Ch. 2...
“Now arriving in Aerial City,” the computerized voice announces as the train slows to a stop.
Bells steps off the train, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and takes a deep breath. His last three sessions were in the South; this is the first time he’s been so far north. He’s not used to the cold. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and, on second thought, pulls the collar of his sweater up to his nose. The air feels different, lush and heavy with moisture.
Bells looks up… and up… and up. The city is actually built into the trees. He gasps at the sturdy trees that tower over everything. Sleek metal buildings wrap around the tree trunks and disappear into the clouds. Walkways connect the buildings, and many mechanized lifts rise into the trees, carrying people to the upper levels. Bells is fascinated.
He shakes himself; he doesn’t have time to be a tourist. He’s only got about ten minutes before the League representative is supposed to pick him up. Well, a version of him.
Bells rushes along the platform and finds a bathroom; he’s relieved to discover it empty. He needs to shift into the physical form he uses as a trainee.
He had qualms about lying to the League at first. His parents worried that giving the Department of Meta-Human Regulations his real name and identity would be dangerous, not just for the Broussards and their underground business, but because no one in their family had ever presented with any meta-abilities. Every meta-human ever registered with the Collective had a parent, or grandparent, or great-aunt, or someone in their family tree with meta-human abilities. All the published research on the meta-gene catalyzed by the flare in 2028 shows that everyone with powers now are all descendants of meta-humans from that time.
Bells’ parents said anything was possible and that he couldn’t be the only one without a traceable legacy, but would he be studied, like a specimen? At the least, it would mean extra surveillance, a bad idea when you run an underground food distribution network.
So, Bells came up with a plan: He’d shift into a completely different physical form and register as a meta-human with a new citizen identification number and name. There would be no record of Bells Broussard having any meta-abilities.
Some people at the academy wear masks to protect their secret identities and some don’t care if people know who they are, but Bells takes disguise to another level. He stares at his reflection as he completely changes his face: His eyebrows become more prominent, his nose gets a bit longer, and his cheekbones sharpen. His stylish purple hair transforms into a straightforward buzz cut.
Barry Carmichael. Bells’ disguise is another Black teenaged boy whose face is the result of careful research, hours of poring over movies and holos, and blending various movie stars. He’s just good-looking enough to be disarming, but with forgettable features, unlike Bells’ own extremely handsome and memorable face.
Eh, maybe Barry is a bit too nondescript. Bells lets a tuft of hair go purple and clicks his tongue in satisfaction.
On his DED, Bells brings up the program Simon installed so it works with an alternative citizen number. A programmer in Grassroots helped him create the Barry identity, complete with home address, school records, and everything.
Back at the platforms, Bells looks for the uniformed Collective officer who will take him to the training center.
“Barry!”
Bells grins when he spots Christine, one of his friends from training. She’s wearing a long, flowing skirt and a tightened bodice over a blouse. It’s probably one of her own designs. Christine’s power is fabric transmutation, making cloth into anything she pleases. Last summer, she confided in him that her powers were rated lower than D-class. Christine wouldn’t be at Meta-Human Training if her parents hadn’t made a sizeable donation to the League, but Bells is glad she’s here. Even if the League thinks the ability to create and modify clothes wouldn’t be formidable in battle, Bells thinks it’s incredibly useful and cool. Christine’s creations are permanent, whereas Bells’ transformations disappear as soon as he’s not using his power.
Christine beams at him. Bells laughs as she pirouettes forward, holding her skirts and spinning around. “Hey, I missed you on the train!” She lives in Vegas; they usually take the train together.
“Ricky and I had a compartment to ourselves,” she says, winking at him.
“Of course,” Bells says, rolling his eyes. “And how is our favorite disappearing act? Has he managed to stay in the visible plane during your make-out sessions?”
Christine clutches her hands to her face, and her blonde curls shake as she laughs. “No!”
“Pierce. Carmichael.”
Bells recognizes the firm voice: Dylan, the officer who collected them last year. They’re wearing the sleek gray uniform of Collective officials, as well as a pinched, tired look on their face. Dylan glances at Christine and Bells, flicks through a holo on their DED, and checks them off with a carefully blank expression. “Come along. The others are already here.”
