Marrow

by Preston Norton

  “Welcome to the Tartarus,” Jarvis announced gleefully. “This is the best map of the facility you’ll ever see.”

  Jarvis guided the hologram with his fingers on the interface, rotating it for a 360 degree view and slowly zoomed in. As he did, I noticed little white words pinpointing various rooms and corridors, labeling them like blueprints—from gigantic features like the Cronus Cannon and the Gaia Comet to the loading docks and the various functions of each sphere chamber. As Jarvis zoomed in further, I finally found what I wanted. There were dozens of them—tiny doors labeled with similar combinations of numbers scattered on every level of the Tartarus: L-03/NW-12, L-05/W-09, L-02/SW-17…

  As I looked at the Tartarus from this eagle-eye view, the letters and numbers suddenly made sense and came together to form a bigger picture: L-01, L-02, L-03… Those were levels on the Tartarus. And the second set of letters were also grouped together in vertical waves: S, SE, E, NE… Those were directions: south, southeast, east, northeast. The numbers associated to these were more sporadic, but it didn’t take a genius to figure them out. They were the individual room numbers, repeating on each level.

  But what were they?

  “What are these rooms?” I asked, struggling to point to all of them at once. “The ones with the letters and numbers.”

  “Those?” said Jarvis. “Those are the control rooms. They access various functions of the Tartarus and the Cronus Cannon.”

  “Control rooms?”

  “In general, the Tartarus is its own super computer system,” Jarvis explained. “It operates and sustains itself on its own. We, the scientists on board, merely study its operations and findings in regards to the Gaia Comet. But if something were to go wrong and some part of the system needed to be overridden, the control rooms would be where we would do that.”

  I listened to his words, but my gaze still hadn’t left the hologram. I leaned closer over the table, cocking my head to view the bottom of the Tartarus. The most crucial piece of the puzzle was missing.

  There was no L-00/NE-00.

  I bit my lip, struggling for the best way to ask about a room that didn’t seem to exist.

  “So level one is the lowest level?” I asked. “There isn’t like…a level zero or anything?”

  Jarvis’s lighthearted expression faded, scrunched into a scrutinizing look. “Level zero? Well that wouldn’t make much sense, would it? Might as well have a room number zero. I mean, that’s like saying it doesn’t exist.”

  I forced a weak laugh that fell dead in my throat. “Yeah…I guess so.”

  ***

  Specter’s house was part Professor Xavier’s mansion, part military training facility, and 99.9 percent pee-your-pants awesome—emphasis on the “peeing-your pants” part. Fortunately, my bladder and I narrowly fell into the lucky 0.1 percentile.

  Narrowly.

  We pulled onto the longest driveway I had ever seen. At the end was a gate with a camera—and a turret gun—pointed at our faces.

  “Hallo, Specter, my dear,” said Gustav to the camera. “Hurry, you must open the gate for us. Young love avaits. Little Marrow’s heart yearns for his golubushka.”

  “Wait, what?!” I said. “Gustav, I’m gonna kill you!”

  The turret gun retracted and the gate opened. We proceeded to drive through the Specter Estate which was shaped like a horseshoe. Building after building—sleek, savvy sandstone structures—passed us on either side, loosely connected by stone pathways. Eventually they came together into the main part of the estate, this artsy manor of slanted sandstone surfaces and sharp edges. Gustav hadn’t even parked the limo before Sapphire came running out. Her blue hair was an ocean crashing against the pale shore of her face.

  As soon as I exited, her body crashed into me, and I crashed into the door of the limo.

  “Hey, hey, hey, vatch the paint job, you treacherous little heathens,” said Gustav.

  Sapphire ignored him, continuing to hug me to death and crush me into the side of the vehicle. When she finally pulled away, she sighed.

  “I miss human beings that aren’t Specter,” she said.

  “Really?” I said. “I couldn’t tell.”

  Specter exited the manor in long strides, still wearing her skintight Super suit. Each step seemed to emphasize her curves. And oh boy, did she have curves. Like, the curves of Lombard Street in San Francisco had nothing on her. Nothing!

