F³ Unhappily Pt. 2

             My head swam, like I was under the effects of some chemical, but I was holding my breath. Perhaps just contact with my skin? I fixated on the lump, which was already becoming less distinct. I took another step forward, almost faceplanting on the floor but for a hand that caught an end table.

            Can’t do it. Can’t reach him. Have to wait for FDNY; they’ve got the gear, and I don’t want to add to the body count.

            I turned, and the outline of the door danced hazily in my vision. I tried walking, but quickly fell to hands and knees. The doorway was becoming less distinct, or maybe my consciousness was. I forced myself to go on, lungs burning for air.

            Finally, I gulped in sweet air. As before, there was no smell, but I didn’t like the gulping in that stuff. Didn’t have a choice, though.

            I forced myself ahead, but the feeling of the floorboards under my hands changed. It felt like dirt, now, and the doorway was no longer there, just a wavering rectangle of light.

            My stomach did cartwheels, my nose smelled the outdoors, but not the city, nature, like Prospect Park. My ears heard nothing, not even my own breathing.

I stretched out a hand in the direction of the doorway, but it had been completely swallowed by the sparkling fog, and my strength gave out.

F³ Unhappily Pt.1

             “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Lee. We’ll look into your husband’s disappearance.” I closed my notebook and shut off the recording.

            “Be sure to check down the hall. They’re always doing something weird at the end of the hall. Strange sounds and lights. It’s not natural. They must’ve had something to do with it!”

            I nodded to her and turned to go.

            “Aren’t you going to check down there?” she pointed at the apartment at the end of the hall.

            I barely suppressed a sigh. “I’ll go check.”

            I went to the door and knocked. “This is Detective Faraday, NYPD. Please open up.” I repeated the knock three more times to no answer.”

            “See,” said Mrs. Lee from her doorway, “they’re suspicious!”

            I looked down at the floor and sighed, which is when I noticed the fog. It crawled out from under the door in slow tendrils, one of them clinging to the door and snaking up it. Motes of light sparkled in it, like twinkling stars. I squatted and fanned my notebook at it. The fog reacted, but it was delayed, like an internet video buffering. And when it did, it was in slow motion.

            I sniffed at it, but there was no odor. Nothing chemical that I could distinguish from the ordinary smells of the building.

            I pounded on the door again. “NYPD, open up! Something is coming from your door.”

            Nothing.

            “I’m coming in!”

            “Yes, get them!”

            “Mrs. Lee, go back into your apartment and stay there.”

            I got on my rover, asking for the FDNY to come out. If this was a precursor to a fire, I’d want them here, pronto.

            I tested the knob, the door was unlocked. Very unlike any Brooklyn apartment. I pushed the door in, uncovering a room full of the same sparkling fog. Light came in from the window, but it wasn’t as bright as it should’ve been. But on a patch of floor near the window was a lump that looked a lot like a body, like someone had collapsed due to whatever the fog was.

            I took a deep breath and plunged in.

F³ Fairy Tale Dentistry

             I hated dentists. Really, who didn’t hate dentists? But right now, I desperately wanted one. A molar had broken on me, and what was underneath hurt like hell. The left side of my mouth ached into the jaw, and the slightest touch of liquid sent an electric jolt through me.

            I was even desperate enough to try the local solution, a fairy tale witch with potions and whatnot. She was hunched over and sounded older than she looked, really, with a smoker’s rasp in her voice though no evidence of the habit. She plucked leaves and berries and other odds and ends from various earthenware jars and ground them all up with a mortar and pestle. Then she whispered words of magic and twinkling motes of green, gold, and purple danced over the concoction. She thrust the thing at me as it bubbled coldly, each popping bubble releasing a noxious skunk odor or peppermint or even smoked hickory. My nose and tastebuds didn’t know what to make of that combination.

            “Drink, and all the pains of your mouth will disappear.”

            I was about to bolt when my sigh hit the exposed tooth, spearing my jaw with fresh pain.

            I downed the draught in one gulp, doing my best not to breathe while I did so.

            Nothing happened.

            Of course, nothing happened. It wouldn’t be dramatic if it happened right away.

            I belched, sending out a literal purple cloud of the skunk/peppermint/hickory mix.

            The pain went away.

            I belched again, and felt a weird sensation from that side of my mouth. My tongue sought it out to find the jagged edge of missing tooth replaced by smooth enamel.

