Super Powereds: Year 1 Page 2

  “You are correct, Mr. Transport,” said Mr. Adair. “My daughter’s power is tethered to her emotions, so when she gets happy she winds up bouncing off the ceiling. If we’re lucky enough to have a ceiling over her at the time.”

  “Forgive me for saying this,” said Mr. Numbers. “But the program’s initial testing cases are supposed to be Powereds with desirable abilities that are currently a danger to themselves and others.”

  “I know,” said Mr. Adair. “That’s why I called you here to tell you that you would recommend her instead of going through the channels to submit her as a viable specimen.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Adair, that would compromise both our duties to the program and the company,” said Mr. Transport.

  Mr. Adair said nothing in response at first. He leaned back in his own wicker chair and stirred his drink with his finger. As he stirred the colors changed, going through a rainbow of shades and depths. Finally it settled on a light pink and Mr. Adair took a sip.

  “Mr. Transport,” Mr. Adair began. “You know what my code name is, correct?”

  “The Alchemist,” Mr. Transport answered readily.

  “Right, and you know why I am called that, yes?”

  “Because you have the ability to manipulate and change the properties of matter,” said Mr. Transport.

  “Correct again,” Mr. Adair said. “So maybe what you are missing is my role in this world. You see, while other Supers defend their homes or countries, I defend our economy. I turn radioactive sludge into oil, rocks into gold, worthlessness into pricelessness. Most Supers seek to garner favor from politicians and leaders. Leaders and politicians work to garner favor from me. I am one of the primary shareholders of the company you both work for, as well as several other powerful corporations. I am not going to threaten either of you, because we all know my abilities are ill-suited to a physical altercation. I am simply going to tell you that you will recommend my daughter for the first trial of the new program. End of story.”

  Mr. Numbers looked at Mr. Transport. They had been partners for many years and had learned to read each other’s cues like a second language. There was no question for Mr. Transport as to what Mr. Numbers was telling him right then. Time to roll over.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Numbers.

  “Good, I’m glad we understand each other,” said Mr. Adair. “So, when will things get started?”

  1.

  Six Months Later

  Vince adjusted his backpack to put the weight on his other shoulder. Two months since the procedure had ended and he’d been put in recovery and still his body felt like it was aching and healing. He never remembered feeling like this beforehand, but in fairness, there were plenty of other things that hadn’t existed beforehand either.

  Today was an excellent example of what going through the program had yielded him. He was walking across the beautiful, sprawling college campus of Lander University, passing other kids his age and blending in like a normal person. Well, almost anyway. His damn hair still made him stand out. One of his biggest hopes had been that a side effect of the procedures would be his hair becoming a normal color, but no such luck. It was still silver like it had always been. And not old man silver, either: silver like moonbeams glinting off steel. It wasn’t that it was unattractive; in fact, it accentuated Vince’s bright blue eyes quite nicely. No, the problem was that his hair marked him as different, and after all these years, Vince was yearning to be nothing more than a face in the crowd.

  “At least we’re in California,” Vince mumbled under his breath as he quickened his steps. He was getting second glances from the other students, but not as many as he was used to. Aside from that, he passed a few people whose looks made him do double takes of his own. It was comforting, in a mutual freak sort of way. By the time Vince reached his dorm assignment, he was back on the positive side of things.

  After all, this was what he had worked for during those two months of recovery, studying and being tutored so that he could get his GED and come to this college. It had been hell to concentrate, especially with his body still adjusting to everything, but he had put in the time and pulled it off. It was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip away. Besides, the nurses and technicians had told him the other people from the program would be given the option to come here, too.

  The building Vince walked up to looked less like a dorm and more like a medium-sized house. He didn’t see how it was possible to fit many people in this one-story brick home, but he trusted that whoever was managing housing had that in hand.