  Gustav seemed to appreciate where I was coming from because he immediately stood up straight and ran his beefy hand through his hair.

  “Hello, Marrow,” she said. “Hello, Gustav.”

  “Miss Specter,” said Gustav. “You look as radiant as the electromagnetic glow of Cherenkov radiation in an undervater nuclear reactor.”

  “Oh, Gustav,” said Specter, smiling this smile that turned my insides into microwaved butter. “You’re too much.”

  “So,” said Sapphire. She seemed to say this extra loud, as if to remind me that she was still there. “What do you need a VCR for, anyway?”

  I lifted the videotape, still in its manila envelope packaging. “This.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  As Sapphire led me to the surveillance room, I explained everything. The surveillance room wasn’t far, but it was located at the very top of the three-story Control Tower—the keystone of the Specter Estate’s technological infrastructure. There was a stairwell, but we took the elevator. The surveillance room wasn’t especially elaborate—just a single chair perched in front of a whole lot of TVs, packed together like ice cubes in an ice cube tray. They displayed every angle of the Specter Estate. In one particular corner was a various assortment of recording equipment.

  And a VCR.

  “So we’re watching a home movie,” said Sapphire. I didn’t think she could look or sound less enthusiastic if I brought a documentary on the history of grass.

  “At least that’s what Flex thinks it is,” I said.

  “Yay.” Her tone was flat and anything but yay-ful.

  “This is the thing Oracle sent Flex right before she betrayed us. Doesn’t that make you just a little bit curious?”

  “Personally, I’d rather watch cat videos on YouTube. But whatever.”

  I ripped the manila envelope off, revealing a plain black videotape—no label or anything. I inserted it in the VCR and hit play.

  The plain blue TV screen flickered to a darkened kitchen illuminated almost exclusively by seven candles on a birthday cake. The young, sandy-haired boy sitting behind the tower of chocolate was grinning wildly, exposing his two missing front teeth. He was surrounded by friends and looked like this was the happiest day of his life. The camera was horribly off-center, cutting off the top of the boy’s head and making it obvious who was behind the camera.

  “Okay, Flex, make a wish,” said a younger-sounding Oracle behind the camera.

  Seven-year-old Flex let his big eyes drift up as he pondered.

  “I wish I was the stwongest Supewhewo in the wowld,” said Flex in his most serious tone. “So if you wewe evew in twouble, Auntie Owacle, I could save you.”

  “Aw,” said Oracle, chuckling softly. “That’s very sweet of you. But you’re not supposed to tell us what you wished for.”

  Flex’s eyes went wide with alarm.

  “It’s okay though,” said Oracle. “Go ahead and blow out your candles, sweetie.”

  Flex’s scrawny chest puffed as he inhaled and then threw his body forward as he blew.

  The picture flickered with sudden static.

  The birthday party was gone, replaced by a new image—a dark hallway. The camera wasn’t moving.

  Sapphire leaned forward. “The heck? What just happened?”

  I mirrored her, leaning closer to the still, dark image. “It looks like somebody taped over the video.”

  The camera moved, inching forward slowly.

  “Hello?” said Oracle’s voice. “Is someone there?”

  Oracle guided the camera down the hall, d
escending hesitantly down stairs that creaked with each step. The stairs ended in her familiar living room. Well…what used to be her living room. Every vase and laced doily was exactly as I remembered it. Whenever Oracle filmed this, it wasn’t long ago.

  “Spine?” she asked. “Is that you?”

  I went rigid at his name.

  “If that’s you, Spine…I’ve been seeing you,” said Oracle. “You keep appearing in my foresight.”

  For some reason, there was doubt in her wavering tone.

  “But you’re not Spine…are you?” she said. “Are you a friend of his?”

  No response. Nothing.

  “Are you a Telepath?” she asked. “I can feel something. Something trying to reach into my mind.”

