Chapter 4:

A Lack of Discernible Motivation

or

Crash

Nathan Marvelous leaned against the white brick of a nondescript building. The house of the accelerator looked like any old warehouse, only a lot cleaner. Looking about, Nathan wondered if anybody had ever attempted to update the late 50s look of the place. He wondered at the utilitarian mindset of the Armed Forces and realized that he had no argument against such a generic layout; but then, argument was for those with something to say.

There were few people about, and only one of them didn’t have a rather big gun. He had a cigarette in one hand and a sullen, somewhat bored expression. The expression was his weapon; the cigarette—well—it was a reason to take a break.

The guns didn’t worry Nathan. He was far more concerned with the people wearing them. He was uneasy about the looks, the sideways glances, and hushed whispers. Nathan was hypersensitive to what everyone was saying and doing around him, about him, and justifiably so. He was the talk of the town—as they say. They all wondered about this pale legend, his skin so fair, his eyes sharp like wire, cutting both ways. They may all talk about the rock in the sky, they may all have something to say about the machinery they’d built to destroy it, but the primary subject of conversation was Nathan; the man that would go the distance and do the work. He was much smaller than they expected.

It was all a buzz kill. All the potential danger, the anticipation of once more doing something truly dangerous was losing its luster to unasked questions, to speculation, to the corrosive attention Nathan did not want. Why all the whispering? He wanted to ask—but direct questions were out of fashion.

For now, on his smoke break, Nathan was free from the quizzical looks, from the feeling of being a test subject, an observed experiment. He was free to think, or better yet, not to think. He leaned against the wall of the building, taking his sweet time on the cigarette, his light skin exposed to the sun, yet no thought of sunburn crossed his mind. Nathan never burned in the sun. He never tanned. His complexion barely ever changed from its white sheen, only adding the lightest blush.

Two guards stood at the top of the six-step staircase that led back into the building; one at ease, the other really at ease. He’d had the same escort since he’d arrived. Perhaps they were there to keep anyone else from bothering him, the big celebrity. Perhaps they were guarding him. Perhaps they were also supposed to keep him from running off. Perhaps they simply didn’t have anything better to do. For whatever reason—and possibly for all these reasons—these guards dogged Marvelous all day, everyday. One thing was sure, they certainly weren’t talking to him about it.

But it wasn’t so bad. He’d been around them for sometime now, and the novelty of being in the presence of such a celebrity had worn off. They didn’t care much about him anymore. Why should they? The most he’d said to them all day was, “Can I bum a cigarette?” They were far more interested in women, beer, shagging, base politics, and shagging women.

As Nathan puffed on the cigarette, listening to the guards talk about one Courtney and one Carrie, he watched a small green sedan pull toward him. The car trudged along at a snail’s pace. He wondered if it was close to halfway to point B.

The car parked right in front of Nathan, and the driver’s door opened. A small man stepped out in jeans and a t-shirt, just a hair larger than Nathan. His walk was easy, yet intent as he approached. Nathan was surprised—not that the man approached, not that he knew the man—but that high up his arm the man had several service tattoos.

Nathan stepped toward the car. He glanced back at the guards, who looked like they would follow, but didn’t particularly want to. They settled back down, leaving Marvelous to his company.

“Hi Brion,” said Nathan, intrigued by the deputy mayor’s presence, but more so by his ink.

“Hi. Smoking now, are we?”

“A recent development: makes for a longer break. I didn’t know you were a soldier.”

“I’m not,” Brion smiled. “I’m a marine. Ten years. Had to do something before politics,” he shrugged.

“So you came by for a social visit?”

“I have a meeting in a bit. But I wanted to see you first. You are, after all, the subject of the meeting.”

“Is that so?”

Brion nodded, “I hear you passed out.”

“The accelerator?” Nathan smirked, “I threw up first.”

“They’re cleaning inside?”

“The reason I gave myself a break. Seemed like the smart thing to do.”

“So you’re up in the Vomit Comet next?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You going to throw up again?”

“I imagine so. I’m not supposed to eat for the rest of the day, so if all goes as planned, it’ll be nothing more than dry heaves.”

“Not exactly what you’d call lofty expectations.”

“I don’t know that I’m not going to eat,” Nathan smiled. “That should make things interesting.”