“And how are you, Dylan?”
“Fine. Let’s move quickly. The two of you are going to put us off schedule.” Dylan sets a brisk pace, and Bells catches Christine’s eye. He’d tried to engage Dylan in conversation last year, too, but the official never warmed to him. It’s all business with the officials and coaches at the training center. They’re here to teach control and how to efficiently use powers, not to chitchat.
It’s a pity. Bells has three, tree-related puns, and Dylan’s going to miss out on all of them.
Christine’s two heavy suitcases beep and whir as they hover behind her, following her through the station. Bells keeps bumping into the mechanized suitcases as they walk; he’s so distracted by Aerial City: the people, the buildings, the trees.
“Ready for another amazing summer?”
Bells laughs. “Of course!”
“I know the training center will be heated, but I brought several coats just in case,” Christine says. “I wish they would give us an exact location so I can plan for the right climate, but I made do.”
Bells snorts. “I’m sure you did.” He didn’t put much thought into his own packing other than making sure he had clothes.
“I wish we were in the South again! Seeing the ocean every day; that was great. What are we gonna look at here, trees?” Christine gestures at the lush canopy above them.
“You know they have to move every few years,” Bells says. “It’s not like we’ll have time to explore, anyway. We’re gonna be stuck at the training center the entire ten weeks.”
He’s still sad he didn’t touch the ocean the last three summers in Bahía Tortugas. He enjoyed the warm ocean breeze and the salty tang in the air, but he wished he had time to explore the city and the Baja California region. It’s likely to be the same here. It’s a pity; Aerial City seems amazing.
He marvels at the mechanical lifts that follow metal tracks up into the trees and at the many trackways and connections. He snaps picture after picture on his DED. In addition to people using the lifts to travel, they pass a number of teenagers laughing and chasing one another on metal hoverboards strapped to their feet. A group of teens zoom down a walkway. It looks like fun, practically like flying, but there’s no way Bells would ever want to do it. Just thinking about the height of these buildings makes him nauseous.
Christine follows his gaze. “Oh, yeah, all the rage here—I did some research on regional trends when I was taking a fashion class. You can get a hoverboard in all sorts of colors and patterns.”
“Never been on one,” Bells says. They seemed frivolous in Andover, where buses take people everywhere. He can see they’re useful on the many-tiered walkways of Aerial City. If he ever comes back he’ll stick to the lifts… and the covered walkways.
“They can be fun, if you like going fast! I had some at my party in the beginning of June. You didn’t come!”
Bells shrugs. A lot of the trainees hang out between sessions, but it’s a level of closeness he’s not ready for. Besides, he already has friends. He doesn’t need to be besties with everyone in the program.
“Sorry, was busy. Maybe next time?”
Christine nods as they join the other teenagers waiting in a private hoverlift. Christine waves to them, and Ricky, an extremely tall brunet, waves back. He nods companionably to Bells and then wraps Christine in a hug and pulls her into a kiss. His body flickers and disappears momentarily, like a holo.
“Hey, none of that,” Dylan says, annoyed.
Bells says hello to the others and is introduced to a few new faces as well as familiar ones. The twins, Tanya and Sasha, wave back. Most of these kids have been attending Meta-Human Training ever since they got their powers, and many of them are still perfecting their abilities.
The hoverlift comes to a halt, and they file onto a platform. The air seems fresher here. Fluffy clouds billow above, and the forest rustles peacefully. Aerial City’s buildings rise above them, and the silver-chrome shine surrounds the trees gracefully and disappears into the canopy. Bells admires the beauty of the large, impossible trees, and then steps away from the edge.
The next lift moves forward into the canopy on one of the many interconnecting lines between the trees and it keeps going until they’re far from the main city. Bells can barely hear the hustle and bustle of people; he can’t even see the sparkle of the buildings. They’re on a lone track, moving slowly far out into the mist. The gossip and chatter have diminished, and everyone glances at each other warily.
