trying to be genial,” Burt said, “but you are getting me peeved. I’m Burt Harrison, assistant prosecutor in the Division of Superhuman Crime, as my badge clearly shows. You are well aware I am entitled to bring anyone I desire up to our facilities, and you know if something needed reporting I’d report it. Now, return to gazing out at Jameson Bay and stop questioning me.”
Burt then strode past the two guards like he was The Power himself. I expected them to grab his twig-thin arms and toss him onto the rocky ground, but they simply glared. I nodded at the two slabs and followed behind quickly.
“I’m impressed,” I said once we were out of earshot. “I’ve never really seen you flaunt your power before…well, what little power you have.”
“Even the toughest lugs are scared of paperwork,” he said. “They know I can bury them in AB-PQs, F1-11s, and all the other forms an insubordinate guard has to deal with. And whaddaya mean, little power? Have you forgotten the McDuncan case?”
“I had, actually,” I said. “It was a year ago, after all. Memory fades.”
“Well, my power has only grown since then, Johnny,” Burt said, looking at me with what I guessed was supposed to be determination. “Soon I’ll topple Woodruff, and I’ll be the top gun at DSC. Then I can start cleaning up this city for real.”
I didn’t want to contradict his delusions of grandeur, so I kept silent.
The tunnel was well-lit, and large fans built into the rock kept the air as ventilated as a Midtown office. DSC didn’t scrimp on comfort, even in a fifty-yard-long tunnel bored into the side of a cliff.
We reached the end of the tunnel, stopping at a large, smooth metal wall. I looked closely for seams or cracks, but it appeared to be one solid sheet. Burt pulled out his ID badge again and waved it in the air. There was a beep, and suddenly two panels appeared and slid open, revealing an elevator, complete with carpet and cushioned walls.
“You guys are so coddled,” I said.
“I know,” Burt replied. “You know how much all this shit costs? Actually, you can’t know, because the appropriations bill is classified. But I know, and lemme tell ya, you’ve never seen so many zeros outside of a comic convention.”
We stepped into the elevator, and the doors whispered shut. Burt pressed a button on the wall, and we started rising.
“You stopped by your apartment, I see,” Burt said, glancing at my attire.
“Running around in my Daring Destroyer costume wouldn’t be very smart.”
“I’m surprised you thought to change,” Burt said. “A guy who gets another guy to hack into DOT is a few power cells short of an ion cannon.”
“Thanks for bringing up an ion cannon,” I said. “I’ve already stared down the bore of one for what felt like an hour today, but what the hell, let’s discuss its makeup, why don’t we?”
“Quit wetting your panties. You’re a seasoned superhero, ain’t you? Didn’t you stare down ion cannons and death rays every night, and not flinch a millimeter?”
“I was a superhero,” I said, leaning down to massage my legs, “but doing the spandex thing isn’t like riding a bike.” Actually, it was, sort of. Baldwin and I had trounced the Grenadiers without suffering a scratch. It felt like old times, back when Alpha Guard meted out justice to the crooks of Bootheel. Yeah, I was tired from the run, but a long soak in the tub and a deep sleep would take care of that.
I didn’t tell Burt this, of course – though his sidelong glances suggested he guessed what I was thinking.
“What sort of cyber-security has Woodruff got set up?” I asked. “Netmaster’s no noob. If someone could outmaneuver him….”
Burt shrugged. “There are a lot of names on Woodruff’s Rolodex. You keep bragging about your buddy, but who is he compared to someone like Professor Perfection?”
“Is he involved in all this?” I asked, fearful of the answer. The Professor was a member of the Elites, and the smartest human being alive – maybe the smartest in history. If Woodruff had him convinced of the righteousness of his cause, we were unequivocally screwed.
“I have no idea,” Burt replied. “I don’t know everything, Johnny. He could’ve found some Asian kid addicted to Overdrive Juice and got him to set up some firewall or whatever. Or maybe he reduced the sentence of some supervillain in exchange for help. The man is resourceful – though of course he’s still an idiotic jackass shitstain.”
