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Stephen does seem to spend most of the reader's life cooking, with the sunlight slanting or filtering through the farmhouse kitchen window regardless of the time of day. Why not just send out for a pizza and get on with the plot? said a frustrated reader.Not sure that having obnoxious kids has ever damaged anyone's political career. Hunter Biden, the Thatcher twins, various English princes....
The morning air still carried the faint scent of chlorine from yesterday's pool, but Harry's mind was on other things as he walked toward his locker. The swimming lesson had gone better than expected. But as Harry rounded the corner to his locker, he found Asha waiting there, arms crossed, her blue eyes sharp with determination. Rowan was already there, fumbling with his combination lock, but he looked up nervously when he saw Asha's expression. Morning, Asha, Harry said carefully, trying to read her mood. "You're here early." "We need to talk", she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I know you're hiding something." Rowan looked confused and a little intimidated by the seriousness in her eyes. "W-what are you talking about?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You might fool everyone else, but not me." Asha fixing Harry with an intense stare. "I know what you did yesterday." "He just helped me swim better," Rowan jumped in quickly. "He saved Jake and Brody from drowning, that's all. What's the problem?" "Nothing wrong with saving them. It was the right thing to do," Asha replied, stepping closer, her finger tapping Harry's chest. "But the way you did it... that's what doesn't add up." Harry shifted uneasily under her gaze. "What do you mean?" "When you saved them, you had swam twice the distance I did in the same time, and I was breaking my own record. You could easily have been the fastest swimmer in the group test. Why did you hold back?" Rowan blinked in surprise. "I knew he was fast, but I didn't realize it was that fast." "So you've been watching me swim the whole time?" Harry's voice rose slightly in alarm. Asha hesitated, cheeks flushing pink and backed down. She looked away, avoiding his eyes. "I... I was just curious. Something felt different about you. That's all." Harry's breath caught unexpectedly. In that brief, tender moment, her blush made her look even more beautiful... something quietly vulnerable shining through her usual confidence. The warmth tinting her skin, the slight flutter of her lashes, the way her eyes darted downward... it all touched something deep inside Harry. His heart thumped harder, an unfamiliar heat spreading up his neck and into his face. A shy flush crept over his cheeks, and suddenly he was the one looking away, hoping she wouldn't notice the sudden color rising. For the first time that morning, his thoughts jittered away from secrets and suspicions. Instead, they were caught in the quiet, electric moment shared between them. Rowan glanced between them, wide-eyed. "Wait, Asha, you were really watching Harry swim?" Trying to regain her composure, Asha squared her shoulders. "That's not the point, Rowan. The point is Harry's been lying to us... to everyone." She turned back to Harry, her blue eyes burning with determination. "I thought about this all night... the refrigerator incident, the way Tyler's gang suddenly avoids you, and now this. You're not an ordinary kid, are you?" Harry's heart pounded in his chest as Stephen's warnings echoed in his mind: Keep things under control. The fewer questions, the better. But Asha's gaze felt like a spotlight, unraveling everything. "I don't know what you mean," Harry said, voice barely hiding his unease. Even to himself, it sounded hollow. "Really?" Asha stepped closer, lowering her voice. "When Tyler pulled a knife on me, you moved faster than should've been possible. One moment you were sitting at the table; the next you were between us. And Tyler's wrist..." She studied Harry's face intensely. "I saw the fear in his eyes after that. He was terrified." Rowan's eyes grew wider. "Harry, is that true?" Harry's throat tightened. He scanned the hallway, grateful most students were in class. "Can we... not talk about this here?" "So you admit there's something to talk about," Asha said, a triumphant edge in her voice. He struggled, torn between protecting his secret and the truth staring him down. "It's complicated." "I have time," Asha said, folding her arms again. "And so does Rowan, right?" Rowan nodded, his earlier fear replaced by curiosity. "Yeah, absolutely. Harry, if you're in trouble, we want to help. That's what friends do." Looking at his two best friends, Harry saw genuine concern mingled with fierce resolve. Asha's determination reminded him of what her name meant... Truth. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little truth. "Okay," Harry whispered, glancing once more around the empty hallway. "Meet me at lunch. The far corner of the cafeteria ... away from everyone else." He locked eyes with Asha. "And this stays between us. No matter what I say, it doesn't leave that table. Promise?" Asha and Rowan exchanged a serious glance before nodding. "Promise," Asha said. "Me too," Rowan added. The warning bell rang, signaling the start of class. As they headed toward their classrooms, Asha smiled slightly. "This better be good, Harry Flash Webster. Because I think our friendship is about to get a lot more interesting."
