Super Powereds: Year 2 (13 page)

With a swift turn, Roy headed back toward his own dorm, jogging ahead slightly to chat with a pair of coeds who weren’t a part of the HCP. Roy Daniels was not a normal man, and he had no intention of letting one chick get him down. Roy might be a freak underground, but up on the surface he still considered himself the big dog on campus.

* * *

“You’re still stressed,” Alex accused. He and Selena were sitting in her room, dining on a pizza. Selena sighed and set her third slice back in the box. If she was going to take the calories from it she was sure as hell going to enjoy it, and it seemed that meant talking things out first.

“Yeah, Alex, I am. My boyfriend sided with the school’s collection of weirdoes in front of everyone. Can you see how that might be a little awkward for me?”

“We talked about this,” Alex defended. “They’re my friends and they’re good people. Who they used to be shouldn’t matter.”

“Shouldn’t is the keyword there,” Selena replied. “A lot of things shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that my dad’s skin is caramel-colored instead of ivory, yet he still gets passed over for a promotion every year. Just because something shouldn’t matter doesn’t mean it won’t.”

“So that makes it all right? To treat them differently because of how they were born?”

“No, of course it doesn’t, but... Alex, I told you at the beginning of the year that I supported you sticking with them. I still do. But let’s not pretend that it’s some effortless choice without consequences. There is going to be blowback from taking their side, on you for doing it and on me for staying with you.”

“So you think it was a mistake,” Alex said, half question and half accusation.

“No, not at all. I’m not saying the repercussions should change your mind; I’m just saying we shouldn’t pretend they aren’t there. So, yes, I’m stressed, because some people I counted as friends were assholes to me today. It’s going to happen, and probably more often than less. I’m okay with it.” Selene leaned across the cardboard container and kissed Alex gently, ending with a second light smooch on the corner of his mouth.

“You made your choice and I made mine. Just don’t call me out on the stuff I’m trying to downplay. Pretend you’re not telepathic every once and a while,” Selena said softly.

“That should be easy enough,” Alex agreed. “After all, I’m not a telepath.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Selena said, kissing him once more for good measure. That accomplished, she turned her attention back to the greasy, cheese-covered, fat-laden pizza slice calling up at her from the box below. She was going to have to run an extra half-hour tomorrow not to feel guilty about this. Her teeth tore through the first melty bite and flavor flooded her mouth.

Totally worth it.

21.

Nick had solved the puzzle from Subtlety before his first afternoon class was done. It wasn’t all that hard, provided one had a basic level of pattern recognition and a head for numbers. No, the interesting part had been the second layer of it, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, where a number equivalency substitution spelled out a separate code from the location-based one. This bit of information instructed the deciphering student to show up in a separate room twenty minutes prior to the start of class. It was clearly meant only for the overachievers to find, a test within a test to see who had the goods and who had the greats.

Nick felt his interest in Professor Pendleton rising even as he debated whether or not he should show up. It would mark him as intelligent and capable, two descriptors he worked adamantly to keep away from his character, but at the same time, it seemed Subtlety was his best bet for surviving into the next year. He was skilled at Ranged Combat, of course, and Weapons had gone well, however he’d easily been outstripped by those with abilities more rooted in the physical world. No, if he was going to make it past this year’s cuts it would have to be in Subtlety, and he did want to get as much training as possible before the descent of the proverbial axe. Still, it compromised the uselessness that he worked so hard to convey to the others, and while his secret might be blown to his own team, it was still an element of surprise he could utilize against others in the competitions.

The risk-to-reward ratio was high, but Nicholas Campbell wasn’t feared at every poker table in Las Vegas because he lacked the ability to make the hard choices. That thought put a smile on his face as a new plan coalesced in his mind. He didn’t really have to make a choice. All he had to do was outfox Professor Pendleton at his own game. That seemed a far more fitting way to demonstrate his skill in the course anyway.

Mind at ease, Nick went about working out the logistics for his plan. He only had the morning to act, but given the general disarray of such a period, he was confident he could pull it off with relative simplicity. He didn’t notice it, but he wore a grin as he worked. For the first time since he arrived at Lander, Nick wasn’t just running a con or sneaking by: he was issuing a challenge. The prospect of a genuine opponent couldn’t help but excite him.

* * *

Professor Pendleton opened the door to the classroom to find it jammed full of students. He’d secured this room, anticipating a three- or four-person maximum attendance. The code he’d buried in the back of the syllabus wasn’t exactly government-level encryption, but for sophomore students not even looking for it, only the most adept minds would even be alerted. That said, the moment he heard the buzz of noise it was evident something had gone horribly wrong.

The ruckus subsided as soon as Professor Pendleton’s lean body stalked through the door. He surveyed the faces before him and confirmed, to his horror, that everyone enrolled in his course was here. He took a deep breath and analyzed the situation calmly. There was no way all of them successfully decoded the message of the early meeting. That left the next logical explanation.

“Perhaps I failed to properly explain,” Professor Pendleton began, his voice even only thanks to his remarkable self-control. “The point of these exercises is to develop your own minds and skills. To that effect, collusion is greatly looked down upon in this class. Now, I’m sure the few of you who cracked the code only wanted to help a person or two each, to make your friends stand out, but as you can see, this is what happens when such behavior is indulged.”

“Um, what are you talking about, professor?” Alice asked uncertainly. She was seated at the front of the room, hand eagerly raised even to convey this informal query.

“The hidden message in yesterday’s puzzle that was clearly disseminated too freely,” Professor Pendleton replied.

“What message?”

“The one that told you to come here.”

“You mean the note?” Alice reached into her pocket and produced a folded piece of computer paper. Professor Pendleton snatched it from her hand, unfolded and began scanning through its contents.

