Flying High
Chapter 2 - Qualifications
By: CountessMorgana
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The daughter of Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl was not the first high-school student to be a super, and she certainly wasn't the first teenager to have a crush on a boy. Before Violet Parr and Tony Rydinger, before the ban on supers, before the Glory Days ended, there was Stratogale and Macroburst. And their story isn't quite as typical as one would expect.
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Welcome to the Planet
Welcome to existence
Everyone's here
Everybody's watching you now
Everybody waits for you now
What happens next?
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened before
Switchfoot, "Dare You To Move"
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Riverview Suburb, Gwynns Household, August 1952
Enid felt lucky that her parents hadn't arrived at the Gwynns' Riverview home before she did. Her mother would have started scolding her on the state of her clothes; her father would have made pointed remarks about 'more serious work' that Enid ought to be doing. To the Gwynns, their daughter's bird watching was merely a time-consuming hobby.
The only place Enid where had ever confided her dream of becoming an ornithologist was her diary, hidden away in her bedroom beneath the floorboards. Had she confessed her ideal profession to her parents, Enid knew they would disown and disinherit her the moment all the proper paperwork was signed. Her father was like that.
Mr. Alan Gwynns was a lawyer with Megalopolis' biggest firm – Dewey, Cheetam & Howe LLP – and had recently been promoted to senior partner. It was an open secret that Mr. Gwynns had not been first choice for the position: He was only decided on after the abrupt departure of his long time rival, Simon J. Paladino. Exactly why Paladino had left the firm so unexpectedly would probably never be known for sure, but officially it was due to personal reasons. Mr. Gwynns, of course, hadn't complained. Not in public.
Enid changed her clothes, quietly disposing of her ruined bird watching garments in the furnace, and was about to look for a snack when the phone rang. Taking up the receiver, she continued to browse through the fridge. "Gwynns residence."
"Enid?" Alan Gwynns' gruff voice came down the line along with an odd assortment of background noise, including sirens.
"Dad! Is everything all right? I thought I heard the police over on your end..."
A loud snort from her father cut her off. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your ears. You heard right. Calling to tell you and your mother that there's some sort of disturbance in the downtown core at the museum. All traffic's been diverted off the major routes, so I won't be home for no less than another hour."
"Isn't your office right by the museum?"
"Yep, front row seats to watch the whole thing. Police have the building surrounded and the entire area blocked off. They've called in one of those super teams to deal with whatever's inside."
"But if there's trouble, shouldn't you leave? What if something happens?"
"I'm a lawyer, remember? Besides," Mr. Gwynns sneered, "if something does happen, we're all equal under the law. I'll be happy to sue the pants off them, super or not."
Enid sighed. Her father sounded like he was enjoying the show, even though she was more worried about the situation. "Wish I could see what was happening."
"You can. Turn on the TV later tonight, the newsreel will tell you everything. I'm on the seventh floor of the Walker Building – Hey, the supers are going in! Paul, you got your camera ready—"
A burst of static on her father's receiver, followed by indistinct but excited voices, and one final loud clattering as the receiver was replaced in its cradle.
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Downtown Metropolis, Museum of Antiquities
Everseer made it sound so simple. He and Plasmabolt would go into the museum while Psycwave and Macroburst remained outside. Psycwave would paralyse Bomb Voyage, and in the 30-second window provided, Plasmabolt would disable the remote for the explosives with a contained miniature electromagnetic pulse. Everseer would finish up with a series of illusions to distract the French villain, with the remainder of the team getting the hostages out to safety.
But as the proverb said, 'easier said than done'. Standing outside the museum by the Walker Building, even those without enhanced senses could hear screaming, glass shattering, a number of loud thuds, cursing in French (Bomb Voyage), cursing in English (anyone else), and shouts in a language that certainly wasn't European in origin.
"Oh, my poor exhibit," someone lamented. Macroburst and Psycwave didn't have to look far – a museum curator was standing beside them, shaking slightly.
