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stay?”
    Jake shrugged and sat back down. Scott was sitting to one side of Jake, and the girl slid up onto an empty barstool at his other side.
    “Come on, Mandy,” Rick said. “You staying with this loser?”
    The bartender said, “You’re the one with the broken hand. Now get out of here before I call the cops.”
    Rick and his buddy stormed out of the bar. The rest of the patrons, maybe fifty of them, mostly at tables but some at the bar, all college-age, broke out into applause.
    Jake said, “God, I hate this.”
    Scott clapped a hand to Jake’s shoulder. “You’re a hero, buddy.”
    “I’m a freak, is what I am.”
    The girl said, “So, you going to buy me a drink?”
    Jake shrugged. “Why not?” He looked to the bartender. “Whatever she wants.”
    “On the house, man,” he said. “For all three of you. That was outright cool. Never seen anything like that, before.”
    “Hopefully you’ll never have to again.”
    The girl ordered a vodka martini.
    “Jake, you know what you need?” Scott said, his face ready to burst with the laugh he was trying to suppress. “What you really need is a costume. I’m serious. I mean, a cape, tights, the whole nine yards.”
    Jake shook his head. “I wish I could just ignore you,”  and he tipped his mug of beer for a chug.
    Scott continued. “I mean, think about it, man. Here you are, the most powerful human who ever walked the Earth. Whether you like it or not, the newspapers are pinning the label superhero on you. Seems a shame to disappoint your fans.”
    Jake slammed his beer mug down on the bar, slopping suds up and over the side. “Will you stop it? I mean, can’t we just go out for some beers without you having to make a jackass out of yourself?”
    “Oh, come on, Jake,” Scott said.. “All the superheroes have their emblem on their chest. You should have a big stylized S , in a triangle. Right in the middle of your chest. And a big red cape...”
    “What you should have is a big strip of duct tape right over your mouth. It would make the world a better place.”
    They were each twenty-five, sitting in a bar in Boston. Scott was studying for his doctorate – actually, he was flying through the courses, often instructing his instructors. Jake was serving as his lab assistant and Man Friday.
    Jake stood at an even six feet. He had an athletic build, because he had been an athlete before the accident that turned him into a meta-human. Soccer. Baseball. He no longer competed because it was not fair to do so against non-powered humans, but he continued to keep himself in shape.
    “You know,” Scott said, “you look kind’a like Christopher Reeve. Anyone ever tell you that?”
    “Not if they want to live long, they don’t.” Was it starting to get a little dark in here, Jake wondered. Were the lights dimming a bit? No, it must just be his foul mood.
    Scott was laughing. And laughing. The way a guy will when he has been consuming too much beer. He got control of himself long enough to tip the mug and down a few more mouthfuls of beer, then continued laughing, wiping the foam from his mouth with his sleeve.
    The girl said to Jake, “Is he always like this?”
    Jake said, “Only when he’s drunk. When he’s not, he’s worse.”
    Scott said, “Oh, stop sulking, will you? You’re just mad because you lost your buzz. Power-down, and have some more beer.”
    “Forget it. I’m not in the mood, now.”
    “Is that true?” the girl asked. “”Your power is not, like, always on? You have to turn it on and off? Like a light switch?”
    Jake reluctantly nodded. “Can’t we talk about something else?”
    Scott said, “Actually, it’s more like a volume switch. I theor..theorize,” he was stumbling over the word because of all the beer, “ theorize , that it is always on to an infintis..inf..small degree. But he can increase the volume, which increases his physical strength and seems to increase his stamina and his tolerance to injury. We’ve