“I hope you won’t—for the sake of the cleaners,” Brion replied. He looked off over the base. “There’s a bit of disappointment, some rumblings among the committee and what not.”

Nathan glared at Brion, “Have I met this committee?”

“No. Nor will you. Even the rumors of secrets are secret, my friend. It’s the way of the military, of politics in general.”

“If that’s the case, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about it,” Nathan said, irritated.

“Do you have something more pressing to say?” Brion asked.

“Did you know I have a condo in Miami? Right off the beach? It overlooks the ocean—or so I’m told. I’ve still never actually been there.”

“That’s only a couple hours south,” Brion noted.

Nathan shrugged, “Didn’t bring the keys.”

“Break in. It’s your place.”

Nathan snorted. “So are you here to pull me off this assignment, because I don’t really think I have a problem with that,” he admitted.

“That’s about what I suspect,” Brion paused as he looked about the facility. “Jake Jenkins wants a shot at this. He’s calling in all sorts of favors so he can get your job.”

“Jake Jenkins? Where do I know that name?” asked Marvelous.

“Shot down thirteen enemy planes in the Pan-Asian Conflict; war hero, except it wasn’t officially a war.”

“Never is anymore.”

“How else could we say that we never lose?”

“Jake Jenkins...” A light flicked in Nathan’s head, “Fighter pilot turned astronaut.”

Brion nodded, “And very good at both.”

“So that’s where I know that S.O.B.” Nathan muttered.

“You met him?”

“When I came to, I was covered in snot and puke. He was having a nice laugh about it,” Nathan explained. “That ass is plan B?!”

“He’s option two for plan A. There’s pressure to make him option one.”

“He took a shot at me back in my boxing days,” Nathan recalled. “After that... conflict? Policing action?”

“Officially, it was an intervention,” Brion noted.

“He came back from that war and did some interview in Rolling Stone.”

“I remember that. He said, ‘Real heroes fight real battles with real consequences’, right after you upset Brown. I didn’t know you read the rags,” Brion said.

“I don’t. One of my lawyers did. He wanted to sue. Lawyers call a lot about that sort of thing.”

“Nothing happened or I suppose I would have heard?”

Marvelous nodded. “People will say what they want, usually just to get a little face time with the cameras; and other people believe it, I think because they like the drama. Whatever the case, people tend to believe it all the more if you care to deny it—strange as that may seem.”

“I was hoping you didn’t know about that interview,” Brion admitted. “I was hoping to use it for motivation.”

Nathan regarded his cigarette, which was little more than a nub. He dropped it and ground it under his boot. “Well, I suppose he can have it, if he can get it.”

“The job?” asked Mindur.

“Or the motivation.” Nathan looked about. The weather was nice. The sun was bright and hot with just enough wind to blow away any sweat. He wondered how far was it from plan A to plan B? No. It was now option one to option two? He wondered, was the committee halfway to making Jake Jenkins the man? Were they halfway through the remainder and halfway again? Nathan turned to Brion, “You’re asking for a favor? You’re asking me to really do this?”

“Only if you want to,” Brion shrugged.

“And what makes you think that I want to?”

“Don’t you want to go a way for a little while? See what there is to see out there?” Brion suggested. “Don’t you want to give yourself a little time to be alone? Truly alone? Maybe clear your head?”

“Does sound kind of nice,” Nathan agreed. “So how do I turn this around?”

“Put your heart in it,” Brion suggested.

“And how do you propose I do that?” Nathan asked—then he realized what he was admitting. He’d lost heart. Not just for this mission, but for just about anything. He’d lost the intensity, the passion and drive for which life yearns. He did not want to go into space. He didn’t want to go home and sleep, either. He could not think of anything he might want to do. The only reason he cared to answer Brion at all was because it would take more effort to quit the conversation. Brion would follow him, badgering him to speak. The flow was in favor of this small interaction, of doing whatever people asked, because it was easier than fighting them. Nathan would abide it, washed in the current of other peoples’ motivations and doing as little as he could. He was a leaf on the river, carried wherever the water took him, and sooner or later, he’d be replaced by Jake Jenkins, because Jake Jenkins wanted to swim.

Brion watched him, an intense look on his face. He looked hopeful, yet saddened, his smile barely creasing his mouth.

