Superpowers Read Online Free PDF Page A

thoughts.
    He locked the door and curled up in a ball in the dark.

TUESDAY

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Professor Mason peered up at Jack, his eyes ridiculously enlarged by his thick lenses. Jack was never comfortable being the focus of Mason's attention. He was used to stares—he was a big guy, and people always gave him a good look, as if to make certain he wasn't dangerous. But Mason looked at him the other way, the way that Jack dreaded, as if he questioned the plausibility of someone so solid and muscular having a working brain.
    "You must be careful to do good work, Mr. Robinson. Dirty slides and a dirty lab mean bad data, and my data is very important to me. Your work is not something to be rushed through simply because you want to lay around in the sun today."
    It was raining sheets outside, but then Mason had probably slept in the lab again. Most of the time he wasn't sure what day it was.
    "I understand, Professor," Jack said. "I'm doing good work, I promise you. I just finished a little early today."
    "Go, then." Professor Mason waved his hands at Jack, as if shooing an animal.
    "I'll be in early tomorrow," Jack said, but Mason was already back at his bench. Jack grabbed his jacket and left. There were people around, so he strode casually up the hall and down the stairs to the front entrance.
    It was ten in the morning and yet almost pitch-black. Rain cascaded off the roofs and dripped through the maple leaves. There were only a few people on the street, and they were all hunched beneath umbrellas, struggling against the wind.
    Jack looked behind him—there was no one in the entrance hall. No cars on the street, and no pedestrians nearby. No witnesses. He looked at his watch. 10:04:38.
    He took off running, dodging raindrops as he went.
    He couldn't evade them all, of course, not in this downpour. He had to be careful where he put his feet, and watch for obstacles— mailboxes, pedestrians, cars. They were all the same to him, at this speed—a bicyclist hydroplaning alongside the curb was as stationary as a lamppost. But if he ran into something or someone, he didn't know what might happen, and he didn't want to find out. He wanted to know, sure, but this wasn't like Mason's experiments. There were no controls, and no safe conditions to test it under.
    He knew he was moving fast; he felt the exertion, and the exhilaration. But he saw his surroundings clearly, even more clearly than before. He was alert to everything around him, except sounds, which he left behind him. He heard only the sound of his own breathing, and that in a hollow, truncated way. It was more as though the world had slowed around him than that he had speeded up, but that was a relativity problem, and not one he wanted to think about.
    He cut through Library Mall, where water stood immobile above the fountain like an ice sculpture. A thrown football hung over a knot of mud-soaked players poised on the grass, arms outstretched and legs planted in impossible postures. Raindrops hung like molten gemstones. Jack picked his way among them, down the alley between the University Bookstore and the Lutheran church, across University Avenue and down Lake Street.
    How had this happened? Yesterday he hadn't cared; he'd been having too much fun testing himself. He didn't care that much today, if he was honest with himself. But these were definitely strange phenomena. At some point he should try to find out what was going on.
    Not today, though. He reached Mifflin Street, climbed the steps of 523, opened the left-side door as gently as he could manage, and let it fall shut behind him. He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked at his watch. 10:04:45.
    Door to door in seven seconds. He could run to England in about—well, a few hours, anyway. He'd have to cross an ocean, but maybe he could run over the water at that speed, like a water skate. He'd have to test it out on the lake later.
    I'm a superhero, he thought. I'm faster than a speeding