Corpies (Super Powereds Spinoff Book 1) (46 page)

Dean Jackson leaned back slowly in his white plastic folding chair, the worn cushion underneath likely providing little to no comfort whatsoever.

 “I’ll level with you: Sizemore could use a little help reminding people that we produce just as amazing of Heroes as everyone else. With Globe busting Relentless Steel out of prison last year, all people are talking about is the damn Class of Legends again. I’d love to rub one of our own legends in their faces. If you’re willing to do a little work here and there, I think we can at least draw in the students who look up to you for the top-tier ass-kicker you are.”

“And what about the people who steer clear because they hate me?” Owen pointed out.

“Fuck ‘em.” Dean Jackson rested his hands against each other, fingertips pressing on their counterparts. It was a position Owen had rarely seen his dean in when he was a student, but since graduation had come to learn as a signal that the older man was making a firm decision. “I’m not training the kind of milquetoast Heroes that would pass up a good education because an alumnus happened to make a mistake, and I’m damn sure not going to teach someone who believes your orientation affects how good a Hero you are. Even if no one thinks my HCP trains the strongest Heroes right now, I can still make sure I churn out ones that deserve to wear the title.”

Owen certainly couldn’t argue with that sentiment, especially since he’d seen it in action first hand. Dean Jackson had tossed out more than a couple of students who might have had the potential for greatness simply because they failed to live up to his standards of character. Sizemore Tech might not have as many Heroes who were household names as some of the other schools, but they also had the lowest number of Heroes turn criminal by a wide margin.

“Well, Dean Jackson, you let me know what I can do to help and I’ll be glad to pitch in. Sizemore gave a lot to me, I’m happy to give back to it.”

“Don’t suppose you could re-enroll in time for Intramurals, could you? Now
that
would be an upset worth watching.” Dean Jackson chuckled to himself, then shook his head. “Never mind, never mind. We’ll just get them next year. For now, if you’re willing to stop by the booth during operating hours, maybe help out a recruiter with the more obstinate potential students, I think that will be fine. Likely more work will come down the line, but for now starting small seems best. Besides, according to the schedule you’ve got a panel to be at this afternoon.”

“I’m all too aware,” Owen said, sighing heavily. “Why can’t every aspect of Hero work just be punching? That’s the part I’m good at.”

“No argument here.” Dean Jackson pulled himself out of the chair with a single motion, no sign of his age present in the way he moved. “But until the world devolves into a dystopian wasteland with nothing but constant combat, our kind will have to soldier on. Want to get some breakfast?”

As it turned out, Owen very much did want breakfast, or at least a breakfast that wasn’t carefully calorically calculated. There was no amount of skillful cooking that could replace good old-fashioned grease and salt.

88.

               For all the worry he’d had about standing in front of people while publicly representing Sizemore Tech, Owen’s morning was shockingly uneventful. He sat around with the recruiter, a nice young man who was paid by the DVA to help potential students understand what the HCP entailed, and occasionally answered a question from a nervous teen.

While Titan might have been a household name a couple of decades ago, the vast majority of the kids he talked to had only a cursory knowledge at best of who he was. Even if he’d been in his prime, though, Owen had forgotten that most teenagers, especially Supers interested in the HCP, were far too nervous about their own future to worry about much else. Owen spent the vast majority of his time at the booth discussing whether or not some particular power could make it in the HCP, since that was the first question out of nearly every potential applicant’s mouth.

To nearly all of them, Owen gave the same answer: for admission, the power was less important than the person. These Supers would find their limits in the HCP, and at that time they would learn if it was enough to let them make the cut. Just in terms of making it through the admissions process, however, one’s power was almost secondary. Determination, willpower, strength of character, and guts all counted just as much, if not more, than what ability a student was born with. True, those who failed to improve or keep up would quickly be culled in the freshman year, but everyone who applied with at least a decent power had a shot. Save, of course, for those with completely useless abilities and Powereds.

