Home » The Crystal Hall » Fan Fiction » Learning To Fly (This is Part 2 of the "Tandem Trilogy" (or, Part 5 of the "Shénlóng Saga", depending on how you look at it...))
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| Learning To Fly [message #62551] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 00:58  |
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 The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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Disclaimer: The following story is a Whateley Academy series fan-fiction it is just for fun. Any characters you recognize belong to their respective creators; any characters you do not recognize are from my own imagination, and bear no resemblance to any person, living or dead. This story may or may not match the timeline or continuity of the Whateley Universe project, but since it's a fan-fiction and not a part of the canon milieu, who cares? I am doing this for entertainment, as a personal exercise in creativity, and out of respect for the Whateley Academy Universe project.
This is Part 2 of the "Tandem Trilogy" (or, Part 5 of the "Shénlóng Saga", depending on how you look at it...)
Part 1 can be found here [ http://crystalhall.org/chboards3/index.php?t=msg&th=1960 &start=0&S=ce841089ac3414132ca90903af13b056]
Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I've started out for God knows where
I guess I'll know when I get there
I'm learning to fly, around the clouds
But what goes up must come down
Hey!
I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing
Title: "Learning To Fly"
Artist: Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers
Writer: Petty, Tom / Lynne, Jeff
====== DAY ONE Saturday, March 26, 2011 FLIGHT II LAB
Time: 01:14 PM
Temp: 26.1°F
Dew Point: 10.0°F
Humidity: 51%
Pressure 29.79 in
Visibility: 10.0 miles
Wind Direction: West 8.1 mph
Wind Speed: 18.4 mph
Conditions: Mostly Cloudy
Bridget relished her time in Near Space, that transitional zone that officially lies between 75,000 feet and 328,000 feet (62 miles/100 kilometers), too low to be considered deep space, too high for common conveyances like jet aircraft, and squarely in the realm of sub-orbital rockets, high-altitude balloons, military aircraft -- and Metahuman superpowers. She considered this a beach between the infinite ocean above and the crowded lands below, and loved 'wading' here with her boyfriend, Jarrod. The view was breath-taking: the sky above was a sapphire-tinted canopy devoid of any features except the brightest stars; the farms below resembled snow-covered puzzle pieces dotted with frozen lakes that resembled spilled milk, blanketed by a slow-motion surf of thick white clouds; and the wraparound horizon shimmered as an eye-searing azure belt in the morning sunshine. She willingly accepted any task that allowed the couple access to Near Space.
Even though Bridget's backpack optics were superior in most ways to her infrared sense, it was the latter that spotted the plane first: a dart-shaped speck in the air above them, its dark gray camouflage shading nearly indistinguishable from the sky beyond, but still a heat source against the cooler firmament. She spoke over their personal comm channel and pointed, and Jarrod's head swiveled up in the proper direction.
"I see it," he confirmed. He made the subtle adjustments that set them climbing towards the plane.
She switched to the public channel. "Base, Tandem is calling a tallyho on the bogey, 1:00 high and closing."
Base: "Copy that, Tandem. Give us the bogey dope."
"Bogey is at angels eighty-eight-four, Mach 2.7, and hasn't painted us yet." Translation: the target aircraft was traveling at a height of 88,400 feet, at a velocity of just above two-and-half times the speed of sound, and had given no indication of having seen Bridget and Jarrod approaching from below and behind.
Base: "Copy that. We see it, image is five-by-five."
They saw whatever her optics saw, transmitted along with the voice link. And her optics saw whatever her face was pointed at. "Bogey is padlocked and merge is imminent."
Base: "Roger, Tandem. Proceed with caution."
"Roger, wilco." Bridget and Jarrod pulled level with the aircraft, off its port wing-tip. What they saw resembled a flying axe blade: long and sleek with a rounded snout, flat-bodied and twin-tailed, with two stubby wings folded back along its wide waist. The fuselage rested atop the boxy propulsion unit, masked and baffled to reduce it's thermal signature. Low-aspect markings around the visor-like cockpit window completed the sinister bascinet-like appearance. No obvious weapons, fuel tanks, or cargo pallets hung from the wings or body of the plane, though they did notice a couple of silvery-looking panels that might have concealed sensors.
What the aircraft pilot(s) saw resembled a 21st Century rendition of Pegasus and Bellerophon. A Metahuman with severe Gross Structural Dystrophy, Yang Xiao Zheng -- known to his friends as Jarrod -- closely resembled a ten-foot-long ultra-lithe Sea Otter with azure-tinted fur, his psychokinetic shell providing not only hypersonic flight but shielding against friction and pressure effects. A Metahuman with mild GSD, Bridget Krauss rode in the saddle strapped along his spine, and wore an azure-tinted pressure suit complete with bubble-helmet and backpack stuffed with hi-tech gear.
"What do you think?" Jarrod asked Bridget on their private link. "Any idea how to talk to them?"
"Nope," she replied. "So: when in doubt, time to shout." She switched to the public channel. "Base, we need a radio frequency to talk to the bogey."
Base: "Copy that, Tandem. Wait one."
"Roger, wilco," she replied.
"No sign of movement behind the cockpit window," Jarrod noted, "but I thought I saw a reflection behind one of those odd-colored panels."
Bridget received a stream of numbers over the radio, which she fed into her comm unit. "Ready to proceed."
Base: "Roger, Tandem. Make the call."
Bridget muted the link to Base, changed radio frequencies, and switched to her best Valleyspeak. "Yo! Is there anyone aboard the big gray Air Force plane with no I.D. numbers?"
There was a crackle of static across the channel, and then a man's voice came on. "We read you loud and clear. Who...or what...are you?"
"We're Whateley Academy students."
Pilot: "Whateley Academy?"
"Helloooo? The Metahuman school in Coos County, New Hampshire? Like, you just flew over it."
Pilot: "Copy that."
"You got a name? You know, one of those funny call-sign thingies?"
Pilot: "We're not at liberty to say."
"Why not?"
Pilot: "National security regulations."
"Oh, my gawd. Are you serious?"
Pilot: "Affirmative."
"That is SO lame."
Pilot: "What's your name?"
"Hey, if I can't have your name, you can't have mine!"
Pilot: "Copy that."
"You know, we don't see many people up this high. Are you new here?"
Pilot: "We're not at liberty to say."
"What-ever. We're too busy to hang around and rap anyway: we have to finish our assignment."
Pilot: "What's the assignment?"
"Collecting samples of stratospheric microbes. TOTALLY boring! Like, we still have a lot to do yet, and we have to be back on-campus by curfew."
Pilot: "You're going into the stratosphere?"
"Well, duh! That's where the little bugs are at! At least we only have to go up 25 miles this time."
Pilot: "Did you say 25 MILES?"
"Yeah. Can you dudes go that high?"
Pilot: "We're not at liberty to say."
"Ok. Well, it's been class talkin' to you, mostly. Oh, one more thing: did you Air Force types have anything to do with the UFO's hanging around our campus last fall?"
Pilot: "UFO's?"
"Like, there were some cloaked planes doin' a stakeout on our school, and got their pictures taken before they were chased off. Our teacher says that next time they're caught sneaking around Whateley, or the Medawhila Reservation, they're gonna get a MUCH nastier reception."
Pilot: "Copy that."
"Anyway, we're off like a prom dress. You dudes have a bitchin' flight."
Pilot: "You, too."
Bridget killed the connection.
Jarrod went vertical and accelerated past Mach 3.
Bridget swept their wake with her camera suite. "Base, the bogey is circling, no doubt taking pictures of us."
Base: "Bravo zulu, Tandem. Mission accomplished. You're free to go up on the roof and watch the satellite races for awhile."
"Roger, wilco," Bridget said, sharing an anticipatory grin with Jarrod.
* * *
Victor Vilmaniac suppressed a smile as he released the switch on the microphone in his fist and gently set in on the table top. The table occupied one of the Whateley garages, commandeered by Vilmaniac for his Flight II students and dubbed The Hangar. His gaze was focused on the large computer monitor mounted on the wall above the table, which relayed the view collected by Bridget's camera suite, of the rapidly receding dart-shaped speck and the cloud deck beneath it.
The remainder of his students were clustered in folding chairs behind him, also watching the monitor:
* Celeste Lenninger, aka "Odonate" the Warper: frail and fragile in appearance, with alabaster skin and platinum hair that formed a porcelain pinnacle atop her spare physique.
* Marcus Bingham, aka "Tanerore" the Mage: barrel-chested and stocky, with a broad face and broad nose, wavy hair and thick lips, clearly a dark Yin to Celeste's Yang.
* Glynnis and Gregory Stibolt, aka "Twidget" and "Snidget" the twin Gadgeteers: both shared round faces, high foreheads, pug noses, hooded hazel eyes, prominent chins, and tightly-curled chestnut-tinted hair.
* Nancy Yamakaji, aka "Doyen" the Devisor: a moon-faced beauty with almond-shaped eyes, pouty lips, wide nose, and a curtain of mahogany-colored hair that spilled onto her shoulders.
* Devin Perini, aka "Curl" the PK adept: a body of rippling muscles, a face of planes and sharp angles, colored with sea-blue eyes and arctic white hair, perpetually tanned and wind-blown.
And they were all laughing.
"Man, that was absolutely hilarious!" Gregory exclaimed.
"Who knew Bridget does impressions?" Glynnis added.
"If I didn't know any better," Marcus opined, "I'd swear she sounded like a surfer...didn't she, Devin?"
"More like a mall-rat than a surfer," Devin corrected drolly. "Great accent, though."
"Think those pilots got a good look at Bridget and Jarrod?" Nancy asked.
"Probably," Celeste replied. "The cameras on board that plane are said to be sensitive enough to read a newspaper on the ground from 90,000 feet, or count the rivets on a satellite in low orbit."
"Bet that intercept was quite a shock," Gregory opined. "With their stealth-tech active they were essentially invisible to radar, and at 2,200 miles per hour they're going fast enough to cross the entire continent in 70 minutes."
"I'll bet Tandem's departure was an even bigger shock," Glynnis countered. "Jarrod is faster and flies 50,000 feet higher -- without any visible moving parts, airfoils, or exhaust plumes. No wonder they were taking snapshots!"
"And speaking of snapshots," Nancy said, tossing a stack of photos on the table, "there aren't many details in those pictures."
"It's the best we could do under the circumstances," Gregory shrugged.
"More info than anyone else has gotten since then," Glynnis added.
"We even asked the Contraptionists Club for help -- and they got nowhere surfing the conspiracy websites."
"Same for the Administration and the alumni network -- some of whom are plugged into the spook community."
"So, why not let the U.S. Government take a shot at it?"
"Yeah, since they have a lot more resources than we do."
"Well, good luck with it," Nancy concluded.
"Assuming they take the bait," Celeste asked Vilmaniac, "what happens next?"
"We wait," he replied, "and let the bubble work its way up the food chain."
"Waiting sucks," Devin sighed.
"Always the hardest part of any plan," Vilmaniac concluded.
[Updated on: Sat, 25 August 2012 21:55]
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62552 is a reply to message #62551 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:06  |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY TWO Monday, March 28, 2011 SEVENTH PERIOD
"Ok," Vilmaniac said, "time to march down the To-Do List. First off, a hearty congratulations to Nancy and Devin for passing their Flight I tests. They now join Bridget in the auditor role for this class and their presence on the team roster expands our capabilities just as profoundly as Bridget's arrival did. Well done."
Devin and Nancy received a round of vocal kudos and high-fives.
"Now, having said that, I'd like to define just what those expanded capabilities are." Vilmaniac reached for his clipboard a familiar gesture to his students, who all opened their laptop computers and prepared to record the assignments they knew were coming.
"Nancy and Glynnis: you're going to build us a glider, but not an ordinary one. It's primary source of lift will come from surfing on Jarrod's PK wake, with a secondary air-pressure variant in case of emergency. That's means using more augmenters, just like in Jarrod's saddle and Bridget's dance shoes. Keep it small and lightweight, two passengers, sealed cockpit, and some form of sensor bay or detachable pallets. Who does what is up to you two, but I would suggest Glynnis take the airframe and Nancy handle the pilot interface and avionics. Recruit from the Contraptionists Club again, if it helps.
"Devin: you're going to be piloting the glider. However, it's going to be tailored to your surfing skills, rather than standard flight controls, and you'll almost certainly have to teke most aspects of the flight envelope. Since you and your RIO will be inside a sealed cabin, you'd better spend some time practicing surfing from a seated or prone position. Coordinate with Jarrod to get some pool time, and with Nancy and Glynnis for the right hardware.
"Gregory: since Jarrod is going to be towing the glider, it's going to have a definite affect on his flight dynamics. You get to program a simulation of the vehicle once Nancy and Glynnis have a firm design. And then you get to build the actual tow system and modify Jarrod's harness accordingly. I probably don't need to mention that it should allow for mechanical failures and material fatigue but I am anyway. Coordinate with Jarrod for some test time.
"Jarrod and Bridget: your in-air workload just went up. Jarrod, Dr. Shandy has assured me that your skeletal structure can handle the extra strain readily enough, so we've scheduled some tests to look at the PK parameters. Bridget, you're going to have to adapt to having that vehicle in your baffles, making your blind spot even bigger, so you need to figure out how to see around it.
"Celeste: with the acquisition of the glider, we will be moving from offensive to defensive mission aspects. I want to see some escort scenarios, how to protect the vehicle from manned and unmanned interception, as well as a list of high-altititude recon options.
"Marcus: you'll be looking at ways to hide the glider. Mechanical and electronic stealth where suitable, magic where not suitable. To save weight, there won't be any offensive capability, so layer-on the defensive properties. Coordinate with Gregory, Glynnis, and Nancy for the implementation, then reel-in Celeste for the tactical considerations.
"Needless to say, we don't have a lot of time left in the semester, so we need to set an aggressive schedule. Scavenge and improvise wherever possible. Glynnis and Nancy, you might look around the various garages to see if anyone has a discarded airframe or even a submersible that can be adapted. What this glider brings to the table is a whole new perspective for this course, one I hadn't even considered possible a few months ago. I can say without exaggeration that you are setting new standards here, raising the bar higher than anything your predecessors have done. I am excited about this project, and hope you are, too. Questions?"
"Why build something so eccentric as this glider, when standard tech is readily available?" Marcus asked.
"Four reasons," Vilmaniac replied. "One, I don't have a budget big enough to acquire a used aircraft, of any size. Two, an experimental aircraft with a Special Airworthiness Certificate avoids all sorts of regulations. Three, the unusual lift system allows us to take the vehicle to extreme altitude without aerodynamic penalties. Four, the design, construction, and deployment of the vehicle provides some pretty serious academic credit for everyone involved."
"Fair enough."
"I might not need the pool for testing," Devin mused.
"Why not?" Vilmaniac asked.
"Well, I can teke a sled or snow saucer high enough for Nancy and me to ride in, and just tie a rope to Jarrod's saddle. Won't be completely like riding a wave, but I can experiment with different positions."
"Good idea," Vilmaniac replied. "Follow up on that."
* * *
As usual, Bridget and Jarrod were the first ones through Vilmaniac's office door, since Jarrod's tail tended to require extra logistics. Bridget was surprised to find the Gryphon Groupies waiting in the hallway:
* Melody Cabrera, aka "Clef": a portrait of a diminutive, haunted figure bound in a Whateley uniform, defined by a profile of high cheekbones and hollow eyes, framed by long blond hair that spilled onto her petite shoulders, characterized by movements both elegant and timid, and who often stared into the distance as if harboring an all-consuming secret.
* Bryan Bandurski, aka "Trochilidae": easily identified by his Cheshire Cat's grin and bottomless green eyes, his snow-white hair scooped over his skull and ears like so much vanilla frosting. And, like the Lewis Carroll icon, he spent as much time drifting above floors and walks as he did strolling upon them, and often at incredibly odd, disconcerting angles.
