“Ah, kid,” his Uncle Ben was telling him, “what’s with the mopes? You’re not nervous are you?”

“No,” he said, “not really…”

Ben nodded sympathetically. He was a funny looking sort of man and had been drawing stares from all over the convention hall since they’d entered. This did not bother Franklin. Ever since he’d known his uncle, Ben had been a eight foot giant carved out of orange rocks. That’s the way he was supposed to look. Besides that, an equal number of stares were reserved for Franklin himself, and he didn’t look funny at all.

“You know your pop would have took ya if he could?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure ya know,” Ben said. “He just got stuck saving the world again. But he’d be here with you if there was any way possible.”

Franklin nodded. He knew. Right now, his dad was busy helping people in the Negative Zone while his mom was someplace the team considered even more frightening--the TV talk show circuit, recording interviews about Unnatural Acts *, the book that was making such a big stink about dad’s inventions.

* (See M2K Fantastic Four v2 #1)

Not that Franklin had read it or anything. He didn’t really like to read much, especially since the only thing around the house were science manuals and newspapers.

“I know, Uncle Ben.”

“And don’t you listen to what them yahoos on TV are sayin’,” Ben added, his wide mouth folding downwards in a grimace. (He had a face that reminded Franklin a bit of Ernie on Sesame Street.) “Your pop’s a real hero. Finest man I ever met.”

“I know, Uncle Ben.”

“Course ya do. In fact, you’re gonna grow up to be just like ‘im way I figure it. In fact, I’d be willin’ to bet your little whatever-it-is here is gonna blow the judges’ socks off.” Ben smiled and jerked a thumb towards the gizmo on the table beside them. It looked something a toaster with fly swatters connected to the top. “You know where you’re gonna put the trophy?”

“Not really…”

Ben laughed, a booming sound that drew more then a few alarmed looks.

“Ah, well, you’ll figure it out when you get home.” His uncle then made a show of looking up at the ceiling lights and scowling. “Whew, these lights in here are killin’ me. Need something to drink, how about you?”

Franklin doubted he could drink anything but he nodded anyways. That’s because he knew his uncle wasn’t really hot or thirsty either. Ben Grimm, the Thing, could walk through molten lava without breaking a sweat if he wanted.

“Alright, champ. I’ll be right back. Don’t go winnin’ the contest ‘for I return ya hear?”

“I won’t.”

And, if nothing else, Franklin was pretty sure that much was true.

As Ben worked his way through the crowd, Franklin gazed around the rest of the hall. It was filled with young people of various ages, the oldest in their early teens, the rest much younger. He supposed there were probably all sorts of brackets for different age groups to compete in. Not that he much cared.

Still, the thought made him glance down at the pamphlet folded in his palm. An older lady in a maroon cardigan had passed it to him when he arrived at the hall. Besides parents and guardians, the convention workers and judges were the only adults in the building.

Sighing inwardly, Franklin opened the pamphlet and looked at the cover. A picture of a grinning sub-atomic molecule winked back at him. Under it a banner read: Junior Inventors of America Convention - ’07. Inside were all sorts of pictures of past winners and their grinning parents.

The Junior Inventors of America Convention is the most prestigious gathering of young geniuses in the United States. Begun in 1964 as a small private get-together of scientific enthusiasts, it has since evolved into a bi-annual tradition, highlighting the wonderment of scientific progress and invention that invigorates today’s youth.

Franklin rolled his eyes before scanning the rest of the text. Eventually he skipped to the end which read: Following the invention presentation, every Convention ends with the award ceremony, where one promising youth is presenting the Junior Inventor of America Cup, an achievement of great magnitude. Past champions include such luminaries as Boethius Cragmire, inventor of the artificial appendix, Doris Weatherby, head of product design at Stark Industries, and no less a personage then the son of Fantastic Four founders’ Reed and Susan Richards:

Franklin.

At the sight of his own name, he bit his lower lip and folded the pamphlet back into a square. This he thrust deep into the pocket of his black sports coat. He suddenly looked gloomier then ever.