Powereds were heavy on Owen’s mind as he finished his time at the booth and began the trek across the fairgrounds. He’d left plenty of time to reach the pavilion before Galvanize’s deadline, so he paused to swing by a tent that was sponsored by Shelby’s House, the largest charity for Powereds in the nation. The small staff was trying to coax passers-by in to donating their time at any of the local chapters in Brewster. Every one of the workers was young, and a few were charming enough that they’d actually gotten people to stop. Still, it was a losing battle, as it had always been. No one liked to think too much about Powereds: what they were, what they represented, or the problems they caused.

Owen had never taken his sons to a chapter of Shelby’s House; being a Hero meant he could have experts assess their condition. Being a famous Hero also meant he had the spare income to take care of them, and to make sure they had the chance to come to peace with their abilities. Titan, on the other hand, had spent a large chunk of his time at chapters of Shelby’s House across the nation. He’d given as much time as he could spare to the organization that only luck and career choice had spared him from needing. Of course, knowing what he did about Hershel and Roy, Owen was keyed in to the fact that in the next decade or so, Powereds might become a thing of the past.

“Excuse me; I’d like to sign up to volunteer.”

The copper-haired woman stared up at him, visibly craning her neck to take in the giant of a man standing before her. Unlike the teenagers, she definitely recognized him, and the nervous shifting of her eyes made it clear that she wasn’t sure what to do with the offer. Heroes usually went through different channels, they didn’t sign up with workers on at a booth.

“You. . . know what we do here, right?”

Owen smiled and gave her a large nod. “I very much do. And I’d like to help.” Carefully, Owen took the pen and clipboard from her hand and scratched the name “Titan” along with his contact information. It was a message service that Heroes used, one that would see to it he got any actual calls or e-mail and kept out the waves of spam or harassment.

“I’m not trying to do PR work or anything. I can sweep floors if you need it. Whatever helps.” Owen handed the young woman back the clipboard, which she accepted limply with her mouth still half-open. Without another word, he turned and started toward the pavilion once again.

Behind him, Owen could already hear the crowd forming around the workers, people who’d been ignoring their calls suddenly desperate to find out what was happening with the volunteers of Shelby’s House. If he was lucky, word would spread, and they’d spend the day getting the attention that was really due to their cause. That clipboard would be filled with people wanting to chip in within the hour, that much was a given. It wasn’t a lot, in the grand scheme of things, but it was what he could do for now. After all, a cure in ten years wasn’t much help to the Powereds just trying to make it through the week.

The rest of the trip to the pavilion was uneventful, assuming one didn’t count the usual array of stares and whispers that cropped up as he walked through the fairgrounds. Owen walked past a security guard manning the back entrance, pausing to give the man a handshake, and made his way up a narrow set of stairs. Though, in fairness, the stairs wouldn’t have been narrow for anyone else, but that was the curse of carrying around so much mass.

“And there he is!” Hexcellent said, sitting in a small makeup chair. The other three were seated alongside her, being touched up by the staff Mordent had hired to ensure they looked their best. It was, after all, a public appearance, and they were the faces of several Mordent brands. One of the men holding a handful of brushes looked at Owen, who simply pointed to his mask. No need to work on what nobody could see.

“Am I late or something?” Owen made his way over to the side of the room and sat down carefully on a large box, which thankfully held his weight.

“Since you didn’t need to be checked over, you’re right on time,” Galvanize assured him. “Mr. Greene requested the rest of us come a bit earlier than we’d planned to make certain we were the best representation of the company that we could be.”

“Personally, I think he just got wind of how many people were coming to this thing and decided to doll us up,” Bubble Bubble added, tilting her head back as a staff member applied her eyeliner.

“This might not be that big of a house, but damn if we didn’t pack the fucker,” Hexcellent announced. “Standing room only.”

Owen got up from his box and went over to the edge of the room, which adjoined an outdoor stage in front of a small cluster of benches. Sure enough, there were dozens of people out there, though mercifully almost none in costume, along with beefy security guards walking around to keep order. Deep down, he’d known this was a possibility, but seeing so many faces before him, Owen couldn’t help the tickle of nerves in his gut. This time, there would be no other Heroes to protect him if the crowd tried to turn things south.

