Back on Ann Street, a couple evenings later, I calmly spread a paper map of downtown Ann Arbor and the campus of Arbor State University over the dining room table. Over that, I spread sheets of tracing paper—the biggest I could find was a pad from a stationary store, so I had to tape sheets together. On this surface, I drew the coordinates my visor had calculated based on my cape’s tour through the underground network of Megatonic University.

My drawing wasn’t precise, let alone beautiful, but it was serviceable. Using a standard yellow number two pencil, some colored pencils, and a few El Marko markers, I sketched out the layout of tunnels and spaces that lay some five-hundred feet under Ann Arbor. Koz helped me interpret a few puzzling sections while he spooned spaghetti at Simon in his high chair while my cape fluttered around the light fixture hanging in the middle of the dining room. After a couple hours, I had a rough visualization of Megatonic University.

The place was intricate. Although separated at great distances by tunnels, there were at least a dozen large underground nodes—big enough to house labs, classrooms, storage and other uses in each—that roughly corresponded with campus buildings on the surface. All on one level and covering the same extent, I estimated the square footage to be as much as a quarter of the surface campus.

“This is one mother of a secret lab,” I said.

I heard the front door open and steps cross the living room. Preston Percy took of his jacket and threw it on the recliner in the living room. He leaned against the entranceway into the dining room and lit a cigarette.

“Pretty good,” he said, looking at my map on the table. “Not complete, but for a beginner in cartography, not bad.” He grabbed his favorite ashtray from the mantelpiece and set it on the dining room table and sat down. “Are you thinking of taking up a third major? Secret Megahero Studies? The History of Mad Science?”

“Megatonic University exists,” I said. “There are still some places the cape couldn’t enter; there are tunnels and passageways cordoned off. Some areas are still guarded by infra-red security beams. But this is the general outline. It’s quite an extensive complex.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped you that it’s a complete ghost town down there,” said Preston. “Most of those tunnels and passageways haven’t been used for decades. The labs, the equipment under sheets, most of completely obsolete. It’s nothing but cold storage.”

“That Frankenstein lab Koz and I woke up in looked pretty lively. Who’s Grady, by the way?”

“Dr. Joe’s unwanted nephew from another dimension or something,” said Preston. “Dr. Joe left him in Ann Arbor as caretaker in his absence. But the place is moribund. Like Dr. Joe told you, he was just using that lab to whip up his antidote. That’s why I went down there, to meet with him. The concoction’s been infiltrated into the city water supply, you’ll be happy to know. Mervyn’s Mega-Soldier Syrup is completely counteracted.” Preston flicked an ash into the ash tray. “You’ve been drinking the water; had you had any ill effects?”

“No,” I said. “My strength’s back, after that violet zap.”

“It shouldn’t have any effect on either you or Koz,” said Preston. “Dr. Joe specifically targeted Mervyn’s mixture.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that’s all that’s going on down there?”

“Would you believe I occasionally use the tunnels as a shortcut? Ann Arbor can be dangerous for a gay man in the wrong neighborhood late at night—I like to pass under the tougher the biker bars whenever possible. As a secret agent, I could probably handle myself with a gang of them, but why muss my hair?”

“Come on,” I said. “Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”

“Honestly, I never had a megahero take such an interest in all the back-end business before,” said Preston. “Trent never gave a shit about this stuff.” He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You want the whole layout? Okay. Take your visor off. Set it in front of you.”

I did as Preston instructed.

“Now tap both stems twice, at the same time.”

I did so. My visor issued a beam of light; the images I’d been studying inside my visor were projected above the dining room table.

Preston dimmed the dining room lights; then he tapped his wristwatch several times. “Here, this will save you some drawing.”

Suddenly the projection changed into a three-dimensional wire frame hologram of the underground complex, complete with elevator shafts and stairs rising to the surface, coupled with a representation of the Arbor State Campus.

“Wave your hand,” said Preston.

“By manipulating your controls, you can show the surface, the sewer system, the electrical grid, all of the underground labs and tunnels,” said Preston. “There are places we’d rather you not poke your nose into, but that’s on you. Try waving your hand.”

I did so. By I motioned my hands over the image at different speeds, I could get the virtual map to slowly rotate, tilt, zoom in, and light up different networks—water, electric, ventilation, and so forth.

“There’s a tunnel under Ann Street,” I said. “It leads almost directly under this house. Is that what Trent accidentally broke into when he used his laser goggles in the back yard?”

“We’re still developing that area,” said Preston. “It’ll be nice when it’s finished. You’ll like it. But Simon will be long out of diapers before it’s up and running.”

“Developing?” I said. “I thought you said the complex was moribund.”

Preston didn’t reply. Instead, he tapped his wristwatch again. The image changed to a three-dimensional map of Megatonic University to a three-dimensional map of the Blow Dryer, ICHHL’s orbiting satellite.

“Here’s something else you can chew on,” said Preston. “All of the orbiting satellite you didn’t see on your visit to the stratosphere. There will be an exam.”

“Where’s all this information coming from?” I asked. “My cape didn’t map out the Blow Dryer.”

“You’re visor doesn’t have enough computing power on its own to crunch all this data,” said Preston. “You’re networked with the mainframe up in the Blow Dryer and the back-up down here in Ann Arbor. It’s based on the ARPANET system. Only, ours is proprietary and far more advanced.”

“You know my every move,” I said.

“Of course,” said Preston. “When you’re wearing your costume. Although we could put a chip in your head if you’d like.”

