Super Powereds: Year 2 (54 page)

Nick shook his head. “Vince doesn’t deal with vulnerability well. He admits his own weakness, faces his own faults, and even cops to his failings better than anyone else I know, but the kid hates having people worry about him. If we’d tried, all we would have done is get him to dig in deeper, insisting he was okay. Camille is nothing but vulnerability; my guess is something about that gentle demeanor of hers was enough to slip through his guard.”

“As long as he’s okay. While we’re on the subject of Vince...”

“I know you didn’t catch the table,” Nick said.

“I figured. So what happened?”

Nick shifted a bit in his seat. “How much do you know about Vince, before the procedure?”

“I’m going to guess less than you.”

“That’s a given. I meant about his ability. Did you know that when Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport found him, Vince was locked in a concrete bunker because he was going through a phase where he absorbed almost every kind of energy he touched? Heat, electricity, even sunlight.”

“Vince can absorb light? He’s never done that before.”

“Exactly. When he got control, he focused on energies that were very finite. Contained sources that would run themselves out. It’s why he still uses batteries to get electricity instead of just draining some from a power grid. He’s a little afraid of what he can do, even a year and a half later,” Nick explained.

“That still doesn’t tell me anything about last night.”

“It tells you quite a bit, actually. We know Vince can absorb more than he’s shown us so far. We know a table stopped as soon as it touched him, and that a blow that should have broken his back didn’t leave so much as a bruise. Most importantly, we know he was putting his body between another person and danger, and when Vince is protecting someone, he demonstrates a much higher level of skill with his abilities.”

“You think he absorbed the kinetic energy of the table?” Mary’s eyes had grown wide in disbelief.

“It’s the best theory I have, at the moment. We’ll need to confirm it, but we might want to let him mentally stabilize a bit first. Give him a couple of days and all three of us can have a nice little talk.”

“I agree, he needs time, but I’m not sure how many days we’ve got,” Mary replied. “You know I didn’t call you here just to talk about Vince.”

“You want to know why I haven’t called a strategy meeting for the upcoming match,” Nick surmised.

“Or even come to pitch ideas at me,” Mary added. “Last time you were all about driving home the importance of tactics, but this round you haven’t said word one. What’s going on?”

“Firstly, last time I had to lay down the basics of team-building and get people accustomed to thinking in the right ways,” Nick pointed out. “Secondly, I do have a strategy for this round. It just doesn’t require meetings.”

“How does that work?”

“Let’s move to the kitchen,” Nick said, tilting his head slightly as he strained his ears. “This part needs to be private; I don’t want anyone walking in accidentally.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Let’s say you’re going to require a fair amount of convincing.”

105.

“I appreciate you all coming on such short notice,” Dean Blaine said, greeting the four men already waiting in his office. He’d meant to be here when they arrived; however, it seemed the board that presided over Lander wasn’t content with reaming him for just a few minutes. They’d demanded a full hour of his time for interrogation. Dealing with bureaucrats made him miss his Hero days, back when someone trying to get information out of you only involved a few bouts of light torture. In business things were not nearly so civilized.

“Yeah, well, nothing like the name ‘Globe’ to get people running,” Professor Pendleton said from his chair. He looked relaxed to the untrained eye, which might have been more useful had any eye in the room not been extensively trained. Professor Fletcher sat next to him, his own posture visibly tense. Across from them, Mr. Transport wore an expression of concern while Mr. Numbers worked very hard to ascertain every detail of their situation.

“Nothing indeed,” Dean Blaine agreed. He paused as he went to his desk, tempted for a moment to pour a tall drink for himself and his guests. A heartbeat’s hesitation decided against it. This day was still young, and he might well need his wits about him. “As you all know, there was an outburst last night amidst some of the sophomore class. During this incident, Chad Taylor leveled accusations that the man who raised Vince Reynolds either may have been or might have had some connection to the criminal known as Globe.”

“Globe, who has been dead nearly sixteen years by my count,” Professor Fletcher pointed out.

