Virus Attack

by Andy Briggs

  “The crew ejected and left us to die,” Basilisk said bitterly. It was never pleasant to be on the blunt end of selfishness.

  Viral propped himself against the engineer’s console—with the seats gone he could do little else. He stared at the ground, which seemed to be filling up too much of the view outside.

  “Can you fly?”

  Basilisk hesitated. “Personally: yes. If you mean an aircraft: no.”

  Worm indicated that he wanted Basilisk’s seat. “Let me try.”

  “You?” Basilisk exclaimed, swapping places with the little man.

  “You’ve angled the nose too much and put us in a dive. It has to be just above the horizon, like this.”

  Worm pulled back on the stick—too hard. The shuttle lifted almost vertically up and lost so much speed that engine stall warnings bleeped across the cockpit.

  “Push back!” screamed Viral as he was thrown against the wall.

  Worm pushed forward and the shuttle’s nose dropped below the horizon—and suddenly they were plummeting to the ground. He pulled back and managed to level out. Basilisk had gripped the instrument panel so hard his superstrong fingers had left dents in it.

  “The controls are more sensitive than when I last flew,” said Worm by way of explanation.

  “When did you last fly?” asked Basilisk, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

  “It was a Sopwith Camel biplane back in—”

  “The First World War?”

  Viral gripped the console. “Oh my God! You learned to fly just after they invented the airplane!”

  Vital seconds passed and nobody dared speak. Basilisk looked at the computer display and noticed they had drifted from their trajectory. He tapped the screen.

  “This red line is us. Keep it matched with the blue line. Carefully!”

  Worm gently realigned the aircraft. Basilisk had to admit he was picking up basic flying pretty well.

  “We should be decelerating,” said Worm. “Where are the flaps?”

  They hunted around the controls—most of which were labeled in Russian, with a few makeshift paper labels handwritten in English—hardly high tech. None of them said flaps. Worm was so wrapped up in squinting at the labels that he didn’t notice the mountain peaks rise up in front of them.

  Viral pointed a finger, but couldn’t speak. Now he knew what terror felt like and swore to himself that he’d abandon his villainous ways if only he got out of this alive. Worm looked up, just in time.

  WHOOSH! The Buran rolled onto its side and shot through the twin peaks at such a speed that the displaced air caused avalanches on both mountains.

  He leveled out again, but the altimeter was revolving like a crazy clock. Ahead the air was arid and dry. Basilisk glanced at the computer screen and was surprised to see that Worm had kept them pretty much on course. The landing zone was just ahead—but was rapidly becoming a crash zone.

  “We need to lose speed quickly!” shouted Basilisk. “The landing zone isn’t far.”

  Viral spotted a control on the engineer’s console, labeled with a handwritten note. “Got it! It says parachute!”

  Basilisk spun around. “Don’t—!”

  Too late. Virus mashed the button. He didn’t know that the parachute is deployed only once the shuttle is safely on the runway to slow it down.

  An explosive charge at the rear of the shuttle blew a panel away and the parachute unfolded. Since the shuttle was still airborne, the effect was as though the spacecraft had reached the end of a tether and was flipped backward.

  The Buran corkscrewed through the air as the parachute expanded and became twisted because of the aircraft’s motions. Dozens of alarms sounded in the cockpit—Viral was thrown around as if he were trapped in a washing machine. Basilisk remained hovering, so the rotating room did not affect him, and luckily Worm had just strapped himself into the pilot’s chair.

  The aircraft completed four barrel rolls as the rear undercarriage scuffed the desert floor, and almost disintegrated.

  Basilisk yelled: “The landing gear!” But it was too late to act.

  The rest of the Buran shuttle belly flopped onto the desert floor. Boulders and rocks ground away the heat shield and shattered both wings as the aircraft slid for half a mile. It soared off several ridges—briefly becoming airborne—then smashed back to earth.

