BRRRRIIIINNNNNGGGGG!!!!!
"Izzat fuh you?"
"No. It's too early. Today hasn't started yet."
"It'sh shix-firty. Who callin' us now?"
Chris Donnelly opened one sleepy eye and looked at the loud noisemaker masquerading as a telephone next to the bed. Fumbling with it, he grabbed the receiver and maneuvered it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Donnelly? It's Tom Peterson, principal at Westmount Collegiate. We need a substitute today for our history teacher. She's had a death in the family, and she'll be away for a few days. Can you be here for eight o'clock?"
Chris' eyes snapped open and he rolled out of bed. "Yes, of course!" He grabbed a pencil and notepad. "What's the address?"
Writing it down quickly, he thanked the principal and hung up. "I've got something, hon," he said to the rumpled form on the bed. "Might be a whole week!"
"That's nice, Chris," yawned the form.
"Can we go back to sleep now?"
"Can't. Gotta get ready," he said, stretching until he heard a soft crack in his lower back. "I don't want to make a bad impression on the first day, do I? I've got to show these people I can do the job. I mean, I've got to get steady work, right, Steph?"
"Oh, alright," muttered Stephanie, rolling over. "Just let me get a few more minutes."
Chris hopped in the shower and turned the hot tap to full blast. He let the scalding water run over him, completely unbothered by the heat. Of all the abilities he had, he reflected, this one was the only one that stayed when he went 'normal'. And the least helpful; a hot shower would be nice if he could feel it.
He got dressed while Stephanie crawled into the shower after him. She came out just as he finished dressing, a frown on her face. "You're really not helping the water bill, you know. You can't feel it anyway, so why turn it up?"
"If it's too low it feels like a cold shower." He looked out at the early morning sunlight slowly peeking out over the eastern horizon. "Sometimes I wish it would burn me. At least then I'd feel it."
Stephanie came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. "I know, Chris. But there's nothing we can do about it. It's just the way things are now."
"Yeah." They stood in silence for a few moments. "Steph?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"You soaked my shirt."
"Mm-hmm."
"You wanted me to wear a different one, right?"
"Mm-hmm."
After a quick breakfast of toast and cereal, Chris grabbed a few materials for his class. As his briefcase lay open, he stared at it for a few moments. "Steph, should I bring it?"
"Bring what, hon?" she asked, putting her sneakers on.
"The costume."
Stephanie stopped and stood up. "I don't know. Should you?"
He hesitated. "If I'm really going to do this and be serious about it, I guess I should have it handy, shouldn't I?"
"But in your briefcase? What about something a little less open?"
"Like what? My back pocket? That only works in comic books. This outfit's too big."
"What about keeping it in the trunk of the car? Or even under the front seat? It's nearby, but out of the way too."
Chris thought about it. "That might work," he agreed. "You're too smart, Steph. Maybe I should marry you."
"Good idea. How about next summer?"
"I think I can fit it in then. Back home?"
"Montana is nice that time of year."
"It's a date, then."
"Good." She held him closer than before, and kissed him soundly. "Now let's get out of here before you're late."
They got in the Honda at quarter after seven, and Chris drove his fiancee to work. She didn't need the car in the lab at Duchess Industries, and he would be picking up some more groceries after his first day at the new school.
"It's good to get in a bit early, anyway," she said as they drove along the highway. "I've got a lot to do today. Mr. Esteban had a major snit fit Friday because our results were 'inadequate and slow'. We've got to do a full slate by five o'clock."
"Well, I should be at home by four-thirty or so, so call me when you finish up."
"What's for supper?"
"I don't know. Where are the coupons?"
She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a stack of coupons. She leafed through them, her mouth upturned.
"No more Kraft Dinner, please. I've had enough of that for a few years."
"How about a celebratory dinner? My first job lasting more than two days deserves something like that."
"Sounds good. What do you have in mind?"
"Baked chicken with scalloped potatoes and a bottle of wine?"
She smiled at him. "Sounds exquisite. Can we afford it?"
"Well, I should pull in about three-fifty if I work the whole week. I think we can splurge a little."
They pulled into the Duchess Industries parking lot at seven-thirty. Kissing Chris goodbye, Stephanie went inside to the biophysics lab. Checking his watch, Chris drove back onto the main road and headed toward eastern San Francisco.
