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me, then don’t say anything. Say the guy must have hit another car, or something. Or just play dumb.”
    Calder turned to walk away.
    “Wait,” she said. “Don’t go.”
    Jake stopped and turned back to her. “Please. Just do like I’m asking you, okay? I never wanted any of this. I’m glad I was able to help, but I never asked for any of this. I just want to be left alone.”
    She looked at him for a moment, questioningly.
    “Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”
    “And call nine-one-one, before that guy has a chance to wake up.”
    She nodded. She wore a shoulder bag, and began digging into it for her phone.
    Jake Calder turned and walked away into the night. Except, he was not alone. There was darkness all about him as he walked along the street. A darkness that was curious as to just who this man was and what the limits of his power was. And if this power could make him potentially dangerous, and if maybe needed to be stopped.

PART TWO
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Jake Calder perched on a barstool, leaning forward on his elbows. A mug of Moosehead was in front of him. Beside him was Scott Tempest, and they were having the usual argument they had when Scott filled himself with too much beer.
    Actually, the subject of the argument was not always the same, but the end result hardly varied. Scott would say inane things, designed to piss Jake off, and when Scott succeeded, he would fall into uncontrolled laughter. At least Scott was a happy drunk.
    Jake looked at him and shook his head. “Here you are, the smartest man on Earth, and you have beer foam in your beard.”
    Scott broke out into a cackling laugh. “That’s funny, Jake! That’s really funny!”
    Scott was about Jake’s age. He had a full beard the color of a chestnut, and his hair usually fell into place neatly, but when he was drunk, sections of it seemed to take on a life of their own and go their own way.  
    “Come on, man,” Jake said. “People are staring at us.”
    “They stare anyway. You want to know why? Because you’re Jake Calder. The most powerful man on Earth!”
    Jake sighed. “Do you have to announce that to the whole blasted bar?”
    The bartender looked up. He was tall, wide shouldered. Dark skin announced his African ancestry. His head was shaved, and at first guess Jake would put him at early twenties. Probably another grad student working to pay his way through school. “Did I hear right, man? Are you the Jake Calder? The one caught in that freak reactor accident a couple years ago?”
    Jake was in the process of shaking his head, about to deny it, to say no he was somebody else, when Scott Tempest piped up, “You got it, man. The very one.”
    “Wow,” the bartender said. “Is it true you can bench press a Mack truck?”
    “No,” Jake said.
    But Scott chimed in, “Man, he can do that with one hand.”
    Jake snapped at Scott. “Will you please just shut up?”
    “Come on, man, I’m just having fun. But it’s true. You can lift a Mack truck with one hand.”
    “It’s just, I don’t like being the center of attention. You know that. Can’t we just have a beer without you getting frigging drunk and making a fool out of both of us?”
    “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Scott said, taking on a look of seriousness, but Jake knew his old friend well enough to know it was only mock seriousness. “You know what you need, Jake?”
    Jake rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going. “Don’t say it.”
    “A secret identity. That’s what all super heroes have, isn’t it?”
    “I’m not a superhero. There are no such things as superheroes. I’m just a guy who got caught in a bad situation, that’s all.”
    But Scott was too busy bursting out laughing, spraying the bar with beer and saliva as he did so. “We gotta get you a pair of glasses. It works for Clark Kent.”
    “Who’s your buddy?” the bartender asked.
    Jake said, “You’re not going to believe it, but he’s the smartest man on the