Super Powereds: Year 3 Page 5

  Professor Cole blinked in evident surprise. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting her arguments to work; she’d just been making them out of habit. Within seconds, her eyes were back to normal, but Roy knew what he’d seen in that brief instant.

  “Glad you’ve deigned to stick around. Try not to get in the way of the students actually trying to learn.”

  Roy flashed his smarmiest possible grin.

  “No promises.”

  * * *

  “Thank you, Alice. No need to say anything, I accept your desire to drop my course without objection,” Professor Pendleton told her.

  “I didn’t say I was dropping your class. I literally just walked up to you,” Alice protested. She’d spoken briefly with Professor Hill, who had already known she would want to continue her Control lessons, and had then walked over to the dark-haired Subtlety teacher, only to be met with his odd greeting.

  “I know, you didn’t need to say it. Busy day, just thought I’d speed things along.”

  “Okay, well, you’re wrong. I’m keeping Subtlety. That’s what I came over to tell you.”

  Professor Pendleton arched an eyebrow in the practiced manner that only a man who has spent over a decade in prison with little else to do is capable of. “Are you sure that’s wise? Given what you learned about your powers last year, Control and Ranged Combat would offer you a much more useful set of skills.”

  “I’m keeping Control, but Ranged Combat is redundant in a few areas. Subtlety is unique. I learned a lot last year.”

  “I should remind you that you won’t have a teammate to cheat off of this time, though,” Professor Pendleton said. “Even if you excel in Control, a poor assessment from your other course could hinder your chances of moving on. With that in mind, are you absolutely certain you want to keep my course for another year?”

  Alice felt a strange pressure on the sides of her head, like there was a swelling going on under her temples. Her eyes narrowed, and it took conscious effort not to raise her voice or clench her hands into fists.

  “I’m positive. Or do I need to remind you that I cleared your tailing exam all by myself, as well as keeping passing grades on most of the written work? I don’t know what your issue is, but it’s obvious you don’t want me in the class, and I don’t think you ever did.”

  “You’re right,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “You don’t belong in Subtlety.”

  “Well, tough shit, because the dean just said we could keep any course we wanted, and I’m keeping yours. See you in class.” With a polished turn, she walked off, making a beeline to Professor Baker to cement her choice and drop Ranged Combat. She hoped she’d be able to get her temper and blood pressure down by the time she was able to talk to the crimson haired woman.

  Behind her, Professor Pendleton struggled to keep the emotions off his face. At the same time, he tried to puzzle out whether the more dominant feeling he was suppressing was disappointment or pride.

  6.

  Having finished with his teachers, Thomas headed out into the hall, a half-formed idea of grabbing an early dinner bouncing about in his head. When he saw the familiar silhouette already lurking there, waiting for him, that idea quickly dissipated. He’d known this was coming; such things were as inevitable as the rising of the tide.

  “Good day, Vince,” he greeted, preferring to get this conversation started so it could be over more quickly.

  “Hey, Thomas,” Vince called back. His eyes kept glancing at the ground, his feet shuffling constantly. It was hard for Thomas to picture this man as the same powerful beast who’d forced him to retreat last year. It was what it was, though, and standing around wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened.

  “Vince, I know why you were waiting for me, and we can skip it. I am not mad at you.”

  Vince’s eyes leapt up from the ground to check the expression on what he hoped was still his friend’s face.

  “You aren’t?”

  “We know what we’re here for. Our training, this process, they’ve never sugar-coated it. Forging friendships is great, but when we are told to fight, we must do so with every ounce of strength we possess. That is what you did, and had the tables been turned, I would have come at you just as hard.”

  “Oh. That’s not what I came to apologize for. I just . . . what I did to you. Draining you. It feels incredibly wrong, like I crossed the line on a personal level,” Vince explained. “I tore something out of you. That can’t be right.”

  Thomas felt the sliver of tension in his gut twist slightly. He’d worked very hard not to think about that part. In mere moments, he’d been made powerless, the gift that had been with him since childhood suddenly absent.

  “I won’t lie to you, I dearly hated that experience, but that isn’t the same thing as hating you for doing it. You were trying to win, and you used the skill set you had. Besides, even if I was upset, it wouldn’t make sense to hold the grudge against you. The things you did that day weren’t truly your actions.”

  “Yes, they were.” The shuffling stopped, and the insecurity melted away. Social parameters were far from Vince’s forte; taking responsibility, on the other hand, was something he was far more comfortable with. “Nick might have set up the scenario, but I was still me. I own those actions, and if you’re mad about them, I’m the one who needs to make things right.”

  Sometimes, Thomas found himself tempted to think he was the only one in the program besides Chad taking it seriously. Beach weekends, drinking, house parties, none of it seemed like the actions of people who comprehended the amount of responsibility that would ultimately rest on a Hero’s shoulders. At that moment, however, it was abundantly clear that even if Vince didn’t appreciate all of what lay before him, he certainly took his time here seriously.