“Hello,” said a voice that wasn’t Ben’s.

Franklin glanced up warily, dreading it was someone with questions. A colleague of his father or an eager judge, itching to see what the famous Richards’ boy had brought this year.

Instead it was a girl--a short, skinny, not particularly imposing girl, with thick black-rimmed glasses. She was, Franklin guessed, about a year or two younger than himself.

“Um,” he said. “Hello?”

“You’re not sick or anything are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh,” she said, blushing as though she’d made some gaff, “I’m not saying you are. I just wondered is all. You look kind of sweaty, I mean.”

Franklin realized that she was right. He was sweating, particularly his hands, which he quickly wiped along the sides of his pant legs. “These lights,” he said, rather dumbly, “are hot I guess…”

“Uh huh.”

She smiled slightly and then turned to focus on whatever she was doing here. Apparently arranging some sort of cards in front of the invention on the table next to his, the one that looked a bit like a see-through house vacuum full of anti-freeze. She was putting, he thought, a tremendous amount of effort into their placement.

“Um,” he said, after a moment, “is that your invention?”

She nodded.

“What does it do?”

She shrugged, rather shyly he thought. Her eyes remained locked on the cards, getting their arrangement just so. Franklin scooched up to the edge of his chair, craning his neck as he tried to get a peek at them.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing.”

The girl looked over at him, a thin brow rising over the rims of her glasses. “You’re trying to look at my cards, aren’t you?”

Now it was his turn to blush as though caught doing something criminal. “Maybe.”

“How dare you!”

Franklin sat back in his chair, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

But then the girl was giggling. “I’m just kidding. They’re for the judges, stupid. My parents said I should label everything.”

“Oh.” He smiled when she smiled. “Okay.”

The girl walked up closer to him and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit…”

“Me too!” She got quiet for a moment and then continued rapidly, “I’ve got a real good reason though. I betcha you don’t.”

“I do.” He really did.

“What is it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

Franklin thought about it. For some reason, he did want to tell. Had wanted to, in fact, since before they left today. He couldn’t, however, tell Ben. There was no way he’d have understood.

“You go first.”

The girl stepped back, crossing her arms over her thin chest. She, like most of the kids in the hall, was dressed formally for the occasion. White blouse with navy blue tie and a pleated skirt that came to just past her knees.

Scrunching her nose, she studied him very closely, as though evaluating his character all in one go.

“Well, okay,” she said, “but you can’t tell anyone else.”

He nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

“My invention,” she whispered, cupping her hand over her mouth and moving in closer, “doesn’t work.”

Franklin eyes grew wide and he smiled a little. “At all?”

“Well, no,” she clarified, “It does a little bit. But not correctly. It’s really horrible. I’m so scared the judges will notice. Right in front of everyone. God, would that be embarrassing!”

“Why don’t you just not present it, then?”

“Because,” she said, “my parents would totally kill me.”

In a lot of situations other kids might have looked at her strangely. This was not one of those situations though and Franklin was not one of those kids. He understood exactly what she meant.

“Okay. Now what’s yours?”

“I was just joking,” he lied. “I don’t have one.”

The girl kicked him hard in the shin. He barely smothered a yelp.

“You better tell me!”

“Okay!” He smiled despite the pain in his leg. “Geeze. But it’s really a lot worse then yours.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

Franklin took a deep breath and, inwardly, winced. It came out in a single breath. “I didn’t really make my invention. My dad did.”

There was a moment of awkward silence and then:

“That’s totally against the rules!”

“I know!” Franklin said, before adjusting his volume back to a whisper. “I know. I mean I was supposed to help and everything. I was there when he did it.” He pointed towards one of the fly-swatter-things. “I screwed that in place.”

“You’re a cheater!” She looked mad. Whether she was pretending or for real, Franklin didn’t know. Maybe a little of both.

“Hey, I don’t even want to be here!”

He thought she was going to kick him in the shin again. Instead, she sighed.

