Sensation: A Superhero Novel (4 page)

“Mom, I don’t have any friends.  You know that.”

“Acquaintances then.  People you know.  People your own age.”

I was exasperated.  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this.

“Mom, I’m fine.  We both know I’m not like other kids.  Normal kids.”

“All the more reason for you to be around them.  Or at least other people who could be considered your peers.”

“Fine.  I know where you’re going with this.  If it’ll make you happy, I’ll go to the stupid football game tomorrow.”

Suddenly she was glowing.  “Cool!”

“Mom, only geriatrics say ‘cool’ any more. Or shut-ins who haven’t kept up with the times.”

“Well, this geriatric shut-in has a date tonight.”

I stood in stunned silence and just looked at her.  Mom was about five-ten, with straight, dark hair that dropped a little below her shoulders.  She had a complexion that was slightly darker than mine, and huge almond-shaped eyes that gave her a striking appearance.  It had come as a great shock to me years earlier when I found out that most people considered my mother to be exotically beautiful.  (And it didn’t hurt that she looked a lot younger than her actual age.) 

“Hey!” My mother snapped her fingers.  “Say something.”

“Uh…have a good time?”

“Don’t you even want to know who it’s with?”

Her eyes, which normally appeared blue, flashed purple, indicating mock anger.  This was one of the two physical indications of her odd genetic inheritance.  The other was her pointed, elfin ears, which gave her an even more exotic appearance when seen.  Outside the house she wore contacts to hide her eyes, and she always kept her hair over her ears.

I shrugged.  “No, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.  I trust your judgment.”

She gave me a mock punch on the arm, then a hug before going back to her office.  I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed out the back door.  I twisted off the cap and took a swig as I walked towards the apartment where my grandfather lived above our garage.

Technically, it was his house that we lived in.  Mom and I had been on our own before moving here eleven years earlier, living on the other side of the country.  My father had been out of the picture since before I was born (plus we never really talked about him), so my grandfather was the only family and support system we had. 

Even though the house actually had four bedrooms, Gramps had decided that he needed his own space and moved into the garage apartment, giving us the main house.  As I walked up the stairs to the entrance, his voice rang out in my mind.

I opened the door and stepped inside Wonderland.

Frankly speaking, I loved coming to my grandfather’s apartment.  Gramps was a telepath – at one time the most powerful on the planet, possibly the most powerful who ever lived.  Known as Nightmare, he could invade the mind of any villain, know their plans, make them see their worst nightmare (hence the name), take control of their minds, etc.  He could incapacitate with a thought, changing the course of any battle in seconds.

His apartment was full of mementos and keepsakes from his time as an active superhero.  The mask of a famed supervillain, the deactivated weapon from another, photos of him with famous people.  Coming to his apartment was, for me, like going to an amusement park.  Plus, I had grown up on his stories, which had made me dream of one day being a superhero – until the train wreck of my tryout.

Gramps was sitting on the sofa, watching television and eating cookies.  Despite being in his sixties, he had the frame and appearance of someone twenty years younger.  His dusky skin had few wrinkles, although his hair had begun taking on a salt-and-pepper hue a few years before.

I took a cookie and sat down next to him on the sofa.  He was watching the rebroadcast of a football game from years earlier.  In fact, it appeared to be a Super Bowl, but I couldn’t recall from which year.  I was chomping at the bit to tell him what happened with Drillbit and he knew it, but we sat there watching the game in silence for a few minutes until they broke away for a commercial.

“Alright,” he said, turning to me.  “Spill it.”

I could have just said that I popped Drillbit into a nullifier cell and gassed him, but I’d learned from my grandfather the art of being a good storyteller – especially where supervillains were concerned.  Thus, I did a reverse CliffsNotes and dragged a ten-second anecdote out into a full-length novel.  By the time I finished, he was grinning.

“Not bad,” he noted, “but Drillbit’s not what I would consider a real challenge.”