  “Then they were,” Thomas agreed. “But there was still no lasting harm done. My energy replenished back to full in a day, and I learned a valuable lesson about underestimating my opponent. Actually, if memory serves, this is the second time you’ve given me such an education. Though I doubt anyone will make that mistake again, after last year’s final match.”

  “Honestly, I’m just glad people are still talking to me. I saw a recording of myself, and I wouldn’t have blamed any of you for staying away.”

  “This is not a place where great power is feared just because it exists,” Thomas reminded him. “The scariest part of that entire event was your attitude and demeanor. You seemed to act as if you truly held no regard for the lives of those around you.”

  “You aren’t wrong,” Vince admitted.

  “I confess, I’ve wanted to ask you this for some time now. Knowing you for the past two years, I can’t imagine what it would take to drive you to that point. What was the vision Nick had Rich place in your mind?”

  “It’s kind of fuzzy in some parts. I know that I saw all of you as monsters, though I think I somehow still recognized enough to know what your abilities were.”

  “So, you were trying to stay alive amidst a monster attack? I suppose I can see how that would force you into a corner,” Thomas said.

  Vince shook his head. “It was more than that. The depository box looked like someone I loved, someone who’d been beaten bloody to within an inch of death, and who the monsters were coming back for. That’s why I wouldn’t let any of you get near it.”

  Thomas briefly considered asking just who it was Vince had seen, but then thought better of it. He’d been as candid as he could in the other parts. If the identity had been skipped, then it was likely on purpose, and now was hardly the time to go prying into Vince’s personal life. He’d have to make sure never to tell Violet, though; if she knew he’d had the chance to do recon on Vince’s love life, and hadn’t taken it, she’d never let him live it down.

  “That sounds like a terrifying ordeal,” Thomas said at last.

  “I’ve had better days,” Vince agreed, daring to flash a small smile for the first time in their conversation.

  “You know, d
espite your insistence that your actions were your own, the fact remains that your head was invaded, you were subjected to illusions of a frightening nature, and you were forced into a situation that could have easily led to your expulsion through no fault of your own. It would not be a stretch to say that you were the real victim in last year’s events.”

  “I guess you could see it that way,” Vince admitted. “But it overlooks a very key fact.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m still here. And without Nick and his crazy plan, I sincerely doubt I would be saying that. So no, I don’t think I’m a victim in what happened. I’m the guy who got handed the luckiest break of us all.”

  “It’s your choice how you see it,” Thomas said. “And I must say, in truth, I respect you for the one you have made. I was thinking of getting something to eat, would you care to join me?”

  “There is nothing I’d rather do.”

  7.

  Nicholas Campbell’s first day was a far cry from what the HCP students were experiencing. No shattering revelations, no future-determining decisions; really, the greatest challenge he’d faced was finding something remotely palatable in the dorm cafeteria come lunch time. He could have raced home to grab a sandwich; however, he’d built his schedule in such a way that his Tuesdays and Thursdays left little to no free time, giving him an abundance of it on the other three weekdays. It was a move many college students were familiar with, though most of them struggled with it a good bit more than Nicholas had to. His classes were, for the most part, some variation of math or business related to his major, subject matter he’d been intimately familiar with since he was old enough to sit and watch someone deal cards.

  There was one exception in his lineup, though, a class he’d taken ostensibly to satisfy a science credit, but truthfully had been chosen primarily out of curiosity. It was the type of course no member of the HCP would dare be seen in, despite the relevance of its subject matter. After all, if you were looking for Supers, wouldn’t you start in a class that centered on them?

  “Good afternoon,” greeted the professor, a slight-statured man with thinning brown hair. “My name is Professor Lee, and this is Theoretical Physiology of Variant Homo Sapiens. My Teaching Assistants are walking around with a syllabus, and I’ve started a roll sheet on the first row. Pass it along, please. I realize many professors at our institution don’t bother taking attendance, but I am not one of them. Showing up is part of the curriculum, and I expect you to fulfill it just as you would any paper or test.”

  There was ample squirming throughout the smaller-than-average lecture hall as many of the students hoping for a blow-off class were disappointed. The room held tiered seating, but students only filled a little over half the seats. Due to either subject matter or perceived difficulty, this had never been a class with a waiting list for entry.

  “Now, for those of you I lost with all that fancy terminology, this is a course dedicated to the discussion of what we currently know about the humans commonly referred to as Supers, specifically the difference in their anatomy. There is no text book, and there is notably limited required reading, because, despite Supers having been among us for over fifty years, we still have very little cumulative knowledge about what makes them different.”

  A hand went up near the front. Nicholas expected the professor to ignore it, but evidently, this happened often enough for him to have accepted it as part of the class. The older man pointed to the student, signaling him to speak.