Westmount Collegiate was a large school of twenty-five hundred students. The staff parking lot was almost as long as the street Chris lived on, and it was a long walk to the front doors. The few students in the yard looked him over as he walked by, but he ignored them. Wolves, he thought. Don't let them smell fear. I can bench press four hundred tons; I can handle thirty teenagers. No problem. Really.
The main entrance was the size of a hotel lobby. Chris looked around, trying not to look like a tourist. On the right hand side was a deceptively friendly sign that said, "Main Office." Chris boldly stepped inside.
"Can I help you?" asked the small oriental woman behind the desk.
"Um, yes. My name is Chris Donnelly. I'm the substitute history teacher. Is Mr. Peterson around?"
"Through that door, Mr. Donnelly. And welcome to Westmount."
"Thanks. Hope I enjoy my stay."
Tom Peterson was a small, wiry man with horn-rimmed glasses and a neatly pressed suit. "Ah, Donnelly. Good to meet you. Jeff Fesser at the Board recommended you. Said you really knew your stuff."
"Well, I've tried to keep up with it."
Peterson laughed, and Chris decided it was indeed a friendly laugh. "Well, let's get you organized, shall we? You've got half an hour before first period, so let's get busy."
"Well, I wanted to go over the lesson plan with you. What exactly am I teaching?"
"Hm." Peterson looked over a file on his impeccably clean desk. "First period is Grade 9 American History; they're supposed to be doing the American Revolution. Second period is the senior Civil War class. They're working on First Bull Run."
"Sounds simple enough."
"Third period is Grade 10 Twentieth-Century history." He looked up at Chris. "How's your Nazi Germany?"
Chris made a face. "Not my favorite."
"Do you know it?"
Chris nodded. "I studied it in my fourth year."
"Well, the topic this week is, 'Nazi Germany and the Ubermensch programs.'"
Chris blinked. "You mean their super-soldiers?"
Peterson nodded. "There's material available if you need it."
"I'll take a look at it when I have a minute."
"Okay. After that you get to eat. Cafeteria food is twenty-five percent off for teachers. It's not a bad bargain. Then you've got senior Ancient Civilizations, and they're doing Greece."
"Not a problem. Is there a mythological aspect to the course?"
"Some, but its mostly factual. Last period is Grade 11 Modern History issues. That's late twentieth century, post Korean war. They're doing some work on the early space program."
"That should be fun."
"Well, you'd better get hopping. I'll show you the rooms, and you can get yourself organized."
The room was empty. That wouldn't last, though.
Any minute a horde of teenagers would pour through the door and spend the
next hour ignoring him. It was a challenge he felt he was up to, right
up until the bell rang. The butterflies started fluttering.
The door opened, and several young people made their way into the room, taking whatever seat suited their fancy. Chris looked them over, hoping to get a feel for their mood. It wasn't too bad, he decided. Maybe this would go better than he had feared.
"Good morning, everyone. My name is Mr. Donnelly, and I'll be your teacher for the next few days. Mrs. Sanderson was called away suddenly, so I'll try to fill her shoes for a while."
Silence. So far, so good.
"Alright, let's get right to it. I'll learn your names as we go; it's easier that way, and not as boring as reading them off one at a time."
He looked at the textbook and lesson plan. "Okay. Who can tell me three of the causes of the Revolutionary War?"
Two students put up their hands. He pointed at one, a dark-haired girl with a blue top and jeans. "Yes, Miss...?"
"Martina Veccini," she said. "The Boston Tea Party?"
"Okay, but the Tea Party was more of a symptom than a cause. What was the underlying problem that resulted in the Tea Party?"
BBBBRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGGG!!!!!
"Okay, that's it for today. Tomorrow we'll be looking at how German scientific advances gave them the edge over the Allies in both military and super-man fields. We'll also take a look at the first appearance of the American super-soldier, and do some comparing between American Weapon and Germany's Valkyrie."
As the class filed out, Chris sat down in his chair. When the last students were out, he rubbed his eyes and temples. Halfway done, but the headache was just about ready to bite him. Fortunately, the remedy was in the car: lunch.
He walked out of the impressive building and back down to the end of the staff parking lot. He had forgotten to bring his lunch inside, but the weather was cool and his sandwich would probably be fine. He took his lunch bag out of the back seat, and closed the door.
Then he heard the explosion.
