Authors: Kevin Hardman
Of course, I felt like an idiot for having to be prompted on how to use my own power set, and I admitted as much. (In my defense, however, I also had another related issue weighing heavily on my mind, but I didn’t feel like bothering Gramps with that.) My grandfather just laughed.
“Sometimes you’re too close to a problem to see the obvious solution,” he said. “Can’t see the forest for the trees.”
I conceded his point, and then — glancing at my watch — mentioned that it was getting close to time for me to go meet Alpha Prime.
“Of course,” my grandfather said. “You don’t want to be late.” Telepathically, he sent a humorous image of me forgetting to use my power of teleportation and super speed. We both snickered at that. At the same time, however, I detected an odd twinge from him emotionally — an ever-so-slight pinch of bitterness and loss — as well as what it related to.
“Gramps,” I said, after taking a second to carefully frame my question, “are you okay with me hanging out with Alpha Prime?”
The look of surprise on my grandfather’s face made it clear that I’d caught him slightly off-guard. Apparently he thought he’d had his emotions tightly boxed up.
He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before answering. “I don’t have a problem with it, per se. It’s just that…”
He trailed off, sighing deeply, but I knew what he wanted to say. “It cuts into the time we used to spend together,” I said, finishing his thought.
He nodded absentmindedly, and again I felt a pinprick of emotion coming from him. Before Smokey, Gramps had been my best friend, and he still was in a way. We played video games together, hung out, went to movies, you name it. He’d also been the centerpiece with respect to my training, the person most responsible for teaching me how to use my powers. Finally — and most important — he’d been the only male role model in my life; he was the person I’d essentially patterned myself after.
“Look,” I said, after a few moments of silence. “Why don’t I just stay here and kick it with you tonight? I’ll tell Alpha Prime we can catch ano—”
“No,” he said, adamantly shaking his head as he cut me off. “Don’t do that.”
“It’s no problem,” I said.
“Look,” he said, giving me an appraising stare, “I was on the Alpha League with AP for a long time. He’s not perfect, despite the way they portray him in the media. He has his flaws. But deep at heart, he’s a good man, and I don’t doubt that he loves you. You giving him a chance — it’s the right thing to do.
“As for me and you, I’ve seen you almost every day of your life. Most grandparents would kill just for a tenth of that. Moreover, we’ve always had a great relationship. Long story short, if I keel over tomorrow, you and I will be good. There’s nothing left unsaid between us. The same’s not true about you and Alpha Prime. You need this time together.
Both
of you.”
There was a time in the not-too-distant past when I would have hotly disputed that last statement; a father-son relationship with Alpha Prime had been the last thing I’d wanted. Since then, however, I’d come to accept that it was important to reach some type of common ground with him.
“We’re working on it,” I said to Gramps, before adding, “
Both
of us.” (Just to make it clear that I was doing my part.)
“Good,” he noted with approval. “Now get out of here before you’re late.”
With that, I teleported to Alpha Prime’s house.
Chapter 3
I popped up in the foyer of my father’s house — one of his homes, anyway. This one was a regal mansion set on a palatial estate in one of the most exclusive parts of town — a big pimpin’ pad with a zillion bedrooms, twice as many bathrooms, and closets the size of aircraft hangars.
The foyer where I had appeared opened up into a great room that seemed as big as a concert hall. The floor was tiled wall-to-wall with opulent marble, and majestic columns were geometrically spaced throughout the room. Two lavish, winding staircases on opposite walls twisted up to the second floor, and a grandiose chandelier hung down from a stained-glass ceiling that was several stories in height. Million-dollar paintings, sculptures, and the like hung on the walls and in art niches, while posh furniture — most of it hand-carved and more aesthetic than functional — littered the room.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t simply teleport inside someone else’s home — even if they were expecting me. It just seems rude. Alpha Prime had practically insisted on it, however.
“How are we going to develop a real father-son relationship if we keep everything formal between us?” he’d asked a few weeks back. “You need to treat my house like it’s your house. That means coming directly inside when you’re here, not standing on the front stoop and ringing the doorbell.”
In other words, I could come and go as I pleased. Alpha Prime had even inputted my biometrics into his security system, so that his automated defense systems wouldn’t view me as an intruder or a threat if I showed up when he wasn’t around.
“I’m here,” I said, speaking aloud although there was no one nearby. Not that it mattered; regardless of where he was inside, I had no doubt that Alpha Prime had heard me. Like his other senses, his hearing extended well beyond the normal range.
A few seconds later, there was an audible click that seemed to come from all around me, followed by a short droning and then my father’s voice boomed out over the mansion’s intercom.
“I’ll be there in a second,” he said in his trademark, deep baritone. “Make yourself at home.”
“No rush,” I said to the empty air. “We’ve got time.”
With that, I began to mosey through the house at a leisurely pace, intending to explore the place a little more (which was something I did almost every time I came here). Naturally, I could have zipped through the place at super speed, but — in a lot of instances — that’s like trying to wolf down a delicious T-bone steak in thirty seconds. It’s a lot more enjoyable if you take your time and savor the experience.
In all honesty, I both loved and loathed my father’s house. On the one hand, I was fascinated with the scale and scope of the mansion, as well as getting a bird’s-eye view of how the other half lived. On the other hand, I couldn’t help seething to a certain extent when I thought about Alpha Prime living here like a fat cat while I, his son, lived like a…what? It would be disingenuous to act as if I’d been wallowing in squalor my entire life. Truth be told, I hadn’t really wanted for anything growing up, thanks to Mom and Gramps. Still, I’d certainly never had an opportunity to partake of
this
lifestyle, nor had my father made any overt efforts to include me.