            “Wow. That’s some good—” I belched a series of smaller clouds, now, then felt pain from all over my mouth as well as a sharp sound. In short order my mouth filled with bits of things. I spit them all out into my hand to see a couple of porcelain crowns and several metal fillings.

            I ran my tongue over my teeth, feeling each one had been restored to good as new, no modern dental work remaining in my mouth.

            “No wonder your mouth hurt, chewing metal. Silly man.”

            Sure beats any dentist in Brooklyn. Sometimes this fairy tale place isn’t so bad.

 

F³ Reeducation

             Flynn eased the thruster control up. He tried not to let his nervousness show, but the jerk of the ship in response to the thrusters gave him the lie.

            “Sir, are you sure about this? Officers aren’t known for doing real work,” Eltie said.

            “Says the lieutenant.” Flynn shot back. “So I’m a little rusty. It’s been a while since I conned a ship out.”

            “And the enlisted did it for you?”

            “I still called out the orders, though.” Flynn turned the yoke, adjusting their heading. The ship, slowly at first, turned to the new heading. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

            “We’re still in system.”

            Flynn sighed.

            Yeah, that.

            “Not for long.”

            The ship coasted through the bow shock and into interstellar space. Dark energy winds filled the sails, pushing them at faster-than-light speeds. Alarms blared as the sensors registered a negative trim: the bow was tipping forward. Technically, in space, this didn’t matter as it would in water. However, FTL sailers that trimmed too negative or positive could flip entirely. It wouldn’t hurt the ship, but the masts might rip out and the sails shred, entirely.

            “Captain?” Eltie said, alarmed.

            “I know, I know. The dorsal sail is filling while the ventral isn’t. I just need to get the angles right.”

            Flynn’s hands flew across the controls. He adjusted the lines, slightly luffing the dorsal sail. Then he worke don the ventral sails, trying to get the telltales—the small flag sensors built into the sails—to break even. He overcorrected more than once, but finally got the wind flowing smoothly over the ventral sails. The trim evened out, and Flynn got the dorsal sails to do the same.

            He sighed in relief. “See, no problem.”

            Flynn looked over to Eltie, who had a white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair. “You were working on that for over half an hour.”

            Flynn’s eyebrows went up, and he checked the time himself. “Okay, so I need to put in some more practice.”

            “And hire a pilot.”

            “Hey, it wasn’t that bad.”

            “Anything that makes a marine nervous is bad.”

            “Marines always get this way when sailors do their jobs.”

            “Maybe if sailors didn’t do it so poorly.”

F³ Naval Tradition

             Flynn looked at the senior staff assembled in the ward room. This was the first meeting of them on Atlas. The XO had just gone through the usual business according to the agenda she and Flynn had discussed, previously. A lot of this was standard procedure, bordering on naval tradition. The usual round of questions came from the department heads, which the XO fielded with Flynn’s expectations. Finally, all the business was done, and it was time for Flynn’s speech.

            He stood, giving a gesture to have the staff remain seated.

            “The Navy has traditions that we’re all part of. Atlas has its own part in naval traditions, as well as her own story. In mythology, Atlas holds up the sky. We bear the weight of the universe on our shoulders. I’m honored to be part of Atlas’s story. It’s a weight and an honor.”

            Flynn gave a nod to the XO. “Years ago, when I was still vacuum-behind-the-ears as an ensign, a chief gave me some good advice. ‘Sir, everyone always thinks about the load on their shoulders, but that weight goes all the way down to their feet. You make your feet comfortable, and your shoulders won’t mind so much.’”

The XO began passing parcels to all the senior staff. “So with those wise words, I propose a new tradition on Atlas to make our feet comfortable. Go ahead and open them.

Each officer opened their bag to reveal pairs of socks personalized with their name and rank as well as “Atlas,” and the words “Broad Shoulders, Comfy Feet.”

“Sir,” Lt. Commander Benton, from engineering spoke.

Flynn nodded for him to go ahead.

“This is the finest tradition I’ve ever seen started on a ship. Our sister ships are going to be so jealous.”

“As they should be,” Flynn said to smiles and chuckles throughout the wardroom.

