The Exchange Hero

Episode 1

"I remember the day I decided I did not want to be a superhero. I was probably five or six. I was working with my Grandmother. She'd come to the Citadel to help me with my piano lessons. At the time, I didn't realize that the piano lessons were mostly a way for me to learn to control my strength. My powers began to manifest very early. My family had to teach me to control myself before it would be safe for me to leave the Citadel. At first, they had me working, playing, whichever, with blocks and balls. They started out with steel toys so that I was less likely to crush them accidentally. Eventually we moved to wood and hard plastic. That was when Grandma introduced me to the piano. I really had to concentrate on being gentle so I didn't destroy the instrument every time I struck a key."

"I must have wrecked that little kiddie keyboard a million times. But Grandma just kept repairing it. That's her power. And then I'd try again. She'd play for me to show me what she wanted and then talk me through it ... 'Gentle now. Just tickle the keys, Otie' ... Don't laugh. I was five. Everyone had a silly name at five. Anyway, after watching her, I'd try so hard to tickle the keys. Eventually I learned."

"But that day our lesson was interrupted by an argument coming from the balcony. I guess my Dad and Grandpa had been in a meeting in the conference room. When they came out they were still yelling. There was third person in the argument, a lady who I didn't recognize. I guess she was probably from some charity or something."

"I don't care how many lives it might save, we cannot afford to work for free!" Dad said. I could tell he was really frustrated. He always steps heavier when he is frustrated and I could hear the balcony echo with each footstomp.

"We're only talking about one or two days a month," the lady argued. I could tell they had been through this before. "Other hero agencies have agreed. It is a way that people who need help, but can't afford the cost can get it. Think of the children!"

"That's not how heroes work these days, lady," Grandpa added. He didn't sound as mad as Dad, but he wasn't happy. They must have gone into the elevator because I didn't hear any more.

"Heroes don't save kids?" I asked Grandma when they were out of earshot.

"Not anymore I guess, not without getting paid." She sounded so sad as she looked in the direction they had disappeared. I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

"That's when I decided I didn't want to be a hero. I wanted to help people. And scientists and engineers help people. They build things that help people. That's why I want to go to Melvin Turnbuckle School for Engineering and Mechanical Professions, not Super High." As I finished my story I watched the members of the Super High admissions committee lined up across the table stare at me in bafflement.

"They still made me go."

"So how did you end up here?" I was jolted out of my reminiscing by the girl's question. I had momentarily forgotten that I was telling my story to a real person. I focused on her, once again taking in her pretty face, long blond hair, golden horns, and wide blue eyes. She was dressed for comfort, much like most of the people on the plane, myself included. New York City to Tokyo was a long flight, though she had boarded at Los Angles.

To be fair, if I am going to describe other people in this tale, I should introduce and describe myself. I am Otis Armstrong. Yes, one of those Armstrongs. The youngest to be precise. But unlike the rest of my family, I don't look like an idealized Greek god. Instead I am short, skinny, and a look like a pathetic wimp, if my older brother is to be believed. My hair is mousy brown and my eyes a dull grey. I am the stereotypical 15-year-old geek. I'd rather read or build robots than exercise, and my body reflects this.