He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to.  Super powers don’t equate to a super brain, and Drillbit wasn’t the brightest bulb in the socket.  Gramps looked lost in thought for a moment, probably reflecting back on one of his old battles.  Whatever story it was, I’d probably heard it a hundred times before, but I was ready to hear it again if he wanted to tell it.  (As I said, he was a great storyteller.)

I glanced over at the mantel where my grandfather kept several of his most treasured keepsakes:  pictures of the alien princess Indigo.  My grandmother.

One of the photos was of them having a picnic.  I looked at the photo, seeing the source of my mother’s exquisite features:  the elfin ears, the exotic eyes.  My grandmother’s white, porcelain-like skin stood in stark contrast to my grandfather’s dark complexion.

Their marriage had been a great scandal at the time.  Even though Indigo technically wasn’t even human, she bore enough resemblance to a White female that the mere thought of a relationship between them had been enough to elicit protests.  Violent reactions and hate mail had followed the announcement of their pending nuptials.

Nevertheless, they had persevered, and the union had even produced a child, my mother (although, as I understand, they had needed a little help from science, as their DNA had not been fully compatible).  They had been happy, and would probably still be together had not an emergency on her homeworld called Indigo away.  She had left and never returned, leaving my grandfather with an infant daughter to raise on his own.

Also on the mantel was a picture of me as a five-year-old.  If you looked closely you could almost see the streaks of tears on my face.  I hadn’t wanted to take the picture then, but Gramps had told me it was important and I’d want a picture to remember that day, and he was right.  It was the day I first developed my powers.

It was before we moved into my grandfather’s house.  My mother and I were living in a small, one-bedroom efficiency in an inexpensive but well-kept apartment complex.  It would have been a very nice time in my life if not for a hulking brute of a bully named Bobby Trione.

Bobby was only nine, but of course he was much bigger than me, a five-year-old.  He ruled the small playground at the apartment complex with an iron fist.  In particular, there was a treehouse that Bobby had claimed as his own personal residence.  In fact, there was a sign taped to the outside of it that said “Trione’s Treehouse,” and he took great offense at other children playing there without his permission.

Whenever Bobby wasn’t around, I’d sneak into the treehouse and play inside anyway.  However, one day I made the mistake of leaving one of my action figures there.  It was a fatal error. 

Bobby and I attended the same school, and one day shortly thereafter he cornered me and confronted me about playing in the treehouse.  He had my action figure as proof, and when I was too slow in denying it, he started punching me. He punched hard and fast, screaming at me all the while to stay out of his treehouse, and before long I was bawling and doing little more than trying to curl up to avoid the worst of his blows. 

As he hit me, I felt an odd pressure building in my brain.  It was like a balloon, slowly filling with air, getting blown bigger and bigger.  Then it popped.

Suddenly, there was no more shouting.  No more punches. No more Bobby. In short, Bobby had disappeared, literally, and I was crying worse than I was when he was wailing on me.  I knew Bobby was gone, and I knew that it was because of  something I’d done - something terrible - but I didn’t know what.  I ran off wildly, heedless of where I was going, just wanting to get away.  I eventually found my way to a corner of the school basement and hid there, crying for what seemed like forever.

A short time later, I heard voices and looked up to find my grandfather there.  He was in town visiting – babysitting me, actually – while my mother attended a writer’s camp.  He’d kept a telepathic tab on me in those days and, having felt my mental distress, had come to find me.  I tried explaining things, but couldn’t quite get the words out.  My grandfather shushed me, then slowly, gently, carefully peeked into my mind, pulling back thoughts and memories like onion layers, to see what had happened.  After a few minutes, he chuckled and told me everything would be fine.

It turns out that I had developed my first power – teleportation – and sent Bobby back to his treehouse.  Early on, however, I wasn’t very good at teleporting people, and if I did it the person had a tendency to arrive at their destination a little disoriented. That’s what happened to Bobby. I popped him into the treehouse, but he couldn’t get his bearings; he fell out and broke his arm.  (And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.)

My grandfather took the picture of me that day.  After my mother returned from her workshop, he had a very pointed talk with her, and three days later we moved across the country and into my grandfather’s house.  Shortly thereafter, he introduced me to BT, and they began training me to use my powers, among other things.