F³ Waterspout v. Hurricane

             I wasn’t too sure about how it worked in the water, but I knew if I had attempted to create a cyclone in the air with Nat, it couldn’t happen. Or at least, not without a lot more build up. Moving air took time and distance. Maybe working from Nebraska with a good tailwind I could get enough mass moving to create a cyclone from scratch. I suspected the same was true for the water. Probably even longer because of how much mass water already had.

            But me and Maddy, using the Frost power, it seemed like nothing. Somehow the combination of our powers led to something almost exponential, and it was hard not to like that kind of power.

            Maybe that’s why Jack and Nat are so opposed to it. Power corrupts, etc.

            Maddy swung us up, corkscrewing our way to the surface inside the waterspout. The spout surged sending millions of gallons into the eyewall of the giant hurricane. I had heard of hurricanes creating waterspouts, but nothing on this scale. The eyewall was too massive to be completely engulfed by the waterspout, but it swallowed a big chunk of it, disrupting the wind. And before we reached the top, I felt a chill coming from Maddy. The spout began crystallizing.

We burst out of the top of the spout, where I quickly formed a cloudboard for both of us. I swung us around to watch as the entire spout froze, like a movie special effect. It wouldn’t last, not with tropic temperatures, but with the eyewall disrupted and the convection current completely wrecked, the hurricane should begin to dissolve.

“We can fly without the board, you know,” Maddy said wryly.

“Oh, right. Habit.”

F³ Supercavitation

             The Frost powers gave me a lot of abilities, and Maddy, too, but none of them were really helpful for increasing speed underwater. Maddy had us going at her top speed, but that was nothing compared to what a storm rider could do. I tugged on her to drop back, letting me take the lead. From an outstretched hand, I let out a thin stream of air.

            Immediately, bubbles formed until I got the balance right, and then one large bubble enveloped us. The water slipped around the bubble, frictionless, and our speed increased. Russian torpedoes used the same principle. My wind supply, even compressed, was limited, but I had plenty of lightning, so I sent arcs between my fingers, almost as thick as my fingers, to boil the water, creating the same effect.

            We shot forward through the water, and just like when I cloudsurfed, created a wake behind us, one that Maddy really expanded until I could see the beginnings of the circular current, and even felt ourselves rising with the water.

            Holy shit, it’s going to work.

 

F³ Into The Drink

             By the time Maddy and I got to Florida, she was the one riding the lightning. She had a pretty good knack for it, once I explained the basics to her, leaving me to figure out the water stuff without a concrete example to operate on. So, by the time we arrived at ground zero, I still really had no clue as to how to figure out the water stuff.

            Without enhanced vision, we could see not just the air currents, but body heat of the other storm riders, even flitting around the massive storms.

            “So, I don’t think that more storm riding is going to do much, even with the Frost powers,” I yelled to Maddy.

            “Agreed! I think we need a more subtle approach?”

            “Lightning is about as subtle as I’ve got. What are you thinking?”

            For answer, she released the lightning bolt, and aimed us at the ocean in the world’s highest high dive. As we closed, I prepared to send a blast of air to break the water’s surface before we pancaked against it. Even though it churned from the storm, I knew we would hit it like concrete. But Maddy was already on it. I could feel it, though not really see what she did.

            The water swirled into a tight vortex, and we plunged into the dark waters, speeding down like a torpedo. We descended through the warm Gulf waters in a flash, finally slowing in much colder waters.

            “Now, we can work,” Maddy said, though how she modulated her voice to work underwater was beyond me. She also didn’t use air, but water from her lungs.

            It was then I realized I had been reflexively holding my breath. I pulled the air inside myself, storing it with the rest of my wind. I opened my mouth and sucked in the water. Of course, I began to panic, but Maddy squeezed my hand in a death grip, nearly breaking the bones.

            “Slow. It’s okay. Breathe the water. Your lungs will handle it.”

            Really? I mean abilities are one thing, but changing biology is something else.

            I had no choice, though, so I breathed in the water, concentrating on the mechanical process. Open the mouth, suck in the water, marvel at the saltiness, fill the lungs. Empty the lungs, expel water from mouth. Repeat. Broken down like that, I kept from panicking, and my lungs somehow stripped the oxygen out of the water, as if I had gills.

            “Good. Now, we have a lot of work to do. Pay attention.”

