Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,

Metroville,

USA, 7/12/1975, 10:18 pm

Chris landed with a soft wumph onto the grass of his front garden and swore when he noticed the living room light still on. Heading to the front door, he took a deep breath before ringing the bell.

A frustrated looking Nick opened the door sharply and gave his father a withering stare. 'And just what time do you call this?' He asked.

Chris cringed. 'Sorry son, I got a bit side-tracked.'

'Side-tracked?'

'Well, yes, what with the hospital forms, and the traffic, and the reporters…'

Nick gasped. 'Traffic? What traffic, you can fly for goodness sake!' He turned as his father stepped into the house. 'And as for reporters – what report worthy actions have you been undertaking?'

Chris shrugged and followed the smell of soup into the kitchen while his boy closed the door. 'Just doing my duty… M'm, is this leek?'

Nick sighed and sat down opposite his father at the table. 'Yes, yes it is.' He looked at his father and almost fell off his chair. 'What the HELL have you done to your suit?'

'My suit?' He checked his shoulders. 'Holy smokes! I knew it was a bit worn around the top, but-'

Nick got to his feet quickly and strode to the other side of the table, studying the scorched holes burnt into Chris' super-suit. 'Dad!' He groaned. 'I'll put your dinner in the oven, go and get changed into something… normal. I'll need to do some serious work to your uniform.'

Chris stood up and walked into the hall, muttering under his breath. 'You should have made it better…'

Chris finished his soup and moved into the living room where his son was taking a magnifying glass to his suit.

'Crikey… you know, dad, I designed this suit when you were still subsonic. Seeing as you've definitely improved with age I don't think this fabric can take the speeds you push.'

Chris sat down and picked up a thick dossier. 'So..? What's going to happen.'

Nick narrowed his eyes. 'It looks like I will have to use my time to design a new fabric, just so you can go and save the day again.'

'That's not fair, Nick…' Chris retaliated. 'You're as good a super as I am, maybe better. And you see just as much action.'

A slight smile played across Nick's face. 'I haven't destroyed my suit.'

An hour drifted away. Nick spent the time cursing over chemical formulas, but each time one failed he wrote down a new string of chemicals and begun to test them out in his head. Chris just read his papers, telling him the procedures for Mirage Industries in America. They weren't all that different to the ones at Fernton Field.

He closed the folder and Nick yawned. 'OK, lad, time to hit the sack.'

'Sure. I think I'll need the rest.'

'How do you feel about school tomorrow?'

Nick waved his arms in a dramatic gesture. 'Ah! It will be a triumph, I'm sure! I shall be spending the day with people I have nothing in common with, who spell incorrectly, who don't study any foreign geography; and who will give me such delightful names as limey, commie, alien, rugger-bugger, oh – and dare I say it?' He presented a hand from behind his back with a slight bow and a fake grin. 'Glove-boy, that old chestnut!'

Chris was only half listening, instead reading an attached note to the dossier. 'That's the spirit, son!' He went into the master bedroom. 'See you in the morning, love you.' He closed the door.

Nick was left alone in the dark hallway. 'Goodnight, dad. God bless.' He'd already showered that night, and was content to get dressed into his pyjama bottoms and crawl into bed.

The Following Morning,

7:00 am

Father and son sat in silence eating their breakfast. It wasn't anything special, just cornflakes and nervous bile. Chris didn't start work for another week, but today was Nick's first day at an American school. He had chosen to dress as he always did, pale sand coloured trousers, hot pink Hawaiian shirt, army surplus NATO jacket, and black cadet boots.

He looked down at his empty schoolbag and whimpered. Nick could be extremely confident, gregarious, and generally in a cheerful mood most of the day. However, if something made him nervous, he could be very nervous. As well as worrying about first impressions, Nick had to make sure that he didn't get over-excited at school. Bad things happened to circuitry, or anything with any electrical current, when he got over-excited – human beings hold a charge.

There was a knock at the door. Chris looked over but Nick got up to see to it. He wasn't hungry anyway.

A large cargo hauler with the Mirage logo was parked across the road, much to the chagrin of early morning commuters. The grey jump-suited fellow that had knocked seemed unfazed by the noise of horns behind him.

'Is this the Worthy residence, sir?' The man asked with a smile.

'Aye, it is. Have we got a package?'

'A couple, and might I add, sent by the fastest courier service in the world!' He continued grinning. Nick wasn't impressed; his dad had been fed Mirage's company propaganda since he started. In retrospect, he was glad he got the door, if not his dad and this courier might have done the secret handshake.

'Look, I'm not happy this morning, so please shut up and let us have our parcels.'