Time seems to stretch into an eternity; it could be twenty minutes, or an hour, or two hours, as they slowly move deeper into the forest. Bells doesn’t move; he doesn’t check the time on his DED. The trees cast far-reaching shadows and seem to whisper long-forgotten secrets, as if they’ve been here—from the time before the Disasters—and will be here long after these times are gone.
The late afternoon slowly fades, and the shadows deepen to dusk. Bells wraps his coat tighter around himself.
When the lift stops, Dylan holds up their hands for the students to wait, and they step onto the platform, and enter in a code on a lockpad. The lift whirs and starts again, and the officer runs to catch up to it. They don’t close the door, which stays precariously open to the elements.
Out the window, Aerial City has long since disappeared; there’s just forest and the never-ending metal track of this lift heading somewhere into the thick of it.
Officer Dylan stands at attention in their uniform, arms folded, until finally the lift stops. They step onto the platform and silently motion to follow. One by one, the students step out onto the platform, leaving Bells alone. His heart races. He wills his hands to stop shaking and steps out of the lift.
The platform shakes in the wind, but barely disturbs the giant tree it rests upon. Bells falls into step behind Christine. Whatever happens, I hope it happens soon.
“You okay? You look a little green,” Christine whispers to him.
“Not too fond of heights,” Bells says, and if there ever was an understatement, that would be it. He takes a deep breath and tries not to look down. Needing a railing, something, anything, to hold on to, he clutches at the bark of the tree. The platform is large enough for all thirteen of them to stand and… what, wait for the next lift? Bells’ heart beats faster and faster as their lift departs, leaving them there.
Hushed whispers break out as the students wait. Bells glances at Dylan but they are silent. The wind picks up, rushing through the trees.
Bells is dizzy. He thought they’d be closer to New Vancouver, or somewhere in the forest, and that they’d be inside, in buildings or tents or something! But he can’t freak out now in front of everyone.
He holds on to the shift, trying his best to stay in control. Another lift floats up along the track and pauses at the platform. The officer gestures and the students file in. No one else seems disturbed by how high up they are, or how close they were to falling. Bells exhales as he steps into the lift. It’s something solid to stand on, not quite safe, as it’s still moving, but at least he’s not exposed to the long drop below.
The lift ascends, whirring softly. The other students are already babbling away as they drift into the canopy. The trees whisper softly; their branches rustle. Bells can appreciate how beautiful it is here—as long as he doesn’t think about how high up he is.
“Welcome to the Meta-Human Training Center,” a computer voice says, and the doors open.
The main building is large, filled with windows and light, despite labyrinthine hallways. Pathways lead out into the trees, where Bells sees smaller rooms—dorms ensconced in the trees. At first it seems as if it will be cool to live in the trees, and then the rooms shake in the wind.
“Dorm assignments and maps have been sent to you. Classes begin tomorrow promptly at eight a.m. Please report to your respective rooms and be on time. Evening meal is at six sharp.” Dylan about-faces and disappears in the network of hallways.
The other students pull up projections on their DEDs and wander off. Bells is still trying to figure out his map when Christine nudges him. “Hey, I’m gonna take a nap, but see you at dinner?”
Bells nods blankly, and one by one the students leave. He looks at his map. He has to go east, out this door, and then down that walkway…
He opens the door and is met with open air and a narrow bridge. Bells takes a deep breath and sprints to the safety of the next building. He does the same for the next three walkways.
Finally, he finds his dorm module and scans his DED. The door opens with a smooth, “Welcome, Barry Carmichael,” from the computer.
Bells drops his bags on the floor, and the entire module shakes. It’s made out of solar-cell material, designed to maximize the amount of energy a building can generate. The room is curved. It’s as if he’s inside a giant, smooth egg. He has a bed, a dresser for his clothes, a desk with desktop projector and charging dock for his DED, and nothing more.
Bells flops face first onto the bed. Out one window, the view is nothing but green, shifting trees as far as the eye can see. Out the other window, the gray ocean storms.