  The Buran raced toward a huge finger of rock poking from the parched earth. The rock struck amidships and ripped the billion-dollar vehicle in half. Both halves spun away. The tail section rolled end-over-end, the engines ripping themselves apart. The cockpit fared better and crunched to a halt in the gully of a dry riverbed, upside down.

  Dust filled the air, and for a long time nothing stirred.

  Then a stone hand punched through the twisted fuselage, and Basilisk extracted himself from the wreck, his scars and cuts regenerating quickly. He could barely see his hand in front of his face because of the dust, and dropped to his knees, coughing.

  He was alive. But he had no idea if the others were. The thought of failure struck him hard.

  * * *

  “Wow!”

  It was the only word Pete could think of to describe the Hero Foundation headquarters.

  They had seen what looked like a small city caught in a heat haze. It could have easily been a mirage. But as they got closer the young heroes saw that the haze was a huge wall of fire.

  “Not the kind of firewall I was expecting,” said Emily. Pete laughed but the other two either didn’t get it, or were too amazed to say anything.

  “It keeps people out,” said Mr. Grimm.

  The entire city was floating just above the desert floor.

  “It flies?” asked Toby in amazement.

  “Of course. How did you think it moved around?”

  They approached a ramp extending down from the flames. As the Land Cruiser ascended, the flames pulled apart like a curtain, granting them access.

  They all felt the heat as they passed through the wall, which rumbled like thunder. As soon as they were through, the headquarters presented itself.

  It looked like a huge industrial processing plant for oil or gasoline, built on a giant circular platform. Gray steel structures and towers held a complex network of pipes that ran between hundreds of cylindrical glass tanks, each the size of a house and containing a variety of colorful thick liquids. Pipes and valves were connected to the tanks in a complex arrangement. The tanks themselves were displayed around the circular hub that consisted of several sleek tower blocks like a futuristic city. Transmitter towers and satellite dishes covered the buildings and a huge marble Hero Foundation logo was prominently displayed.

  The scale of it all was mind-blowing. It was the size of a small town, crisscrossed with maintenance roads.

  “We’re approaching the hub,” Mr. Grimm narrated, sounding like a travel agent, “where we have the research and development labs, strategy planning rooms, worldwide communications center, sleeping quarters, a restaurant, a gym, a sauna, and an excellent heated swimming pool with a wave machine.”

  “Those tanks hold the superpowers?” asked Lorna.

  “Raw superpowers, donated by Primes across the world and throughout the ages, and some now replicated artificially. All so that you can have the privilege of being a superhero.”

  Lorna blinked. “Can artificial powers be bad for you?” She was constantly berating her mother for buying food with artificial preservatives in it.

  “Well, they keep getting us in life-threatening situations,” joked Toby, who was thoroughly enjoying the trip. For him it was better than a visit to a chocolate factory.

  “Do not concern yourself, there are no proven health risks.”

  That didn’t reassure Lorna. “Are they chemicals?”

  “The best way to describe them is that they are a combination of energy plasma and cytoplasm cultures.” He saw the blank expression on Lorna’s face. “Living energy, in layman’s terms.”

  “Cool,” said Pe
te.

  “I can’t see any other people,” said Toby.

  “The entire station is controlled automatically and manned by a skeleton staff. Everybody else has been evacuated for safety reasons, and the Primes who chose to live here have left.”

  Mr. Grimm pulled up in a circular atrium. He gestured for the four of them to enter the posh marble lobby.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” said Emily.

  “I will be joining you later. But the, uh, boss would like to meet you.”

  Toby felt a thrill of excitement. “The boss? You mean Commander Courage?”

  Mr. Grimm didn’t reply. He pulled away and they walked toward the entrance. Lorna caught Emily’s arm and pointed across the platform.

  “Look!”

  A soft white fog appeared around the perimeter. They looked up to see clouds rapidly approaching them—then suddenly billow around them.

  “We must be ascending really fast,” said Pete. “But I can’t feel the movement.”