* Beth Zanchini, aka "Volatile": marked by extremes thin lips, narrow nose, slitted eyes and smile, pinched cheeks and razor-thin brows, a frazzled mane of particolored tufts, and a gangly physique whose brusque, cynical façade masked a gun-shy insecurity, she could usually be located by her loud, abrasive laugh or endless stream of chatter and comments.
* Adriano Pirillo, aka "Lube": his Whateley uniform hung like a bundle of ill-fitting stove-pipes, and he slouched rather than walked. Distinguishing features included tattoos that peaked out from beneath collars and sleeves, a military-grade buzz-cut, and a permanently curled lip. However, his slovenly appearance was in jarring contrast to the twinkle of keen intelligence in his eyes.
The twins exited the door and merged with the group; Gregory slipped alongside Melody and took her waiting hand, Glynnis wrapped her arms around one of Bryan's elbows. Marcus and Celeste followed Devin and Nancy into the hallway, joining Jarrod and Bridget nearest the stairwell. Beth and Adriano stood at the top of the steps, watching the group gather.
"It's about time you guys got finished," Beth exclaimed. "I'm starving; let's go eat. Sean and Alicia are probably already there."
"Knowing Sean," Bridget sighed, "he's probably already on his second pass through the line."
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62553 is a reply to message #62552 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:17 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY THREE Wednesday, March 30, 2011 SECOND PERIOD
Jarrod had never seen the art classroom in use, since Bridget always brought him here after classes. It was well-lit by large ceiling windows and banks of fluorescent lights, which shown down upon a cluster of easels and high stools, small tables with low stools, and free-standing workbenches of solid oak with laminated tops. A radio tuned to the campus station valiantly pumped music into the room, though barely audible over the noise of running water, power tools, and gossip.
Jarrod had gotten permission from Mrs. Bohn to skip his Powers Theory Lab and sit-in on one of Bridget's classes. And he was sitting, crouched on the floor with his tail wrapped around his ankles. He watched Bridget at a nearby table, applying gobbets of modeling clay to the armature she'd built. While not overly-thrilled to be the subject of her sculpture assignment, it did give him a chance to see her at work in her 'native environment'. He swapped comments with her, as well as her classmates, who often gathered in small groups to critique each other's work or lend a helping hand. The teacher, Mrs. Annette Plouffe -- La Grande Dame to her inner circle of senior students -- directed the traffic around the double sink, sending a steady stream of students back-and-forth to the storage cabinets and over-crowded shelving units; she also kept an eye on the door, also subject to heavy traffic. Jarrod didn't know how she remained so calm and so focused in the midst of such chaos, but nothing escaped her radar-like gaze.
All-in-all, Jarrod liked the place.
Bridget used an assortment of wooden-handled wire tools to carve chunks off the lumpy mass, combining and and repositioning them. Then she'd inspect the results and compare them to Jarrod, usually producing a frown. That would immediately cause the whole process to be repeated.
Jarrod liked watching her, too.
"Hey, sis!" Both Jarrod and Bridget turned, tracking the familiar voice.
Bridget's younger brother Sean approached her table. The family resemblance was unmistakable: tall and lean like his sister, gifted with the same mane of copper-colored hair and ginger-tinted unibrow, the same protruding jaw and seashell-like ears, the same wide nose and jade-green eyes, and the same splatter of freckles. Two figures trailed into the room behind him.
Jarrod recognized one of the figures: Alicia Shewan. Alicia was distinctive for being a chimera, mostly-human above the waist, mostly feline below the waist, covered in short dense fur with calico coloring (though mostly hidden beneath her Whateley uniform). The other figure was equally distinctive: her rust-colored pageboy cut framed a set of smooth-faced apple-dumpling cheeks which rippled with a rich gamut of facial expressions, her body was shaped like a plump bowling pin with stumpy arms and legs that terminated in cankles, forehams, and sausage-like digits, which caused her Whateley uniform to drape like an ill-fitting curtain.
Sean waved at Jarrod, who nodded.
"What's up?" Bridget asked absently.
"I've got someone I want you to meet," Sean replied.
Bridget eyed her brother, then Alicia, then grinned. "The last time I heard that request, it was to meet your new girlfriend. Don't tell me you're replacing Alicia..."
"Not if he wants to keep breathing," Alicia purred, locking her arms around Sean's elbow.
Jarrod snorted, a smirk tweaking his lips.
"No way," Sean sighed. "Sis, this is Sabina Petershwim, Alicia's new roommate. Bina, say hello to Bridget."
Bridget set her tools on the table and turned, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Hi, Bina, it's nice to meet you."
Bina flushed, clearly embarrassed. "Nice to meet you. Alicia talks a lot about you."
"I find that hard to believe, since all she ever talks about is Sean."
"Can you blame her?" Sean countered which earned him an elbow in his ribs. "And this is Jarrod."
"I think we've already met," Jarrod said.
"We have?" Bina asked, clearly surprised.
"At one of the Faction 3 meetings."
"Oh. Yeah..."
"Freshman?" Bridget asked.
Bina nodded.
"Seems a little unusual to put a freshman into a dorm room with a sophomore..."
Alicia shrugged. "That's what I thought, too. But I don't have a problem with it."
They all became aware of a sudden Presence, and turned en masse to discover the teacher standing behind them, her arms crossed and her head canted to the side.
"And you are...?" Mrs. Plouffe asked.
"Just visiting," Sean replied. His nervous smile quickly withered.
"I see. Well, we have only one rule here: everyone must be creative," her gaze swiveled until pinned on Jarrod, "except you."
"Me?" Jarrod gulped.
"You are posing, which is an acceptable alternative. Besides, you are Bridget's inspiration; her creative spark has blossomed majestically since your arrival, which by itself makes you a welcome addition. However, you others must either leave or get your hands dirty."
"I'll have to pass, thanks," Sean replied, edging towards the door.
"Me, too," Alicia added, still attached to Sean's arm.
"I'd like to stay," Bina admitted. "That clay looks like fun..."
"Excellent choice," Mrs. Plouffe said, smiling with approval. "Bridget, be a dear and get her an apron, then show her where the clay tub is at. As for you, young man," her gaze focused once more on Jarrod, "I suggest you remain right where you are."
Jarrod gulped and nodded.
Bridget grinned at her teacher's receding back, then leaned over and said to Jarrod, "She likes you."
"I'll take your word on that," he replied.
* * *
The hour passed quickly for Bridget, as she had to divide her time between putting clay on the armature, keeping an eye on Bina, and watching the clock. It wasn't long before Mrs. Plouffe tapped the bell on her desk to signal the approaching end of class. "What are the chances of you coming back tomorrow?" she asked Jarrod.
"I'll have to ask Mrs. Bohn. Why?"
"I'm going to need more time. Overall, I'm pretty close, but some of the proportions are off a bit."
"I'll send her an e-mail during lunch."
"Thanks, sweetie."
"Could I come, too?" Bina asked.
"To which, lunch or class tomorrow?" Bridget countered.
"Both, if it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble at all, to either." Bridget started to gather her tools together, stuffing the pockets of her apron.
"Thank you," Bina replied, untying her own apron.
"Did you have fun? You didn't seem to be doing much, so I thought you were getting a little bored."
"No, I wasn't bored at all. I was just...well...watching your hands. They're so graceful, like feathers dusting across the clay, caressing it..."
"Thanks," Bridget grinned. "But, always remember that it's the heart, not the hands, that guides an artist. That's why creativity crosses so many different mediums."
Bina nodded, considering.
"We'd better hustle," Bridget advised, making a dash for the tool cabinet.
* * *
Jarrod set his lunch tray on the table, pushed his chair aside and sat on his haunches on the floor.
Bridget settled into the vacant chair beside Jarrod, her tray settling onto the table beside his.
Sean and Alicia settled into the chairs opposite Jarrod and Bridget.
Bina sat in the empty chair beside by Bridget, nervously mirroring their actions.
Other figures began to settle around the table, and Bina found herself surrounded by older kids scrutinizing her.
"Guys, this is Bina, Alicia's new roomie," Bridget announced. "Bina, this is Celeste, Marcus, Glynnis, Bryan, Gregory, Melody, Nancy, Devin, Adriano, and Beth."
"Hey, Bina, how's it hangin'?" Devin asked.
"Hi, Devin!" she replied, surprised.
"You two know each other?" Alicia asked.
"Oh, sure," Devin replied. "We're both gym rats, usually working the weights. We even spot for each other on occasion."
Everyone at the table stared at Bina, who blushed a bright crimson. "That's my mutant ability," she admitted. "I'm super-strong."
"Check this out," Devin said. He rolled-up the sleeve of his Whateley shirt and laid his bare arm on the table, knuckles-up. The arm was thick and heavy, the muscles beneath the skin coiling across each other like elevator cables, road-mapped with veins. As he wriggled his fingers, the fibrous bundles flexed and unflexed impressively. He gestured, and Bina laid her arm next to his. Her limb was shorter and only half the diameter of his, the skin as smooth as albino blubber, and nearly bereft of any bulges. "Mine looks stronger, right? Well, she can lift twice my best without even breaking a sweat. Friggin' awesome."
"Even when you add in your TK?" Gregory asked.
"With a teke, I can almost match her."
"Wow."
Bina blushed again, realizing the expressions around her did not reflect fear or revulsion, just curiosity or respect.
Bridget saw that realization in Bina's eyes, and whispered in her ear, "Relax, you're among friends here."
Bina nodded.
"What's your code-name?" Nancy asked.
"I don't have one yet," Bina replied, "though I have considered 'Hässliches Entlein'..."
"What does that mean?" Alicia asked.
"The 'Ugly Duckling' in German," Bina sighed.
"Don't be so discouraged," Nancy said. "Something will suggest itself. Just try to avoid the muscular references -- seems like this place is simply infested with super-strength types," she jabbed Devin with an elbow, "and finding something original just gets more-and-more difficult."
"Thank you. So, are you all Gryphons?"
"Nah," Beth replied. "The Gryphons sit on that side of the table, the groupies sit on this side of the table."
"Oh..."
"Don't scare the newbie," Adriano drawled to Beth. To Bina, he said, "Actually, seating is by habit."
Beth rolled her eyes and muttered, "Spoil-sport." But then she grinned at Bina.
Bina recognized the gentle teasing, and grinned back.
"Of course, you'll need to get a boyfriend if you want to stay here," Beth continued. "It's couples-only."
"Oh, give her a break," Bridget groaned.
"Yeah, boyfriends aren't all they're cracked-up to be," Glynnis added in a consoling tone.
"Neither are girlfriends," Bryan countered. They shared speculative expressions.
"I've...never had a boyfriend," Bina confessed.
"As my mother used to say, There's Someone For Everyone. You just have to be patient and wait for that special someone to appear," Bridget offered.
"Funny, I don't remember Mom ever saying that," Sean mused.
"Well, she did."
"Unfortunately, finding that special someone -- not to mention keeping them -- may prove increasingly problematic," Adriano sighed. His comment drew an assortment of odd looks, particularly from Beth.
"Agreed," Jarrod added. His comment also drew an assortment of odd looks, particularly from Bridget.
"Would you care to explain that statement?" Nancy asked Adriano.
"Quintain's article," he replied.
"Ah."
"Huh?" Beth asked. "What article?"
"Where have you been?" Glynnis smirked. "Everyone's talking about it."
"Science isn't my thing," Beth sniffed.
"Dr. Quintain just published an article about the Mating Habits of Metahumans," Nancy explained, "citing research that shows we mutants are pair-bonding at an earlier age than our Baseliner peers, and theorized that we'll keep those bonds longer. His theory is posited on two suppositions. First, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that sexual dimorphism in hominids -- us -- has been decreasing since Australopithecus, indicating that our ancestors started out polygamous but have been converting to monogamy (or, at least, serial monogamy) ever since. Second, human sexual activity has been occurring at increasingly earlier ages over the last century; and while originally attributed to better nutrition and changing social conventions, he suggested that it might also have something to do with the sudden appearance of the Metahuman community."
"So?"
"In species where the young are particularly vulnerable and would benefit from protection by both parents, monogamy is usually the optimal strategy. In species under severe risk from external forces, breeding habits are susceptible to sudden and dynamic alterations. Put together, it suggests we're on the edge of a radical change in mutant society. And though he didn't say so in the article, the buzz is that his theory is a result of tracking successive classes of Whateley graduates."
"Again, so?"
"His concerns are that there aren't enough mature Metahuman couples for proper statistical analyses yet -- not only are we too new on the evolutionary scene, but we have a 'precipitously high mortality rate' because of Baseliner rejection and the fighting among ourselves."
"I still don't understand."
"What she's trying to say," Adriano added, "and what Quintain did say, is that our obsession with sex is not just due to the usual raging hormones, but the threat of extinction. In other words, the pressure is on to Breed Or Die. And if there is any validity to it, then the school administration will be forced to take a long, hard look at the structure and curriculum of this place. No telling what kind of changes could be applied."
"Ok, now I get it...and I'm not sure I like it."
"That was my point," Adriano sighed. "While some of us are graduating this spring, the rest of us are stuck here for awhile longer, and if the administration decides to stir things up, it could be even more unpleasant than ever. For instance: Beth, how would you like it if you and I were moved to separate campuses?"
"I wouldn't like it at all," Beth grumbled.
"Oh, c'mon," Glynnis said, "that's unlikely to happen."
"Unlikely, but not impossible," Adriano countered. "The administration can draw on studies that show boys and girls learn at different rates; that's the current justification for single-sex classrooms at other schools. But we're mutants, which only muddies the waters. What they should do is look at the studies showing that female staff at prisons have a calming effect on male prisoners, because the male inmates often display a level of respect toward women based on cultural roles. There have even been cases where male prisoners have defended female correctional officers from assault."
"I've always said Whateley has a lot in common with a prison," Sean smirked.
Alicia poked him in the ribs.
"Adriano raises a valid point," Marcus noted. "Speaking from personal experience, there were many occasions when the only thing that made this place tolerable was knowing that I'd found someone special here. I can't imagine what it would have been like without her."
Celeste slipped her arms around his elbow, her Promise Ring clearly visible. "My sentiments exactly."
"Not much we can do about it if it does happen," Devin said with a shrug.
"My mother also used to say, Love Will Find A Way," Bridget added.
"She never said that, either," Sean scowled.
"Sure she did -- she said it to me, anyway -- though she never warned me my Prince Charming might have blue fur..."
"You know, my fur wasn't always blue," Jarrod said.
"It wasn't?"
"No. Originally it was white."
"White?!?"
"Yes."
"What, like a Yeti?" Sean asked, grinning.
Alicia poked him in the ribs again.
"The Yeti is Tibetan, not Chinese," Jarrod corrected. "I was told my fur resembled a polar bear's: it looked white because the air pocket inside each hair scattered light of all colors. It was only after I started flying into the stratosphere that it turned blue. Then there's the fact that my neck was shorter in the early days..."
"Really?" Bridget asked him.
"It didn't start stretching until I was flying for long periods of time, and I needed to keep my head up and level. That's when the extra vertebrae grew in."
"So your BIT was still changing your body even after your manifestation?" Glynnis asked Jarrod.
"Yes. One of my advisors called it 'fine-tuning'."
"Sounds like another research topic for Dr. Quintain to write about," Gregory suggested.
"Fine, just as long as I'm not involved."
"Any other secrets I should know?" Bridget asked with a theatric gesture.
"If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets."
She frowned and poked him in the ribs.
Everyone else grinned.
Jarrod lapsed into silence, considering Adriano's concerns while the conversation around him spun away into tangents. Such thoughts filled him a vague unease, like feeling a lock shudder under pounding, or an anchor dragging along the seabed.
[Updated on: Sat, 25 August 2012 22:05]
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62554 is a reply to message #62553 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:29 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY FOUR Saturday, April 9, 2011 MID-MORNING
Time: 10:20 AM
Temp: 48.0°F
Dew Point: 19.0°F
Humidity: 32%
Pressure 30.14 in
Visibility: 10.0 miles
Wind Direction: Variable
Wind Speed: 4.6 mph
Conditions: Clear
Jarrod sat on the apron outside the Hangar door, his tail wrapped around his ankles, as Bridget stood beside him. They watched without comment as Nancy marched through the door, followed by Devin and Bina carrying an object between them.