Don't misunderstand me: I think the plot is excellent, but your chatbot is spoiling it by writing in a juvenile style.
At lunch, Asha and Rowan were already sitting at their usual corner table, the hum of chatter and clinking trays buzzing around them. Their eyes flicked up eagerly as Harry approached, his expression guarded but resolute. "Thanks for waiting," Harry whispered, sliding into the bench between them. He glanced around... fewer ears here than the hallway, but caution was still necessary. Asha leaned forward, her blue eyes sharp and expectant. "So? what's going on, Harry? You don't have to tell us everything if it's too much, but at least tell us the truth." Harry swallowed, the weight of their trust settling heavier than he expected. "It's... complicated,... he began carefully." All this stuff... the speed, the strength, how fast I swim... it's because of some treatment I had. Experimental. For my illness." Rowan blinked, trying to process this new information. "Illness? Like, you were sick?" "Yeah," Harry said, voice low. "Really sick when I was younger. That's why the treatment was necessary. It's... it gave me some abilities, but it's not perfect. There are side effects... some bad ones, but so far I've been lucky. The negatives are... minimal compared to what they could be." He looked into Asha's earnest face and Rowan's wide eyes, and decided to keep the heaviest parts to himself. "There's a lot I don't understand about it yet. The full extent, the reasons behind it... But some secrets are just too big, too dangerous for us kids." Asha nodded, understanding more in her quiet resolve than words could say. "I get it. Some things aren't meant for us to carry alone." Rowan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "So, you're like... super-powered because of this treatment? That's... kind of amazing... and scary." "Exactly," Harry admitted, managing a small, tired smile. "That's why I have to be careful, keep things under control. Don't want to draw attention. Or get anyone hurt." The three of them sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Asha finally broke the quiet. "Whatever this is, Harry, we're your friends. No matter what. You don't have to hide everything from us." Harry's heart lifted slightly at her words, but he shook his head gently. "I want to tell you everything someday. Just... not yet. For now, let's keep this between us." Rowan nodded enthusiastically. "Promise. We'll be here, whenever you're ready." Harry reached out, squeezing their hands briefly... an unspoken pact between them. Around them, the cafeteria buzz continued, but at their little table, a new closeness was forged... one that could carry even the heaviest secrets.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the gravel driveway as Harry trudged up toward the farmhouse, his backpack heavier than usual...not from books, but from the weight of secrets and half-truths.The familiar creak of the barn doors caught his attention before he reached them. Inside, Stephen was busy moving several storage boxes from the attic hatch into the freshly renovated workshop corner. Tools and scientific equipment gleamed softly beneath the bright work lamp hanging overhead."Hey, Dad," Harry called out, dropping his bag by the door.Stephen looked up, wiping dirt and sawdust from his hands with a rag. A warm smile broke through his focused expression. "Hey, Flash. Long day?"Harry shrugged, a little tired, a little uneasy. "Yeah. School was... interesting. Asha found out about my powers."Stephen's eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of concern and understanding crossing his face. "She knows about the abilities you've shown? That's a big step..."Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, but not everything. I didn't tell her about Project David. The darker parts... that's still on me. She's smart, Dad...really smart. I don't want to drag her into that yet."Stephen set the box down carefully, folding his arms as he regarded his son. "Good call. Some things are too heavy for young shoulders. Secrets like that need time...and trust...to carry."Harry glanced around the workshop, the scent of fresh wood and oil grounding him despite the turmoil inside. "It feels like the walls are closing in with all this stuff. The accidents at school, the bullies, the swimming lessons... and now Asha's questions."Stephen's voice was steady, seasoned by years of hidden battles. "You're doing the right thing, Harry. Keeping control, protecting those who aren't ready to bear the burden. And above all, being careful with whom you share your truths."Harry swallowed, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "I just hope I can keep it all together. I don't want to lose the only friends I've got."Stephen stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're not alone, son. We'll figure this