I:
At 40,000 feet, everyone is deaf. The only sound that penetrates is the constant roar of the wind, which is felt more than heard. And it drowns out all lesser noises, such as conversation or the sound of a phone ringing. There are solutions to these technical problems, of course. For the former, you can talk by a media other than sound. Any of the many sorts of telepathy will suffice. Alternatively, you can exercise other powers, such as "super-ventriloquism" or use the same increased lung capacity that allows breathing at such heights to raise the decibels of your voice so that it drowns out the wind.
Will Freeman preferred a technological solution, which was one of the many contradictions of his life. He set his phone to vibrate, and had invested in specialized gear that turned incoming signals into text that scrolled across the bottom of his goggles, and a tongue switch that let him pick out the words that a voice synthesizer would transmit as a reply.
One of the other contradictions of his life was that, despite his love of the stage, he cherished his days off. The new revival of "It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's Superman", in which he was the first understudy for the title role, was on hiatus pending the resolution of a contract dispute involving the actors who played Elaine Louis and Arthur Lexington. So rather than sit back and watch the battle of egos, he went flying.
And heard God's laughter in his ears.
It was getting on for noon when he felt the vibration of the receiver against his left shoulder. With the wink of his right eye, Will signaled for pick-up.
_Will, it's Rick. How's it goingquestion._
He grinned. _Greatexclamation._
A pause, and then the text scroll resumed. _If I'm not mistaken, that's a synthesized version of your voice. So you finally went and got the gearquestion._
_Yeahexclamation. It works like a dream, just like you said it would. Best idea you've ever had._
_laughter. Well, I can't take the credit. The other you came up with the idea, and I just repeated it in your ear. I think you got it a bit earlier than he did, though._
_Wild. So what's upquestion_
_I'm heading into Opal as we speak. Something is apparently going to happen here. I don't know what, exactly, but I think I'm going to need backup. Are you openquestion._
_Absolutely, man. I'm heading that way already. Just send the signal, and I'll head for your position like a thunderbolt._
_laugh. Appropriate. Thank you._ A beat, and then. _I'm looking forward to seeing you again._
_Of course you areexclamation. See you then._
Will signed off, shaking his head just slightly at the hesitation Rick had shown before that last admission. What was the point of having friends if you couldn't let yourself be happy to see them?
Ah well. He'd learn. Will turned slightly to the northwest, and decided to play with one of the cloud banks in his path to Opal City.
He wanted to dance with the lightning.
II:
Bridwell's, Opal City's most successful department store, had opened early in the twenty-first century and had been expected to fail within months. Large, single-story buildings had been the fashion in American department store architecture for nearly half a century, and everything about Bridwell's had been designed against that fashion. It occupied all ten floors (and basement and sub-basement) of a roughly triangular building near Opal's center, and placed each of its departments on one of the floors. Lady's Wear was on second, Men's Wear was on third, and so on and so forth. It had a greater selection of items in each department than any of its competitors, but the inconvenience of travel between floors had been the expected killer.
What the pundits had never anticipated was that Bridwell's owners would have developed a unique solution to the problem, and constructed an even dozen "bounce tubes" against the rear of the store, using technology devised by one of the store's major investors, Theodore Kord, better known as the Blue Beetle. One stepped into the tube, and then rose or descended on a force field. The spacious tubes allowed quick and easy access to each of Bridwell's floors, and several fail safes existed for safety purposes.
What the pundits could have anticipated was the swelling of a sort of nostalgia for department stores of this sort, which had once been very common in the urban American landscape. It had been predicted in a song written in the 1980s about love (or at least, sex) in an elevator, and in the first decade of the twenty-first century it was in full force. The combination of nostalgia and novelty had made the first Bridwell's a roaring success, and the investors had all made (or remade) their piles from it and subsequent branches in other cities.
In the meantime, the original Bridwell's had also garnered a great deal of public goodwill for its support for various charities, and for its agreement with the Opal City Department of Corrections that gave recently paroled convicts employment in its stockroom - under close supervision, of course. The management could truly boast that it had never once had one of the parolees in the program engage in recidivism while employed there. What generally was not mentioned in the boast was the fact that any "associate" caught violating any store policy was immediately treated as being in violation of the terms of his or her parole, and went back to jail.
All this was probably known to the young, bald woman who was currently having those policies explained to her as part of her "interview". She simply didn't give a rat's ass.
"In short," the personnel director said as he wound up his speech, "if you just do as you're told, and give the job one hundred percent, you'll end up with a host of references and an excellent line on your resume when you complete the terms of your parole. That's an excellent deal, isn't it?"
Diana nodded her head, as that was the response the drone was clearly expecting.
"Now." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "There is a question that I'm not supposed to ask you. It is in fact a violation of your rights for me to ask you the question. You are perfectly within your rights not to answer. However, I must warn you that failure to satisfactorily answer any question asked by any of your supervisors, of which I'm one, is a violation of store policies. So. What was the crime for which you were convicted?"
Gosh, that was easy. "Second degree murder."
The director had probably been expecting something like fraud or theft or, at the extreme, assault. So his mouth hung open while the response he'd had prepared, something along the lines of "there'll be no more of that", went out the window.