Brion was asking Nathan for a favor. A small thing, really; to do what he had agreed to do, as if he actually wanted to do it. Well, Nathan could put in the effort. He could attempt it. He would be intense about it, or so he told himself, wondering if it was true. He would do it because Brion wanted it, and Nathan felt the man was his friend. He felt the man wouldn’t even be upset if he declined, if he stomped away in a fit.

Brion smiled, “Just grit your teeth, and tell yourself you really do care. Besides, Jake Jenkins greatly overestimates his abilities. I wouldn’t mind seeing him go up and fail—if it didn’t mean the end of all things Italian.” With that, Brion dropped the keys to the cheap rental car in Nathan’s hand.

“You want me to drive you somewhere?” Nathan asked, a bit confused by the gesture.

Brion shook his head. “I want you to crash it, in a way that should leave you incapacitated. I want you to walk away without a scratch.”

For a long second, Nathan stared at Brion, surprised that he should know how such an event would play out. Brion smiled back at him as if it was no big secret, as if no one paying attention could come to any other conclusion. Not knowing what to make of it, Marvelous turned and looked out over the desert of asphalt and concrete that made up the approach road and parking lot. There was a lot of room for maneuvering, he realized, a lot of room to crash in spectacular fashion. “And what will that prove?” Nathan asked, though he knew immediately. Brion was asking Nathan to reveal what made him different from anybody else, to show the world what a marvel he truly was. He was asking Nathan to answer all the speculation and show in the bright light of day that, yes, it is impossible to hurt Nathan Marvelous.

Of course, Nathan knew better than that. His weaknesses were glaring for anybody to see, but people never looked in the right places. It was only proximity that killed his girlfriend, and his mother. For whatever reason, people always attacked him where he was strongest: physically. And despite the inept nature of the attacks, he was invariably hurt, as he lost those he loved.

Nathan set his jaw, walked around the front of the car, and never questioned how Brion knew that he could do such things, or even if he should. He did not think that Brion had set this up, that whoever was supposed to be watching already had binoculars pinned to their eyes. All he thought about was the twisting of metal, the crunch of impact, and in the end, shrugging it all off.

“So, you really want to do this?” Brion asked, pointing to the sky, referring to the asteroid. “If you’re dead set against it, my reputation can take the hit. Jake Jenkins may be an asshole, but he might actually manage in the end.”

“Either way I suppose none of this is going to end up in the next edition of Rolling Stone.”

“Those that are watching are not the gossiping sort.”

“And what of my guards?” Nathan continued.

“Well, we can’t button up everything,” Brion shrugged. “Besides, who in their right mind would believe ‘em?”

Marvelous smiled. “I don’t know about that rock up there, but I sure as hell want to wreck your ugly little car,” he answered. He could see the green sedan, now broken—bleeding away its oily life. Surprisingly, the image pleased him. He felt a need for destruction: the force involved, the unforgiving permanence of the damage he was about to inflict, and his part as its destroyer. What it is about breaking things that could be so appealing? Nathan turned back to Brion. “You’re digging yourself a nice hole with all these favors.”

Brion smiled. “I assure you, I’m good for it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Nathan stated. He took the keys, approached the car, and settled into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over and Nathan revved it. He dropped the clutch, screeching the tires, as the car lunged backward.

The car was surprisingly light and agile. For some reason, Nathan expected it to stall, to sputter and die, in hopes of forestalling its own destruction—or simply because it was cheap and American made. But the car performed admirably.

Both guards snapped to attention as the little car bolted away with their charge in the driver’s seat. They looked to each other, curious to know what sort of trouble they were in. The lank one called down to Brion, “Where the hell is he going?!”

“I asked him to give a demonstration,” Mindur replied, “Just watch. You wouldn’t want to miss this anyway.” He said with his customary unshakable smile.

The two guards looked uneasily at each other. They decided this man’s presence alone was evidence of his authority. Ordinary civilians weren’t allowed on this part of the base. They knew this might be trouble, but if he was authorized and they got in the way, it would be more trouble. It was a lose-lose situation for them, but that’s just the way it was sometimes, especially in the military. With growing anxiety, the guards did nothing.

The small green rental cut across the approach road and jerked to a stop. There it sat for several seconds, giving the guards time to wonder what would happen next. Finally, the car jumped forward. Tires squealed as it entered the warehouse parking lot, careening at a hard angle as it turned to the side, so it wasn’t running straight at Brion and the guards. It looked to tip, but managed to correct. It gained speed and looked as if it would rocket right passed them.