The two supers exchanged glances. Psycwave raised an eyebrow and smirked, deliberately turning back to watch the museum entrance. Macroburst winced and scrambled for something to say that wouldn't make him sound like an utter moron.
"Please remain calm, sir. I'm sure great care is being exercised to guarantee the safety of your collection." Macroburst knew he had failed to pacify even as he spoke.
The curator was not happy. "Do you hear with half an ear, young man? That noise alone would signify severe damages to my artwork! This exhibit is composed of a series of—"
"—Internationally renowned, priceless treasures by one of the world's Impressionist masters, on special loan from the Van Gogh and Kröller-Müller Musuems in the Netherlands," Macroburst finished for him. Upon seeing the curator's flabbergasted expression, Macroburst smiled slightly. "I read the paper this morning, and I know the others doing their best to avoid damaging anything of value. I'm willing to bet you'll have broken display cases at worst. Just have faith."
Sputtering, the curator didn't have time to respond before Psycwave gave a small cry. Her eyes bulged and she seemed short of breath.
"Sorry, kid," Psycwave whispered. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed onto Macroburst, nearly knocking him over with her dead weight.
"Dear Lord!" the curator exclaimed, their quarrel over the state of the Van Gogh exhibit forgotten. "She's epileptic!" The nearby media representatives burst into a hive of whispering and speculation, and many raised their cameras for a shot of Psycwave's prone form.
"I-is she dead?" a nearby police officer asked. More shouts from the various news reporters. To his credit, the officer was quick to realise his gaffe and began to help block the wave of flashbulbs and lenses. Macroburst nodded gratefully.
"She's not epileptic, and she's not dead. She's only possessed Bomb Voyage," the super told them shortly. "And I wish you'd said something earlier, Psycwave," Macroburst muttered under his breath.
"Possessed?" the curator yelped.
Any further line of conversation ended when the main doors of the museum opened, allowing about a dozen people to run from the building screaming in terror. Among them was a well-dressed young couple of obviously Oriental heritage, the woman of which darted into the arms of an older man standing near the front line of the police blockade, her sobbing interlaced with words of the same language Macroburst hadn't been able to identify earlier. To Macroburst's relief the journalists ran to the foreign trio amid shouts of "Mr. Fujiwara, Mr. Fujiwara!"
"Bomb Voyage's hostages are clear!" Megalopolis' Chief of Police shouted over a loudhailer. "Take him out!" Putting down his amplifier, Chief Robson made his way to the supers outside. "And get an ambulance over here, stat!"
"No, no, she's fine." Macroburst told him. "Don't call in a medic for her, this is standard—"
"Disregard that!" Robson shouted over his shoulder. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this whole superhero business," the police chief admitted. "Heck, you kids are great for situations like now, but what'll happen in the long run? Might be out of a job soon, if you catch my drift."
"Don't worry, Chief Robson," Macroburst said. "We might be supers, but even we'd have a damned hard time controlling all the crime in the country – short of being in two places at once."
"Haven't got a super who can do that yet?" Robson grinned. "Bet you wouldn't mind that for a power."
"Cheers to that," Macroburst agreed.
Robson laughed and clapped Macroburst on the shoulder. "You're all right, kid," he chuckled, keeping an eye on the museum. "And here comes the rest of the crew."
Indeed, Bomb Voyage was leaving the museum with an oddly feminine gait, followed by a dishevelled Everseer and exhausted Plasmabolt. The supers were instantly swarmed by the hoard of media personnel. The villain quickly descended the steps, made his way to the blockage, and held out his wrists. A grim officer promptly secured handcuffs and fetters on the unresisting Francophone. Once the specially reinforced police van was speeding away with Bomb Voyage inside, Psycwave groaned and began to stir.
"Ça me gêne de le dire, mais plus jamais," she mumbled.
Chief Robson gaped. "Is the French speaking standard as well?"
"Usually she'll retain traces of the people she's had to take over," Macroburst replied, helping Psycwave to her feet. "Speech patterns, mostly. And seeing how it's Bomb Voyage..."