  The clouds suddenly parted, revealing a chilly clear blue sky all around them.

  “Come on,” said Toby. “Let’s not keep the boss waiting.”

  Lorna and Pete exchanged a glance, an old argument welling up in their minds. Boss implied they were working for somebody, and Lorna and Pete both agreed that if that was the case then they should be getting paid for putting their lives on the line.

  Since Lorna had started dating, she also felt a little more mature and was beginning to feel that Toby’s and Emily’s notions of risking their lives for the greater good were idealistic—not realistic.

  Maybe it’s time for change? she thought as they stepped through the revolving doors and into the marble lobby.

  The lobby was huge. A Hero Foundation logo stood proudly in the center of the room, a fountain bubbling around it. It looked like a high-class hotel.

  “Ah! Here at last!” said a man stepping from the shadows. “About time, too.”

  The man chuckled, but Lorna felt annoyed that he was reprimanding them. Toby was feeling the opposite. He was shaking with nervous excitement.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the founder of the Higher Energy Research Organization—and the reason you are here. My name is Eric Kirby, but I once went by the name Commander Courage.”

  A Traitor’s Revenge

  “He’s alive, barely,” said Trojan as she felt Viral’s pulse. Even though the man physically repulsed her, they had been getting along well. She would even consider him a friend, which was a rare gift in the world of villainy.

  They sat in the shade offered by the smashed shuttle cockpit, and Basilisk weighed their options. Immediately after crashing, he had discovered both Worm and Viral were unconscious. Worm recovered quickly, but Viral had been crushed by the engineering console and was bleeding freely.

  Luckily Trojan had used her initiative to track the shuttle and had quantum-tunneled to them the moment it crash-landed. She had been on hand to give Viral basic first aid, something neither of the other villains knew how to do. She just hoped that she wasn’t going to catch anything from him.

  “This is folly!” said Worm for the second time. “We risk our lives for what? A failed plan!”

  Basilisk growled. “We must assume that enough of the virus hit the satellite network.”

  “We are crawling in the dirt like animals, Basilisk. My mind was elsewhere when I decided to listen to your schemes! I should take you in to the Council of Evil, claim the reward, and be done with it!”

  Basilisk’s eyes flared. He still needed Worm once they were inside the Foundation headquarters so he could hack into the computer network. But if Viral died, then so did Worm’s usefulness.

  “I’m surprised you feel that way, especially since you’re this close to killing Commander Courage.”

  Worm’s eyes brightened at the thought of it.

  Trojan suddenly spoke up. “I have an idea. Viral doesn’t possess any healing factor. But he could download one from Villain.net.”

  Basilisk shook his head. “Viral is a Prime. And if a Prime downloads from the V-net system it will cause feedback loops and all kinds of chaos. Trust me on that.”

  “But it’s the only way to save him.”

  Basilisk thought hard. The implications of connecting Viral to Villain.net posed the small risk that he would accidentally contaminate the network and bring that down too. It would also alert the Council of Evil to his whereabouts, since they would be closely monitoring their own systems after what Basilisk had achieved with Hero.com.

  But it was a risk he was willing to take.

  “You’re right,” he said, taking a small cell phone from his belt. He thumbed through the menus and was connected to Villain.net, where he scrolled through the jumble of icons. He knew which one was regeneration: it had been one of his power contributions to Villain.net’s cache of superpowers. He chose the option and turned the screen toward Viral. A small thin silver finger leaped out and tapped Viral on the head.

  Viral instantly started to convulse, as if he’d been electrocuted, and his bloodshot eyes opened as he screamed. His bones cracked as they knitted together in seconds—his entire chest pushed back into shape with a crunch. Cuts healed and he suddenly sat upright.

  “Wow! That felt great. What did you do to me?”

  Trojan smiled. “Just a little pick-me-up.”

  Relief flooded Basilisk’s face, although it was hidden from the others in the dark recesses of his hood.