As to how Alpha Prime could afford all this, supers on top-notch teams like the Alpha League actually operated under lucrative contracts (of the multi-million dollar variety) and often had agents, publicists, etc. Thus, along with being the world’s greatest superhero, my father was also its highest-paid. However, salary was a verboten topic among most supers; they were certainly worth every penny, but the fact that they made millions clashed with the public images they presented of individuals serving a higher calling.
All of this flitted through my mind as I headed down a spacious nearby hallway towards a room I’d only gotten to peek in last time: the library. Purportedly, my father had some of the rarest books about supers in existence, and I was eager to take a look at them. After a few minutes, I came to an elegant set of wooden double doors that marked the entrance to my destination. I opened the doors with a theatrical flair and stepped inside, at which point the lights in the room automatically switched on.
Like the rest of the house, the library was massive — at least several thousand square feet in size. It covered two stories, and had its own colossal, dome-shaped glass ceiling. Moreover, it was meticulously designed, with all the wood present — from the bookshelves to the balustrade to the hardwood floor — made from a rare, exotic species of tree. All in all, it looked like something you’d find designed for a billionaire in the pages of an architectural magazine.
As with all libraries, I felt a compulsion to be silent as I walked through, passing a monstrous fireplace that was big enough for a bear to hibernate in. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going, but figuring out what was in here was going to be half the fun.
With that thought in mind and a grin on my face, I floated up to the center of the room and looked around. As with much of the mansion, there was a geometric design here, with bookshelves and other permanent fixtures all evenly spaced. However, a darkened recessed area between two bookcases along one wall caught my eye. Curious, I flew over to it and came back down to the floor.
The area in question turned out to be a narrow hallway, not exactly hidden but definitely obscured unless you were standing in the right part of the library. My interest piqued, I took a step into the dim corridor, and — as I suspected — automatic lights immediately came on. My path brightly illuminated, I walked slowly down the hall, noting that the walls on both sides were lined with various framed press clippings:
Alpha Prime Diverts Meteor, Saves City!
Terrorist Threat Exposed by Alpha League!
Brazil Declares “Alpha Prime Day”!
There were at least a dozen of them, all noting either the heroics of the Alpha League in general or Alpha Prime in particular.
After about fifteen feet, the passageway terminated in a spacious study with a large window overlooking the mansion’s well-manicured and well-maintained grounds. Like the hallway I’d just left, the walls in the study contained framed newspaper articles. As to furnishings, there was a large desk that had obviously seen more use than most of the furniture in this place, as well as a high-back, executive chair. A computer monitor and keyboard sat on top of the desk.
The most dominating feature of the room, however, were several high-end display cases that resided in each corner of the study. Within them were pictures of my father in his black-and-gold costume with various heads of state, as well as the many awards and medals he had received over the years from numerous nations: a Medal of Valor from this country, a Star of Merit from that one, a Distinguished Service Award from another. There seemed to be an endless parade of them.
After noting the umpteenth award received, I turned my attention back to the rest of the room, and for the first time took note of two additional items on my father’s desk: on either side of his computer monitor was a photo in a rectangular picture frame.
I walked over to the desk and picked up the frame closest to me. I was surprised to note that it was made of sterling silver, with an intricate design on the front that ended in a pair of tortuously detailed baby shoes in the bottom right corner of the frame. The picture inside was, of course, that of a baby — an impossibly cute kid in a striped blue-and-white T-shirt and a pair of blue shorts. He was sitting up on some sort of artificial turf with a forest in the background. Finally, the youngster was bright and cheery, with one of those adorable, infectious baby grins on his face — the kind you can’t see without smiling back.
In essence, it was a near-perfect photo, the kind that parents and grandparents would cherish for decades. The only defect visible was the fact that the kid seemed to have red-eye in the picture, a subtle flash of color across his pupils. However, that’s the kind of thing that’s pretty easy to fix with today’s technology, which made me wonder why it hadn’t been done. The picture seemed a little dated, maybe fifteen or twenty years old, so maybe they didn’t have the capability—
My train of thought suddenly derailed as a more obvious answer suddenly occurred to me. But it couldn’t be…
My alien grandmother’s appearance had been very close to that of ordinary humans, but she had a few physiological traits that were unique. For instance, she had pointed, elfin ears — a feature that my mother inherited but I did not.
One of her more distinguishing characteristics, however, was the fact that her eyes flashed various colors when she experienced strong emotions. This particular legacy both my mother and I had inherited. However, while Mom usually wore contacts to hide this idiosyncrasy (she also tended to wear her hair over her ears), I had developed the ability to control it. Thus, for as long as I could remember, my eyes had rarely ever displayed this part of my alien heritage.
All of this flew through my mind as I fumbled with the frame, almost dropping it twice. Finally, I got the back of it off, took a last look at the baby as I removed the picture, then turned it over. There, in handwriting I recognized as my mother’s, was the following inscription:
John Indigo Morrison Carrow — 9 mos. old
Me. This was a picture of me.
I flopped down into the office chair, somewhat stunned. My father frequently mentioned how often he thought about me over the years, wondered how I was doing. It never occurred to me that he might have actually kept me close, figuratively, via this photo. I pondered this for a second before placing the picture back in the frame. I took one last look at myself as an infant (something I’d rarely seen before, as we aren’t a picture-taking family), then put it back on the desk.
Since my own photo was on one side of the computer, I had little doubt what image the second frame would hold. I reached for it anyway, and got confirmation of what I’d been thinking. The other frame held a picture of Paramount.