Super Powereds: Year 2 (11 page)

“It isn’t a mistake,” Stella interrupted. She glanced at her diminutive friend and raised an eyebrow. Camille gave her head the barest of shakes and Stella looked back at Vince. “Trust me, the girl belongs here.”

“Are you sure?” Vince’s question was addressed at Camille, not Stella. No matter what anyone said, if his teammate didn’t feel she was up to the task, he wasn’t going to let her get hurt.

“I’ll be fine,” Camille assured him. She sat down on his other free side, and the remainder of the stragglers came into the room and plopped down, prompting Professor Fletcher to begin his first class.

“Good morning,” Professor Fletcher said to his bright-eyed students. His stunt on Thursday had been a bit heavy-handed, but the results couldn’t be argued with. He’d won their respect if not their admiration, and they were hanging on every word he said. Professor Fletcher pitied educators who didn’t have overwhelming brute force as a teaching tool.

“Let’s start with a little background. How many of you have been training in any form of martial combat for more than the past year?” Professor Fletcher asked.

Most of the hands in the room went up.

“Good, more than five years?”

A multitude went down, and Vince was a little surprised to see the slender arm next to him remain in the air. Camille did her best to look nonplussed.

“Better than I expected. Ten years?”

Nearly all the hands went down, only Vince’s, Shane’s, Michael’s, Roy’s, and Chad’s remained airborne.

“Nice. Any of you over-achievers got fifteen under your belt?”

Chad and Shane were now the only ones with their hands aloft.

“Okay then, for anyone without at least five years of training, we’re going to treat you like newbies,” Professor Fletcher said firmly. “That means we’ll be having one on ones to see the way you move and selecting the martial art that is best suited to your natural talents. Anyone who has five but less than ten, we’re going to stick with what you know. No sense in trying to break habits and reactions that are already ingrained. Those of you with ten years and up, congratulations. You just became teachers.”

“Say what?” Shane said in surprise.

“You heard me. You got your fill of pounding each other pointlessly last year, though there will be plenty more of that to come. But people with your level of experience need to be teaching as well as training to advance. I can’t be the first one to tell you this.”

“It is a commonly accepted practice,” Chad agreed. Shane did his best not to look abashed at having been ignorant of what was evidently public knowledge.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to train you as well,” Professor Fletcher assured him. “You’ll just also be responsible for helping the newbies improve in whatever art they undertake.”

“What if they choose one we don’t know shit about?” Roy queried.

“Then hand off to someone who does. Or to me. You’re not personal trainers, you’re just there to answer basic questions and give feedback. It’s not like the premise really varies that much. Hit the other guy and don’t let him hit you. The rest is details,” Professor Fletcher said. “Important details, but details all the same.”

“Still feels like a waste of time,” Roy grumbled.

“Tell you what, kid, the day you can beat me is the day you no longer have to listen to my methods,” Professor Fletcher offered. “And that goes for all of you. When you’re stronger than I am, then you become the teacher.”

Chad mulled the idea over briefly. He couldn’t beat the professor, not as he was now. But the fight hadn’t been a complete loss for him. He’d been able to observe the older man’s movements and techniques to some extent. He couldn’t beat the professor yet; however, eventually that would change. It had to. Chad was aiming for a space at the very top of the mountain, a place of unassailable power.

That meant, sooner or later, Chad would have to surpass everyone, even the people teaching him. Even the friends sitting next to him. Even the Heroes out in the world already. Chad was going to pick up the name that the rest of the world seemed content to tread on and he was going to carry it all the way to the top. He wouldn’t stop until he succeeded. No matter what.

17.

The Subtlety class was smaller than Close Combat, and had actual desks rather than a mere smattering of benches. Of course, there were only four students able to discern those differences, as very few had been selected for both courses. Julia and Sasha were both such rare cases, walking into the room and noticing they were among the last to arrive. They recognized Gilbert and Hector, both still softly simmering in sweat from the Close Combat class, lounging near the back. Sasha scanned the room further, noticing Will and on impulse turning to join him. That’s when she noticed who he was already sitting with.