He lets go of the shift and sighs in relief. The effort required to stay shifted and the fact that the entire training center is hundreds of feet in the air have taken a toll, and he’s exhausted.
His room shakes again. Bells shuts his eyes, but that makes it worse. He can still sense how high they are and imagines the entire structure falling out of the tree. He groans into the pillow.
* * *
Emma: what do you mean its too high up
Bells: [img0022.ppg]
Jess: !!!!
Emma: oooh pretty
Bells: IT IS BUT ITS ALSO TERRIFYING. CAN’T BELIEVE ALL OF AERIAL CITY IS LIKE THIS
Jess: well, it is in the sky.
Bells: SHUT UP
[Group chat “WE MISS YOU BELLS” has been renamed to “HOLD ONTO ALL THE RAILINGS BELLS” by Emma Robledo.]
A message springs up outside the chat, and Bells grabs and enlarges the window, then smiles.
Emma: but really, are you ok?
Bells: I’LL JUST HAVE TO GET USED TO IT. IT’S THE WHOLE SUMMER
Emma: you can do it. i believe in you
Bells: AND THERE ARE LOTS OF RAILINGS AND THINGS EVERYWHERE. I JUST HAVE TO NOT THINK ABOUT IT
He can’t tell them just how terrifying the center is, but he does send them all the photos of Aerial City. The city itself seemed very navigable with buildings, covered walkways with railings, and lifts going in every direction, making it easy for anyone to get around, even if they were scared of heights.
But the center—with its shaking rooms and open-air paths—is a different story entirely. Bells should find out if there’s another way to get to the main annex without taking the terrifying open pathways. He glances at his DED; there’s still plenty of time before dinner to look for an alternative route.
Bells looks in the mirror. His usual form isn’t imposing. It could be, but it’s not. Still, he likes what he sees: the strong jaw and the long, elegant nose of his mother and the stocky build of his father. He can look like anyone; he can change his hair and clothing and face on a whim. And he does; he’s always loved bright colors and standing out, and it doesn’t take much energy to shift his hair into whatever color he wants for the week. Using his powers to style it in the morning is a great time-saver.
The first time Bells shifted himself was out of panic at the way his body was changing. Breasts were never part of his plan. Neither were superpowers, but here he is.
Bells glances at the holostill on his desk of Emma, Jess, and himself grinning at each other. He misses them already. He takes another look at the group chat text still projected in the air. He traces the rounded emojis from Jess and the hearts from Emma, smiles at the teasing and the support, and wishes he could tell them the whole story.
Classes are a rigorous blend of physical training, sparring tournaments, meta-human history, hero-skill workshops, and power development sessions. The training is challenging, but this year the intensity of the classes is matched by the difficulty of dealing with his fear of heights. In class, he walks the line between wanting to show off all he can do and trying to stay in disguise.
Bells spends as much time as he can working out at the gym. His power isn’t physical, but being a hero requires being fit. If he’s going to take on supervillains with only the ability to shapeshift, he’s got to be strong. He logs countless hours on the treadmill and picks up where he left off with his weight trainer, Barbara, who oversees physical training for all the meta-humans.
“Come on, three more reps; you’ve got this!” Coach Barbara shouts.
A bead of sweat drips off his brow as Bells pushes up the barbell. The muscles in his arms strain, screaming for him to stop. His whole body aches, but he’s got to finish this. “One more. Come on, Barry!”
Bells almost loses concentration as he struggles to lift the weight, and he can’t lose the shift. He grits his teeth, pushes the bar higher, and sets it in the rack. Chest heaving, he flops back on the bench.
“There you go! That’s a new record for you; you’ve gotten so much stronger!”
Bells takes the water bottle Barbara offers him as she continues prattling. Her short ponytail bounces as she talks with her hands. He sits up, catches his breath, and spots his reflection in the mirror. It’s still Barry’s face, he notes proudly.
It’s amazing, how far he’s come. The first year at the training center, it was all he could do to stay as Barry for a whole class, and then he had to run back to his dorm room, let go of the shift, and hide until he had enough energy to shift into the disguise again.
