Touched by an Alien by Gini Koch Page B

Flash had to eat a ton because he burned so much fuel?”
    “Yeah.” I hated having to admit, right here, under these circumstances, that I was a total comics geek-girl, but I didn’t have much choice. “But he also made sonic booms, and I haven’t heard those.”
    “Right. Because they don’t work like the Flash. Flash could go fast if he had enough fuel. They can go as fast as they need, but only for what they could do not moving fast.”
    “And it was starting to sound so clear.” I looked to Gower. “Your turn.”
    “Let’s say I can run five miles and not be dead tired,” Gower said. I nodded. “I can move those five miles as fast as I need to, blink of an eye kind of thing. But, if I can’t, say, run ten miles and not be exhausted, then I can’t run ten miles in the blink of an eye, either. I can only do whatever I’m physically in shape to do, nothing else. It’s why we all have to stay physically fit.”
    “As an example, I can make love for twelve hours straight,” Martini offered. “However, I’ve never tried to make it go faster, so maybe that’s not a good example.”
    “But, so far, your most winning argument.” I looked back to Reader. “So, back to the Flash. He also made the wind whoosh around you, blew newspapers, that sort of thing. They don’t.”
    “Right, ’cause they’re real. Think of it as them stopping time and moving through everything in a way that doesn’t create disturbance. They don’t stop time, but the way they move can’t be seen by human eyes. They also move faster than film, video, or digital can catch. But in such a way that they don’t create any more disturbance than if they were just strolling.”
    “Okay, I’ll buy that. So, how did you show up where I was?” I asked Martini.
    “We monitor any unusual activity. To you, it seemed like just a few seconds, maybe a minute or so, from the point the fender bender happened until you killed the superbeing. But that was enough time for me to spot the change in his body chemistry, get to a transference machine, get to the airport in your town, and get to you in time to save the day.”
    I let the last comment pass. “So you’ve got a transference machine in, what, every major airport?”
    “Every airport around the world,” Reader said. “It’s pretty impressive.”
    “Where are they hidden?”
    “Restrooms, mostly,” Martini answered. “You’d be amazed at how easy it is to just appear in a stall and go out. No one ever notices.”
    “You probably land in the women’s restroom.”
    He grinned. “Only when you’re in there.”
    I thought about this again. “How many miles can you run?”
    “Fifty, without breaking a sweat.” I realized he was serious.
    “You all like that?”
    “All field operatives have to be able to do twenty-five miles without a problem,” White answered.
    I looked at him. “You too?”
    “I can do fifty, just like Jeffrey and Christopher.” I got the feeling I’d insulted him. I decided he could live with that.
    “I can do two,” I offered. I mean, I had to show I wasn’t totally without skills.
    “Your mother can do twenty,” Reader said. “Damn, you’re slipping, girlfriend.”
    “My mother cannot do twenty miles.” Could she? We’d never talked about it much. She’d been thrilled I’d gone out for track, just as she had. Well, maybe when she was younger she’d done twenty miles.
    “Can, did, and does regularly,” Reader said, sounding impressed. “Geez, it took me months to get up to ten miles. I can do twenty-five now,” he added.
    “Mr. Meets-Minimum, I see.”
    Reader shrugged. “Beating your two, girlfriend. Besides, I’m the driver. They don’t drive or fly real well, as a rule.”
    “Really?”
    “Yep,” Martini confirmed. “Our reflexes are actually too fast. Every driver we have is a human operative. Even Paul has too much A-C blood to be able to drive or fly.”
    “But fast reflexes are good for flying,” I protested. “My