The Second Dimension, Part 1

When garbage misbehaves.

Welcome to Olympus City, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.

No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway.

Part 1

A car hurtled through the sky, high above the buildings of Olympus City.

Pedestrians pointed, gasped, and generally speculated about the nature of the flying vehicle, which otherwise appeared to be an ordinary sedan. One pedestrian, however, did none of that. Miranda ducked into an alley, changed into Ultra Woman, and shot up in pursuit.

She sliced through the windy air, streamlining her body for maximum efficiency. The sightlines were too poor to confirm whether anyone was inside in the vehicle, so she went ahead and assumed someone was.

Slipping between the front wheels, Miranda established a firm grip and gradually created resistance. The car slowed and turned at her direction. Keeping it level, more or less, she carried it down as quickly as she dared. She could only hope that the car’s thrower wasn’t causing too much damage in the meantime. She’d feel stupid if she wasted this much time on an empty vehicle.

Tires touched down on pavement near a hospital’s emergency entrance, and Miranda finally got a look inside the car. Three young adults, all healthy and terrified.

Miranda knocked on the driver’s window. “Everyone okay in there?”

All three nodded without blinking.

“We’re at a hospital,” she said. “In case you need it.”

More nods. One of them blinked that time.

“But hey, for first-time fliers, you all did great. Much better than I did my first time up. Gold stars all around.”

Ghosts of smiles emerged through their shock.

“By the way,” Miranda asked, “can you tell me where you were driving?”

“Near Sixteenth and Persephone,” the driver answered. “The garbage truck. It just … came alive.” He seemed to doubt his own words.

Miranda had never fought a living garbage truck before. It was not an experience she ever craved. Nevertheless, a small, guilty part of her welcomed the excuse to avoid returning to her apartment. She just hoped it went better than the moon cat.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful,” she told the driver, a confident smile on her face.

A pair of EMTs rushed over. Miranda gave them the summary, then flew off toward the intersection in question, keeping a lookout for the idiosyncratic garbage truck.

It was easy enough to identify. The truck blocked a two-lane, one-way street between a mix of apartments and businesses, a neighborhood similar to Miranda’s own.

Garbage orbited the truck like a pungent asteroid field. Behind it, several cars had bumped into each other as they endeavored to back away and escape the eccentric gravity. The pedestrians had a rougher go of it. Whatever this force was, anyone unlucky enough to be standing within a tight radius found themselves pulled toward the truck. Pedestrians just outside the radius grabbed the unlucky people’s arms or legs to pull them back. Some succeeded. Others managed only a delicate equilibrium, preventing someone from getting swept up but failing to free them entirely.

Ultra Woman arrived just in time.

The first order of business was whisking everyone away from the seemingly possessed truck. Miranda grabbed the victims one by one, careful not to pull too hard against the force. That was the easy part.

Immediate peril abated, she landed by the truck’s crew. “Mind telling me what happened to your garbage?”

“Something spilled in there—some chemical, I don’t know what.” The frazzled man tossed a hand toward the phenomenon. “Then the batteries started glowing, and, well, this happened.”

Miranda spotted them. Half a dozen AA batteries circled the truck, each emanating a hazy orange glow.

“I see,” Miranda said. “I suppose I’ll just … take the batteries out.”

She dove in, and the gravitational distortion walloped her, slamming her head against the side of the truck. A minor nuisance. The greatest blow was to her dignity. She righted herself, leaned into the unnatural flow, and focused her full attention on the nearest battery.

She snatched it from the air. It burned within her grip—tolerable for now, albeit barely.

Holding two radiant batteries proved intolerable. She had no choice but to endure the pain a little longer. When she first acquired superhuman durability, she foolishly expected pain to become a thing of the past. Sadly, no. Miranda found herself enduring agonies far more often since becoming one of the strongest people on the planet.

She plucked the remaining four batteries from the air and pressed the collection between her hands. They attempted to push back in all directions, their heat intensifying.

The assorted pieces of garbage all paused in their respective orbits, and they wavered, as though deciding which gravity they preferred to obey.