They set the object on the apron, and stood aside so Nancy could inspect it.
"What is that?" Bridget asked dubiously.
"Our first test platform," Nancy replied, beaming with pride.
"It looks a little like an airboat with the fan and motor missing."
"The base is a jon boat, the handlebars are off an old stationary bike, the seat is a canvas dufflebag filled with foam, and the safety belts are made from conveyor belt scraps."
"Real hi-tech."
"Well, you heard the Skipper: keep it cheap."
"I do recognize those gizmos along the sides..."
"You should: those are PK augmenters."
"It's a short boat with a flat bottom like a surfboard so it should feel familiar," Devin added.
"And if this configuration works, I might be able to get hold of an old jet ski frame for the next iteration," Nancy concluded.
"It looks a little like my father's buckboard without wheels, of course," Bina mused.
"Yeah, I can see it," Devin grinned.
"Where do you tie the tow rope?" Bridget asked.
"To this swiveling eye-hook I welded just below the handlebars. I figure we tie the ends of the rope behind your stirrups, and loop it through the eye-hook."
"Will that be strong enough?"
"Shouldn't be a problem, as long as we stay at tree-top level. Should be easy enough to modify the length, too, to test different separation values."
Bina watched Devin, Nancy, and Bridget look at the testbed, and then at Jarrod. "Do you suddenly feel hungry for a bag of oats?" she asked him.
"Yes," Jarrod replied drolly.
"No, sweetie," Bridget grinned, "you deserve an apple."
"Better make it an apple turnover. A big one."
"Deal!" Devin and Nancy chorused, also grinning.
Jarrod simply nodded, not sharing their enthusiasm.
* * *
Jarrod watched patiently as Nancy tied the ropes to his saddle, looking ever-so-much like a disgruntled mule resting on its haunches. He felt modest little tugs as the ropes were firmly anchored in place, thinking it might have been more prudent to insist on Devin cinching the knots.
Bridget stood beside him, wearing her baggy old bright-orange skydiver's jumpsuit, the matching white helmet with tinted visor, and gloves and boots for thermal protection. The headphones for her comm unit hung around her neck, waiting to be slipped-on beneath the helmet.
Jarrod offered his hand, which Bridget sandwiched between her own hands.
Nancy walked away from them, carefully unrolling both lengths of rope, before securing the other ends to the testbed. Devin and Bina stood beside it, observing quietly. Nancy had donned her Whateley snowsuit, Devin had put on his black leather roadwear; each carried a motorcycle helmet, complete with aftermarket comm unit attached. Bina wore her own snowsuit, bonnet, a scarf, and mittens.
"Our goal here," Nancy explained to Devin, "is to analyze your posture and musculoskeletal system when you're surfing, to build a complex control system that reads your every motion and mimics you almost instantly, and then sends the proper signals to the network of PK augmenters. It has to be fast, accurate, subtle, and keep pace with you, otherwise it will produce a slight lag that will create a drag-like effect...like you're moving through water."
"So, you're building me a shadow?" Devin asked.
"Yes, a mechanical shadow." She grinned at his analogy. "Fortunately, we'll only need a few points of contact the hands, elbows, shoulders, hips, and knees so that our control system can interpret your intended movements and react accordingly." She began attaching little boxes to his limbs with duct tape, each box trailing a set of wires that plugged into the back of a much larger box. The large box had a single strap that looped from one side to the other, which she hung over his shoulder. "These sensors feed measurements to the central processor in here," she tapped the large box, "dozens of times per second. The system runs these readings through a set of equations that governs the position and motion of your arms, legs and back. It recognizes when you want to lean and twist and calculates which of the augmenters needs to fire, at what strength, and for how long."
"Ok..."
"It will also record your favorite movements and generate some templates patterns that can be used to fine-tune the system."
"If you say so..."
"Relax, baby, I'll be sitting right behind you. You just fly the board and leave the geek stuff to me. That's my specialty, after all."
"Deal."
"And we'll be in contact by radio the whole time," Bridget added. "That way you can tell us how fast or slow you want pulled."
"I appreciate that," Devin said.
Jarrod studied the expression on Devin's face. "Is something wrong?"
"It just hit me what we're about to do, that's all."
"Better get a grip: this is just a sleigh-ride around the campus, nothing compared to what comes next."
"Yeah, I know."
"What comes next?" Bina asked.
"After a few test flights, and a new glider, we go up higher," Nancy replied. "Much higher."
"How much higher?" Devin asked.
"Depends on how good a seal we can put on the glider's cabin. It's gotta be pressurized and heated..."
"How much higher?" Devin repeated.
"30,000 feet, maybe," Bridget said.
"But that's just an estimate," Nancy added.
"Right..." Devin's voice trailed into a whisper.
"What's the matter, are you afraid of heights?" Bina asked with a mischievous grin.
"Well, I didn't think I was," he replied with a deep sigh, "considering how much time I've spent teking my board above the California highway system. But there's a big difference in altitude between six stories and six miles..."
"You'll do just fine, baby," Nancy said, kissing his cheek.
Jarrod and Bridget exchanged dubious glances.
With a resigned shrug, Devin donned his helmet and advanced toward the testbed. He carefully stepped over the sides of the jon boat, and then swung his leg over the dufflebag. He settled onto the makeshift seat, grasping the handlebars experimentally.
"Well?" Nancy prompted.
"The seat is holding up my weight, which is a good sign," Devin replied. He located the seatbelt ends and began fumbling with them.
Nancy followed him into the boat and onto the seat, carefully evaluating it's sturdiness. "It'll do, for a slap-dash, under-budget, time-crunched kludge." She reached for her own seatbelt straps.
Bridget silently donned her helmet and climbed into the saddle, expertly snapping her own safety harness.
"Got room for Bina on that thing?" Jarrod asked Nancy and Devin.
"What?" Bina said, turning to face him.
"I thought you might like to join us on this 'high adventure' of ours."
"Well..."
"That's a great idea!" Devin boomed.
"I have no objections," Nancy shrugged, adjusting her sensors. "She can stand-in for the cargo pallets."
"What are cargo pallets?" Bina asked.
"How much do you weigh?" Devin asked her.
"Uh...138 pounds."
"I envy you that," Bridget sighed.
"Just about the weight of a generator and avionics rack," Nancy added. "Climb aboard, Bina."
"But..." Bina sputtered.
"What's the matter, are you afraid of heights?" Devin asked her.
"No..."
"Then c'mon, we're burning daylight."
"But I...I don't have a helmet."
"We won't tell if you won't."
"Oh, alright." Bina's expression was a facade of eager trepidation as she followed Nancy onto the testbed. "I don't have a seatbelt."
"Just hold onto mine," Nancy said dismissively. "Your grip should be more than adequate. Bridget, can you hear me OK?"
"Roger that," Bridget replied, adjusting her microphone. Then she muted it and leaned over Jarrod's shoulder. "You set that up, didn't you?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"Why?"
"She's a junior part of the group now, isn't she? Just like you were once."
"You're so sweet," she said, kissing his cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around his chest, gripping tightly as she snuggled against his back. "We're ready whenever you are," she spoke into the microphone.
Jarrod looked over his shoulder, following Bridget's gaze toward the testbed and its occupants. Not for the first time he recalled that only a year ago he was in a monastery in northern China, reading about Whateley on the Internet as his teachers campaigned with the bureaucracy to send him here. They would all be amazed if they could see what he was doing now.
* * *
Jarrod drifted slowly off the apron, allowing his tail to uncoil until it hung free of the pavement. Two ropes dangled off the saddle, arcing towards the testbed which still sat on the ground. His headphones crackled into life.
Devin: "Think I should wait until they're taut?"
Nancy: "No. Best be airborne before Jarrod puts any pressure on them. Copy that, Bridget?"
"I copy," Bridget replied.
Devin: "Ok, here we go." He face furrowed in concentration, and the ungainly construct eased off the pavement, gaining altitude quickly.
Nancy observed the lift-off casually; Bina watched the ground recede with a saucer-eyed expression.
Devin: "How high are we going?"
Nancy: "I vote for roof-top level, at least until we clear the campus."
"Agreed," Bridget said.
Devin: "Your wish is my command." The testbed kept rising.
Jarrod rose along with it, one eye on the ropes to keep them slack.
* * *
"This isn't as tough as I thought it was going to be," Jarrod said. "More like a pulling a wagon than a log."
"That's good," Bridget replied over her muted Mic. "I was concerned you'd get tired too easily."
"Shouldn't be a problem."
"You know," she mused, "it isn't too often that I come up here without my flightsuit. While I can't go into Near Space, I can stick my head outside of your PK field and feel the slipstream in my face."
"So, is that a fair trade-off?"
"Absolutely," she smiled.
"You know," he observed, "I like watching your hair snapping in the wind. It reminds me of the streamers and banners I saw as a child, at the temples I was raised in."
"I'll keep that in mind, sweetie."
One look at her face and he knew she wasn't exaggerating. His gaze then dropped to watch the treetops passing below them; barren craggy fingers of bark and ice that clawed towards the sun, beseeching the spring thaw that would arrive in the next few weeks. Less frequent, and further beneath, lay the cement ribbons of streets and sidewalks laboriously cleared of snow and ice. Between these structures were the manicured lawns now wreathed in snowdrifts and ice sheets, occasional marred by clusters of footprints (both human and animal) that resembled scraggly signatures in the snow. His and Bridget's shadows rippled and rolled across this harsh terrain like ghostly gray caricatures, making him yearn for the amorphous, diffuse surface of the clouds above or the vast emptiness of the stratosphere.
"So far, so good," Bridget said, drawing him back to the task at hand.
He glanced over his shoulder, at the contraption skittering along behind them. Bridget had been right: the thing did look a little like an airboat with the fan and motor missing, particularly as it bobbed and slipped across his PK wake. Not that you could see the actual wake; it was invisible to most sensors, including the Mark I Eyeball. But Devin could follow it, and coasted back-and-forth across it confidently. Jarrod's opinion of the California surfer rose several notches. "How's the tension on the tow ropes?"
"Seems OK. Let me ask Nancy what they're seeing."
Jarrod nodded, mindful of the canopy beneath him, the buildings off to his right, and the subtle variances in air quality. He could even see individual students pausing to watch the experiment while transiting the campus. Most of them were unimpressed.
"Who's that?" Bridget asked, gesturing off to their right. A figure could be seen flying toward them, dressed in Whateley sweats that whipped in the wind.
"Ah, it's just Vincent," Jarrod replied, and waved at the approaching figure, his eagle-like eyes having acquired the facial details much farther away than Bridget could.
"Wonder why he's up here?" she mused, also waving.
"We'll know in a moment."
They watched the approaching figure until he pulled alongside them, a friendly grin on his face. "Hey, Jarrod, Bridget. What are you guys doing?"
"Testing a prototype flyer for the Gryphons," Jarrod replied, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.
"That thing," Vincent gestured once over his shoulder, "is the Proof-of-Concept listed on the Activities Request?"
"Yeah."
"You're a braver man than I am."
"I just drag 'em, I don't design 'em."
"Ok, but try not to plow into any of the trees. We don't need the groundskeepers screaming about it."
"Will do."
"Catch you later. Nice to see you again, Bridget."
"You, too, Vincent," she called.
Vincent pealed away and flew off.
Bridget heard a squawking in her headphones, and started giggling.
"What's so funny?" Jarrod asked.
"Nancy wants to know who that was."
"Might as well tell her, so she stays focused on the task at hand."
"Good point," she nodded, and activated her Mic. "His name is Vincent Wadsworth, code-name Cheveyo, one of the 'bricks' on the Beta Squad. What? Jarrod shares a martial arts class with him on Thursday Nights. Yes, he's a hunk, but I'm spoken for."
"So is Vincent," Jarrod noted.
"He is?" Bridget asked.
"Yeah. She's waiting for him back home, and he's quite devoted to her."
"That separation must be tough, on both of them."
"It is." Jarrod fell into a moody silence, listening with only half an ear to Bridget's conversations with Nancy, and paying minimal attention to the rickety construct slaloming awkwardly behind them. Instead, he recalled Vincent's few brief comments about dealing with that 'separation issue', and how much he missed his girlfriend.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62556 is a reply to message #62554 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:39 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY FIVE Wednesday, April 13, 2011 AFTER SCHOOL
Bridget usually found Jarrod sitting on the Twain Cottage roof, and his mood could be guaged by the way he responded when she called: vaulting off the cornice with a cartwheel or somersault when excited, stepping quietly when distracted or sullen. But this time she found him hovering motionlessly near Everett Hall's girth-circling veranda, his qinxiao, his large Chinese flute, couched in the crook of his left arm, his face turned towards those clouds being bathed by the setting sun. He seemed frozen in mid-air, his tail well clear of the snow-covered grass, his feet level with the deck.
She called and leaned against the railing with open arms, the invitation obvious.
He hesitated before drifting slowly toward her.
Alarmed by his uncharacteristic reluctance, she waited for him to approach close enough to see his face clearly. She had teased him with the label 'Bambi Eyes' on more than one occasion, because of his larger-than-normal orbs and the distinct anime/manga appearance they bestowed; though incredibly acute, they lacked the full range of normal motion. But she had learned to read the subtle, nearly-imperceptible shifts and angles of his skull, which had the effect of altering the color of his irises, changing their depth and tone as well as their incredible range of reflectivity. So, by the waning light and the chill breeze, she examined his face...and received a completely unrecognizable impression. "What's wrong?"
He stopped short of her reach, bobbing gently. "Nothing."
"Don't I get a kiss?"
He nodded, sliding into range and into her arms. The kiss was disappointing.
"Something is wrong," she accused. "Did you get a nasty-gram from home?"
"No. I've just been...thinking about the future."
"Our future?"
"Everyone's future."
"Oh." She was at a loss for words. She guessed the unfamiliar emotion was depression (definitely a new one from him), but at least she hadn't caused it. "I was thinking about going over to the cafeteria. Care to tag along?"
"No, thanks. I don't think I'd be very good company right now."
"Ok," she nodded, then kissed him goodbye and gently shoved him away from the veranda. She walked a dozen paces, mulling the situation over in her mind, before reaching a decision: she would insist that he go with her, confident that she could dispel his funk. She turned back toward the railing and the courtyard beyond.
It was empty.
She sighed; she didn't need to look skyward to know that's where he'd gone. He always took off for the heights when he wanted to be alone. Her coping mechanism was a lot more mundane and closer to home: she felt a sudden craving for a chocolate shake.
Drawing her jacket tighter against the rising breeze, she followed the sidewalks back to the Crystal Hall's transparent geodesic dome. More-and-more students were spending time outside these days as the temperatures steadily climbed. Most of these students walked the sidewalks in small groups, chatting amiably or grimacing at private thoughts but a few traversed the empty space well above the snow, winging or floating between the skeletal trees. Bridget watched these flyers with a tugging at her heart.
She passed through the glass doors and into the atmosphere rich with heat, smells, and conversations. It took only a few minutes to work her way through the line at the soda fountain, and then she started looking about for a place to sit.
Her second surprise of the evening took the form of a familiar face sitting alone at a small table, also nursing a shake.
"Can I join you?" Bridget asked.
"Sure," Beth replied, indicating the empty chair.
"Thanks. What brings you here?"
"The need to indulge in a chocolate fix when I'm upset."
"I can appreciate that," Bridget sighed. "What are you upset about?"
"Adriano. I think I'm getting dumped."
"What gives you that idea?"
"I went over to his dorm, expecting to call his room and drag him off to the library for help with an assignment. Instead, I bumped into him outside, carrying his guitar. He was kinda dodgy, muttering something about 'jamming with some friends.' Since he hadn't said anything to me about it before-hand, it just struck me as real odd...like he was avoiding me." Beth used her straw to poke the ice cream at the bottom of her cup, then stirred the cup's contents. "Well, it won't be the first time..."
"Sorry to hear that."
"What about you? Where's your BF?"