Suddenly, the car turned far too sharp. The tires squealed, as the car turned sideways, then caught. The little green beast launched into the air, sideways.

Sound stopped. For a split second the car was completely off the ground. The world held it’s breath as the vehicle defied mere gravity. But Nathan was not airborne for long. With a sickening crunch, sound resumed, and the car impacted and crumbled, rolling and tossing off bits of metal and plastic. The car landed on its roof, rolled, caught on the tires once more, and flipped yet again. This time, the car jumped higher, but in a straighter arch. It dropped with a thud, teetered, and rolled to its side. It settled on what used to be the wheels, tires shredded, and one rim entirely missing. A flick of flame was visible toward the rear of the vehicle.

“Good… God above!” breathed the first guard, a bit religious, and showing great restraint.

“Jesus ugging Christ!” burst the second guard, no less religious, and far less restrained.

The car rocked to the side as the passenger door gave with a pop. Marvelous crawled from the car. He stood, holding his shoulder and walked toward Brion and the guards with a grimace of pain on his face. His clothes were cut and tattered. There was blood all over the place. The fire now consumed most of the car.

“Get a fire truck!” One of the guards yelled, and the second guard turned to obey.

“Oh I’m sure they see it,” Mindur said as he kept his eyes on Nathan.

“He looks hurt,” said the first guard and started toward Marvelous, intent to help. He got halfway before the car exploded: light, heat, and pressure bursting from the vehicle. Mindur and the guards turned from the heat and concussion of the blast, but not before they saw debris level Nathan. The closer guard was knocked off his feet. He suffered a number of bumps and bruises, but nothing major.

Nathan was prone on the ground as the car burned with intensity. His clothes were on fire. He pushed himself up with one arm, his other arm stretched at his side. A few inches off the ground, Nathan fell forward.

No, Brion realized, he threw himself forward, slamming his injured shoulder into the ground. He was resetting a disjointed shoulder. Then Marvelous rolled over a few times, slow and methodical, putting out the flames on his back.

His clothes were singed, but were no longer burning. Slowly, ever so slowly, Nathan pushed himself up with both hands and walked toward the three. He flexed and stretched the injured arm, testing it.

“Sweet Son of Mary,” intoned the more reverent of the guards. “You okay?”

“Good like gin and tonic,” stated Marvelous with a foolish giddy grin and faraway eyes. He looked like he’d just kissed a girl for the first time. “Do you have another smoke?”

The guard pulled a pack of cigs and offered them to Marvelous. Mindur took one too. “A bit of celebration,” said Brion, also smiling.

Quite quickly, all four were smoking. The two guards exchanged furtive glances, their eyes darting every which way, the smokes calming their shot nerves only so much. Brion sucked on his cigarette happily, as did Marvelous.

Nathan felt surprisingly young and jubilant after his crash. Usually such adventures left him daunted, feeling awkward and out of place among the fidgety witnesses, but Brion’s calm and pleased demeanor left Nathan with a sense of camaraderie that verged on conspiracy, contrasted as it was against the uneasiness of the guards. “How’s the shoulder?” Brion asked.

Nathan flexed his arm, moving it about,” Fit for fighting.”

The fire truck arrived, sirens blazing, and made short work of the smoldering car. “What kind of trouble am I in?” Nathan asked.

“Trouble?” Brion repeated. “What makes you think you’re in trouble?”

“I just blew up a car on a military base.”

“The base commander and no few of the committee are in the North Fire Tower. I told them it’d be an unconventional display,” Brion revealed. “Otherwise, there’s no trouble, no news crews or cameras. As far as the outside world is concerned, this never happened.”

“I suppose those watching aren’t the type that have loose lips.”

“Quite the opposite,” Brion said.

Nathan stared at Brion. “Thank you,” he finally said, then—having finished his cigarette—he flicking the butt at the distant firefighters. “It was a rental, right?”

Brion gaped at him, shocked. “I would never do that to the poor boys at Enterprise,” he said. “Not that I feel all that great about making your average taxpayer foot the bill.”

“Send me an invoice,” Nathan shrugged. “So, what next?”

Brion patted Nathan on the back, “You’re indestructible, my friend. So tell me: what does Jake Jenkins do to compete with that?”

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