"Ahhh," Robson said in understanding. "Does that mean you'll be needing to use sign language until the whole French thing wears off?"
Macroburst only shrugged.
"Je suis claque," said Psycwave sleepily.
"Dors bien!" Macroburst told her. "Il faut que nous partons de toute façons."
Everseer and Plasmabolt finished their statements to the media as Robson frowned. "Uh, I guess you won't need to use sign language. She's not contagious, is she?"
"The Phantasmics are a team assigned to international threats." Everseer spoke with just a hint of condescension. "All our members need to acquire various skills in order to carry out our objectives. Linguistics is but a part of it, Chief Robson."
"O-of course," Robson stuttered. "I didn't mean to offend."
"No harm done, Chief Robson." Everseer said, adding telepathically to Macroburst, 'Get us out of here, lad.'
Macroburst concentrated, and the winds began to pick up speed, circling and enveloping the quartet, lifting them all up until they were well clear of the skyline.
Chief Robson, with the rest of Megalopolis, shaded his eyes to properly see the four small black specks in the sky. Then, without warning, the specks blurred and shot off towards the coast, leaving the city safe once again.
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Secret Mid-Ocean Location: 'New Atlantis'
"Let me get this straight. The Phantasmics are a super team assigned to international threats." Plasmabolt mused aloud after their debriefing nearly two hours afterwards.
"Yes, Plasmabolt." Psycwave is irritated, and Macroburst doesn't exactly blame her.
"So why were we sent to deal with a mission on the home front again? I mean, aside from the German painting and French super villain—"
Macroburst noticed Psycwave slowly grinding her teeth together. Plasmabolt, for all her good nature, was still a bit on the slow side to piece things together. And she didn't have Psycwave or Everseer's mental abilities or any of the other three's own intensive academic upraising to help her out either.
"He's Swiss," Macroburst said before Psycwave could launch into a tirade that would begin a fortnight-long barrage of sniping and insults between the two superheroines.
"Sorry?" Plasmabolt asked.
"Bomb Voyage is from Switzerland, one of the French-speaking communes," Macroburst elaborated.
"Vincent Van Gogh was Dutch," Everseer added crisply, "and those two Dutch museums would have Megalopolis' curators' heads on a platter if Bomb Voyage got away. With the prize paintings they had finally allowed to let on loan after five years of legal wrangling, no less."
"And..." Psycwave drawled. "The final reason why we were called in was because the Japanese ambassador's daughter and son-in-law were among the hostages. If that doesn't help qualify this as semi-international incident, I don't know what will. Oh, and the Japanese Embassy sent us that as a thank-you gift." Here Psycwave waved a hand at the planter by the door, which was holding a sapling decked out with a large pink bow.
"A tree?" Plasmabolt looked much more eager about the present than the rest of the team as she went over to inspect it. "This is a cherry tree!"
"Apparently the cherry blossom is the Japanese national flower, or so I'm informed," Everseer told her. "Would you like to keep it, Plasmabolt?"
Plasmabolt was caught between hesitant and genuinely pleased. "Well, yes, yes I would! But won't any of you mind?"
"I can assure you that both Dr. Cameron and myself are much too busy with our practice to allow the plant to survive long."
Psycwave (or Dr. Rose Therese Cameron, psychologist) promptly made a face at Everseer's back. Everseer, rubbing his hands with antiseptic gel in his never-ending quest to rid himself of germs, didn't deign to notice.
Macroburst grinned. "And don't look at me. I can barely keep a goldfish alive for a month, let alone a tree. Sad to say, but looks like you're the only one of the Phantasmics with any sort of green thumb, Sylvia."
"It's Plasmabolt here," came the testy reply, her brow furrowed. Everyone present knew how much she strove to keep her identities as a superheroine and forest ranger separate and distinct at all costs.
Finally Plasmabolt got to her feet, potted tree in hand.
"So you will take it?" The way in Psycwave spoke hinted more to a statement than a question.
Plasmabolt shrugged and put in a jab of her own. "Only because the rest of you seem to be overly qualified."