  “I thought Supers were the same as us, genetically. That’s why no one has ever been able to artificially create one.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Professor Lee said. “But you also aren’t right. The ‘same as us’ is a misnomer in itself. If everyone had the exact same genetic code, then things like DNA testing wouldn’t work. We have a general code we all fall into, Supers and Powereds included, but within that spectrum of similarity, there are also countless differences that contribute to things like hair color, which hand is dominant, various diseases, and the ability to lift a truck overhead. We know what does a lot of those things, but no one has figured out the variation that causes Supers to exist.”

  The professor paused to see if anyone else needed clarification, but they either all got it or his first explanation had been too intimidating to inspire more curiosity. He swung by the podium and grabbed a drink of water, then continued.

  “While there is little reading in this course, I don’t want you all to get the idea that no one has explored this subject matter. Quite the opposite, actually. There are endless terabytes of data out there on the physical makeup of Supers. The problem is that the research is largely conducted by private corporations with no inclination to share, and what is done in the public sector is subject to serious government censorship.”

  Another brave student found the gumption to raise her hand. After a nod from Professor Lee she went ahead.

  “Why would they do that? Isn’t this something that everyone would be interested in?”

  “They don’t share for the same reason that The Manhattan Project didn’t send Germany regular updates on what they were doing. Right now, as we speak, a great race is taking place in labs across the world. You, and I, and everyone in this room, unless they are Super themselves, wake up every day with the knowledge that there are people out there who can do things we never will. No amount of effort or moxie will allow me to levitate off this floor under my own willpower. Some of you might be at peace with that, but the mass of humanity is not. As a species, it is not in our nature to acclimate to being second best. So, imagine that, tomorrow, some company comes out with a new chemical compound that could alter you, give you abilities you never had before. What would you pay to be better than human?”

  The class grew silent as each student looked inside themselves and realized they would indeed pay a tremendous amount to be one of the few in the world with extraordinary powers.

  “And that’s just one aspect of it,” Professor Lee continued. “Imagine being able to control the abilities given. You could create a private security firm of a few thousand capable of besting any army in the world. What if they were to locate the difference between Powereds and Supers? How many unfortunate souls do you think would trade their life savings to go from worse than normal to better? No, the reason research is so hard to come by in this field is that, until the code is cracked, the scientific community is on what might be the greatest treasure hunt in all of known history. Still, we do have a few smatterings of knowledge; enough to make sure you all leave this class smarter than you entered it, at least.”

  Professor Lee picked up a syllabus and began going over it with the class, but up in the top left row, one student was barely paying attention. The professor could scarcely have chosen better words to seize the attention of Nicholas Campbell than “treasure hunt,” and right now, that brain of his was caught up in all the unseen possibilities of what he knew and so few others didn’t: one company was closer than anyone else to finding that chest of intellectual doubloons.

  8.

  Alice was the last to get back to the dorm on their first day of school. Her French course had filled up faster than expected, so she’d been forced to grab a later class or put it off until next semester. It would be nice if HCP students were given some sort of priority in registration, but that would make it too easy for every teacher to know who in their class was secretly a Super. Aside from those bound by the HCP’s Secret Identity Rule, lots of Alice’s kind chose to live out the open. However, it was far from unheard of for Supers to be treated with some discrimination, either out of fear, jealousy, or good ole-fashioned prejudice. Powereds might be looked down upon, but there was no real point in going out of one’s way to shit on them. Life had already done a spectacular job of that.

  As soon as Alice walked in the door, she knew something was off. For one thing, everyone, including Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers, was gathered in the common room without the television on. For another, M
r. Transport and Mr. Numbers scarcely ever joined them in the evening—at least, not for prolonged periods. But even without those clues, she would have known this situation was out of the ordinary. Dean Blaine standing in the center of the room made that abundantly clear, as did his guest.

  “Good evening,” Dean Blaine greeted. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Alice felt a stone of fear manifest. This was how she’d always imagined it would go. Gather them together, make Dean Blaine neutralize their powers, and have Mr. Transport send them home. No muss, no fuss, no more freaks in the HCP.

  “For anyone who doesn’t remember, the gentleman beside me is named Kent Mears,” Dean Blaine continued.

  “Right, he’s the job guy,” Vince recalled.

  “Employment Liaison is the more official title, but at least you got the gist,” Dean Blaine said. “Mr. Mears is here because while, for most students, the option to work a job during college is optional, I’m afraid that, for you four, it is not.”

  “Let me guess, someone out there wants to see just how much stress we can handle without cracking,” Hershel surmised.

  Dean Blaine gave him a nod. “Partially, yes. It’s also partly to ensure that you can interact with regular humans as well as fellow Supers. These jobs put you back into the real world, a place where you have to be discreet with your abilities, and more importantly, a place where you are not surrounded by equals.”

  “Not surrounded by equals? Didn’t we get enough practice at that when we were Powereds?” Alice asked.

  “It’s not the same,” Vince told her. “We were weaker than everyone else; we had problems that made us less functional. Now, we can do more than regular people, and sometimes, feeling like you’re better than other people makes you treat them like crap.”