Hero Engine (3 page)

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 cheek. “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.

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?

“Early this morning.”

Right around the time everything went to hell in Seattle. Is this connected with Gravitess going crazy? A hero like her wouldn’t need guns though. “Did humans do this?”

“We don’t know.”

“Do you think Gravitess was working with them?”

“We don’t know that either. That’s what you’re here for. We need an investigator and you are it.” Vince presses a button, closing the elevator doors to the Hero Engine room. “You will have every tool you can imagine at your disposal, but first we need to get you briefed on the full situation.”

VINCE LEADS ME
to a meeting room one story above the Engine. On the way there, we pass a couple of heroes I’ve seen on TV and lots of normal looking people going about their day. This place is about as exciting as every other office I’ve been in. I was really hoping to catch someone flying around or an arm wrestling match between Granite Fist and Lady Atlas. Instead, I see lots of heads glued to computers, or telephones, or both.

“Have a seat,” Vince says, and motions towards a long conference desk. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’ll be right back?”

Vince slaps the doorframe as he turns to walk away. “I’ve got to go get your partner.”

My partner?

He never said anything about a partner. I wonder if it’s a hero. What an interesting concept, ‘Georgia cop paired up with superhero to investigate Engine bombing.’ That sounds like a tired sitcom if I’ve ever heard one, probably called
The Hero and The Dick
or something.

I walk over to the windows and peer out. The location of SHI is such a big mystery, it’s said that even the President of the United States has no idea where it is. SHI is completely autonomous with access to all governments worldwide. They recruit people whenever the need for a new hero arises.

The side of my face tingles as if I can feel someone staring at me. I turn and there is a man standing at the doorway. He’s wearing business clothes the same as anyone else, but his hair is spiked up in a style that seems oddly informal in this place. He catches me staring at him and quicksteps down the hallway. I guess he’s not much used to seeing strangers around this place.

I turn back to watch the cityscape outside the window. Looking down at the street makes my head spin a little. Buildings this tall can’t exist in many places, but the skyline feels unlike any I know. I could be anywhere: Abu Dhabi, Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur.

The door to the office opens and Vince walks in with a woman behind him. She is wearing a gray skirt and blazer and has her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her style is as put-together as any IA or FBI agent I’ve ever met, but there’s a firm tension to her shoulders that hints at something more than gentle curves under the jacket. She is still feminine, but I’d be willing to bet should could bench press more than the average lady.

“Jim, this is Ann Pretorius. Ann meet ‘Cool’ Jim Quig. You two are going to be working together.”