by Chara, Mina
CONTENTS
Prologue: Make Them Gold
Chapter One: Hello
Chapter Two: Wake Up
Chapter Three: Need Somebody
Chapter Four: Beat Of My Heart
Chapter Five: Cast Away
Chapter Six: Sledgehammer
Chapter Seven: Flesh Without Blood
Chapter Eight: Comet
Chapter Nine: Making The Most Of The Night
Chapter Ten: We Sink
Epilogue: Clearest Blue
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2016 Mina Chara
All rights reserved.
Published by Mina Chara. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
In the year 1930 the world experienced strange lights in the sky; a comet, gone rogue, fell into Earth’s orbit and pounded our blue planet with bright, shooting stars. In the same year ordinary men and women began to exhibit super powers and by 1939 the connection was clear. In the moments before death the Comet gave powers to those with an overwhelming desire to live. Object D/1930 X1 was given a name: the Heroic Comet.
In the war years that followed, those affected by the comet saved thousands, but life in peacetime wasn’t easy. One hero, Stronghold, found the solution; he designed and built Icon City, an island homeland for heroes.
By the year 1950 the world knew comet given powers could be used for evil as well as good, some of the heroes turned to crime and this sent the world into panic, so in 1959, as the first group of heroes prepared to retire, the International Heroes Group was formed with a simple mission: recruit and train new heroes.
The group did well. New villains and heroes arose and in 1979 Captain Fantastic joined their ranks where he battled the most desperate villain of all: Dr. Dangerous. They clashed for many years until the Doctor’s plans grew more and more gruesome and the public demanded action. In 1986, Captain Fantastic took the lead; he killed Dr. Dangerous on live television and surrendered to the police.
One year later, his plea of self-defense was upheld and Captain Fantastic, now even more popular, was released. He spent the next five years urging the world to keep a close eye on superheroes through a dedicated television channel, and as part of his efforts he opened a school where the next generation of super powered heroes could be trained.
He called it Hero High.
I grew up with stories of that school and the heroes who passed through its doors.
Now I get to write one about my hero.
“Ms. Fitz?” I hold out my hand to her, and she takes it with a firm, reassuring grip, almost as though offering congratulations.
“You want to write a book about my life?” I sit down next to her in her family restaurant and café, the atmosphere warm and friendly with just a touch of refinement. It’s early in the morning, a misty pink sky above us.
“I’d like to write how you became what you are today Ms. Fitz.”
“Call me Friday,” she tells me over a mug of steaming soup.
“Of course. Friday, I was thinking, maybe a story about your early days? How you got here.”
“Do people care about that?”
“Of course! You’re a household name.”
“I am?”
“Of course ma’am. Everyone knows the stories, it’s just they’re a little…”
“Sparse?”
“Sparse, exactly. I’d like to write something more substantial.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“At the beginning. Tell me your story from the very beginning.”
“The Cliffnotes version, or …”
“As much detail as necessary.”
She adjusts her position, gets comfortable in her seat and stops for a moment to think before setting her mug down to snap her fingers. “Got it. It all started when-”
There was something about touching the glass that made me feel like I could reach the horizon. Just for a moment, I stopped shaking and the anxiety lifted. Icon City lit up everything around it; the lights reminded me of stars. I could see them moving through the streets while helicopters buzzed around the skyscrapers, their lights blinking in the distance.
Could I really do it? Really live here? It seemed like a different world. Part of me was bursting with excitement; I longed to wander the streets, invisible for hours on end. The other part of me was scared to walk those streets because I wouldn’t be invisible. All the other kids on the ‘plane, my classmates, they were practically jumping out of their seats. It was years since I’d been this close to anyone my age, other than Jake and my sister. My dad hadn’t called, or even seen me to the plane, which wasn’t surprising. My sister was there. Those days everything was about my sister. The most I’d said to my father in years was, ‘are you okay?’ He almost never replied.
Jake stayed next to me on the plane, his legs bobbing up and down with excitement. It was easier, having him with me. He’d always been the someone to make me happy at the end of the day.
“Day, that’s it! That’s the city!” I took a deep breath that seemed to plummet downwards. “Day? You okay?” he asked, looking away from the window.
“Just nervous.” Jake took my hand in his and although my nerves didn’t settle down, I felt braver. I leaned over to get a better look: It seemed like every inch of Icon City held a skyscraper, each one brighter and more intricate than the last. This was a city that came alive at night, when lights flashed with brilliant color. As we got closer I caught glimpses of the statues in the cobbled market streets, the carvings on the buildings, and the hi-tech trams moving fast past candlelit cafés.
Jake pulled out a tourist pamphlet with his spare hand and set it on the table in front of us. His eye’s lit up as he started to read. “The city was built in 1947,” he said, looking over, “Stronghold, the guy who built it, said he wanted it to look like a city from before the war.”