  Vince walked through the front door and shifted his backpack once more. It bounced and landed on his shoulder lightly, betraying that it was far from stuffed to the brim with Vince’s few articles of clothing and worldly possessions. One of the first things every wanderer lets go of is his unnecessary items. Travel light, move quick, stay alive. That was the code that kept Vince breathing and his abilities in check. But that was behind him.

  In front of Vince was a cream-colored wall with a notice welcoming him to Melbrook Hall. There was another wall to his left and a hallway to his right. The notice had an arrow directing him to follow the foyer and then take a left. Vince did as he was told and found himself looking at a sturdy door with no window or discernible handle. There was only a small box jutting out with an oval-shaped green pad on top. Vince might not have been the most up-to-date with technology, but even he could figure this one out. He pressed his thumb to the oval, and after a minute the door opened with the sound of a small beep.

  Vince stepped out of the foyer and into what looked to him more like a living room than anything else. There were several couches and chairs set up, a metal coffee table in the center of the room, and a large, flat-screen television on the wall directly across from him. It was decorated in white and red and smelled like an odd combination of flowers and chemicals, which Vince could only assume meant they were using an artificial air freshener. He walked around the room, taking in the scene.

  On each wall perpendicular to the entrance was another metal door and scanner, these with signs above them. On the one to the left of the entrance was “Boys” while the one to right said, predictably, “Girls.” Vince went over to the television, only to notice that there were open doorways on either side of this wall that one could walk through. Vince did just that and found himself in a white-tiled kitchen. It had a large sink, a stove with multiple burners and a griddle, and all kind of cooking knickknacks that Vince had neither the knowledge nor the experience to make anything out of.

  At the back of the kitchen on the right was a cupboard, which Vince opened to discover a fully-stocked pantry. On the left was another metal door. This one, however, had neither a sign above it nor a fingerprint scanner.

  Vince walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, then over to the boys’ door. As he walked, he carefully skirted away from wall outlets whenever possible. He hadn’t had an accident since the procedure, but that didn’t mean he was eager to test his luck. Pressing his thumb to the scanner, the door opened and Vince walked into what he could only assume was the common room.

  There was another television on the far end, along with pool and Ping-Pong tables. The other end held a set of dart boards and a wooden door with the word “Bathroom” on it. Opposite of the entrance were three more metal doors. These had scanners clearly in place, but no signs, though they were numbered 1, 2, and 3. With a shrug and a heft of his pack, Vince walked over to the middle door. He pressed his thumb down and waited for the beep, but this time all that came out was a harsh buzzer. He tried twice more before giving up and trying the room on the left, which was room one. This time the door buzzed and opened, though Vince couldn’t help noticing a chime that followed the usual opening sounds. He wasn’t sure what that meant, and the sight before him left him little free brain space in which to contemplate it.

  Saying his room was luxurious would be something of an overstatement, but it was definitely more opulent than a boy w
ho was always on the run was accustomed to. There was a large bed in one corner with a desk and computer set up in the other. Between the two was a large window with sunlight streaming through the blue curtains. The floor was carpeted, and as Vince walked across it, he saw that opposite the desk there was a closet next to a chest of drawers. Slipping his pack off, Vince walked over and pulled open a drawer, trying to figure out if he had enough clothing to warrant any kind of organizational system.

  He was shocked to see that the drawer he opened already contained many, many pairs of socks. Checking the next drawer, he found shorts, then T-shirts, then he went back to the top and found boxers. That drawer he slammed shut more quickly than the others. Synapses flying, Vince came to the only logical conclusion.

  “Crud; this is someone else’s room.” It only made sense; this place was too nice and too well-furnished. Why had the door let him in, though? Vince brushed that thought out of his head quickly. It was faulty equipment, not his fault, but it wouldn’t make it less awkward if this room’s inhabitant came home to find an intruder. Vince turned on his heels, snatching up his backpack and bolting for the door.

  All of which landed him face to face with a taller boy standing in the doorway, wearing sunglasses and running a comb through his sandy brown hair.

