Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer

by Ian Thomas Healy

  Javier gave him a sour smile.

  “Oh, really?” Irlene looked as if her heart had skipped a beat from the sudden attention of the golden-haired heartthrob.

  “What does that shrinking look like? How small can you make things?” asked Lionheart.

  Irlene shrank herself down to the size of a Barbie doll and flitted about the room. “This is as small as I can make myself,” she shouted in a curiously high-pitched voice. “Everything else scales like this.”

  “We’ll be sure to let you know if we run across any vicious gerbils or sparrows.” Javier laughed.

  Tommy could see the look of dismay cross Irlene’s tiny face. “He’s joking with you,” he said quickly. “He’s like that. Don’t pay him any mind.” He glared across the table with such ferocity that Javier sat back and looked away.

  “Well, on that note, does anybody have any new business to bring up?” said Bobby. “No?” Nobody spoke. “Well then, morning briefing’s adjourned. Let’s go protect the city.”

  #

  The bus squeaked to a stop in a canyon of steel and concrete. Gretchen pressed her face against the glass and stared at the bustle of Manhattan. The stink of exhaust wafted in through the open windows and made her nose wrinkle. Around her, passengers pushed their way toward the front exit as the driver opened the luggage bays on the side.

  “You got somebody meeting you, honey? You have someplace to go?” asked the woman who’d sat beside her since Chicago.

  “Yeah, I think so,” said Gretchen.

  Her best friend Elizabeth had promised to call her cousin in New York. “He’s real responsible,” she’d said. “He works for Con Ed. That’s the power company. He’s twenty-three. I’ll tell him you’re coming out to New York. He’ll help you find a place to stay while you go talk to the Just Cause people.”

  Gretchen still couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion that she was a parahuman. She’d left Donny lying in the ditch, dead, his lungs full of his own blood. She didn’t know what had happened to him, except that somehow she had done it. Elizabeth had figured it out though. “You must be a parahuman,” she’d said in awe after a tear-stained Gretchen told her what happened. “The trauma must have activated it.”

  “Trauma?” Gretchen had nearly shrieked. “He ruh… ruh…” She hadn’t been able to say the word.

  “Shush, you’ll wake my folks. Boys do that,” Elizabeth said. “All of them do it sooner or later. Even the ones you think are nice. You just learn to live with it. For me it was Eddie Rogers.” She’d grabbed a bag from a shelf and started filling it with clothes. She and Gretchen were the same size and swapped outfits so often they didn’t really know whose were whose originally. “You can’t stay here, though. Not after what you did, I mean, what happened to Donny. There are laws about using parahuman powers against people.”

  Gretchen felt like her world was crashing down around her in splinters. “What can I do? Where can I go?”

  “Go to New York. Go to Just Cause. Tell them what happened. They can help you.”

  “New York?” Gretchen’s jaw dropped. “I can’t go to New York! I’ve never even been further away than Des Moines.”

  But Elizabeth had raided her parents’ emergency money in the cookie jar in the kitchen, and along with Gretchen’s tip money for the night they had enough for a one-way bus ticket to New York City. Then she drove Gretchen to the bus stop just outside of town in Donny’s car. “I’ll hide it somewhere,” she said. “Hopefully nobody will notice he’s gone for a day or so. By then you’ll be on your way. I’ll call my cousin in the morning and tell him to meet you.”

  Gretchen had really broken down then. “Oh, Lizzie,” she cried, “what will I do? I wish you could come with me. You’re so much smarter about stuff like this.”

  Elizabeth held her tight. “You’ll be fine. I wish I could go with you, but somebody’s got to stay behind and give you time to get away.” Her eyes were also bright with tears. “I wish I could go with you. When you’re a big superhero with Just Cause, I’ll come visit you. Make sure you wear the blue shirt, because I’m going to tell Shane to look for it.”

  It had seemed like the only option at the time, but now as Gretchen stared wide-eyed at the titanic skyscrapers and bustling streets, she felt more lost than ever before.