out together. One step at a time."A moment of silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet hum of the barn's new life... part workshop, part sanctuary, part laboratory."Want to help me unpack a few more boxes?" Stephen asked, breaking the stillness.Harry managed a small smile. "Sure. Anything to keep my mind busy."Later that afternoon, after helping his dad unpack a box in the barn workshop, Harry's fingers brushed against something unexpected ... an old, worn photo album tucked between some tools and papers. Curious, he pulled it free, the leather cover cracking softly as he opened it.Inside were faded photographs, each frozen moments in time. Harry's eyes scanned the pictures ... a young woman in various dresses, smiling in sunlit gardens, standing beside a sparkling lake, and in one striking image, wearing a white lab coat inside a sterile laboratory."Who's this?" Harry asked, lifting the photo of the woman next to a younger man who looked like his dad, only with darker hair.Stephen glanced over, a slow smile touching his lips. "That's your mom, Lea. Before all this,... he gestured around the barn, ... before the lab, the treatments, everything."Harry studied the photo, curious and a little awestruck. "She looks so... happy.""She was," Stephen whispered. "Before the project consumed so much of our lives."Then Harry's hand found another album, more delicate with a lace-trimmed cover. Opening it, he glimpsed a radiant bride ... the same woman from before, now in a shimmering wedding dress, her smile bright as sun.Flipping the pages, Harry found a family photo ... his parents standing together, surrounded by friends and relatives. His eyes caught on a young girl who bore a strong resemblance to his mom."Who's she?" Harry asked, pointing."That's Aunt Shania," Stephen replied. "She was a big part of our lives."Harry's gaze lingered on her ... confident and warm, with eyes that seemed to hold stories of their own."Do you have any pictures of Uncle Sam?" Harry ventured, a strange nervousness curling in his chest.Stephen's smile faded a little. "Not from that time. Sam and Shania weren't married yet."Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the glimpse into his family's past. The pictures, the names, the memories ... they were pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even known he was missing."This... helps," Harry said softly. "To know who they were. Not just stories, but real people."Stephen rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "They were. And they still are ... in all the ways that matter."
The faint scent of freshly cut wood and metal grease hung in the air as Harry stepped into the barn's new workshop. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting warm pools of light over neatly arranged tools, scientific equipment, and a cluster of monitors humming softly.Stephen looked up from a cluttered workbench, wiping his hands on an old rag. His eyes brightened when he saw Harry enter. "You made it," he said, voice steady but warm.Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The space was different from any room in the farmhouse ... quieter, more purposeful, alive with potential.Stephen gestured toward the center of the workshop. "This is for you, Harry. The lab and workshop I've been putting together isn't just a workspace ... it's a place where you can discover what you're really capable of."Harry's gaze drifted over the various gadgets, wires carefully coiled, and diagram-covered whiteboards lining the walls. "To learn control?" he asked quietly."Yes," Stephen said, stepping closer. "Control, understanding, mastery. Your abilities aren't just random powers; they're part of you, tied to who you are. But they're also powerful ... more than you realize. This space is a safe place to explore that power without fear."He picked up a small metal sphere lying on the bench. "I designed tools to help measure and regulate your bioelectric output. We'll experiment carefully ... voltage, frequency, the effects your body generates. You'll learn how to recognize your limits and expand them, all while staying safe."Stephen's gaze softened. "You remember the promise I made? To help you control bioelectricity after your swimming lesson? This workshop is a step in that promise. Helping you become the best version of yourself without drawing unwanted attention."Harry swallowed, the hum of energy pulsing faintly beneath his skin. "It sounds... like a lot."Stephen smiled gently. "It is. But you won't be doing it alone. We'll take it one step at a time ... together."For the first time in a long while, Harry felt a flicker of hope ... a tangible path forward, not just for control, but for understanding himself.He looked at his dad and nodded. "I'm ready."Stephen clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's my boy. Welcome to your new beginning."