Sasha barely repressed a sneer as she altered her direction instantly. She understood that Will was somewhat insecure about the viability of his ability taking him all the way to Hero levels; Jill had confided that much in her during their first year as suite mates. Still, that didn’t fully excuse his continued association with those freaks from Melbrook. It was bad enough she had to deal with Vince in her first class, now she was discovering that this one would be shared with the sunglasses-wearing weirdo and the buxom bitch. If some part of Sasha remembered that only four months ago she’d counted both of those two as friends, it kept itself silent. That is not to say it allowed itself to be extinguished, merely that it recognized the fact that biding one’s time is a classic, and often beneficial, strategy.

“Good morning, class,” Professor Pendleton greeted them. “I’m glad to see you all found the classroom today. I hope you have the same luck tomorrow.” With that, he stood from the desk he had been nimbly perched and began handing out syllabi. The first hands went up before he’d even gotten halfway around the room. He dutifully ignored them, finishing the process and sitting back down at his desk.

“I can see you already have questions, but let’s hold those for the moment, shall we? Instead, I’d like us to read through the syllabus. Who would like to start?”

Alice was slow in lowering her hand, still not quite ready to accept that she wouldn’t get to query the strange professor for answers, so hers was the highest when he asked for volunteers.

“Thank you, Ms. Adair. Please start us off. Read the first paragraph.”

“Um, I’m not sure it’s really a paragraph. I mean, it’s just one line,” Alice said uncertainly.

“Less lip and more reading, Ms. Adair,” Professor Pendleton replied swiftly. Alice felt her cheeks flush for a moment then turned her eyes to the page.

“Lesson One: Lie,” Alice recited dutifully.

“Adequate,” Professor Pendleton said. “Next part, how about Mr. Reid?”

“Lesson Two: Sneak,” Gilbert said, not bothering to question the curious nature of this process.

“Much better,” Professor Pendleton praised. “How about Mr. Weaver goes next?”

“Lesson Three: Cheat,” Rich snapped off automatically.

“And for the finale, I think it should go to Mr. Campbell,” Professor Pendleton instructed.

“Lesson Four: Think,” Nick said, eyeing the strange lanky man at the front of the class with something bordering on respect. He had an inkling where this was going and might have actually felt a twinge of excitement deep down in his gut.

“Lie, Sneak, Cheat, and Think,” Professor Pendleton repeated. “These are the tenants of a Hero who specializes in Subtlety. Very few of us are the physically powerful types. Those of you enrolled in combat classes will likely find yourself losing this course next year. We give you the opportunity, however, because one never really knows where the seed of true talent may have been planted.”

Professor Pendleton stood from his desk once more and stepped around to the front in a short series of long-legged movements.

“Now, before we go any further, there is something you all need to know. Subtlety is considered the grey line between Hero and criminal, and those who graduate with it as their major are seen as high-risk tightrope walkers along this metaphorical division. More of us turn to crime than any other specialty. There are a multitude of theories why that is the case, but at the end of the day the blame must be laid at least partially at the foot of the nature of our job. You see, those who master Subtlety do not bask in the sunlight of public acclaim and moral purity. Rather, we are the ones who must outthink, outmaneuver, and out-plan our enemies. We are the ones who steal into a South American drug compound to retrieve data on the giant robot someone built. We are the ones who seduce and con friends of criminals to learn where they are and what weaknesses they have. We dirty our hands with the jobs that must be done but that no person with a sound moral compass would want. Because we can. We are smart enough, bold enough, and yes, grey enough, to handle the lurking and conniving. It is a thankless job, save only for others of your craft who appreciate the work you put in.”

“Then why would anyone want to do it?” Will asked, the words popping out before his sense of logic could stop him.