  “Excellent. And now, team, to battle and victory.”

  Toby was a bit disappointed. Commander Courage, or Eric as he now preferred, was an old man. Though his wrinkled face beamed pleasantly at them, and he sported a trimmed white mustache that complemented his pure white hair. He walked with a cane but seemed nimble enough.

  Eric had led them into an elevator that had taken them to a spacious circular boardroom. A round table was in the center, monitors in front of each seat. A holographic globe spun at the center of the table, problem spots highlighted in red—and right now that was most of the planet.

  The two halves of the room offered panoramic curved viewing windows across the grounds, ending in the flaming firewalls.

  Eric pointed to the seats. “This is where the greatest superheroes who have ever lived sit to discuss how best to use their gifts for the greater good.”

  Pete spoke up first. “And your first thoughts were to get kids to pay for powers, then risk their lives to do your dirty work?”

  Toby and Eric both looked at him in surprise.

  “No, Pete. The plan was to give anybody—young or old—the opportunity to be a hero. If you are successful then we award Heroism points and the powers are free. If you fail, then you have to pay.” The smile reappeared. “Think of it as a motivation to succeed. Plus, all this doesn’t pay for itself, you know.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if you paid us?”

  Eric shook his head. “Then your actions would be financially motivated. Guided by greed.”

  Pete looked out of the window and nodded. Toby was at his side, whispering.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Pete made no attempt at hiding his anger. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Money’s not good for us, but it’s okay to pay them for the powers! They’re just like any other big business—greedy and manipulative!”

  Eric shook his head. “I assure you—”

  “My parents are splitting up because we’re broke. My house got destroyed and there’s no way we can afford a new one, and yet I’m out here fighting for the so-called heroes! And what do I get out of it? Nothing! Are all the other great heroes who sat at this table worried about their parents? Wondering whether they have enough money to buy even the groceries? I bet they don’t. I bet they’re all rich!”

  Emily gently laid a hand on his arm, and Pete magically calmed down. “Pete, we know it’s not right. But this isn’t the time. We’re all fighting for the same side.”

  “I feel that Mr. Ken
dall sees an old man, and thinks I’m asking him to be the free help.”

  “That’s right!” snapped Pete.

  Toby’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his friend’s outburst. “He’s just got a lot on his mind right now.” He shot Pete a look that he hoped would silence him.

  “Valiantly supporting your friends is an honorable trait. But I understand, I really do. Primes are a dying breed. There are fewer of us born each year when once there were many. You know, the legends from Greek mythology to Hollywood heroes—those people were Primes.

  “We created the Hero Foundation to harvest Prime powers. We discovered a way to make powers tangible, and created a system to deliver them to people with no gifts at all. With most of us being too old to fight, we were forced into retirement, but we weren’t going to go without a battle.” He looked suddenly melancholy. “Alas, even superheroes age. Although not all of us at the same rate. I’m a hundred and three, but don’t look a day over sixty-five. Least I like to think so.

  “Rather than sell superpowers in a shop so that everyone could pick and choose … and ultimately cause mayhem, we decided to create an online Web site that would randomly select applicants, such as yourselves. Of course, complex algorithms monitored the kinds of people we looked for. Your Web searches were monitored and analyzed. Intellectual searches were flagged as being done by potentially good candidates, but if you were looking for trash or information on guns, for example, then you probably were not a suitable candidate.”

  “So we were chosen at random?” Toby said in surprise. He had been hoping for something that spoke of destiny.

  Eric smiled enigmatically. “More or less.”

  Emily was about to argue that “random” did not mean “more or less,” but Eric continued.

  “But you do possess qualities that separate the real heroes from villains, regardless of powers or abilities.”

  “What are they?” asked Pete, curious.

  “A developed sense of compassion and reasoning. The two most powerful attributes a person can have.”

  Pete pulled a face and shook his head. No way was that better than flying or shooting laser blasts.