"I found him over by Everett with his flute, just staring at the clouds. He seemed depressed about something. I turned my back for a minute and he was gone...just flew away."
Beth's head snapped up, her eyebrows continuing to slide upward until stopping at her hairline. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, don't take this wrong, but I'm glad to hear it."
"Why? Because misery loves company?"
"No, because if your guy is acting like my guy, then the problem isn't just with my guy and that means he's not dumping me!" Beth grinned at the thought. "In fact, I'll bet they're hanging together right now."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, both were acting moody, both had their instruments, and both disappeared about the same time."
Bridget wasn't convinced by Beth's rising cheer. "I don't know..."
"Look, did you actually see Jarrod fly away?"
"No."
"And he never goes jaunting without you, does he?"
"No."
"Then my guess is he didn't fly away; he went to meet Adriano."
"Ok, then, where are they?"
"Who knows? There are thousands of places to hide around here."
"Boys..."
"Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." Beth raised her cup in salute, a lop-sided grin on her face.
Bridget mirrored the gesture, feeling better in spite of herself.
* * *
"You wanted to chat?" Jarrod asked.
"Yeah, I do," Adriano replied.
"So, why here?" Jarrod pointed to the sports equipment that lined the walls of the room, the punching bags that hung from the ceiling, the racks of free weights and machines that filled the open spaces. The chamber was deserted save for them.
"I had a couple of odd thoughts I wanted to run past you, and this seemed like a good place to do it."
"Ok," Jarrod shrugged.
"When I first met Beth, she told me you can deflect her fire-darts. How do you do that?"
"The same way I fly: a PK thrust, only funneled through my hands rather than through my tail."
"Did you figure that one out yourself? Like, you know, by instinct?"
"No, one of my martial arts teachers did. He's a chi master, and is able to project it through his hands. Why?"
"You don't use it much, do you?"
"No, other than as a stabilizing effect when flying. Why?"
"How strong a blast do you think you can generate?"
"I don't know, I never put much effort into it."
Adriano moved behind the largest of the punching bags and braced it. "Go ahead: give it your best shot."
"What...?"
"Try putting a PK blast into this bag."
"Why?"
"Why not? What have you got to lose?"
"Fine," Jarrod replied. He didn't even bother bracing himself, he just raised him arm towards his friend, palm up and fingers spread wide.
Adriano hunkered down behind it.
Jarrod summoned his PK force and discharged it.
The bag and Adriano staggered.
"Not bad," Adriano said. "That was decent, actually. But for someone who kicks past Mach 3, I expected something more impressive."
My tail makes a much bigger pipe than my arm," Jarrod explained.
"I think you can do better, if you try a little harder."
"Is this really necessary...?"
"Just humor me."
Raising his arm again, Jarrod added intent, and aimed not at the bag but at the wall behind Adriano. His PK pulsed forcibly along his arm and through his hand, the palm vibrating under the pressure.
The bag recoiled, throwing Adriano into the wall with a loud, "Whoof!"
Jarrod hurried over to help him to his feet.
"You've done this before?" the latter asked, watching the bag swing ponderously, its swivels creaking loudly.
"Nope. Never."
"Well, then, let's take it to the next step." Adriano grabbed the bag, wrestling it into a motionless droop.
"What 'next step'?" Jarrod asked.
Adriano led Jarrod back to his earlier position. "This time, use one finger rather than the whole hand."
"Why?"
"There used to be a television character who would use his PK to cut off the top of people's skulls, so he could get to their brains. Even by Whateley standards, that's a reach; real PK just doesn't behave that way. But, the other day I was reading about an industrial grade cutting tool that uses a jet of water at high velocity and pressure to slice through hard materials like metal and granite. And I saw a similarity between the character's PK beam and the industrial waterjet."
"I can see where this is going," Jarrod said, "and you'll notice there are no water molecules in my PK jets."
"No, but there are air molecules inside your PK jets. In fact, I'll bet air pressure will push a constant supply of molecules into those jets for as long as they're stationary."
Jarrod's reply was a silent skepticism.
"Trust me on this."
Jarrod surrendered with a shrug; after all, Adriano had been right about the hand-blast thing, and they had nothing else to do for the moment. His arm came up again, his fingers clenched in a fist. He made sure Adriano was well clear of the bag before extending his forefinger. He aimed for the distant wall once more, this time visualizing a finger-wide column of force catching air molecules and accelerating them into miniature missiles. He released another PK pulse which, though strong enough to cause his finger to vibrate, produced no apparent affect on the bag. He said as much to Adriano.
"I don't think so," Adriano countered. "I saw a puff of dust erupt..." He walked over to inspect the surface of the bag. "There's a small hole here. And look how clean the cut is." He walked around the bag, nose hovering close to the surface. "Yep, there's another hole here. You drilled clear through the bag." Adriano turned toward the wall, his hand tracing the route from the bag to the bricks. "Wow, this spot looks like it's been sand-blasted. Damn, Jarrod, if word of this gets out..."
"Then promise me you won't say anything to anybody, OK?"
"Ok, but only on the condition that you start practicing with it regularly."
"Why?"
"Dude, you just acquired two brand-spanking-new distance attacks and for all practical purposes you have four hands. Think of the possibilities."
"But why should you care if I develop them or not."
"Because you're our champion against the rougher elements around here; people are still talking about what you did to Fulmin and Neuralon and their posse. And things always go a little crazy just before school lets out for the summer."
Jarrod shrugged, at a loss for words.
"Be as modest as you like, but if it goes south your friends will be targeted first, starting with Bridget."
Jarrod's fur bristled at the thought, his mane spreading menacingly.
"Sic vis pacem, para bellum," Adriano added.
"If you want peace, prepare for war," Jarrod translated.
Adriano nodded.
"Hi, guys," Melody said from the doorway. "What are you doing?"
"Just killing time," Adriano replied.
"Where are your instruments?"
"Over there," he pointed to a spot along the wall.
"Ready to go practice?"
"Whenever you are."
"Good." She turned and stepped through the doorway.
Adriano grabbed his guitar case and followed her.
Jarrod sighed, collected his qinxiao, and joined them.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62557 is a reply to message #62556 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:55 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY SIX Saturday, April 16, 2011 EVENING
Bridget ruminated on the fact that traditions are often birthed by spur-of-the-moment events that are then repeated by popular demand. Case in point: The Gryphon's Valentine's Day Dance, which had since evolved into a regular get-together on Saturday Nights, although nowhere near as elaborate as the original event. Still, such modest little social activities had the blessing of the Administration, since what else do you do with a campus full of teenagers looking to vent a little steam (particularly as the academic year was in its final lap)?
The underground chamber could have been a classroom -- it contained an assortment of tables and chairs, but was bereft of chalkboards, whiteboards, smartboards, viewscreens, or any of the equipment used to convey information to a large group. Instead, one of the tables contained a cooler of soft drinks, a box of pre-packaged snacks, and a radio tuned to the campus station. (Rumor had it the room was also equipped with a suite of discreet sensors, used by Security to monitor events, but there was no obvious evidence to support the claim. Frankly, no one cared: it beat sitting in a dorm room surfing the Web or planted in front of a television in one of the common areas.)
Attendance was far larger than could be accounted for by Team Gryphon alone; all the members had brought dates, friends, friends-of-friends, and general supporters of the team. The ceiling wasn't high enough to accommodate the bevy of flyers drawn to the event, so everyone clustered and clotted into little groups around the room, filled most of the chairs, and even sat on the tables. The noise level was decently high.
Bridget circulated through the room, pulling Jarrod along by the hand, chatting with the growing number of people she recognized. At one point, she paused to consider all of the changes just a few months had made to her life: before Jarrod, she wouldn't have been caught dead at one of these little soirées; now, she attended them fairly regularly, and her circle of acquaintances had grown significantly. She looked back at the motivator of change and grinned affectionately.
Jarrod nodded, content to be towed about the room while mindful of the tail he did his best to keep restrained.
They finally alighted among the core group, who had claimed the corner nearest the door. Bridget wasn't surprised to hear Bina's voice wafting through the crowd noise.
"You have four wings?" Bina asked.
"Yes," Celeste replied, "Just like a dragonfly."
"Or a fairy," Marcus added.
Celeste frowned at him.
"Don't look so disapproving, my dear. The fey all have beautiful, bejeweled wings, like ephemeral sheets of stained glass."
"That doesn't apply to me."
"Appearances may differ, but the principle is the same."
"Whatever."
"I don't see any wings," Bina said. "Are they invisible?"
"No, I have four stubs on my back that project energy fields," Celeste replied, gesturing over her shoulder. Four cylindrical-shaped bulges were barely discernible beneath the folds and wrinkles of her Whateley blazer.
"At least they're not, you know, real obvious..."
"Sometimes I wish they were."
"Why?"
"Because if they were flesh-and-blood, I could feel the wind lift them, feel the sun warm them, and feel more connected to the sky." Celeste looked down at her hands and added quietly, "It's like slipping into a cathedral through the back door."
"Oh, rubbish," Glynnis snorted. "That's your artsy-fartsy side talking. How you get up there isn't important; it's getting up there at all that matters."
"Agreed," Gregory added. "Ask any Baseliner pilot if the ride is worth being locked inside a tube with wings, or a basket beneath a balloon."
"Any mechanical method of manipulating air pressure for lift is just an extension of a natural method," Nancy offered.
"Organic wings, mechanical wings, energy wings...what difference does it make?" Devin asked.
"There are many ways to play the same chord, and each has its own flavor," Melody mused.
"Most of us can't go at all," Sean concluded ruefully. "We'll never really know what it feels like."
In the following of moment of awkward silence, Bridget discreetly checked the expression on her friends' faces, drawn in particular to Celeste's introspective thousand-mile-stare.
"Ok..." Devin said, changing topics. "And speaking of chords, what's with the instruments?" He gestured to the guitar case Adriano carried, and the tube-like case in Jarrod's hands.
"Jarrod, Melody, and I have been practicing together lately," Adriano said, shrugging slowly. "Nothing special, just a couple of tunes. Glynnis suggested we play something tonight."
"Damn straight," Glynnis added. "You guys rock."
"So, play something for us," Nancy urged.
Adriano and Melody commandeered seats and pushed them together Jarrod settled onto the floor beside Melody, wrapping his tail around his ankles. Adriano and Jarrod uncased their instruments, while Melody took off her shoes and socks, tapping her feet and wriggling her toes.
Bridget also acquired a chair, which she put prominently in front of the group. Others followed suit; still others noticed the activity and began to hush their neighbors. Someone killed the radio, and silence settled over the room.
"I'm afraid I don't have any witty opening remarks," Adriano said. To his partners, he added, "What about you guys?"
Jarrod and Melody shook their heads, the former inspecting his instrument while the latter slowly stirred the air above her lap.
Adriano shrugged, grinned at the audience, then started strumming his guitar strings. After a few bars, he began to sing:
I don't give a damn 'bout the castle on the hill
Or the gold that we could eat, or the horse you have for sale
No, I'm gettin' kinda rich on the side of any soul alive
Jarrod's flute slid in beneath Adriano's guitar, adding a melodic echo.
Melody's fingers began plucking and tapping imaginary strings in the air (a synthesis of harp techniques developed with her music teacher), leaving behind a carillon of bell-like chimes and firefly flashes that filled the space above her with curtains of sonic pixie dust.
I don't give a damn if I'm running from the law
When my money's not enough and they come and take it all
No, I'm gettin' kinda rich on the side of any soul alive
Melody joined Adriano for the chorus, her voice held to a lower pitch yet with a softer, less strident sound than his tenor, creating a meticulous two-part harmony.
Have you heard, my Mona Lisa?
Have you heard who you are?
You're a new morning
You're a new morning
Melody surprised her audience by adding movements with toes, heels, and the balls of her feet, producing a stunning range of bass tones and large luminescent bubbles.
Wanna be OK when I'm sittin' here alone
Not just thinking of the ways that I could have done it wrong
No, I'm gettin' kinda rich on the side of any soul alive
In a move that raised a collective gasp, Melody caused her firefly lights to flame in dozens of colors, adding a kaleidoscopic effect to the rising cadence.
Have you heard, my Mona Lisa?
Have you heard who you are?
You're a new morning
You're a new morning
You're a new morning
Now, you're a new morning now
Jarrod's flute rose in volume and intensity to take the lead during the bridge.
Have you heard, my Mona Lisa?
Have you heard who you are?
You're a new morning
You're a new morning
You're a new morning
Now, you're a new morning now
Applause rippled through the room, accompanied by whistles and shouts.
Adriano waited for the noise to subside, before speaking. "While we've been working on a couple of tunes, there's one in particular we've been focused on."
"Maybe you'd better explain it first," Jarrod added.
"Yeah, maybe I should." Adriano fiddled with the frets of his guitar before continuing. "Dr. Quintain said recently that mutant couples probably bond earlier and deeper than the mundanes do, that there's an instinctive survival trait at work because of the high death rate among mutants. It makes sense, I guess...but, if that's the case, then separating us each summer seems like a really bad idea...though not as bad as separating us into gender-segregated schools."
"You know, there are hundreds of schools across the country already using single-sex classrooms," one girl in the crowd said.
"Yeah, but the American Civil Liberties Union has contested dozens of them since 2006," countered another girl.
"Either way, we get no say in the matter," Adriano concluded. "Quintain's theory probably won't have much affect on those of us who will be graduating this spring -- but it will have a definite affect on those of us still here. Not only will the school start looking at student couples differently, but the student couples will start looking at themselves differently. Changes are coming, whether we like it or not. So...Melody found a ballad about the perils of the process."
Melody nodded sagely. Then her fingers began spiraling through the air, drawing a series of haunting sounds and phosphorescent lights from the ether, leaving both to hover and overlap like ripples on a pond. Adriano's gentle strumming followed, rendering chords that were both sad and sympathetic. Jarrod's flute snuck in quietly, weaving around the louder chimes and strings, providing a subtle woodwind whisper. The overall effect was more somber and sentimental than the previous song.
After a brief introductory stanza, Adriano began singing:
Chances are, when said and done,
Who'll be the lucky ones
Who make it all the way?
Though you say I could be your answer,
Nothing lasts forever
No matter how it feels today
Melody's toes started tapping the floor, sending deep base sounds echoing across the room, matched by a cascade of colorful globules that bounced and bounded briefly before fading.
Chances are, we'll find a new equation
Chances rolled away from me
Chances are all they hope to be
Bridget glanced around, gauging the audience's reaction:
* Adriano was clearly singing to Beth, who's eyes never left his.
* Melody, too, was playing only for Gregory, whose face bore a speculative expression.
* Jarrod split his attention evenly between his partners and Bridget, his face deliberately devoid of emotion.
* The other couples in the room either quietly held hands or shared smiles.
* The majority present -- all singles -- listened attentively.
Don't get me wrong, I never say never
'Cause though love can't change the weather
No Act Of God could pull me away from you
I'm just a realistic man
A bottle filled with shells and sand
Afraid to love beyond what I can lose
When it comes to you
And though I'll see us through, yeah
Melody joined Adriano, a true duet rather than a vocal accompaniment, reflecting the emotional and musical nuances being expressed.
Chances are we'll find two destinations
Chances rolled away from me
Still chances are more than expectations
And possibilities...over me
Eight-to-five, or two-to-one
Lay your money on the sun
Until you crash, what have you done?
Is there a better bet than love?
What you are is what you bring
You gotta cry before you sing
Chances...
Chances...
Chances lost are Hope's torn out pages...
Maybe this time...
Chances are we'll be the combination
Chances come and carry me
Chances are waiting to be taken
And I can see
Chances are the fascination
Chances won't escape from me
Chances are only what we make them
And all I need
The music ended on a string of Melody's rich, beautiful, crystal-clear tones.
The applause was short but sincere. Jarrod and Adriano lowered their instruments, and Melody folded her hands on her lap. Conversation around the room resumed, as did the radio.
Bridget sat quietly, thinking. She watched the musicians, who seemed rather more affected by the music than the audience. She soon discovered that others had made the same observation.
