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Wonder City Stories #6
May. 15th, 2009 05:14 pmThis story arc has been published as a novel!
Buy in print at Createspace or Amazon!
Buy the ebook at Kindle | Kobo | Apple Store | Scribd | Inktera
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Falling a Little Flat
It was nice of them, Megan thought, to recognize that paras had a bizarre need to stand and climb on inappropriate surfaces.
She sat atop the Perisphere, which was much bigger than she had expected from the postcards. The city streets rolled away from Helicine Hill on all sides. To the east was the bay, full of oil tankers, commercial ships, a few military vessels, and a cluster of tiny white triangles she guessed was a sailing class. Her view to the south was impeded by the skyscrapers of downtown, but she could make out eight-laned Broadway, which petered out somewhere a mile or so above where the Newtown suburb started. To the west was a short march of regular city streets, and then the trees and winding roads of the middle- and upper-class West End neighborhoods. Behind her, to the north, rose the new, larger, shinier Trylon, and beyond that, the French Hills, where the really wealthy people, as well as several superhero teams and a not-inconsiderable number of supervillains, resided. There was a shining white monument of some sort on the tallest, northernmost hill, but she couldn't make out what it was at this distance.
"Sorry, miss," said a woman in a security uniform who flew up next to her. "Fifteen minutes are up."
"Thanks," Megan said, standing up.
"Are you a flier or a jumper, miss?"
"Oh, a jumper."
"If you'd be so kind as to hop down on that side over there, by that sign," the guard said, waving toward the southwest region of the Perisphere. "The concrete's reinforced for impact there."
"Sure thing, officer," Megan said. "Thanks again."
"No trouble, miss," the guard said, and she zipped off to her post to prepare to signal the next para who wanted to pose, soliloquize, stand, or sit on the Perisphere.
Megan followed the sign's instructions by looking around below as best she could and shouting a warning before leaping out and away from the Perisphere. She threw in a gratuitous forward somersault. The view continued spectacular and the wind coursed sumptuously through her short hair.
Then she rounded enough of the sphere's curve to see the woman in blue spandex walking with immense inevitability toward Megan's apparent landing point.
There was a moment when Megan scrabbled helplessly in midair, feeling more like a cartoon character than one of America's noble paranormal protectors. No matter how Megan moved, the woman was in the vicinity of her fall. Failing to spontaneously acquire the power of flight (hey, it had happened), Megan shouted as many warnings as gravity allowed.
The concrete was reinforced and spring-cushioned for impact. That was a small mercy, at least.
Buy in print at Createspace or Amazon!
Buy the ebook at Kindle | Kobo | Apple Store | Scribd | Inktera
---
Falling a Little Flat
It was nice of them, Megan thought, to recognize that paras had a bizarre need to stand and climb on inappropriate surfaces.
She sat atop the Perisphere, which was much bigger than she had expected from the postcards. The city streets rolled away from Helicine Hill on all sides. To the east was the bay, full of oil tankers, commercial ships, a few military vessels, and a cluster of tiny white triangles she guessed was a sailing class. Her view to the south was impeded by the skyscrapers of downtown, but she could make out eight-laned Broadway, which petered out somewhere a mile or so above where the Newtown suburb started. To the west was a short march of regular city streets, and then the trees and winding roads of the middle- and upper-class West End neighborhoods. Behind her, to the north, rose the new, larger, shinier Trylon, and beyond that, the French Hills, where the really wealthy people, as well as several superhero teams and a not-inconsiderable number of supervillains, resided. There was a shining white monument of some sort on the tallest, northernmost hill, but she couldn't make out what it was at this distance.
"Sorry, miss," said a woman in a security uniform who flew up next to her. "Fifteen minutes are up."
"Thanks," Megan said, standing up.
"Are you a flier or a jumper, miss?"
"Oh, a jumper."
"If you'd be so kind as to hop down on that side over there, by that sign," the guard said, waving toward the southwest region of the Perisphere. "The concrete's reinforced for impact there."
"Sure thing, officer," Megan said. "Thanks again."
"No trouble, miss," the guard said, and she zipped off to her post to prepare to signal the next para who wanted to pose, soliloquize, stand, or sit on the Perisphere.
Megan followed the sign's instructions by looking around below as best she could and shouting a warning before leaping out and away from the Perisphere. She threw in a gratuitous forward somersault. The view continued spectacular and the wind coursed sumptuously through her short hair.
Then she rounded enough of the sphere's curve to see the woman in blue spandex walking with immense inevitability toward Megan's apparent landing point.
There was a moment when Megan scrabbled helplessly in midair, feeling more like a cartoon character than one of America's noble paranormal protectors. No matter how Megan moved, the woman was in the vicinity of her fall. Failing to spontaneously acquire the power of flight (hey, it had happened), Megan shouted as many warnings as gravity allowed.
The concrete was reinforced and spring-cushioned for impact. That was a small mercy, at least.