“Yeah, me neither. I hate the Junior Inventors Convention.”

Franklin looked around the hall for the first time in the last few minutes. Uncle Ben was standing by the vending machines, his back turned towards him as he signed auto-graphs for the younger kids. On the other side of the room, one of the parents was propping open the halls’ double doors to let some cool air inside.

“I’ve got another secret,” he said.

“And what’s that?”

“I hate it even more then you do.”

The girl smiled and nodded, causing a few stray strands of her dark hair to fall in front of her eyes. She swiped them aside and tucked them behind her ears. “So what do you think we should do?”

Franklin glanced from the invention tables, to his Uncle Ben, then back to the open doors. He struggled with the thought for another second or two, before turning back to the girl.

They both grinned.

Outside the convention hall, it was a beautiful day. The sun was out in full and a slight breeze tugged at their neckties as they cut across the alleyway, careful to avoid the eyes of any curious parent who might usher them back inside. Eventually they wound up about a block away, on a crowded New York street corner.

“My name is Eva, by the way. Do you have any idea where we are?” the girl asked, looking a bit nervous. Clearly she was unused to the bustle of the big city.

“Sure, I think so. My Uncle Johnny takes me to a little pizza parlor up the road sometimes.”

She nodded. Her hair, shoulder length and dark with red highlights, blew crazily in the wind.

“You wanna go there?”

She nodded again and they started up the sidewalk in what he hoped was the right direction. They didn’t get far though before a sudden cacophony of blaring horns and angry shouts drew their attention elsewhere. There was a traffic jam, they discovered, on the next block over and the cause of it was standing in the middle of the intersection.

“Wow,” Eva said, “what is that thing?”

Franklin didn’t know but he had an idea. He’d seen similar sights in his young life--a perk of being an unofficial Fantastic Four member--but usually done up much better. Of course, the likes of Reed Richards and Victor Von Doom were hard to compete with when it came to building things.

It was a fine robot monster otherwise.

Standing about as tall and wide as a diesel truck, it was built along the designs of a king gorilla. Big frame, small head, huge shovel-like arms. Two tall chimney stacks jutted from its back, belching exhaust smoke into the air as the machine clunked and clattered. The face was mostly made of one glowing red stoplight eye and a row of jagged teeth that Franklin thought looked a little overdone.

It was hard to get them right though, Franklin knew. Sometimes even the best planned robot just came out looking silly. Either way, it was probably dangerous.

“Who’s that next to it?”

A boy about his own age was standing beside the hulking robot, his head coming up to just a little past its waist. He was ignoring the drivers’ curses and working intently at a remote in his hand.

Franklin shrugged. No one he knew.

“Let’s go find out then.”

Franklin looked doubtful but followed along with Eva. When they came into speaking range, she called out: “Hey! What are you doing?”

The boy looked up. While he was about Franklin’s age, that was as far as the similarities went. Where Franklin was thin and tow-haired, this kid was tubby and dark, his hair done in a shaggy bowl cut. He had narrow-eyes, a small chin and forehead, all coupled with a vaguely suspicious look. A fairly unpleasant face when taken altogether.

“None of your business.”

“Are you heading to the convention?”

It was a pretty good guess on Eva’s part given the giant robot. Maybe that was his invention entry Franklin thought, although he didn’t see how it would fit through the doorway.

“Yes,” he sneered, “how clever of you to notice.”

“You don’t have to be nasty,” Franklin said. “She was just asking.”

“And I was just answering her dumb question. If you think that’s nasty though, then you’d better clear off before things get really ugly.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” the boy said, working at the controls again, “that when I’m through there won’t be a convention left to talk about.” He seemed to expect some reaction from that but neither Franklin or Eva looked particularly alarmed.

“You’re going to attack the Junior Inventors’ Convention?” Franklin asked, turning towards the robot. “With that?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason…”

“Is there a point though,” Eva asked. “For destroying it, I mean?”