No, this time he was the one who had to do the protecting. Whatever the world may think of him, his team deserved to be treated with respect. And Owen was damned determined to make sure that happened.

89.

               “Got the jitters?” Hexcellent had sidled up to Owen, her goth makeup now done perfectly as she eyed the stage. “It’s okay if you do. It just means you’re a cowardly pussy. That’s all.”

“You know I used to do public appearances multiple times a day, right?” Owen said.

“And I used to shit my bed when I was a baby. Doesn’t mean I’d feel comfortable doing it tonight,” Hexcellent shot back.

“Everyone, it’s time.” Galvanize’s announcement came from behind them, so Owen and Hexcellent both stepped aside. After all, it was only right that their team leader go first.

He walked briskly past them, the usual charming smile affixed firmly in place, and then Hexcellent fell in behind him. Next was Zone and after that Bubble Bubble. Finally, at the end of the procession, was Owen, who stepped out into the public eye for the second time in two days.

The open roof allowed the afternoon sun to pour in, keeping everything on the stage just a touch too warm. Oddly, he felt more at ease as soon as the stares and sunlight hit him. Any actual conflict, be it a fight or a crowd of possible assholes, was never as scary for him as the anticipation. Once the action kicked off, there was no room in Owen for fear. He was usually too busy trying to keep everyone alive.

The others quickly sat in their chairs, leaving Owen the one at the end of the table again. He noted that this seat was extra-large and reinforced, just like the chair he’d sat in yesterday. In fact, there seemed like a very real possibility that it was the exact same seat. Idly, he wondered if some poor staff member was dragging it from event to event for him. Then Owen realized he’d been standing, staring at his chair for a hair too long, so he quickly threw himself into it. The reinforcement turned out to be a good idea, as audible creaks could be heard when Owen settled in.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Galvanize was talking into the small microphone set up before him, his voice completely calm, as if a near-giant hadn’t just stared at a chair then collapsed on it so quickly he nearly turned it to debris. “My name is Galvanize, and with me here is the rest of my PEERS team: Hexcellent, Zone, Bubble Bubble, and our Hero Liaison, Titan. We’ve come here today to answer any questions you might have about what it takes to be PEERS, or a Hero Liaison, if any of you are interested in working in that capacity. I understand the staffers took your questions ahead of time, so please ask them as you’re brought a microphone.”

Pre-vetting the questions: smart. It was easy to think of his team as just kids, but Owen tried to remind himself that they were media savvy performers who’d been doing this for years without him. None of them showed the slightest amount of worry as the event staff member made his way through the crowd to a muscular man in a tank top. They all seemed completely self-assured, despite the nearly endless complaining about doing the event. Owen, it seemed, wasn’t the only one who knew how to put on his game face.

“Yeah, I was wondering, if I got rejected by the HCP, does that mean I’m not qualified to do the rescue stuff either?” Owen couldn’t quite place the man’s accent, though he did note the way his eyes flicked to Titan’s side of the table when he talked about the HCP. It was a fair question, though; getting denied to go into the Hero business was a hard moment for a lot of Supers to swallow, and many didn’t want to open themselves up to that sort of rejection again.

“If you all don’t mind, I’d love to take this one,” Galvanize said, looking up and down the table. When no one objected, he looked back at the man in the tank top and continued. “That is absolutely, one thousand percent not the case. The Hero Certification Program is a great system full of wonderful people, but what they’re looking for is a narrow view compared to all the different kinds of Supers out there. Just because you weren’t a good fit for them doesn’t mean your power can’t help someone. That’s why I wanted to take this question; I was turned down by every HCP three years in a row when I was younger. It wasn’t out of malice; it was simply because neither I nor my power had what they were looking for. Fast forward a few years, and I’ve been able to do a lot of good on PEERS teams, so much so that they let me run one of my own.”