Unwanted Power

Tired

She landed silently in front of him.

"Having a problem with your vehicle?" She asked. A nice test of her new vocal cords with someone else. Not her voice. Much more male-sounding.

"Uh..." The young man boggled. Heather had a good definition of that term now. Boggle. What happens to you when your car breaks down, and someone flies in and asks you about it.

The young man looked up into the air. "Did you just FLY here?" he finally was able to ask.

"Do you need some help?" Heather asked, very evenly to try to calm the young man with her casual tone.

"I..." He tried.

"Looks like you have a flat on that big tire. No spare? No air pump? No can of pressurized tire goo?" Heather asked to try to get him to focus on his problem. Not him. Her as him.

The young man shook his head 'no'. Best he could do. Heather decided his driver's license was probably recent. It would match his age. Still more boy than man. That probably explained his inexperience in having a special needs car like this.

"I see. No cell phone?" She asked.

"No signal." He managed.

Heather looked around the countryside, seeing things he could not. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Dead zone here. The worst place to get a flat. Do you have a jack?"

"Yeah, but it's useless. Doesn't work with these tires. Too small." He said miserably.

The boyish man waved at the front tire. A sudden torrent of his misery spilled out. "I just bought these. Expensive as hell, man! I couldn't afford a fifth tire. I didn't even think about needing a taller jack for all of this! I was saving up for the spare tire. The big extra swing mount I had to get for it. I thought: 'Hey! These are brand new tires!' and I didn't think this would happen so fast! These things are supposed to be offroad tires! How do they even get a flat on a regular road! These are supposed to the tough, right?"

He quickly reverted to the previous issue. "How can you fly?"

Heather grinned. It felt odd with this face. "Came with the cape in the cereal box." She pulled that around.

Heather walked over to the flat tire. Smoothly knelt to look at the lug nuts. This body had muscles for days and joints that were as smooth as if they had been greased. They were, in fact, greased. When one builds their own body, they can design in sealed joints filled with Lithium grease. No need to stay inside human limitations. "You have a tire iron? And the lock nut key that will remove this special lug nut?"

"Yeah. Key is in the glovebox." He said, miserable.

"Well hidden. No tire thief would ever think to look there."

Heather stood smoothly. She realized this is another way she was not going to walk and move like herself. "There is a tire place back up the road about 7 or 8 kilometers. Let's get you and the tire to there."

"Kilometers?" he asked.

"About five miles." Heather translated. Another part of her disguise: Always use metric measurements. That would make her sound more international. Less American. Her accent is purely American, but she could do nothing much about that. She would throw in Spanish pronunciations when and where it made sense.

Heather spoke Spanish well enough for an Anglo, but she could never pass as native in it. She would use it as a seasoning in her words instead. Hint at a possible external origin. She never intended to have lengthy conversations in this body, in any case.

The youngster looked around for a missing something. Perhaps a plane or helicopter. "How will we get me and the tire there?"

Heather did not answer directly. "Hang on... Need to find something to prop up your car. Be right back."