Psycwave's mouth dropped open in indignation while Macroburst nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Everseer sat through the resulting squabble for a minute before he had enough. The argument between the two women swiftly ended when he broke in with a loud call of "Phantasmics, dismissed!"
Earlier, four supers had entered New Atlantis. Two hours later four civilians and a potted tree left it, ready to resume their lives and roles in Megalopolis society.
At least until next time.
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Riverview Suburb, Gwynns Household
"... And there you have it! Megalopolis police have the notorious Bomb Voyage in their custody, and Van Gogh exhibit at the Museum has been saved. Due to the disruption and cleanup efforts, the closing date has been extended. There's still a week left to come see it! On behalf of the people of Megalopolis, thanks again to the Phantasmics for saving the day."
That had been about four hours ago. Enid had watched the newsreel raptly, only leaving when the segment had finished and her relieved mother firmly switched off the television.
Homework was done, books were read, baths were taken, a diary was written in. Now under her bed covers, Enid had waited, listening carefully until her father's snores echoed through the walls of the house. There was no chance of her parents waking up to overhear her. Slowly, she pushed the thin duvet off herself and curled up, shaking in silent hope.
The Phastasmics were supers. Sure, the supers wore flashy costumes and nearly all had powers. But most importantly, they helped people out of a sense of duty from situations no matter how insignificant.
It hadn't truly struck Enid until then that her communicating with birds in their own language was not a normal human feat. Running through the day's events in her head, she could still recall seeing Mackenzie Kintail jumping off the cliff. Her brain countered that by insisting that she hallucinated from sunstroke. Fine, fair enough.
But nothing in her memory was there to debunk the wonderful knowledge that she had flown. If only for a short while she'd been closer than ever to the birds she loved dearly. And if she could fly... She saw the misery that society brought, and saw her chance to alleviate it, if only in a small way. She could be a super, could help all the people she wanted.
Which led to the nagging question – if Enid had flown once, what was stopping her from trying again?
Shivering slightly in her thin nightdress, she stood barefoot on the mattress, closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and willed herself to simply rise. A minute passed, maybe two, without any noticeable change.
Enid felt the disappointment welling up. 'Maybe I was imagining that too, hit my head after falling out of that tree.' She opened her eyes so she could get back to sleep—
And found herself standing on air, her bed some three feet below.
The overwhelmed girl couldn't contain her joy. She let out a loud, giddy shriek, lost her concentration, and fell with an almighty crash onto the mattress beneath. The bed frame miraculously stayed intact. Her parents' sleep did not.
"Enid!" Mrs. Gwynns shouted. "Stop jumping on the bed and go to sleep! You're not a child anymore!"
"Sorry, Mom!" Enid called back, biting on her lip in an effort to stifle her elated giggles, feverishly planning her next few months.
She would head for the woods first thing in the morning and start honing her skills from those who knew the most on flight – her birds. She would also take up gymnastics again (Enid mentally thanked her mother for forcing her into that program in the first place). Should she take up self-defence too? Or would that seem too suspect? It didn't matter. Any part of her path would take time and patience, and Enid had plenty of both.
To be continued...
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French Translations
Ça me gêne de le dire, mais plus jamais. – I hate to say this, but never again.
Je suis claque. – I'm knackered (exhausted).
Dors bien! Il faut que nous partons de toute façons. – Sleep well! We need to leave anyway.
Hurrah, chapter two is up! Quite frankly, I was nervous as hell about this part, especially the lack of any real super action and Enid's confirmation of her powers. Also, my beta reader for this project up and packed his bags, so I might not have caught all the little mistakes that are in there. Which means I'm in the market for a new beta, and sorry for any errors!
Speaking of errors, I had to do some tweaking about with chapter one -- thanks to my abymal skills at maths, I completely muddled up Mackenzie's age. With an early September birthday and age of four at the end of the Blitz, he would be 15 in August of 1952. Only goes to show why authors should not be writing into the wee hours of the morning; we just don't see these things!
Do tell me what you think, and please press that nice, lovely blue button down there to your left on the way out! Thank you!