“Because someone has to. Without those stolen plans, without that insider information, without a weakness to exploit, people are going to get hurt. Possibly die. Not just citizens either, but fellow Heroes. As I said, most of you with combat options will leave this class behind at the year’s end. The reason is that you will have options outside of this path, and who can blame you for taking them? We are the fewest of any Hero type. We are also some of the most valuable,” Professor Pendleton explained.

Will nodded his understanding and fell silent. He felt a stirring in himself, a stirring that was echoed in the bodies of several others around him. This was an avenue he’d never known about before, one he’d never suspected existed. This was one where wiles and wit were prized over bulk and biceps. This relied on quick thought and fluid morals. This was one he might actually be able to do.

“Now that I’ve hopefully turned most of you off to the profession as a whole, let me elaborate on the syllabus,” Professor Pendleton continued. “We are going to learn the hallmarks of the field through the year, piece by piece. Make no mistake, the most important part is lesson four. That one we will be doing constantly. To that effect, our classroom will be a floating one. Some days I’ll tell you where to meet next time. Other days I will give you a riddle, or a puzzle with the location concealed within. If you can’t solve it, you miss the class. As you can infer, missing too much class doesn’t reflect well on you when the year-end review comes around. With that said, I’d like you all to flip your syllabus onto its back.”

The students complied, revealing a strange diagram with numbers dotting the edges and something that seemed like a maze in the center, with entrances jutting from each digit.

“That will tell you where to meet for the rest of this week,” Professor Pendleton said, giving what he felt was an adequate explanation. Still he decided to toss in some encouragement as well.

“Good luck.”

18.

Mary fidgeted nervously as she waited in the empty room. While all the rooms underground in Lander had concrete walls and a Spartan feel, the thick metal door and lack of any décor left no doubt that this was a space used for battle. She wondered why she was the only one here. She’d heard Professor Stone give her the instruction to come to this room after class, but only because she’d been listening to the older woman’s thoughts. In the rest of the Focus, classroom the only other person who might have picked up the message was Alex and the Professor had been adamant that she not discuss her hearings with anyone else.

Mary knew she was being a bit paranoid, but given the events at the end of last year she felt that, if nothing else, it was prudent to show some caution. So before coming, she had let her friends know who she’d be meeting with and in what room. She’d also had them pass word to Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. She’d felt a bit silly doing so - after all, this was probably nothing more than a quick teacher-meeting over something she needed to know. Still, she’d held out hope that someone else from the Focus class would be here, that Professor Stone had communicated with all of them in some way to send the message.

The older woman stepped gingerly in the door and extinguished any hope Mary was still holding onto that this might be a communal meeting.

“Good afternoon,” Professor Stone greeted cordially. “How were the rest of your classes?”

“Ranged Combat was enjoyable,” Mary replied. “Control was somewhat tedious.”

“Give it time, I’m sure Professor Hill will challenge you soon,” Professor Stone assured her. “Of course, eventually someone with your talents will find your specialty in Focus. That much is certain.”

“Is it now?”

“Without question,” Professor Stone reiterated. “Control is a useful course for anyone who moves the world around them in that it forces one to elevate their geospatial thinking and their awareness of the objects surrounding them. Control, however, is ultimately the manipulation of outer forces upon outer forces. That is a poor fit for those like you, Mary, because your skill is inwardly oriented. Thus, you will find the most benefit in Focus.”

“Good to know. Is that why you asked me here?”

Professor Stone laughed, a soft tinkling sound that dried prematurely in her throat. She stepped further into the room, walking gingerly across the hard floor. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t waste my time telling students what should be obvious. No, I called you here because while Fletcher has a crude sensibility to him, the man’s tactics do present a certain amount of efficiency.”

“I see,” Mary said, her foot stepping back ever so slightly.

“Relax, little one, I don’t wish to harm you. It is simply that I didn’t get to test you last year, so I don’t know nearly enough about your limits to teach you effectively,” Professor Stone explained. “This is an evaluation, nothing more.”

“Ah,” Mary said, a trickle of relief seeping through her bones. “I suppose that makes sense.”