It was easier the second year. He’d had more practice shifting, since he would try to go half the school day without a binder and change at lunch. He worked up to going a whole school day using his powers, and it’s really paid off.
This year he can do the extra physical training he’s always wanted to do because he can hold the shift for so long. He can attend the day’s classes and then relax as Barry too. Being able to walk around after class and spend time with some of his classmates is much more fun than hiding in his room to recover from using his power. Mostly, though, Bells keeps to himself and ignores the hushed whispers that follow him.
Bells has no idea why people think the League has handpicked him already. He’s not the most impressive. The twins, with their teleportation skills, have the coolest powers in Bells’ opinion, but apparently their power class rating is low. But that’s hard to tell because they use their powers together. Sasha can summon anything that she’s touched to her side, and Tanya can teleport anything she’s touched to anywhere she’s been.
Ricky can be invisible, but he’s also rated low. Bells has only seen him use his power on purpose to pull the most obvious pranks—stealing Sasha’s hat and putting it on Tanya or putting on Christine’s sweater and following her, pretending to be a ghost, but Ricky often struggles during class with using his powers deliberately.
Aside from Bells, there are fifteen meta-humans in the training program this year, all rated C-class or lower. Power ratings are supposed to be hush-hush, but the students constantly gossip about their abilities and who’s likely to get in the League.
“Maybe I’ll just join the United Villain’s Guild,” Ricky says one afternoon after another unsuccessful attempt at control, earning him a few scattered laughs and more than a few nervous glances. No one talks about villains here.
“Well, they do seem really incompetent; you’d fit right in,” Tanya says. “I mean, they all seem to be ending up in Corrections.”
A chorus of giggles follows, and Bells tilts his head to listen to the gossip from his classmates from all over the country. Apparently Tree Frog and Plasmaman have recently been captured as well. It’s a bit strange, Bells muses, since he’s never believed the heroes in those towns to be very competent. It does seem there are more heroes than villains now, and he taps his fingers on his desk while wondering how long this is going to last and whether it’s a sign of something worse to come.
* * *
Sitting in his History of Superpowers class, Bells almost nods off. He tries to focus on the dancing rays of sunlight making patterns on Sasha’s face, but Harris is droning on and on about the history of the meta-human gene and X29: how the magnitude of the solar flare caused nuclear reactors all around the world to fail, which resulted in the Disasters and the world war. The same flare catalyzed the latent gene that would manifest in different abilities. Lieutenant Orion discovered his powers and founded the Heroes’ League of Heroes. Bells has to sit through it, though, and there are too few students in the class to get away with messaging any of his friends, as he does at school.
“But what about mutants?” Tanya asks.
Bells rubs at his eyes, then sits up. No one’s brought up mutations of the meta-gene before.
Harris rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose it is possible for a person to develop meta-abilities without previous expression of the gene in their family. The right mutation to the X29 gene could happen on its own in the parents’ reproductive cells, giving their children powers. But it would be extremely rare. I haven’t heard of such a case, and there is no instance registered with the Department of Meta-Human Regulations. There may be exceptions, I suppose, since the Registry doesn’t take into account people who don’t know their family history, such as immigrants to the Collective.”
“So it’s possible that there are people with meta-abilities who don’t know it? Or just never registered with the Collective?” Sasha asks, playing with her hair.
“Perhaps, but unlikely.” Harris drones on. “And I’m sure anyone who we can confirm is a mutant, who does not have a registered meta-human relative, would be of interest to our studies on the gene, but there is no such person.”
Bells looks at his desk and smiles.
* * *
In the last week of training, the Heroes’ League of Heroes starts inviting people into their ranks. The offers usually come after the final assessment: the combination obstacle course. So far, Bells has done pretty well at hand-to-hand combat, the speed test, and even the weight test. He didn’t try to lift a car, because he knew he couldn’t.
At the sight of the gleaming dome of Crabb’s bald head, Bells grimaces. “Really? Crabb is running this test?”