Whipping around, he saw, several blocks away, a column of smoke rising above the rooftops. He looked around; everyone in the schoolyard was pointing and rushing in that direction. No one was watching him.
Time to go to work.
He stood a few meters away from the car, undid his shirt, and concentrated. He felt the heat deep inside his body, slowly rising to a raging fire that boiled away his humanity. He felt his body swell, containing the vast energies inside.
Within seconds he had the car opened, and quickly changed clothes. The red 'C' enblazoned on his chest was matched by his boots and cape. Quickly slipping the mask over his face, he glanced at his reflection in the glass. The Comet glanced back, ready for action.
With a thought he rose into the air, accelerating to gain altitude. When he was high enough to escape casual notice, he saw the source of the smoke: a four-alarm fire at a nearby warehouse. The fire department was still a few miles away, but they would be there within minutes.
The fire would have spread to nearby buildings before then.
His cape ruffling in the wind, the Comet flew toward the warehouse. The first priority was to contain the blaze. The second...
His super-sensitive ears picked up the sound of human terror inside. He revised his priorities. First he'd get everyone out of there, then he'd contain the blaze.
He landed outside the building just in time to spot a news crew from KTVU Channel 2 in Oakland arrive. How did the media get to these things before the emergency crews, he wondered. He saw the camera crew pushing through the crowd, and decided to get out before they cornered him.
"It's alright, folks, just stand back and stay away from falling cinders," he said in his most commanding voice. "Let the emergency crews get through." With that he turned toward the burning building and jumped to the second-floor window.
"Hey, you in the cape!" shouted the reporter. "Can you answer a few questions?"
He ignored her; what kind of an idiot question was that? There were people inside! He pushed through the weakened glass. The fire blazed furiously, but it was nothing more than a small campfire to him. He tried to spot the people, but his heat vision was more than useless in this inferno. He concentrated, and absorbed some of the flames into himself. The blaze dimmed slightly, but it wasn't enough. Not yet, anyway.
Moving carefully so as not to dislodge anything weakened by the heat, he made his way through the offices on the second floor. He found two people coughing badly in one office, and wrapped them in his fire-proof cape. He picked them up like rag dolls and made a hole in the nearest wall. The smoke was thick, but he could easily hold his breath and ignore its effects. The office workers weren't so lucky, however. He carried them out through the hole he had made, and flew them down to the paramedics who had arrived on the scene. The reporters tried to push their way toward him.
"There are a few more in there," said the Comet. "I'll be back in a minute." Without waiting for a response, he took his cape, turned back and flew into the warehouse. He found five more people and carried them out. All had inhaled smoke, but only one was seriously injured with third-degree burns.
When everyone was safely outside, the fire crews turned up the water pressure and went at the blaze with everything they had. The Comet assisted them as best he could, drawing large amounts of heat into his body and releasing it upwards to dissipate harmlessly in the atmosphere.
Within fifteen minutes the blaze was under control, and the crowd cheered. The Comet landed, his costume slightly sooty but otherwise intact. He went to check on the injured workers, but was intercepted by the cameras that finally caught up to him. The blonde reporter shoved a microphone in his face.
"Angela Tremblay, KTVU News. How did you arrive on the scene so fast? Are you a member of the Golden Gate Guardians? How long have you been in San Francisco? Do you plan to stay here for good? Are you the same man who fought Firewing in San Diego last month?"
"Please, Ms. Tremblay," interrupted the Comet. "No, I'm not with the Golden Gate Guardians. I was just in the neighborhood. Yes, I fought Firewing, but it wasn't much of a fight."
"Do you call yourself the Comet? Or does that 'C' stand for something else?"
"No, you had it right the first time. You can call me the Comet."
"Can you tell us how you got these incredible powers?"
"Not right now, I'm afraid. I'm just glad I have them, and that I was able to use hem today for a good cause. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"One more question! Do you have anything to say to the people watching?"
He hesitated for a moment. "Yes. If I can be of help again, I'll do my best. I believe that's what superpowers are for. But don't forget the others who risked their lives, the firefighters. They're heroes, much more than I am. And thank the paramedics who saved lives. Without them, I wouldn't have been much good." He hesitated again. "That's all I have to say, Ms. Tremblay. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to leave."