"I was genuinely remorseful," she added, sounding much less sincere than she'd sounded at the parole hearing. "And I apologized and was forgiven by the victim's family." That had been easy, since her mother and older brother hadn't bothered to show up at the hearing, and she'd had no problem forgiving herself for what she did to grandpa. None.
She was sorry she hadn't killed him sooner, though.
"I see," the director said, clearly not having seen. "Well. Um. There is one additional point that I'd like to go over. While Bridwell's is a tolerant company, we do have a code of appearance, and I'm afraid that your ... well, hairstyle isn't acceptable. We realize that it was probably a requirement in prison, and that it's probably going to take a while to let it grow out."
It had been a requirement, but she'd decided that she liked it enough to never let it grow ever again.
"In any event, we would be happy to offer you one of our selection of wigs." He paused. "The cost will be deducted from your paycheck, of course."
That wasn't much of a concern. She'd never see a penny of it since it all went to her rent at the half-way house. "Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you."
The director smiled thinly, and pushed a button. His secretary stepped in with a pair of wigs: one red-haired, one platinum-blonde. "If I'm not mistaken, Miss Stagg, the platinum is a close match to your natural hair color --"
"I'd prefer the red, please."
"Well, you should be aware that one's more expensive --"
"I'd prefer the red. Please."
It was her tone, more than anything else, that made him pause. "Ah. Yes."
"Thank you," she said as she put it on her head, and adjusted it carefully. "And, sir ... I generally use my father's surname, rather than one on my birth certificate. I'd much prefer to be called Miss Mason. I intend to change it legally, as soon as possible."
He took a deep breath. "Well. That can certainly be arranged. I'll just make the correction to our files.
"Thank you very much, sir," she said, as she leaned forward and rested her hand on the plastic covering over the calendar on his desk, turning its top edge into a clear glue-like substance. "I really look forward to being a part of the Bridwell's family."
Author's Note:
For those keeping track at home: Will Freeman is the son of Freddy Freeman (aka Captain Marvel Junior or CM3) and Mary Batson (aka Captain Mary Marvel), while Diana Mason, as I think we should all call her, is the daughter of Rex Mason (aka Metamorpho) and Sapphire Stagg.
There really was a musical entitled "It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's Superman" here on Earth-Prime. On Earth-Sigma, of course, the plot is a bit different, and some of the names have been changed to avoid legal entanglements. (Elaine Louise = Lois Lane, Arthur Lexington = Lex Luthor.)
And Bridwell's is named after legendary DC editor E. Nelson Bridwell.
At 40,000 feet, everyone is deaf. The only sound that penetrates is the constant roar of the wind, which is felt more than heard. And it drowns out all lesser noises, such as conversation or the sound of a phone ringing. There are solutions to these technical problems, of course. For the former, you can talk by a media other than sound. Any of the many sorts of telepathy will suffice. Alternatively, you can exercise other powers, such as "super-ventriloquism" or use the same increased lung capacity that allows breathing at such heights to raise the decibels of your voice so that it drowns out the wind.
Will Freeman preferred a technological solution, which was one of the many contradictions of his life. He set his phone to vibrate, and had invested in specialized gear that turned incoming signals into text that scrolled across the bottom of his goggles, and a tongue switch that let him pick out the words that a voice synthesizer would transmit as a reply.
One of the other contradictions of his life was that, despite his love of the stage, he cherished his days off. The new revival of "It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's Superman", in which he was the first understudy for the title role, was on hiatus pending the resolution of a contract dispute involving the actors who played Elaine Louis and Arthur Lexington. So rather than sit back and watch the battle of egos, he went flying.
And heard God's laughter in his ears.
It was getting on for noon when he felt the vibration of the receiver against his left shoulder. With the wink of his right eye, Will signaled for pick-up.
_Will, it's Rick. How's it goingquestion._
He grinned. _Greatexclamation._
A pause, and then the text scroll resumed. _If I'm not mistaken, that's a synthesized version of your voice. So you finally went and got the gearquestion._
_Yeahexclamation. It works like a dream, just like you said it would. Best idea you've ever had._
_laughter. Well, I can't take the credit. The other you came up with the idea, and I just repeated it in your ear. I think you got it a bit earlier than he did, though._
_Wild. So what's upquestion_
_I'm heading into Opal as we speak. Something is apparently going to happen here. I don't know what, exactly, but I think I'm going to need backup. Are you openquestion._
_Absolutely, man. I'm heading that way already. Just send the signal, and I'll head for your position like a thunderbolt._
_laugh. Appropriate. Thank you._ A beat, and then. _I'm looking forward to seeing you again._
_Of course you areexclamation. See you then._
Will signed off, shaking his head just slightly at the hesitation Rick had shown before that last admission. What was the point of having friends if you couldn't let yourself be happy to see them?
Ah well. He'd learn. Will turned slightly to the northwest, and decided to play with one of the cloud banks in his path to Opal City.
He wanted to dance with the lightning.