  2.

  Vince froze in place, staring at the room’s owner and wondering how to explain the mix-up. It wasn’t his fault after all, but this still wasn’t the first impression he wanted to make on his new dorm mate. Vince groped around his head, looking for words to break the silence. Luckily, the boy in the door did it for him.

  “Dude, that is some rocking hair,” he said.

  “Um, thank you,” Vince replied softly. “I’m sorry I’m in your room. The door opened and I didn’t know...” Vince just trailed off, the look of confusion on the boy’s face making him more unsure with each passing second.

  “You’re not in my room, neighbor; you’re in your room. I’m in two,” the boy told him. “I heard you trying to buzz into mine and realized someone else was here, so I came to say hi.”

  “But this can’t be my room,” Vince said, trying to explain. “It already has sheets and clothes and everything.”

  “Yeah, my guess is that’s because they thought you needed those things,” the boy with sunglasses explained. “The doors are keyed to us; they only open for the right person. If this room opened for you, then it’s because it’s your room. Did you even read the letter they gave you?”

  “Letter?” Vince asked with a sense of dread. He did remember a slip of paper that had fallen out of his pack when the taxi had dropped him off, but he had just dismissed it as an old food wrapper or something.

  “I’ll get mine,” said the boy. “Hang on a sec... Um, what’s your name?”

  “Vince,” said Vince.

  “Nice. You can call me Nick,” he said as he stepped out of the room. He came back mere moments later, holding a white piece of paper with fold lines across it.

  “Here we go,” Nick said. “‘Rooms have been set up for each attending member by the program. These will be stocked for members as deemed necessary, and are keyed to each attendee’s individual fingerprints. Communal areas are open to all, but will be under the jurisdiction of your administrators. You are expected to be in the central common room promptly at seven PM on move-in day to meet with your administrators and go over dorm rules’.”

  “Huh,” said Vince. “Lucky you held onto that, or I wouldn’t have even known about the meeting, let alone about my room.” Vince plunked down on his bed, shedding his pack at long last.

  “Good choice of words,” Nick commented, pulling out the chair from Vince’s desk and helping himself to a seat.

  “What do you mean?” Vince asked.

  “Eh, it’s nothing. Just... well, you said lucky,” Nick said.

  “And... What about it?” Vince kept prodding.

  Instead of answering, Nick pulled a set of dice from his jeans. He closed his eyes, an act only visible despite sunglasses due to the over-exaggerated scrunching of his face, and breathed deeply for a moment, then tossed them on to the desk.

  “Double sixes,” Vince observed.

  Nick nodded. He then took the dice, closed his eyes once more, and a deep breath later threw them on the table again.

  “Double sixes. Again,” Vince said. “So you use trick dice?”

  “Try them,” Nick replied. He scooped up the dice and offered them to Vince. Vince got off the bed, took the dice from Nick’s hand, and examined them. They had six different numbers on each side and felt as though they were weighted normally. Still, Vince wasn’t sure enough in his tactile perception to trust merely holding them for an answer. He threw the dice on the desk for himself.

  “Three and five,” Vince said. “So you know how to spin them?”

  “Do it again,” Nick told him. This time he closed his eyes and didn’t exhale until Vince’s throw hit the table.

  “Double ones,” Vince noted. “So?”

  “Again,” Nick instructed him.

  Vince repeated his own throws three more times; each time, Nick closed his eyes and Vince wound up with double ones. After the third time, Vince let the dice rest on the table, then went back to his bed and sat on the edge.

  “Are you telekinetic? Is that how you control the landing?” Vince asked.

  Nick shook his head. “I can’t move things with my mind, at least not on purpose. My power is luck. It can be good or it can be bad, but if it’s luck then I’ve got some say over it.”

  “Luck? How does that work? Not to insult, I just tend to think of luck as more of an abstract concept than a viable ability,” Vince said.