Before she could protest, he took off, waving to the crowd below. As he flew off, he picked up the sound of Angela Tremblay speaking to the camera: "And so, yet another caped crusader graces the Bay Area. Having saved seven lives and nearly single-handedly put out a raging fire at the Veccini Plastics warehouse, the Comet flew off to parts unknown. Where will he appear next? And what can we expect from this newest star on the San Francisco superscene? For Channel 2, I'm Angela Tremblay."
At top speed, the Comet returned to the back of the school parking lot without being spotted. He changed as quickly as he could, stuffing the smelly uniform back under the car seat. His own transformation back to his non-powered form eliminated the smell from himself, and Chris dressed and went back into the school, carrying his lunch.
At the end of the school day, Chris went back to Mr. Peterson's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, Donnelly. I understand you went out of the building over lunch. You were gone quite some time."
"I had to get my lunch out of the car; I forgot it this morning."
"And does it normally take forty minutes to get across the parking lot and back?"
Chris thought quickly. "Well, I saw the explosion and went to see what was going on. I didn't get there in time to see much, though. Everything was over by the time I saw it."
"I see. Well, apparently there's another superhero in the city. Let's see if this one's any better than the rest."
"I take it, then, that you don't think much of superheroes, Mr. Peterson?"
Peterson looked down at his desk and sat down. "Well, Donnelly, try not to take too long on your lunch, alright? It's hard enough keeping these kids in class without teachers playing hooky."
"Mr. Peterson, I'd never-"
"It's alright, Donnelly. We'll see you tomorrow."
The drive home wasn't too pleasant with the smoky costume perfuming the interior. But what else could he have done? He pulled into the store parking lot and picked up some groceries, including the bottle of wine and some car fresheners. If this was going to be a habit, he realized, he had better take some precautions. This would have to do for now, but he'd have to think of something else.
He got home at four-thirty and began to prepare dinner. With Stephanie working, it was up to him to keep the house reasonably clean; she was bringing home the bacon, so he made sure he did his share. At quarter after five Stephanie called.
"Hi, hon. I'm just about done. Pick me up in twenty, okay?"
"I'll put the potatoes in the oven first. I'll be there."
"Does the car still stink?"
He started. "What? How did you know?"
"Please. How do you think? We'll talk about it after."
"Right." He hung up the phone, shaking his head. She was smart, all right.
Twenty minutes later Stephanie got in the passenger side, her nose immediately wrinkling. "Phew! Smells like barbecued skunk!"
"It was a plastics warehouse. How did you hear about it?"
"News bulletin on Channel 2 over lunch. She sure seemed to take an interest in you."
"Oh, great. Just what I need. A Comet-groupie on my first day."
"I hope not, for her sake. I'm the only groupie you're allowed to have."
"That's more than enough for me. So, how was your day?"
"Not bad. We got a lot of work done. It's weird, though. It's almost as if we're being pushed to certain results. I'm not sure about some of these tests, but we don't have a lot of leeway."
"Can you talk about it?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. They're keeping a tight lid on our work."
When they got home, Chris put the chicken in the oven along with the potatoes. "Dinner in twenty minutes, Steph."
"Have you showered?"
"The stink goes away when I change back to myself."
"That's handy."
"It saved me some explaining at the school."
"I liked your speech on the TV," she said. "They ignored most of it, of course. I'm sure you had more to say than, 'I'm glad I was able to help.'"
"That's it? What about the rest of it? About the firefighters and paramedics?"
"Maybe they'll put it on the six o'clock."
"Yeah, sure. Maybe they'll reveal who was on the grassy knoll, too."
Dinner wasn't ready when the news started, and they watched the top story of the day. "Nice camera angles," noted Chris. "The cape looks good, doesn't it?"
"Very spiffy. I like what you did with the cape, though. It was tough enough to handle that heat?"
"You said it would handle anything short of a blast furnace."
"That was hotter than a blast furnace, I think."
"I couldn't tell."
As with the earlier bulletin, the Comet's speech was cut short by several sentences. Ms. Tremblay's closing comments received better air time, along with several voice overs as the camera watched the Comet absorb the huge flames.
"Well, not a bad San Francisco debut," said Chris.
"I liked it," agreed Stephanie. "I'm glad you're doing this," she added, looking him in the eyes. "I'm so proud of you."
"Hey, I couldn't do it without you." They snuggled together on the couch, watching the news until the oven signaled that dinner was ready.