“A point? A point?” the boy demanded, straightening his back and puffing out his chest in what was probably meant to be an imposing stance. Unfortunately, his face shot red--almost instantly like a Christmas bulb--and his eyes grew even squintier. It sort of ruined the effect. “Only that they’ve insulted me for the last time! Five years running they have failed to award me the Inventor’s Cup for my work. How they have slighted my genius! Now they will learn the price for their lack of vision!”

“Oh,” Franklin said. “Okay.” The whole speech sounded kind of prepared to him.

“Hey kid! What the blazes do you think you’re doing?”

All three kids--not certain which of them was being yelled at--turned to face the new voice. It belonged to a gray-haired traffic cop in a white shirt and black slacks, who was huffing his way up the sidewalk towards them.

“You got to get that blasted thing out of there, you’re blocking up traffic! Where are your parents anyhow?”

The boy touched a button on his remote and the robot shifted its bulk to face the officer. The cop froze in his tracks. Another button was pushed and the stoplight eye blinked bright red. A traffic pole a foot away from the man turned orange, spouted flame, and slagged to the ground in a melted puddle.

For an old man, Franklin reflected as the traffic cop turned and ran, he sure had a lot of speed in his legs.

“Well, okay,” offered Eva. “Good luck with your revenge, I guess.”

“Wait a minute!”

Franklin and Eva stopped as the chubby kid clomped over to them. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with tails and a purple sash, an outfit which only served to emphasis his ungainly build.

“I,” he said triumphantly, “know who you are.”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes,” he said, scowling, “you’re Franklin Richards.”

A look of surprise came over Eva’s face and she turned her head to stare at him as well. As she matched mental pictures to actuality, her eyes only grew wider. “You’re the Franklin Richards? Oh my God, why didn’t you say something?”

Franklin sighed. “I guess it never got brought up.

“Oh my God,” she repeated, now to herself. “I can’t believe I kicked the real Franklin Richards.”

“Well, you are Franklin Richards and I demand to know what you’re doing out here and not inside the hall!” The kid crossed his arms and gave him a vicious look.

For his part, Franklin was at loss for anything to say. The whole situation was starting to seem very silly to him. Perhaps he should have just stayed inside, after all, and took his humiliation face-to-face.

“He’s out here because he didn’t want to present his thing.”

“And why not? He’s the great Franklin Richards isn’t he? The boy who won the last three years running. The one who stole my rightful trophy!”

Franklin honestly couldn’t remember seeing the kid previously, but then he never paid attention to the other contestants anyhow. He usually fell asleep during their presentations.

“He didn’t want to present ‘cause his dad made his invention for him.”

A look of wild rage came over the kid’s chubby face. Somehow his cheeks got even redder as he sputtered: “What? That’s cheating!”

“I guess so.”

“You guess so? Are you kidding me? I’ve been losing all these years and you’ve been cheating?”

“Not on purpose,” Franklin said. “My dad’s just really intense about it. Honestly I think the competition’s stupid anyhow.”

The kid fixed him with a glower of pure hate. He looked like he might try to strangle him at any moment, or at least command his robot to do it. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, glanced at Eva and then back to Franklin.

“I’m going to tell the committee.”

Franklin shrugged. “Go ahead. I don’t care.”

“They’ll throw you out,” he said with relish. “It will be really embarrassing I bet.”

“I won’t even be there. Maybe you didn’t notice but we were walking away from the hall, not towards it.”

The kid frowned. “So where are you two going then?”

“A pizza place up the road,” he said. “We’ll probably stay there until the convention’s over.”

“Really?” Suspicious now.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he said, the rage slowly giving way to a hesitant awkwardness. “Do you think, maybe, I could come with then?”

Franklin and Eva exchanged glances. She threw her hands up as though to say 'up to you'. With a faint smile, Franklin nodded his assent. “Sure. But you have to leave that thing here.”

The kid quickly slipped the remote into his back pocket and together the three headed up the street. The passengers in the stranded cars, still recalling the melted street lamp, watched them leave in respectful silence.