  She bent to pick up her bag and another hand closed on the handle beside hers. She gasped as she saw a man with greasy black hair flowing out from under a fedora grinning at her. A toothpick rested in the corner of his mouth and a gold tooth gleamed in the morning sunlight.

  “Buenas dias, señorita. New in town?” He had an accent kind of like some of the Mexicans who came to work in the fields in Dyersville, but looked both cleaner and, well, slimier than they did.

  “That’s my bag,” said Gretchen. Fear arose in her as if someone had turned a spigot. She tugged meekly at it.

  “Easy, chica. I didn’t mean nothing by it. You need a ride somewhere? Someplace to stay?” He looked her up and down like a prospective buyer taking in the lines of a new car. “Something to eat?”

  “I’m fine, really. Will you please let go of my bag?” Gretchen tried to keep the terrified shudder out of her voice but didn’t quite succeed.

  “Everything okay here, miss?” The bus driver lit a new cigarette from the butt of the one he’d just finished, then flicked the smoldering dog-end into the dry gutter.

  “We’re just talkin’,” said the man in the hat. “Ain’t no law against talkin’.”

  The bus driver looked at Gretchen, looked at the man with his hand still on her bag, and apparently decided not to get involved further. He shrugged and walked away, a dark line of sweat marking the outline of the bus seat on the back of his uniform shirt.

  “Please,” whispered Gretchen. “Please let go.”

  “What you so afraid of, sweetmeat? I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m just tryin’ to be nice. Now why don’t you come with me and we’ll get a sandwich and talk about it.” He lifted the bag.

  “Please don’t.” Tears spilled down Gretchen’s face. She hadn’t been in New York a minute and here she was already about to get mugged. This was the kind of thing that her parents had shaken their heads at over the dinner table. Big cities were full of people like this man here, always looking to prey on the helpless. Pimps, muggers, serial killers.

  The power leaped out of Gretchen, unbidden. “No!” she yelled as it sought a target and centered on the greasy-haired man. She wouldn’t kill again. She steered it aside at the last moment. Each tire along the side of the bus facing her crumpled and imploded in sequence. The Greyhound bus shuddered and lurched as it lost its support. The power wasn’t finished yet, and Gretchen gasped as a softball-sized sphere of air somewhere inside the bus cabin vanished into nothingness. The resultant blast of thunder shattered every window in the bus. People yelled in surprise and clapped their hands to their ears too late to block the sound.

  The man with the hat dropped Gretchen’s bag.

  Despite the sudden outburst of her mysterious power and the disorienting crash of thunder, Gretchen kept enough presence of mind to take her bag and hurry away from the damaged bus. Maybe she could find some place to hide from the greasy-haired man, but when she looked back, he had already disappeared into the crowd. She realized with growing terror that she was completely alone in the biggest city in the world, and had nowhere to—

  “Gretchen? Gretchen Gumm?”

  At the sound of her name, Gretchen whirled around. The power rose up again, eager to spring free once again, but she quashed it as deep as she could. A slender man in Con Ed coveralls stood before her. He had shaggy brown hair brushing his collar, a pathetically thin mustache, and a friendly smile. He had to be Elizabeth’s cousin.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  Relief flooded his features. “I thought it might be. Elizabeth said you were pretty, blonde, and wearing a blue t-shirt. I’m Shane. Shane Clemens. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Can I carry your bag
for you?”

  “N-no, that’s okay,” said Gretchen. “I’ll carry it. Can we get out of here?”

  “Sure thing. I’m on my way to work, anyway. I’m double-parked, but I’m in a truck so it’s probably okay. Do you mind riding with me until my shift’s over? Then we can see about getting you someplace to stay.”

  Gretchen looked behind her at the bus half a block away. It had drawn a sizable crowd of interested onlookers as the bus driver regarded the state of his bus in profanity-laced dismay. “Yeah, I can ride with you,” she said. “Let’s go. I don’t want you to be late for work.”

  Chapter Three

  July 13, 1977, 11:00 AM

  Faith smiled at Irlene. “Ready for your first patrol?”

  Irlene smiled back, a little nervous. “I think so. What do I do?”