Miranda’s first thought was to pitch these mutated batteries into space, but she didn’t want to get into the habit of using outer space as a dumping ground for extraordinary occurrences. Plus, the batteries might interact with the frozen zombie unicorns that were already up there, and then where would she be? Probably battling radioactive zombie unicorns.

A simpler option occurred to her, and indeed, a fire hydrant was right there, waiting to offer its services. Pressing the batteries against herself, Miranda opened the hydrant with her one free hand. A torrent of water gushed out, pounding and drenching her—and the batteries. Slowly, they cooled off, settled down, and stopped glowing, by which point she was thoroughly soaked.

After resealing the hydrant, she collected the fallen garbage and dumped it all back in the truck, faster than the speed of smell. She watched the truck another moment, eyeing it as she would a disobedient dog. It took the hint and behaved itself.

This was not the cleanest of victories. Though dripping wet, Miranda still felt she needed another rinse. Pollution may have slipped into the sewers, which might come back to haunt the city in any number of ways, whether conventional or otherwise. She scolded herself for not thinking of that beforehand. Carey would have anticipated that, and as the Golden Gladiator, he would have figured out a better solution.

No one seemed to care about any of that, though. Pedestrians applauded. Motorists cheered. The garbagemen thanked her profusely. She had stopped the garbage truck of doom when no one else could. That was what mattered to them.

Miranda wished she could feel as good about it. Another partial victory.

Among the crowd, a little girl caught her eye. The child, no older than six, was waving a piece of paper. She reminded Miranda of her little sister, though Peyton hadn’t been that small in quite some time.

Miranda floated toward the sidewalk. People cleared a spot as she landed gracefully; as always, she surprised a few with just how petite she was. The child froze, a huge grin plastered on her face, tiny fingers gripping the paper.

Aware of the numerous camera phones aimed her way, Miranda flashed her brightest smile as she descended onto one knee.

“Hi, sweetie!” she said in a neutral American accent. Miranda never liked the idea of adopting some deep superhero voice, as she preferred to maintain a natural feminine tone. So as Miranda, she’d let her mild Southeastern U.S. accent roam free, but Ultra Woman’s voice betrayed no regional origins and was an octave higher. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

The girl thrust the paper at Miranda while proud parents watched behind her. Miranda gingerly held it by the corner, minimizing its contact with her damp fingers. The wrinkled paper, which had clearly spent considerable time in pockets awaiting the right opportunity, depicted a simple crayon drawing of Ultra Woman soaring among puffy clouds. The misspelled and un-punctuated message “Thank yu Ultra Women” was scrawled across the top, and the work was signed “by Madeline age 5.”

“I made this for you,” the girl said, evidently not noticing how sopping wet her hero was.

Miranda admired it, which required no performance whatsoever. “Oh, wow! This is perfect. Thank you, Madeline.”

The child beamed even brighter. Then her face contorted, something clearly on her mind. “I have a question.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to answer it. What’s your question?”

“The bird on your costume.” The child pointed at it. “Is that because you fly?”

In truth, that was Miranda’s justification for not trying to remove the bird-of-prey symbol from the unnaturally durable material. The formidable hawk or eagle could symbolize strength, speed, and flight. It also could—and did—symbolize fear and terror when Dame Disaster wore this costume in another universe.

“Yes, you’ve got it. I fly just like a bird,” Miranda told the girl. “You are so smart putting that together! Thank you again for the picture, and keep being awesome!”

The parents smiled and mouthed words of thanks as Miranda lifted off, carefully holding her new treasure, wishing she could be as flawless as the child’s drawing.

*****

Entering her apartment, Miranda remembered to choose her thoughts carefully.

Oh, good, we have a buffer.

More carefully than that.

“Hey,” Miranda said, a well-rehearsed smile moving into position. “We’re actually both home at the same time.”

“And both awake,” Alyssa said, rising from the couch with her companion, a compact, muscular young man.

“Even more astonishing.” Miranda extended a hand to their guest. “You must be Ford. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Sorry I’m such a mess right now.”

Ford flashed an easy smile as he shook her hand, his palm angled upward. “Nothing to apologize for, and the pleasure is all mine. I’ve enjoyed your commercials.”