I think it's inevitable, since our main characters themselves are still juvenile. But when they're grown up, they will show wisdom that would make even philosophers look childish in comparison.
Stephen's gaze softened, the weight of years of secrecy and protection clear in his eyes.
QuoteI think it's inevitable, since our main characters themselves are still juvenile. But when they're grown up, they will show wisdom that would make even philosophers look childish in comparison.You have the wrong end of the stick. Your plot is adequate to hold the reader's attention, and your underlying sci-fi and insights into human behavior are sufficiently close to reality to withstand scrutiny, but the chatbot's writing style is AWFUL. It won't impress a sophisticated reader, and it will bore the unsophisticated to tears.It takes an educated adult (like yourself) or a rare genius (Daisy Ashford) to write for children. Copilot writes like a bored teenager who has to fill the page by tomorrow and would be happy to get a C for his English essay, Your A+ content deserves A+ packaging.Churchill famously wrote to Montgomery "Pray let me have, on half a sheet of paper, your plans for invading Italy". Monty used to end his lectures with "I won't ask for questions as everything I have said was perfectly clear". That's how to win wars, and write books. QuoteStephen's gaze softened, the weight of years of secrecy and protection clear in his eyes. isn't.
A few days later...The workshop's hum of machinery faded as Harry studied his father's face... the sharp angles, the faint freckles scattered like constellations across his sun-weathered skin. A question had gnawed at him since he'd seen the photo albums. Dad, Harry began, setting down the voltage meter he'd been calibrating, "you've told me a lot about Mom's heritage. But you haven't talked about your own." He hesitated, tracing the edge of the workbench. "You look more like most of my friends, I mean... your skin tone, your face. Where's your family from?" Stephen's hands stilled on the circuit board he'd been soldering. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the crackle of the cooling iron. Then he sighed, wiping his palms on his jeans, and leaned against the workbench. My ancestors came to this land out of necessity, Harry, he said, voice low. "They left Ireland during the Great Famine... when the potatoes rotted in the ground, and a million people starved while the English landlords shipped grain overseas. The ones who survived boarded coffin ships, half-dead before they even set sail." His thumb brushed the faded green tattoo on his forearm... a Celtic knot, barely visible beneath older scars. "My great-great-grandfather was twelve when he landed in Boston. He shoveled coal in a factory until his lungs turned black, all so his kids could learn to read." Harry's chest tightened. He'd heard about the Famine in history class, but it had been a footnote, a tragedy too distant to feel real. Now, it was etched in the lines around Stephen's eyes. "Did they... ever go back?" Stephen shook his head. "No. The ones who left never could. But they held on to stories... songs about kings and rebels, about fighting when the odds were impossible." He tapped the tattoo. "This was my father's. He said it meant 'unbroken'.?" A wry smile flickered. "Funny, isn't it? The British tried to erase our language, our names? but we stubborn Irish kept finding ways to remember." Harry glanced at his own hands... smaller than Stephen's, but humming with a power no ancestor could've imagined. "Is that why you joined Project David? To fight for people who couldn't?" Stephen's gaze turned distant. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to believe science could fix what history broke." He ruffled Harry's hair, the gesture softer than usual. "But you? You're something new, Flash. Not just Irish, not just your mother's brilliance... you're the future we were trying to build." A silence settled between them, thick with unspoken things. Outside, the wind rustled the cornfields, carrying the scent of rain. Harry swallowed. "Do you think they'd be proud? Your family?" Stephen's laugh was rough, but his eyes gleamed. "Kid, they'd be terrified. And then they'd steal all my tools to try building a lightning rod for you." As Harry's eyes landed on the various bags of potatoes stacked neatly in the barn corner, some opened and partially used, curiosity crept into his voice. "Is that what we've been cooking the last few days?"Stephen nodded, setting down a wrench with careful precision. "Yes, those are different kinds of potatoes. They are simple yet a nutrient-rich food, but also carry a heavy history."Harry frowned slightly, sensing the weight behind the words.You see, Stephen began, leaning against a workbench, "back in Ireland, during the Great Famine in the mid-1800s, people depended almost entirely on a few varieties of potatoes for their sustenance. It was a mistake ... those crops lacked diversity." He tapped one of the bags lightly. "When a