Beth's chair scraped loudly as she climbed from it, a smirk fixed firmly on her face. She ambled up to Adriano's chair, reached down to grab the lapels of his Whateley uniform shirt, and hauled him to his feet. She brushed aside the guitar, then wrapped her arms around his neck. "So: that's what's been bothering you?"
"Yeah," Adriano admitted.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I found it disturbing, and I saw no reason to get you disturbed, too."
"Well, I appreciate your concern -- but let me clue you into something, Mister: I don't care what Quintain said, you aren't getting off the hook so easy. I've got too much time and energy invested in you. Face it: I own you."
"Is that a fact?" One corner of his lips curled upwards.
"Sure is. Come summer, we'll only be two hours apart -- and you'll be seeing a whole lot of me...for a long, long time to come."
"I like the sound of that."
"Good answer." She pulled him into a kiss.
Bridget looked away, allowing the couple their privacy. She glanced over at Jarrod and Melody, both of whom had also been watching.
Jarrod's eyes met her's, then his gaze fell as and he reached for the case by his feet. Beside him, Melody reached down to retrieve her shoes and socks.
Bridget rose and walked over to stand behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. She leaned over and spoke softly in his ear: "You've been worrying about this summer, too, haven't you?"
"Yes." He snapped the clasps on his case, then covered her hands with his own.
She set her chin on the crown of his head. "I feel the same way Beth does: you belong to me, and nothing is going to change that." She noticed Sean and Alicia watching them, sympathy written on their faces. Bina stood nearby, her face a curious mask.
"I feel the same way, too," Alicia said. "I try not to even think about this summer."
"It's only three months..." Sean started to say, but Alicia cut him off.
"Only three months? That's a quarter of a year! And we'll be separated by an ocean!!" She coiled her arms around him, clinging tightly.
"It gets worse," Jarrod said slowly, his face rotating upwards toward Bridget's. "This summer's separation is nothing compared to next summer's separation: you'll be returning to Boston and I'll be returning to Beijing -- half a planet away, with no following school year to look forward to. And even our last year together, the school administration may force a separation on us all. No getting around it; the key word here is 'separation'." He sighed deeply. "There doesn't seem much of a future for us, does there?"
Bridget said nothing, simply touching her chin to his forehead.
Melody finished dressing and stood, then leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Have faith, Jarrod -- all of you -- that everything will work out alright." She turned and walked away, joining Gregory and locking her arms around his elbow.
Bina watched Melody's departure, before turning back to the somber couples before her. "What are you guys getting so upset about?"
"You might understand if you had a boyfriend," Alicia sighed.
"True -- but I may never have a boyfriend, at least, not like you do."
"Why not?" Bridget asked.
"Because I was raised in an Amish community," Bina replied, "and our...courtship rituals...are different there."
"How different?"
"For us, courtship is about finding one's Life Partner; dating for the fun of it is not part of God's plan. Our bishops looked at the rest of the country, and the terribly high divorce rate, and decided your way of dating -- which seems to have no rules or structure -- is not what it takes to make a happy marriage. So, they set the rules for courtship, and enforce them."
"That sounds harsh," Alicia said.
"It sounds familiar, actually," Jarrod countered. "Arranged marriages are a fact of life where I come from. It's been that way for thousands of years."
"Could that happen to you?" Sean asked him.
"Possibly, if I wasn't a mutant. Be a real tough sell now."
"Not to me," Bridget said, tightening her grip.
Jarrod tipped his head back, resting it against her chest.
"Maybe more of that should be done here," Bina suggested. "Give more thought to the community, and less to the individual;. After all, in a community, you pay as much attention to your neighbors as to your family, because they are all family."
"Well, that just might happen," Jarrod said. "And that's what's got everyone so upset: we don't know how the Administration will act on Dr. Quintain's theory."
"I'm curious, Bina: just what is a nice Amish girl like you doing in a place like this?" Sean asked, gesturing at the party around them.
"I'm Rumspringing," Bina replied.
"Huh?"
"Going through Rumspringa -- a rite of passage that allows teenagers to leave the community and sample life on the outside, to decide whether to be baptized into the community or leave it forever."
"Isn't that rather extreme?"
"No, it's an act of mercy, a clean break. No one is forced into our traditions...some reject them in favor of the freedoms found during Rumspringa. Those who choose to leave the community must accept the consequences. That's the whole point of Rumspringa: one learns to take responsibility for one's choices."
"How long does this Rumspringa last?"
"Anywhere from a few months to a few years. However long it takes to make that decision."
"So, how's that working out for you?"
"You know, most Amish teens don't even leave home during Rumspringa; a few will try city life, or a place of their their own in the community, but most choose to live at home until marriage. Because my mutant ability manifested right after I finished school --"
"Finished school?" Bridget asked.
"Amish schools only go up the eighth grade," Bina replied.
They stared at her. "Then, what are you doing here?" Sean asked. "Aren't you taking any classes?"
"No," Bina replied, shaking her head. "I have structured activities, but they aren't really classes. Right, Alicia?"
Alicia nodded. "She stays busy. Didn't I tell you about that?"
Sean and Bridget shook their heads; Jarrod stared at the floor, lost in thought.
"Anyway," Bina resumed, "the Department of Paranormal Affairs found me when my ability appeared. Somehow they persuaded my parents and the bishop to let me come here." Bina sighed deeply. "Whateley is so different...and to be honest, it's been hard for me to understand how people can be so open about things which are so sinful, so violent. But I also find this place to be a positive challenge, one that confirms my faith and strengthens my beliefs."
"Do you expect to find a Life Partner here?" Bridget asked.
"Not likely."
"Why not?"
"It's written, 'Be not yoked to unbelievers.'"
"Even us?" Alicia asked.
"No. Amish kids often keep close ties with their Rumspringa friends, sometimes for life. But a spouse is not the same as a friend; there are no children involved."
"So, no dating here at all?" Sean asked.
"Well," Bina hesitated, "I won't say absolutely not, since some Amish do date non-Amish. But it's very rare, and there are always complications."
"Wow."
"Which brings us back to Quintain's theory, and Whateley's response," Jarrod sighed. "Whatever happens, it's bound to be complicated, too."
Bridget nodded solemnly, and tightened her grip even further.
[Updated on: Sat, 25 August 2012 22:27]
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62558 is a reply to message #62557 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 01:57 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY SEVEN Monday, April 18, 2011 SECOND PERIOD
Bridget carefully and meticulously added texture to the clay portrait on the table in front of her, fine-tuning the details based on memory and the image on the laptop screen next to it. She paused, distracted by Jarrod's uncannily-expressive eyes; looking there, she found herself privy to all the things he thought and felt, all the things he was now and all the things he could be someday. Intellectually, she knew was climbing up the slope from attraction to limerance to love; emotionally, she didn't care: she was completely infatuated with him, reflected in her recent string of projects. She shook her head, forcing herself to resume the process of dabbing pebbles of clay onto strategic spots.
Bina sighed, then put down the lump of clay she'd been kneading.
Bridget studied the clay object that Bina was poking and prodding at. It had a vaguely-canine shape, like a coarse attempt at a collie. "Is something wrong?"
"I don't feel very well," Bina replied softly.
"How so?"
My neck hurts...my ribs hurt...I feel all achy. I may have a fever, too."
"Flu bug?"
"I don't know." Bina reached inside her apron to pull her sweater tighter, tucking the collar tightly under her chin. "I wish that door would stay closed. It's cold in here."
Bridget watched the younger girl shiver visibly, and reached a decision: this situation was unusual enough, and severe enough, to warrant bringing the situation to Mrs. Plouffe's attention. She said as much to Bina.
Bina nodded in agreement, eyes closed tightly.
Bridget pushed away from the table, wiping her hands on her apron.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62559 is a reply to message #62558 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:04 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY EIGHT Wednesday, April 20, 2011 SEVENTH PERIOD
Jarrod had been more than a little surprised to receive the e-mail from Vilmaniac, announcing that the class venue had been changed from his office to the conference room down the hall. Even more surprising, Ms. Zündel would be attending as well, to discuss "an issue of concern that has occupied the attention of the entire Flight II Class and auditors."
Bridget, being one of the auditors, also got the notice. She had no clue about the subject matter, either.
Neither did Jarrod's classmates -- notably Team Captain Celeste -- have any idea about the mysterious subject matter.
Once the door shut, and the lights went down, they were quick to find out.
"This is a computer projection of Ms. Petershwim's final form," Ms. Zündel said, the ceiling projector replicating the image from her laptop to a pull-down screen on the wall. The schematic bore a vague resemblance to a Plesiosaur: a swan-like silhouette, long and slender and teardrop-shaped, but substituting bat-like wings for the four flippers and stout legs for the short tail. Only Bina's head and arms appeared unchanged, although even these seemed thinner and sleeker. "Her entire anatomy has been adapted to powered flight; as you can see, the internal and external alterations to her original structure have been extensive. Specifically:
* The raw material for this transformation was provided by cannibalizing virtually every ounce of fat in her body, along with 80% of the original bone mass, leaving behind extensive hallows and reinforced trabeculae.
* Modification to her Hox genes caused the replication of spinal vertebrae, ribs, shoulders and arm bones; the reinforcement of the lumbar vertebra; the extension and expansion of her breastbone into a keelbone; a secondary set of collarbones and shoulder plates below her primary set; and alterations to the pelvis by extending it vertically to accommodate a tertiary set of shoulder and anchor structures -- all without interference to the existing digestive and reproductive functions.
* Her neck now contains 16 vertebrae, which should isolate her visual and vestibular systems from the extreme linear and angular displacements of her body during flapping and aerial maneuvering, leaving her eyes and maculae free to gather only useful information about her path and positions in space.
* Her leg bones have increased in size by 6%, as well as outward-splayed toes, to help maintain balance and distribute the extra weight while standing.
* An increase in total muscle mass, including all of the required nerves, blood vessels, and tendons for the two new sets of pectoral muscles to power her wings. And those muscles should produce less fatigue toxins during physical activity, along with overall improved physical stamina and extended peak capacity.
* Her lung capacity has doubled, enabling her to extract oxygen from the air at high velocities and altitudes.
* Her heart size has increased by 45%.
* She has a new set of nictating membranes to shield her pupils against wind-shear, airborne debris, and UV radiation.
* The brachiopatagium, or forewing, is the primary source of lift and thrust, while the uropatagium, the hindwing, serves as the supplementary lifting surface. Each wing will be capable of producing large aerodynamic forces for both propulsion and weight support. Each will be composed of membranes rather than feathers -- the patagium extending between the finger bones and the body, and the propatagium located along the front of the elbow -- which should prove to have an elastic quality (though we won't know exactly how compliant until they are fully grown), and this would will allow them to stretch slightly when generating lift and drag forces. This stretching should result in a slight upward 'bowing' of the wing membrane, thereby increasing camber. At the same time, it is plausible that muscular actions in the wing membranes could have limited passive cambering, or permit different regions of the wing to adjust their response to external forces. The compliance and shape of Ms. Petershwim's wings are likely capable of producing very large lift coefficients, perhaps as high 2.0.
* As for wing size, the best estimate is a forewingspan of 4-5 meters, and a hindwingspan of 2-3 meters. This seems surprisingly low considering her projected body weight. But, given her Metahuman strength level, this will probably be sufficient. The forewings should prove to be relatively rigid, and more efficient at providing lift, while the hindwings should prove to be more flexible, and more efficient at providing maneuverability. Thus, she will get the best of both possible performance configurations."
Gregory whistled, impressed. "No arguments about the forewing; it's definitely the major load-bearing structure. Notice how those individual fins at the fingertips resemble the primary feathers of many birds: they can separate to act as a slotted airfoils, they can rotate individually to induce or retard vortex formation, or they can overlap and seal to form a solid surface. They look rather robust, actually, which should minimize the affects of damage and fatigue. But it's that hindwing that's even more interesting; what an unusual place to put a canard "
"Hold it!" Glynnis demanded. "That's no canard."
"It most certainly is."
"What makes you say that?"
"For starters, its high aspect ratio and high wing-loading, its rigid skeletal structure capable of shoulder rotation that exceeds the forewing equivalent, and a wing mass that's concentrated proximally. I wouldn't be surprised if it's capable of distributing its total lift load to 70% on the downstroke and 30% on the upstroke. Then there's the muscle-mass, which matches or exceeds the forewing. Clearly, the hindwing is intended for aggressively manipulating the vortex generated across the trailing edge of the forewing."
"I disagree: the hindwing is clearly a stabilizer. Its flexible nature should be able to achieve the required negative camber to produce a downward force and generate positive pitch. As a lifting surface, it should help support Bina's legs during level flight, as well as help her roll or pitch for tighter maneuvers. In fact, the hindwing should be especially useful for generating lift at an angle to the body that will supplement the rolling, pitching, and yawing moments produced by the forewings."
"You two should look at the over-all tandem wing placement," Nancy advised. "The numbers indicate an average torque for the forewing at the stroke axis that's going to be high in relation to the wing span, which is why the wing contour is rectangular. And, with an aspect ratio of around 12.5, the forewing is going to be show at launch. That suggests a flight envelope optimized for a relatively slow flapping motion, but with a faster top speed and some gliding potentials. However, the numbers also suggest a high wing-loading value, similar to migratory birds like geese, which have a problem generating sufficient lift to launch (which is why they often run along the surface of a lake before getting air-born). I see the hindwing playing a dual role, here. In cruising flight, when large amounts of power are not required, the forewing provides the lift and propulsion, while the hindwing operates as a tail-plane for steering. In the terminal phases, however, when more power is needed for abrupt maneuvers, the hindwing becomes a fully-functional additional wing, providing supplementary lift and propulsion and sharply shifting its angle of attack to generate vortices to order."
"I think," Vilmaniac said slowly, drawing all eyes to him, "there will be plenty of time later to debate the technical aspects of Ms. Petershwim's metamorphosis. For now, let's consider the social aspects: since she's new here, she's probably homesick as well as feeling miserable. Then there's the added stress of missing classes, tests, practices, or whatever her normal schedule is comprised of. Has anyone notified her family?"
"That has proven to be problematic," Ms. Zündel replied.
"How so?"
"Her family is Amish. Communication is limited at best."
"I see. So, in practical terms, she can't expect any family to be here for support?"
"That is correct."
"Wrong," Celeste said slowly, eyes slitted and jaw set. "We're her family, starting now."
"I take it, then," Vilmaniac said, equally slowly, "that on top of your already heavy workload, you want to spend time helping Ms. Petershwim?"
"Yes, sir." Heads nodded in agreement.
"I see." Vilmaniac masticated slowly while ruminating. "Very well. Then you'll have to split the load for full coverage. Celeste, you and Marcus will schedule coverage in the visitor's lounge into shifts, perhaps in two-hour increments, that will keep your project momentum going yet allow for support time for Ms. Petershwim. Set-up a status page on-line, so that you keep each other appraised of her condition. Glynnis and Gregory, you'll ask Dr. Quintain for the full academic perspective of a mutant rejecting their gift based upon religious convictions; the situation has bound to have arisen before now, undoubtedly with angles we aren't even aware of. Jarrod and Bridget, you'll take a survey of the winged students around here and find out when their wings emerged, what it took to assimilate their new limbs, and how they adapted to their new reality. Devin and Nancy, you'll query Professor Gallagher's Office for advice on her legal standing; after all, she may conceivably be considered disabled now, as her wings affect her previous state of mobility -- don't look so shocked, bureaucratic rules seldom make sense -- and there might be resources available to assist with her rehabilitation. Coordinate all your activities with Ms. Zündel. I'll open a new project number to log the time under. And I want daily reports. Listen up, people: I applaud your compassion and concern -- that's why I asked Ms. Zündel to provide a status report -- but you can't afford to lose focus on your scheduled tasks, or fall any further behind schedule. You have to keep your heads in the game. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Celeste replied.
"Good."
Discussions broke out around the room, but Jarrod continued observing the adults, his keen hearing picking-up their comments.
"You know," Ms. Zündel said quietly, "your dispassionate shell is leaking."
