Neutrinoman & Lightningirl: A Love Story, Season 1 (Episodes 1 - 3)

by Robert J. McCarter

  Neutrinoman & Lightningirl

  A Love Story

  Season 1 (Episodes 1-3)

  Meteor Attack!

  Toxic Asset

  Protocol X

  Robert J. McCarter

  Little Hummingbird Publishing

  Flagstaff, AZ

  Preface to Season 1

  What you are holding in your hands brings me so much joy. This book is an eclectic mixture of an old fashioned pulpy adventure mashed up with a love story, a dash of humor, and a ton of heart. There’s a couple tag lines that I think sums it up perfectly:

  Falling in love and saving the world

  Love, the greatest superpower

  What a writer writes says a lot about them, and I’ll clue you on what this series say about me. I love big mythic adventures. I adore love stories, especially those that go past “happily ever after.” I have a goofy sense of humor, and while I like my stories to have depth and meaning, I am dedicated to them being fun. It also tells you that I am a happily married man whose wife has graced his life for twenty-five years—so I am lucky enough to know what it’s like to live a love story that spans decades (like the one told here).

  I always envisioned packaging up these episodes into novel-length seasons. And in your hands, you hold the first three episodes: Meteor Attack!, Toxic Asset, and Protocol X. The entire story will take around twelve to fifteen episodes and three to four seasons to tell, but this is the perfect start. It’s a first-person superhero story written for adults full of heroes and villains, aliens and mystery, love and what it is to be human. 450 pages of fun.

  So onward! Enjoy watching Nik and Licia (aka Neutrinoman and Lightningirl) fall in love while trying to save the world as they discover that love is indeed the greatest superpower.

  Robert J. McCarter

  January, 2015

  Flagstaff, Arizona

  Meteor Attack!

  Neutrinoman and Lightningirl: A Love Story, Episode 1

  Dedicated to my beautiful wife Aleia. I always wanted to experience a great and epic love, and with her I have just that. Our twenty-plus years together have been all that I could have hoped for and more.

  Prologue

  Spring 2025, Casita de Soledad, Central Arizona

  “So?” I asked her, my eyes taunting her, daring her. “Where should I start?”

  Her brown eyes wandered before meeting mine, her shoulders shrugging as she said, “Well, if you must do this, start at the most important part.”

  We stood in the living room of our little adobe casita, the high-desert sunset bathing her beautiful face in golden light. After all these years I was a happy man just staring at her.

  “The origin story?” I said. “How we became superheroes? That’s it. How it really all began, not the PR-scrubbed version that everyone knows.”

  She shook her head, her long black hair gliding back and forth across her shoulders. “No, no. Those stories are good and heroic, and close enough. Everyone knows them, start at the most important part.”

  I had the feeling I was being tested. It wasn’t the first time she made me feel that way (not by a long shot), nor the last.

  “Uhh,” I said, my index finger pointing heavenward. “The climactic battle when we defeated the Arcturian Alliance, and then go backwards from there. That is—”

  “Not the most important part,” she said, cutting me off. She walked over, her hand resting gently on my chest, the yellow and white tendrils of energy arcing back and forth as our bodies did their dance. I felt the electrical tingle I had felt since the first time we had touched. It still thrilled me each and every time.

  I nodded my head and smiled, she followed suit. “The most important part is…” I began, watching her right eyebrow arch. “The most important part is… it’s…” Suddenly I knew what it was and I knew what kind of story I was going to write. “It’s when we met,” I said with a smile.

  She smiled wide and full, rewarding me with the grace of her pleasure. “That’s my man, my Neutrinoman,” she said, invoking an old ritual between us.

  “That’s my girl, my Lightningirl,” I replied, sweeping her up into my arms, feeling electricity course through me as I carried her towards the bedroom. She giggled a girlish giggle, and my writing was forgotten for the day.

  Before that moment I knew this was a story of superheroes and cataclysmic events, a story of aliens and war, of change and human fallibility. But that one moment with her, with my love, made it clear that this was to be—first and foremost—a love story.

  Chapter 1

  The Setup

  Fall 2004, Buckeye, Arizona

  My name is Nik Nichols and I am Neutrinoman. You know: mild-mannered janitor at the Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station by day, Neutrinoman by night. Radiating our way to a better tomorrow.

  Her name is Licia Lopez and she is Lightningirl. I know. I know. Why is the male superhero a “man” and the female superhero a “girl”? I asked her about it once and she said, “Yeah, I used to hate it, but now that I am over thirty, I kinda like it, actually.”

  Where was I… Oh yeah… She is Lightningirl: mild-mannered Arizona Public Service (APS) lineman (line-woman as she calls it) by day, Lightningirl by night. Electrifying our lives.

  You’ve heard how it all happened, on that full moon day in 2003 when the world was awash in cosmic rays. When the accident at Palo Verde occurred and I went into the reactor and opened the stuck valve on the emergency cooling system, exposing me to a deadly dose of radiation. And how, as I lay there dying, that golden-hued, neutrino-mutated rat took a big bite out of my leg, and with help from the cosmic rays, mutated my DNA and turned me into: Neutrinoman.