“Well if you want to be specific,” I said.
“Which you always do,” he replied.
“Which I always do,” I agreed, “Stronghold started making plans in 1945, but he didn’t get permission to start building until 1947.”
Jake shrugged, and flipped the page. “Okay, what about this?” he stopped flipping, let go of my hand, held the book up for me, and started quoting. ‘I wanted it to be a haven of beauty and art, I wanted Icon City to be colorful and artfully deco, like the buildings I’d loved once when I was a young, before the war.’ What do you think he means by that?” he asked.
“Well, he grew up in Lupiac in France, then moved to Paris in 1922, when he was seventeen, so he’s probably talking about Deco since it originated in Paris in the 20’s and 30’s, and then waned during the Second World War.”
“Thanks superhero encyclopedia!” he laughed.
“Shut up.” I muttered, giving him a nudge on the shoulder.
Jake filed away his book, and leaned over to my laminated guide of Hero High. “Does it list your classes in there?” he asked.
“Sure, maths, english, gym.”
Jake raised a brow as he continued. “So it really is a school? I always wondered, I guess they film for the show at weekends, and in-between you take regular classes,” he said, turning pages.
“We’re beginning our descent into Icon City.” buzzed the plane’s intercom.
Jake put the guide book down and strapped in with a smile on his face. The frustration in my bones came back, I needed to do something, but this time there was just enough excitement to distract me. The Super Structure went by in an instant as the pl
ane began its final descent onto the runway. The landing was smooth and perfectly executed. Our stationary windows overlooked the airport’s mall.
A woman, clip-board in hand moved down the aisle. “Okay kids, get your bags and line up in single file. We’re heading straight to the Super Structure.” A girl right at the back raised her hand. “You have a question?” Her puffy hair bounced as she stood up and her bag tipped over, showering gift shop trinkets on the floor.
“Aren’t we supposed to be getting an allowance?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” replied the woman flipping through her clipboard sheets, searching for the girl’s name. “Ms. Asimov, is it? We got you all on the ‘plane a little late this year, so you’ll get your allowance in the next couple of days, and we’ll schedule a trip so you can shop for what you need. Don’t worry, you’ll survive. Anyone else have a question?”
A boy shouted from the back, not bothering to raise his hand. “What’s gonna be in our dorms?”
“I’m glad you asked,” the woman replied. “Basic toiletries, utensils, simple furnishings, a pre-planned wardrobe, that sort of thing. There’s a lot more information actually in your dorm rooms. Bottom line, you can survive without buying anything for a couple days. So,” she smacked her pen on the clipboard back and forth, “no worries.”
My mind started racing, I wanted to be sure I’d gone though everything I needed. A gift for my new team mates!? What about food? What if I didn’t like the food in my dorm? What if I didn’t like any of it? My chest felt like it was vibrating. All the other students stood up with their suitcases, standing in single file. One boy across from me had a single plastic bag, nothing more. How could he be prepared for one of the world’s largest, most active cities? Others had clearly overpacked, some had three suitcases, one or two had even more. I tried to reach my suitcase, but as usual my arms fell short.
“Want me to get that for you?” Jake teased, as I reached up on my tip toes.
“No! I can do it!.” I insisted. My fingertips brushed the bag, but couldn’t reach the handle. Jake ignored me, and used his extra inches to reach up and put it in front of me. It wasn’t huge, but it was quite big, it held all my jackets and cardigans, the necessities of life. I needed something between me and the rest of the world, like that second layer of clothing was armor. I knew we were supposed to wear what they picked out for us, but I never was crazy about being told what to wear, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all with the years.
I clambered off the plane with Jake, directly behind the boy with three suitcases, watching him try to pull them all along. The boy with the supermarket bag pushed past him, and all the other students, sick of waiting, did the same. I’d almost decided to follow when I remembered where I was. I didn’t plan to start by ignoring someone in need. What sort of hero would that make me? I picked up my luggage and walked over. “Can I help?” I asked.
“I’ve got it!” he growled at me, like I’d wounded his pride.
“I’m trying to help!”
“Like you could.”
Jake pulled me back and shook his head. “Calm down.” A scream of frustration came from behind me as Jake steered me away. My heart sped up. I could hear the other students, shouting with excitement. I took a deep breath and stepped into the terminal, determined to keep a straight face in case this was the first time the cameras caught me. I planned to keep a low profile, play an extra on the show, but still I had to have a profile, a picture, maybe a coaster with my face on it.
All the willpower that kept my face straight faded in an instant. The ceiling must have been four or five stories above me. Palm trees decorated the mind bogglingly large room. Thousands of people were coming and going, shops lined every wall, six or seven escalators were going up and down. Glass elevators sped upwards to far-away floors, and in the center of it all stood a huge neon sign bearing the single word ‘Welcome!’
The boy from earlier pushed past while I was frozen in place. The barricades in place for us split off. Stewards checked things over, and began to give directions.