II:
Bridwell's, Opal City's most successful department store, had opened early in the twenty-first century and had been expected to fail within months. Large, single-story buildings had been the fashion in American department store architecture for nearly half a century, and everything about Bridwell's had been designed against that fashion. It occupied all ten floors (and basement and sub-basement) of a roughly triangular building near Opal's center, and placed each of its departments on one of the floors. Lady's Wear was on second, Men's Wear was on third, and so on and so forth. It had a greater selection of items in each department than any of its competitors, but the inconvenience of travel between floors had been the expected killer.
What the pundits had never anticipated was that Bridwell's owners would have developed a unique solution to the problem, and constructed an even dozen "bounce tubes" against the rear of the store, using technology devised by one of the store's major investors, Theodore Kord, better known as the Blue Beetle. One stepped into the tube, and then rose or descended on a force field. The spacious tubes allowed quick and easy access to each of Bridwell's floors, and several fail safes existed for safety purposes.
What the pundits could have anticipated was the swelling of a sort of nostalgia for department stores of this sort, which had once been very common in the urban American landscape. It had been predicted in a song written in the 1980s about love (or at least, sex) in an elevator, and in the first decade of the twenty-first century it was in full force. The combination of nostalgia and novelty had made the first Bridwell's a roaring success, and the investors had all made (or remade) their piles from it and subsequent branches in other cities.
In the meantime, the original Bridwell's had also garnered a great deal of public goodwill for its support for various charities, and for its agreement with the Opal City Department of Corrections that gave recently paroled convicts employment in its stockroom - under close supervision, of course. The management could truly boast that it had never once had one of the parolees in the program engage in recidivism while employed there. What generally was not mentioned in the boast was the fact that any "associate" caught violating any store policy was immediately treated as being in violation of the terms of his or her parole, and went back to jail.
All this was probably known to the young, bald woman who was currently having those policies explained to her as part of her "interview". She simply didn't give a rat's ass.
"In short," the personnel director said as he wound up his speech, "if you just do as you're told, and give the job one hundred percent, you'll end up with a host of references and an excellent line on your resume when you complete the terms of your parole. That's an excellent deal, isn't it?"
Diana nodded her head, as that was the response the drone was clearly expecting.
"Now." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "There is a question that I'm not supposed to ask you. It is in fact a violation of your rights for me to ask you the question. You are perfectly within your rights not to answer. However, I must warn you that failure to satisfactorily answer any question asked by any of your supervisors, of which I'm one, is a violation of store policies. So. What was the crime for which you were convicted?"
Gosh, that was easy. "Second degree murder."
The director had probably been expecting something like fraud or theft or, at the extreme, assault. So his mouth hung open while the response he'd had prepared, something along the lines of "there'll be no more of that", went out the window.
"I was genuinely remorseful," she added, sounding much less sincere than she'd sounded at the parole hearing. "And I apologized and was forgiven by the victim's family." That had been easy, since her mother and older brother hadn't bothered to show up at the hearing, and she'd had no problem forgiving herself for what she did to grandpa. None.
She was sorry she hadn't killed him sooner, though.
"I see," the director said, clearly not having seen. "Well. Um. There is one additional point that I'd like to go over. While Bridwell's is a tolerant company, we do have a code of appearance, and I'm afraid that your ... well, hairstyle isn't acceptable. We realize that it was probably a requirement in prison, and that it's probably going to take a while to let it grow out."
It had been a requirement, but she'd decided that she liked it enough to never let it grow ever again.
"In any event, we would be happy to offer you one of our selection of wigs." He paused. "The cost will be deducted from your paycheck, of course."
That wasn't much of a concern. She'd never see a penny of it since it all went to her rent at the half-way house. "Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you."
The director smiled thinly, and pushed a button. His secretary stepped in with a pair of wigs: one red-haired, one platinum-blonde. "If I'm not mistaken, Miss Stagg, the platinum is a close match to your natural hair color --"
"I'd prefer the red, please."
"Well, you should be aware that one's more expensive --"
"I'd prefer the red. Please."
It was her tone, more than anything else, that made him pause. "Ah. Yes."
"Thank you," she said as she put it on her head, and adjusted it carefully. "And, sir ... I generally use my father's surname, rather than one on my birth certificate. I'd much prefer to be called Miss Mason. I intend to change it legally, as soon as possible."
He took a deep breath. "Well. That can certainly be arranged. I'll just make the correction to our files.
"Thank you very much, sir," she said, as she leaned forward and rested her hand on the plastic covering over the calendar on his desk, turning its top edge into a clear glue-like substance. "I really look forward to being a part of the Bridwell's family."
Author's Note:
For those keeping track at home: Will Freeman is the son of Freddy Freeman (aka Captain Marvel Junior or CM3) and Mary Batson (aka Captain Mary Marvel), while Diana Mason, as I think we should all call her, is the daughter of Rex Mason (aka Metamorpho) and Sapphire Stagg.
There really was a musical entitled "It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's Superman" here on Earth-Prime. On Earth-Sigma, of course, the plot is a bit different, and some of the names have been changed to avoid legal entanglements. (Elaine Louise = Lois Lane, Arthur Lexington = Lex Luthor.)
And Bridwell's is named after legendary DC editor E. Nelson Bridwell.