  There was a slight, indiscernible sound, like scratching. I would have missed it if I wasn’t sitting right in front of the TV. But whatever the case, it caused Oracle to whip her camera to the side. She plunged through her living room and past the kitchen. She stopped at the sliding door to her tiny excuse for a backyard, which was enclosed within a claustrophobic chain-link fence. The lights were shining on her porch. I didn’t know if the lights were motion sensors, but Oracle’s breath was heavy and frantic. Everything was glistening and wet as if it had just rained. The light reflected bright on the puddles.

  The camera crept closer. A withered hand extended into the view of the camera, pulling the sliding door open.

  “Who are you?” asked Oracle.

  Whoever was out there—if anyone even was out there—didn’t respond.

  “Why are you trying to get inside my head?”

  Again, no response. Oracle waited several long seconds before lowering the camera. The video ended in a flurry of snowy static. When the image returned, we were staring at the very same birthday the video had started with.

  “Well,” said Sapphire. “That was thoroughly weird.”

  I just kept staring at the screen—at the birthday party—but really, I was staring through everything. Lost in my own jumble of thoughts.

  “Marrow?” said Sapphire. “Hello, Marrow. Earth to Marrow. Ground Control to Major Tom. Is anyone aboard the U.S.S. Marrow?” She waved her hand in front of me, finally eliciting a blink.

  “Why would Oracle send this?” I asked.

  “Um, you said it yourself. She was just trying to lure you and Flex to her place. All she needed was something to get your attention.” Sapphire gestured elaborately to the TV screen. “Mission accomplished.”

  “You think she staged that whole scene?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “What about the part where Oracle thinks it isn’t Spine who’s lurking around her house?”

  “What about the part where WHO CARES? She used you and Flex as Spine bait! She threatened to kill you guys! She’s obviously a twisted old psycho-grandma who has way too many cats and not enough CAT scans.”

  I pressed my lips in a straight line. Sapphire was right. It was ridiculous to try and make sense of a woman who was possibly mentally unstable.

  “Can we just like…I dunno,” said Sapphire. “Play Mario Kart or something? I really need to do something fun before Specter sentences me to death on that stupid obstacle course.”

  “You have Mario Kart?” I said. My mouth slipped into grin.

  “Heck yes, I do. And you better believe I’m gonna shoot one of those blue turtle shells at your head.”

  “Bring. It. On.”

  ***

  Marrow…

  Nero was standing in front of the door with yellow stripes bleeding across it—L-00/NE-00. The door stood out from the shadows like a monolith floating in space. He clenched his trembling hands into fists, but there was no masking his fear. He reached for the security pad and punched in the numbers slowly, almost reluctantly.

  2…3…5…8…13…21.

  Marrow…

  The door sliced open.

  Nero’s eyes went wide, his pupils swallowing his irises. He did not see the thing that emerged from the shadows behind him until it was too late.

  His scream became my scream.

  I flew up in my bed, thrashing against my covers and drenched in my own sweat. My heart throbbed and my breathing was rapid. My eyes darted around the room until reality caught up with me.

  A dream. It was that same dream.

  I glanced at my bedside alarm clock—3:07 a.m. From there, my gaze slowly shifted to the door.

  You know those moments when you’re about to do something really stupid, but you know there’s no talking yourself out of it?

  Yeah. It was time to go exploring.

  I jumped out of bed and got dressed, putting on my entire crime-fighting shebang—except my communicator. If I was going to snoop around, it was kind of a good idea that I not wear a tracking device.

  I retracted my bone density and drifted out of my room like a shadow.

  The Tartarus was dark and dead. Even with all the machinery, the facility was an empty shell without the scientists moving about. Several of the computers were in sleep mode. Those that weren’t continued to purr and blip and blink like stirring creatures. Misty green light continued to emanate and swirl from the jagged surface of the Gaia Comet. It seemed more prominent than ever, casting the entire facility in an ethereal glow.