Those commercials were Miranda’s primary source of income for several months. She played the Ice Screamer Fairy for a local ice cream chain, but Pearson’s Parlor had enough in rotation for the time being. So Miranda, and her bank account, got to go on hiatus for a spell. An expensive spell.

“I see you haven’t been enjoying the product,” Miranda said.

Ford patted his flat stomach. Sounded solid under there. “Once or twice. Got to lead by example, you know.”

Ford taught kickboxing a few doors down from the dental office Alyssa worked at. Alyssa had almost become a student at the martial arts school before she opted to pursue a relationship without any taint of impropriety.

“How was your trip?” Miranda asked, turning to Alyssa. “Have we not seen each other since then?”

“I guess not.” Alyssa turned to her boyfriend. “While I’m more of a morning person, Miranda is a committed night owl. We’re always running in separate directions.”

Miranda thought about her own trip to the moon and wondered how Alyssa would feel about it. Alyssa was the one who had wanted to be an astronaut long ago. But Miranda tried not to think about it, then realized it was probably already too late.

She glanced at the TV, which was paused on a title sequence. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude on your evening.”

“No intrusion at all,” Ford said, perfectly polite. “It’s your home.”

“And you’re more than welcome to join us,” Alyssa said. “We just started the movie like five minutes ago.”

“Thanks, but I just need to rinse off and then crash for a bit.” Miranda was already drifting toward her bedroom. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Oh, real quick,” Alyssa said, following. “You’ll appreciate this thing I overheard.” Before closing the door, she turned back to Ford. “I’ll be just a minute.”

Once the door clicked shut, Miranda slipped into work mode. “Who is it?”

“Didn’t catch her name. It was weird. Her mind just sort of disappeared, and I couldn’t find her again. All I got was that she’s going to steal a painting from the fine arts museum around midnight or so. I was about to text you before you arrived. She was giving off lots of confidence. I think she’s got a power. At least one. Not sure what exactly. Sorry that’s not more helpful.”

“No, that’s good. I’ll patrol that area and catch her in the act.” Whatever she does. What if she's stronger—

Miranda shut up her thoughts.

“You went to the moon?” Alyssa said, and Miranda froze entirely. “Sorry, I wasn’t snooping. I just happened to hear that.”

“Well, I’m sorry I beat you to the moon. If I could’ve taken you along …”

The look on Alyssa’s face stopped her. It was a guilty look.

“I … have been to the moon, actually,” Alyssa said. “I went up there with Warner Pinkney a few months ago.”

When you were helping him. “Oh. You never mentioned it.” Of course you wouldn’t have mentioned it at the time.

Earlier this year, Alyssa had teamed up with Pinkney, Doctor Hades himself, in an effort to erase all super-powers and unnatural occurrences from the world. She meant well. Miranda knew that. Alyssa was just trying to make the world safer for everyone, but she failed to consider what might get lost in the quest for safety. Alyssa ultimately came to realize there was no way to restore the world to its previous state, not without paying too high a price.

Life would be so much simpler if you had succeeded—shut up, brain.

“Yeah, sorry,” Alyssa said. “Being up there, it really wasn’t—”

Miranda held up her hands, a sort of surrender. “You don’t need to explain, and oh—look at this.” She pulled out the child’s drawing and displayed it on her dresser, smoothing its edges. “A little girl made this for me. That was sweet.”

Alyssa stared at the drawing. Her polite smile strained a bit. “Very nice.”

Miranda realized this could be interpreted as guilt-tripping. Berating herself, she stashed the illustration in a drawer. “Well, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting. He seems lovely, by the way.”

“Definitely one of my better decisions lately.”

“Does he know?”

Alyssa hesitated. “Not yet.”

Miranda wondered what Ford would think of the Silver Stranger’s brief career. She tried to stop the thought. A partial effort, anyway.

“I suppose I’ve got an art thief to catch. Thanks for the tip. I’ll slip out the window soon. Just pretend I’m asleep in here.”

“Be careful out there.”

Miranda flashed her best Ultra Woman smile. “Of course.”

But Alyssa knew exactly how nervous she was.

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