“It’s not like we’ve never seen someone fake their own death before,” Professor Pendleton said. “Hell, I think I had a villain who pulled it off four times before one of his plans went a little awry and he ended up in the ground for real.”

“Yes, but Globe was killed in full view of hundreds of witnesses, by his own former team at that,” Mr. Numbers countered. “I’ll admit that since it was Black Hole who did the deed, it presents us with the lack of a corpse; however, every possible verification method possible was undertaken and all confirmed Globe’s demise.”

“Did you ever deal with Globe?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“No. He was a Hero, and my job requires interaction with the other side of the spectrum,” Mr. Numbers admitted.

“Blaine and I did. We were in the same class, we graduated with him, and we knew him like family,” Professor Pendleton said. “Trust me when I say that if anyone could have pulled off the fake death in that situation, it was him.”

“While I won’t disagree with Professor Pendleton’s analysis of Globe’s skill level, that is not our most pressing concern,” Dean Blaine interrupted. “The current issue is that the board feels that training someone who might be the son, biological or not, of the world’s most well-known turncoat could turn into a PR nightmare. Not only for us, but for Mr. Reynolds himself.”

“Now hang on: there’s been a long standing precedent for letting children of villains into the HCP,” Mr. Transport objected. “There’s even a rule against discriminating against someone because of their parents’ actions.”

“It’s called the ‘Sins of the Fathers’ clause,” Professor Pendleton supplied helpfully.

“Right. So how can they put pressure on you to drum someone out in violation of their own rules?”

“No one has put that pressure on me. Yet,” Dean Blaine replied. “It has only been hinted at. No, right now I am merely being tasked with investigating the truth of these claims. The board considers it imperative that we know exactly who raised Mr. Reynolds and what, if any, his connection to Globe was.”

“And what if, worst case scenario, his father was Globe?” Professor Fletcher asked.

“Then things become decidedly more complicated,” Dean Blaine admitted.

“That’s bullshit!” Mr. Transport rose from his seat, barely resisting the urge to slam his hand on the dean’s desk. He knew Mr. Numbers would chastise him later for showing his emotions so easily, but at the moment that didn’t matter one bit. “Vince got into this program on his own merits and he’s stayed in by his own skill and determination. No one has the right to take that from him just because of the man who raised him.”

“Nor would they, not officially,” Dean Blaine shot back. “Mr. Reynolds is a talented young man, but he is not exactly leading the pack. His primary role in any team would be as a combatant, yet if one looked at the best warriors in the class, regardless of gender, his record would place him far from even the top five.”

“That’s enough to cut him?” Professor Fletcher asked uncertainly.

“On its own, not yet. He’d usually get to run through his third year before being middle of the pack wasn’t good enough. With the controversy over his group being former Powereds, they’re already being looked at more closely than the others. If we were to determine he was linked in an unfavorable way to Globe... I’m afraid I only have so much sway over the decisions of the board,” Dean Blaine said with a sad shake of his head. “All we can do is hope that such a link does not exist. The board won’t press me too hard on just speculation, at least that’s my hope.”

“Which brings us to why we’re all here,” Professor Pendleton, picking up the topic. “I can’t help but notice you only called in people you either trust or believe to have the best interests of those kids at heart.”

“I have a headache bigger than your ego from dealing with this situation already. Just ask what you want to ask.”

“Are we here to investigate that link, or to cover it up?”

There was a snap of silence as the others waited for the dean’s response. For his part he spent a full ten seconds reflecting on how much he wished he’d stopped to pour that drink.

“You are here to get to the truth,” Dean Blaine said at last. “While I may not like what will come from it, I am not in the habit of dealing in lies. Our duty is to find out everything we can and then do our best to make sure an innocent boy is not unduly punished for it.”

“That is all well and good,” Mr. Numbers said. “But what it doesn’t tell us is why you only summoned us to this meeting. It seems like the rest of the professors would be just as capable at the task you’re presenting.”