fungus attacked the potato plants, it wiped out those crops almost completely. There was nothing else to fall back on, and millions starved."Harry's gaze drifted over the bags again, seeing now not just food, but a symbol of hardship and resilience.Stephen smiled gently, lifting one of the potatoes. "But these same potatoes can teach us something too. They're perfect for a simple electrochemistry experiment." He held up a small copper strip and a zinc strip. "Natural batteries. We can use potatoes to create electric currents, showing how chemical energy converts into electrical energy."Harry's interest piqued, the scientific part of his mind sparking alive. "Like a battery? That's cool. How does it work?"Stephen nodded. "Exactly. The potato's acids help facilitate a chemical reaction between the copper and zinc, generating a small electrical current. It's not electricity like what you create with your powers, but it's the same fundamental principle ... electrons moving through a circuit."He gestured toward a workbench already set with wires, copper strips, and a small light bulb. "Want to try and light this bulb with a potato battery, Flash?"Harry grinned, stepping forward eagerly. "Yeah, let's do it."
Stephen set the chunky yellow multimeter on the workbench, its screen still glowing faintly. Beside it sat a large potato with two pieces of metal stuck into its sides ... a copper strip and a small zinc nail.Harry raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Dad? A potato?"Stephen grinned and tapped the screen. "0.91 volts. Not much, but enough to power a small clock or red LED if you wire two in series."Harry leaned closer, curiosity piqued despite himself. "So the potato is... storing electricity?""In a way," Stephen said, picking up the potato. "It's actually a chemical reaction between the zinc and copper, with the potato acting as the electrolyte." He held the multimeter and met Harry's eyes. "What did Uncle Sam tell you before your first training?"Harry thought for a moment, remembering the gruff voice, the uncompromising tone. "?We cannot manage something that we can't measure.?"Stephen nodded. "Exactly. And the same goes for you. Your bioelectricity is like the potato's voltage ... invisible until you measure it, unpredictable until you understand it." He picked up the multimeter's probes and handed them to Harry. "Today, we're going to measure you."Harry blinked. "Wait... you can measure me like a potato?" He held each probe in each hand. Stephen pulled a book from the shelf and flipped to a sketch of an elongated fish with labeled organs. "Remember the electric eel diagram I showed you? Your body has something similar. You have specialized cells called electrocytes ... repurposed muscle fibers that no longer contract for movement, but instead push charged ions in one direction. Think of them as microscopic batteries stacked in series."Harry leaned over the diagram. "So? I'm built like fish?"Stephen smiled faintly. "In principle, yes. The anterior end of your electrocyte chains builds a positive potential, while the posterior end holds a negative potential. When you 'fire', those cells all open at once, sending a wave of charged ions through the internal pathways you were engineered with. It's why your discharges can be so sudden and so strong.""Now, here's something important, Flash. Generating bioelectricity should feel... in some ways... like moving a muscle ... but in a different way. I can't tell you exactly what it's like, because I don't have the physiology you do. My muscles can only contract. Yours? Some of them have been re-purposed into electrocytes. They don't pull bones ... they push ions."Harry tilted his head. "So it's like flexing? but instead of moving my arm, I'm moving electricity?""That's the idea," Stephen said with a faint smile. "Except you're not moving it through wires ... you're moving it through your own cells. And you control how much they all 'fire' at once. With practice, you'll be able to send just enough for a spark... or enough to make the air crackle."Stephen set the multimeter on the bench and tapped the probes against the potato's terminals. The screen read 0.91 volts ... the quiet, chemical hum of the zinc-copper reaction with no load attached."That's the open-circuit voltage," Stephen said. "It's what you get when nothing's drawing current. But once we touch it, the number will dip ... the potato has internal resistance."Harry placed his fingers on the terminals, gel pads bridging metal and skin. The display fell to 0.64 volts as current began to flow through his body ... the potato under load, its potential sagging under the draw."Now try to feel it," Stephen said. "Flex that sense like a muscle. Don't push yet ... just notice the flow."Harry did. The tickle in his skin smoothed out; the meter slid lower: 0.58... 0.53 volts."Good," Stephen breathed. "Now imagine you aren't just stopping the flow ... reverse it"Harry concentrated, a pressure rising behind his ribs that had nothing to do with limbs. The number hesitated, then climbed ... 