  And you’ve heard how on that same fateful day she was repairing high-tension power lines near Flagstaff, trying to restore power to half of Arizona, when she was struck by lightning and thrown onto an open transformer. How, as she lay there dying, the mutated raven pecked on her hand, and with help from the cosmic rays, transformed her DNA and turned her into: Lightningirl.

  Well, there are some things that need to be set straight. The origin stories, considering the PR machine they went through, are close enough. But there are some parts of our stories that have never been told, some wrongs that need to be righted, and there are some details you just won’t believe. And now that we are both retired, and out of the game, I can tell you. Finally.

  How, before the public knew very much about us, how Lightningirl and Neutrinoman met, and fell in love, and—

  But I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

  It all began in Buckeye, Arizona, at my parents’ house about one year after the accident. I was still working as a janitor at Palo Verde and not making very much money. I was living at home, and my mom had invited some friends from Flagstaff over for dinner. The Lopez family. I suspected a setup; my mom was always doing that.

  “A setup, what do you mean a setup?” she asked when I casually brought it up. I was setting the dining room table—the good china was out—while she was in the kitchen, with her head in the oven, poking at the roast.

  “The Lopezes have a daughter, right? And she is about thirty, about my age, right?” Mom hmmm-hmmmed from the oven. “And she is single, right?”

  Her head out of the oven, she said, “So what is so wrong with that? I can’t invite friends over for dinner that happen to have a single daughter your age?”

  “And how well do you know them?”

  “We sat next to them at the Cardinals game last month.”

  “So not at all, then,” I said.


  “They seemed so nice, no harm in getting to know them.”

  “It’s a setup, Mom, why can’t you just admit that?”

  She came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, and placed her left hand on my chest. “I just want to see my son happy. All these years since that Ashley girl broke your heart and here you are still single.”

  My jaw bunched at the mention of Ashley, but I didn’t say anything. I looked at her. She had blond hair this year in waves down to her shoulders. She was plump and matronly in her early fifties with plenty of makeup on. The new hair color still threw me, but her brown eyes were as deep and as kind as ever. The same brown eyes I had, the same brown eyes that had first caught Ashley’s attention. She meant well, she always meant well, it was just complicated.

  “Mom, I am not in a good position for a relationship right now. Since the accident, I—”

  “I am so tired of hearing about that accident. My boy, he talks to the president, but can’t tell anyone what amazing things he does. All the lives he saves. Well, if Mister President ever comes over for dinner, I’ll have a thing or two to—”

  The doorbell rang, cutting her off. “Al,” she yelled to my father, “it’s the Lopezes. Can you get that?” She turned back to me, fooled with my collar, and said, “You look handsome, Nik. She’s a nice girl. I think you’ll like her.”

  I frowned at her. The last thing I wanted was romantic complications.

  “Just give it a chance,” she said with a smile. “For your mother.”

  ~~~

  I guess, strictly speaking, I didn’t have to live at home. And I’m not sure if that makes it more or less lame. It’s clichéd (a thirty-year-old man living at home) and I know it, but you know what? I have great parents, and I had a great childhood. I don’t have horrible traumas in my past to explain it or deep psychological scars to fall back on. At that point in my life, it made more sense to save what money I could and live with them instead of saving no money and living in a crap apartment.

  I know, I know. Thirty and a janitor. Well, believe me, I didn’t plan for it to go that way. I just wasn’t one of those driven people. I never felt the need to change the world, or prove myself, or any of that. I made it through college and just kind of floated. I could certainly have gotten a better job than janitor, but I was working at Palo Verde because I wanted to. I would have taken something else, but that was the first job I could land that got me in the door.

  What can I say? I was curious about the power plant and wanted to learn about it and see the inside. So I figured out a way to do that and get paid at the same time.

  It was kind of a pain back then, though. You wouldn’t think Neutrinoman would still need to hold down a day job, but the Feds wanted to keep things quiet. That, and my need to have access to the radiation, kept me there.

  And I guess me being Neutrinoman is the crux of it. I wasn’t living at home at the time of the accident, but after it happened I moved back home. Mom and Dad know about what happened to me, and I have found that I need people around me who know the truth. I just can’t keep a secret like that all the time.

  So, yeah, I’m sure it looked lame, but it was the best thing for me.

  ~~~

  Licia Lopez was a petite Latina, with moderate curves, a round face, jet black hair, and soft brown eyes. I can’t say I could argue with my mother’s taste, in this case.

  I carefully shook hands with Elena and John Lopez first. I took great care, as I always did, when making physical contact to ensure that I was fully in my biological form. Elena’s hand was small and soft, her grip light. John’s hand was calloused and his grip strong.

  “And this is our daughter Licia,” John said with a Mexican accent his daughter did not share. I reached out and took her hand, shaking it, and felt an electrical shock.

  “Ow!” I said, rather involuntarily.

  She pulled her hand back when I did, looking at it like she felt something too. “I’m sorry,” Licia said, “I am just a magnet for static electricity.”

