Sensation: A Superhero Novel (6 page)

            “It really wasn’t about winning.  I just didn’t like Paramount thinking he could walk all over us just because most people think he’s the second coming.”

            Mouse laughed at that.  “I think I know what you mean.”

            “Plus, it seems to me that you already have the leadership angle covered. Paramount has that troop of baboons that will follow him over a cliff if he asks them to.”

Mouse frowned at that.  “Are you saying you’re not interested?”

I paused for a moment before responding.  “I’m saying that, from my perspective, your problems run a whole lot deeper than lack of leadership.”

He looked at me quizzically but didn’t say anything, so I went on.  “None of you guys seemed to have noticed, but you had a bunch of goons out there ready to pound a group of much-weaker opponents into the sand just because they could.  More than that, they enjoyed it!  They got a kick out of showing how much muscle they had compared to us.”

“I know Paramount went a little far, especially with the Bolt Blast, which he’s sorry for-”

“I’m talking about what happened before that.  We hadn’t finished our game, and he tried to run us off the field.  Like he was better than us.  Like he was
entitled
to.”

Mouse’s brow was furrowed deep in thought.  This conversation had taken a very serious turn.  “Entitlement” was basically a four-letter word when it came to super powers.  It’s how a lot of supervillains first start out; somewhere along the way they begin thinking that their powers make them better than everyone else.  And if you’re better than everyone else, then the ordinary rules don’t apply to you.  And if the rules don’t apply, then you’re
entitled
to do whatever you want.

After a few seconds of silence, Mouse spoke.  “I know it probably looks that way from your point of view, but Paramount probably has more potential than any teen super on the planet.  The kids all look up to him, and he’s a great leader.”

I snorted sarcastically.  “They don’t look up to him.  They’re terrified of him.  Him and that Gestapo who hang on his every word.  Have you noticed that he’s built his own little private army to follow him around?  He’s recruited a gang of thugs, each with the muscle to bench press a city block.  There may be potential there, but potential is a pendulum that can swing to either side of the clock – good or bad.  I’m on the outside looking in, and even I can see that this will end up very ugly if it’s not addressed.”

Mouse gave me a hard look.  “Who’s been training you?”

“Huh?” The question took me by surprise.

“That’s a lot of insight for a kid to have.  I’m not saying that you’re right, but it shows a level of critical thinking that we try to instill in teen supers.  But you already have it, which points to training.  Long-term, sophisticated, high-level training.”

I didn’t say anything.  Still, he had hit the nail right on the head.  It hadn’t really come back to bite me in the butt, but I was suddenly nervous that perhaps I’d been trained too well by Gramps and Braintrust.

“Just taking a wild guess,” he said when I didn’t respond, “I’m assuming you’ve got a cape in the family - a parent perhaps.  Maybe even two.”

“Everyone has two parents,” I said snarkily, which got a chuckle out of him.

            “Look,” he added, sobering a little, “I don’t think he’s the bad seed you take him for, but I’ll give some serious thought to your comments about Paramount.  But in the meantime, like I said before, not everything is about having super powers.  Part of what this little program is set up to do is help us identify some of these other characteristics – things you can’t find out from a strength or speed test.  ”

            “Is that how Alpha League found you?” I asked.

            Mouse stared at me in silent contemplation for a moment.  “People don’t know much about me, do they?”

            “Not really.”

            He nodded in understanding.  “So what do they say?”

            “Not much.  You came out of nowhere about two years ago, did something that really impressed the League.  So now you’re on the team, even though you don’t seem to have any powers.”

            That got another laugh out of him. “Well, between you and me, I really didn’t come out of nowhere.  See, I went out for the Super Teen Trials three times – and got rejected on all three occasions. My power…well, there’s really not a term for what I can do.  But suffice it to say that none of the superhero teams at the time saw the value in it because I didn’t fit the traditional mold of what they were looking for.”

            “And now?”

            “Now they have a better understanding of what makes a superhero, and they think I have it.  And I think you have it.”

            He stood up.  “This year’s teen trials are in two weeks.  I’ll be looking for you there.”

            He extended his hand and I shook it, implicitly agreeing to attend the trial when a moment before I wouldn’t have gone if they begged me.  I left the room reflecting on my trial from two years ago, and whether I wanted to risk going through it again.

Chapter 6

The fiasco that turned out to be my tryout for a superhero team had started out innocuously enough.  It was two years ago, and I was fourteen at the time - the youngest age at which you could participate in the trials.  I had been waiting for this day for years - almost since my powers had first developed and I’d started being trained by my grandfather and Braintrust.

            The three of us had jointly agreed that I would attend in a different persona.  Even kids who didn’t pass the trials often found themselves sparking human interest pieces.  In my case, I didn’t want anyone poking around in my background for a couple of reasons, first and foremost being that I had wanted to make it on my own, not because of my famous pedigree.  If I passed the trials with people knowing who my grandparents were, there would always be the question of whether I’d actually made the cut or if someone had pulled some strings.  And if I didn’t make it, the embarrassment would just be too great…

            In addition, looking into my background would naturally evoke questions about my parents.  I wasn’t too concerned about my mother;  she had jokingly threatened to use any such opportunity to promote her romance novels.  However, that would also bring up the subject of my father, and that was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have yet.

            I chose an appearance loosely based on a high school picture of my grandfather: a tall, gangly but handsome kid, roughly sixteen years old, with a rich chocolate complexion.  Moreover, claiming that I was still worried about somebody finding out who I was, I also insisted on completing the persona with a different set of fingerprints and even a different brainwave pattern.  (Oddly enough, I didn’t even consider being identified by DNA at the time.)  BT thought it was idiotic and paranoid to go that far - and he was probably right - but I was persistent.  When he finally yielded, BT suggested that instead of dealing with the minutiae of fingerprints, when I shapeshifted I should just do away with prints altogether; my new persona would only leave behind finger
marks
, with no ridge detail.  