“How are you handling your boss?” I asked. “Even though he’s yelling at some DOT slugs right now, he’s still going to find out Gray Squirrel had a visit from a Godlike PI, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is, but we talked about this already,” Burt said. “That’s your problem, not mine.”
I glared at him. “Speaking of problems, your sister comes to mind.”
Burt turned to me and poked a finger in my chest. He leaned in, and his onion-smelling breath wafted into my nostrils.
“Every time, you have to bring up my sister,” he said. “I ought to—”
But just then the doors opened, revealing sunlight, blue sky, and two very large concrete buildings ringed with razor wire fences.
“Come on,” I said, stepping out. “We can bicker later.”
“Damn right we’ll bicker,” Burt grumbled as he followed me.
We walked down a concrete pathway pointlessly painted with red arrows leading to and from the two facilities. I couldn’t see how anyone could get lost on Ironrock Island, but some safety- and efficiency-obsessed bureaucrat sure pondered the possibility long and hard.
The two buildings towered over us. The one to the right was MegaMax itself, and looking up at it sent a shiver down my spine. I could count five towers just from this angle, all of them with heavy guns that looked like they could punch through the toughest superhuman skins. Guards patrolled the ramparts, the ground perimeter, and especially around the giant metal door that served as MegaMax’s entrance.
I couldn’t imagine how anyone ever escaped from that hulk. Some villains did, however, mainly the genius ones who could come up with convoluted plans with dozens of contingencies. The dumber villains were usually pounded into submission before they reached the edge of the cliff.
To our left was the Superhuman Detention Center, the DSC’s jail. It was only slightly less imposing than MegaMax – and I was walking right into it. I swallowed hard, and angled my face away from Burt; I didn’t want him to see my fear.
What was I doing here? I’d just fled from a battle with a government agency, and now I was walking into one of the most secure facilities in the country, an act that would surely piss off one of the most powerful men in Z City. There was no telling how many laws I’d broken today, not to mention how many unethical things I’d done.
Was Felicia right about me? Was I drawn to danger and chaos?
I tried
to clear my mind of these doubts and worries, and focus on the here and now, but they still stabbed at my consciousness.
We approached the guardhouse, and I looked up at the razor wire a few feet above. I wondered how many superhumans had sliced themselves to ribbons trying to clamber up the fence and escape. Of course, a lot of superhumans had enhanced durability or some form of energy shielding, but I was sure there was more to that razor wire than just sharp metal.
Two guards glared at us much like the ones at the tunnel entrance below, but they didn’t delay us. Burt simply waved his ID badge, blabbered out something cocky, and they opened the gate and let us through.
I looked back at the gate as it clanked shut. It looked like a standard chain-link fence on rollers, but like the razor wire – like everything on this island – I was sure it had deadly countermeasures within its seemingly-normal construction.
“What would happen if a superhuman tried to scale that fence?” I asked.
“They’d be dead,” Burt said.
“How, exactly? Does the—”
“I feed you enough information already. Some things you don’t need to know.”
“Or maybe the concepts are too advanced for you to explain.”
Burt snorted. “Nice try, Johnny, but I’ll let that bait float on by.”
There were two entrances to the Superhuman Detention Center, both of them large metal doors, and both of them guarded by two man-slabs. We walked to the one on the right, and again we simply brushed past the guards. Burt swiped his ID badge across a sensor and opened the door – or tried to. The thing looked like it had been ripped off the side of a battleship, and Burt could barely budge it with his pixie-stick arms. I caught the guards smirking at each other as my pal strained. I wondered if this happened every time Burt entered or exited the building.
“Dak, I need just a smidgen of super-strength,” I thought-spoke.
“Very well. I will let the power of ten barbarians flow through this arm,” Dak rumbled. “I proclaim that I have now created four monuments to our battle within my realm, and destroyed them all utterly. In this way, I am honoring our conquest.”