“What’s your name anyways?”

“Nightshade.”

“But what’s your first name?”

“Hubert…”

Somehow they both managed not to laugh.

“Tell the truth, are you really Franklin Richards?” Eva asked as they finally disappeared around a corner. “Really?”

Meanwhile the robot, still belching exhaust, occupied itself tying car bumpers into pretzels.

Back at the conventional hall, there was an uproar. As Franklin’s name was called for presentation, no one stood up. Initially there was shock, then concern as they checked the hallways and restrooms, and finally resentment. This, many felt, was just like a Richards.

“Just because his father is a member of the Fantastic Four,” one of the judges sniffed, “does not mean he’s eligible for special treatment.” There was murmured agreement.

“Ah, keep your shirts on will ya? He’ll be back any second.”

Luckily, before he ran out, Franklin had left a note on the table next to his invention. It promised he would be back shortly and included the special squiggle the family used to indicate he was not in danger. (As a child Franklin had been prone to frequent kidnappings). Otherwise Ben would have been more beside himself then he already was.

“Mr. Thing, we-”

“Ben Grimm.”

“Mr. Ben Grimm then,” the judge corrected dryly. “We can not hold up the entire competition just to wait for one wayward child. If there’s no one here to present his invention, he will have to be disqualified. The rules clearly state-”

“Ah, stuff yer rules,” Ben growled. “I’ll present the damn thing.”

Another murmur went through the crowd and the judges eyed him with disapproval. It was not unheard of for a contestants’ parents or guardian to present their invention but it was highly irregular.

“Very well…”

“Alright then.” He walked over to the table, grabbed the toaster-like gizmo, and thrust it at them. “Here.”

The lead judge wrinkled his nose. “Here, what?”

“Here. Judge it.”

“You have to explain what it does first, Mr. Grimm.”

Ben looked down at the shiny box in his hand. As was usual when it came to such things, he hadn’t the foggiest idea what was what. Still, be damned if he was going to tell them that. Setting the gadget back down on the table, he looked out at the crowd and cleared his throat.

“Okay then. This is, ah… Well, let me just…”

Reaching out with his giant stone hand, he touched a wrist-thick finger to one of the swatter protrusions. It snapped off. “Er,” he groaned as a gasp went through the crowd. “S’nothing! It’s supposed to do that. Now shaddup.”

He touched another antenna; this one snapped off as well. Little wisps of smoke began to rise from under the machine. Someone in the audience stifled a giggle.

“Sonuva, just wait a second…”

More breaking, more laughter. Ben’s hands continued to fight with him and the crowd seemed to enjoy the spectacle.

It didn’t take long before his temper reached boiling.

On the way back from the pizza parlor, Eva grew worried. “Our parents are really going to be upset.”

For the first time that afternoon, Franklin considered what may have happened in their absence. Probably not much. If they were not there to present, the judges would just have to go on to someone else, right? It didn’t seem like that big a deal.

Plus his parents weren’t there anyhow. While his dad may have burst a gasket, Uncle Ben never got angry with him. He mostly saved that for guys like Dr. Doom or Uncle Johnny.

“It’ll be fine. They probably didn’t even notice we were gone.”

Hubert made a face. “You should have let me destroy the convention in the first place. Then there wouldn’t be any problem.”

“Yeah. Maybe next year.”

Still Eva couldn’t ease her mind and they hurried the rest of the way there. They got back just in time to see the Thing being escorted from the hall. It took about every grown-up in attendance as well as pair of police officers to see him out.

“Lousy freakin’ convention anyhow! Ought to bring the whole place down, it’d serve ya right!”

He kept ranting on like this while some of the parents egged him on with insults of their own. The police officers were surprisingly respectful though. The Thing’s reputation for bending cruiser cars in two or leaving them stuck in trees was legendary.

“Hey, Uncle Ben,” Franklin said quietly as he approached. “Did I miss anything?”

Upon sight of him, the Thing’s anger dissolved at once. Suddenly, he looked rather abashed. “Ah, geeze, kid, where were you?”