F³ Hat Trick

 

I dropped Cassie off at school, but instead of heading to the office, I went to Nikki’s. The Grind with its grungy, hastily constructed post-Depression facades looked quite at odds with the scattered Christmas decorations. The city only bothered to decorate in Midtown while the Chamber of Commerce sprang for decorations in Fairhaven and Badon Heights. Individual businesses in the Grind did as they pleased. Interestingly, Nikki’s Blackthorn Club sported wreathes and garland on the outside.

That in itself was something, but even going in through her parking garage I found the elevator had similar touches, including white fur trim on the red velvet elevator seat. The festiveness didn’t hold as I wound through the back halls to her apartment, but then a voice from one of the side rooms stopped me before I got there.

“In here, Matthew,” came Nikki’s melodic voice.

I turned into Nikki’s studio. It was suitably messy, disordered with blank canvases and painted ones littering tables and floors. Drop cloths were piled both in neat stacks and ragged lumps all over the place. Nikki wore a painter’s smock and jeans as she pondered the canvas in front of her.

“That trick with the hearing really weirds me out,” I said.

“Perhaps you misattribute it to my senses when it is actually my security cameras.”

“Uh huh. I wish it was that. So what’s got you stumped?”

“And why would you—”

“Furrowed brow, you don’t have your palette, and your hips are cocked. You’re a fist away from doing a standing Rodin’s Thinker.”

“That is a trick that I find even more impressive than my own. I’m afraid that inspiration is a fickle mistress, one that even I cannot easily seduce.”

The canvas wasn’t blank, but it wasn’t easy to tell since most of the canvas was painted white, but I could make out snow covered trees in the background. The foreground, though, held nothing.

“Yeah, I don’t know how to help with that. I just wanted to know if I could coax you into helping me out.”

“With what?”

My voice dropped. “Shopping.”

She looked at me for the first time. “Indeed? I should be happy to . . . is that it?” she pointed to my hat.

“Yup. And you’ll be amazed to see what it can do.”

“Nick imbued it with some of his potent magic? I no longer feel any power emanating from it, nor from you, but such is never anything authoritative. What does it do?”

“Check this out.” I cocked my head to the left, then rapidly flipped it to the right. The puffball on the tip of the hat flipped up and over my head to rest onto my other shoulder. “Impressive, huh?”

Her lips twitched uncontrollably, and then she burst out laughing. “A truly momentous feat, Matthew. Help me change and we’ll begin our epic crusade.”

“It’s just shopping.”

“Not when it’s done with me.”

Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

F³ State of Mind

 

My little fire—a little lightning made for a great lighter—was crackling and drying me out quite nicely when the green water rippled and Maddy rose out of the surface. As usual, she was wearing a wetsuit. She grinned at me, but also cocked her head to one side, puzzled.

“This does not seem like a social call,” she said.

I shook my head. “Nope, end of the world kind of thing. You hear about the storm barreling towards Florida?”

She shook her head.

It wasn’t surprising. The Aquarians spent most of their time in the water, so they didn’t exactly have instant access to the web. Even if they had waterproof gear, a signal couldn’t get through the water.

I pulled up my phone and showed her the animated radar map.

“You came up here specifically for my help, not just an Aquarian.”

“Yup, time for us to do the thing.”

She reached out her hand and closed her eyes, concentrating.

I took her hand and also closed my eyes.

The concentration was not a focusing of intent on something. That would actually make things worse. Instead, I focused on shifting myself. I had to reach a different state of mind, one more like hers, while she had to do the same with me. Instead of being the rapid, changeable nature of the winds, I had to smooth it out, go more with the flow. Abrupt changes of mood would give way to evenness and acceptance. I surrendered to the river’s current.

Nothing happened.

I peeked with one eye. Maddy’s face was scrunched in concentration, but I felt nothing.

Maddy always has to be mad at me to get there. Guess it’s time for me to help out.

With my free hand, I made tiny currents of air brush her neck and ears. She shivered. I did it again. I kept it up until she let out a snort of laughter.

“Stop it; that’s distracting.”

“Nope.”

She began to convulse as the air tickled her neck.

“Reilly!”

And then my senses expanded. I could feel the current in the lake. The cold no longer bothered me and my eyes could see down into the water where a small rowboat had sunk, probably decades ago.

I reached out, willing the water to spin and flow into a small water spout, and then crystallize into a small chunk of ice that plopped back to the water.

Maddy reached out, gusting a breeze that rippled against the lake’s waves.

“Let’s do this,” I said, letting loose a green-blue bolt of lightning that catapulted us into the sky.