0.68... 0.91... 1.06 volts.Stephen's face split into a grin. "You just boosted the terminal voltage. You weren't merely resisting the current; you were adding EMF to it. That's not a potato problem anymore ... that's you. You can influence currents passing through you, even make the meter read higher than the chemical cell itself."Harry kept his fingers on the potato terminals, watching the numbers flicker. At first, he was just playing with the push and pull ... more current dropped the voltage, reversing it raised it. But then... something clicked.The sensation Stephen had described ... like flexing a muscle you didn't know you had ... wasn't evenly spread through his body. His right arm could 'push' harder than his left, and vice versa. Both arms were part of the anterior chain of his electrocytes ... the side that built up positive charge ... but they didn't have to fire with the same strength.If he pushed harder on one side than the other, he realized, the difference in potential would make current flow between his hands through the potato.He tried it. Right arm flex strong, left arm soft ... the display dipped: 0.91... 0.84... 0.79 V. Then he swapped, left arm strong, right arm soft ... the number rose above baseline: 0.91... 0.96... 1.02 V.Stephen frowned at the screen, then looked up. "You're changing the voltage without breaking contact. How?"Harry grinned. "Both my arms are connected to the positive side of my electrocytes ... the anterior chain. But I can make one arm push harder than the other. That difference makes current flow between them."Stephen tilted his head, intrigued. "So... you're creating a potential difference between two points that are both technically positive, just by controlling the output imbalance.""Exactly," Harry said. "It's like... having two pumps from the same water tank, but I can make one gush and the other trickle. The water wants to move from the stronger one to the weaker."Stephen smiled slowly. "Directional control within the same polarity. That's... advanced. And when you start using your legs ... the posterior chain ... you'll be able to do a lot more than make a potato twitch."Harry chuckled. "Guess we'll save that for the next experiment."
Harry was hooked. For the next few days, whenever Stephen wasn't watching too closely, he ran his own tests in the workshop.First, he tried the potato again ... then two potatoes in series, the meter climbing over a volt and a half. Four in series lit a tiny red LED until it flickered out from his uneven output.Then he tried parallel wiring, discovering that the voltage stayed the same but the current surged enough to keep the LED steady for longer. The most fun was mixing them ... a 'series-parallel combo', as Stephen called it ... which could push both voltage and current high enough to run a tiny digital watch.He logged every result in a spiral notebook, complete with sketches of wire layouts and crude potato doodles. But there was something stranger: on days when he had sports or martial arts training, his results were always higher. If he tested himself right after a workout, he could push the potato's reading higher and for longer before tiring out. On rest days, the boost just wasn't there.By the fourth trial, Harry was convinced. He waited until Stephen was soldering at the bench before dropping the notebook in front of him. "Look. I've been keeping track."Stephen flipped through the pages, scanning Harry's handwriting and diagrams. "Series, parallel... nice work. You even measured drop-off rates over time?""Yeah. But check the pattern ... the strongest readings came after I worked out or practiced forms. And remember the caiman? And that test uncle Sam gave me? Both times I was exhausted, and the shock I gave was... way stronger."Stephen rubbed his chin. "Interesting. That could be lactic acid. In normal muscles, lactic acid builds up after intense use, as your cells switch to anaerobic metabolism. It changes the local pH, and in an organism like you?" He trailed off, already thinking ahead. "It could be that your electrocytes respond to those chemical changes, boosting ion movement."Harry leaned on the bench. "So working out makes me... more charged?""Potentially, yes," Stephen said. "And there's another factor ... stress hormones. Cortisol, for example, gets released during danger or exertion. It changes your metabolism, blood chemistry, even electrolyte balance. That could explain why in emergencies, like with the caiman or Sam's test, your shocks were off the chart."Harry grinned. "So basically, I fight better if I'm sweaty and stressed?"Stephen laughed. "Let's just say you may have an advantage in situations that push you to your limits. But that also means you'll need to learn control ... otherwise you'll be unpredictable when it matters most."Harry glanced at the potato array on the table. "Guess I'll need more potatoes."Stephen shook his head, smiling. "Potatoes, sure. But next time, we test this with something a little more... precise."