“All handlers this way!”
Jake looked at me and pulled me into a hug that was over in seconds. “Good luck Day.” I pulled him into another hug, but still, I had barely any time to wrap my arms around him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, you’ll be fine, okay?” he said it like a command, an order not to fall apart, like he wasn’t nervous at all.
I nodded like I wasn’t scared. He was a handler, I was a hero and the stewards were waiting to take him away. I thought Jake would make a great handler, he’d always wanted to be a hero, but had never developed any powers of his own. Being a handler was his way of being involved. Giving advice to heroes as they fight, being a hero’s structure and support. Jake was a great friend, and he’d have been an even better handler.
The woman with the clip-board and booming voice pointed a firm finger at me, and motioned me over, then she held up her hand demanding silence. I took a moment to study her features. The mole by the side of her mouth, gave her authority and presence, like a star from a vintage movie, but her unwashed hair and battered jacket told a different story. It looked like she’d been working for longer than was ethical, but in that case so did everyone else. Like the woman with the clipboard they all had an earpiece in place and their clothes were much the same.
“We have your names, ages, and powers,” the woman told us, “we need you to walk in single file in front of the camera and then, you’ll be evaluated, you’ll be introduced on stage for the first episode, and once we come to the Super Structure, you’ll have a few moments to mingle with working heroes before your tour, and finally, room assignments. Then, I promise, we’ll let you go. Okay?” She turned away, and then stopped, looking back. “I should have mentioned. I’m Veronica Lagar, I’m the senior producer for the 2005 season. Let’s get started.”
Hero High had a tradition of going through each student in the first episode of a new season, even if it meant using a ten minute time slot. I did not want to be on TV, but I knew there’d be no getting round it. We all stood in a line and tried to walk naturally towards the exit, trailing our suitcases behind us. I was pretty sure as the camera panned over me that my face was as stern and uninviting as possible. My bitch face would go down in one of two possible ways. One, they would ignore me, or two, they’d wonder why I looked so angry, and forever I’d be the creepy girl in the corner.
Veronica Lagar herded us out. She led us past the expensive shops while various privileged by-standers turned their heads. Every time we passed a café, I had to hold myself back. I wanted to charge in there and demand their largest doughnut. I was so hungry I’d have eaten anything, but the one shop that stood out was the chocolatiers. Other students in other years had the time to stop there, but not us. I’d never seen anything so delicious looking back home, but, I had to let it go.
The doors of the terminal opened and the cold wind rushed in. A line of photographers braved the cold September night, trying to catch the new students at Hero High. People behind them waved a sign, and screamed for autographs. It seemed so pointless. They had no idea who we were but it made no difference, the city was so alive.
Vertical walls of glass reflected the brake lights of the cars like a street after the rain. Never had I heard such a mix of noises; cars running past, taxis honking at each other, students shouting and chatting, the wind, the photographers screaming. The buildings were so tall, so far above me, brightly lit in blue, pink, and purple lights, or sculpted into hard metal lines like a work of modern art. I’d never felt so lost.
We hurried onto double decker busses that waited by the curb. The inside was laid out much like the ‘plane with bright pinks and blues, large leather chairs, and candy bars reminiscent of a dream I had not too long ago. I took a seat next to a girl with a sneer.
As the busses pulled out, Veronica stood up and took out a microphone. “Once we get there, the very first thing you’ll be doing is team assignments, and mandatory, that
’s mandatory powers tests.” Everyone on the bus groaned in response. “I know you’ve already done it, but now you have to go through it for the cameras. That’s just how it is.”
We’d already done a power test when we submitted our applications. I could barely prove I had a power, it only ever came in handy when solving a problem or taking a test. In the end I’d passed because I could solve a pile of algebra problems in what to the judges seemed like the time it took me to read the questions. As Veronica sat back down, I tried to clear my mind, and focus on the buildings rushing past my window. I wanted to vomit, but being sick on television didn’t seem like an option. If I was lucky I’d be one of those that didn’t make it into the show. I’d have to make myself as boring as possible, something I didn’t think would be difficult. The sights of the city pulled me away from my nerves for a while, but the journey didn’t take long. In no more than fifteen minutes we’d reached our destination, Super Structure; the home of Hero High.
The square outside the Structure was littered with people clapping and waving and holding welcome signs. The busses stopped behind the Power League stadium, and we all got off one by one. Across the square, the Super Structure was strangely shaped, but it was also one of the largest buildings in the city. It looked like a narrow archway, built from two separate skyscrapers that joined only at the top. The shorter building on the left was for the students, with classrooms, dorms and gift shops for fans. The taller of the two, the building on the right, was the realm of real superheroes. There they monitored villains, produced new tech, and supervised superhero missions. A small sphere sat between the two towers, like the pin in a clock while the pathways that held it in place mimicked the hands.