Reflecting on my memories of that day, I stayed chatting with my grandfather for about another hour, then left.  As with my mother, I promised him that I would go to the football game.  (Apparently that was what he’d wanted to talk to me about.)

I came back home and had a couple of sandwiches for dinner.  Then I took a shower, watched a little television, and went to bed, hoping that a good night’s rest would prepare me for Saturday’s football game.

INTERLUDE

The Six Masters were gathered in their lair again, once more discussing their plans and how best to achieve their ends.

“I would give stronger endorsement to this plan,” said Slate through his golem, this time a male, “if the destruction of the Alpha League was assured.”

Apex, another cohort appearing by hologram, snorted.  “Destroying the Alpha League is far easier said than done, and would consume far more resources than currently at our disposal.  Trust me, I know.  We need only restrict their ability to interfere, and those plans are already in motion.”

“And what of the other problem – Kid Sensation?  Where are we on that issue?”

“We are steadily closing in on him,” Omen responded. “We’ll have him at our mercy before long, and be in a position to nullify any effect he might have on our plans.”

Chapter 4

            The “football game” was actually more of a get-together that took place every weekend during the summer.  It was sponsored by several of the superhero teams and was held at the Academy.  In essence, it was a mix-and-mingle for kids with super powers.   (Somewhere along the way, someone had figured out that a good way to help kids deal with the angst, anxiety, and isolation of growing up with super powers was to put them around peers.) 

            Attendance, however, was by invitation only, but BT had somehow arranged for me to be invited regularly.  Basically, bright and early on Saturday mornings, you would appear at a designated place at a designated time.  At that point, a car with tinted windows would take you to an airfield in the middle of nowhere, at which juncture you’d board a plane to take you to the Academy.

            Once at the Academy, you could participate in a wide range of activities, including making use of the students’ break room since most of them were home for summer vacation.  But – at least for guys – the big draw was football.  Having super powers often meant that you couldn’t participate in sports against normal people.  Thus, a lot of guys, especially those with super strength,  really basked in opportunities like this to cut loose.

On this particular Saturday, I flew out with a group of about a dozen kids, ages ten to eighteen.  Not a lot of people, but I knew that numerous planes from other cities would also be flying in teens.  After we arrived, everyone would be able to break away to pursue their own interests.  I didn’t always play, but today I decided to get into the football game.

            Truth be told, there wasn’t one football game that took place but several.  Teams would be put together and pitted against each other based on the abilities of the players.  I always came to the game with minimal shapeshifting changes.  There were only a few alterations to my face  - higher cheeks, wider nose - to give me a slightly different appearance, while my body stayed essentially the same.  Moreover, I hadn’t displayed any notable super powers, so I was teamed with a group of people with moderate abilities and slotted against a team of similar talents in a game slated to start around noon.

            Thankfully, you don’t need super powers to enjoy football, and we had a blast.  I got along really well with my teammates, which included a psychic named Claire Voyant; Smokescreen, who could blanket an area with dense fog; and Bounce, who could stretch his rubberized body to impressive lengths.

            We were playing a pretty close contest that had seen several lead changes take place.  We were down by four points with two minutes left in the game when we got the ball back for what was presumably the last time.  Then Paramount and his gorilla squad showed up.

            Everyone knew who Paramount was.  He was the spoiled rich kid of super teens.  As the son of Alpha Prime (who was universally acknowledged as the most powerful superhero in existence), he had an impeccable pedigree and he knew it.  Still, because of who his father was, Paramount also had a lot to live up to.  Moreover, he had grown up in the limelight, with those enormous expectations always perched on his shoulders.  Most other people would have buckled under the pressure, but Paramount seemed to thrive on it.  Not only had he been blessed with his father’s statuesque physique and movie-star good looks, he had also inherited the most enviable of his powers: super strength, invulnerability, super speed…. About the only thing he lacked was flight, although - since he was only eighteen - there was still the possibility that his power set had not fully emerged. Still, even without the ability to fly, it was widely assumed that he would one day take his father’s place as the gold standard for superheroes.