James Crabb is the strictest trainer at the center. He’s not going to give Bells points for trying, as Barbara did for the weight test. She gave Bells a passing score for “solid judgment and not injuring himself trying to lift a car.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” Christine says. “I mean, you’ll do better than fine. You’ve gotten a lot faster in your evasion tests! Wasn’t that your personal best in the last run?”
“Yeah, speed and sprints are one thing, but like… Crabb hates me.”
“Carmichael! You’re up!”
Bells takes a deep breath and steps into the testing arena. Some of the students watching from above give him thumbs up.
Crabb has his DED ready to give marks. “You can skip this portion, Barry,” Crabb says. “No need to be humiliated. We know your shapeshifting abilities don’t lend themselves to shielding from attack. And I know you’re not very fast. I can just give you a zero for this, and you can move forward.”
Bells bristles. He’s not going to take a zero just because Crabb doesn’t think shapeshifters are worth their salt.
He regards the projector; it’s been modified to throw out electric shocks. It looks like a bigger version of the one they had last year. Bells was zapped on his first try. Christine created a shield from her jacket and ran forward toward the bolts. Another student was invulnerable to electricity and simply took attacks. Ricky went invisible and walked through undetected. Other students ran faster than the bolts.
The projector rumbles and shoots a bolt, creating a scorch mark on the floor.
Holding his hand out, Crabb walks up to the projector, which recognizes his signature and powers down. “So, a zero then?”
“Absolutely not.” Bells steps into the arena. He stretches and nods at Crabb.
Crabb waves his hand at the machine and steps out of range.
“Intruder alert,” the bot says, advancing. And the bolts start coming.
Bells swerves, running as fast as he can, and the bot follows him. Fifty points are awarded if a trainee reaches the other side unscathed; for every zap, points are deducted. For the assessment as a whole, three hundred qualifies for entry to the League. With Bells’ poor performance on the weight test, he’s coming in at a weak two-sixty, barely passing the requirement for the Associated League. If Bells wants to do hero work with the League, he’s going to need close to a perfect score.
He shifts into Crabb, complete with his balding head and Associated League uniform.
The bot stops. “Instructor Crabb.”
Bells walks forward casually and, with a wave of his hand, turns off the bot.
“That’s cheating,” Crabb says.
“How is it cheating? The object is to evade the attacks using my physical fitness and my abilities. I have done so.”
“Full marks!” Christine cheers.
Crabb puffs up. His face turns mottled purple, and a vein throbs on his forehead, but he gives Bells fifty points and even tersely offers congratulations on his final passing score.
Bells smirks at him. He’s in.
“And so, we induct Barry Carmichael into the League…”
Bells stands tall.
He’s alone with the trainers and a few blinking cameras in a small room that’s decorated only with the seal of the North American Collective. Crabb drones on about the values of the North American Collective: safety in unity, protection, peace above all else. Bells wonders about the person who wrote the speech. How many different ways they can say justice and good?
He’s too excited to make fun of the cheesiness; it’s happening, after all his hard work.
Finally, Crabb turns to him, and Bells raises his right hand.
“Do you, Chameleon, vow to uphold peace as a member of the Heroes’ League of Heroes?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to inspire others as a shining example of justice…”
The oaths drag on. He says “I do,” over and over again: to follow Captain Orion into battle, to be a mighty defender of justice, to rescue cats. Bells eyes Crabb to see if this is a joke—it isn’t.
Finally, the ceremony is over. Bells shakes Crabb’s hand, then Coach Barbara’s; Harris and all the other trainers congratulate him.
Bells is the youngest at the after-party and the first to have completed the training program by age sixteen. Powerstorm, one of the most recent heroes to join the League, started training at fifteen and completed the program at seventeen. Though it took Bells four years to complete training, he’s still the youngest to finish. Even Harris is proud.
Bells goes back to Andover with instructions to report to the Vegas Heroes’ League of Heroes Center in two weeks for his supersuit fitting and his first assignment. He already met with the supersuit designer and chose his look. His colors are rainbow-hued and ever-changing, which fits his superhero name perfectly: Chameleon.
He’s going to be a hero.