“Unfortunately that would be because of another strike against Mr. Reynolds, one that casts suspicion on the validity of his admission, and one of which even he is not aware,” Dean Blaine explained. “None of you have sat in on the conference we hold deciding which applicants are allowed into the freshman class of the HCP, but the process is actually quite simple. The dean and the active professors gather together to review files of those who meet basic requirements, then a vote is taken on each candidate as to whether reject or admit them. Additionally, each professor has the ability to speak before the votes and have one student instantly accepted or rejected. We refer to this as their ‘auto’ and each voter only has one per year. This allows them to bank on hunches or permit admittance of candidates that they see potential in where others do not.”

“Seems fair,” Professor Fletcher noted.

“It is a process that strives for just that description. Anyway, Vince Reynolds was brought into the HCP because of a professor’s auto. His admission was never voted on directly.”

“So what’s the problem? You just told us that was a valid part of the admission process,” Mr. Transport said.

“The issue is not that an auto was cast for him. The issue is the voter who cast it. It was cast by a professor who had not used an auto in over eleven years, who had professed he never saw candidates worthy enough to deserve his nod. The man who opened a wide door for Vince into our HCP was one of the attempted kidnappers of Mary Smith. It was George Russell.”

106.

The knock on Chad’s door didn’t exactly send it flying off the hinges, but it landed with enough force to make it clear that the possibility was definitely there. He glanced up from his bed and then rolled over. Whoever it was could go away. Chad hadn’t opened the door for Shane, who had tried first thing that morning, or Angela, who had come about an hour later, so he certainly wasn’t going to disrupt his solitude for someone who didn’t even bother announcing their name. The early afternoon sun was beginning to shine through the grubby exterior of his dorm’s window, and Chad knew eventually he’d have to leave for food. That was later, when the rest of the school was asleep. Until then, he’d turned off his brain’s ability to feel hunger.

A second knock landed, this one sending bits of wood dust hurtling off the top of the door. If they increased at this rate, the visitor’s hand would go through the cheap wood in no time.

“Go away.” Chad commanded, his head still buried in the pillow. The response was knocking that immediately became persistent and unyielding. Now that they knew he was here, it seemed the strategy was to annoy him into answering. Chad could turn himself deaf and go back to sleep; however, the way the door seemed to be shuddering told him eventually it would cave, and then he really wouldn’t be able to get any privacy. With a fluid leap from the bed, he crossed the room in one stride and yanked open his door.

“Afternoon,” greeted Roy, left hand still raised while his right clutched a small burlap bag.

“Go away,” Chad repeated. “I’m in no mood for visitors.”

“I bet you’re not,” Roy agreed, sliding the tip of his boot a few inches forward. Chad could still slam the door in his face, but now it would shatter the bottom of it and Roy would be unharmed. “After a scene like yours I’d probably be hiding in my room, too.”

“I am not hiding. I merely wanted to take some time to reflect on my actions.”

“Lucky you, I happen to have an excellent reflection assistant.” Roy lifted the canvas bag as illustration.

“I’d rather be alone.”

“I’d rather be spending the day with a supermodel. We all got shit we want.”

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?”

“Nope, and you can’t beat me senseless in the middle of the dorms without witnesses and giving yourself a hell of a lot more to worry about. So just let me in, hear me out, and then you can sulk in the dark all you want.”

Chad stepped aside without so much as a sigh. He’d fought Roy enough to know there was no changing his mind once he set it on something. There was still the option of incapacitating him, but Roy was correct in his assessment that it would result in significant collateral damage.

Chad’s unwanted guest plopped down in a chair and opened his canvas sack, pulling out a long brown bottle and two identical glasses. He twisted off the top and poured each glass about halfway full. Chad accepted the glass handed to him and took a seat, though he didn’t make any motions to drink from it.

“So. You’re the son of Intra.”

“Yes.” There was little point in denying it; everyone in the HCP would likely know by now.

Roy took a slow sip from his drink. “I know how that can wear on you, having that famous pedigree hanging over your head. For most children of big Heroes it’s about measuring up, about not being a failure in comparison. You and I are in a different boat. We’re both set on surpassing ours.”