  I stood slightly dumbfounded when I reached the glass door labeled L-01/NE-01. Beside it was a glass tube elevator. If such a door as L-00/NE-00 existed, I had to be practically standing on it.

  I turned away from the door and went for the elevator. The control panel labeled levels one through six. That was it. I ran my hand across the control panel as if it might be hiding one last button that would allow me to go down. No such luck.

  I don’t know what I had expected to find, but I had deduced this much—my detective skills made Scooby-Doo and Shaggy look like Sherlock Holmes.

  This was a dumb idea. I was going back to bed.

  Stepping off the elevator, I started back the way I came. My sense of adventure had been completely devoured by the groggy crankiness that was typical of anything being done at three o’clock in the morning. I was so groggy it was a miracle I even noticed it—an empty clank beneath my step.

  I stopped.

  The floor consisted of light metal paneling. Such a sound would not have bothered me if it wasn’t for one glaring detail—I hadn’t normalized my bone density yet. At the moment, I hardly weighed anything.

  I tapped the panel again with my toe. The metallic emptiness resonated deep below.

  It was hollow.

  Stooping down to my hands and knees, I dug my fingernails around the sides of the panel. It was difficult to get a firm grip, but once I did, the panel lifted easily enough. I slid it aside.

  In the panel’s place was a concrete hole with a steel rung ladder. The bottom was too dark to see. Assuming it did have a bottom, that is. I suppose it was always a possibility that the Tartarus had a secret passage to China.

  Now that I had finally found what I was looking for, I suddenly wasn’t too keen on exploring.

  I went down anyway.

  The ladder didn’t go down far, eliminating the China possibility. I turned around, surprised to find light in the distance. Dim light, but it was light nonetheless. The corridor only traveled one way. I proceeded forward with cautious steps.

  Everything was beginning to look way too familiar. The dark, dank, metal walls, the running pipes, the occasional light bulb leading the way. One particular light bulb flickered and buzzed, causing my insides to flutter. It seemed like exactly the sort of thing to happen in a horror film before the unsuspecting victim was eaten by a ghost. Or whatever the heck it is that all those angry Hollywood ghosts do to people.

  I got so distracted by this ridiculous train of thought that I almost didn’t see it appear. Those haunting yellow stripes sliced through the shadows.

  The door.

  I approached it like a hunter approaching a large, dangerous predator—except I imagine a hunter would
probably have a clue what the heck he was getting himself into. When, at last, I found myself standing at the door, I could barely move.

  “I’m a Superhero,” I breathed to myself. “I laugh in the face of danger.”

  I forced a pathetic excuse for a laugh to reassure myself.

  Taking a deep breath, I punched the numbers into the security pad. The door zipped open, releasing a hum of channeling energy.

  The room was not what I expected. In fact, it was a stretch to even call it a room. It was more like a cave. The floor, the walls…everything was rocky, except for the ceiling which consisted entirely of metal grating, bathing the stone chamber in slits of green light. It was also empty, except for a single titanium pod that was built into the rock with a black-tinted hatch. Wires and coils sprouted from the roof of the pod, snaking up through the ceiling grating. As my gaze drifted upward, I realized where I was at.

  I was literally inside the Gaia Comet.

  Or at least halfway inside. The grating was merely the floor for the lowest part of the scaffolding infrastructure built around the comet. From this vantage point I could see the Cronus Cannon from its colossal base.

  My gaze narrowed back on the pod. What was this thing?

  Fear was replaced by gnawing curiosity. I approached the tinted hatch door which had no handle. This dilemma solved itself as I merely touched the surface. The hatch reacted instantly, shifting outward slightly with a hiss of released pressure, then slid upward.

  The inside of the pod was all wires and tubes feeding into a single chair. A dome-shaped helmet was perched at the top of the chair, clearly positioned for someone’s head to fit comfortably inside.

  “Hello, Fantom,” said a voice—a computerized female voice that caused me to jump and nearly have a heart attack. “Are you ready to initiate Project Cronus?”

  A holographic image had appeared on the back of the hatch—the outline of a handprint.