  “No insult taken,” Nick assured him. “I don’t really know how it works. The docs tried to explain, something about quantum probabilities and minute alterations in the fabric of reality, but at the end of the day all I know how to say is that it’s luck. And mine is a lot better since I got it under control.”

  Vince winced inwardly. “That must have been pretty terrible. Before.”

  “It was and it wasn’t,” Nick said with a shrug. “At least my ability came in two flavors. You know I kissed a supermodel once? She was out with some friends and they played spin the bottle at the restaurant we were both at and, well... it pointed to me. Of course, then I went outside to find my car had caught fire, but hey, you got to take the good with the bad.”

  “You’re upbeat about this,” Vince said.

  “Sure I am,” Nick replied with a smile. “That’s all in the past. We’re not like that anymore. We’re the first people in history to go from being Powered to being Super. I still don’t understand what they did to us for those months and I don’t care. Far as I’m concerned, getting into that program was the best stroke of luck my ability ever gave me.”

  “So, why the sunglasses?” Vince said to change the subject. He didn’t want to rain on Nick’s parade, but he been dealt too much disappointment in his life to just trust that his abilities were under control now and forever.

  “If anyone in authority asks, it’s because using my power can give me headaches that leave me sensitive to light,” Nick explained. “But between you and me, I just think they make me look cool. What about your hair? Natural?”

  “Unfortunately,” Vince replied. “One of those weird traits people with abilities sometimes get. The damn stuff basically drinks dye, too, so there’s no way for me to change its color.”

  “You could shave it,” Nick pointed out.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Vince countered. “I tried that once. Some guys can pull off the bald look. I am not one of those guys. I’d rather be the weirdo with silver hair than the freakish man-baby.”

  “An understandable choice,” Nick conceded. “Well, with you here that rounds out the boys’ side. I wonder if any girls have gotten here yet.”

  “Wait, who’s our third roommate?” Vince asked. “I haven’t met anyone but you so far.”

 
; “Our third got here early and went out to explore campus,” Nick told him. “You’ll see him tonight at the dorm meeting. He’s an... interesting fellow.”

  “That doesn’t sounds good,” Vince said.

  “No, but it doesn’t sound bad either,” Nick pointed out. “Come on, you just arrived and I’m famished. Let’s go hit up a dining hall for lunch.”

  “Do you know where one is?” Vince asked.

  “Not really,” Nick admitted. “But I bet we get lucky.”

  3.

  Alice saw a pair of boys walking away from the building as she was heading towards it. They took no notice of her, clearly absorbed in their own conversation and playing catch with a pair of dice. Her new roommates, no doubt. Fantastic. At least the one with the brown hair was cute, or would be if it he weren’t wearing those ridiculous sunglasses in the shade. The other one, though, who was he trying to impress with that hair? Silver and spiky, was he trying to flunk the secret identity challenge before the semester even started?

  None of that was her concern, though. Daddy had been strangely unbending in denying her desire to dorm with the regular Supers, saying that she had to stay in the dorm set up for the “special cases” like herself. She didn’t really see why she needed to be in the reinforced building; her ability was only flying, and she had suffered no uncontrolled attacks for over two months now. It was insufferable that she would have to... well, suffer through the group accommodations with a bunch of all-too-recently Powereds. Alice didn’t want to find camaraderie in their shared former disability. She wanted to forget that part of her life had ever existed.

  Still, no one could say that Alice Adair didn’t make the best of a bad situation. She had taken a guiding hand in the construction of their dormitory, creating an environment that was spacious, desirable, and above all else, elite.

  She breezed through the hallway, disregarding the note that hung on the entrance. A quick thumb scan took her to the central common room. She surveyed the work of the decorators critically. Yes, it would do nicely. Now at least when the other students asked her why she was in this small dorm set off at the edge of campus she could humbly explain that it was only available to those of sufficient means to afford such luxury and privacy. It wasn’t her ideal situation, but it would work.