"Is that a fact," Vilmaniac replied dryly. "Are you disappointed?"
"Quite the contrary." Her smile was soft and subtle. "Dinner is at seven -- be punctual."
"Roger wilco."
Jarrod felt a nudge, and turned to see Bridget grinning at him. She'd been eavesdropping, too.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62560 is a reply to message #62559 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:11 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY NINE Thursday, April 21, 2011 SEVENTH PERIOD
Jarrod sat on the floor, tucked into a corner like a discarded garden gnome. The room was dark -- the shades having been drawn to induce a twilight -- and crowded -- several figures lounged about on chairs and windowsills -- both conditions which tended to put him on edge. He silently tapped into the deep pool of patience he'd so carefully nurtured over the years, trying to pay attention to the discussions and activities focused on the figure in the center of the room: Bina.
She was sitting up in her bed, covers bunched and dragged into a shapeless mass around her body. Her standard-issue gown and robe (complete with Whateley logos) were pulled as tight as modesty required. She wanted a bath, but had been repeatedly denied one, her unwashed hair hung in a greasy mat over her ears, much like a soggy baseball glove. Her stomach growled loud enough and fierce enough to be heard throughout the room. She'd asked the medical staff repeatedly how much longer her confinement would last, but got no answer.
Ms. Zündel stood beside the bed, her laptop set carefully on the rolling bedside table, its built-in projector displaying a graphic onto a patch of bare white wall. "This is a computer projection of your final form."
"I sincerely hope the computer is wrong," Bina replied softly.
"That is unlikely."
Bina sighed, more deflated than ever. "Then, my life just got much more complicated."
Ms. Zündel folded her hands, a portrait of compassion and curiosity. "Could you please clarify that statement?"
"My family...my community...accepted me when I was just short, fat, and pear-shaped; and they would still accept me being tall, skinny, and pear-shaped. But the demon wings will make me...well...impossible to fit in."
"Oh, c'mon, you didn't ask to grow the wings they're part of your God-given mutation," Nancy pointed out.
"But they will be seen as disruptive," Bina replied. "They'll provide nothing of use to the community, and will draw unwanted attention."
"Devils are depicted with bats' wings and good angels with birds' wings, not because anyone holds that moral deterioration would be likely to turn feathers into membrane, but because most men like birds better than bats," Melody said. Everyone turned to stare at her. "C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters."
"Perhaps they'll be colorful, like butterfly wings, not drab and pale," Gregory mused, "that will light-up the sky like a neon sign."
"Aposematic or diematic patterns, bright uppersides and sombre undersides," Glynnis added, "conspicuous or camouflaged..."
Bina's expression remained dubious and forlorn.
"Even though bat-like wings may not be as attractive as bird-like wings or butterfly-like wings," Ms. Zündel continued, "they will generate sufficient lift to to soar effortlessly and fly with a stately grace."
"And on the bright side, bat-wings don't molt!" Devin added, grinning.
"That's not helping, baby," Nancy sighed.
"Oh. Sorry."
"Won't your bishop take your mutation into account?" Bridget asked.
Bina shrugged slowly. "I honestly don't know. He might...or he might not."
"So, you're just expected to swallow whatever judgment he makes?" Beth asked
Bina nodded, saying, "Gelassenbeit."
"What?"
"Gelassenbeit. It means submission to God and the community, to embrace humility, modesty, simplicity, dedication, and contentment."
"How Medieval," Marcus snorted.
"Wings don't make us monsters, Bina," Celeste added, "they make us free."
"We Amish aren't as close-minded as the popular cliché," Bina countered. "We choose to keep what is worth keeping, what builds us up and brings us closer to God, and discard what doesn't. We don't question or judge your choices, and ask the same of you." The room fell into an awkward silence, and held for several seconds before she broke it. "Ms. Zündel, will my wings stay small and non-functional?"
"No, because they haven't finished growing yet," Ms. Zündel replied. "They've been doubling in size every 72 hours since their appearance, starving your body of all its normal nutrients. You required an IV and a PEG tube for the first week after your arrival, and it's proven difficult to keep up with your accelerated growth issues."
"Then that explains why I'm so hungry all the time..."
"Indeed."
"What if...what if I had my wings cut off?"
"That's a course of action I would not recommend, any more than I would recommend amputating any of your other limbs." Ms. Zündel gently grasped Bina's wrist and pulled her arm to full extension, then repeated the action with the nearest diminutive wing. "Each wing is very much like an arm and hand, except there is a thin membrane of skin extending between the body and the wrist, and between each finger bone. The fingers serve as battens that help each wing to fold and fan out, changing its shape. I believe you will find that your wings move exactly like another arm-and-hand, and you will essentially 'swim' through the air with them."
"Why do I have four of them?"
"Best Prosaic Guess: the smaller hindwings are used to reduce wing-loading on the forewings, move the center of lift up and down your spine, and assist in pitch control -- what birds use their tail feathers for. Best Whimsical Guess: something inspired your BIT during it's recent manifestation."
Bina stared at the foreign appendages drooping down her back. "Why couldn't they be angel wings...?"
"Because you're a mammal," Ms. Zündel replied clinically. "Mutants tend to retain mammalian traits, even when pushed to extremes."
"The obscure we see eventually; the completely obvious takes longer," Melody added philosophically. "Edward R. Murrow."
Bina looked ready to cry.
"Knock on the sky and listen to the sound," Jarrod said. All eyes turned toward him, surprised. "It's a Zen saying...or a Christian prayer. Either way, that's where you'll find your answers."
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62561 is a reply to message #62560 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:14 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY TEN Friday, April 22, 2011 AFTER SCHOOL
Bridget settled into her chair, flipping up the screen on her laptop computer, ready to pass the time with homework while Bina slept. She opened her file manager and began searching through it for assignments...but got distracted by other entries. She adjusted her chair slowly and carefully, trying to remain as silent as possible.
"Don't bother, I'm awake," Bina sighed, opening her eyes. She lay propped on her side, framed by pillows, which permitted her wings to dangle limply onto the sheets. She struggled into a sitting position.
"So," Bridget asked, "how are you holding up?"
"I don't know," Bina replied glumly. "All my weird new muscles twitch a lot. And none of my shirts and blouses will fit anymore, what with six shoulder blades. And did I mention my skin itches a lot...?"
"It itches? Why?'
"Because I'm turning all hairy, too."
"You're kidding."
"No. Ms. Zündel said we humans have the same density of hair follicles on our skin as an ape our size. In my case, the fine hairs on my body are reverting to the thicker hairs seen on our distant ancestors."
"Yeah," Bridget sighed, "I have some experience with reverting to ancestral traits, too."
"She's surprised about the color, though..."
"What color will it be?"
"White."
Bridget paused, considering the information.
Bina pointed at Bridget's laptop. "What are you looking at?"
"One of my photo galleries." Bridget scooted her chair around so that Bina could see the screen, then started advancing the folder's contents.
"Wow, what are those?"
"I take a lot of pictures when Jarrod and I go flying. This gallery is all cloud shots, mostly pictures of atmospheric optical effects caused by sunlight passing through the ice crystals in cirrus clouds. For instance, this one is a rainbow...another rainbow...sundogs...another rainbow...a Jarrod-shaped glory...a circumhorizontal arc...another rainbow...a circumzenith arc...iridescent clouds...and even nacreous clouds, which are pretty rare. The remaining pictures are just cloudscapes."
"Those are beautiful!"
"Thanks."
What's in the other galleries?"
"Family and friends, school events, the usual."
"Any of Jarrod?" Bina asked with a grin.
"He has a gallery all his own," Bridget replied with a matching grin.
"Will I...see sights like those...up there?" Bina asked, gesturing at the screen.
"These, and more," Bridget assured her. "No two clouds are alike, no two flights are alike. Each and every moment is unique."
Bina hesitated, watching the parade of pictures in silence. "Ms. Zündel said I'm becoming an Ornithanthropus, and my problems will be caused by adapting to it."
"What's an Ornithanthropus?" Bridget asked.
"Ancient Greek for a Winged Human, like an angel. I don't feel like an angel, and I certainly won't look like one..."
"It's too early to be so hard on yourself. I think you'll find you like having wings."
"Maybe."
"There are other people around here with wings, and they do OK."
"They will not face the same issues I will."
"We all have acceptance issues, Bina. Most of our families don't want us around, and society isn't ready for us. What you face from a small community the rest of us have to face on a much larger scale. Maybe God is telling you to set an example for the rest of us, that sometimes it's more important to be true to yourself, and not to other people's expectations."
Bina stared at her.
Bridget stared back.
* * *
Since the library was a place of generally well-respected silence, it wasn't hard to hear the powerful scuffling across the second -floor carpeting just as they felt the tread of heavy feet. Looking up, they recognized the heavily-muscled half-leonine centauroid and the golem-like figures approaching the table.
"Yo, Tandem," said the former to Bridget and Jeremy. "Hey, cuz," he said to Alicia. "How's it hanging, little bro," he said to Sean.
"Hey, Sagittary," they all replied. "Hey, Sandbag," they all said to his companion.
"We heard the Gryphons were helping the new Faction 3 member," Sagittary said, "the shy kid who just went into the hospital."
"You heard right," Bridget replied.
"Why?"
"Because she's sweet, and all alone, and needs our help."
"That's what I like about you Gryphons: you walk The Walk as well as talk The Talk."
"You guys rock," Sandbag added, in a grinding raspy voice.
"We'd like to help," Sagittary concluded.
"We appreciate that," Bridget said, smiling.
"What can we do?"
"Well...we've been trying to get some of the flyers around here to fill out this questionnaire, about what they went through when their wings sprouted."
"...'Trying'...?"
"Some of them have been less than cooperative."
"Really? Got a list of those people?"
Bridget passed Sagittary a sheet of paper, full of names, some crossed-off and others notably clean.
A wicked grin slowly spread across his face. He handed the list to Sandbag, who examined it. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
Sandbag nodded. "I'm thinking it would be a distinct pleasure to assist the Gryphons with such a humanitarian gesture, by encouraging the cooperation of their reluctant fellow aviators."
"I couldn't have said it any better myself," Sagittary replied. To Bridget, he added, "Do you have any more of those questionnaires?"
She nodded, thumbed through the stack, and passed him several copies.
"How soon do you need these back?"
"In the next week or so."
"Excellent. We'll be in touch." He nodded farewell, nudged his companion, and they lumbered off.
Bridget, Jeremy, Alicia and Sean exchanged stunned glances.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62562 is a reply to message #62561 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:24 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY ELEVEN Saturday, April 23, 2011 FLIGHT II LAB
Time: 01:00 PM
Temp: 34.0°F
Dew Point: 30.0°F
Humidity: 85%
Pressure 30.15 in
Visibility: 4.0 miles
Wind Direction: SSE
Wind Speed: 19.6 mph
Conditions: Light Snow
Jarrod knew he had a difficult face to read: it had more than a passing resemblance to a chimpanzee (what with its folds of heavy skin, ostrich-like eyes, and framed with layers of blue fur), which differed sufficiently enough from a standard human face that it could confuse an observer. His grins and smirks and even eyebrow arches had been been misread on more than one occasion, and so he'd learned to suppress most of his reactions out of simple necessity. However, Bridget had proved to be the exception, becoming quite adept at interpreting his facial cues, the cant of his head, and the focus of his eyes which made masking his emotions and state of mind a progressively tougher task.
Like now, for instance. He wanted to be alone, to soar into the stratosphere with his flute and just lose himself for a few hours. Unfortunately, that avenue of escape was closed; he needed to attend this lab, to be a team member, and to pull his share of the load (quite literally today). And he had to deflect Bridget's rising concern about his continued detachment.
So, he joined her with the herd -- his teacher and classmates -- that trudged past the row of garage doors until they came to the Hangar. Vilmaniac unlocked the door and opened it, allowing sunshine to stream into the chamber and spotlight the object sitting just inside.
"Taa-daa!!" Nancy announced, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Here's our new ride!"
Oh...my...God..." Devin whispered, staring wide-eyed at the streamlined camouflaged vehicle. "That looks awesome!"
"Where did that come from?" Vilmaniac asked suspiciously.
"It was originally a Peraves MonoTracer," Glynnis explained proudly.
"What's that?"
"An unmodified MonoTracer is a stretched BMW motorcycle with an aluminum roll cage and a climate-controlled cocoon. You ride it like a motorcycle on its two main wheels, but when stopped or turning tightly, it comes equipped with two flip-down stabilizer wheels. Naturally, this one has been modified a bit."
"Naturally."
"Specifics: the chassis is a self-supporting composite-monocoque made from glass, Kevlar and carbon weave bonded with epoxy-resin and reinforced with strong aluminum crash and roll bars. The frame is made from aircraft-grade alloy steel. Two contoured seats in a tandem configuration with 3-point automatic safety belts. Interior lining of flame-retardant fabric with sound-absorbing padding. Heating and ventilation system with ample flow and intake air filter, since re-routed to the front wheel well, which has had the axle and fork removed and replaced with a high-efficiency reversible heat pump (and the winch for the tow rope). The vehicle retains the Bi-Xenon external lights, and the gull-wing door with integrated sunroof that opens to the left. All glazing on the canopy is made from tinted PMMA and is aviation quality. The 200 liter baggage compartment has been converted into an avionics bay, and the axle and transmission have been removed from the rear wheel well and replaced with a lithium-ion battery rack. The chassis rests upon a used eight-panel, 10-foot C Band dish antenna made of aluminum mesh that has been reinforced with stainless steel braces, and then completely enclosed in a Kevlar and fiberglass skin blended into the capsule."
"Why the circular planform for the keel?" Vilmaniac asked. "Isn't there an inherent instability of that design?"
"Well, two reasons," Glynnis answered. "One, the dish will exploit the Coanda Effect to enhance lift and thrust; and two, it was cheap to acquire and prep -- and economics was a prime consideration on this project."
Vilmaniac nodded.
"A ring of PK augmenters have been set inside the rim of the disk," Nancy continued, "and are connected to the pilot's flight suit via Ziff cards and a web of sensors."
"Ziff cards?" Vilmaniac asked.
"Ziff cards enable radio control type servos to be operated by direct wire thus eliminating a noisy radio link."
"Wouldn't skin-contact sensors be better?" Gregory asked. "That way when the electrical impulses from the brain reach the muscles the sensors would be directly plugged into the event, rather than relayed via muscle contraction."
"The Waldo arrangement is more than adequate for this application," Nancy replied. "This is a vehicle, not a suit of powered armor."
Gregory shrugged. "If you say so. I would think surfing Jarrod's wake would be a pretty intensive application, requiring a lot of near-instantaneous responses."
"That was my first thought, too, but Devin's movements proved to be broader, more like painting a house than calligraphy. Besides, the analog system proved to be cheaper and easier to rig that a comparable digital system and cheaper is better."
Vilmaniac nodded his approval.
"Dimensions," Glynnis concluded, "length of capsule: 12 feet; width of capsule: 4 feet; height of capsule: 5 feet; diameter of the disk: 10 feet; dry weight: approximately 1,060 pounds. In other words, well within Devin's capabilities, even after adding the weight of the crew."
"What about stores?" Vilmaniac asked.
"We stripped-out the mechanics for the flip-down stabilizer wheels, and reinforced the frame to support an external pallet on each side."
"Impressive. Very impressive. But: how big a hit did this make on my budget?"
"Well, the MonoTracer normally sells for $90,000 brand new -- but we got it for about $90 in gas."
"Excuse me?"
"One of my connections in the Contraptionists Club sent me a link to an on-line swap board, where some woman had posted an offer to give it away to a good home. So I sent her a query. Her reply is priceless." Glynnis produced a letter from her backpack and started reading aloud. "I am willing to donate the MonoTracer gratis because my idiotic soon-to-be-ex-husband violated both the two year warranty on the engine and transmission, as well as the 25 year warranty on the body and framework, by trying to replace the flip-down stabilizer wheels with permanent outrigger wheels. Not a bad idea, really, but he proved to be no better at engineering than he was at investing -- he dabbled in one Ponzi scheme too many and got caught. Knowing that his precious little touring toy has been donated to a Metahuman high school is just frosting on top of the fines and the prison sentence. You have access to a flatbed or a van, right?'"