“We all found them in our bags and uniform pockets this morning,” Alice added helpfully.

Professor Pendleton heard but didn’t acknowledge her; he was too absorbed in analyzing the document before him. It claimed to be a note from him, instructing the students to meet in this room at this time to discuss key changes to the syllabus. It hadn’t been signed, but of course the students would believe documents snuck onto their person could only have been accomplished by the teacher of the Subtlety class. There was nothing unique about the ink or paper. If he had to guess, it was likely the same used in the library above-ground. Someone had been thorough and thoughtful.

Professor Pendleton refolded the note and handed it back to Alice. He might not know who the culprit was, but he was able to recognize a shot across the bow. Someone was calling him out. He suppressed a smirk that tried to manifest itself at the thought that there might actually be some talent in his group after all.

“Everyone get to the classroom,” Professor Pendleton instructed them. “I’d try to split you up so only the ones who solved the puzzle could find it, however, at this point I don’t care. Just go. I’ll be in shortly.”

“What about the syllabus changes?” Alice asked.

“You found a mysterious note on your person and blindly trusted that it was from who it indicated,” Professor Pendleton said. “That is expertly idiotic, and the only reason I’m not dropping down on all of you like a hammer is because I don’t have any way to truthfully delineate who came here on their own and who only came because of the note. That said, Miss Adair, if you insist on asking such a relentlessly stupid question as to why I’m throwing you all out, after being clearly surprised by a note that I supposedly wrote, then maybe your day would best be spent focusing on one of the classes you have a better chance of still being enrolled in come next year.”

“I... I’m sorry,” Alice said softly, ducking her head down and all but bounding out of the classroom. The others followed at a respectful distance, none of them daring to pipe up after his unloading on the tall blonde girl.

As they filed out, Professor Pendleton reflected that he might have been harsher than intended. Still, the message was an important one. This might not be as physically-oriented of a major as the others, but it still demanded the same levels of excellence. Failing to analyze a situation or piece together details, even only once, could have just as disastrous consequences as failing to stop a speeding bus or catch a falling plane.

Better those who couldn’t cut it turn their eyes elsewhere sooner rather than later. It seemed that wasn’t the whole class, however. One of his students wanted to challenge Professor Pendleton and see what the old man was made of. He ran his index finger and thumb across his chin as he contemplated. He’d teach today’s class as planned. After that, it was time for a little detective work.

22.

By Friday’s end most of the HCP sophomores were aching for the weekend, their minds nearly as shredded as their bodies had felt at this time last year. They’d expected many things from the program, many obstacles to face. Of all things they’d braced for, the absolute plethora of studying was the one that took most of them by surprise.

Close Combat class had yet to involve an actual punch. So far the emphasis had been on finding the right martial art for each member. While this sounded simple on paper, it in fact required every member to study at length the histories, philosophies, and manuals of several major martial art forms. Even the ones already trained were given this task because, in Professor Fletcher’s opinion, knowing an enemy’s tactics was almost as important as knowing your own. In a week they’d studied wushu, karate, Kuk Sool Won, and Sambo, with only three students finding a style they connected to.

Weapons had been even worse, with Professor Cole demanding they know the name, traditional style, and advantages versus disadvantages of every weapon in her collection. This would have been a far more accomplishable task if her collection didn’t require a miniature warehouse in which to store it.

Ranged Combat was similar; although Professor Baker put the emphasis on learning to use ranged weapons, she also demanded her students begin learning the principles of climatology and how to calculate decreasing velocity of a projectile along with wind resistance.

Control was something all its own. Professor Hill instructed his students in learning how to view the world in little more than terms of a physics problem. Instead of weight, they were calculating mass and volume, seeing every object in terms of the space it occupied in relation to the things around it, and being drilled constantly on their spatial awareness of their own bodies. Most of the students ended this class with migraine-level headaches.

Focus was a welcome relief during the actual class. After the first day, all Professor Stone had worked with them on was the principles of meditation and how to achieve a clear mind. The homework, in contrast, was beyond daunting. Poets, philosophers, artists, the students had to analyze the works of dozens of them and turn in essays with their own interpretations of or counterarguments to the pieces. These were inked liberally with a red pen pointing out the flaws in their thinking and returned to the students after meditation each class period.

Subtlety had been strange compared to the others. After the second day fiasco, the classes had consisted of a riddling tournament (which was won by Richard Weaver), an hour-long lecture on the dangers of wearing a hidden microphone, and a day where everyone was instructed to spend all their class time playing jacks while Professor Pendleton surfed the Internet. The class itself was a piece of cake so far, but that left the majority of the students with the uneasy feeling that they were missing something important. After all, no class in the HCP could really be that easy.

So it was that when Friday afternoon rolled around, it was greeted by the student population with significant gusto. Alice had solidified her plans for a girls’ night, the scope growing to include Mary, Stella, Violet, and Selena (added at Alex’s request). Once afternoon classes were completed the ladies took off, heading toward downtown, the spa, and a break from everything related to Lander and the HCP. This left the gentlemen up to their own devices, a gap in planning that was thankfully filled by Thomas before Nick could take the reins.

* * *

Dean Blaine heard his door open without so much as a knock. He sighed inwardly; whoever it was would probably require significant time, which would lead to him working yet another late night. This always seemed to be the cosmic curse of Fridays. He raised his head and saw Sean standing opposite him, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

“Is there something you need, Professor Pendleton?”

“Indeed there is, Blaine.”

“Need I remind you that we are on school ground and I am your boss?”

“True, but we’re off the clock.”

“No, Professor Pendleton, only you are off the clock. Some of us have much to do and would greatly appreciate being left alone to do it.”

“Fine, fine,” Sean said, tossing up his hands. “Did you get the e-mail about what happened in Tuesday’s class?”