The courier's face saddened. 'OK, sir. Just place your thumb here.'

The man produced a small metal cube, and Nick dutifully placed his thumb into it. There was a prickly feeling, then a beep. 'Worthy, Nick. DNA sample matches profile. Deliver objects.'

Nick withdrew his appendage. 'So..?'

'Ah, here you go.' The courier bent down and picked up a medium sized cardboard box. Nick took it, it wasn't very heavy, and placed it just inside the front door.

'Is that all?'

'No, sir. Where would you like us to park the Jaguar?'

'Um-' Nick heard a smash from the kitchen, and his father ran out to the door.

'I'll field that question!'

'We have a Jag?' Asked Nick, though it was obvious they did since he was standing in front of it.

'Oh. My. Word.' His father replied, stroking the bonnet. 'It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life!' He looked at Nick. 'How would you like your dad to drive you to school in this baby?'

'Maybe since we've got to be there in-' He checked his watch. '-under an hour, you should take the hire today. You need more time than fifty minutes time to digest this.' Nick held a beefy user manual up in the dawn light.

'Nonsense, boy! I've driven a Jag before, you know!'

'Not like this, you haven't.' Nick looked at the cover. 'The Jaguar-Mirage XK-50 Prototype Operations Vehicle: It and You.'

Chris slowly turned around and got into the drivers seat, this time paying more attention to the large instrument panels strewn about the front of the car. 'Blast! There must be over a million buttons in here! It's something from a Bond film.'

'No…' Replied Nick. 'According to this it has only 40,000 different functions.' He flipped to another page. 'Right: Starting the XK-50 is extremely complicated and requires at least a lot of concentration. Insert key into ignition slot. Turn key.'

Chris tried to maintain a straight face for as long as he could, then burst out laughing. 'What? That's easy!' He groped at the base of the wheel. 'Uh, where's the key?'

Nick threw his bag and the parcel box into the boot and jumped into the front passenger seat, noticing the car was configured for British roads, driver on the right. He reached up and pulled down the sun-flap, dropping the keys into Chris' lap.

'Thanks, son. Now, insert and turn…' He did so, and the car came to life. The engine didn't sound like it burnt petrol, as it spun up with progressively louder whirring. Lights blinked on all everywhere, and monitoring devices reported their highest reading before zeroing, except for one labelled 'REACTOR OUTPUT', which blinked on at one hundred percent.

The car addressed them in the same matter-of-fact tone as the DNA sampler had done earlier. 'Entropy reactor output nominal. Initiate start-up procedure?'

Chris' voice was cracking with excitement. 'Yes, initiate.'

'Ablative armour monitoring, online… electromagnetic shielding, online… stealth functions, online… afterburners, online… flight mode, online… sensor suite, online… weapons, online… All systems nominal.' A double-fronted hand scanner slipped out from above the gear-stick. 'Please verify identities.'

Chris and Nick placed their hands onto the scanner at the same time.

'Driver: Worthy, Christopher Edward. Callsign: Stuntman – verified. Life-signs nominal. Passenger: Worthy, Nicholas. Callsign: Electroboy – verified. Compensate for EM activity. Life-signs, nominal.'

Nick seemed happier than he had done upon waking. 'H'm, pretty smart car. Hey, dad, fancy taking her for a test run… I've still got a while before school.'

'I wondered when you were going to suggest that.' He fastened the five-point harness and Nick did the same. 'You're too much like your old man.'

'Drive mode, engaged. HUD warming up, in transit warning system, online. Time is 0720 ZULU. Please, drive carefully.'

The new car handled like dream. Chris took it downtown, to Little Ireland, round the financial district, and was now on the freeway to the north of town.

'I wonder,' said Nick, 'XK-50, are we in danger of being seen on this stretch of road?'

'My sensors do not indicate so, Electroboy.'

'Activate stealth mode.'

'Nick? What are you doing-?'

The car had already responded to the command. 'Electronics counter-measures suite engaged, passive radar engaged. Engine baffles in place. Charging mimetic-armour plates.'

As it drove along, the car started to fade away into the background, and in seconds had merged with the tarmac; even reproducing the road markings.

Father and son spoke as one. 'Cool!'

'ALERT! According to the data you provided me with, Electroboy begins school in five minutes, we are at our range limit for arriving on time!'

'Oh no…' Whined Nick. 'What an impression I'm going to make, I can hear it now! Tardy, they'll shout, TARDY!'

'Now hang on a minute, Nick. Car: what do you mean range limit?'

'At top speed, we can still arrive at 0830 ZULU. May I recommend auto-pilot?'

Chris inputted the name of the school into a keypad, and after scanning it's GPS, the car retracted the steering wheel from Chris' grip and made a gut-wrenching boot-legger turn.