  I smiled, but something wasn’t right. She had just shaken both of my parents’ hands and there hadn’t been any shocks. Something was going on.

  ~~~

  After we had eaten, everyone was chatting in the living room, the fathers were discussing sports, and the mothers were discussing—well, I don’t know what they were discussing, I couldn’t follow it. I do know it involved shoes.

  I hadn’t gotten much out of Licia. She worked for APS as a linewoman, lived in Flagstaff, and was a rock climber. She was very restrained in her answers, but not in a shy way.

  Anyway, after we had all eaten, I went back to the adjoining dining room and started gathering plates up.

  “I’ll help,” Licia said, grabbing an armload of plates like a pro.

  “You’ve done this before,” I said in the kitchen.

  “Waitress.”

  I nodded. I put everything in the sink, poked my head out and saw the folks were deep in conversation. Licia was going back for more when I whispered, “Hold up.”

  She threw me a questioning look so I said, “Let the older generation bond. Besides, I have a question for you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, “Okay, what is it?”

  “Umm… this is going to sound weird.” She just stared. “Do you mind if we shake hands again?”

  “It was nothing. I told you I have static electricity problems.” Her downcast brown eyes were avoiding mine as she turned to go.

  “Please.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “I… I can’t say, not yet.”

  She turned around again, and I reached out a finger to touch her exposed arm.

  As my finger approached, I saw blue-white sparks arc from her skin to my finger while yellow sparks flew from my skin to hers. She spun around, breaking the near contact, her eyes wild.

  “Don’t touch me. Ever.”

  Chapter 2

  Dads and Dates

  Fall 2004, Buckeye, Arizona

  You know how in those sappy romances the soon to be lovers always describe their first touch as “electric”? Well, I never expected it to be literally electric. I saw the spark of electricity travel from her to me. I saw my own body react. I felt the energy travel up my arm. It was real. I felt it, and I know she felt it too.

  I didn’t know what to make of it. The sensation wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I longed to experience it again.

  Now, you’re a savvy reader. You know who she is. But at the time, I had no clue. All I knew was that I had just met a beautiful woman that affected me physically in a way I had never experienced before.

  “You’re awfully quiet, son,” Mom said. We all sat in the living room reading. Our nineteen-sixties era ranch-style house is mostly my mother’s domain. The living room has lots of figurines and doilies, shag carpet in shades of brown far past its prime, a couch and two La-Z-Boys, and reproductions of serine Thomas Kinkade style landscapes.

  Dad was scouring a catalog of vintage car parts. Mom was reading The Da Vinci Code. And I was pretending to read a textbook on nuclear physics.

  “Umm—” I began.

  My dad saved me. He got up and said to her, “Can’t you see the boy is thinking?” My dad is just an average guy, kind of like me: brown hair, brown eyes, medium build. Middle age has brought a thinning of his hair up top, some grey, and a bulging around the gut—also quite average.

  In retrospect it is obvious who Licia was, right? Well, that is retrospect for you, not reality; right then and there, I didn’t have a clue.

  After that dinner with the Lopezes, my life continued its normal, and very odd, pattern: working at Palo Verde (very boring) and doing the superhero gig (very exciting). But amidst it all I kept thinking about her.

  After stopping the bank robbery and freeing the hostages at the main Wells Fargo branch, I thought of her. After keeping the Ferris wheel from collapsing and saving hundreds of lives at the Arizona State Fair, I thought o
f her. After emptying the trash and polishing the floors at the Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station, I thought of her. After eating my mom’s meatloaf, I thought of her.

  And this was a bit surprising. There had been girls since Ashley, but it had been casual and I had never been engaged like this. It was getting ridiculous. Seriously. Even my dad noticed, and that’s saying something.

  “Come on, son,” he said after putting his catalog away. “I need some help with the Charger.”

  “Al,” Mom started, “no use of powers. You know the rules.”

  “Of course not,” he answered, grinning at me.

  He led me out to the double garage, which held his prized possession: a black, 1972 Dodge Charger. He was “restoring” it. Actually, he had been restoring it since I was ten. It was not clear to any of us (I think Dad included) why it was taking so long.

  The garage is my father’s domain. It’s neat as a pin, full of tools, everything clean and orderly. My dad was an accountant, but he tinkered with cars on the weekends. He had this white-collar side (work and making money) and this blue-collar side (cars, football, Coors beer, and Bruce Springsteen).

  “I need a weld,” he said. “The metal is starting to crack around the driver’s-side door hinge. It’s gonna break eventually.”

  I nodded and went over to look. The garage was brutally hot (but only brutally, it was fall in the Valley of the Sun, after all). Dad cracked the garage door and moved the portable air conditioner in place to blow on us. He also clipped a light to the door and rigged it to shine on the hinge.

  It was a hairline crack running the length of one side of the hinge. I took a deep breath and concentrated on the tip of my right index finger, willing it—and just it—to go neutrino. Slowly my flesh transformed into the pulsing, glowing yellow of my neutrino form.

  While I did my transformation, Dad put some blocks under the open car door, taking the weight off it.

  This was harder than a complete transformation, but safer for everyone, and everything, around me. Once the tip of my finger was a bright yellow, like the sun, with swirls and motes running through it, Dad handed me a thin dowel of steel.