Everyone laughed, even Vilmaniac.
"What about defensive preparations?" Vilmaniac asked.
"For the benefit of those who have not flown military aircraft," Marcus replied, "or who have no familiarity with aircraft camouflage strategies, the use of camouflage is characterized by various mechanisms -- either active or passive -- employed by a vehicle to conceal its presence, blend it into the background, disguise its identity, or apply a false target as a decoy. For aircraft, such mechanisms have been confined to disruptive color patterns, and paint with special infrared, thermal, and radar qualities. Since our mandate put such a heavy emphasis on defensive attributes, we decided to use both active and passive camouflage schemas."
"Without adding undue weight to the vehicle," Gregory added.
"Which is no small feat," Marcus continued. "Gregory and I were unsure of the intended operating altitude of the vehicle, since it would have an effect on the pattern used. For instance, bear in mind that the 'sky' is really black, but molecules of air and dust create a deep, misty, pearlescent layer of haze which is internally illuminated by the scattering of sunlight in the atmosphere. Higher-flying aircraft (and Metahumans...) must traverse through that haze, never fully climbing above it. The higher up an aircraft is, the more apparent illumination is provided by that haze, and the more this haze shines on the aircraft's underside...which is why an aircraft flying very high almost always looks white from the ground. At lower altitudes, a light-grey aircraft will look to be the same color as the sky, since the haze doesn't lighten its color, and the low-altitude sky is light. But at higher altitudes, a dark grey color is better, since the haze lightens it to the same color as the rest of the sky as seen from the surface -- or, when seen from altitude, it's dark like the sky around it even when lit from below. Thus, if this vehicle is meant for low-altitude operations, it should be painted light grey; but if the vehicle is meant to do a lot of flying around 50,000 feet, it should be painted dark grey. Extreme high-flyers -- like our resident Near Space specialist -- should ideally be cloaked in black."
"My fur is tinted blue for maximum UV protection, not camouflage," Jarrod noted.
"I'm aware of that. It might surprise you to know that your coloration is still impressively effective as-is, particularly at night. A pure black object flying in the lower altitudes at night is not as good as a dark grey object for blending into the background. The stars and the moon provide some ambient illumination, and a shadow against them is noticeable. Whether in areas with heavy light pollution, where stars are hard to see, or areas with moderate light pollution, where the stars are clearly visible, a black shape moving through the sky is very noticeable. Thus, an almost-white color is actually less visible...like your fur."
"I can attest to that," Bridget grinned. "And it's really hard to see him on a winter night, against a snowy backdrop."
"The vehicle...?" Vilmaniac said, nudging the conversation back on-track.
"Sorry," Marcus replied. "Since we didn't know whether to prep the glider for high- or low-level operations, we opted for the usual military compromise and adopted a passive camouflage scheme: we painted the vehicle using blobs of subtly-different shades of grey. But then we considered the other problem, the background intensity of the aforementioned haze."
"Yeah," Gregory added, "no matter what color paint you use, it's still a glider-shaped hole in the sky."
"Precisely. Others have been there before us -- notably Project Yehudi in 1943, which used sealed-beam lights along the wings and cowling of an aircraft, directed at ground observers along the flight path, and adjusting the intensity of the lights to match the sky behind the aircraft. This effect takes advantage of a physiological phenomenon termed isoluminance, where objects of similar intensity can be indistinguishable from one another under certain conditions...it proved remarkably effective. So, we decided to employ the principle. If you take a good look at the surface of the vehicle, you will see it's coated in a fine mesh of photocells and LEDs, designed to vary the surface luminance to match the intensity of the sky on the opposite side of the vehicle. In a real pinch, the net can mimic the skin of a cuttlefish and rapidly shift intensities to confuse the observer."
"That's all well-and-good in the visible spectrum," Glynnis noted, "But what about radar and infrared?"
"The electrical field produced by the net attenuates radar reflections, dissipating them by 10 dBsm," Gregory explained. "As for the IR...not much could be done about actively reducing its signature but it really has no distinctive heat source (like a jet engine).
"Could this be what those UFO's were using?" Bridget asked.
"I believe so, or something very like it, in conjunction with a magic spell to deal with any contrail issues."
"Contrail issues?"
"Contrails form when the water-vapor-rich exhaust coming out of a jet engine is cooled by the atmosphere around it, causing the water vapor to condense, just like your breath on a cold day. Even though an aircraft can be absolutely invisible to all forms of electromagnetic detection, that won't save it if there's a giant white arrow pointing to it across the sky. There are only a few ways to minimize the issue. First, since they only form when the air is too cold to absorb the water vapor, the pilot can either fly in warm air that will not condense the water vapor (under 20,000 feet), or they can fly at very high altitudes where the air is dry enough to absorb the water vapor (above 50,000 feet). For those aircraft restricted to altitudes between 20,000 and 50,000 feet, chloro-fluoro-sulfonic acid can be sprayed into the exhaust to reduce contrail formation it causes the water droplets to break up into extremely small droplets making them harder to see and more easily absorbed by the air. However, that material is extremely toxic and corrosive, so it's not very practical."
"And while I haven't heard anything specific," Marcus added, "it wouldn't surprise me if someone has devised a spell to emulate the hypernucleation aspect of the chloro-fluoro-sulfonic acid solution. Either way, that doesn't apply here."
"Why not?" Celeste asked.
"No jet engine means no contrail."
"Ah."
"Well done," Vilmaniac said. "Very well done."
"Do we have a name for this thing?" Devin asked.
"Well..." Glynnis exchanged shrugs with Nancy, "...no. Got any ideas?"
"I think we should call it 'the Sleigh'."
"Where did you get that from?" Gregory asked. "Santa Claus?"
"Sure, why not?" Devin chuckled. "It's, like, the best present ever, and its pulled from the front by two magical friends..."
Jarrod and Bridget groaned in unison.
"Well," Marcus drawled, "it certainly sounds less provocative or tactically significant than, say, 'the Chariot'."
"And less likely to raise concerns by the Administration," Celeste added.
"Agreed," Vilmaniac concluded. "Then it's official: 'the Sleigh' it is."
"Why don't you take it out for a spin?" Glynnis prompted. "Give it a low-level, low-speed hop before any high-altitude, high-speed sorties."
"Agreed," Nancy added. "The batteries have a full charge, and I have a check-list of items to review before we can go high."
"Permission granted," Vilmaniac said. "That is, if the pilot is up for it."
"Heck, yeah!," Devin replied, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm getting amped just thinking about it!"
Jarrod didn't share his friend's enthusiasm, or the general interest of the others, so he kept his true opinion to himself. After all, no one ever asked the horse what he though about hauling a wagon or sleigh around. He reminded himself that the academic credits for this task, as well as pushing the limits of his own capabilities, outweighed any indignities. Time to 'man-up' to the situation: "Then let's get going."
* * *
Jarrod had gotten quite accomplished at putting the saddle on his back and fastening the harness straps, in spite of his shorter-than-normal arms (having a super-flexible spine compensated somewhat). So, he waited patiently while Bridget went into the bathroom to climb into her flightsuit, leaving behind her helmet and gloves. He would never admit it, but he could smell her scent wafting gently from them, and so didn't mind holding them for her.
The new cables sagged from his saddle, meandered snake-like up the apron and through the Hangar door, where they clamped to the nose of the glider. The experimental vehicle still sat under the ceiling lamps, illuminating the heads of everyone gathered around it.
Celeste, Marcus, Glynnis, and Gregory gathered around, all wearing their dark-toned flight armour. Bridget joined them, clad in her azure high-altitude flightsuit.
Devin glanced at them, then at his black leathers and Nancy's snowsuit. "Shouldn't we have some kind of flightsuit?"
"One thing at a time, baby," Nancy replied. "They're on the the To-Do List, but not high on it."
Devin nodded, mollified.
"Alright, Gryphons, gather 'round," Celeste announced, gestured, then turned and marched onto the apron to stand beside Jarrod. She waited for her teammates to encircle her. "This is an auspicious occasion for us: first flight with our two new team members, and first flight of the Sleigh. The flight plan calls for three stages: one lap around the campus at tree-top level, one lap at 5,000 feet, and one lap at 10,000 feet. This will be a cakewalk, to test the pilot, the vehicle, and communications with the Hangar. Right, Skipper?"
"Affirmative," Vilmaniac replied from the doorway.
Celeste extended her arm, palm down. "The clock is ticking and history waits. Odonate is in."
"Tanerore is in," Marcus said, placing his hand on top of hers.
"Twidget is in," Glynnis said, adding her hand to the stack.
"Snidget is in," Gregory said, adding his hand to the stack.
"Shénlóng is in," Jarrod said, adding his hand to the stack.
"FLIR is in," Bridget said, adding her hand to the stack.
"Doyen is in," Nancy said, adding her hand to the stack.
"Curl is in," Devin said, adding his hand to the stack.
"Nos no qua aquila deficio praecessi!" Celeste exclaimed.
"Volaré!" Marcus, Glynnis, Gregory, Jarrod, Bridget, Nancy and Devin chorused, pumping their stacked hands.
"Mount up, people!" Celeste ordered, donning her helmet.
Marcus, Glynnis, and Gregory mirrored her movements.
Bridget climbed into the saddle, then accepted her helmet and gloves from Jarrod.
Nancy pushed Devin toward the Sleigh. "Now, be a good boy and squeeze yourself into the front seat."
"Don't step there!" Glynnis warned, pointing to the 'NO STEP' decals liberally sprinkled around the circular base of the vehicle. "Stick to the reinforced strips along the wingroots."
"Wings?" Devin asked.
"Good a name as any," Glynnis shrugged, "though they could just as easily be called asymmetric concave lifting body sectors..."
"Wings," Devin agreed, nodding sagely.
Jarrod watched Devin and Nancy wiggle into the glider's cockpit, seal it, and start walking through their pre-flight checklist. One glance over his shoulder revealed that Bridget was doing the same thing, albeit much faster and with more confidence (she spared him a quick grin). The other members of Team Gryphon were sealing helmet visors, donning gloves, and inspecting each other's suits. Jarrod's prep-list consisted of donning his hi-tech collar, and testing the electronics embedded in it. He swallowed his impatience, calling upon the techniques he'd learned over the years from the experts.
Vilmaniac disappeared into the Hangar, no doubt dragging a chair over the communications board and firing-up the various gizmos and toys that Glynnis, Gregory, and Nancy had wired into it. The big wall monitor flickered to life.
Jarrod heard a crackle in his earphones as Bridget activated their private comm channel.
Bridget: "Can you hear me OK, sweetie?"
"Affirmative," he replied.
Bridget: "Are you ready for this?"
"As ready as I'm going to be. I'm surprised the Skipper isn't out here filming this epic moment."
Bridget: "No need -- Gregory tapped into the feed from the building's security cameras. And I'll be taking pictures, too."
"Just remember to get my good side."
Bridget: "Sweetie, every side of you is a good side."
"You're biased."
Bridget: "Damn right I am." She rubbed his shoulders affectionately. "Look, here they come."
The glider floated slowly through the Hangar door, casting a pool of shadow on the concrete apron.
Devin: "It feels a bit nose-heavy."
Nancy: "It won't after the sensor pallets are mounted."
* * *
Gregory: "How's the view?"
Devin: "Woahhhhhh, it's totally chocka!"
Gregory: "Huh?"
Devin: "Freakin' awesome!"
Gregory: "Oh."
Nancy: "Well, the pilot may have a great view, but the RIO's view is limited. Not bad to the sides, but I have to peek around his seat to look forward...which is OK, really, since I have all the display panels back here, which are plugged into the cameras in the chin and tail turrets. So I'm not complaining."
Glynnis: "How's the ride?"
Devin: "Bodacious! Dunzo!"
Glynnis: "I'll assume that means good."
Nancy: "It does."
Devin: "The response of this gun is just epic...it's magical, like riding a perfect wave, being in tune with the physics and waltzing with gravity rather than against it. The ride is most righteous."
Nancy: "Agreed. It feels like we're tubing down a rapids."
Gregory: "Better than skyboarding?"
Devin: "Apples-to-oranges. Both are nollie."
Nancy: "It's like comparing a bicycle to a motorcycle: one's harmonic with nature, the other's pure adrenaline."
Vilmaniac: "That's good to hear. Now, is the sensor net working?"
Nancy: "Yes, sir. The diagnostics are about complete, and then I'll start downloading the initial scans."
Vilmaniac: "Thank you."
Celeste: "Better stay focused, you two."
Devin: "We're trying, but this is so freakin' awesome..."
Jarrod looked back at the glider; his eagle-like eyes easily able to discern Devin's and Nancy's faces: they wore matching grins, eyes shining with excitement. Bridget trained her backpack optics the same direction.
Bridget: "You should see your faces."
Nancy: "Why?"
Bridget: "Like two kids on Christmas Morning."
"Like your face a few months ago," Jarrod added.
Bridget: "I wear that face every time we come up here. This never gets old."
Marcus: "For any of us."
Jarrod agreed silently, though wishing again for the solitude of the stratosphere, and the problem-solving inspiration it often brought. Bridget must have seen his face, because he heard a subtle change in static as she switched to their private comm channel.
Bridget: "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Funny how you can read me like that," he replied, "sealed-up inside that spacesuit of your's, strapped to my back with just your arms wrapped around my chest..."
Bridget: "That's because I have my hands on your heart." She grinned, giving him a little hug for emphasis.
He squeezed her hands where they rested beneath his.
Bridget: "You haven't answered my question."
"What makes you think anything is wrong?" He made a slight heading adjustment as they entered an updraft, feeling the cables vibrate under shifting vectors, and then ease-off as Devin brought the saucer-shaped glider skittering back to the center of his PK wake.
Bridget: "You're the love of my life; how could I not know when something is wrong?" She made a quick inspection of the vehicle surfing along behind them. "Out with it: something's been bothering you lately."
Jarrod sighed. "It's nothing."
Bridget: "No, it isn't. Is the Sleigh too heavy?"
"Hardly," Jarrod sniffed. "I can still go supersonic even with that thing tied to my tail."
Bridget: "Then what is it? Do you resent hauling Devin and Nancy around?"
"No, I don't resent sharing the sky with my friends."
Bridget: "That's good to hear. After all, if it weren't for the Gryphons, I never could've joined you up here."
"I know."
Bridget: "Just remember, sweetie: no matter how crowded it gets down low, we have Near Space all to ourselves."
"That's never far from my mind."
Bridget gave him another hug and lapsed into silence.
Jarrod sighed, his eyes automatically sweeping the sky around him, taking note of the vehicle behind, and the two-person escort on either side of it.
* * *
Jarrod sat on the pavement and watched patiently as Nancy unfastened the cables attached to the saddle. Bridget still sat in the saddle, doffing her helmet and gloves while watching the disconnect.
"Did you have any problem hauling us around?" Devin asked Jarrod, approaching from the Hangar door while the teking the cables around twin wooden spools.
"No," Jarrod replied. "From an ethics viewpoint, it beats hauling weapons around -- and it's a lot more interesting."
Bridget climbed off the saddle and stood beside him. "Do you ever get tired of carrying me around up there?"
"Hardly. In fact, I feel incomplete when you're not there."
"A-w-w-w-w-w!" Devin and Nancy chorused.
Bridget's face brightened, a cheek-inflating smile that shone squarely upon Jarrod. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me." She followed the comment with a passionate kiss. "I love you."
"I love you, too," he replied.
"See, that gets easier to say with practice -- and I like hearing it."
"I'll work on it."
"Did you hear that?" Nancy asked Devin, punching him the shoulder. "That's damn good advice. You should work on it, too."
"Yes, ma'am," Devin sighed, rubbing his shoulder. He glanced over at Jarrod and Bridget. "Thanks."
"Any time," Jarrod answered.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62563 is a reply to message #62562 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:25 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY TWELVE Wednesday, April 27, 2011 SEVENTH PERIOD
"She's really depressed," Bridget observed. "She just sits around moping about her wings."