'Oh cripes! We're going to die! The car's AI wasn't finished, I know it!'

The Jaguar tore up the road back into town, the engine screaming like a beast in pain. '130 km/h…' The car stated.'150 km/h, 170 km/h, 200 km/h, 260 km/h: optimum take-off speed.'

'Take-off speed?'

'Oh dear…'

'DAD! It did say auto-pilot!'

The car started to morph, body facets melting seamlessly into one another, until it appeared far more streamlined than it had before. Finally, a pair of silver jet-nozzles projected from the trunk and two armour plates to the rear folded out to form stubby winglets.

'Afterburners online, we are airborne. Please remain calm. ETA at school, two minutes.'

It soared into the air on two pillars of smoke from the jets in the back. For a second, it appeared they were going to strike a skyscraper, but the car jinked at the last moment, diving to ground level. The car sped over the heads of numerous commuters, and Chris was quick to speak up.

'Car!' His voice was strained as he was being pressed into the back of his seat. 'We're going to be seen!'

'Negative, Stuntman, though your caution is understood. We are still cloaked.'

Nick sounded worse off than his dad, but still managed to squeeze out a grin. 'I knew it would come in handy!'

The Jaguar passed low under a footbridge and winged around a right hand turn bringing it onto the school road.

'Vertical landing systems engaged. Stand by for touchdown.'

Bursts of flame spat from the underside of the car, and it settled gently onto the side of the road. With a mechanical sound, the Jag morphed back into a regular sportscar and the stealth protocols disengaged.

'Flight time, one minute ten seconds. Thank you. The car is now under driver control.'

Constance J. Fudge High School,

Metroville,

USA, 8/12/1975, 8:30 am

Chris placed his hands calmly onto the steering wheel, and started screaming. He stopped when his beaming son thrust a cardboard box at him.

'I must have been wrong about the school times. We're early.' Sure enough, there were no other cars on this stretch of road, and Chris couldn't see any lights on in the school building. 'Shall we see what else our benefactors sent us?' Nick stifled a giggle. 'Gosh, dad, you look really ill. And you can fly!'

'Shut up…' He turned off the "super-jag" and pushed his seat back to better open the box. 'Let's see what we have here.'

It was a small note, and what seemed to be a lot of bubble-wrap. Nick took the note and read the first line, written in delicate, spindly handwriting. 'Dear Mr. Worthy and son, please find enclosed something to get you both started in the US. I trust you should find them satisfactory. Love, M. PS: Christopher, at work by 9:10 am one week from now.' Two other blocks of capital text, interspersed with random German characters, were at the bottom of the note.

Chris pulled off the bubble-wrap and produced a bright gold and orange super-suit. It glittered in the morning sun like it was made of glass. 'Wow… it's breathtaking!'

Nick cleared his throat. 'There's more to this note, I think it's talking about that: The suit for Stuntman is made of a new material called "Frictex". It is able to withstand the heat caused by friction of air particles at ground level up to a speed of mach 40. The surface of the garment was laser flattened for reduced drag. To accentuate body-reinforcement, the material is also extremely durable, with a tensile strength exceeding that of carbon steel. NB: Not bullet-proof, impact proof – you rely on your own skill for projectile protection. Use own goggles. Dry-clean only.'

Chris stared at his new uniform for a minute, then without a word placed it and the attached cape on the rear seat. Next, he removed a smaller suit, coloured very pale blue with yellow warning stripes. 'Nick, this looks your size.'

Nick continued reading. 'Suit number two is for young Electroboy. It is remarkably resistant to all forms of damage, but especially the devastating effects of extreme radiation. The fabric is a highly conductive polymer, make of it what you will, and is bullet-proof against all rounds under .50 calibre – beware bruising after being shot. Though both suits feature sophisticated electronics for communication and location, the circuits in this garment are fully insulated against electromagnetic interference. Boots are extra light for better agility. Gloves feature capacitors for long ranged attacks. Do not iron.'

The pair sat dumbfounded for a minute, until the next car of the morning pulled in front of the school. Nick stuffed his suit into his schoolbag, and Chris jammed his back into the box before anybody could see.

Nick took a deep breath and opened the car door. 'Well, I guess these will come in handy at some time or another. Have a good one, dad.'

'You too, lad. Make friends, learn lots,' he glanced at his son and turned on the car. 'save lives…'

Before Nick could reply, the Jaguar had pulled out and was speeding away from him. He started walking up the steps into the high school building and probed the impressive granite façade with his eyes. 'Once more into the breach.' He muttered, before passing through the double doors and into his new life.