  “Stick with me. Mostly patrolling is just about being seen out there in the city. Hey, how high can you fly?”

  “I don’t know,” said Irlene. “I never tried to find out.”

  “Well, if you can get up to it, we’ve got an aerial-only access on this floor. Tornado and Javelin use it all the time. It’s a lot less hassle than the elevator.”

  Irlene shuddered. “Javelin ain’t a very nice man.”

  Faith nodded. “He’s an asshole. Keep your distance from him, especially at parties.”

  “Do I call you all by your names or your superhero names or what?”

  “You can just call us by our names. Superhero names are for when we’re in public.”

  The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. A few people looked up at the costumed heroes with interest. “Hi, everyone,” said Faith. “Ground floor, please.” They rode downward in silence until one hesitant woman asked if she could have their autographs. Before the elevator finished its descent, Faith and Irlene had both signed several autographs.

  “Is it always like this?” Irlene whispered as they crossed the lobby.

  “Sometimes. Being in Just Cause makes you a celebrity, like if you were in a band.”

  “Wow.” Irlene sounded thoroughly starstruck to Faith. “I never thought that being a superhero would make me famous. Will I get to be on TV and in the papers?”

  “Probably,” said Faith. She worked hard to keep her private life out of the media. At the end of the day, she wanted to be able to enjoy a quiet dinner with Bobby in a restaurant somewhere. They stepped out into the bright sunshine that peeked down between the other skyscrapers to illuminate the plaza.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Mostly we just make ourselves visible,” said Faith. “We’re a visual deterrent to street crime.”

  “Street crime? We don’t go after parahuman villains?” Irlene stared at the passing New Yorkers who took in the colorfully attired women with typical aplomb.

  Faith laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, Irlene, but Just Cause hasn’t run across any parapowered criminals since early ’75.” She bent in and whispered, “We think we might have got them all.”

  Irlene’s eyes widened behind her pink mask. “Really?”

  Faith shrugged. “No way to tell for sure until someone new surfaces, but we’ve tracked down all the parahuman offenders we know of.”

  “Does it happen often, someone new showing up?”

  “You did. Lucky you chose to be one of the good guys.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Lucky for you.” Faith winked at her. “Come on, let’s head over to Times Square. Maybe we can catch a purse snatcher or something.”

  “Do we take a cab or something?”

  Faith grinned. “Something. I’ll run. You fly. Try and keep up.”

  Irlene bowed her head, no blush apparent behind her dusky skin. “I’m sorry, I still ain’t used to—”

  But Faith winked and took off at—for her—an easy lope of forty miles per hour. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Irlene flying ten feet over the ground, a few yards behind her and catching up. “You meanie,” called the teen over the sound of wind whipping past them. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “You’re in Just Cause now, kiddo. You have to be ready all the time. You never know when you’ll have to respond to something at a moment’s notice.” Faith dodged around a bicycle messenger and hurdled a sawhorse blocking an open manhole cover with a bored-looking Con Ed crew standing around it drinking coffee.

  Times Square was bustling, even so early in the day. People hurried through on their way to work, early lunch, or loitered and transacted shady business deals. A man selling watches out of a briefcase closed it up and hurried away when he saw the Just Cause heroes arrive. Faith watched him go. She’d spoken to him once and knew he was harmless, but just the same she appreciated the gesture on his part. The flesh trade was already underway. People—mostly men—slipped into theaters and other houses of ill repute. Others talked to prostitutes, negotiating terms and leaving together. Pimps loitered in doorways and solicited business with passersby. Most people gave only token respect to the heroes’ authority. Despite having police powers specifically in New York City granted by the governor, lawbreakers knew that for the most part, they were well beneath the attention of the superheroes.

  “I can’t believe this,” Irlene said. “Doesn’t anyone care who we are, or what we are?”

  “Not really,” said Faith. She glared at a beat cop as he walked out of a peepshow, adjusting his Sam Browne belt. “Let’s make the rounds. It isn’t very hot yet. Maybe everyone will behave themselves today.”