An hour later...Stephen was locking up the workshop when the faint chime of his secure terminal lit the corner of the desk. No one outside of a very small circle even knew the line existed. The header flashed in encrypted blocks, resolving into a short message from a code name he knew all too well: Gray Otter.It had been months since Stephen last received anything from Sam. Every transmission risked detection, so they kept them rare and brief. He keyed in his decryption passphrase, the words appearing slowly on the screen as if the machine itself were whispering.From: Gray OtterTo: White WebMessage: Shania invites your boy to our home. She wishes to meet him in person after hearing of his actions at school ... saving those who wronged him, showing them mercy when he could have turned away. She says his selflessness ... and forgiveness ... shamed her. She could not forgive him for Lea, even knowing it was never his fault. But now, she wishes to try.I would not pass this on if I didn't believe she meant it. You know how hard this is for her. The boy has a gift beyond what you've told me. Not just in his body ... in his heart.- Gray OtterStephen sat back, the weight of the words settling on him. Harry knew nothing of this ... nothing of the encrypted updates Stephen had sent Sam since his training began. Quiet reports of progress, of control, of the boy's character taking shape under strain. Sam had pieced together the rest, and now this message was proof that word had reached Shania.The thought of taking Harry to Guyana stirred an uneasy mix in Stephen's chest ... pride, hope, and a flicker of dread. Harry had been through so much already, and Shania was... complicated. But maybe this was the right time. Maybe the boy who could control lightning could bridge a rift that had seemed impossible to mend.Stephen keyed a short reply, just two words in cipher: Under consideration.Stephen shut down the terminal, the last line of green code fading to black. The barn workshop fell silent except for the faint tick of the cooling oscilloscope. On the far table, the potato array from Harry's latest experiment still sat wired up, a faint scent of earth in the air.Through the open barn door, he could see Harry in the yard under the fading light, practicing slow martial arts forms Sam had taught him ... deliberate, balanced, a calm contrast to the sparks he had coaxed from his body earlier that day. The boy had no idea that a single message, decoded in this very room, might set him on a path far from this quiet place.Stephen lingered in the doorway, the cool evening air carrying the smell of hay and distant pine. Guyana was a long way from here. The jungle was beautiful, but it hid teeth ... both the kind that swam in rivers and the kind that wore human faces. And Shania... she was her own kind of storm.Still, if Harry could master forgiveness as well as he'd mastered his first sparks, perhaps he could handle whatever lay ahead.Stephen glanced at the night sky, where the first stars were just beginning to pierce the dark. He had no way of knowing if this was a new chapter or the edge of a cliff. But the journey was coming, and the boy would have to be ready.He closed the barn doors with a solid thud, the sound echoing in the quiet. Above the dark horizon, a faint rumble of distant thunder rolled, as if the world itself had heard the news.
He closed the barn doors with a solid thud, the sound echoing in the quiet. Above the dark horizon, a faint rumble of distant thunder rolled, as if the world itself had heard the news.
QuoteHe closed the barn doors with a solid thud, the sound echoing in the quiet. Above the dark horizon, a faint rumble of distant thunder rolled, as if the world itself had heard the news. Bullshit."He closed the barn doors." Good writing.
I have several ideas to start book 3. But I haven't decided which one should go first. Maybe you can help with that. - Explaining how long distance radio communication work with directional phase shifted antenna array. - Harry's middle name. - Reason why Sam chose Guyana. - When Stephen will take Harry to Guyana. - Encounter with another super soldier.