            As to brainwave patterns, the truth of the matter is that I didn’t really have any concerns about being identified by such, although it was possible.  In all honesty, I had recently developed the ability to control autonomous body functions, like my heart rate, perspiration, etc.  BT thought that I could also alter my brainwaves, but my grandfather had forbidden me to experiment in that direction, saying that changing your brainwave pattern could result in a shift in your personality.   However, I really wanted to see if I could do it (and what would happen, stupid kid that I was), so I used my desire to remain anonymous during the trials as a pretext for requiring a different brainwave pattern. Although he did so reluctantly, my grandfather eventually gave in.

            Following my grandfather’s acquiescence, BT explained that - just as I had the ability to speed up and slow down a lot of my bodily functions (like heart rate) - I could also consciously manipulate my cerebral cortex in such a way as to create a different brainwave pattern.  In simple terms, brainwaves are electrical impulses in the brain.  An individual puts forth different brainwaves based on what he or she is doing:  meditating, sleeping, watching an action movie, and so on.  Depending on the activity that an individual is engaged in, the pattern of the electrical impulses changes.  With BT’s help, I was able to  conceptualize how everything worked and quickly learned to affect the ebb and flow and even the electrical charge of those impulses, thereby creating a different brainwave pattern for myself.  The only problem was that changing my brainwaves was kind of like having a fog in my head.  It was as if I was observing myself and everything I did through a haze, though not in a debilitating way.  In short, although I didn’t realize it initially, this change would cause me to act and react to certain stimuli in a manner that was not typical for me - much as my grandfather had predicted.

            Lastly, it had been decided that I would only display one power during the trials.  Again, I wanted entry to a team without drawing a lot of scrutiny.  Showing up as a jack-of-all-trades super would make me the center of attention.  Likewise, displaying any of my more recherché powers would also put me in the spotlight.  After a lot of debate, it was settled that I would apply as a flyer.  Thus, decked out in my new persona - and a black-and-red costume, complete with cape - I had made my appearance. 

            The Super Trials have a well-deserved reputation as a complete media circus.  Not only are there thousands of hopefuls lined up to register, but there are swarms of reporters and newscasters everywhere.  There are actually multiple trials conducted simultaneously across the country, but the one in our town always drew the largest crowds because our city was home base to the Alpha League, who conducted and oversaw the trials for my region.

            Technically, the trials consisted of three parts.  First, there was registration, which was open to anyone.  After registration, all of the candidates would have a chance to demonstrate their powers - one at a time - for the League in private.  If they cleared that hurdle, then the real tests would begin.  Those who made it through the crucible of the third stage (which usually lasted several days) were typically introduced to the public at a press conference afterwards as new members of the superheroes’ Teen Development League.  Enrollment at the Academy would follow and eventually - hopefully - a place on a superhero team.

            Registration was held outside the League’s headquarters, a mid-sized structure in the downtown area that stood as the only building on a large, lush plot of land the size of ten city blocks.  There were so many people milling about that I didn’t even worry about being seen as I teleported in.  Besides, people were showing off their powers left and right:  super speed, super strength, telekinesis.  It was something that was always great to watch on TV, but seeing it in person - even some of the powers I had myself - was awesome.

            Even though they were only in their teens, some of this year’s participants were already famous, and the top reporters wasted no time trying to get sound bites from them.  There was Dynamo, who had been “outed” earlier in the year when he saved a dozen people from an apartment fire.  Vestibule, the striking beauty who already had a career as a teen model was also present and giving an interview to a major network; as the only known teleporter in this year’s crop, she was essentially a shoo-in.  And then, almost literally standing head and shoulders above everyone else, there was Paramount. 

            Paramount had displayed super powers almost since the moment he was born.  Therefore, not surprisingly, ever since he had reached the age of eligibility, there had been a media frenzy every year as to whether he would “go pro” in terms of entering the Super Trials.  But it hadn’t happened at age fourteen, or at fifteen.  When asked what prompted him to finally toss his hat into the ring, he had given a near-perfect response.

            “Just because you have super powers doesn’t mean that you’re fully qualified to use them,” he’d said sheepishly.  “To be frank, I had some maturing to do in a lot of ways, and I think the last two years have given me a greater perspective and sense of responsibility - something I didn’t really have at age fourteen or even fifteen.”

            The media ate it up, like hogs devouring slop.  Man, I think I even hated him back then - before the disaster my tryout would become.

            Despite distractions like Paramount’s interview, the registration lines moved along at a nice clip. There were ten lines, and candidates were randomly placed into them.  Then you just had to bide your time until you reached the front.  The registration tables at the head of each line were manned by former supers and sidekicks. 

            The guy sitting at the table for my line wasn’t anyone that I recognized.  He was a short man with a wiry build, wearing glasses and chewing gum. He appeared to be in his fifties, with a receding hairline that was going gray and a thick mustache to match.  He had a laptop in front of him that he was typing on intensely as I approached.

            “Registration card,” he said, holding out his hand.  He never took his eyes off the laptop screen.

            “Uhhhh…” I stammered.  I hadn’t even known they’d be giving any out, let alone seen any.

            He raised his eyes, deigning to look at me for the first time.  “You don’t have one?”

            “No.”

            “Not a problem,” he said.  “We always run out, so half of these yahoos never have one when they get to the front of the line.”

            He turned back to the screen and began typing again, so he probably didn’t notice my relief. (Nor did he seem to notice or care that I was one of the “yahoos” without a registration card.)   It would have been a shame if I’d been turned away before I’d even begun because of administrative guidelines.