  Faith knew she’d spoken too soon, for they heard a woman shriek near the bus station. She and Irlene glanced at each other, and then hurried toward the sound of the commotion.

  Faith arrived first, zig-zagging through curious onlookers to find an elderly black woman sprawled on the cement. She knelt down to carefully help the woman to her feet. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  “That young son of a bitch stole my purse.” The woman rubbed her hip. “Knocked me down.”

  “What he look like?” Irlene dropped out of the sky to land next to Faith and the elderly woman.

  “Spic with greasy hair and a hat. Oh my, I did take a tumble.”

  Irlene flew upward and scanned the area. “I got him,” she said. “He’s running.”

  “Go after him, Imp. I’ll catch up.”

  “Okay, uh, Pony Girl.” Irlene shrank down to the size of a Barbie doll and sped away; she could fly faster when small.

  Faith turned her attention back to the woman. “Ma’am, do you need a doctor or anything?”

  “You just catch that son of a bitch and bring back my purse, young lady, and God bless you.”

  Faith nodded and ran after Irlene. The cityscape blurred around her with her speed. She overtook Irlene in a matter of seconds and spotted the fleeing purse snatcher. Faith poured on the speed to pass by him, then skidded to a halt, turned, and braced herself with her arm outstretched.

  The purse-snatcher clothes-lined himself right across her forearm. The shock of impact jarred her senses, but not as much as it must have his. His feet flew up into the air and he crashed to the cement.

  Faith grinned. Sometimes it felt good to do the right thing. “Mister, you are under arrest.”

  #

  Harlan hid the vagrant’s body in the trunk of a crushed Ford. He looked askance at the trail of blood that remained along the path where he’d dragged the carcass. It hadn’t rained in days and didn’t look like there would be much relief coming anytime soon. It didn’t matter so much, though, because anyone who came into the junkyard and didn’t disarm the security systems would suffer the same fate. That thought gave Harlan a cheerful shiver.

  He ambled across the clearing to his makeshift workshop, a disused Volkswagen bus with the side door ripped away. It hunched on rusting, naked rims. The broken headlights gave it a somber, almost wistful expression. He’d tacked canvas sheeting to the van’s roof and stretched it out to poles hammered into engine blocks for a makeshift roof. It flapped in the warming breeze. Var
ious half-done tinkering projects littered the dirt around his workshop. Many were pieces he’d started without really understanding what they were or even their intended purpose. Others had been begun, ripped apart, and rebuilt in different ways many times over. Trial and error was Harlan’s format of creation. Sometimes he worked on a component for months until he understood that it was ready and installed it. Often it was at the installation that he realized what it was he’d built. It was like a teacher lived in his head. Not one of the cranky old ladies at the school Momma made him attend, but like a scientist and engineer and chemist all rolled into one. Harlan listened to that voice, and it taught him how to make things.

  He was pretty sure that none of his work had been disturbed, but went on to check his masterpiece, to make sure the unscheduled visitor hadn’t damaged it in any way. It hulked in a back corner of the yard, surrounded by numerous wrecks that Harlan had moved with the ingenious crane arrangement he’d built from scrap parts.

  Anyone who didn’t know what it was would have only seen what looked like two semi truck cabs stacked on top of each other with some parts sticking out at random. But Harlan knew better.

  He’d built a suit; his own Mechagodzilla.

  Not just any suit, either. This one was big. It crouched on four heavy hydraulic legs powered by the Diesel engine in the lower truck cab. When he powered them up, the rig would raise itself up to a fearsome height, nearly twenty feet tall. Numerous layers of rubber, cut from rotting tires, padded the suit’s feet. The upper cab boasted four arms, designed for no other purpose than destruction. Two housed mobile versions of the belt-fed Eggbreaker guns, one of which had killed the vagrant. Another carried a powerful flamethrower with a large tank of pressurized fuel. The last held a huge circular saw blade. Harlan had found it in a disused corner of the junkyard. It must have belonged to a timber mill at some point, but now it ran on Diesel power from the upper cab. Heavy armor plating protected the engines and hydraulics, and the pilot’s cabin at the very top of the suit was armored like a pillbox.