“I’m not sure Dr. Joe didn’t do that when I was out cold.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to see?” Preston asked. “The White House? The Pentagon? Fort Knox?”

“You can’t snow me with all this information,” I said. “There are still secrets down below that I intend to find out.”

“Be my guest,” said Preston. He tapped his watch again; the images above the dining room table disappeared. “We can also cut you off. It’s a constant negotiation, built on trust.”

I rose from the table. “Why haven’t you shown me this stuff before? Why haven’t you trained me to use this stuff? Why give me a uniform, a visor, and a cape—then keep Megatonic University a secret from me?”

“You’re teaching yourself just fine, from the looks of it,” said Preston.

He moved out a chair at his end of the table. I sat down.

“Look,” he said. “Neither of us chose each other, Clarissa. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a Wild West show on my hands already. And frankly, you’ve been something of a pain in the ass. Not as bad as Trent at his apex, but still.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t cooked up in one of your labs,” I said. “I’m sorry you can’t completely control me.”

“No, you’ve got a mind of your own,” said Preston. “And that could be a good thing—a real good thing—if you were to learn some self-restraint.” He pulled another cigarette out of his shirt pocket. “I’m not one to judge, but you haven’t exactly demonstrated a seriousness about your various…gifts.

“It was bad enough when they ordered me to come back to Ann Arbor,” Preston continued. “What? And face my old girlfriend again? Like that wouldn’t be uncomfortable for me. Keep an eye on the former Megaton Man? He’s always been so delightfully cooperative in the past. And the See-Thru Girl? Pregnant? With God knows what inside her belly? Wonderful. Now I get to play nursemaid to a baby who might turn out more dangerous than Megaton Man and the Human Meltdown combined. Great. And on top of all this: you show up. The flat-chested, bookish, civilian roommate wants to get in on the act. Believe me, Clarissa, nobody counted on you showing up in the middle of all this.”

“I didn’t ask to be Ms. Megaton Man,” I said. “I just want to know how I got this way. I want to know how I’m supposed to be America’s Next Nuclear-Powered Hero.”

“Your openness and sincerity are duly noted,” said Preston. “Trent used to ask the same questions, but from the opposite point of view. He didn’t want to be America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero; he didn’t think he could be. He didn’t think he could live up to anyone’s expectations, or his own. But you—I believe you may have actually come around to wanting to be; you think you can do it. Forgive me, but this is going to take some getting used to—a Megaton Man that actually wants to be Megaton Man. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I need to be trained, I need to study,” I said.

“You need this megahero nonsense about as much as you need a hole in the head,” said Preston, curtly. “Think it through, lady. You need to get your education—or your mother and father will kill me. The world can wait a few more years for Ms. Megaton Man, assuming that’s what you really want, believe me.”

“If that’s your attitude, then why give me this uniform now? Why show me the innards of Blow Dryer, Megatonic University?”

Preston stood up, clenched his teeth. “I didn’t give you anything,” he said, barely containing his anger. “Here’s another news flash: I work for other entities. Such decisions are above my pay grade. If it were up to me, you’d still be Clarissa James, studious college coed. Nothing more.”

“And that falling wood would have crushed us all to death,” I pointed out.

“And Mervyn might still be selling homemade Mega-Soldier Syrup on the streets of Ann Arbor,” said Koz, who was now perched on the recliner in the living room.

“I agree, you’ve proven yourself useful,” said Preston. “But I don’t think you’re ready to be America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero.”

“Why? Because I’m a girl? Because I’m black? Keeping me at arm’s length is going to get me ready. Keeping me in the dark—”

“I know what you’re looking for,” said Preston. “I know what you want to find out.” He stamped out his cigarette and lit another. “If I had the answers, I would tell you. Search underground—search high in the sky. Go to New York—listen to every old wives’ tale Yarn Man and his cronies have to tell you. It’s not going to bring you any closer to the truth.” He looked at baby Simon, who was now waddling around the dining room table, underfoot.

“I’m not a historian,” Preston continued. “I’m not even curious about how things got the way they are. I’ve only been at this secret agent thing a little longer than Kozmik Kat here. Megaheroes are a twentieth-century phenomenon—there are only two or three generations of you. You heard Dr. Levitch. None of this was ever a reality for you before your sophomore year, was it? It certainly wasn’t a reality for me before I went to New York eight years ago. Now it’s capes and cowls and UFOs, and talking cats—and orbiting satellites. How did this all come to be? Who cares. You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s a madhouse universe. Besides, it’s all academic at this point.”

Preston began pacing, following Simon as he circumambulated around the dining room.

“There are bigger things on the horizon, let me tell you, Clarissa. Bigger than megaheroes, or Partyers from Mars, or Cosmic Cue-Balls. The clock is ticking; forces are gathering. You think Mervyn and Grady and Samson McSampson are anything? You ain’t seen nothing yet. You need to get your mind focused on that if you’re going to be any kind of hero to anybody.”

Preston pulled in Simon’s high chair from the kitchen, caught up with Simon, and plopped him into it. “Jesus, he’s getting big,” he said. “So, take as much time as you want, Clarissa,” he continued. “Go dig into the archives, find out all you can, write a report. It’ll make for good bedtime reading. But the mysteries are only going to lead you right back here.”

Preston, pointed to the baby in the high chair.

“Right back to Ann Street,” he said. “This is what we have to be ready for. And once things get going, it’s going to be too late to worry about little things like college, or friends, or who the Daddy Who Abandoned You really is.”