"Well, they won't develop fully unless she applies herself," Glynnis warned. "According to Ms. Zündel, if she doesn't get started now, it may take years of practice and constant conditioning for her to get in and stay in flying condition. Her wings can even atrophy due to lack of use, just like any other limb, though the process can be be reversed or corrected through exercises and physical therapy. Then there's the psychological issues she's breeding: from what I've read, mutant flyers who bind their wings or rarely exercise them can become prone to claustrophobia and anxiety as a result of the constant discomfort."
"Newly-manifested mutant flyers are like baby birds," Nancy added. "They have an innate sense that flying is as natural an act as standing upright and learning to walk a combination of instinct and practice. And like birds, they can't fly until their muscle structure has had time to develop. The trouble is, motivation to exercise those new flight muscles is often a major obstacle because they lack a proper role model. Parent birds motivate their fledglings by standing a short distance away from the nest during feeding, dangling food just out of reach, coaxing them to get up and get moving."
"Ok, so, how do we coax Bina to use her wings?" Celeste asked. "I don't think withholding food is going to work real well."
The group exchanged frowns and shrugs.
"I know how," Jarrod said.
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62564 is a reply to message #62563 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 02:36 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY THIRTEEN Saturday, April 30, 2011 MID-MORNING
Time: 10:52 AM
Temp: 48.0°F
Dew Point: 34.0°F
Humidity: 58%
Pressure: 30.05 in
Visibility: 10.0 miles
Wind Direction: NNW
Wind Speed: 11.5 mph
Conditions: Overcast
Jarrod glanced over his shoulder at the fledgling mutant strapped into the saddle, as they arrowed through the sky hundreds of feet above the New Hampshire countryside. The PK augmenters on the saddle had been temporarily disabled, allowing his cocoon to conform to his physique naturally, not artificially inflated around a passenger. It also meant that, while Bina's arms and legs were inside the energy shell, her head and torso were fully exposed to the slipstream.
Bina gulped, overwhelmed by the empty vastness that surrounded her. She wore Bridget's skydiver's jumpsuit, the back having been cut open to accommodate her wings. She also wore the white helmet, a pair of gloves, and snow boots for thermal protection. Her eyes were saucer-wide and her lips were pressed together tightly as she struggled to relax. She listened intently as the headphones inside the helmet crackled frequently with voices.
Bridget: "Bina, honey, don't force it. Let your wings dip into the slipstream gradually."
"Ok," Bina stammered. "I'll try."
Slowly, gradually, Bina's fisted wings unclenched, billowing gently under the pressure of the passing air. The wingfingers uncurled, changing the shape of the half-formed airfoils. Then, with a sudden jolt, all four wings yielded and snapped fully open. Jarrod staggered under the sudden force, and quickly compensated.
"Wow..." Bina gasped.
Glynnis: "'Wow' is right. Alis volat propriis!"
"What?"
Glynnis: "She flies with her own wings!"
Gregory: "Alis grave nil!"
"What?"
Gregory: "Nothing is heavy to those who have wings!"
"I don't understand..."
Marcus: "They're trying to impress with you with their limited grasp of Latin. Just ignore them."
Celeste: "Agreed. Focus on your wings, but don't try flapping yet. Get used to the feel of gliding."
Bina kept her wings unfolded to their full length, her wingfingers weaving and kneading the slipstream, feeling the wind push and prod the taut membranes between them, which caused Jarrod to pitch and roll.
Jarrod discreetly dampened the wilder gyrations, letting his passenger play.
"Oh, my..." Bina sighed. "You were right, Bridget: I do like having wings."
Bridget: "I knew you would."
Celeste: "She's a natural; you should see the way she caresses the wind."
"That's because Bridget taught me how to."
Bridget: "Me?!?"
"In the art room. Your hands...how they shaped and molded that clay so effortlessly. And your words...that it's the heart, not the hands, that guides an artist."
Bridget: "I'm flattered, Bina."
"I can't believe I'm doing this..."
Bridget: "You can do it anytime you like, all it takes is practice."
"I wish you were up here with us."
Bridget: "I am, in spirit; soon enough, I'll take my seat back and fly beside you."
"That's a promise," Jarrod added.
Bina's arms, already wrapped around his chest, gave him a brief heartfelt hug.
Celeste: "Twidget, did you update the music library after the last VIP Tour?"
Glynnis: "Affirmative. I downloaded an entire Ludovico Einaudi album."
Celeste: "Copy that. Great choice. Fire-up the tunes, then."
Glynnis: "Roger, wilco."
The conversations on the comm channel receded, to be replaced by a soothing collaboration of piano and orchestral music. Jarrod felt Bina relax, using her wings to set them glissading, swaying and lifting with the melancholic adagio. The aerial ballet lasted for three tracks before anyone spoke again.
"Jarrod, can we go higher?" Bina asked.
Glynnis: "Atta girl!"
Gregory: "She hears them!"
"What do I hear?" Bina asked.
Marcus: "You hear the winds calling, and the Sylphid voices."
Celeste: "All real flyers, born or bred, hear them."
"What are Sylphids?" Bina asked.
"Think of them as angels," Jarrod answered, "singing their songs across the wide open skies."
"Then I really am a flyer..."
Bridget: "You really are."
Jarrod angled upwards, aiming for the windswept cloudtops visible through the crevasses in the cloud cover. They emerged above the foamy canopy, their shadows racing across the nebulous sun-drenched plain that stretched away in all directions. The sky arched far above them in brilliant shades of azure and sapphire, criss-crossed with jet contrails at even higher altitudes. Their four escorts kept pace, sunlight flashing off their visors, shadows forming contour maps across their flight suits.
Bina couldn't restrain the giggling that erupted from her breast, as her eyes and mind embraced the expanding vista.
Jarrod took them on a casual tour, sailing over the great white domes, looping lazily high in the sunlit vastness, or spiraling down through slate and cerulean canyons. He didn't vary their speed much, which meant Bina didn't need to struggle with shifts in the slipstream.
Bina's eager laughter eventually faded to a blissful, silent smile. Her eyes were closed as often as they were open, listening to the voices of her friends as well as her own internal voice. "You know, I feel closer to God up here."
"So do I," Jarrod admitted.
Celeste: "Curl was right: it doesn't matter whether you fly on organic wings, mechanical wings, or energy wings, only that you fly."
Marcus: "I'm happy to hear you say that, my dear. It's very reassuring."
Jarrod looked over to where Celeste and Marcus were flying alongside. Celeste had been in the lead, but she now slipped back to join Marcus, her hand reaching out to take his.
Bridget: "Skipper says it's time to come home, guys."
"Roger, wilco," Jarrod replied. He initiated a long, languorous turn that led the formation back toward the school.
Bina sighed, her reluctance to leave the heights counterbalanced by her growing fatigue, clearly discernible over the comm channel.
Celeste: "Tired?"
"Yes, but I've never been so happy. I'm making myself a promise: to return as quickly, and as often, as I possibly can. Thank you, all of you, for helping me through this."
Celeste: "Our pleasure."
Jarrod nodded in agreement.
* * *
Bridget, Alicia, and Devin followed Vilmaniac out of the Hangar door, watching the Gryphons descend and settle onto the apron.
Celeste, Marcus, Glynnis, and Gregory shed their helmets and gloves, as Jarrod settled into a crouch with his tail wrapped around his ankles.
All eyes turned on Bina as she fumbled with her helmet, her wings folded casually above her back. "That was absolutely wonderful!"
Devin gestured and teked her out of the saddle, to drift above and beside Jarrod before her feet touched ground.
Bina staggered slightly, before stepping forward to embrace Bridget.
"So, what did you think of your first flight?" Bridget asked.
"I don't think I can find the right words to describe it," Bina replied.
"Believe me, I know the feeling."
"We all do," Glynnis added.
"I thought of a code-name," Bina announced.
"What is it?" Alicia replied.
"Swan, because I no longer feel like the Ugly Duckling. I feel beautiful!"
"'Swan' is already registered with DC and Top Cow," Celeste warned.
"What about 'Cygnus'?" Glynnis asked.
"Registered with Marvel."
"Maybe something in Barsoomian," Marcus mused.
"Now that's just mean," Bridget snapped, fixing him with a steely stare.
"Well, technically speaking, she has six arms..."
Bridget's stare turned into a grimace.
"What's 'Barsoomian'?" Devin asked.
"A nod to Edgar Rice Burroughs," Marcus sighed.
"A very unflattering nod," Bridget grumbled, ignoring the host of confused expressions.
"Do you have a better suggestion?"
"Yes, I do: 'Alqua'."
"What's that?" Nancy asked.
"It's Quenya for 'Swan'," Bridget explained.
"Ok...so what's 'Quenya'?" Beth asked.
"An Elvish language devised by J. R. R. Tolkien," Marcus answered with a conceding nod to Bridget. "Well played."
"So, 'Alqua' is safe to use then?" Alicia asked.
"Yes," Celeste replied, "it's safe to use."
"Then 'Alqua' it is," Bina declared, her smile stretching from ear-to-ear.
"Fair enough," Vilmaniac said, "which means you're ready for this." He reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a 4-inch Team Gryphon patch, which he handed to her.
Bina's eyes went wide as she carefully inspected the patch. "No one ever gave me anything like this before..."
"It's not a gift -- you earned it, plain and simple."
"But, I had help..."
"We all need help, that's why we work as a team."
"Absolutely," Bridget concluded, grasping Jarrod's hand. "No flyer ever really soars alone; they're always part of a flock -- a community."
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| Re: Learning To Fly [message #62565 is a reply to message #62564 ] |
Sun, 29 July 2012 03:00 |
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The Old Poet
Messages: 34
Registered: June 2011
Location: Fly-over country, USA |
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====== DAY FOURTEEN Monday, May 2, 2011 LUNCH
Jarrod pushed aside the corner chair and knelt at the table, setting his lunch tray in front of him. He shoved his wheeled book-bag under the table.
Bridget slid her bag next to his, set her tray beside his, and dropped into the chair beside him. She scooted it forward, to be as close to the table (and him) as she could comfortably get.
They ate dispiritedly, until a gravelly voice interrupted their thoughts.
"The food here never gets any better, does it?"
They looked at the figure who set a tray across from them, then sat in the corner chair opposite Jarrod. The middle-aged man spoke with a Southern accent, whose features were obscured by a mask that covered the top half of his face and a hooded poncho that draped off his shoulders. "Caligo!" they chorused.
"In the flesh," he sighed.
"What brings you to Whateley?" Jarrod asked.
"You two," Caligo replied, poking at his salad with his fork.
"Should we even be seen together?" Bridget asked, looking around nervously.
"Sometimes the best privacy can be found in the most public places," he answered Bridget, then said to Jarrod, "I hear you're getting pretty good at projecting your PK."
Jarrod choked on a mouthful of food. "How'd you hear about that?"
"Hear about what?" Bridget asked, slapping him on the back.
"A little birdie told me," Caligo replied.
"A little birdie named Adriano?" Jarrod asked.
"Afraid not; he's as good as his word. I have other sources here. I think it's a great idea -- and amazing that something so obvious wasn't considered a long time ago."
"I guess some of us just aren't natural predators," Jarrod shrugged.
"Neither is a bull, but stay well clear of its horns," Caligo countered.
"What are you two talking about?" Bridget asked.
"I'll explain later," Jarrod replied.
"You should show her, actually," Caligo added. "She might be able to suggest some new angles."
Jarrod looked sheepish under Bridget's intense expression.
They became aware of movement beside the table.
"Are we interrupting something?" Sean asked. He and Alicia hovered nearby, arms full of trays and bookbags.
"No," Caligo answered, and gestured towards the empty seats at the table. "In fact, I was hoping you two would show up."
Sean and Alicia joined them, all the time casting curious glances at Jarrod and Bridget.
Caligo produced three envelopes, each addressed with a formal flourish, which he handed to Jarrod, Bridget, and Sean. To Alicia, he said, "Your Aunt Torri sends her regards."
That comment caused Sean to freeze. "How do you know Torri Mathieu?"
"Nostrum prosapia sto iunctus."
Sean and Alicia gawked at the older man, the former finding his voice first. "Does that mean that one of them," he indicated Jarrod and Bridget, "is an apprentice of yours?"
"They both are -- but you will kindly keep that information to yourselves."
"Oh, we will," Alicia replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Open your envelopes, please," Caligo said. "I need a response from each of you."
The three recipients tore open their envelopes, withdrawing slips of heavy bond paper. Each read silently while Alicia fretted.
Sean started chuckling and passed the note to Alicia, who skimmed it quickly and started to giggle.
Jarrod and Bridget read their notes, then shared astonished glances.
Caligo ate his salad, observing quietly.
"What does your note say, little brother?" Bridget asked Sean.
"I've been invited to Scotland, to spend the summer studying with Torri."
"Only a few kilometers from my house!" Alicia bubbled.
"What does your note say?" Sean asked Bridget.
"I -- we -- have been invited to spend the summer in Savannah, with Caligo." She gestured at her mentor, who nodded.
"Have you cleared this with our parents?" Sean asked the latter.
"Not yet. Why bother, if you're not interested?" Caligo replied.
"I think it's safe to say we're interested," Sean answered. Alicia's hand crept into his, and he clenched it tightly.
Bridget nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across her face as the full implications hit her. Then she noticed Jarrod's face and posture had remained impassive.
Caligo noticed it, too. "You haven't said anything yet, Shénlóng."
"Why get my hopes up?" Jarrod admitted. "Even if the school agrees to it, I doubt Comrade Huang will."
"Leave the negotiations to us," Caligo said. "The question remains: do you want to go, or not?"
"Yes."
"That's all I needed to know."
Jarrod felt Bridget lock her arms around his elbow, looked into her shining eyes -- and for the first time in many days, he felt like smiling back.
============================
=== A U T H O R ' S N O T E S ===
============================
Inspiration is where you find it. The following sites provided some elements, either visual or emotional. I highly recommend them...
Proper musical attributions...
Artist: Alpha Rev
Title: "New Morning"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dl5QvjvniE
Artist: Five For Fighting
Title: "Chances"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNZT8i0imOo
Inspiration for the Jarrod/Melody/Adriano performance...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=iv&annotation_id=an notation_226889&src_vid=TCXFcCnhbQA&v=fTHwr2D6qNo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQGptfFWZRE&feature=relat ed
The Chariot...
http://www.webroad.ch/monotracer/index.php?lang=en
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWfph3iNC-k&feature=playe r_embedded
Bina Petershwim...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=x Hkq1edcbk4
...and...
http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/282/b/4/crested_four_ wing_by_turtle_rn-d27bbei.jpg
http://img.ezinemark.com/imagemanager2/files/30004252/2010/1 2/coins/fish1.jpg
http://www.tealandlime.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/spider costumewebbedarms.jpg
Music to fly by Ludovico Einaudi:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qvglWAHDak
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CB4fO-f33K0&feature=relat ed
Truth often catches up to fiction...
Treading on Tandem's turf:
http://www.smartplanet.com/blog/science-scope/how-to-fall-fr om-120000-feet/12686
http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/aviation/safety/f elix-baumgartners-120000-foot-space-dive-its-on-6653505
http://www.npr.org/2012/05/23/153519660/austrian-pilot-hopes -to-break-freefall-record
http://mycenturylink.com/news/read.php?rip_id=%3CDA081OLG1%4 0news.ap.org%3E&ps=1011
Metahuman manifestations:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stan_Lee's_Superhumans
http://singularityhub.com/2009/06/30/super-babies-reveal-the -key-to-strength-gene/
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1304481/The-human-ma gnet-Mother-power-make-metal-stick-body.html
By the way, here are the images that inspired Bridget's painting "Mated Gryphons" in the previous story...
http://nightwinggalleries.com/truebloodsplight.html
http://nightwinggalleries.com/summersdreams.html
http://nightwinggalleries.com/skydancereprise.html
http://nightwinggalleries.com/gryphsnuggles.html
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