“We just went out for a walk. I left a note…”

“Yeah, I got it. The egghead committee here wouldn’t believe me though.” The big man sighed. “Sorry, Frank, but it looks like I kind of ruined your whole event.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Ben smiled, figuring the kid was just being nice. Most of the other adults had begun to wander back inside, grumbling about the Richards family’s outrageous behavior. There was a very good chance they wouldn’t be seeing an invite next year.

As for the police, they had already made it halfway across the parking lot, arguing over whether they should leave a ticket on the Fantasticar or not. They sure as heck weren’t going to hand it to Ben.

“Who’re your friends here?”

“This is Hubert Nightshade.” The chubby boy frowned on general principle. “And this is Eva….”

Franklin looked at her, realizing he hadn’t got her last name.

“Eva Nyugen.”

“Yeah, that so?” With an embarrassed frown, Ben reached out with his big hand and deposited a crumpled ball of brass in hers. “Then I think this may be yours.”

“What is it?”

“It used to be a trophy.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You mean I won?”

“Kind of,” he said. “I think yours was sort of the only one left when I got done…”

“Oh my God!” Eva shouted, jubilant anyways. She grabbed the crumpled ball and made for the entranceway. “I’ve got to go tell my parents!” Within a matter of seconds, she had disappeared back into the hall and the doors slammed shut behind her.

Franklin had not even had a chance to tell her goodbye.

Hubert made his exit soon after that--he had a robot to check up on after all--and the two decided to call the convention a day. Piling into the Fantasticar, Ben fired up the jets and soon they were airborne.

As they glided over the New York rooftops, Franklin sat back in his seat and thought. He felt strangely melancholy. It was not because of the convention. Winning, losing, or being thrown out meant nothing to him. Instead, he thought of the two other kids he’d met today and the brief moment of fun they’d had.

It seemed as though he rarely got to meet anyone his own age. With his parents’ constant adventuring, he rarely had time to attend a normal school and most of his education was done at home. That left just his parents’ friends and most of them were superheroes as well. They seldom brought family when they visited.

Franklin sighed. Anyhow, the day was over now. It had been an interesting experience at least.

“Hey, pal,” Ben said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “I really am sorry back there.”

“It’s alright, Uncle Ben. It doesn’t matter.”

Franklin smiled sadly at him and took a moment to struggle out of his restrictive coat and tie. He tossed the jacket on the seat beside him and, when he did, a small square of paper fell out. It was the Convention pamphlet.

He picked it up and opened it. The grinning molecule winked at him again. Under it was the same banner, of course, but below that was a scribble of text he hadn’t noticed before. It read, in pink ink: Call me - Eva followed by a phone number.

“I got an idea, Frank. Howsa bout we stop for pizza on the way home?”

Franklin grinned and slipped the little square of paper back in his pocket.

“I don’t know, Uncle Ben. I think I’d rather have ice cream.”

“Oh ho,” his uncle said, grinning back at him. “A man after my own heart, I see!”

And so the Fantasticar dipped down from the sky, returning its contented passengers back to the lively streets below.

Next Issue: A distress call from Atlantis sets the Fantastic Four on a mission to rescue Namor, only to discover the real enemy may be--the Prince himself?!

Fantastic Forum

For those wondering why Franklin may seem a little older in this story, that’s because he was advanced to his early teens in the final issue of Jason Bruss’s run. That issue has since been removed from the site to make way for Steve Crosby’s excellent finale. When I wrote this story, however, it was still posted and, I assumed, established continuity.

Enjoying the final product too much to simply scrap it, I have since removed any mention of Franklin’s specific age from the story. He is obviously a bit older then his last in-continuity birthday though, which took place way back in Fantastic Four Volume I #10 (he was six). And I think that’s alright. There have been a lot of issues of Fantastic Four released at this site since then--with a number of significant events and revelations along the way--and the cast gaining a few years doesn’t seem that outrageous to me.